Fat (3)

Still flying high on endorphin’s. Still woozy from orgasms. Still shocked from the circumstances surrounding both, still feeling the sharp ache in her tit from the toe of his shoe, she tried to compose herself.

“Mae.”

She hadn’t realized that she’d been trying to do so with her eyes closed. Or that she was slumped on the floor between his feet, her skirt hiked up over her capacious hips, baring her silken panties and wide thighs to his gaze.  Blinking, she looked up at him.

“Yes Sir?”

She tried to sound her usual brisk and confident self, but even to her own ears she sounded more timid than sure.

“Get up off the floor, girl, and crawl over to the table.”

She blinked at him a few more times, before his lip curved into a half-smile.

“Now, girl. Stop dawdling. I haven’t got all day to fuck you, you know.”

Another blink. It was going to take some getting used to, this new side of her boss. Without thinking, she moved to all fours, then twitched down the hem of her skirt. His foot curved up quickly around her throat.

“No no, skirt up. Back ’round your middle. I want to watch that bum moving as you crawl.”

Heat flushed up from her cheeks, splotching her neck and chest. He couldn’t see it now, but she cringed as well. Sure and here it would come, the humiliation as he watched her fat ass, like two pigs fighting under a blanket–as a cruel lover had once said of her bottom–, while she made her way across the big expanse. It seemed to grow exponentially further away, like a football field, but with better carpeting.

“Very nice. That soft pink color is very attractive with your skin tone. Does the bra match?”

Her head, which had been hanging low, rose fractionally.

“Yes Sir.”

“Stop.”

She froze. His footfalls were silent on the thick flooring. But she felt him as he drew near, the infinitesimal change in the air, the sudden flushing of heat between her thighs. Her cunt sure knew when he was coming closer. His hand slid across the silky expanse of the fabric.

“Very, very nice. I very much like.”

His fingers curved over the round cheeks; she had to admit it felt good. Still, she waited for the dreadful words about the expanse of her ass, the wide target–any of it. But the words didn’t come. Just the stroking of his hands until a sudden sharp slap made her jolt.

“Perfect.”

He pulled her panties down, a finger traced along the mark he’d made on her butt.

“A near perfect imprint.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he tugged her panties back up. The heat from the mark seemed to burn off her embarrassment, seemed to flick the “on” switch on her pussy. Feeling the surge of wetness slicking her lower lips, she flushed again. There was no way he’d fail to notice the damp splotch there. Kneeling there, she was exposed — her ass and her need.

“Crawl.”

The table was suddenly there, right in front of her. How had she crossed that space so quickly? Spending too much time thinking about him looking at you, wondering if he saw that your pussy is begging to be fucked, her inner voice cackled at her.

“Turn around, up on your knees and sit back on your heels. Time for me to unwrap you.”

She felt the jangle of nerves. He’d see her. Really see her, her monstrous tits, her round belly, her ferociously wide hips…he’d see it all.

“I…I’m not sure that I….” she paused, licking her bottom lip. “…can.” Her voice was just above a whisper.

“Can’t sit on your heels? Can’t what? Speak up girl.”

Her eyes welled, but she refused to let a single tear spill over. Rising awkwardly to her feet, she advanced on him, finger pointing at him. She moved until she was a half-step from him, poking his tie with her accusing digit.

“This is a joke, isn’t it?”

*poke*

“Later you’ll get together with your other friends and laugh about the fat girl you teased about fucking, and then mocked instead.”

*Poke*

Her breath hitched, as her finger drilled into his chest.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that? That is just about the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me, and trust me there’s been a lot of people who have said mean things about fat girls.”

He looked at her as he took her hand, swallowed it in his larger one. If this was a book she was writing, she would have used the word “implacable” or maybe “unsparing” to describe that look. There wasn’t humor on his face, nor anger. His eyes looked at her, and though it was so fucking cliche, into her. She felt he was boring a hole through her brain, reading her, before piercing the wall behind her head, Superman-like.

“Stop.” He said, and shook her hand with its single finger still poking through his fist. His grip was firm, but not painful.

“You don’t know me.”

His tone was soft, as if gentling a wild beast.

Well, truer words, she wanted to say, but something in his voice kept her quiet.

“I don’t play games of that nature. If you’re not attracted to me–all evidence to the contrary–” he waved his free hand back towards his desk. The gesture made her blush, remembering how she gushed into his hand when those long, talented digits were buried inside of her.

“…then say so and I’ll leave you to go about your normal duties of filing and typing and whatever else you do at my behest.”

He paused a fraction of a second, but didn’t give her time to reply.

“I like you just fine, just the way you are. So you’re fat. It’s not like I couldn’t see it, after all, just as if I could see if you’re a redhead or brunette. It is, certainly, part of your appeal. I don’t particularly care if you understand–it’s my fetish and I’m not going to make apologies or explanations for it. I like you round. I like your big fat tits. I like your big fat ass. I like your big, fat–”

“I get the picture,” she interjected, her tone droll. “You like fat chicks. Whatever. So once you’re done, I get sent back to the typing pool until you find another fatty?”

Her tone was caustic with anger, and a sudden, horrible embarrassment.

“You have a low sense of your value.”

He paused again. Before he could speak, she jumped into the silence.

“Nope, I don’t. In point of fact, I worked hard to get to that chair. You noticed my work quality before I ever put my ‘fat ass’ into the chair behind that wall. You didn’t know me, didn’t know I was fat, didn’t know–” Her mouth opened, closed as the reality of what she was saying clicked.

“Oh.”

“Precisely,” he said a bit smugly. “I did not promote you so that I had access to your fat ass.”

Staring at him, she began to feel a little bit small–a neat trick for a fat chick, she thought with an inward grimace.

“Damn you for making me feel small.”

“I didn’t make you feel anything..except for over there.” Cocking his head back towards his desk, he grinned at her blush.  “And if you “feel small” then you’ll understand that all your protestations are simply foolish. Shall we move on?”

She sucked in a breath, but was unsure exactly what to say.

“I’m a dumbass” was certainly appropriate, but she didn’t want to leave herself open for mocking. Not that he seemed to be that type. But she did feel like a moron. She settled on the next most appropriate response.

“Yes, Sir.”

 

 

 

 

About vanillamom

For 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
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5 Responses to Fat (3)

  1. Cara Thereon says:

    I love this story so far

    • vanillamom says:

      Thanks Cara! I don’t have tons of time to write, but when I can eke out time, I’m determined to finish this!!

      nilla

  2. radha says:

    its been nice so far.
    finish? no ways.. please continue!

  3. Pingback: Fat (4) | Vanillamom's Blog

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