by Wilson Barbers
Soon as Sy Cooper came into the office the word was waiting for him: Becky, the girl who did data entry and billing, had gone into labor one month early. She was now the proud mother of a premie daughter and officially on her pregnancy leave thirty days ahead of schedule. This, he thought, was not good news.
Not that Sy had anything against kids. It was the timing that rankled. Two weeks before he'd planned to properly prepare for Becky's leave, she'd left him in the lurch - and monthly billing was just coming up! Only one thing he could do: contact a temp agency.
Temps were always a risk, but he knew that he couldn't get any of the women in the office to do Becky's drudgework. Swallowing his misgivings, Sy phoned the first agency in the yellow pages and put in an order for a data entry clerk. The assignment would be for a week's trial basis.
She arrived bright and early the next morning. “Trish Tranzant,” she opened, wiggling into his office, holding out a card identifying her as a temporary employee for the Avous (“We Temp Harder!”) Agency. One look at the woman, and Sy started thinking that this temp business might not be so bad, after all.
She was plump and in her early thirties, maybe 5'7” and somewhere near 240 pounds, a long-haired blond in a plaid skirt and a plain blouse that struggled to contain her most prominent physical feature. That blouse had a lot of work cut out for it: Trish's hourglass shape had at least 58 inches in the upper bulb. Thrusting assertively, her FF breasts were two of the most amazing things that he'd ever seen in real life. Even in a bra, they hung slightly pendulously over her soft belly, swaying as she walked.
Ordinarily, he skipped over women Trish's size, but the majesty of those mams got him examining the rest of her with interest. What he saw was enough to get him reassessing his whole attitude toward plumper womanhood.
Trish was full-cheeked with a wide mouth and a slight overbite, romanesque nose and deepset eyes. Her chin was prominent, and when she smiled, the start of a second one became obvious. Her hips had to be in the upper forties, shelving out like a turn-of-the-century chorus girl is. Her lower legs were plump and shapely, while her arms fetchingly dimpled at the elbows. Who'd have thought it? One long look at this fleshy vision, and Sy was smitten.
And he barely knew what the word “smitten” meant.
“Miz Tranzant,” he said; finally remembering that it was his turn to speak. “You come highly recommended by Avous.” he held up the faxed resume that the agency had sent him. “Says here you've got plenty of data entry experience.”
“Show me what you need, and I'll try to do a good job,” Trish answered. Her voice was soft and throaty; he bet she gave great phone. “I've had most of my experience on Lotus and Excel."
“That first 'un sounds right,” Sy said, though it was all geekspeak to him. He rose and led her down the hall to Becky's workspace, occasionally lagging back two steps to watch her swaying body from behind. After showing her the logbooks and indicating where she needed to place each entry on the program spreadsheet, he returned to his office to futilely try and concentrate on his own work.
He kept checking up on Trish the rest of the day, though it was soon obvious that she had a firm handle on her assignment. Still the sight of her at her station) full hips spreading over both sides of her chair, pendulous jugs resting atop a paunch made more prominent by sitting, round calves crossed enticingly - this all brought him back repeatedly. When he left her, the vision stayed in the back of his head, and he'd think of her divine form at the most awkward moments. Once in the midst of a phone conference, for instance, he suddenly flashed on the way her mams swelled past the sides of her torso, straining the fabric of her blouse. Good thing nobody else was in the room with him to see how much his face flushed, he thought.
Though he knew you had to be careful in these lawsuit crazy days, it was a major effort for Sy to keep from just hovering around her all day. No matter how much he chastised himself (“You're acting like a horny idiot!” he'd tell his mind in the midst of an inspired visualization of Ms. Tranzant sitting naked at the keyboard), he couldn't stop thinking about her. When the workday ended, Sy casually made his way back to her station and caught her as she was putting on her coat.
“Not too nuts a day, I hope,” he said.
“Nope,” she answered, smiling. “I've done this sort of stuff before. It's repetitive - but not difficult.”
“Well,” Sy said, “get out of here and have a good night.”
“Plan to,” Trish told him. “Whenever I get a new assignment, I buy a box of Fannie Mays the first night and treat myself to it. The longer the job, the bigger the box.”
“So it'll last you through the assignment, I take it.”
“Oh no!” she said with a parting laugh. “I've never had a box last two nights!” Hips swaying saucily, she headed for the parking lot.
Now Sy had a new image to keep with him the rest of the night: tempting Trish in her panties and overflowing bra, picking through a five pound box of chocolates. Lying in bed, restless and still thinking of her, he saw her drop a dark chocolate into her yawning cleavage, retrieve it and lick the chocolate off her soft mam flesh with a wet finger. He did not get a restful night's sleep.
He just had to get to know her better. Though Sy was wary of office romances, he knew he couldn't do with too many sleepless nights. So he waited until lunch and caught her in the lunchroom by herself.
“Okay if I sit with you?" he asked, as he pulled up a chair.
“Only if you promise one thing,” Trish told him. “Not to talk about fat grams. Sat with the secretaries yesterday, and that was all they gabbed about!”
“Don't know enough about fat grams to talk about 'em,” Sy answered.
“You must not be married, then - or else your wife is one of the few with sense enough to say screw it to gram counting . . .”
“Right on the first count,” he said. “Used to be married, but that was before they started all this food labeling frenzy. Haven't seen my ex in years, but I bet she tallies grams with the best of 'em.”
“Not for me,” Trish said, pulling out a thick chicken salad sandwich, chips and a big block candy bar. “I find the subject boring and contrary to the way I live. Like it or not, when you take away fat grams, you take away flavor. I like food too much.” Taking a large bite of her sandwich, she smiled and looked down at her Rubenesque frame. "As you can see,” she added.
“I wouldn't say 'too much,'” Sy protested. “You look just fine as you are.”
“That's nice of you to say; I wish there were more men out there like you,” Trish teased, after swallowing her second bite. “Women come pretty big in my family; I came by this bod naturally.” She took a third bite, and as she did a piece of bread fell off onto her right breast. “Food never makes it all the way to my lap,” she said with a grin.
“Like I said, you look just fine to me,” Sy repeated. Trish beamed and finished off her first sandwich, chin line emphasized becomingly as she chewed.
“If I didn't know better,” she said thoughtfully, “I'd say you were flirting with me!”
Yipes! Sy thought. Backtrack, you idiot! “M-much as I'd like to,” he stammered, holding up his sandwich to cover part of his face. “I could never do that with an employee.”
“You blush becomingly when you're embarrassed,” Trish told him, before moving the conversation back into less treacherous waters. “What kind of sandwich did you bring?”
The rest of the workday passed uneventfully - as long as you didn't count the occasional daydream-borne behind-the-desk erection. By the end of the week, Sy had become almost as impressed with Trish's clerical abilities as with the rest of her. Looked like they were going to get the billing out on time, after all, he thought. He'd all but made up his mind to extend her assignment that Friday afternoon when he heard a loud shriek from the clerical area.
“The computer crashed again!” he was told once he stepped out of his office. Down the hall, Trish was standing by her workstation with a “what-ya-gonna-do?” smile on her face.
"We lose much?” Sy asked. Just today's work, he was told, including the day's billing. So much for getting shit out on time, he thought.
He made his way down to Trish's station. She was leaning against the desk, arms crossed under her ample mams, which hugged the top of her short dress appealingly. “Well, that morning went to hell,” she said with a grin.
“Listen,” he said, “if I can get permission from your office, do you think you can stay and get this shit re-entered? It'd be overtime, and I know this is Friday night . . .”
“Glad to help,” Trish told him. “Even if we don't get permission, I'll stay and help.”
“Not without getting paid, you won't,” he answered, racing back to his phone.
It was well into the evening when Trish finished undoing the damage. The rest of the building had emptied but for Sy and his temp; the only sound was a forgotten radio playing oldies music. Sy had busied himself over the past two hours with paperwork and regular elaborate fantasizing. Maybe he needed to rethink keeping this girl on; she was really wreaking havoc with his concentration.
“Done and saved,” she said, standing in the doorway of his office. She'd undone the top button of her dress' neckline, Sy noticed. “Could you sign my time card?”
“Sure can,” Sy said, as she handed it across his desk.
“Guess that means I'm done,” Trish said, once he'd handed it back to her. “No longer an employee.”
“As a matter of fact - “ Sy started, but before he could go any further, Trish kicked the door shut with her right heel and started unbuttoning her dress below her open cleavage.
“I'm glad to no longer be on your payroll,” she said, “because otherwise you wouldn't let me do this!” With that, Trish shucked her dress to the floor and thrust herself before him.
She was dressed in a stretch lace and lyrca bodysuit that hugged her voluptuous form, adding glistening emphasis to each jiggle that waved through her torso. Must've been hot wearing that under her dress all day, he thought then he remembered that short restroom break she'd taken an hour earlier. Before he could take that thought further, Trish was nibbling on his right ear, bodacious breasts pressed around his shoulder. Off in the distance, Jerry Lee Lewis was yelping on the radio about the glories of a “Big, Blon' Baby.”
Sy turned in his chair, found himself face to face with her lace-covered jugs. Damn, the consequences, he thought, and he rose to kiss her uncovered cleavage. Trish sighed, grabbed his head and pulled him closer to her. Face covered with quivering titflesh, Sy stiffened eagerly.
“When I'm aroused, my breasts grow extremely sensitive,” Trish told him. “All over. The bigger they've gotten, the more erogenous they've become. Maybe the stretching brought more nerve endings to the surface.” Backing off, she slipped her bodysuit down off her ample tits. Unfettered, they hung halfway down her paunch; they swayed wildly as she backed onto his desktop, scattering pens and documents in the process.
Trish hefted her right mam with both hands. Her aureole was as light as a new tan; her puckered nipple as wide as a dime. “I've always had nice tits,” she said, “and they've always grown to keep up with the rest of me.” As she lifted her captive breast to her mouth, the free one sagged within an inch of her hefty thigh. Sy went for it.
He started suckling on her nipple, while Trish did the same service to its twin. Chin resting on her fulsome thigh, he felt her nipple harden between his tongue and teeth. He traced the stretchmarks on the length of her breast. Moaning loudly, she suddenly pushed against him. With mam fat smashing into his face, Sy nearly fell out of his seat.
He avoided that embarrassment by standing then discarding both pants and shorts. “Jumpin' Jephosafat!” Jerry Lee was yelling. Sy's eager erection poked into the lower cleft of Trish's pendulous wonders; Trish leaned forward and immediately captured it between both globes. The feel of her pliant avoirdupois got him growing even larger as she rubbed her breast flesh together. She'd managed to shuck her bodysuit all the way by now, and he felt the top of her cool, blubbery belly push against his balls.
“Fuck my tits,” she panted, and with that, he felt himself ready to come. He gently pushed her back until she was lying across the breadth of his desk. Sy climbed onto the desktop and straddled her torso. Pulling her hands away, he roughly grabbed her overwhelming mams and mashed them all over his manhood.
“God, Sy!” Trish yelled, and it was like a starter's pistol to his eager cock. He shot between her, sending liquid heat through her cleavage to her chins. Trish fondled her clit happily, legs dangling to the floor. When Sy had calmed down enough to get off the desk safely, he returned to his chair.
“Hold that thought,” he told the temp, noting that she had started to lick her breasts like a cat cleaning herself. He bent down toward her open twat and proceeded to attack it with his tongue. It didn't take her long to come by now. She screamed, plumper body quivering all over; Sy felt her meaty thighs tighten then relax.
Falling back into his chair, he admired Trish's flushed body. It was, he thought, the sexiest that he'd ever experienced; he couldn't let this be a temporary deal.
Sighing, Trish rolled off the desk and stood before him. “Didn't know if I was being pushy," she said, reaching for her purse, “but I felt you watching me all week.” She got a Nestles Crunch bar from her purse and offered half to Sy then pulled out her brassiere. So she had changed just for him!
“Pushy?” he said. “Not in my book.” he took a bite of her candy bar and decided, “I'm taking you out to dinner.”
“Won't say no,” Trish said, picking up her clothes.
“And after that,” Sy further decided, “we've got the whole weekend ahead of us.” He rose and kissed her fulsome lips, feeling her opulent torso flatten against him.
“And then?” she asked.
“And then I call the agency to ask for another week of you,” Sy said with a grin. “I still could use you in the office. If you're willing.”
“Willing?” Trish laughed, as she reined her mams in with her bra. “I've got a date with a box of Fannie Mays!”
“More than one,” Sy told her, making a mental memo to find out Trish's favorite Mays over the weekend. He was thinking about her claim regarding her breasts: how they'd grown so much larger as she'd gotten plumper. It'd be fun, he thought, to see just how large that could be . . .
Corrected Version Copyright 2000 © - Oakhaus Designs
