Coming Together: With Curves

Curvy 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.

» 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)

Would you like to read an excerpt?

Red Rag to a Bull

Zumba and sex became one and the same to me. I shimmied and shook each week and wiggled my hips and imagined I was writhing against a man. A hot, sexy man with just enough muscle and a smile to melt my heart. In fact, when I saw him there a few weeks ago I thought I was having a really vivid daydream. It wasn’t until we took a break that I realised he was a real true life man.

“Hi,” I gasped between gulps of my water, “you’re new.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I am.”

“Enjoying it?” I asked.

“Not sure yet.” He gripped a sports bottle in his huge, tanned hand. I wanted those fingers to grip me. “I’ll tell you when I’m capable of thought again.”

“Fair enough,” I smiled. “It does get easier, I promise. I’ve been at it for three years now.”

“That’s why you look so confident up the front then.”

“No, that’s just because you’re viewing me from behind, you can’t see the funny faces I’m pulling.”

He chuckled. The velvet force of the sound rumbled in my chest, arousing my nipples and making me think of my post-Zumba session a little earlier than usual.

“I’m Dean, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and I grasped it, hoping my palm wasn’t too sweaty.

“Grace,” I replied. “Lovely to meet you too.”

His fingers enfolded mine, exerted pressure but didn’t crush me. I imagined it would be the same if we had sex, a bit rough but nothing I couldn’t handle and give back in equal measure. I let his hand go reluctantly as the instructor’s words pulled us back into positions for the next dance.

I was energised. I swung my hips powerfully, followed the steps with a precision that I didn’t normally achieve, all because I knew his eyes were on me. We didn’t get to speak again until the end because every woman in the class wanted to talk to him. That was clearly the bonus of being the only man in the room.

I changed my shoes and picked up my bag and slipped in beside him as he left the hall.

“So, will you be back next week, Dean?” I asked, much to the chagrin of the woman who I’d just slipped in next to, though she had a wedding ring on so she shouldn’t have been flirting in the first place.

“Oh, definitely,” he nodded. “Great work out, great company and I really would like to get some of the steps right eventually.”

I put my hand on his bicep, noting its pleasant bulge, nothing fancy, just strongly sprung male muscle. I wanted to test it to its limits but in a much more private setting.

“You’ll manage that next week,” I said confidently, even though my stomach was churning with lust and nerves. “See you then?”

“Sure,” he replied, “you couldn’t keep me away.”

I wouldn’t want to.

There’s no big cash prize for guessing who was on my mind when I jumped into bed that night. I imagined us dancing alone, no instructor and face-to-face. I could see the sweat on his brow, the flex of his muscles, the sweep of his hips. He devoured me visually too, taking in my bouncing breasts, which even in a sports bra wobbled impressively with each movement. He dropped his gaze to my ample hips and long, curved legs as I cucaracha-ed side-to-side.

When the music stopped the fantasy continued. We hurried towards one another, crushed together in a mass of passion, lip-to-lip, crotch-to-crotch, burning with need and ripping off clothes.

I gripped my naked breast, plucked the nipple as I imagined him doing it. I ran my finger up and down my slit, gathering and spreading moisture and caressing my clit, bringing myself closer to the brink. I hurried my mental masturbation material on. We were completely naked and my back and buttocks were chilled by the wooden floor beneath me. He pressed his hard cock between my plump wet lips and I wrapped my legs around his long, lithe body, feeling the bounce of his taut buttocks with every thrust.

I came with a loud grunt, the visual dissipating as the orgasm bloomed and soon after withered away. I was left hungry, sweaty and wanting more. Zumba and masturbation were no longer enough, I needed a man between my thighs. I needed Dean.

© Victoria Blisse

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