Anna's Seduction: One Night of Pleasure (BBW Erotic Romance)

ANNA’S SEDUCTION: One Night of Pleasure

By Alexis Moore

ANNA’S SEDUCTION: One Night of Pleasure

1. ROGER

2. ANNA

3. ROGER

4. ANNA

5. EPILOGUE

THANK YOU

Blurbs of Other Books by Alexis Moore

QUOTES

“BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER”

Margaret Wolfe Hungerford,
Molly Bawn

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“BEAUTY, LIKE SUPREME DOMINION, IS BUT SUPPORTED BY OPINION.”

Benjamin Franklin,
Poor Richard's Almanack

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“BEAUTY IN THINGS EXISTS MERELY IN THE MIND WHICH CONTEMPLATES THEM.”

David Hume,
Moral and Political Essay 1742

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher or author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.

Copyright © 2015 by Alexis Moore

Published by SpreadEagle Publications.

All Rights Reserved.

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I
WILL ROCK HER WORLD FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY.

ROGER:
Five years ago, my sister committed suicide because the media made her feel too ugly to be loved.  I made a vow then to dedicate my life to rescuing vulnerable women like her.

I don’t come cheaply, but I can guarantee that after a night in my bed, a woman will leave feeling more beautiful than she’s ever felt in her life!

ANNA:
I’m almost 30, almost 200 pounds and almost a virgin.  There’s no stopping the first issue, the second will take a lot of hard work, but I can fix the third.  I won’t let another birthday go by without making love with a man...even if I have to pay for the pleasure.

I
open my front door and look out as I hear a vehicle stop outside my house.  I watch her step out of the London taxi and feel an immediate rush of blood to my cock.

The dark dress she’s wearing hangs so low it almost touches the sensible, black shoes she’s wearing.  Her flaming red hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

The car drives off and she turns to see me standing at the door.

I motion her to come forward.

She looks to her left and then her right, before she walks towards me self consciously, as if willing her big breasts and wide hips not to jiggle.

I laugh silently.

She will walk out of here differently...if nothing else because my cock would have spent the night in her near-virgin pussy.

I can fuck almost any woman: young or old; white or black; underweight, ideal weight, overweight or obese.  I would go beyond obese but I have no medical training.  I’m a rough rider—I can’t risk giving a severely obese woman a pleasure overload.

I aim to please women, not cause them harm.

“Hi, Anna.”  I deliberately keep my tone soothing as I hold out my hand.  “I’m Roger.”

She puts her hand in mine and I grasp it firmly.

“Hi, Roger.”  Her voice is just as sexy in person as it had been on the phone when we’d last spoken two nights ago.  “I’m pleased to meet you.”

She’s saying the words, but she looks ready to bolt at any minute.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I respond and bend my head to kiss her knuckles.

I raise my head and smile at her.  She smiles back tentatively, just giving me a glimpse of her small, even teeth.

“Come inside,” I invite, keeping hold of her hand before she thinks too much and changes her mind.

I lead her to the big, black leather sofa in my living room and pull her down with me as I take a seat.

“So,” I say.  “Do you still want to go ahead now that you’ve met me?”

“Of course.”  Her eyes widen in surprise as though she’d thought once she crossed the threshold there was no going back.

“Good.”  I take a deep breath, relax momentarily and then ask, “Have you brought the payment?”

This sounds abrupt and a little seedy, but it’s better to get business out of the way before we get down to pleasure.  Really, there’s no good time to ask for the payment; upfront is just the least awkward of the choices.  Once it’s over and done with, we can both look forward to the rest of the night.  Payment at the end of the evening would kill the buzz I want her to leave here with in the morning.

“Yes.”  She reaches into her large bag and pulls out a thick envelope.

“Thank you.”  I take it from her and place it on the drinks table beside the chair.  I smile as her eyes follow the movement.  It’s a lot of money, but as an accountant she can afford it.  “I promise you that it will be worth every penny.”

“Aren’t you going to count it?” she asks, her lovely green eyes widening in surprise.

“No.”  I shake my head.  “I trust you.”

She smiles broadly and it transforms her unmade-up face.  There’s an attractive woman hidden beneath her button-down exterior who’s just begging to be set free.

“Right.  There are a few things you should know before we start.”  I take both of her hands in mine.  “One, I want to fuck you but that only happens if you want it.  Two—”

“B-But...” she starts to splutter.

“I know that’s what you’re paying me for, but when the time comes it will still be your call not mine.  Two: As I say on my website, I fuck hard.  I also talk dirty during sex...we will be fucking not making love.  And three: I can guarantee if you do everything I order you to do, you will leave here loving your body and feeling like the sexiest woman in the world.”

“As if!”  Her laughter rings out, just as sexy as her voice.

“Let me show you something.”  Still clasping one of her hands, I lean backwards, open the top of the table and pull out a photograph.  I hand it to her and say, “This was me at twenty-two, five years ago.”

“That’s not...”  Her voice trails off as she looks from the image of the thin, short, skinny young man to me and back again.  “Wow!”

“My father left my mother before my younger sister Liz was born.  We grew up poor and many nights we went to bed hungry.  I was glad to leave home to do Pharmacy at Sunderland Uni.  I got a part-time job there and sent as much money as I could to my mother and sister, but I hardly ever came back to London.  By then my sister had her own place.  I’d noticed each time I saw her that she’d gained more and more weight, but it wasn’t until I finished and came back to London for good that I realized just how much weight she’d put on.  Going hungry as a child had affected her in the opposite way to me: she couldn’t stop comfort eating; whereas, although I could have afforded it by then, I’d never really bothered with food.  She’d hardly ever left the house, except to sign on for benefits.  I didn’t understand how bad the problem was and asked her to attend my graduation ceremony with my mother that November.  She committed suicide the day before because she didn’t want to embarrass me, she said in her suicide letter.”

“That’s so sad,” Anna says, her eyes looking a little wet.

“It was,” I admit.  “At school I was beaten up and bullied for being skinny.  And although that had stopped at uni, there were still times when guys pushed me around.  Girls always wanted to be my friends not my girlfriends.  So the only woman I had slept with up until then was my landlady who was almost sixty.”

I could see Anna trying hard not to smile at my words.

“She looked good for her age...never married, never had any children,” I explain.  “Anyway, the morning after Liz’s funeral I woke up and said, ‘Fuck it, I’m going to make this body so hot, both women and men will drool!’”

“You certainly did.”  She takes a last look at the photograph and then hands it back to me.

I replace it, ready to show to the next self-doubter.

“I couldn’t get any taller.”  She smiles as I say the words.  “But fuck if I wasn’t going to get as wide as possible.  When I started the gym, the muscle men laughed as I lifted weights lighter than some of the women who were weight training at the time.  They called me ‘The Hulk’ because I was the opposite of him.  I ignored those fuckers and persisted.  I don’t mess with the stuff some of them use to bulk up.  I work out like clockwork and eat right.”  I couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin that split my face.  “I’m way bigger than most of them now and none of them can lift more iron than me.  They started calling me ‘The Bulk’ instead.”

“Wow!” she repeats.

“First of all, you have to love and accept your body.”  The doubt in her eyes is plain to see.  “I would have loved to be 6’4” instead of 5’8”, but I accepted that wasn’t going to happen and looked for other ways to enhance what I have, instead of yearn for what I don’t.  You have to love your body before you change it.  A lot of people think plastic surgery is the answer, but it’s not for most of them and that’s why they can’t stop once they start.  When you love your body and accept that it’s yours and it’s unique, you look for ways to make it better and better, until you achieve the goal you want.”

“I’ve tried every diet in the book,” she protests.

“And that’s where you went wrong.”  I put my finger to her lips to silence her.  “You don’t punish your body.  You love it, you cherish it, you pamper it and you think of it as a temple...and you and others will worship it.”

“Ha!”

“Stand up for me.” I order and sit back against the chair as she does so.  “Now untie your hair.”

She pulls off the black band and lets her hair fall down her back, mostly out of view.

“Right there, you see.”  I shake my head at her.  “You didn’t even run your fingers through it or toss your head and let it fall around your shoulders.  You have beautiful red hair.  Use it to your advantage.  With your curves and your hair, you should be a siren.”

She runs her hand through it self-consciously and I shake my head again.

“Walk to the door and back let me see,” I instruct. She walks quickly there and back.  “Now imagine you’re Christina Hendricks and do it again.”

“That would take a lot of imagination.”  She laughs.

“Just do it,” I command.

She stands there mulishly for a moment and then turns to do as instructed, annoyance giving more attitude to her stride than she realizes.  There’s even a slight sway to her hips as she approaches me again.

“Now for some heels.”  I reach into the bottom drawer of the table for the shoe box I’d placed there earlier and then I look at her feet.  I look back up at her face again in exasperation.  “Those are not size 5, are they?”

“I take a 5E from Evans, but I’m usually a 6 or 6½,” she explains.  “You didn’t tell me why you wanted to know my shoe size and I was embarrassed to tell you the truth.”