Chapter 2: The Assistant

The morning after I bared my entire soul and my entire fifty-one-year-old body on stage in front of fifteen hundred people, I woke up slowly in the Long Beach hotel suite. Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, warming the room. I stretched luxuriously beneath the sheets, completely naked, and let my hands roam over my body the way I had learned to do without flinching.

My heavy breasts shifted and settled against my ribcage, full and pendulous, the dark nipples already tightening slightly from the cool air. I cupped them, feeling their substantial weight, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks. Lower, my soft belly rose and fell with each breath, the permanent C-section shelf prominent, silver stretch marks branching like lightning across my hips and lower abdomen. My thick thighs pressed together, warm and powerful, and between them, my mature cunt felt pleasantly swollen and slick from the afterglow of the previous night.

Look at you, Lorraine, I thought, a slow smile spreading across my face. Forty-eight when this madness started, fifty-one now. These tits have nursed four babies and still draw hungry eyes and an even hungrier mouth. This belly carried life and kept every scar as proof. These thighs rub together with every step and still held a beautiful woman’s face between them last night while I came so hard I saw stars. This cunt experienced, dark, full, still gets wet when I remember fifteen hundred people staring at it. No more sucking it in. No more hiding. This body is mine.

I heard the soft click of the keycard. Sophia let herself in, moving with that quiet efficiency I had come to rely on. She was already dressed for travel: crisp white blouse, navy pencil skirt that hugged her hips, low heels, hair pinned back professionally. In her hands were two coffees and her ever-present tablet.

She stopped just inside the door, eyes sweeping over me sprawled naked on the bed, one leg bent, my soft belly relaxed, heavy breasts resting to the sides, dark bush visible between my parted thighs. A faint flush colored her olive cheeks, but her voice remained steady.

“Good morning, Ms. Cortez. I brought your usual. Victoria posted again overnight. It’s ... gaining traction.”

I sat up, letting my breasts settle heavily against my body. No robe. No covering. Just me, real, mature, unfiltered. “Read it.”

Sophia set the coffee on the nightstand and remained standing, the perfect executive assistant. “‘Some women mistake vulgar exposure for empowerment. A mother’s body is a sacred vessel, not a spectacle for the masses. Praying for my cousin Lorraine, who seems to have forgotten her God-given role... ‘“ She trailed off, glancing at me.

I laughed, low and throaty. “She’s getting bolder. Come here.”

She hesitated only a fraction of a second, the professional boundary still firmly in place, then stepped closer. I reached out, hooked a finger into the waistband of her pencil skirt, and pulled her between my spread thighs until her hips pressed against the edge of the bed. My soft belly touched her clothed stomach.

“Work mode is excellent,” I murmured, looking up at her. “But right now, in this room, you’re going to kneel and thank me properly for last night.”