Those Jeans Don't Fit
Date: 3/14/2019, Categories: Anal Author: bywhostheboss, Source: Literotica
Molly lies on the bed, wiggling her way into her new pair of jeans. "Almost there," she grunts. She's got this habit of buying clothes online that don't quite fit her, but she never wants to declare defeat. She's squeezed the button shut somehow and jumps up from the bed. She's got a bowlegged stance and looks pretty uncomfortable. "Not bad, right?" she says, and turns around for me to see. The jeans definitely don't fit—she bulges out over the waistline, and the seat looks like it'd rip if she bent over, it's so tight. And Molly's got a nice body: each of her tits a heavy handful, a little nipped in waist, and hips and a plump ass that flare out below. I don't know, maybe she's gained some weight. We've been together long enough that we've "let go" a little bit—I've got a little paunch that I didn't have before. Nothing's slowed down, though: we're having sex as much as we ever did, and nine times out of ten, Molly's initiating. Usually she starts by straddling me, grinding on my dick, and waving her breasts in my face. Once she asked to tie me up and then spent what felt like hours alternating between sitting on my face and licking my dick and balls. I've never known a woman who wants sex as often as Molly does. She's asking me how her pants fit, cocking her hip to one side. A couple weeks ago she got a button-down that was two sizes two small, and we had to go home early when she went out wearing it and popped two of the buttons off. I've got this incident in mind when I ... answer: "Moll, they just don't fit." "Really?" she says, and it sounds like a whine. Usually Molly talks confidently, even forcefully, but every once in a while she gets this whiny tone that makes her sound like a brat. "Be realistic," I say. "Try bending over. What's gonna happen?" "I just won't bend over when I wear them," she says, pouting. "I like them." "Just try touching your toes," I say. "I bet you can't." Then, with another grunt, Molly wiggles forward and bends down toward her toes. She's just about reached them when we both hear it—the rip. I crane my neck, see her pants have burst at the seams, and start laughing. "You asshole," she says. "Be glad it didn't happen in public!" I say, and wrap my hands around her waist to tug at the tear in her pants. My knuckles brush the crack of her ass, and I feel her shudder. "I could slap you right now," she says. "Not if I do it first," I say. Molly looks up at me, her thick lips parted and wet with saliva. "You wouldn't do that," she says, but it doesn't sound like a command or a statement: it sounds like a dare. We stare at each other, neither of us speaking, waiting to see what comes next. I keep kneading her ass, feeling a little awkward, trying to gauge her reaction. "I love this big ass," I say, cupping one buttcheek and jiggling it up and down. Molly lets out a fluttery sigh and looks away from me, down at the floor. I keep making her butt bounce up and down, waiting for her to look at me, still feeling awkward. Finally ...