More than Meets the Eye

Not saying girl

Back to Main Page

Back to Male Stories

Most women don't like to admit that they had sex with a huge, fat tub of lard. I'm no exception, but I did. His name was Marcus, and when you looked at him, the first thought that popped in your mind was: "God, he's so fucking FAT!"

And when that was out of the way, you could move on to acknowledging other things about Marcus.

Marcus was intelligent. Marcus was caring. Marcus was someone who wasn't scared to show emotion. But Marcus was hugely obese. I really didn't get to know about his other qualities because we never did get close enough - for reasons that will shortly become apparent-, but other people tell me that he is, which is enough for me.

A co-worker introduced us when Marcus landed a temp job at the firm I work for as a PA for one of the Big Guys Upstairs. I'd never thought about him "that way". No one really did; he just seemed to often come along at after-work dos or drinks and hang around with us, talking or laughing with everyone, yet remaining completely invisible in spite, or perhaps because, of the fact that he was so grossly overweight.

When I met him, my first thought as I shook his hand was "Eeeeeeewwww!" because his massive paw swallowed all of my fingers in its moist white droop. And then, working in the same company, I sort of got used to Marcus the way you get used to a big ugly sofa one of your well-meaning relatives gives you as a wedding present: after a while, it sort of fades into the background until something actually goes wrong with it.

Then, one day, Marcus caught a cold that was going around the office. Not just your ordinary, garden-variety cold, but a real doozy that had him coughing, blowing, and sneezing all over the place about a million times a day. Seeing Marcus sneeze was really something that could have been videotaped and showed on the Sci-Fi channel, let me tell you. He'd lean back in preparation before each one, his massive chest going up and down as his plump face puckered up. Then, when he was ready, he'd explode all over the place, messy, wheezy sneezes that shook the whole building and made the rolls of fat all over his body jiggle. Afterwards, he'd pant like a dog, run a huge paw along his nose to pick up the traces of the explosions, and look around to see if anyone had seen him sneeze.

What was he thinking? Of course they had! He was so broad that it was hard not to look at him anyway, but how on Earth could anyone not look at the spectacle of Marcus sneezing because of his cold? It was in almost everyone's mind the most bizarre, funny, messy and also scary affair they'd get to witness in months. It was something they'd have nightmares about and which would make them wake up in the dead of night, shivering, on the verge of a scream of horror. Or maybe laughter.

Everyone reacted like this, except for me. It must have been hormones, needing the prescription for my lenses changed, I don't know, but when Marcus caught that cold, he stopped being so fat. In fact, the jowls and the rolls and the bulges started to look somewhat interesting. They gave him character. Of sorts. The same went for the wet patches under his arms, the fly that wouldn't stay zipped because of his weight, the shoelaces that remained untied because it had probably been years since he'd last actually gotten a look at his feet. When Marcus sneezed, I forgot all about that.

I've always had a "thing" for sneezes. They drive me crazy. I love hearing them, seeing them, fantasizing about them. They turn this normally reserved and meek young lady into a bold tigress with insatiable lust. The more the merrier, the wetter and messier, the better. And there were hardly any sneezes wetter or messier than cold-afflicted Marcus'! Just hearing them gave me shivers in spite of the fact that he was otherwise completely unappealing to me. In fact, every time I saw him winding up for one, I found myself growing incredibly hot. It got so bad that I would stare dreamily at Marcus for several minutes at a time, anticipating his next sneeze and then practically losing it when it came. My stomach would feel funny, my throat would tighten, my heart would beat too fast and my panties would get soaked.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. My productivity was at an all-time low.

I thought I must be ill or something, perhaps catching a cold myself, but after two days, the horrible truth dawned on me: I wanted Marcus so badly I was afraid I'd do something I'd regret if I didn't attempt anything. As much as the thought paralysed me with it's indescribable horror, I was also relieved to understand what my body was telling me. It was quite simple, really - the message it was trying to get through was: "Fuck Marcus or else".

These primal urges were too strong to resist. On day three of Marcus' now legendary horrible cold, I waited until he waddled to the bathroom and then, when he came out, I was waiting by the door to the secluded men's restroom. He saw me and was about to say something, but I didn't give him time, thinking that if he talked, it would ruin everything. Not that there was much to ruin, mind, but I thought it would be better that way. If he spoke, I might have to think about what I was doing instead of letting my body take over completely.

So I jumped on him. Thank God nobody saw me, or I might have had to quit my job on the spot because of the infernal ragging I would afterwards have been submitted to. I cornered him like a dog and I kissed him smack on his wide, puffy, drooping lips.

He didn't say a word, he was so shocked. I remember thinking this was quite probably because this was the first time anyone had ever kissed him. He had no idea what to do and it wasn't nice, so I decided to move on. I pushed him back into the restroom and locked the door behind me. The men needing to urinate (or whatever) would just have to wait: this was more important.

Marcus tried to ask me what I was doing, but like a junkie in desperate need of a fix, I was beside myself. All the weird urges I'd been feeling for the past three days were bubbling up, impossible to control, impossible to deny. He backed away, not understanding what I was doing, as I started to take off my panties, hose and shoes.

And then, he sneezed. It felt like the temperature in the room went up a million degrees as Marcus took in massive wheezy inhalations, his small eyes shutting, losing themselves in fleshy pockets. His meaty upper lip struggled upward, showing a bit of teeth that were as big as the rest of him, and then, he let out a huge, irritated "KISHHPLAFFFFF" that resonated in the small room. It was amazing. He lost himself in it completely, his entire bulk jiggling from the force of the sneeze as it rocked him. I was transfixed. And then, unbelievably, the whole cycle was repeated as three seconds later, he practically yelled out another "KISSHPLAFFFF!" which actually sent droplets soaring onto the tiles.

I couldn't believe it - never in my life had I witnessed such huge, messy, completely overwhelming sneezes. When Marcus sneezed, he did it with his whole body, and there was so much of it that the whole event couldn't help but be extraordinarily dramatic. And boy, did I enjoy the show. As soon as he was done, he went through his habitual sniffing and nose wiping ritual, leaving out the "did anyone see me" bit because it was obvious that I had.

My legs were now bare below my skirt and I approached Marcus' bulk. I must have looked a sight, because he just stared at me in almost frightened incomprehension. I'll admit I wasn't sure what I wanted to do to him at that moment; I stared at his crotch, but the thought of needing to actually search through the folds of flab for his lost instrument of intercourse was just too much for me to get my mind around. However, I knew I needed satisfaction, and fast, or else I just might suffer a brain embolism as a result of sheer pent up sexual frustration.

Then I looked at his hands, those huge paws where ten big sausage-like fingers lurked, and had a flash of inspired brilliance.

"Marcus, give me your hand," I told him in a stern no-nonsense voice.

"What? Why? What do you mean? Why are you-"

"Don't talk. Just, uh, just..."

Ignoring his baffled look, I took hold of his hand and brought it to my sex, which was already open and soaking wet from the two glorious sneezes I'd just witnessed. Marcus just didn't get it and simply gaped at me, too shocked to move. I'd wanted to say, "just sneeze again", but it was hard for me to come out and actually say it even though I'd fantasized about doing so for hours on end.

I took one of the speechless Marcus' protectively balled fists, pulled one finger upright, and stuck it inside me. I'm tall and Marcus isn't, so it worked out beautifully. Immediately, I felt bliss. Most men's unmentionables aren't as big as one of Marcus' fingers, which is all you need to know to imagine what it felt to have one of his digits there inside me. I used his hand, moving back and forth on it, using his wrist to amplify the movement. I was already so hot; all I needed now was another sneeze from Marcus. The sight, the sound, the incredible vibrations barrelling down his huge chest to his massive arm before finally ending up in his fat finger which was - oh what an amazing thing! - lodged inside me.

And then, like a gift from a benevolent God, sneeze he did. He didn't pull his arm away (my guess is he was in shock; if he'd never even kissed a woman - and it was apparent that he hadn't - he sure as Hell had never been inside one either, with any part of his anatomy!), he just started gasping and wheezing again, his fleshy jowls moving in time as his triple chin quivered. His one eyebrow (well, probably two, but Marcus didn't have a hairless gap in the middle like most people do) rose dramatically. His already slightly red eyes watered as they squinted shut in their rolls of flesh and his surprisingly small nostrils (his nose was pretty much lost in the rest of his face) twitched unbearably. To my total and utter delight, he actually made light whimpering noises as the sneeze built, tiny mewling "eh... uh... eh... ehhhh..." sounds that nearly drove me over the edge right there and then.

I was manoeuvring his otherwise immobile hand quite well, thank you very much, using it to pleasure myself to the best of my ability, not doing too bad a job of it either. Just looking at him like that, suspended on the verge of one of his trademark messy and huge sneezes, was getting me incredibly hot. I could almost feel my soaked sex beginning to pound out an incredible orgasm.

Then, he did it. His whole face puckered up as his lips dropped open and he violently lurched forward with a massive "KISSSHPLAAAH!"

His hand jerked in my sex, not withdrawing, pushing forward instead into me. It was incredible. My entire body was practically convulsing with the intensity of that climax. And then, before I had time to recover, Marcus did it again.

"Ehhhh...." A pregnant pause while he held that big breath, tensing to expel it, and then, "KISSHHHPLAFFF!!!"

The same thing happened. I'd never before had more than one orgasm, but right then, I did. His finger spasmed forward into the exact same magical place, and sent me over the edge again, reeling with pleasure. I wasn't sure whether the whole world was trembling, or whether it was just me.

Incredibly enough, Marcus wound up for another one. I tried to disembark, not thinking I could withstand another climax of that kind. My body had threatened mutiny if I didn't get satisfaction at (literally) Marcus' hands, but this time, it just might die through simple overload.

I didn't have time - Marcus exploded with another stunner, the messiest "KISSSHHHPLAAFFF!!!!" yet, and I exploded again in the same was as I previously had. This time, I couldn't catch my breath, and felt as if my legs were going to buckle under me. Before it ended, I dragged Marcus' now soaking wet hand out of me and pulled back, almost collapsing backward.

Marcus was done sneezing, though, and was wiping at his watery eyes with the fist that wasn't soaked, clearing his eyes probably to get a better look at me, or maybe just to clear his senses in the wake of what we had both just experienced. I didn't know if that was such a good idea.

Speaking clearly so he could hear me, I managed to form words, something I still find impressive given the state I was in.

"Marcus. Thank you. That was fabulous. This never happened. We don't know each other and we never will. Have a nice day."

I was still soaring from the experience and didn't even feel guilty for this quasi-rape. Hastily turning my back so he wouldn't get another look at my sex flushed face, I picked up my heels, underwear and hosiery and high tailed it out of the bathroom, once again unlocking the door for other people. Thanks to the goodwill of some God up there, nobody saw me sneak out of the men's and into the women's, adjacent, where I spent the next fifteen minutes recovering and making myself presentable again.

When I came out, Marcus wasn't there. Apparently, he'd gone home for the day, claiming he wasn't feeling too well and needed a rest. "More like needing to properly go through a nervous breakdown," I thought wryly, though I kept my face angelically neutral. I was amazingly productive that day, my boss told me, adding that whatever I'd had for lunch, I should go for it more often.

"Not likely," I thought, as I politely thanked her.

Now sated, the thought of ever touching Marcus again, even with a ten-foot pole, made me shiver in disgust. I wondered if he'd ever say anything about it, even though of course, no one would believe it. I'd die if this ever got out, even though I knew it wasn't likely.

For a moment, I shut my eyes and felt remorse about forcing myself onto Marcus and his finger. And then, I smiled a bit evilly as I thought perhaps he'd enjoyed it too. It faded a second later, as my stomach started to churn and I began to think that maybe he went home not because he was ill, but because our little "bathroom encounter" had overloaded Marcus' own mind with fantasy fodder, and it was now his turn to have his system threatening mutiny if he didn't do something about it.

Oh God, no!

Maybe that cold wasn't the only bug that was spreading around the office.