Chapter 6

Of course George realized that his life of sex and freedom from labor was destined to end someday, but he didn't realize how soon. Mrs. Wainright caught Carol and he in the midst of frantic sexual combat two days later and fired him on the spot, instructing the gate keeper to never permit him into the estate again. He tried phoning a few times to see if he could make amends but the glamorous socialite wouldn't speak to him.

He had saved some money, so he rented a furnished room in town and set out to find work. To his dismay because of his youth the only job he could find was as a dishwasher in Frieda's Diner on the main highway two miles outside of town. Frieda was a huge, blowzy blond, far overweight, with beefy arms and legs and a monumental bosom. Her bust intrigued him at first because it reminded him wistfully of his past employer. But the rest of her was so hefty, her white uniform always so soiled and grease stained, that his mild interested in her soon dissipated. She slopped around the run-down diner in sneakers, caring not a bit for her appearance as most of her trade were truck drivers and they didn't seem to mind. She was loud and raucous and was a perfect foil for their rough talk and they all loved her for it.

One rainy night just before closing time the two of them were alone and she turned to George as he walked along with an armload of dishes. "Say sonny, ya sure have a powerful set a arms for a kid ... are ya built like that all over?"

George almost dropped the whole load of dishes, he didn't like her tone or what she said. It had been evident to him all evening that she had been in a strange mood. She hadn't been her usual bantering, cheerful self. She seemed to be nervous and out of sorts.

"Aw cut your kidding Frieda, how about playing some pinball games at a buck a throw 'til closing time?" he offered, hoping to get her interest on something other than his muscular arms.

She didn't answer, just stood in his way so that he couldn't get the dishes into the kitchen, staring at his rock-hard biceps and the way his bronzed forearm muscles rippled from the heavy load.

"Naw, I don't want ta play pinball with ya sonny, that's fer kids, it's time ya learned some adult games," she said throatily, her husky voice almost purring.

"Well how about some poker," George said weakly. "I got a deck right in my pocket."

"That ain't the kind a adult game I had in mind," she said, reaching out and running a fat finger over his thin cotton shirt, probing for his washboard-like abdominal muscles. "Brother ya sure are built, y'er as hard as steel, that's the way I like a man."

George was worried. The job was very important to him. He realized that this was the only kind of work that he could hope to find till he grew a little older. He wanted to stay in town in the hopes of seeing Mrs. Wainright on the streets one day and see if the sight of him would remind her of the big cock she was missing. This was his one chance to get back into the lap of luxury, but he needed the job to sustain him in the meantime.

"C'mon sonny," she said, turning and walking away from him, her massive buttocks grinding together under the soiled uniform. "Put the dishes in the sink and come into the men's room with me, I got a nice little game ta show ya."

George was petrified. He knew that she wasn't kidding, she wanted him to service her in one way or another and the mere thought revolted him. She was so fat, so dirty, but he knew he had to go through with it. The thing that concerned him the most was that he knew that he would never be able to get his cock into any kind of condition to take care of her if that was what she was after. She was just too fat, too disgusting. After he set the dishes in the sink he frantically tried to get some response by rubbing his limp penis with his hands, but there was none, he was just too revolted by the thought of having to make love to such a woman.

When he fearfully entered the washroom she was leaning her great bulk against the filthy sink with her fat legs spread wide apart, her hands on her huge hips. As always the place was disreputable. A sour odor permeated the little room and the floor was littered with cigarette butts, beer cans and other assorted trash. Her fat figure clad in the dirty uniform and her soiled white sneakers certainly were in the right setting, but definitely not conducive to sex.

She reached into a pocket in her uniform and took out a key, handing it to him. "Lock the door sonny, then I got somethin' real nice ta show ya."

George took the key with shaking fingers and turned to lock the door. When he turned back, air hissed between his teeth as his lungs collapsed. She was holding her skirt up to her waist exposing a great black nest that came almost up to her navel. A ridiculously tiny pair of white nylon panties was so stuffed with hair and crotch flesh that she almost resembled a man. A gaping pink cunt was plainly visible through the stretched mesh. Her meaty legs were set so far apart that she could have sat on a six inch thick log and it wouldn't have touched either one. On an attractive woman this incredible sight would have driven any red blooded man out of his mind, but unfortunately for George it belonged to Frieda. Obese Frieda. Disgusting Frieda.

"I knew ya'd like it sonny," she giggled, as she noted his startled expression. "Never seen anythin' like it have ya?"

"N-no I certainly haven't," George stammered and he meant it.

"Well lover boy it's all yer's just fer the takin," she said proudly. "Many a man's gone crazy over what yer lookin' at. I got the hots so bad tanight I could scream, ya gotta take care a me. I know yer boy prick ain't big enough ta do anythin' fer me, but I happened to see that ya have a silly habit a ticklin' the underside a yer nose with the tip a yer tongue when y'er thinkin'. Ya really got some tongue there sonny ... get the message?" Frieda said, placing the fingers of her hands on both sides of her runt and pulling the massive lips wide apart, affording him an incredible view of the gaping inside with its mass of slippery tissue and tendons. Centered at the top of the open cunt was a stubby clitoris the width of a quarter.

Suddenly as George gazed at the seamy environs and the great open cunt of this disgusting, obese woman, it struck him to what terrible depths he had fallen. First his glamorous existence at the Wainright's mansion, in his mistresses perfumed boudoir, with her magnificent, well cared for body at his disposal on silken sheets ... and now this.

He knelt shakily on the floor to do his duty, he needed the job that bad. He was pleasantly surprised at, at least one thing. Frieda had been thoughtful enough to squirt cologne all over her crotch area and the aroma was overpowering. Then he closed his eyes tight and visualized Mrs. Wainright lying on her huge bed, her gorgeous long legs encased in the sheer black nylons that she always wore for him, splayed wantonly, her delectable cunt twitching. He wasn't in this disgusting washroom at all; he was kneeling before Mrs. Wainright's spread legs in her boudoir. The woman wasn't fat Frieda; it was his former mistress with her great, naked melons slithering around on her rib-cage ... he hadn't sucked her dear cunt in SO long ... he had to have it. In his make-believe world, George was building up to a fevered pitch of passion and his cock began to lengthen in his trousers, sliding rapidly down one pants leg like a snake leaving its lair. He grasped Frieda's broad hips in his hands as though her were holding up a leg of mutton to devour and without any preliminary licking as he usually did, he jammed his face into the incredibly wide-set crotch. So wide that the inner sides of her fat thighs barely touched his face as he rammed it home.

The gaping slit was so long that his nose went in, his mouth went in and even part of his chin. His long tongue slithered down the wide channel.

"Oh sonny ... ya do love it ... ya do love Frieda's big twat don't ya?" the fat proprietress wailed.

But that wasn't what George heard in his world of make-believe. He heard Mrs. Wainright whimpering, "Oh my darling, you do love my sweet cunny don't you precious?"

But something was strange, something was different ... her cunt was much larger than ever before. Could his big cock have stretched it that much? ... that must be it. Even her pubic hair had grown to an immense bush as he felt the wiry tendrils scratching his forehead, could he have planted the seeds with his sperm? ... what other explanation could there be?

George was ravenous, never had her cunt tasted so delicious before. He gulped a great amount of slippery wet tissues into his mouth and flicked his nose back and forth hard over her throbbing clitoris. Frieda screamed repeatedly as she jammed her massive hips forwards.

George couldn't breath ... his lungs were about to burst. He came up for air and drew it in in great gasping gulps, then dove back again with tongue extended like a fiery spear, sinking it into the inner depths of her vagina.

Frieda was going out of her mind from the electric thrills that were shooting through her groin. It was amazing, no one had ever turned her on like this ... and just a seventeen old boy; she was ecstatic. Then she let out a loud gasp as she saw it ... a great python was loose in his trousers. But it wasn't a python ... it was a long fat cock. The shape of the huge knob and thick shaft was clearly outlined by his drum-tight trousers. Around the knob area his pants were soaked so that they clung to it like wet tissue paper.

Frieda stared at it breathlessly, closing her eyes and then opening again, quite certain that it was an illusion. She was so transfixed that there was no sensation in her groin at all, as though she had suddenly been paralyzed from the waist down, despite George's frantic mouthing's. Her problem was much worse than Olga's. Her cunt was half again the size of hers and no-man had ever been able to satisfy her in her thirty four years. She never expected that one would ever be able to. Now as she looked at the giant cock thrashing about in George's trousers with the wild beating of his pulse her hopes were reborn.

She reached down and yanked George's sopping wet face from her steaming crotch. "Sonny, ya been here all this time and ya never told Frieda that ya had a cock like that ... what'n hell's the matter with ya? I could'a been puttin' him to good use?" she exclaimed as she reached down and unzipped his zipper and with some difficulty managed to get his throbbing prick out of his fly.

George looked up the length of her huge body clad in the filthy uniform, her face obscured by her huge, jutting breasts and the spell was broken. He wasn't in Mrs. Wainright's bedroom with his beloved former mistress. He was in Frieda's filthy washroom with disgusting Frieda and as the terrible realization struck him, his cock began to subside and bend where she was holding it, the huge head lowering slowly.

"Whatsamatter - WHATSAMATTER?" she screamed in dismay. Jerking mightily on his shrinking shaft in a vain attempt to resurrect his erection. "Ya were lovin' me up like ya really dug it a second ago ... what come over ya, are ya a queer or somethin'?"

"N-No Frieda," George stammered. "I guess it's this place ... it's so filthy."

"FERGET about that," Frieda shrieked. "It was filthy when ya started suckin' me, it didn't seem to bother ya then."

She tilted the drooping red knob up with her fingers and swooped down on it, slipping the soft but still sizable prick into her mouth. "Maybe if I suck ya," she gurgled as she pressed her lips into the great black mass of pubic hair on George's belly. She suctioned and her lips worked greedily, but there was no reaction, if anything George's prick shrunk even more at the hateful contact.

Finally she released him and got unsteadily to her feet, staring at his shrunken cock, hoping to see there what she had seen before. But it had vanished, vanished like a humming bird in a gale.