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Under My Thumb
By MaxOut

May 9: Two years have now passed since that lovely day when my six numbers struck gold, and I've been busy. I've heard that a lot of lotto winners didn't expect to win, therefore had no game plan for what happens afterwards. Not me though. I knew exactly what I wanted, and am pleased to say that now, two years later, I am ready to let my fantasies become real.

First I played the market and took the meager 1.5 mill they give you per year and tripled it both years. So now I sit on six mil liquid plus another 1.5 coming in the next twenty years. Should be enough to set my old town of Devlin on its ear. Revenge will be sweet.

May 12: Found just the right place! The old Stone place, about seven miles out of town, in amongst the rolling hills and tall trees. Fifty acres and the large two story, twelve room manse should be just about right. Going to wire the perimeter and gate the drive to keep the nosy locals at bay. I'll be bringing Consuela up as soon as some minor alterations are complete.

May 22: Consuela arrived today, eternally grateful as I anticipated. She will be completely loyal to me for getting her the work visa as well as the promise of bringing her sister over next year. This is good, for she needs to be loyal and not asking questions.

June 1: I've found a couple of local companies whose stock is undervalued and just ripe for a hostile takeover. I'll use the shadow company Minex to make the transaction, but first I've hired a PI to look into personnel to help me find some of my old school chums. Won't they be surprised when one of the “untouchables” of the school caste system buys their company.

June 3: After looking over the employee rosters of the two companies I've found three ex schoolmates: two at one and one at the other. One I vaguely remember but the other two . . . oh yes, I remember them, the little snot nosed bitches. Seems one is doing quite well for herself in mid management while the other is in the secretarial pool. I'll have to ask the PI to do a little digging into their personal lives to see if either is a good candidate.

June 8: Well, mid management is out. Too balanced. Well married, one kid, finances in order (including a tidy sum from dear papa's will). Too bad, but the good news is better than I could have dreamed. It seems little miss secretarial pool had gone through some tough times. Vicky Vale (formerly Holland) married that jerk jock running back from our mediocre football team. Rah Rah. Bad choice honey. The guy had no brains for business (hah, not much of a brain period) and all he managed to do was drink away what little money they had, get deep into debt on some goofy pyramid real estate scheme, get them both hooked on grass and coke, and then skip out on poor Vicky. Best thing that could have happened to her, in my opinion, however, even with the divorce she was left holding a considerable bag of debt.

Seems her credit cards are maxed out and she owes some undesirables a fair sum of money that they are probably going to collect one way or the other (demanding their pound of flesh, in a manner of speaking). Looks like Vic could use a white knight and quickly. Wonder how grateful she'll be?

June 11: My PI has given me Vic's current address, I drove into the section of town abandoned by the redevelopment agency and found her dingy apartment building. Sure do think she'll be grateful to bale on this dump.

Anyway, a little after six she drove up in her beat up Geo and parked in front of the patch of dirt and weeds that passed for a lawn. She reached over and grabbed a small bag of groceries and with my little binoculars I got a good look. Yes sir, time has not been good to you Vicky dear. She looks well beyond her thirty three years, kinda tired and haggard. Of course too much stress and too many drugs can do that to a girl, or didn't they bother to tell you about that back in school; figuring your life would be just too perfect for that kind of warning.

She's still the same; five foot five, dirty blond hair, thin yet beginning to show some wear and tear as her tummy pooched out ever so slightly in her dress slacks. Workable, definitely workable. This is going to be fun! Show her for brushing me aside like a non-entity, in favor of Mr. “I run da football.”

June 12: Payday and paydirt. First contact. Hung out at her bank, knowing that she lived paycheck to paycheck. Dressed in Italian finery, looking cool as a cucumber I managed to act surprised when I ran into her. "Say, aren't you Vicky . . . Vicky Holland? I'm Tom Smith. Don't know if you remember me but we went to school together. Class of '84.”

“Oh yes. Tom. Of course I remember,” she lied. “God, it's been like forever, how have you been?” She got closer and got a good look at Armani tailoring.

“Never better. You?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old. No complaints.” Yeah right. You're broke and some loanshark is just days away from breaking your legs or selling you into slavery.

“Say, I've got a meeting across town, but I'd love to catch up. You know, I've just returned to Devlin and I've got a thousand questions. Would I be out of line if I asked you to dinner?”

She glanced at the Armani - it's like catnip to her type - and smiled. “Not at all, I'd love to.”

“Would tomorrow evening be too soon,” I pushed.

“Well, let me think,” feigning some big social calendar. “Nope, I'm clear.”

“Good,” I said, producing a card and a Mt. Blanc. “Give me your address and number and I'll pick you up at say 7:30?”

“That'd be swell,” she gushed.

“Does Italian work for you? I seem to recall that La Strada used to be pretty hot.” Yeah right, I'd just picked the ritziest place in town.

“That would be fabulous.”

“Good. See you at 7:30 then,” as I placed her hand in mine and gave it a good squeeze before turning and walking out the door.

Ha, reel her in boy! She went hook, line and sinker for your white knight routine. Can't wait for tomorrow night.

June 13: I picked her up in the Jag ragtop at precisely 7:30. She was wearing a short black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps (how appropriate) and a pair of pumps with four inch heals. She had her hair tied back and was wearing a bit too much makeup and perfume. I thought to myself, “upscale trailer trash bimbo.”

Dinner went well. Vic confided that she was a bit nervous and had smoked a joint to calm her nerves shortly before I arrived and now was hungry enough to eat a horse. I told her I doubted horse was on the menu and she laughed a little too hard. Geez, don't be so obvious, you little golddigger.

True to her word she was famished and made it through antipasto appetizers, salad, scioppino, and tiramisu. She patted her swollen tummy at the end of the meal, telling me she was so stuffed she wouldn't have to eat for the rest of the weekend. I doubted she got out to fine dining much, and in her current financial straits was probably living on macaroni and cheese. Oh, things are going well indeed!

June 19: Vic and I went out again and the hook sunk a little deeper. We talked of old times and I found out a few choice pieces of gossip about our school chums, but overall I was biding my time. I figure three or four more dates and she'll think we're in a “relationship,” so she'll come running when I lower the boom on her secretarial career.

July 8: Mission accomplished. Today Vic called me up sobbing. She blubbered on about how the new owners were downsizing and she had just received a notice of termination. She wailed on and on about the bills she had to pay, how far in debt she was, what would she do now, yada, yada. I told her that “temporarily” she could clean for me. In exchange I would give her room and board and make interest payments on her debt. Not being the brightest light in the harbor, she accepted like a drowning man getting a lifeline. I guess she is too slow to figure out that if I was paying only the interest, then the debt would still remain and she would continue to be indebted to me. Oh well, how do you think she ran up the debt in the first place? I told her I had a few stipulations and rules, the most prominent being No Guests. But she agreed wholeheartedly.

July 21: Have been stripping away Vic's self esteem and have imposed more rules which are harder to keep and therefore further lower her self image. I told her she was a lousy housekeeper and she needed to do better or she was out on the street. She promised to give extra effort, crying that she would dust just the way I wanted and vacuum the wall to wall carpet in just the pattern I requested. I smile.

Aug. 1: New rule: dinner is to occur daily at 7:00 in the formal dining room and she is expected to dress accordingly whether I'll be present or not. Also, she is not to insult Consuela by failing to clean her plate, no matter how large the portion.

Aug. 14: It's working! By showing up late for supper some nights and not at all at others, I've reduced Vic to a state of total anticipation. As she gets no input from anyone else I suppose it's only natural that she desires my company. She's starting to hang on my every word and as she is so starved for positive attention, I'm easily able to manipulate her into doing my bidding. She seems so anxious to please. We'll see!

Aug. 19: It's been three weeks now since I instructed Consuela to start increasing the size of Vic's meals and we're beginning to see results! Most of her formal wear is revealingly tight and I'm beginning to see a little potbelly forming, especially after finishing off a huge plate of Alfredo. I'll have to pretend that she's pleased me and get her a couple of larger gown (being careful to change the tags to still show she's a size eight).

Aug. 26: Vic complained that since I gave her the new gowns I hadn't been to dinner so she could show them off to me. Poor baby. I promised I would dine with her tomorrow. She beamed like a child at Christmas morning. “Good,” she said, “I've got a surprise for you.”

Wonder what that could be?

Aug. 27: Well, well. Will wonders never cease? I was expecting this turn of events a bit later, but que sera sera. After supper Vic asked me if she could move her chair next to mine instead of sitting at the opposite end of the table. When I consented she asked if she could bring me a cognac. When I again consented, she brought me a snifter of Remy and sat beside me.

There was a moment of silence as if she was trying to steel herself about what she wanted to say. Finally she blurted out that a woman had needs. I played dumb and told her that Consuela could help her with any “feminine” issues. She looked exasperated and told me that she didn't think that Consuela could help her with this particular problem and took my hand in hers and brought it to her chest.

“I need a man to hold me,” she gushed and then looking me in the eye hopefully, brought my hand to her face and kissed my fingers. “Please,” she whimpered.

I told her that I really liked her, but she wasn't my type. She seemed crestfallen, but I showed my magnanimity by suggesting that there may be a few things she could do to get me more in the mood. She blushed and followed me like a puppy into the master suite.

I sat on the couch and she started to come forward.

“Stop,” I commanded and raised my hand. She stood stock still in the center of the room, the first time she had crossed the threshold to my inner sanctum.

“Disrobe please.” Whereupon she eagerly began to hastily unzip her gown.

“No, No No,” I chided. “Slowly, sensually, like a dance. Be like a siren, calling me to your charms.”

She began to dance rather badly, but then warmed to the task and did a passable striptease for me. As she bent over to remove her shoes I noticed a nice fold on her full belly. And the way her growing breasts sloshed as she moved. Wonderful! But I could even begin to let up now. I thought of stocks and bonds as she stood naked before me, awaiting my next command. Instead, I got up from the couch and circled her slowly, as if buying a used car; lightly touching her back, her neck, cupping a breast just for a moment, letting my hand fall down her distended tummy and then across her hips. Her breathing deepened and I watched her belly move in and out. Stocks and bonds, stocks and bonds.

I knelt before her and ran a finger up the inside of her leg. Her fingers clenched as my finger drew nearer her pussy, finally feeling its moistness. I lightly ran my finger over her clit and she shuddered and moaned.

“Oh, like that do you?” I separated her lips with my fingers and slowly, oh so slowly brought my face towards her, finally giving a long, slow lick to her clit. Her knees started to buckle, so I roughly gathered her ass with my other hand to support her, my fingers sinking into her absorbent flesh. I gave another few licks and she whispered, “Please, Tommy, do me now.”

Rah, rah! Like I was running for a fucking touchdown or something. Oh no, my pretty, not yet. Not by a long shot.

I stood and ushered her towards the edge of the bed. She went willingly, thinking the end zone was in sight, but as she sat and began fumbling with my shirt I slapped her hand away and commanded her to wait. She sat obediently, little belly puffing like an accordion as I entered the bathroom; only to return moments later with a large dildo.

“Lay back and pleasure yourself,” I ordered.

She looked puzzled and then began to do as I bid, sliding the rubber phallic in and out of her pussy. She closed her eyes and as she did so I reached down and began pinching her erect nipple. She increased her rhythm, started bucking and moaning and finally sighed a deep, shuddering sigh of release.

“Good girl,” I murmured, then took her spent body, dragged it to the edge of the bed and flipped her over so her backside was towards me, her knees on the carpet. I found the dildo still between her legs, and began a slow rotation. She dug her nails into the bedspread as I increased my pace and then slowed. I reached into my back pocket for the hairbrush I'd put there and gave her a sound thwack across her bum. Vic shrieked with surprise.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” I questioned as the dildo continued its pistening. “There's a fine line between pleasure and pain and sometimes a little of each is just right, don't you think?” as I brought the brush down again.

I slowed the pace and had the dildo almost out of her. She seemed to gyrate like she wanted it back fully inside her, so I simultaneously whacked her butt again while ramming the dildo deep inside her with all the force I could muster. She screamed as she spasmed. I could see her muscles contract and then the creamy cum ooze out from around the side of the phallic. My, my, my.

I left her lying there for a moment, returning with a warm, moist towel. As I gently rubbed her clean she had a thousand after shocks, like mini earthquakes that racked her body with shivers.

Finally she turned to me, unbridled affection in her eyes. “Tommy, that was wonderful. I've never felt so good before,” and then her brow wrinkled. “But what about you, baby? How can I please you?”

I told her again that she was not my type. She instantly shrunk into herself, all good feelings gone.

“But don't worry,” I teased, “I'm sure we'll think of something.”

“I'll do anything to please you,” she brightened.

Yes. Yes you will.

Sept. 5: Today I sent Vic a note requesting that tonight she wear the black cocktail dress she wore on our first “date,” knowing full well that she's probably put on a good ten pounds since then.

I arrived late and she was sitting in her spot across the table from me. I told her I wanted a drink before supper and bade her to make me a gin martini. She rose to comply and I could get a good look at her. Her belly was swelling nicely and I believe there was a bit more hip than before. She jiggled slightly as she crossed the room and I surmised that her bosom had grown as well. Just a beginning, dear. Just the start of what I've in store for you.

After supper, an especially large one I had Consuela prepare for the occasion, Vic protested that Consuela was feeding her too much and she was getting fat.

“You dare insult my hospitality after all I've done for you. You little bitch,” I bellowed for effect.

Vic shrunk measurably. “ I just wanted to look good for you, that's all. You've been so good to me, and I thought . . .”

“You thought!” I countered. “Didn't I tell you that you're not my type? Leave things as they are and don't THINK girl. Here, come with me.” I commanded as I harshly held her by her fleshy upper arm and guided her upstairs and into my bathroom.

“On the scale,” I pointed and she obediently stepped on. 138 pounds.

“See," she cried. “I've gained eleven pounds.”

“Big deal,” I replied. “I told you I could care less,” I lied. “Now, into the bedroom with you!”

I marched her in and had her stand in the middle of the room. I crossed behind her to the far wall and pressed the mantle, which swung the wall around to reveal shackles imbedded into the frame.

“You've insulted me, so now you're going to have to spend some time locked down,” I sneered. Vic timidly obliged as I secured her legs and arms and moved the ratchet wheel to tighten the chains and spread eagle her.

“I leave you hear to think on what you've said.” And with that, turned sharply and left the room.

Oh this was going to be good!

I returned about an hour later, Vic slumped against her restrainers, eyes closed. I gazed at her puffy belly and her thickening thighs. Very nice!

I took a riding crop from the wall opposite her and, turning it backwards, began gently moving the blunt end across her body.

Vic's eyes opened wide and she shuddered. “Please Tommy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, I'll eat whatever is put before me, I promise, if that will make you happy. I'll . . “

“You know Vic,” I said evenly as I turned the crop around and whacked it across her belly; “you really do talk to much! Just shut the fuck up and take your punishment.”

She whimpered as I snapped the crop across her again, then turned it and traced a pattern down her quivering thigh. I pushed her head upright by her hair so she was looking me square in the eye as I rammed the end of the crop into her moist pussy. A small gasp escaped her lips and her eyes closed involuntarily. I roughly pulled her hair and her eyes opened.

“You know, Vic, you're a total fuckup. You've been given this great opportunity to get yourself right and you're fucking it up! You can't do anything right, can you? If you thought about anyone but yourself once in awhile maybe you'd see the light, but I don't think you're capable. Me, me, me. Do you have any idea of what I've done for you? Of course not! Too busy thinking about 'poor me'. Well, I'll tell ya, you sure as hell won't find anyone else that will do all I've done for you. And what thanks do I get? You insult me.”

With that I pulled her head back and rammed the crop in and upwards in her crotch. She cried out and I did it again, this time ripping a sharp fingernail across her breast. She sagged against her constraints and I watched the angry red line form where my nail had traversed. I pulled the crop out and then rammed it home again as I pinched her nipple hard.

Her body spasmed and shuddered, then sagged back against the chains. I gently withdrew the crop and lightly traced patterns across her belly. Vic squirmed and in a small distant voice squeaked, “Don't stop. Please Tommy, don't stop. Hit me again.”

“What's this? You're commanding me what to do? Haven't you learned anything yet?” I bellowed, then brought the crop around and gave her a hard whack across her rubbery thighs.

Vic groaned and sighed, “More.”

I whacked her again, then brought a stinging blow across her tummy. She screamed and I could see the cum running down her padded thighs. Oh baby, she was getting off on this.

I bent towards her, and as she brought her lips up to meet mine I bit down hard into her lower lip, bringing the coppery taste of blood to my mouth. Vic's chains rattled as she tried to put her arms around me in a caress, but I backed away and walked from the room, snapping the riding crop as I went.

I let her hand like a piece of meat on a butcher hook for several hours then released her semi comatose body from its confines. She weakly put her arms around my shoulders and whispered, “I'll do anything you ask. Just tell me what you want.”

Well shit girl, if you have to ask you'll ruin everything.

I tucked her gently into bed and kissed her forehead as she tumbled off into sleep.

Sept. 25: Vic has been such a good girl. Licking her plate clean and being so kind to me. The other night I made her sit at my side, not in her chair, but on the ground. She obediently complied and as she sat at my feet I fed her table scraps like I was feeding a dog. She raised her head and took the offerings and, if I read her eyes right, even was enjoying my mastery. She moved her hand between my legs and I let it rest there, knowing she wouldn't dare go further. It's time to tighten the reigns a bit more, and, of course, I have a plan.

Sept. 28: I told Vic to wear the blue sequin, off shoulder gown I'd bought her. She looked radiant! Tummy stretching the material and her breasts two globes daring to break over the top at any moment. She was thickening nicely, and was starting to get quit a caboose.

e I took her via a hired Lear jet to the West Coast and a very exclusive restaurant. I had set up in advance a very private table and had left instructions for the matre'd to fawn over her. We arrived via limo and as we entered the restaurant all eyes were upon us. Vic, feeling insecure about her swelling belly, was glued to my side. The matre'd was as good as promised and gushed over Vic's beauty. She blushed, almost believing him and then obediently followed to our secluded table.

Once seated I told Vic that I had a surprise for her. She told me that this unexpected trip out was surprise enough, and she was so grateful for how nice I was being to her.

I smiled and produced a small glittering package. Handing it to her, Vic put her hand to her heart like she was going to have a heart attack. “You shouldn't have,” she purred.

Oh yes I should, just open the damn package.

She carefully opened the drawstring and her eyes widened as she looked inside. She reached in and brought out a black leather choker, lined with blue sapphires with her name spelled out in sparkling diamonds.

“It's beautiful,” she gushed, putting it up to her throat.

“And functional too,” I added slyly. “Note the round clasp on the backside. Shall I put it on for you?”

Vic craned her neck towards me, her slight double chin disappearing with the effort. I adjusted the choker, tightening it just enough. “There you go,” I offered.

Vic just had to see what it looked like so she excused herself so she could gaze at it in the large restroom mirrors.

When she returned the appetizers were already served and she ate with gusto. As the last bite was consumed I gave her a stern look and told her that the ensemble came with an accessory, and that I felt that the choker was incomplete without it.

Vic looked anxious, thinking that I was talking earrings or something. Silly girl. I produced a beautiful black leather rope leash and laid it on the table. Vic looked at it for a moment, as if not registering, then blushed and leaned her head forward. I attached the leash to the choker, smiled at her as she blushed again, and then let it fall between us.

We enjoyed our soup and our entree, my hand upon the leash, tugging it secure every so often to let Vic know who the master was. As I made small talk, telling how good she looked tonight, she seemed to soak it all in, actually enjoying herself in her submission.

I tugged the leash to bring her closer to me and let my hand rest on her thick thigh. She leaned into me, putting her head on my shoulder. I let my hand creep up inside her gown, finding her wet and trembling. How nice. I gave the leash a little tug and her beefy thighs collapsed around my hand, squeezing it tightly. She blushed redder as I felt her shudder, feeling her bloated tummy stretched against my hand.

The matre'd came back to our room and told Vic that the chef had prepared something special in her honor for desert. Vic looked at me with a hopeless look that said she doubted she could eat another bite. I gave her a sadistic look and turning to the matre'd told him we were honored.

A triple chocolate torte topped by a white chocolate glaze and raspberry crème sauce was placed at our table amid much fanfare. The sucker was huge! Looked more like a whole cake that a slice of torte. But of course, that was also prearranged.

Vic looked at me, eyes wide at the size of the torte, but I just gestured “Bon a'ppetite.”

After several bites Vic drew back from the table, so I gave the leash a good tug and forked a bite towards her. She shook her head in compliance and opened her mouth to accept the rich morsel. We finished the rest of the torte in this fashion, and to be honest, I was amazed that she was able to finish. She seemed to think that my tugging on the leash and then feeding her like a dog was some kind of turn on for me, so she gave it her all, poor deluded girl.

As we prepared to leave the restaurant Vic struggled to her feet, one hand on her new choker, almost touching it with reverence. I kept the leash attached, but was discreet enough to keep it hidden by my sleeve as I escorted her towards the door. Vic fairly waddled, her stuffed belly swollen a good three or four inches. It was a miracle that the gown's seams held. She looked like a very expensive sack of potatoes, her belly riding high and wide.

Once inside the limo I patted her convex roundness and, giving the leash a gentle tug, cooed, “Good girl. You were especially good tonight and I am pleased with you.”

Vic purred as her belly accepted my rubbing. Almost there!

In the Lear on the way home Vic sat at my feet her hand on my thigh. I petted her head and stroked her hair like a puppy and she leaned against me. As the jet engines hummed their high pitch whine, Vic slowly moved her hand up my thigh and then began fumbling with my belt. I let her get away with it, figuring now was as good a time as any.

She unzipped my pants and reached in to pull out my semi erect cock. She began messaging it with her hand, rubbing its swelling length. I pulled on her leash and pushed her head downwards and she got the hint. Soon her hot breath was on my shaft and I could feel her wet tongue caressing it as she lightly sucked. Not yet, my pretty! Stocks and bonds.

I reached over and unzipped the side zipper to her gown, peeling off the tight sequins. She knelt beside me, in overstuffed bra and panty hose, her belly pushing over a fold at the top of the hose. I grabbed hold of the back of the hose and pulled, causing the front end to cut deep into her stomach. My, my how nice.

She continued to suck at my cock, her head bobbing with the motion. I leaned back in my seat, causing her to reach forward and lay her weight on my legs. I stroked her hair and told her not to pull back. She moaned and I shot into her waiting mouth. Cum filled her mouth and leaked over her lips as I pulled her hair back, tilting her head and bade her to swallow it all. She gulped and then licked the excess off her lips like a greedy cat lapping up her milk.

I rose and got a towel for her face and then washed myself clean. I sat back beside her and she snuggled in next to me. I absently stroked her heavy breasts and let my other hand rub her still swollen tummy, flipping a fold of fat between my fingers. Vic purred in contentment and asked if she had pleased me. I let her have her day saying, “There may be hope for you yet.”

Sept 26: Vic didn't feel like eating today, so I punished her by marching her up to the scale. 145. Bad girl. I locked her in a dark closet and left her there for the rest of the night. I think she got the message.

Oct. 10: I have allowed Vic to give me head now on three occasions, though she has tried to pleasure me more often. I only consent if she's had a particularly huge meal and her belly is all swollen. I have set in motion a little play that should seal things nicely. We'll see this weekend.

Oct. 12: I dressed Vic in a new leather pant jacket combo (size 12) and it fit her chubby thighs like a second skin. Her fat ass was hanging out for all to see and her chest was squished into the jacket. To finish the ensemble I hooked on her choker and leash. All ready.

We drove for over an hour to a huge chalet on the lake. I told Vic that this was going to be a party with some very important people, and she had better not disappoint me.

I had arranged for a group of actors and actresses to put on a little performance for dear Vic, and as we arrived I was pleased to see that my little troupe was taking their roles seriously. Our host, a tall gent with a beautiful zaftig blond of 250 plus pounds on his leash, ushered us into the great hall where several more “couples” were similarly attached. We walked the grounds meeting several more, the men all proudly showing off their obese conquests.

I stopped to chat with one gentleman, a special plant in this masquerade, and began talking of business mergers and CEO's of various companies, while our women were still leashed and at our feet no more than ten feet away. It was the womans' assignment to strike up a conversation with Vic and bring her into her confidence. This woman was especially radiant. Long black hair almost down to her gargantuan ass, a face like a well fed Madonna, and a magnificent chest that was only surpassed by her huge belly. She was wearing a sheer sarong and you could see every lovely roll and bulge of her, her fantastic belly sticking far out from her frame and hanging down past mid thigh.

After ten or fifteen minutes of pretense, I could see that the other woman was holding court and that Vic sat listening in rapture. I told the woman , Monica, that her master and I had a lot of business to discuss and, since it would probably just bore the women, I was wondering if she would be so kind as to watch over my little Vicky for me.

She consented so I handed her Vic's leash and left for the lounge with her master in tow.

What happened next was reported to me as something like this: After I had left the two women alone Vic started asking questions. She wondered at the nature of Monica and her masters' relationship. Monica informed her that she was totally at the Mr.'s beck and call and could think of no better way to live. Monica told her that all her wants were provided for and that the Mr. was a terrific lover.

Vic sighed and told Monica that she loved me and she was so happy the way I supported her, if only she could please me. When Monica asked her what she meant by that, Vic moaned that I had yet to sleep with her, and Vic wanted that with all her heart.

Vic told her that I had insisted that she wasn't my type, and although I had pleased her in a thousand ways, she felt that I was only allowing her to perform fellatio to please her. She wanted so much to please me. What could she do?

Monica gave her a thorough look and said “Honey, it's obvious. You're not his type. You're just not trying hard enough.”

“But I try to do all he asks of me. I can't think of any other way to change myself for him,” Vic complained.

“Open your eyes, girl, take a look around,” Monica admonished.

“But what; I don't see what you're getting at.”

“OK. Let me spell it out for you. You see all the people here?” “Yes.”

“All the gentlemen with their 'pets' in tow?”

“Yes, so all the woman have masters. I do everything Tommy tells me. I'm a good girl, I really am . . .”

Monica raised a hand. “Hold it. Simmer down girl. You're missing the point. It's not that all the men have pets. Look at the pets.”

“They all seem happy,” Vic ventured.

“Oh, they're that all right. But what else?” Monica questioned as she shifted her bulk.

“Well,” Vic stammered. “They're all really fat. Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean . . .”

“Finally!” Monica laughed. “Yep, we're all quite huge. Get the picture?”

“You can't be saying that all the men here like fat women?” Vic was astounded.

“Yes I can, and yes, it's true, and what's so weird about that. Love comes in all shapes and sizes. Once you get past what all the faggy clothes designers have been selling us for generations, a man can see that a true woman is curvy. It's what makes us different. We're supposed to be soft and cuddly, so to some men the softer and curvier the better.”

“But my Tommy, he can't be like the others. You don't know. He can't . . .”

“Oh yes he can, and yes, honey I do know! Over the years my Mr. has loaned me to Tommy several times.”

“And he's slept with you.” Vic couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“You bet. And he's such a stallion. He just loves to caress all my bulges. Not being coquettish or anything, but he can really go all night.” Monica laughed a hearty belly laugh. “I guess I really turn him on.”

Vic seemed lost in thought for quite a while. Finally she looked at her own puffy tummy and then Monicas' great expanse and told her, “Well, you must be right. I just never thought. You know I've put on almost twenty pounds since I moved in with Tommy, but he still hasn't come near me.”

“Twenty pounds is nothin', sister. I could gain twenty pounds and you wouldn't even notice.” Monica chided.

“But my dinners are huge and I always clean my plate like a good girl. How can I possibly gain any more than I already am?”

“Is Consuela still with Tommy?” Monica quizzed.

When Vic nodded, Monica continued. “Good. Consuela is a terrific woman, and I'm sure if you came to her and told her that you were hungry, she'd be pleased to whip something extra up for you.”

“But then dinners are so filling. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to pop,” Vic confessed.

“You'd be surprised what you can accomplish if you set your mind and your belly to it. If you really want Tommy to notice you, you've got to starting eating rich, high calorie treats between meals, and then not only eat everything on your plate, but plead with Tommy to hand feed you more. I know he'll like that.”

Vic scrunched her forehead. “OK, if that's what it takes for Tommy to love me, I'll eat like there's no tomorrow.”

Monica gave Vic a great bear hug. “That's the spirit!”

Oct: 31: In honor of the great pumpkin. Ha. My little pumpkin has really been doing me proud. Consuela had reported that the Miss Vicky has come to her frequently asking her for snacks. Some ice cream at mid morning, chips and sour cream after lunch, and coming back into the kitchen for second and third deserts on nights that I don't have her otherwise “tied up.” I told Consuela to continue to give Vic whatever she wanted, and, by the way, please increase her portions, especially at supper.

Consuela looked at me and said, “But the Miss Vicky, she getting fat.”

“Yes she is,” I agreed, “ but you are to continue to give her all she wants.”

“Hokay, Mr. Boss,” Consuela shook her sweet Guatemalan face. “Whatever Miss Vicky wants, but she'll be like a house in no time.”

One can only hope, Consuela dear.

Nov. 7: Things must be getting desperate for Vic. I've tightened the screws a bit more, chiding her for being sloppy in her housecleaning. She seems removed from all else now; her only focus is to try to somehow please me and thusly vindicate her sorry existence. I've shown her pain and pleasure, using each as a carrot leading her further down the road of non self worth.

She has literally burst the seams of most of her clothes and I had her strip and stand on the scale yesterday. 175 sweet pounds of blubber. As she stood, peering over her round belly, trying to find her feet and the digital readout I inwardly smiled at the butterball in front of me. Her thighs were like small tree trunks, rippled with cellulite. Her ass, wide and saggy, her backside covered by a couple slabs of fat, rolling from just under her ribcage. Her belly extended out from her ribs several inches, dropping down and then coming to a fold just under her bellybutton, where it jutted out again and sagged into her pubic area. Her breasts full and floppy, resting comfortably atop her belly.

Oh this was good! But not near good enough.

Nov 10: In her desperation for my attention, which I've been intentionally stingy with of late, Vic has taken to trying open displays of gluttony for my pleasure.

Tonight, Consuela made a supper of traditional Hispanic fare. Vic's plate was heaped full of tomales, enchiladas, chile releno, rice and beans. This was served with bottles of wonderful Bohemia beer. Vic's plate was more like a platter. There must have been three enchiladas, all with different sauces, and the stack of tomales was enough to choke a horse. Of course Consuela served it all with a hearty avocado soup for starters, and the traditional warm tortillas smothered with butter.

Vic made a show of eating it all, finally sopping up the last of the beans and sauce with what must have been her fourth and fifth tortillas. As I had allowed her to sit beside me I had the perfect vantage point to watch her belly swell. It stretched out and up farther and farther as she continued to pack the food away, hardly taking a breath between bites.

When she shoved the last bit of tortilla into her salivating mouth, sauce and butter dripping down her fingers, she paused, brought her fingers to her lips and greedily licked them clean. She then sat back in her chair and intentionally pushed her ample tummy forward, as if to say to me, “See what I've done.”

I feigned disinterest, and as I rose to leave the table, Vic, not truly believing her own ears, told me she was still hungry, and wondered if Consuela had prepared desert. As I looked down at her she rubbed her hefty belly and glanced up at me yearningly.

“I'll see,” I smiled at her. “You just sit tight and I'll be right back.”

I returned with a freshly baked apple pie and a brick of ice cream. I set both in front of her and handed her a clean spoon. She looked at the pie, sensing that I'd called her bluff, but then with determination asked me if I would feed her.

So it was that Vic made her way through the pie and ice cream, asking me for a spoon of this, and then a spoon of that, leaning back in her chair so I had to bring the spoon to her awaiting maw. She was really getting into it, started licking her lips between spoonfuls and salivating as she awaited the next taste. Soon the ice cream was a memory and there was little but crumbs left of the pie. Her belly was tremendously distended and sagged down between her parted thighs.

She licked her lips, and then with great effort, managed to roll her gut forward so she could reach the pie tin and push it into her face so she could like the plate clean.

She let the pie tin drop to her belly when she was finished. Belched, and in a meek voice asked, “Tommy, please make love to me tonight.”

Poor girl, she was so stuffed she almost literally couldn't move, and yet she wanted me to take her.

“Close your eyes Vic,” I answered gently.

I noticed that the side seam of her gown had ripped, so I took her hands in mine and heaved her forward ripping the gown the rest of the way. Thus unencumbered, her inflated belly spilled out in all its hard, fat glory. I peeled the remnants of her gown away and began to caress the large expanse. It was hanging down so low and was so stretched. What a girl!

I leaned her back and spread her thick, fleshy thighs and moved my tongue slowly up the inside of her thighs. Her moist canal was waiting for me, almost covered with the overhanging shelf of her belly. I reached a hand up to grab the buoyant shelf and hold it up and out of the way, so my tongue could complete its mission.

Darting in and out, tickling her clit, my tongue was like a snake inside her as I nibbled on her lips. She shuddered, sending great ripples of flab across her belly. I let the shelf drop and reached for her throat, at the same time inserting two fingers into her snatch and ramming them into her. I squeezed her throat and in no time, as she struggled for breath, she came into my fingers. I removed my fingers and still putting pressure on her windpipe, brought them to her lips and bade her lick them clean. Her tongue snaked out and she brought my fingers into her mouth where she proceeded to suck them clean.

I stood beside her, my fingers still in her mouth, and, with my other hand, undid my belt, letting my pants fall to my knees, revealing my erect cock.

As she had slumped in her chair, my staff was at just the right level. I thrust it at her sneering, “Since you're being such a piggy tonight, perhaps you'd like some real desert.”

She closed her eyes and took my penis into her mouth and started sucking and bobbing. I wasn't even sure she was on the same planet anymore, but her mouth sure seemed to know what to do. I had no problem at all shooting my buttery jism down her throat. She sucked greedily, as if wanting more, almost like a baby at its mother's nipple, swallowing all I could give her.

I left my spent cock in her mouth for some time, as she continued to suck at it. It felt pretty damned good, I gotta tell ya. But, no time now for sentiment. Gotta stick to the plan.

Nov. 11: I went to her room the next morning bearing buttermilk, buttered toast with marmalade, and Vienna sausages. Vic was still in her bed, her enlarged shape a small mountain under the covers. She rose from the sheets in a pale blue dressing gown and as she stepped to the floor I could plainly see that last nights gluttonous display had had its effect on her. Her belly was still distended several inches and gravity was taking its toll. Everything seemed saggy this morning, her tits, her belly her ass, even her chin seemed to have gained wattle overnight. She waddled off to the bathroom, her breasts and belly swaying from side to side, her wide ass jiggling in counter rhythm.

She returned and gave me a hopeful smile, her face florid and puffy, her cheeks jowly. I thought back to the thin queen bitch she'd been in high school, and the haggard too thin coke hound she'd been only several months before and gave her a token smile.

Nov. 23: Vic continues to pack it away. I wonder if she even knows why she's doing it anymore. I'm not really encouraging her; seeming ambivalent to her charms. Sometimes I let her eat me, most times not, either being too busy to spend the time with her, or just playing her. A whip here, and hard brush there. Amused as I watch the fat jiggle when I hit her.

I put her on the scale today, being the day before what should prove to be a huge Thanksgiving feast. 196 pounds. Hmmm. Maybe she'll get to two hundred if she gobbles enough candied yams and stuffing.

Nov: 24: The poor bird didn't stand a chance! Vic was revved up and raring to go. I would have said I don't know where she's putting it, but it's pretty obvious. Her belly is getting huge!

I let her eat me for desert again, and then made the poor girl stand for examination. My tale of the tape shows she's currently 46-40-50. Her gut has lapped over her pubic hair to the point where you can't even see it anymore. The eighty pounds of blubber have made her so soft she's almost formless, spilling out everywhere. Oh, we are so close, my little cherub. Just a little more I think.

Feb. 14: The eating machine lives! Over the holidays there was no stopping her; not that I was trying, mind you. I bought her several new gowns, made the mistake of getting a few size 18's; didn't fit. Oops.

Have replaced the rest of her clothing as well. On my last excursion I guessed at 48 DD and, while a little tight, will do the job for now. I've gone to plus sizes and they seem to be working as well.

I think that, while I've been giving Vic more orgasms than she has ever had; and certainly stronger ones, she is beginning to lose faith of ever bedding me. Still, she continues to eat at a voracious rate. Perhaps she's now eating out of frustration instead of trying to attract me. Hmm. Bears contemplating, but no matter, it's just about time now anyway.

March 10: Now is the time. My mission is almost complete. Vic as of yesterday is a hefty, roly-poly, lard ridden 267 pounds. Her face has become so doughy that you can't begin to tell what she used to look like. Her chin has doubled and tripled. Her breasts are slabs of flab that would hang almost to her crotch except her huge gut gets in the way, pushing them out to the sides. She's gotten an apron of fat below her midsection and now her belly sags almost to mid thigh. Her arms are flabby and huge and her thighs have pushed together and outwards, making it impossible for to walk without waddling. Her huge, fat ass follows behind her like a jiggling anchor, and when she sits her hips swell out, filling the chair to overflowing.

She's taken to sitting with her beefy thighs spread so her belly spills down between them, resting on the seat of the chair. Tomorrow, my dear, I'll let you feel what a real man feels like between those fleshy thighs of yours.

March 12: I presented Vic with a back less gown for her to wear at dinner. It was a two x and almost too small for her as rolls of fat spilled out the sides. I had her sit on the floor next to me, wearing her choker, and fed her tidbits from my plate.

It was a moderate meal, nowhere near what she had become accustomed to, so Vic looked askance at me when I moved to the couch for a cognac. She remained seated by my chair and after a time asked me if that was all there was to eat. I asked her why she asked that, and she told me that she was still hungry. Jeez, I thought, she had just consumed enough for two adults and it hadn't even made a dent in her appetite.

I rose and walked back to my chair, grabbed the leash, and said, “You're still hungry? Good, then you'll have plenty of room for desert.”

I pulled on the leash and Vic followed me to the gym room, an all mirrored affair with a thick padded floor. I asked her to undress and she stripped to bra and panties. God, she had gotten huge! I asked her why she had stopped, and she blushed and removed her undies, to stand a naked tub of blubber before me.

I bade her to stand still as I circled her slowly like a curator at a museum checking out a new work of art. She had bulges on top of rolls on top of bulges. 150 pounds worth of dead weight lard in eight months.

I took hold of one chubby hand and began licking her fat fingers, sending shivers through her body. I took her hand and guided it to my belt. She looked me in the eye and I nodded my head, so she undid the belt and unzipped my pants. I stepped out of them and unbuttoned my shirt so now I was as au natural as she. She stared at my washboard stomach and firm chest and almost swooned.

I knelt on the mats and used the leash to bring her to her knees as well. She bent down to take my penis in her mouth and I stared at the mirror across from me. Her ass up in the air, it looked like a huge cellulite heart, close to five feet across at its widest.

As she sucked I kneaded a hunk of flab around where her tits hung, flopping against the ground. I reached over and tugged at her hair, pulling her mouth away from my cock. I then grabbed hard at her tit, pulling the loose fat downwards to further puddle against the mat. I crawled past her and grabbing her huge ass in both hands got her to her knees, then pushed her forward so her head was resting on her forearms.

I began licking her cunt as I flexed the fat on her ass, occasionally giving it a hard slap for good measure. Vic trembled and moaned. I looked across at the mirrors, seeing her huge gut sagging against the mat. I ripped a fingernail across her wide thigh at the same time slapping her opposite butt cheek. Vic screamed out in rapture and my tongue felt her cunt muscles contract. I slapped her again and again, my hand sinking deeply into the adipose, and soon I tasted her buttery cum on my tongue.

I reached beneath her grabbing at the pool of fat. Whole handfuls here and here. Then I grabbed Vic's leash and ushered her wobbly to her feet, her belly sloshing around her knees. I moved her over to the vaulting horse and laid her over it, her huge butt still facing me, her belly spilling over the sides of the horse and her tits hanging pendulously almost to the ground.

It was then that I entered her, first pushing her butt cheeks wide apart then slapping them hard as I thrust my cock deep inside her still wet pussy. I grabbed her wide hips for purchase and continued to ram inside her, every so often taking a hand off her hip to slap her lard ass. Yippee kyaye. Ride em cowboy! That bronco was buckin for all she was worth, but I kept thrusting, my hand still embedded in the abundant flab of her hip. Her butt jiggled like jello as my body slammed against it. Vic screamed wildly, ushered non words UNNNNNN. I felt her contractions like pistons grinding against me and finally I came as she shrieked like a banshee.

I leaned against her absorbent, pillowy flesh as she leaned over the horse. Finally we both slipped down to lean against the metal stantion. Vic looked at me, her big cows eyes showing total love for me while crying huge tears that coursed down her chubby cheeks. I almost felt sorry for her then. Almost.

March 14: This is getting out of hand. Vic is following me around, love struck, like an obese puppy. She even made a show after lunch today of taking a whole banana cream pie and slamming it into her face, gobbling it down in several huge bites. She then looked at me hungrily and asked me to make love to her, as if her gluttonous display was turning me on (truth be told, it did flick my bic a bit). The poor girl hasn't a clue. Oh well, shows almost over and she'll see soon enough.

March 19: Revenge is sweet! Took Vic into beautiful downtown Devlin for dinner, walking her past several of the denizens who did double takes as she waddled by. I'm sure that at least one of the townspeople recognized her, and by tomorrow tongues will be wagging all over town. Good.

I made sure that we were reserved a table right in the center of the restaurant so that the maximum number of patrons could witness Vic's show. I ordered her three appetizers, soup, salad, two entrees, and three deserts, all of which slid easily and rapidly into Vic's mammoth 50 inch belly.

I had reserved a room in what Devlin considered to be a fine hotel, and after having room service provide us with a bottle of wine, proceeded to pork Vic good and proper. I had to move her bag of guts out of the way, but once accomplished was able to drill her good, missionary style. I think we may have broken three or four bedsprings by our exertions.

I rolled off Vic and handed her a glass of wine, which she gulped down greedily, not realizing that I had just slipped her a Mickey. Sweet dreams princess.

I'm sure she was conked out most of the next morning. Probably slept until the maid came to clean up the room. I bet Vic was a bit confused to find that I wasn't there, and probably more so when, as time passed, I still didn't return.

By this time I was probably already sitting on my deck at the beach house out on the West Coast.

I imagine that after some time Vic started to wonder where I was, so she dressed and checked the parking lot for my Jag. Nope, not there.

If she checked the pocket of her coat she was probably shocked to find a c note. Hope she didn't spend it taking a cab to Stone Mansion, for it burned to the ground late last night. Good thing the corporation that owned it had good insurance. As for any record of me having ever been there: nothing but ashes.

Still, I was good enough to have paid off Vic's remaining debt, so now she could start from scratch. Good luck to ya honey, maybe you can find a sugar daddy whose into fat assed 260 plus pound girls. Maybe the Minex Corp. is hiring in their secretarial pool. Have fun trying to satisfy that huge appetite on the kind of salary they're offering.

I'm sure that all your school chums would be more than happy to pitch in and help, if you can stand the way they'll laugh at you. Hope you like how it feels.

Consuela traipsed over the deck to hand me a Bombay tonic. We sat side by side watching the sunset when she said, “Too bad about Miss Vicky. She sure got so fat.”

“Yeah, too bad,” I echoed absently. “I almost changed my mind about her, she got so big and round.”

Consuela took my hand in hers. “Mr. Boss, you gotta get my sister up from Guatemala. She LOVES to eat.”

“Yes, Consuela, I'll have to do that.”

What a plan!