BBW In The Big Easy

By Liz Cordella

Rachel, a dominant BBW from New Orleans, has an unyielding drive to reach the top. She takes her business to a whole new level with help from a submissive 19 year old boy and a BBW baker from the French Quarter. The chemistry between all three is the foundation for countless sexual encounters and steamy adventures. As they leverage each other's talents they rise to the top quicker than they could have imagined. Ultimately Rachel's friends are not what they seem and save her in unexpected ways.

Approximate Length: 29,200 words (Novella)

This book contains:
BBW In The Big Easy-Part One
BBW In The Big Easy-Part Two
BBW In The Big Easy-Part Three
BBW In The Big Easy-Part Four

Content Warning: This erotic romance contains scenes of intimacy between a BBW and able bodied males. For mature adults 18 years and older ONLY!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liz Cordella
• Release date: Aug 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311834416

Liz Cordella

Liz Cordella hails from Baltimore Maryland. She is a proud BBW.

Book preview

BBW In The Big Easy

Copyright 2015 Liz Cordella

Published by Liz Cordella at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Walking back from Café Du Monde the bold serving of coffee warmed the tips of my fingers. Despite what people tell you New Orleans does get chilly in winter and the temperature usually breaks the freezing point more than once per season. Keeping the bookstore open to 9pm on Thursday, Friday and Saturday was a new strategy I adopted back in January to stimulate additional sales. Located on Royal Street, just one block away from Bourbon Street, I found the strategy to be profitable. Keeping an eye on the exceptionally drunk was the only challenge but intoxicated tourists made bulk impulse buys. Keeping the shop open later also helped with my secondary business of selling Cannabis.

I inherited the bookstore from my grandmother who lived in New Orleans most of her adult life. She was born and raised in Abita across the lake but her desire to embrace the flapper lifestyle in the early 20s drove her to the city. I remember her stories of Mardi Gras back in the 20s. The parades streamed down Bourbon Street night after night. Men on stilts with top hats, Flamebeux torchbearers lighting the way for the floats, and porcelain masks as far as the eye could see. Those days are gone. All the parades roll down Canal Street to accommodate the huge floats of today.

Wandering back from Decatur Street, I took the long way back to my shop passing through Jackson Square. Voodoo soothsayers rolling chicken bones predicted future events for tourists willing to drop 10-20 bucks per reading. When the fog rolled into the quarter from the Mississippi, it transported me back to a simpler time before my years. The dim faded glow of gas lamps peeked through the veil of fog. Nights like these helped me see the world through a simplified lens.

Feeling pensive and romantic I wanted to get back to the book store. Flirting with my new hire was slowly becoming my new past time. James was a gypsy who never really had a place to call home. His beautiful 19-year-old body didn't have an ounce of fat on it. Over the past few weeks the sexual tension was building between us, especially during long stretches with no customers at the shop. At 34, I was a bit wiser and knew what I liked in bed. James was a beautiful specimen I could train if the opportunity presented itself. I needed to vet him a bit more before bringing him into my Cannabis business, but he would make an excellent assistant (with benefits).

Sometimes James' deep sadness would open an emotional doorway to stories from his childhood. His parents died when he was 10, and his sexually abusive uncle adopted him. James ran away at 14 and headed for the city. At 16, in a fit of revenge, James beat the shit out of his abusive uncle crippling him for life, a fitting punishment for his heinous crime. When he came in for the interview, James wore a translucent mask of confidence and optimism, but his true nature leaked out. I could sense his poignancy as he sold himself during the interview. I could also sense he wanted to change his life. I respected his drive to transform himself, and I was attracted to his fragile vulnerable nature. It was authentic; a rare find in today's plastic manufactured world.

Walking into the shop, I did not see James anywhere. James, are you still here? I then saw his eye peeking through a crack between two books. I was convinced James heard me at times and simply didn't answer due to his shyness. I could understand that. I never considered myself extraverted although I worked hard to acquire social skills.

James I can see your eye. Come over here. As soon as I said this I saw his single eye widen in fear realizing I could see him.

He popped out of the corner playing off his propensity for hiding and said, Hi Rachel. I was organizing the history section. How's the coffee?

Sipping the coffee and maintaining eye contact, I said, Ahhhhhh the coffee is excellent this evening. Would you like a sip?

Awkward and naïve James walked over and said, Yeah sure that sounds wonderful. Thank you. He placed his tongue on the rim of the cup where mine was just seconds ago.

That is great coffee. Is that Turkish coffee? he asked. James was bright and quite worldly for his limited education. His introverted nature drove him to books even though he didn't even have a GED.

It is James, very good. You have a real knack for identifying coffee types. Tell me James what kind of perfume am I wearing? Like a hesitant puppy approaching its master, he crept over to my chest looking up at me every few seconds seeking my continued approval. My body language stayed open, and I said, You can come closer I don't bite. I want you to guess my perfume. Reassured he extended his flaring nostrils just inches from my chest and took in a deep breath. He pulled away and thought about it for a few seconds before saying, I'm stumped. I obviously don't know perfumes like I thought I did. I told James it was Nina Ricci.

This subtle flirting had been going on for weeks, and I enjoyed teeter tottering on the edge of flirting and actually fucking. I wanted our tension to build up like a taut balloon before bursting. I will determine when the sexual explosion will finally occur. When it does I will be sure it is a decadent, raw river of debauchery pouring over our naked bodies. Until that day comes I will continue to tease my boy a bit more. I can feel and see James looking at me through the cracks, folds and corners of the book shop daily. Sometimes I let James know I see him but other days I present my voluptuous ass to him in tight black jeans bending over to pull out books on the bottom shelf. Today I was in the mood to flirt with my pet because my favorite fuck buddy, Phillip, will be coming over right before closing. I'll be sure to give James overtime after the shop is closed, and I'll fuck Phillip in the back within ear shot of James.

James I'd like you to stay late tonight, to around 10pm and clean up the history section in the back. I'll pay you double time. I always wanted to make sure I treated James fairly and with respect despite my desire to put him in chains and ride him raw. He worked hard, and I enjoyed his company. James dropped out of high school and was currently working on his GED, so he was always reading the classics that he missed in school. In the past month, he read Hamlet, Macbeth, East of Eden, Catcher in the Rye and Lord of the flies.

That's no problem, Ms. Rachel. I appreciate the overtime. He said with sincere gratitude.

James, we talked about this. Just call me Rachel. I'm not the house Madam. Ok?

Sorry Rachel will do. I'm just glad to have a job that pays so well, and I want to make sure I do a good job. And, I always want to stay on good terms and always show you respect. James said.

His honesty and brutal transparency was so refreshing, but it bordered on mild autism, perhaps Asperger's. There was no lying in his eyes or his voice. He always told me what he was thinking. This endearing quality attached to his cute boy next door face, and flawless body got my juices flowing on a daily basis.

So James, let me ask you, how do you stay in shape? What do you have, a 32 waist?" I asked while sitting on a stool as he was organizing books on the