My Dad once told me that a fat girl saying she has big tits is like a guy claiming he has a fast car because it's falling down a cliff. Have to say I thought that was an unfair assessment, and so it proved: many times I've witnessed the reality that big girls can have a truly great and shapely rack. None more so than Christine. When I was working short contracts at the beginning of my career I took up various lodgings; generally with retired couples or individuals who needed the rental income. Christine, my second or third landlady, had the confident air of a former beauty queen and the body of a lady who lived life well: high cheekbones with soft, rounded cheeks and full, feminine lips that were often accentuated with blush-red lipstick. Her hair, a rich amber-russet colour with strands of silver, cascaded around her head in tousled curls and spilled down to her sizeable bust. We took to each other quickly after I moved in with her and her husband Jon. She had a wicked sense of humour and we developed an easy, flirty banter between us. One evening, early on in my time there, all three of us were in the living room watching TV. I couldn't help but notice that Christine was wearing a black satin top that stretched over her huge boobs and showed them to their best advantage. It had a wide and low-cut V-neck that was trimmed with lace edging, and I spent some time sneaking glances at her. Faint wrinkles with a texture like crepe paper fanned out from the top of her ample cleavage, like pale river formations in a pink-brown freckled landscape. Her exposed chest area was shiny with moisturising cream that was delicately perfumed, and the base of her neck was ringed with a faint bird's nest of soft skin creases. She was wearing a black A-line skirt of PVC or leather which stretched tight over her wide hips and sizeable buttocks, making them look almost vacuum-packed when she stood to fetch the wine she'd remembered was in the fridge. She had a bit of a tummy bulge which was betrayed by an equally-tight fit across the front; but at the sides her waistline nipped in to create a natural figure-of-eight effect. Bright pop-studs on one side of the skirt ensured the beltline was held securely above her hips and cinched in to show off her hourglass figure. On her return from the kitchen she stood over me to pour me a glass of wine. She seemed to be standing unnecessarily close - her huge, straining tits were an inch or so from my face as she continued to fill the glass to the brim. "What about you then, Racingpoint?" she said, in her typically direct manner. "You got a girl?" "Nobody serious" I said. "What?" she snorted. "Good-looking boy like you?". She looked me up and down and turned back to her chair, ignoring Jon's glass. I smiled, perhaps blushing a little. The narrator on TV mentioned something about a back door. Without turning to either of us, Christine said: "Ooh, I like it like that, don't I Jon? In the back door. You know. Up the rear." Christine giggled but Jon continued to stare silently at the TV. An hour or so later I began to feel the effects of the wine, so I told the other two I'd head off to bed. While I was laying upstairs dozing off I heard some footsteps on the stairs and my door creaked open. It was Christine. I sat up and turned on my bedside light. She walked towards the bed and leant over me so I could see her huge heavy boobs swinging freely inside her top. I could smell the alcohol on her breath and the sweet, flowery perfume of the moisturiser. She reached out both hands and grasped the top edge of my duvet, pulling it down in one swift movement, as if she were some magician's assistant revealing a trick. I was naked in bed but didn't have time to cover up, and if I'm honest I was still sporting a lazy semi from the views I'd been treated to earlier in the evening. "Ohh, good. Big." she said, slightly woozily, as she began to drum her fingers up and down my rapidly-expanding shaft. Her nipples showed through her satin top, large and hard. She reached across bosom with her left hand and with a deft and sharp movement yanked the neckline of top down so that her right shoulder was exposed, and with it the large, dark areola of her right boob. As the top slid down, the engorged, peg-like nipple caught briefly on the hem of the neckline before pinging back to its erect position. She tucked the lacy trim edging under her heavy breast and begain to wank me in earnest. As she grasped and pumped my cock she became progressively less composed: her eyes widened, and her jaw slackened to reveal her soft pink tongue lolling to one side. She began to pant and grip tighter, while grasping the bedcover with her other hand. I felt embarrassed that, in my normally private bedroom, she might witness me making a very undignified mess. After a little while though it became clear to me that I was not going to avoid the coming climax. I grunted and a champagne-spray of cum showered my bare stomach; Christine's lack of composure causing her to shake my dick from side to side as much as she stroked it up and down. After gently slowing the wanking motion to a halt she released her grip on my penis and lifted her hand to her mouth, licking along the back of it from wrist to fingertip while looking me in the eye and still panting. Recovering her breath a little she produced a tissue, and silently and carefully mopped up the mess on my stomach. She stood up, steadied herself for a moment, straightened her top and turned to walk to the door. Just before the left the room she gently patted her backside and uttered, as if to herself: 'Yes, I like it up the rear'. The next night, we finished off the wine, and Christine and Jon retired to bed early. I watched a bit of TV, finished my glass, and decided to turn in too. As I walked past their room, I noticed that the door was open. I heard a hissed female whisper from inside: "Racingpoint! Come here!" I ventured in and once my eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness I saw Christine and Jon, side by side on the bed. Jon was turned away, sleeping. Christine was lying on her front, in a babydoll nightie and nothing else. The fabric was ruffled and gathered at the base of her back, exposing her huge pale arse cheeks, which were beautifully smooth. Her head was turned to face me as I approached and she watched me, wordlessly. Suddenly she reached back and her hands delved, snake-like, in between her buttocks and gently parted them to reveal her brown, puckered anus. My dick was immediately as stiff as a lamppost, and I realised that I'd been summoned for payback after the other night. Desperately trying not to disturb Jon's slumber, I whipped off my jeans and boxers and knelt gingerly on the bed, between her plump, slightly-parted legs. I didn't think that the threads of pre-cum running down my hard cock would be enough lubrication to see me through, so I reached for a tube of skin cream that I spotted on the bedside table. I squeezed the tube generously along the valley of her arse and scooped it onto my cock, gently wanking it back and forth to get it covered completely. I tipped myself forward so I was over her, and, leaning on one outstretched arm, used the thumb of my other hand to force my cock past the tight sphincter of her anus. Once I was in, it held my cock like a vice and I used all my force to drive it further into her rectum. She arched her back and pushed her arse up towards me while I started sliding in and out. She buried her face in the pillow to muffle her squealed grunts which became louder and more desperate with each hard thrust of my rigid cock. I was paranoid that Jon was going to wake up and ask me what the fuck was going on - and I wasn't sure how I was going to pretend I wasn't reaming his wife up the arse and making a thoroughly pounded mess of her puckered, stretched arsehole with my dick and skin cream. This was a mission of stealth fucking that was fast becoming a frenzy of panic. The bed was squeaking rythmically and I needed to get this job done before I was rumbled. Soon I felt the sparks of a rising tide of ecstasy in my groin. I grabbed tightly on to the flab of her arms, and straddled the wobbling mountain of soft pink bottom flesh to get a better thrust. My humping got faster as her sphincter gripped me like a drawstring pulled tight around the shaft of my rigid cock. She grabbed helplessly onto the bedsheets and wailed into the pillow. Finally the beautiful tide in my balls overflowed and my whole crotch spasmed, forcing vast amounts of cum deep between her flabby bum cheeks, through her tight anus and into her stretched slippery rectum. I lay quietly for a few moments, to allow my head to stop spinning and to assess my best strategy for silent retreat. I pulled my still-stiff dick from Christine's sloppy anus and rose to my feet. She turned her head back towards me, without opening her eyes. Her full-moon face and luscious lips wore a contented smile. After the barely-controlled chaos of the last moments of our encounter I was amazed that her husband had not seemed to wake up. I congratulated myself on a job well done and crept ever-so-carefully back towards the bedroom door. Just as I reached the doorway I heard Jon clear his throat and whisper: 'Good lad!'. Ah, fuck it.