The Perfect Fit
Big Linda Skrue’s black Ferrari screeched to a stop at the curb.
Her coldly beautiful face was set in a scowl that would have discouraged anyone from challenging that portentous rather than pretentious name.
It was a name she’d borne for years, in one fashion or another, and whatever its origin it was a name that fit. To those fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to know her, she was notorious for her voracious sexual appetites.
A bull-dyke dynamo with an additional sadistic taste for men, Big Linda scowled because she was worried. Little Keri Colts was alone at the house tonight, working by herself on a naked man. And although she’d left him chained up and ball-gagged, drugged and helpless, and Little Keri wearing the cock, carrying the whip and otherwise in total command, it was still a matter for concern.
Best friend, roommate, lesbian lover extraordinaire, Little Keri Colts was many things, including madly extravagant and recklessly impulsive in her own sexual affairs. She remained obediently submissive in relation to Big Linda — who the hell didn’t? But when she got with a man these days she had a bad habit of going overboard the other way. Sometimes things got a little messy and extreme, and Big Linda was afraid she’d get herself into trouble some day.
Oh, well. It was her own fault, really. Big Linda sighed, keying off the car and listening to the powerful motor die. She almost felt like a master craftsman abandoning a particularly promising apprentice, or a mother hen, watching her downy little chick strut out arrogantly on its own for the very first time. It was a weird, antsy feeling, and when you started to get antsy there was only one thing to do about it — go shopping.
It was almost eleven o’clock at night, and her favorite leather goods store was closed. But Big Linda Skrue wasn’t thwarted that easily. She needed a new pair of boots, and she was going to get them. And maybe something for Little Keri too…something to surprise her with after her little escapade tonight… Something to remind her who the real mistress was around here!
A quick glance through the directory and few phone calls had located a small private boot shop across the city. The voice at the other end of the line had assured Big Linda that they carried women’s boots and leatherwear of an extreme variety, as well as other shall we say interesting goods of rather esoteric use. Always in the mood for a drive — and perhaps for sporting her new purchases in an unfamiliar hangout on the way home — she’d made the cross-town trip.
Across the street from this little boutique, Big Linda Skrue climbed out of the car: six feet-one inches tall and a hundred and sixty-five pounds of stunningly statuesque womanhood. Gleaming as though burnished, her reddish-golden hair fell richly about her powerful shoulders. Her muscular arms bulged through the scanty sleeveless blouse she wore, but that intimidating detail was overshadowed by her gigantic breasts. Immensely full and deliciously ripe, as large and firm as honeydews, these bounced and jiggled beautifully without the confinement of a bra.
The fact that she could carry such weight without artificial support alone testified to the remarkable tone and uplift of that magnificent chest, and people inevitably regarded it with awe. ‘Big’ Linda Skrue drew stares wherever she went, stares that confirmed her supreme power and beauty for her. But tonight the street was deserted, and with her mind still locked on her unsupervised lover there was nothing to distract her from that gnawing preoccupation as she strode purposefully across to enter the store.
Hardly noticing the whips and harnesses hanging in the windows, and the elegant boots racked gleaming black in ascending order, she pulled open the narrow door and shouldered her way inside. It closed behind her with a bang and a jingle of bells, and before she was halfway through the show room a rather timid-looking salesman, the only person in the place, approached her.
“Can I help you?”
“Boots,” Big Linda replied brusquely. “Black leather.”
“Size?” he inquired, not daring to meet her glance.
“I’m not sure,” she trailed off, distracted. “Some of my old ones feel tight.”
“Let’s just measure then,” he suggested, pointing her to a chair and picking up a graduated little gadget shaped like a foot.
Big Linda sat down, allowing him to help her remove the boot she already wore. His touch seemed to linger on the bare flesh of her heel but she hardly noticed it as he directed her foot to his little scale. But then his clumsy fumbling finally penetrated her, and she saw him gulping with chagrin as he fought to accomplish a task he clearly did dozens of times a day.
Finally she noticed this salesman, really noticed him. She’d seen him, of course, even exchanged a few sentences. But she’d only done so absent-mindedly, her brain running on autopilot. And she rarely paid men more than perfunctory attention anyway. Yet there was something about this slight-looking young specimen before her that stirred her occasionally capricious nature.
Big Linda Skrue didn’t consider her feet to be one of her better features, being a little too large and strongly boned for that — a curse of being statuesque and voluptuous. But this little geek measuring her for size was practically wetting his pants handling them. His groping fingers shook, and he kept swallowing and licking his lips with an obviously dry tongue. What a chump. She wiggled her toes at him, smirking down, and he blushed an immediate bright red.
Just to have a little fun with him, Big Linda tried on boot after boot, each one blacker, shinier, more stiletto-heeled than the last. Each time she slowly modeled it there before him, hiking up her already short leather skirt, pointing her toe and rotating that long, matchless leg seductively back and forth. And of course each time she feigned dissatisfaction, requiring him to kneel before her and humbly strip it off. Soon he was sporting an all-too obvious erection, which his thin dress slacks were incapable of concealing.
Eyeing it with an open smirk of contempt, Big Linda sent him back to the stock room yet again, demanding a different style even though she’d already decided on the patent leather pair she was currently wearing. But this time once he was gone she gave him only fifteen seconds and then followed, pausing first to lock the shop’s door, flip the sign to closed and open her blouse to the waist, exposing those incredible breasts. Big Linda Skrue had made her decision.
Shopping wasn’t all you could do when you got a little antsy. You could also step out and get the better of some worthless male. And shop-boy was sporting some serious meat beneath his slacks. It never hurt to have a taste. Maybe she’d even bring him home to Little Keri for them to defile together. First she’d have to see what he was like.
She pressed past a tower of crowded shelves and into the cramped stock room, where her little salesman was crouched digging through the pile of boxes strewn about. She slammed the door with an authoritative bang, and her intended prey jumped as though stuck with a needle, leaping up and wheeling around in shock. His mouth making a perfect circle of surprise, he gaped at her comically as she strode forward, towering over him in those five-inch heels.
Big as life and twice as imposing, Big Linda Skrue seemed to fill the tiny room, the close quarters emphasizing the dominating difference in her size. To the poor guy in front of her, each approaching naked breast seemed at least the size of his goggling head, and her much greater stature and muscular physique put his shallow-chested weakness to shame. Immediately she pushed him back against the shelves, knocking him halfway over the lone chair that was used to access goods on the higher reaches. Grinning wickedly down she loomed over him, intimidating with her size and closeness, and although his face was flushed and bug-eyed with shock and unease, his hidden cock strained against his slacks, a surprisingly substantial bulge for such a slight, unimpressive little guy.
Immediately Big Linda’s iron grip seized it through the thin material, and a small, trapped sound escaped him.
“We’re not going to have any trouble here, are we?” she demanded.
“N-no!” he managed to squeak out, and she gripped him tighter.
“You just closed up shop for tonight, John. I’m gonna have you, right here, and then I’m just going walk out of here with whatever I want. Get it?” She gave him another squeeze for emphasis. “And I just might want you. I’ve got uses for a weak little man!”
With that Big Linda began clawing at his belt, ripping open John’s pants and raking them — along with his ridiculous boxers — immediately to his ankles. His urgent prick caught painfully in the waistband, bending sharply down and then snapping back upright as it finally escaped. Then Big Linda ripped open his shirt, sending buttons flying, and shoved him. Hobbled by his pants and underwear, John toppled into the chair. Then before he knew it Big Linda Skrue was upon him.
She straddled him, those high leather boots holding her well above his waist; that glorious naked bosom only inches away and yet a good foot higher than his up-gazing face. John goggled up at it in disbelief, frantically studying every luscious line and curve, storing the memory for a lifetime of wet dreams. But then a fist was twined in his hair, and Big Linda yanked his head even further back, smirking down into his gaping face. Her cold eyes mocked him for a moment, and then she bent down and clamped her lips over his in a voraciously insistent soul kiss.
Her strong tongue pried open John’s lips, invading his mouth and searching out every corner of it. Hot, wet muscle slithered over and around his teeth and gums, wrestling with his tongue and easily winning every battle. Even up under his lips it traveled, hungrily tracing the shape of his mouth with its probing tip. But at last Big Linda broke the kiss with a loud wet smack and dropped herself atop him.
Her heavy weight squashed his straining prick, pressing it flat against his body, and the jungle heat of her hungry sex burned him through the black silk panties she wore.
Full, giant tits bracketed John’s face, and he nuzzled his way unbelievingly into them, burying himself in the taut press of that firm, resilient flesh. Trapped in the canyon of her cleavage, he raised his hands timidly and hefted their generous weight, lifting and pressing them tighter to his face and wonderingly tracing the turgid pink nipples with his thumbs. Unfortunately Big Linda Skrue didn’t give him much time to explore her bounty.
She shook herself loose, battering him about with those bountiful breasts. Then she rose up just enough to free his throbbing cock. Immediately it leaped right up, jutting eagerly into the air, and its vein-wrapped length and pretty pink head testified to the rightness of Linda’s decision.
She wondered briefly how many other world-class cocks were hidden in the trousers of unassuming geeks like this one, and then dismissed it as irrelevant. Wrenching up her skirt, she pulled aside her sopping-wet panties to expose her heavenly hole and then dropped straight down, impaling herself expertly.
John cried aloud in obviously unprecedented pleasure, burying himself once again between her tits, and Big Linda was forced to grab him by the hair, yanking back his head once more and hissing “Don’t you come, don’t you dare come!” into his crazed-looking face. Only when he gulped and nodded did she settle into her rhythm, riding the perch of his elevated hips like a rocking horse.
And what a horse! That hard wooden chair held John’s squashed and sandwiched ass firmly in place, providing the perfect fulcrum for Linda’s considerable weight to balance on. Without any pubic hair of her own to cushion it that long, slender cock was socketed so deeply in her cunt that there was no in-out, in-out possible or necessary. Just a relentlessly escalating rocking rhythm, pushing that hard, soft-headed spike back and forth inside her body and driving her g-spot crazy.
With her hands clamped to the back of the chair and her steel-pointed toes lightly riding the concrete floor, Big Linda Skrue soon lost all sense of herself. Panting and screaming and bucking deliriously away, she started rocking the small wooden chair alarmingly, bumping and bashing the shelves and sending all kinds of erotic leather goods crashing to the floor around them in a rain of kinky accessories.
Poor little John looked like he was having an infarction, enduring this womanly onslaught with his eyes closed, convinced that the sight of those incredibly bouncing breasts only inches from his face would immediately bring on the forbidden orgasm. Gasping, groaning with pleasure and the unbearable strain of withholding his explosive climax, he began to fear it was a lost cause. But just as it seemed the inevitable was about to occur, he was saved by fate and the failure of shoddy manufacturing.
Big Linda was approaching her pneumatically pumping, wildly screaming peak when suddenly the chair beneath them gave way beneath her onslaught, sending them crashing to the floor atop its pieces.
The shock was enough to stave off John’s eruption, but Big Linda didn’t miss a beat. She’d obviously seen much greater havoc than that in the heat of passion. Growling like a bitch in heat she only increased her rhythm, planting her hands on the floor at either side of John’s shocked face and dangling her spectacularly animated tits just above him. Then she drove on toward her orgasm, grinding the broken chair to shards and splinters beneath them.
At last she reached her searing climax, wave after wave of synaptic activity shuddering through her loins. Her slick cunt convulsed on John’s cock, squeezing its pretty length and finally wringing his seed from him in a series of hot, squirting spasms. Whimpering pathetically, he could then only lie there helplessly and await her wrath.
Big Linda leaned back, smirking to herself as she regained her breath.
Disobedient, that, but understandable under the circumstances. Well, she had all the rest of the night to teach him better. And she’d have help. Once again Big Linda Skrue had made her decision.
She checked her watch. Somehow it had gotten to be one a.m. Little Keri would probably be finishing off her own captive man in a few hours, an entertaining first course. Well, Big Linda was bringing home desert. Without leaving her seat atop John’s panting, blushing body, she began rooting through the kinky cornucopia scattered around them, searching for a few useful presents.
She found a beautiful black body harness, all oiled-leather strips and gleaming silver rings. It even came with an armored pubis built to support a wide variety of dildoes — of which she already had a surfeit of course. Big Linda draped this over her shoulder. Then she located stainless steel handcuffs and a wide, spiked black dog collar.
Still smirking down at John’s obvious unease, she cuffed his hands tightly together and buckled the collar about his neck, snapping the attached ring to a short leather leash. Then she rose, using the leash to drag her chosen diversion to his feet.
“Come on John. We’re going to get a few of my specialized drinks. Then I’m going take you to meet someone.” Thinking of the incredibly zealous Little Keri Colts, Big Linda Skrue gave a hard, mirthless smile. “I don’t think you’ll ever be the same again!” Then she began dragging him, stumbling in his lowered pants and shorts, through the empty store to her Ferrari waiting just outside.
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