I first saw her walking toward the xerox machine. It was summertime and the only thing I saw was an ass two feet across, squirming inside sheer cotton pants, forming a different set of curves under the thin cloth with each step. Three feet above it, curly blond hair spilled out over her shoulders, half covering the tight bra squeezing across the pillows of flesh. She went around the corner and was gone. I couldn't follow and what would I have said, anyway?
An hour later I saw her face for the first time. A sweet, open face, half-hidden by those blond curls. She was working at the reception desk in my office. A temp. I didn't believe in screwing around in the office but a temp would be gone quickly, no one would know-- c'mon, don't be silly.
Just before lunch she came into my office with a FedEx package. My first chance to look her over from top to bottom-- a full pair of fat breasts, tall and not drooping; a belly that disappeared into the pants where her stout legs were. She couldn't have missed me checking her out like that-- or was it rare enough for her that she didn't recognize it the way a thinner woman instantly would?
"You're new here," I said after I signed for the package. Of course I knew she wasn't, as she explained about being a temp for just the five days of this week. "That's a very attractive outfit," I said. She looked pleasantly surprised. "That's nice of you," she said. "Most people wouldn't notice."
"Why, because you're big?" "Of course," she said. Well, here was the entry-- time to risk that harassment suit or forever hold my peace (or piece). "I think you carry it very well," I said. "In fact, I think you fill it out very well." I couldn't believe I'd gotten it out. What would she do? Blow me? Hit me?
"Have a nice day," she said, and left.
I felt crushed, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought that she had said the "Have a nice day" in a genuinely friendly way.
I found an excuse to walk by the front desk about every twenty minutes after that. Sometimes she was on the phone, sometimes she was helping someone making a delivery or meeting someone. If she was busy I walked slowly to check out the fat breasts piled on top of the rolls of her belly, the smooth double chin leading down to her smooth, peaches-and-cream neck. After a while her upper chest, a circle of it visible above her top, seemed a little redder.
The end of the day came. I put my fantasy away-- well, till I got home, anyway. As I walked out to the elevator I smiled to her vacantly.
"Good night," I said. "Good night," she said. The elevator door opened and I stepped in, and turned around. At that moment she leaned over to pick up a piece of paper from the floor, arranging herself so that as she did, her top fell forward and I saw her heavy, full breasts tumble forward into her bra. I saw down her full cleavage to the top of her stomach, and got a spectacular view of the quivering, basketball-sized breasts trapped inside the brassiere. As the doors closed she stood up, looking at me to make sure I'd seen it-- and that I liked what I saw.
Tuesday, I woke up with a persistent hardon. Jerking off once while thinking about burying myself in that fat jiggly flesh didn't get it down, so I had to do it again after I got dressed. I had to wash a little bit of cum out of the front of my trousers, dammit.
I arrived at the office and there she was, today dressed much more professionally than the day before. Shit. Dressed like she wanted to discourage someone from making any advances. Could she suspect that in my dreams I'd blasted my cum between her massive tits and rolled my face in the crack between those massive hams? Jesus, if I didn't stop thinking about it I was going to have a tentpole again.
About 10:30 there was a knock at my door. I looked up without even thinking who it might be, and there she was. A crisp blue suit hanging off her vast sloping breasts and hiding the shape of her huge hips. The only nice thing was that it gave me a glimpse of her round, firm calves and the feet squeezed into a pair of medium heels. She was delivering a package again.
"Hello," I said, nonchalantly, or as best I could manage.
"How are you today?" she asked.
Horny as a bull, I wanted to answer. "Fine," I said. I took the package from her as she stood at the edge of my desk. I looked up at her. She looked at me. I kept looking, thinking of the show she'd given me yesterday of her massive tits trying to break free. There weren't going anywhere today, not in that suit.
"How do you think I carry today's outfit?" she asked.
"Oh, very nice," I said. "Though not as friendly as yesterdays."
"You mean, it doesn't show as much."
"Well, that has something to do with it," I said. She didn't say anything-- she was waiting for something from me. But I wasn't going to grab until I knew for sure that was what she wanted. "It certainly doesn't show as much as you showed me yesterday."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said, smiling to make sure I knew she knew what I meant.
"Well, in any case, I don't imagine I'll be seeing as much in this formal getup," I said. "Unless someone were to arrange a private showing." I couldn't believe I got that part out, but I did.
"Maybe I decided you were seeing too much too soon," she said. "If you want to see it all, maybe you'll have to prove you're worthy of it."
"What does that mean?"
She turned around, closed the door, and returned to the same spot. "I'll show you something, and if you show it proper devotion, maybe you'll get to see something else.
Oh God, make it a tit, I've been dying for a sight of those huge melons, I thought. Instead, she sat up on my desk. It groaned, but it held her. She folded her legs up in a pinup pose, giving me a view most of the way up her broad, smooth pink thighs which nevertheless disappeared into shadow at the top. Then she kicked one shoe off, exposing a puffy foot and the tiny toes at the end of it, which she pushed against my chest and then wiggled slowly up to my chin. I could smell the mix of foot odor and leather that has always been a turn-on. I looked up at her round face, framed by the forest of blonde curls. "Show me how you'd make love to my foot," she said, "and there may be more for you later in the week."
I opened my mouth and swallowed her largest toe, licking between it and the next toe with the tip of my tongue. I ran it along the ridge under her toes, and felt the fleshy ball of her foot fill my mouth. She squirmed, her thighs rubbing together. My tongue moved harder and faster between her toes, as if I could bring her to orgasm that way. Her thighs rubbed together and her eyes got narrow. I lifted my hand and pushed it between her legs-- and suddenly she jerked her toes from my mouth and kicked me away with her foot square in my chest.
She stood up and put the shoe on. "Do what I tell you, and you'll see more," she said. "Try to get ahead of yourself, and none of this will be yours." As she said that her hand went to her tit, and she rubbed it beneath her formal business clothing. Then she straightened it, turned around and went away.
I wasn't going to think about her that day. Fat chance, no pun intended. Those thighs as big around as my chest, the breasts the size of hams juggling within her outfit... pardon me while I get rid of another hardon at the very thought of her.
Ah, that's better. I got off the elevator the third day and she, no let me say She, wasn't at the front desk. It was some older woman, skinny as a sparrow and about as attractive, especially as she coughed up a nicotine furball from the furthest caverns of her chest. So the temp was permanently gone.
.... There is more of this story ...