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Smut for Good Fund Raising Blog Hop Supporting Parkinson’s UK

Coming Together with Curves Charity blog hop

It’s always an honour to participate in a Smutters blog hop, and even more of an honour when its Coming Together with Curves for a good cause, and Parkinson’s Awareness week is a very good cause.

Like most blog hops, there’s a giveaway involved. I’ll give away a free copy of my curvy short novella, Allotted Views to the winner. All you have to do is comment on the post. And if you want to make a difference, you’ll find a just giving link below where you can donate to help find a cure.

Below that, you’ll find a naughty, curvy excerpt for your reading pleasure.

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Smut for Good: Curves Rule is a blog hop with prizes galore to raise funds for Parkinson’s UK as this is Parkinson’s Awareness week. To find more curves, and seek out further prizes please visit http://smutters.co.uk/smut-for-good and if you can take a minute to please visit the Smut for Good: Curves Rule Just Giving Page athttp://www.justgiving.com/curvesrule and donate whatever you can to help us reach our target of £100 to raise awareness of Parkinson’s and to support the charity Parkinson’s UK http://www.parkinsons.org.uk/ who help those with the disease learn to cope with the challenges, give out information and search for a cure.

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Allotted Views Excerpt:

Warning: Adult Content & Veggie Porn!

allottedviewsLater, I was awakened by whispers. My heart went into overdrive with a rush of anticipation. I rose and walked on tiptoe to the window to peek out. Sure enough, there was Woo-Woo Man, but this time he wasn’t alone. The woman he was with, for lack of a more fitting term, was voluptuous. If he was woo-woo, she was woo-woo squared. She wore a dark gown with a tightly fitted bodice from which her very ample breasts mounded like large scoops of vanilla ice cream crowded into a small dish. The dress must have been corseted at the waist because it beautifully accentuated hourglass hips and buttocks that looked like they must be completely luscious for her to sit on or for anyone else to fondle. The long skirt swished with a silken hiss teasing its way between her thighs as she walked. There was a mountain of pale curly hair caught up on top of her head in a generous clipping of crystals and feathers. ‘Oh, it’s lovely, Jonathan.’ Her voice was a honey-comb-dipped contralto that I felt down low between my hipbones.

‘Then you’ll do it, My Lady?’ He took her hands in his, raised them reverently to his lips and kissed her pale knuckles. ‘You’ll bless it with me?’

‘Of course I will, Jonathan, darling, of course I will.’ She stood unmoving while Jonathan slid the white poet shirt he now wore off over his head and fumbled his way out of his cargo trousers. It was the way his cock rested unsubstantially drawn up against his balls that told me the man was nervous. But his spiky nipples told me he’d get over it.

With a melodramatic flutter of her long, heavy sleeves, My Lady lifted her arms into the air, and motioned Jonathan to do likewise. Then her voice got even lower as she earnestly entreated the blessing of the earth for the feeding of her children. That done, she held her arms out to each side, palms delicately cupped, facing upward, and nodded her consent, casting a demure glance down the pale valley between her breasts.

With fingers that were visibly shaking, Jonathan undid the tight cup of the bodice and My Lady’s bosom tumbled free just as she was saying something about all of us suckling at nature’s breasts. With one hand, fingers sparkling in sliver spirals of rings, she pulled him to her, first one tit and then the other. Each time he nursed and caressed and slurped her ripe strawberry nipples, she spoke a few words into the silent midnight air. And each time she gave him suck, his cock stretched and expanded and reached for her until it pressed its way into the dark satin folds of her skirt.

Then she stepped back slightly and offered him her hand. With his cock leading the way, he guided her to stand in the middle of the garden between the beans and the brassicas. There she squatted wide legged, and for a second I thought there would be more urea, but instead of peeing, she took a handful of soil, lifted it into the air in front of her and let it fall between her fingers. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but suddenly she stopped speaking, stood and motioned him to her again.

This time he undid the rest of the dress, and it fell around her ankles like a chrysalis being shed, brushing cabbage leaves and bean poles in its fullness. Then with him holding her hand, she stepped free of the dress standing tall and shimmering and completely naked in the muted touch of the sodium streetlight. She was Rubinesque in the most exquisite way. There were no protruding bones, no sharp edges, just soft pillowed curves that begged to be touched and nuzzled and fondled.

I had a lover once who’d made a fortune working in the city. One year, for my birthday, he took me to a very expensive hotel. I remember languishing on a bed mounded with satin pillows of every shape and size. I remember how after too much expensive fizz, he undressed me slowly and settled me into the middle of them all. I felt them against my cheek, hugging the sides of my breasts, sliding feather-soft over my nipples, shoving in between my legs as he removed my panties and arranged me like I was some kind of jewelry displayed on a bed of velvet. I relished their softness and resilience as he carefully positioned them beneath my hips until I gaped before him at the perfect angle for his explorations, at the perfect angle for his mounting. The contrast of his hard thrusts and pants over me and the lush, forgiving caress of the pillows beneath me was sensory overload that sent me into orgasmic bliss. Sadly the man wasn’t nearly as memorable as that delicious mound of pillows.

My Lady was like that. There was no part of her I wouldn’t have loved to pull to me and bury my face in. Almost unconsciously I found myself leaning forward toward her, nearly out the open window. She walked naked amid the ordered rows of tomatoes and carrots. She fondled the long leaves of the sweet corn, stroking them to her breasts, lifting them to her nose and inhaling their scent. She ran bare toes upward along the feathery greens of the carrots like a ballerina, each movement, each interaction making her more desirable, more exquisite in the shadowy light. And yet, Jonathan didn’t touch her, though his erection told me he wanted to badly enough. He simply followed her around with a proprietary step made comic by the bounce of his cock.

At last she turned to him and he nearly ploughed into her. ‘Jonathan, my darling, I offer myself to you for the blessing of this lovely garden.’

When he hesitated, she chuckled softly and ran a hand invitingly down the expansive curve of her hip. ‘Come now, darling, there’s no need to be shy. Our pleasure is a part of the magic.’ She turned her back to him and bent forward so that the lush pillows of her buttocks faced him, faced my window, and I grabbed at the buttons of my night shirt, clawing it free so that my own small breasts could take in the night breeze, so that my pussy rubbed unhindered against the chair I’d left in front of the window after Jonathan’s first worshipful wank – just in case.

17 aug 6IMG00557-20130817-1332‘Don’t be shy,’ she whispered. ‘Just for tonight, I am the goddess, you are my consort, and the great yoni that birthed all things into existence will be honoured by our offering. My pussy is yours until the magic is completed.’ Perhaps it was her sudden use of nasty language in a situation which up until now had seemed rather formal and reverent in spite of the chavish undertones of sneaking a fuck in the allotments after hours. But more than likely it was just the close proximity of her luscious bare arse cushioning said puss. Propriety gave way to lust. I held my breath, and my cunt trembled and clenched as he reached for her. He kneaded her arse cheeks in hard, probing caresses, which she seemed to like, if the little kitten sounds coming from her throat were any indication. She bent forward a little more and with one sparkling hand cupped a buttock and pulled herself open like ripe fruit ready to be eaten. The tight knot of her anus puckered and relaxed at the gust of his breath, though that’s only speculation on my part, but my own anus clenched in empathy at the nearness of his face to her lovely nether grip.

I expected him to shimmy his thick fingers down over her perineum to part the heavy folds of her labia, only now revealed as she bent still further to offer him a better view. But instead, he buried his face in her crevice, and she gave a tight little yelp of surprise as he began to eat his way along the sumptuous path to her cunny. I barely managed to stifle my own yelp at his face-first plunge, but I liked him so much better for doing exactly what I would have loved to do.

The sound of his oral explorations carried in the night time quiet even over the heavy breathing of all three of us. ‘You taste sweet,’ he said, ‘and you’re so slippery.’

‘Being around growing things arouses me so,’ she replied. ‘When I smell the earth all ripe and ready, when I see new buds bursting and spreading, I get all squirmy and juicy and I want to have sex on the ground under the moon. I want to rut like a wild animal, like our ancestors did, like we were intended.’

The view for me was exquisite as I stroked my own wetness, vaguely aware of the mess I was making on my chair, but not caring. My Lady’s clit was marble hard and nearly as big. I know that because Jonathan told her so, a revelation that made her wriggle her pale bottom back against his mouth and open her legs still further. I was sure my clit could have matched in size and tightness, as I tweaked it between my thumb and forefinger. Though I couldn’t see her cunny, I could see the clench and relax of his pucker, and when he moved just right I got the between-the-thighs view of his weighty balls and distended cock.

‘Fuck me, Jonathan,’ she hissed between her teeth. ‘I need you to fuck me. I need to come.’

And there’s the rub of it, I thought. In the end, it really is all about sex, and I would have gladly fucked either one of them, but I still wasn’t convinced it was the secret to a good veg patch.

Jonathan pulled his face away shining with her juices, and I swear I could smell pussy on the soft night breeze, pussy other than my own. When he pushed his penis up into her, I heard the slurp of her wetness. I figured the whimpers and grunts of need that followed didn’t really have too much to do with serving the goddess, but then what the hell did I know? What the hell did I care as long as we all came? And all three of us were so damn close that a feather of a breath would have sent us toppling over the edge.

Then My Lady gasped and began to keen, ‘oh my goddess, oh my goddess I’m coming! I’m coming!’ And she wasn’t quiet about it either, so in spite of his reverence for the woman, Jonathan shoved the hand that had been kneading great fists full of her swaying breasts against her mouth to silence her. She had just managed containment when he pulled out of her so quickly that she nearly lost her balance, then to her squeals of delight and praises of the goddess, he shot arched streams of semen onto the brassicas and beans, and I practically juddered myself off the chair when my own orgasm hit.

After they’d caught their breath, he helped My Lady back into her dress, all the while she spoke in hushed tones about the goddess’s blessing on Jonathan’s garden, and what a gift he had. I wondered if she was talking about his skills as a gardener or his skills as a lover. Neither seemed to be lacking as far as I could tell. Then, when they were both dressed, just before they left, she turned to him and gave his cock a stroke through his trousers. ‘Keep the ground fertile, Jonathan, keep the ground fertile.’

runner beansI could have kissed her for that had I not been watching uninvited, because the very next night, Jonathan took her at her word. He was back coming on the tomatoes and courgettes, and I came with him, a heavy dildo shoved up the juicy squelch- squelch of my pussy, one that I’d bought that morning at a shop I pass on the way to work. I bought it because I thought was shaped particularly like him. The added appendage was enough to give me several good orgasms while I watched him tug and stroke his own appendage, and even ride a long middle finger knuckle-deep into his anus. Three nights in a row, on the advice of My Lady, he wanked on his veg, and I wanked in sympathy, every night having multiples, every night drenching myself shamelessly, every night pushing my body over the edge into mindless trembling pleasure. My god, it was amazing!

 

Coming Together: With Curves, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse

Coming Together With CurvesCurvy girls and the men (and women!) that love them is the theme of this charity anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From Zumba classes to Burlesque dancers, all kinds of big and beautiful women are portrayed between the pages of this book. Read about birthday surprises, smut at the gym, horse riders, lusty couples, naughty neighbours, skilled bakers, rope bondage and misunderstandings from some of erotica’s best authors.

Sales proceeds benefit Parkinson’s UK.

Contents: Six Lengths of Red Hemp (Tilly Hunter), Cross Trainer Number Four (Lily Harlem), Bella Buxom, Just Squeeze Me (JoAnne Kenrick), Captivated (Elizabeth Lapthorne), Red Rag to a Bull (Victoria Blisse), Girl Next Door (Bella Blake), Lush Buns (Sommer Marsden), The Big Reveal (Giselle Renarde), The Wrong End of the Stick (Lucy Felthouse), Riding School (Bella Blake), Flesh For Fantasy (Lexie Bay).

Available from: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/coming-together-with-curves/

*****

Bonnie stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been every day that week. She was on a fortnight’s training course through work. She was the only one from her office who’d been sent. As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the college’s cafeteria at lunchtimes. She’d had a couple of invites from kindly people also on her course, but she’d turned them down. It wasn’t that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it politely—and when people saw her eat, she could feel the judgment rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she ate so much.

It wasn’t true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat, and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn’t her doing. She’d been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though, resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any bigger.

Because she’d always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn’t upset her any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was, particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with this guy. She was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he’d looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that he’d been peeking at her. Again.

Now, on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on the verge of doing just that.

Eating her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If she hadn’t been so damn hungry, she’d have left it. But she’d been running late that morning and had committed that mortal sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the sooner she finished eating, the sooner she’d stop feeling so damn self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.

She decided to give him one last chance. When she’d finished her lunch, she’d drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds, doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp over there and give him what for. If he didn’t, then she’d carry on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness.

Deep down, she knew she was going to have to go over and say something to him. After seven days, he wasn’t going to suddenly amend his habits. She was just being a bit of a wimp, really, hoping to find some way of getting out of confrontation, because she didn’t like it, not one bit, and it was absolutely a last resort. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single other way of stopping him from doing it. Perhaps she could put up a sign in front of her saying “Please stop staring at me.” But if he couldn’t take the hint when she’d glared at him, he wouldn’t take any notice of a piece of paper.

Several minutes later, her salad was gone and she moved onto her drink. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she saw he was just as interested in her now as he had been when she’d been eating. Damn, confrontation it was then.

Draining the carton, she gathered her plate, cutlery and other rubbish onto her tray, stood up and slid it onto the rack nearest her. Then she returned to her table, grabbed her bag, pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils and marched over to the Peeping Tom. She slid out the chair opposite him and sat down on it.

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Editor sites:

http://victoriablisse.co.uk

http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk

 
© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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