by Scarlett M Butler
Becca moaned as she felt waves of pleasure rolling through her big boned body.
Her entire 4’11, 346 lb frame quivered from the sensations of the orgasms that kept shaking her lusciously curved mass. Brown juices gushed forth from her lower lips. Her head, arms, and legs thrashed about wildly as she cried out her pleasure.
Finally, the sensations ceased; the motions that had created such beautiful music upon her tightly toned body had disappeared.
Becca sighed. Damn! Another vibrator broken after only 5 consecutive hours of constant use!
Oh, well! She looked at the clock, and then jumped up, her belly fat jiggling as she clapped her hands and giggled with joy and glee. It was Tuesday!
Tuesday was Becca’s new favorite day of the week! On these days, she volunteered at the old folks home. There, only last week, she had met an old man named Maury. Well, his name wasn’t actually Maury, but he was crazy and thought that he was Maury Pauvich, which was fine by Becca! He was a randy old man, with a seemingly never-ending supply of Viagra to pep up his “Pappy” as he called it, short for “Pap Smear,” he had told her only last week, with a wink. Not that Becca had any idea what that was! Probably some sort of jelly, she surmised, that one smears on bread, kind of like butter!
So, without further ado, Becca took out her 3-sizes-too-small French maid’s uniform (you know, the sexy black one with the short short skirt and the cute lil white apron), and slipped it onto her rotund figure. Then, she pranced over to the mirror and “purtied herself up a bit” for her special old man.
Then, she grabbed some cleaning supplies from beneath the sink in the kitchen where she had slept last night, because apparently the owners of the house hadn’t locked the doors, so she just kinda walked in, climbed up on the table, and curled up into a ball to take her usual 15-hour nap.
Skipping out the kitchen door to the old folks home, which was next door, Becca made no attempt to hide the thong that showed whenever her foot kicked up high, in the middle of a skip, lifting up her skirt, so that everyone watching—which is to say, the entire neighborhood, the local football team, a couple of police officers, and elderly couple making out in the park with their eyes open, and all the residents of the nursing home—caught a glimpse of red-white-and-blue thong.
“I’m here, Maury!” she called out in a sing-song voice, which sounded kind of like a pack of dead crows had picked at a carcass, nibbling out its larynx, and then the dead body had attempted to perform the entire opera Carmen, in one breath, without pausing for a breath of air—or a breath mint—and then just kinda passed out from lack of oxygen.
“It’s Mr. Pauvich to you, wench!” the grizzled old man in the wheel chair growled, pinching her ass. “Bring me my Viagra, and then we shall see who the victor is!”
Becca knew better than to ask a crazy man just what the hell he was talking about—after all, chances were, he didn’t know, either!
So, still skipping, she bounced into the other room, grabbed the nearest bottle, and then poured the entire bottle down her soon-to-be lover’s throat, along with an entire bottle of vodka.
Within seconds, a tiny pup-tent had formed in the blankets sitting on Maury’s lap. Becca quickly through off her maid’s uniform and his clothes, as well. She didn’t have to worry about her thong, because it had fallen off while she skipped, and a cool breeze had blown it into a nearby alleyway, about six or seven hundred miles down the road.
Then she straddled him, her ankles linked around the back of the wheelchair, and began to ride him, ride him like the wind. “I’m riding you, Maury!” she cried, moving up and down at a furious pace on his old, yet hard, riding stick. “I’m riding you like the wind!”
Her meaty paws clutched his arms—she noticed that, although they were still wrinkly, kinda like prunes, they were hard now, too! As was the rest of his body—his entire body was hard! Wow, thank goodness for Viagra!
After she was done riding his love shaft, Becca moved on to other parts of his hard body, such as his arms, his legs, and his “outtie” belly button. However, Maury seemed to just be sleeping through it—he hadn’t moved a muscle since the whole thing began. And, come to think of it, he was looking kind of pale …
“Maury?” Becca asked, a hint of worry in her voice. “Maury, speak to me! I need to know! Is lunch on its way? I’m starving! Maury, answer me, dammit, answer me!” she began shaking him, when suddenly, she accidentally ripped one of his arms off of his body.
“Oh, Maury, I’m so sorry, please forgive me!” She began to cry, and brown tears fell from both her upper and lower lips.
Yet … he still wasn’t moving. Becca examined him closely. He wasn’t breathing, either! She gasped, and then looked at the bottle of pills she had poured down his throat.
Oh no! It wasn’t a bottle of Viagra … it was a bottle of sleeping pills! And to make things worse, on the back it had a warning, not to mix the pills with vodka unless you wanted a fatal result!
Becca’s sobs grew harder, louder, faster, and deeper, as she stuck the empty bottle of pills, as well as the empty bottle of vodka, inside herself. Hiding the evidence, as it were.
Taking a deep breath, she began to push with all her might. Out came a brown pile of … let’s just say, “pudding.” The Pudding formerly known as a bottle of fake Viagra and a bottle of Vodka.
And the hardness of his body, Becca realized, must be rigor mortis! She had to hide the body, quickly, before anyone noticed, and realized that she was a murderer!
Sure, it had been accidental, but still …
So Becca broke his body into little pieces, stuffed them up inside herself, and soon they met with the same fate … and were reborn in the warm cocoon of pudding that emerged from the other hole in her body. The one that would never again be cleaned by Maury’s seed.
Then, quickly snatching a thong from his nightstand, as well as her own trench coat from the inner lining of her maid’s outfit, Becca was soon outfitted in full formal high heel formation. Oh, wait, she almost forgot about the high heels! She reached under Maury’s bed, and pulled out a small pile of objects, which included several porn magazines, a few vibrators, a dead frog, some half-dead ants, a half-eaten can of tuna fish that smelled kinda funny (kinda like dead fish!), a few rumpled hundred dollar bills that had obviously been up some prepubescent girl’s you-know-what, a phallus-shaped candle, and some Rubbermaid containers. After finishing off the can of tuna, as well as stuffing the money in the waistband of her thong, Becca’s hand began roving beneath the bed in search of her true objective—aha! She found it!
Becca pulled out her 6” stiletto heels, which were made from foam. Although, since they were foam and she had to glue them to her heel, they didn’t actually ad to her height; they just kinda drooped there, from her heels, as she pranced about in her trenchcoat and thong ensemble. Then, when she walked in them, they just kinda slumped to the ground, thereby adding no inches to her height.
Becca shrugged. Not that it mattered, anyway!
So, with that, she ran as fast as her tubby little legs could carry her out of the nursing home, all the while mourning for Maury, her erstwhile lover. Somewhere along the way, the thong slipped down around her ankles, causing her to trip and land on her stomach, with her legs high in the air. A passing wind drifted by, blowing the thong past her feet.
As Becca watched, with a single tear in her eye, the thong floated there for a moment, above her, before flying away, up, up, and away, into the sky above, like a balloon. It landed a short time later, atop of a whole pile of thongs, in a nearby alley.
Becca's Life
Tuesdays with Becca
