Crunch Time
WEDNESDAY
Sam was feeling more than frustrated when he staggered out of the revolving door and into the foyer of the Radley building, carefully balancing his precious payload of overpriced morning joe.
He hadn’t slept well. The night before was filled with rabid onanism followed by uneasy sleep.
The fact that at least three of his neighbors were loudly engaged in wall-shaking sexcapades of their own didn’t help. This—considering two of the adjoining apartments housed elderly retired couples—raised some interesting questions when considering the stomach-turning logistics.
Mrs. Meyer baked a mean batch of lebkuchen but relied on a walking frame to get around…
Sam shuddered and shook off the impending visuals. He didn’t want that type of therapy.
“Morning, Mister Hall. You’re in a bit earlier than usual, ain’t ya?” A muffled voice greeted him.
Henry was solidly rooted behind the front desk as usual but with some notable changes in his getup. The gray-haired codger was waving from behind a perspex sneeze guard wearing the same rumpled suit as yesterday with a ‘kiss the cook’ barbeque apron, yellow cleaning gloves, and an army green gas mask that looked like it was borrowed from a documentary about the second world war.
“Henry… is that you in there?” Sam could barely make out the beady eyes and bushy eyebrows behind the round glass apertures. “Are you doing okay?”
“Fine. Doing just fine, Mister Hall. They ain’t talking about in the news yet, but the Chinese won’t be taking ol’ Henry by surprise this time. Got my grandpappy’s field mask outta storage, see?”
His voice echoed like a tin can telephone from the round metal canister covering his nose and chin. He tapped at it instructively as though Sam might have missed the nightmare fuel strapped to his skull.
“I do see. That’s… nice.” The junior accountant hedged, slowly backing towards the elevator bank and reaching surreptitiously for the call button. No abrupt movements. “Are you sure that’s really necessary?”
“Oh yes, Sir. My buddy George reckons the government is trying to knock off the older generation to save on aged pensions, but I says to him, ‘George, take my word for it. It’s the godless Chinese cooking up a new horse flu to wreak havoc on good Christian folks and play merry hell with the US economy.’ That’s what I told him.”
The chiming of a bell and the grinding of metal doors opening signaled the arrival of the lift. Miracle of miracles, it was waiting on the ground floor for once. Sam would have to light a candle in thanks to whichever patron saint was responsible for escaping awkward, politically charged conversations.
“I’m sure everything is fine.” He wasn’t. Not even close. “Look after yourself, Henry.”
“Same to you, Mister Hall! Same to you—”
Sam breathed out a sigh of relief as the closing doors cut off crazy old coot’s blathering and readjusted his burdens. The regular Starbucks coffee order and a large brown paper bag with a grease stain forming at the bottom.
He was arriving early; that much was true, hoping to steal a march on the madness outside.
Sam had woken with an epic boner, pointing the direction to heaven like a vengeful, veiny prophet. He had jacked off twice in the shower to great, spunk-spewing relief but little reduction in manly stiffness before giving up and getting dressed for work.
Clothing had been a bit tricky. His pressed business shirts and fastidiously creased chino pants had been a tighter fit than usual. Extra poundage straining the buttons and testing the stitched seams. Sam was especially self-conscious of the outline of an obscene bulge tucked midway down one trouser leg.
The weight gain shouldn’t have come as a surprise; calories were just numbers like any other. Credit versus debits. And one column had severely outweighed the other over the last few days.
Sweater vests to the rescue.
The humble wool-knit garment covered a lot of sins. The unofficial symbol of his calling in life. Today, it was a calming robin egg blue v-neck that hid the tortured buttons of his white collar shirt. Unpretentious. Unobtrusive.
Nothing to see here, folks. Pay no heed to the man in the corner.
That was the vibe Sam had tried to project in the coffee shop that morning. Just another nameless face in the crowd with his back pressed to the wall to save his beleaguered butt from further abuse.
Sam had watched wide-eyed as a stunning redhead in maroon yoga pants and a white sports bra chowed down on two acai bowls and a plate piled high with ham and cheese toasties while he waited. She was lean, fit, and fantastically leggy, with tits so large they could have won awards. They kept dragging his stare into the gravity well of her creamy cleavage as she moaned orgasmically at every mouthful.
She hadn’t been an anomaly either. If only that were the case.
Filling the streets and every eatery Sam passed were office workers stuffing their pie holes as though each bite were their last. A lot more women than men for some reason.
Bustling southern belles, often strutting about in provocatively dressed gaggles. Decked out in impractically fancy footwear, snug skirts, and dipping necklines, they prattled together, shooting any passing male come-hither looks and giggling like naughty schoolgirls around dainty bites of breakfast takeout.
Sam had never craved the security of his boring job in the nice, safe offices of Chandler Accounting Services more in his life, away from all the boner-inducing chaos of the outside world.
He would get in before anyone else, have a quick emergency wank in the bathroom to calm the restless beast in his pants, then get a headstart on the budget reports.
Those plans were immediately derailed when he stepped off the elevator and found his boss, Sadie, waiting by the frosted glass door, wearing an eye-catching new outfit with a gleam of intent sparkling in her sable eyes.
“Ah, Samuel, you’re early. Good. I am pleased to see you showing some initiative at last.”
A form-fitting skirt suit in a black and white geometric print complimented her mature body wonderfully. The slim-fitting blazer and short-cut skirt hugged her toned figure with no visible shirt or blouse underneath. Only a single silver button above her bared navel prevented the slim-cut jacket from bursting apart, revealing all the supple goodness it struggled to contain.
Yesterday’s leather knee-high boots were making an encore appearance, and her rich burgundy hair was tied in a low, messy bun with runaway bangs spiraling down to frame her regal face. But it was the intensity of that stare emanating from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles that slowed Sam’s steps.
“Um… hi, Miss Chandler. I—I didn’t realize you would be here.”
His words stammered as she prowled towards him. Silky legs crossed in front of each other with each sauntered step, adding a further sway to her firm hips. She was holding something in her small fist.
“Never mind that.” She sniffed, flicking her fiery hair back with a toss of her head. “Put down the food and show me your hands.”
There was a hard edge to her voice. It was a command. A rare thing from the usually friendly office manager. Sadie had always been more carrot than stick. A kindly, welcoming presence in the workplace.
Dithering for only a second, Sam balanced the coffee and takeout on a vacant side table and held his palms out for inspection. She moved in close—too close—then squirted something cold onto his clammy mitts.
It smelled of alcohol.
“I am very disappointed that you didn’t wear a facemask on your morning commute today, Samuel.” Sadie said sternly, gently rubbing the sanitizer in with her fingertips. Her long nails were painted a crimson shade of red and tickled his skin. “We all need to be responsible for our health and safety in these difficult times.”
“I—I’m sorry, Miss Chandler. They make it tough to breathe, and the elastic irritates my ears.”
Her delicate fingers tangled with his own as she spread the clear gel between them and brushed her thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. Sadie held his hands in hers and used that grip to spread them out to either side and slid in closer.
“That’s no excuse.” She growled, pressing her soft chest against his sweater and slipping a smooth thigh between Sam’s legs, incidentally brushing the bulge in his khaki trousers. It pulsed at her sudden nearness. “I run a tight ship, Samuel, and expect my staff to do as they are told. No more kid gloves. I won’t abide slackers in my office. Especially not during such a crucial business period. Do you understand?”
Even in heels, Sadie was not a tall woman.
Sam wasn’t much in the height department either, but with the way she pushed herself into him—haughty chin raised, slender shoulders back—he found himself looking straight down into her out-thrust tits. Two succulent mounds bubbled up to form a deep valley of tanned flesh between the lapels of her jacket.
“I understand, Miss Chandler.” He croaked, catching himself and snapping his wandering gaze away. The ceiling was of immediate interest. “I’ll start wearing a mask to work, I swear.”
Sadie gave him a knowing smirk and tugged their joined hands around to rest on the small of her back, only an inch above the swell of her tight rear end, and leaned in heavily. Sam caught a noseful of her fragrant perfume and gasped as she ground her sleek pelvis against the thick protrusion in his trousers.
“Mmhmm… Good boy, You’ve always been such a diligent and dutiful employee.“ She purred, warm breath washing across his chin, smelling of peppermint mouthwash. His overactive cock bucked within its restraints. “Perhaps I should drag you into my office for a long… hard… rigorous review of your performance this quarter. Just say ‘Yes, Miss Chandler.’”
Sam was frozen by confusion and indecision.
The intellectual half of him was crying out in protest at the power imbalance of this situation. His boss was leveraging her position of authority to make unreasonable sexual demands of him. This was textbook harassment!
The other half of him—the lower half, in fact—was erect as a signpost, eager for blood and thundering like a second heartbeat below his beltline. That not-insignificant part wanted to signal the charge, fuck off his V-card, and tear up some sexy MILF puss.
“Ye—Yes, Miss Chandler.” Sam groaned as his bellicose balls grumbled like an angry mob.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Sadie whispered, nipping at his ear with her teeth. “Maintain that… cooperative attitude, and you will go far, Samuel.”
With one last sniff of his neck, she finally relented and pulled away, glowing with smug satisfaction. Sam was left hanging. A shaking cocktail of anxiety and desire. His dick was a railroad spike wrestling with the inseam of his pant leg.
Unable to form coherent words, he just nodded dumbly as she held the office door open for him, smiling like a cat in a cage full of canaries. That emergency retreat to the men’s room loomed large in his very near future.
What a fucking day it was shaping up to be already…
He really shouldn’t have been surprised at the smart smack on the butt Sadie delivered on the way in.
“I see you decided to let your tramp flag fly free today, Sassy Pants.”
“Seriously? Have you looked in a mirror, Tam, or did you sleepwalk through a Hot Topic last night?”
Zoey peeked up over the wall of steel cabinets to see what all the kerfuffle was about. It was way too early for the daily snark-fest to begin, and she had problems of her own to deal with.
Like the dilemma with her shrinking wardrobe and an aching itch in her girlhood, she couldn’t seem to scratch.
It was Tammy and Claire, of course. It was always them sniping at each other over the morning java. But when she adjusted her blocky glasses and blinked the bickering pair into focus, the shy brunette had to cover a gasp.
Sadie didn’t hold to a strict business dress code in the office, but the two senior accountants were definitely toeing what ephemeral line there was.
Claire was flashing an inordinate amount of skin by Zoey’s estimation. Snow white leggings with a silver strip running up the sides clung to her bulky hips and thighs, and a pink crop top showed off her paunchy mid-riff dangled loosely off one shoulder. The shirt looked three sizes too small, with the word “ANGEL” sprayed over her large bosom, the glittering silver letters distorting as they were stretched thin.
A little black half-jacket hung from the back of Claire’s swivel chair, and a small magenta purse hung from a fine chain. Zoey supposed they counted as concessions towards modesty, however slight those might be.
“Did they laugh you straight out of Forever Twenty-One?” Tammy was standing with fists planted on her desk to spit venom at her coworker. Lips painted the color of ripe plums, with plenty of eyeliner and mascara darkening her glare. “Sorry to break it to you, Princess, but those days and dress sizes are far behind you.”
“At least I have a dress size! Stop projecting your flat-chested insecurities on me and go back to padding your bra, you skinny punk wanna-be.”
Ouch, shots fired. Claire wasn’t pulling any punches, matching her frenemy’s aggressive posture and viscous energy. Zoey’s eyes strafed back to Tammy like a spectator at the Wimbledon Open.
The petite Asian’s tastes in office attire had also skewed somewhat overnight, though more towards a grunge concert theme.
A short pleated skirt was slung about her narrow hips, gray and scarlet tartan hanging from a broad belt of dark studded leather. A black tank top—advertising some obscure indie band and fashionably torn in strategic places—snuggled her trim torso with fishnet sleeves emerging from the shoulders to run down to the spiked cuffs on her wrists.
Black canvas hi-tops propped up on white rubber platform soles gave Tammy three extra inches of added altitude from which to rain down her derision, and the onyx gemstone collar around her slender throat did little choke off her shrill reply.
“Padded? Padded?!” She shrieked, jabbing both thumbs back towards the burgeoning bumps on her chest. “I’ll have you know that some of us are late bloomers. Not everyone was born a fat-titted cow!”
Zoey cowered behind cover as the two prepared to leap across their desks and start tearing out each other’s hair. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door to the men’s bathroom suddenly crashed open…
“Enough! For fucks sake, give it a rest, why don’t you. Can’t a man get a moment’s peace in this place?”
Sam strode out, his sandy hair touseled, appearing larger than life in an uncharacteristic fit of frustration. Every head turned to him. Claire’s strawberry lips formed a perfect ‘O’ shape in a face so heavily made up she could be mistaken for the laughing clown game at a carnival.
The junior accountant looked ragged. Unkempt. His untucked shirt tails stuck out the bottom of his sweater vest, and the top three buttons were undone. The chino trousers he regularly wore creaked at the seams as he strode forcefully across the room, molding to his muscular legs and rump as though they had shrunk in the wash.
Zoey could relate. She was experiencing similar wardrobe concerns.
“Here. These should help.” Sam said, picking up a stack of four archive boxes packed with tax documents awaiting filing. “If you two can’t behave like professionals when facing each other, then you’ll have to be separated.”
Plunking them down in the gap between Tammy and Claire’s desks, he turned around and made the short march back for another armload. There was no lack of building material for the muttering young man as he deftly constructed a partition wall of cardboard and paperwork a Republican would be proud of.
The two combatants gaped, and Zoey squirmed at the sight of him handling so much weight without any sign of exertion. A full archive box weighed over forty pounds. She could lift one at a time, and Sadie had purchased a special trolley to wheel them through the labyrinth of filing cabinets.
Sam was tossing them about as though they were stuffed with styrofoam peanuts…
Zoey crouched down in her hiding place until only her wide agate eyes and forehead were visible, fumbling at her frumpy skirts with both hands. Impatient to sink curling digits into her needy cunt as Sam bent and flexed muscles she hadn’t realized were there, his wrinkled shirt and khaki slacks pulling taut across a hitherto unseen physique.
She had to bite down on her bottom lip to hold in a guttural moan when her questing fingers found her sodden entrance and plunged in with instantaneous results.
”Mmmnfff~...”
Claire and Tammy stood similarly spellbound as the surprise beefcake built higher and higher until he was deadlifting over a hundred and twenty pounds of boxed-up hard copy above his head to slot the final row of improvised bricks into place.
“There. Done. Fuck me, but I built a goddamn wall.” Sam remarked, stepping back to inspect his handiwork before turning to one gawping workmate and then the other. “Tammy… Claire, you both look great. Okay? There’s no need for the constant fighting. It stresses everyone out, and nobody needs that noise, right?”
“Yes, Sam.” They said in unison, preening under the male attention and toying flirtily with strands of their glossy hair.
Claire’s shiny tresses looked closer to a golden hue than the liquid toffee color of yesterday, and Tammy had streaks of firetruck red bleeding into her midnight ends.
“Yaaaass, Sam…” Zoey groaned under her heaving breaths, buzzing like a hummingbird as she rode her first endorphin high and chased the next like a clit-diddling addict.
“I bet you’re both hungry. That’s it, isn’t it? Hungry plus angry equals hangry. We’ve all been there. Hate to see it.” Sam continued, sounding pleased with his assessment. “Well, there’s a bag full of sausage and egg biscuits, and plenty of hash browns beside the coffee station.”
He gestured towards the tiny kitchenette nook that contained a stainless steel sink, a yellowing plastic coffee maker from the late nineties, and the aforementioned paper bag of congealing fast food.
“So help yourselves, but no more bickering.” He wagged an admonishing finger at the two senior accountants. “You’re friends now, you hear? We all have to get along and knuckle down. There’s a lot of work that needs doing.”
“Yes, Sam.” They intoned again, with notably less primping and a lot more resignation.
“Good. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office—I mean, the bathroom. I’ll be in the men’s bathroom… for a little while yet.”
Lounging unnoticed in her office doorway, Sadie broke into a golf clap, smiling knowingly as her sable stare burned holes into Sam’s back.
“Sam, are you still in here?”
Zoey’s voice quavered as she stuck her head around the restroom door.
The place stank of cheap disinfectant, sweat, and a scent she couldn’t quite place. Salty and ripe on the nose. She took in a deep whiff, and saliva flooded her mouth.
“Ugh! Fuck… Zoey, is that you? Kinda, uh… kinda in the middle of something right now.”
There was a wet, rhythmic noise coming from the only stall. A fast, fleshy slapping. She slipped inside the bathroom and eased the door shut behind her.
“I wanted to talk to you, Sam. I need to talk to someone.” She murmured sotto voce. “Something is happening to me—to all of us, and everybody is too scared to talk about it.”
She crept closer to the source of the odd sound and smell, giving the cracked urinal as wide a birth in the cramped confines.
“Now… shit! Does it have to be… now? Wait, gimme five minutes—”
“I’ve been waiting, Sam, and I think you have too.” Zoey breathed, trembling with warring feelings of anxiety and pressing curiosity. The atmosphere felt close and muggy. “You’re the only person—the only guy I think I could trust to help me.”
There was a loud crack, and the side of the stall shook as though hit with a sledgehammer, making Zoey flinch before mustering her resolve again.
“Stay back, Zee.” The warning was panted out. “Almost… there. Can’t stop. Don’t want you to see me right now. Not like this.”
Didn’t she, though? Zoey wasn’t stupid. Hadn’t she been doing something similar all morning? Safely ensconced in the lost world of filing with perpetually wet panties and sawing digits…
That stall didn’t have a lock, she knew. The bolt was busted, but the door still closed on sprung hinges. She reached out a shaking hand and pushed.
“Jeezus christ! What—hurgh~!” Sam spun around in surprise, fisting his hard dick just as a rush of pearly jism fountained from the engorged tip. “NOOoo!”
It sprayed and splattered the wall in a trail of sticky white as he turned, face beet-red and mortified, inadvertently placing Zoey squarely in the line of fire. Sticky seed rocketed across the short distance to douse the front of her baggy hoodie and draping skirts in gooey, dripping wads of cum.
She stood there frozen. Staring at Sam, with his pants tangled around his ankles and big, spouting member in hand, as the liquid heat soaked into her dowdy clothing before letting out a captured breath.
...it should have steamed in the already stifling air.
“Ooh, Sam. Thank gawd,” She sobbed, tumbling forward in relief and forcing him to catch her. “I can’t tell you what a mercy this is.”
“Holy crap, Zoey, I am so fucking sorry… wait, what?”
He was holding her by the shoulders, fingers coated in pungent splooge, as she snuggled closer into his manly embrace. An insistent stiffness prodded at her belly, leaving a glistening mark.
“I’m not alone anymore, don’t you see? You and me, we’re the same. Suffering in horny silence.” She almost wept, rubbing her nose into his ever-present sweater vest and snuffling up his masculine scent. The gnawing ache down below was returning with a vengeance. “You understand how it feels to be me. Something is terribly wrong, but we can help each other through it.”
Sam’s strong arms locked around her, propping Zoey up as she huddled against him, one hand rubbing comforting circles on her shivering back. The chronically shy brunette normally eschewed physical contact, but this touch felt good. Tender and affectionate. She leaned further into it.
“This is… This isn’t the reaction I expected from you, Zee.” He sounded confused. “What’s got you so upset? If Tammy and Claire are—”
“No. No, it’s not them. Well, not entirely. It’s all of us, isn’t it?” She groaned, rubbing her thrumming body against his rigid length through her thick clothing. “Whatever is making people act strangely is changing everyone. It’s already changed me, look!”
Straightening up, Zoey looked Sam directly in the eye. They were standing nose to nose, and his puzzled expression cleared as understanding dawned on him.
“Holy crap, you’re as tall as me!” Sam looked down at her feet and found no high heel or platform sole to account for the extra lift. Only plain old sneakers. “How… when?”
“It’s not just my height, either.” The once-diminutive brunette reluctantly took a step back and unzipped her cum-soaked hoodie. “There’s more I want to show you.”
Rapidly shedding her excess attire, Zoey peeled back her many layers like an onion until she kicked off her long skirts and woolen leggings, standing before him in naught but her plain cotton underwear.
The hot rush of shame and embarrassment dusted her cheeks, sparking fresh arousal in her timid core. Zoey gasped and shivered, nipples turning into diamond points as the warm air caressed her exposed flesh.
…flesh that was firm, toned, and flat where there had been rolls of flab and a couple of spare tires a few days before.
Sam’s cock visibly lurched and thickened at the sight of her. A pearl of spunk drooped from the tip.
“For fucks sake, Zee, get dressed.” He hissed in alarm. “You look amazing, like, crazy hot. I truly had no idea. Now, put your clothes back on before someone catches us like this.”
Zoey supposed they did set quite the scene: Sam sporting some world-class wood with his pants crumpled around his ankles and herself shucked down to her unmentionables, alone together in the claustrophobic commode.
“It’s fine, we can hide in here…” She surged forward with all her new-found strength—bulldozing him back into the stall and down onto the toilet—where she straddled his lap, the door swinging closed behind them.
“Oof!”
“I’m sorry, Sam, really I am, but you don’t understand,” Zoey huffed, sitting on his naked thighs with that girthy pole sticking up between them like a lewd tent pole. “This wasn’t me two days ago. I had a major muffin top, cellulite everywhere, and certainly not knockers like these!”
As if to demonstrate her point, she palmed her bra-clad breasts, squishing the two incredibly full, physics-defying spheres of tit-flesh under Sam’s stubbly chin. He gazed down at them in stolid stupefaction.
“They used to be soft, sagging pillowcases. Now they’re bouncing and jiggling weightlessly all day long as though they operate by anime logic. I’ve had to go up four cup sizes, and my bra still doesn’t fit properly!”
“Shit, Zee, I don’t know—”
“Then there’s my hair,” Zoey moaned huskily, gyrating her smooth hips and grinding her puffy mound against the steely base of his cock through her damp panties. “It’s usually a greasy, unmanageable rat nest of snares and snags. Not anymore. I woke up this morning with a salon-perfect bedhead of silky chocolate curls. I swear it’s grown over half a foot in length, too.
“I’m taller—you’ve noticed that much—and much fitter. I took the stairs instead of the elevator today; walking up five flights should have left me winded. But I ran them instead and didn’t break a sweat…”
Sam’s strong hands clamped down on her trim waist, probably in an attempt to slow the breakneck pace she was setting and igniting a short struggle for control. New muscles flexed on both their wrestling bodies, but Zoey triumphed by means of arching her back and smothering his sweaty face in her cushiony cleavage.
“Hnnnnh!”
“Most of all, I’m just horny, Sam. Like, all the time!” She whimpered, pulling aside the crotch of her panties so she could smear her drenched lower lips against his twitching turgidity. “Hot and wet and burning up, no matter what I do. I’ve been playing with myself non-stop, fingering my naughty slit in secret. Getting off like a jackrabbit, but it’s never enough.”
Grabbing his shaft for support, Zoey rolled her muscular hips, crushing Sam back into the cistern with her huge chest as she hunched forward in convulsive pleasure.
“But you’ve got the same problem, right Sam?” She panted, angling his fat crown into the hood of her buzzing clit with a shuddering gasp. “Trapped in here alone, trying to scratch an itch that won’t go away. We should… oooh~ help each other out.”
Sam tried to speak buried deep in her overflowing bosom, or maybe he was worrying her bra with his teeth like a rabid dog. His head was certainly thrashing about down there, motorboating and mauling her sensitive melons as she ground against his meaty manhood.
“Mmmmff!!” His hands were slapping at her squeezing thighs and thick butt in a desperate drum beat.
“ I know, Sam, I know. I want to feel you inside me, too. Let you spread my… aaaah~ insides wide and fill me to bursting with this big, beautiful monster,” Zoey quaked at the thought, fogged-up glasses slipping down her nose as she approached her zenith. “But I can’t… I’m still a virgin. Not that I don’t want to, because I really, really do… hyaa~! Just not here… not in a place like this.”
That moment was supposed to be special. A precious memory. Not a dirty hookup in a smelly bathroom or half-drunk fumblings in the backseat of a car on prom night. Not that anyone had invited Zoey to prom in her senior year.
That memory still stung more than a little.
She was a sexual creature, like almost every animal on the planet. Socially inept and overweight until recently, sure, but an extremely sexual creature all the same. Zoey would have rocked some poor teenage schlub’s world given the chance and a heavy dose of liquid courage.
Just look at her now, taking the lead and fulfilling one of her darkest fantasies with a man she admired…
“Oh gawd! Yes, Sam, fuck—YES!”
Her pussy juiced, frothing and foaming as her entire body seized up in an ecstatic paroxysm of carnal rapture. Zoey clung to Sam like a life preserver as her soul was flung into a storm-racked ocean of crashing euphoric waves and mind-numbing bliss.
It was as though she had been struck by a bolt of heaven-sent lightning, electrifying every atom of her being and vaporizing all her petty worries and fears, leaving only the purest form of her innermost self quivering in joyous rhapsodies atop a stiff prick.
Powerful hands gripped her boneless shoulders and jerked her backward as Sam surfaced from the depths of her suffocating tits.
“Gah!” He coughed and dragged in lungfuls of the humid air. “Shit, Zee, you nearly suffocated me! Since when are you so goddamn strong?”
Zoey could only giggle in response. She felt light as a feather. Adrift on a golden tide of afterglow and drunk on sordid satisfaction. Sam’s rock-hard cock jumped in her slackening grasp, slick with her splashed juices and his oozing precum.
“Sorry, Sam.” She tittered dreamily; her thought centers were awash with endorphins and feel-good chemicals. “You really knocked me for six. A big, BIG cummy, ya know? I’ll take care of your big boy in just a sec.”
“We really shouldn’t—” Sam’s dithering turned into a helpless groan when she slid sinuously down his front to kneel on the tangerine tiles with her bra-clad whoppers resting atop his muscular thighs. “Oh shit, they’re so fucking soft…”
“Mhmm,” Zoey hummed happily, snuggling in between his spread knees to lay a gentle kiss on his angry tip. Her puckered lips tasted like their mingled sexes. “I’ve never done anything like this before, but you look pretty lubed up. Should be fine.”
“What—Oh!”
Her bountiful breasts spilled over her palms as she hoisted them up to position her burgeoning underboob over Sam’s bulbous crown, then let gravity take its inevitable course. Though he was large, Zoey’s expanded endowments easily encompassed his entire enormity, wrapped tight around it by her white cotton bra as she glided them down to press against his groin.
She could feel his pulse hammering against her sternum. The solid slab of manmeat thrusting up towards her sharp clavicles and angular jawline where it was couched in her cock-stuffed cleavage, ready to deliver a heavy-weight jab to her delicate chin.
A trickle of saliva ran from the corner of Zoey’s plump lips in erotic anticipation, dripping into the valley of her tits and further greasing those slippery slopes.
“Do you like this, Sam? Are you enjoying my huge, bouncy boobies wedged around your massive dick?” She cooed sweetly, staring pure lust up at him through crooked glasses and stray strands of shiny chocolate hair. “I think you do. Your giant cock feels so perfect, nestled between my creamy jugs. I’m totally gonna cum again when you plant a hot load deep between my fat titties.”
“Christ, where did you learn to talk like that?” Sinewy muscles and tendons stood out starkly in Sam’s neck as Zoey eased back her shoulders and began to juggle her firm breasts around his throbbing shaft. “Why do you know how to do any of this, Zee?”
“From porn, of course.” She moaned. He was twitching erratically within her cavernous clutches, and short spurts of his warm seed bathed her sensitive skin. “I watch hours of naughty videos every night. All by myself in my tiny apartment, jilling myself silly or riding a pillow until I’m exhausted enough to pass out. I’ve got such a naughty little pussy, Sam. It’s never satisfied and only gotten worse over the last few days.”
“Oh, gawd… oh, FUCK! Don’t stop…”
Zoey had no intention of stopping. It felt right to help out a friend like this. It felt so good to please such a kind, compassionate man with her honkin’ new hooters. Most of all, his gigantic dick felt incredible, jacked between her tingling titflesh, growing longer and harder as the tempo and excitement built.
“I don’t own any toys, can you believe that? Not one dildo or vibrator. Way too scary. What if a visitor found it?” The only house guests she ever entertained were her parents, but that fact only reinforced the point. “So I end up rubbing my naughty snatch on anything at hand.
“The edge of my bedframe has a particular spot I’ve sanded and polished, especially smooth to grind myself against while I watch sexy filth on the internet. I’m secretly a dirty slut who can’t help from getting off any way I can.”
“D-Dirty slut? No, Zee, you’re not—”
“But I am, Sam, even more so now. But I think that’s okay,” Zoey was bopping in place, furiously jerking him off with her hefty melons as girly nectar spilled down the insides of her powerful thighs. “Like, maybe I needed this push? To find a big, strong man who I could trust not to judge me. A kindred spirit like you, Sam. I guess I’m alright with being a dirty slut if it’s for you. Does that makes sense?”
“My dirty slut? H-holy shit… fuck!”
Sam was definitely growing now as they both raced along the knife edge of boiling arousal. His tempestuous tip emerged from her thick, jouncing cleavage, sparkling wetly and weaving under Zoey’s nose like a mythical sea serpent disturbed from the ocean’s murky depths.
The once-nerdy brunette licked her plumped-up lips as she eyed it with ravenous fascination. Sticky globs of translucent white bubbled out of it, puddling in the cleft of her slick, bouncing breasts and soaking into the cups of her overtaxed bra.
There was that scent again. Salty, slightly sour, and utterly delicious.
Zoey’s moist tongue lashed out, running up the ticklish underside and gathering up his creamy spend, relishing the uniquely intoxicating flavor as it inundated her tastebuds. Flashing starbursts dazzled her vision as she tipped her head back to swallow, then hesitated…
“Wait… doeth thith count ath vegan?” She burbled through her gooey mouthful.
“YEEESSS!!” Sam roared, grabbing great fistfuls of her silken hair and cramming her face back down onto his cockhead to explode into the back of her constricting throat. “Fuck yeah, it does!”
Zoey couldn’t say much with her gob full of fountaining cock, but a devilish smirk tugged at the corners of her suckling lips as she gulped down her man’s substantial load.
She was cumming right along with him, just as she had predicted.
It was as though a deeply buried trigger had been unearthed in her sex-obsessed psyche. A big red button that had “Orgasm For Your Man” stenciled on it in a bold font. It hardly mattered that her hands were nowhere near her squirting, virgin pussy. Simply feeling Sam’s masculine juices flood her tonsils and pour down her esophagus set off a blazing supernova climax, besides which all others seemed dull.
His hips were bucking off the toilet seat as he locked her head in place. Erratically thrusting up through her squished-together boobage and into her vacuuming mouth. Sam’s seed was thick, dense, and difficult to swallow as it continued to blast out of him, but she choked it down with enthusiasm.
“Mmmmm~...”
The taste was delectable and immediately filled a craving in her toned, six-pack tummy that was previously earmarked for comfort food and dairy-free chocolate. The clawing hunger that had plagued Zoey all week finally subsided as her core vibrated like a struck tuning fork, and her messy cunt gushed in gratification.
“Ooh, Zee, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Sam panted, eventually loosening his hold on her hair and slumping backward. “I can’t tell you how much better that made me feel.”
His cock was still awfully erect, knocking at her windpipe, so Zoey suckled at it a while longer to ensure she didn’t miss a drop of his scrumptious spunk. Once it was apparent he was milked dry, she slurped her way up to his prodigious tip and broke the seal with a lip-smacking pop!
“Hmmm, so glad you liked it, Sam.” She giggled, wiping spittle off her chin with the back of one hand. “Gosh, who knew you were packing a total monster down here?”
“That’s news to me too, which is worrying.”
He sounded troubled. Concerned. Even as he extended a weary hand to gently pat her on the head. A fond gesture, though one most folks might reserve for a family pet.
Zoey preened adorably under his fumbling touch.
Then she put her small hands and large tits back to good use, stroking and stoking that glorious, mouth-watering goliath back up to full steam as she stared impishly over the rim of her crooked glasses.
“One more? We’ll both feel a lot better after one more cum, right? Maybe this time you can call me your dirty little slut? Please, Sam, I yearn to hear you say it so badly…”
Sam growled, and his dauntless dick spasmed in Zoey’s pumping grasp as an errant spurt of fresh precum splattered against her prescription lenses.
“Alright. Just one more, then it’s back to work, you dirty little slut.”
Zoey smiled and blew him a coy kiss before she dove down for a sloppy second helping.
Claire snapped her hand mirror shut and smacked her lips to even the applied shade of wild rose lipstick before it dried.
Spinning lazily in her office chair, she considered the stacks of manila folders clogging her inbox and the complicated spreadsheet swimming with unintelligible numbers on her screen.
It all looked like a bunch of tedious busywork foisted on her by a bunch of lazy losers who should be doing it themselves.
Sorry, she meant “Clients” …bleh!
That was just inane corporate speak for the whiny, know-nothing, findom simps who begged her to tie the tax system up in knots so they could jack off over the rebate cheques she scored them at the end of the financial year.
Pathetic.
It all seemed so boring and didn’t appeal to Claire at all right now. The humdrum columns and figures seemed to have taken over her life at some point and leeched all the zest out of living. Her days were dominated by tax deductions, purchasing receipts, and bank balances.
When had she become a total fucking snoozefest of a person? Small wonder she was perennially single as her thirties loomed in the not-too-distant future.
The last time she had gone on a date was over a year ago now. Dale… Dan… whatever his name was, had talked a lot about valuing fitness between side-eyeing her thicker curves and openly flirting with the younger, thinner waitress.
Claire had ordered the carbonara as a form of silent rebellion.
Available men her age were either chauvinistic pigs, overburdened with personal baggage, or had laughably unrealistic standards that kept them on the market well past the proper time to settle down.
Had she simply given up after that regrettable dinner? Was that it?
It couldn’t be. Claire had woken up this morning feeling like a million bucks. The strange fever possessing her the last few days hadn’t broken exactly, more like settled into a manageable simmer.
She was still running hot and terribly hungry—usually a red flag for her lackluster attempts at weight management—but when she had checked herself out in the bedroom mirror, the reflection staring back had lost a few pounds.
The bathroom scales confirmed it.
Her thighs were less thunderous, her pudgy belly visibly firmer, and the beginnings of time’s downward march in her generous chest had miraculously shored up overnight. Parts of her sedentary body were looking slimmer. Not toned, by any means, but certainly more… tuned up.
Even her hair looked longer, shinier, and possibly a few shades brighter.
So, yeah. Perhaps a rush of self-confidence had informed Claire’s uncharacteristically revealing choice of attire today. It was her body, and how she chose to display it was her decision to make.
Admittedly, the clingy white leggings and glittery pink crop top were a daring selection, but that didn’t give Tammy the right to shit all over her parade.
That mouthy Asian bitch had shown up to work dressed like a punk dirtbag skank, with her short tartan skirt, dark fishnets, metal band t-shirt, and studded leather. Showing off her petite figure and a complete lack of tits.
Stones and glass houses…
“You know, most guys want a girl with boobs larger than their own.” Claire mused out loud as she took another spin in her chair. It was kinda fun and made her feel delightfully giddy. “You should probably start shopping around for geeky weebs who are into the younger sister vibe.”
“Fuck you, Cow! Stick to your chubby chasers and leave the real men for us women who have more to offer than a drooping pair of udders!”
Claire could practically smell Tammy fuming beyond the barrier of cardboard archiving boxes. She snickered and toyed idly with a stiff nipple through the thin fabric of her tight shirt. No pesky bra impeded her play. She hadn’t bothered wearing one, not given her recent… enhancements.
It felt nice. Like, really nice, and particularly neglected regions of her ripe, womanly physique responded to the teasing touch. Feeling warm and moist and exceedingly empty. Ready to be taken.
She moaned quietly as fitful fingers came to rest over the sharply pronounced camel toe in her form-fitting leggings. Her libido had roused from hibernation over the past day or so, her plump pussy purring like an idling engine at all hours.
Claire had needed a panty liner once it was clear she wasn’t getting dry down there after her morning diddle in the shower. The one she was wearing now—the second one today—was already getting a tad swampy.
She needed to get herself a man, stat! Before she ran out of clean underwear.
The golden-haired accountant’s gaze flicked over to Sam’s neatly arranged desk, the image of its absent occupant flickering to mind in a whole new light.
He was young, male, and almost certainly unattached, lacking the hangups of men her own age while simultaneously being old enough for a spot of no-strings fun. Not a relationship, nah ah, never that… but what about a secret office situationship?
That might be thrilling. A tad taboo, given the age gap and co-worker status, but that simply added a frisson of spice to the idea. Sam’s unexpected outburst of take-charge attitude had startled Claire earlier, not that she was complaining.
He had been putting out some serious big dick energy for a while there…
She licked her plump lips and let her painted fingertips press down on the contours of her womanly mound with a soft gasp.
His seat had been empty for… how long? She hadn’t paid much attention to the time. The numbers on the old analog clock set above Sadie’s office door were as repellant to her as the numbers cluttering her desktop.
Too many fucking numbers when Claire was free and frisky for the first time since forever. But Sam had excused himself to the bathroom sometime after lunch—Turkish takeout. Smoky grilled meats, garlicky flatbread, and buckets of babaganoush—and now she focused on the little hands pointing out the hours and minutes…
It was past four in the afternoon.
“I’m going to check on Sam.” Tammy announced from the other side of the paperwork divide. “He’s been in there for a very long time. Poor guy mustn’t be feeling well…”
Claire was up on her high-heeled feet so fast her roller chair tumbled to the floor behind her.
“Sit your boney ass back down, Bird Brain!” She pounded a fist on her desk in outrage. This poaching whore thought she could get a jump on her? “I was just about to pop my head in on Sammy. So back off, you don’t have the friendly rapport with him like I do.”
Tammy’s head made an appearance around the side of the stacked boxes. Her delicately-featured face was a picture of scorn, plastered with corpse-white concealer, violet eyeshadow, and long stick-on lashes that hadn’t been there that morning. Hair clips shaped like tiny cartoon skulls held back her cherry-streaked bangs as she glared daggers at Claire.
“Friendly rapport? Is that what you call barking a coffee order at him and occasionally shaking your flabby butt in his general direction?” She snorted. “I think you’ll find he’s more receptive to a classier, more refined approach.”
“Fuck you. I can be, like, elegant and shit too!”
“Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth, Moron?”
The door to the men’s room squealed open on rusted hinges and both women jumped in the manner of guilty children caught stealing cookies as the man of the hour staggered out.
Sam looked distinctly disheveled. His hair was an ash blonde riot, far removed from the usually neat side part. His untucked shirt poked from under his sweater vest, and his pressed khaki slacks had gained a haphazard collection of wrinkles. Even the collar of his business button-up was twisted, the necktie missing.
A wave of funky odor washed out with him as the stocky young man hurried to his desk. Like the fog from a smoke machine following a rockstar out onto the stage. A salty musk rolled over Claire in an olfactory wave, sending her weak at the knees.
“Sorry, lost track of time,” Sam muttered, muscles bulging against stretched clothing as he squeezed into his chair. It creaked under his weight. “You won’t want to go in there for a while. Not that you’re supposed to, anyway. It is the men’s room and all. No girls in there… not allowed.”
She and Tammy traded challenging stares before bright, simpering smiles graced their cosmetically enhanced expressions, and both strutted toward their junior colleague.
Claire knew she had the advantage there.
A girl needed nice wide hips and some padding in the rear to sway in a properly sexy strut. The tall heels helped, too. And while she wasn’t as hefty downstairs as yesterday, Claire still had plenty enough to make a good showing.
Much better than that skinny Asian clod, clomping about in her torn fishnets and ridiculous platform hightops.
“You’re so right about that, Sammy,” She crooned sweetly, perching her shapely butt on the edge of his desk and crossing her long legs right next to his keyboard. The white leggings conformed to her thick thighs like a second skin. “And I thought it was, like, super cool the way you moved all those big, heavy boxes earlier. I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for helping a girl out.”
Claire kept up the demure tone and stole smoldering glances through half-lidded eyes while teasing a shiny lock of her increasingly golden hair down over her prominent breasts to capture his attention.
Tammy shot her a dirty look before launching into her own plan of attack, gliding up behind Sam to rest her delicate hands on his broad shoulders.
“My goodness, but you are tense from all the hard work you do for us, Sam.” She purred, pressing her thumbs into the base of his stiff neck and massaging a path down the ridge of his spine. “Is that a new cologne you’re wearing? Because you smell incredible. Now relax and let me work out some of these knots for you…”
“I, um—” Sam’s voice devolved into a heartfelt groan when Claire boldly slid the pointed toe of her four-inch pumps into his lap.
It came to rest against something that was also tense and stiff. A huge, adamantine outline shoved down his left trouser leg. Both women’s gazes were drawn to it as though magnetized, watching it grow and harden.
“Hey, I don’t hear the clicking of fingers on keyboards out there!” Sadie’s commanding voice shouted from her office, shattering the sexually charged atmosphere and sending everyone scattering back to their desks. “The end of the quarter is only a few short weeks away. We’re deep into the home straight here, people!”
Amid the mad scramble to sound busy, nobody noticed as a mostly naked Zoey slunk out of the bathroom and crawled back into the stacks of ancient filing cabinets, giggling silently with her soaked panties clenched firmly between her teeth.