itsdatwidow
New Member
(hey what’s up I’m a new member but I’ve been lurking this forum for years , hope you like my story I’ve been kicking it around a while thank u much)
My job at LiTtY online media was simple: host their miniseries about cooking and food. It struck me as misogynistic, especially when the director admitted to me over a candid cup of coffee that he had hired me for my body. I’m tall and willowy, slim, with long legs and a natural tan, and breasts that were impressive for my build but were obviously enhanced by saline. The opening clip of the show is various shots of me bent over some sizzling platter a PA had handed to me seconds before,smiling dopily as cheesy porno music played in the background. Lovely. I heard the opening sting of the same porno music that was my cue to walk onto set so I did, robotically, smoothing the olive colored strapless dress wardrobe had decided to paint onto me.
“Hey what’s up guys, I’m Carla and this is Cooking with Carla on LiTtY.” I cock my hip and cross my arms under my enhanced chest, bringing one finger up to my lips pouting, dying a little inside. “ Today I’m stoked to welcome a special guest, James Rodriguez, to help us all learn some tricks for easier, doper dishes that will get you laid.” Gag. I narrow my eyes at the TelePrompTer and Chris, behind it -the author-giving me a shit eating grin.
James Rodriguez is a name I kind of know, he’s a hip young upcoming chef who struck it big on one of those reality shows, yada yada, has a catch phrase and Walmart Tupperware or whatever. The producer sent me a bio this morning but I just ... don’t care. I suspect he is a bad boy type. Smiling blankly at the camera, I hear the PA hiss “James, come on dude let’s go” and a new, bass toned voice mumble “sorry, going.” There’s a smattering of applause from the crew as James walks out onto set to join me. I turn to greet him and ... wilt in my strappy sandals.
James Rodriguez is the sexiest man I have ever seen. He grins jovially at me, with straight white teeth gleaming out beside adorable dimples, set in a face that’s somehow both full and strong. A shock of curly black hair tumbles down over his forehead and into his true brown eyes that are twinkling at me devilishly. He has his big arms crossed, framing a dramatically arcing dome of a belly that hangs heavily well over his belt, straining the buttons of his chefs coat in a way that sends a hot flush creeping up my cleavage to my neck. “Hey Carla!”, he booms, winking at me. “It’s great to meet you girl, let’s cook some shit!”
I am completely gobsmacked, standing there for an indeterminable amount of time in silence, staring at his delicious belly. Oh my god. I might faint. There have been a handful of chunky chefs on the program so far, whose straining bellies have caught my attention briefly, but not to the point of distraction because James ... James is f a t. I feel myself sweating as his smile falters, but, ever the showman, he turns to camera and claps his hands together. “Right, let’s get started. Cooking is fun! Eating is funner”, he punctuates the statement with a brief acknowledgement of his impressive gut, rubbing a palm down it briefly and winking to camera. My head spins and I try to recover my dead fish of a smile.
“It can even get you laid if you do it right” he adds, conspiratorially, shuffling over to the first setup. “I’m going to show you some hacks to build your repertoire from the bottom up.” There’s a chefs knife and some whole onions and carrots, on a sturdy wooden block. “Let’s see if flaca here can cut a vegetable” he booms, handing me the knife expectantly, handle out.
I have cut zero vegetables. I eat boiled chicken and broccoli from a bag, whey protein and water. Taking a shaky breath, I gamely try to cut the onion. The knife gets wedged in the top layers, and everyone laughs. “No ma’am” James gasps, pretending to be dismayed. “It’s ok, once you know the down and dirty tricks you’ll be cutting vegetables like a pro in no time. Luckily for you, I’ve got hacks that will get even the dumbest fuckers out there cutting vegetables like a boss.”
He’s behind me suddenly, wrapping his arms around me and placing his big rough hands over mine. “ Your knife is your partner, flaca”, he explains, his deft fingers curling mine around the knife solidly, arranging my left hand around the onion, to protect my fingertips. I hold my breath as I feel his belly press against my ass, getting wet with the contact. “Glide it through the vegetable.” He glides it, I glide with him. “There you go, isn’t that a sexy feeling?” It may have been my imagination, but his voice sounded a little thraotier, a pitch lustier. I smiled weakly, staying as still as possible so I could relish the feel of his tubby gut pushing into me. “You’re right!”
After a brief moment he disengages, and waddles over to a double broiler setup. “Chocolate covered strawberries”, he announces, gesturing to the setup boiling smartly, unaware of the powerful arousal I was feeling. I followed meekly, hoping for another hands-on demonstration. It didn’t come. I did get to watch James exuberantly explain a few additional cooking basics, using lots of sexual innuendos and saucy winks to camera. I wondered idly, watching his show, if he was sexually involved with food somehow. It would explain why he was so deliciously porky.
The segment was over too soon, and when the cameras stopped rolling, he gave me a brief inquisitive glance with a cocked brow before smiling mildly, seeming not to find the answer he wanted in my carefully controlled, if not a shade flushed, expression. “Thanks Carla, that was fun. It was good to meet you.” I watched limply as his people surrounded him, effectively cutting me off from his broad back as he turned away. I felt wild with desire as my assistants handed me a Diet Coke and my cell phone, ushering me to my dressing room. That couldn’t be the end of the interaction between me and James, I couldn’t let it be.
I wracked my brain for some pretense to visit his dressing room before he inevitably left for the day. A gift... that would be appropriate for a host of an online program to ostensibly give a guest. I scrolled my Instagram feed somewhat feverishly, my eyes boring a hole through the screen as I flew through post after post, grasping for an idea. My vision snagged in a sponsored ad for a pastry shop, touting plump looking chocolate eclairs. I raised my brow and held my breath as I typed the name of the shop into my map app, and viola, it was a mere five miles away from our studio. I hurriedly flagged over my assistant Jess and fumbled my debit card into her hand. “Go here and get these” I stuttered, flapping the screen in her face. “A lot of them. Hurry.” Jess gave me an unreadable look and then shrugged, sauntering off to do my bidding.
I held my breath for the whole twenty-three minutes it took for Jess to return with four boxes of eclairs and my receipt, which I assume she thought I had bought for the crew. “Thanks girl” I trilled, quickly grabbing the boxes and power walking to the dressing room our guests used. Taking a deep breath and readjusting the neckline of my dress, I knocked on the door rather forcefully.
James answered the door with a large black duffel slung carelessly over his shoulder, belly a mere few centimeters away from my own gaunt stomach. He looked surprised, then flashed me a truly panty-dropping grin. “Carla, hey, what’s up? I was just leaving.” He noticed the boxes in my arms and raised an eyebrow. “ What have you got there?” I opened one of the lids and turned it to face him. “Eclairs” he chuckled, though he looked appreciative. “Thank you, and enough for my crew too. That’s really nice of you.”
He reached out for the boxes, bracing the duffle on his hip, and I felt my heart sinking. “ Wait” I blurted, and he waited, looking at me expectantly. I drew a shaky breath, and he smiled patiently at me, crossing his arms like a generous fat god. “Don’t leave yet” I stuttured, feeling moronic. There was more silence as he continued to regard me, looking bemused. It was now or never. I knew from the email I barely glazed this morning that he was only in town for a week or so, that he lived in Cali and was promoting his new cookbook, and he was a late minute get. “Let’s hook up” I blurted, having an out of body experience apparently. James looked alarmed, then contemplative, then turned around and opened the door to the dressing room, standing aside to usher me in. He looked like a cat that caught the canary, and my face was crimson as I brushed past his unbelievable belly with my for boxes of eclairs in tow.
Once we were safely inside, his intense brown eyes found mine, searching. “Do you mean that?” he said, whistling low as he relieved me of my tasty burden. “I’m so down” he said, looking at my body appraisingly and apparently liking what he saw. I blushed even more under his scrutinizing gaze. He sauntered over to the door to turn the lock, then made a slow promenade towards me, closer, closer.
Chef's Choice
by itsdatwidow
I watched impassively as the makeup artist pulled the flat iron across the ends of my dark brown waves, turning them into a shiny curtain. Overdrawn lips and a spritz of setting spray, and I was a certifiable online star. If been on this new gig for a few months, after putting myself thousand of dollars in debt to go to school for journalism and failing to make an impression on actual news outlets, I applied for LITtY online media on a whim and got the job. As soul deadening as the job was, I had debts to pay and no interest from the major outlets. I would have settled for being a news anchor on a local channel, but even they wouldn’t bite. They said I had a “flat affect.” Looking into my own cold grey eyes in the mirror of the studios makeup room, as expertly smoked and lashed as they were, I had to agree.by itsdatwidow
My job at LiTtY online media was simple: host their miniseries about cooking and food. It struck me as misogynistic, especially when the director admitted to me over a candid cup of coffee that he had hired me for my body. I’m tall and willowy, slim, with long legs and a natural tan, and breasts that were impressive for my build but were obviously enhanced by saline. The opening clip of the show is various shots of me bent over some sizzling platter a PA had handed to me seconds before,smiling dopily as cheesy porno music played in the background. Lovely. I heard the opening sting of the same porno music that was my cue to walk onto set so I did, robotically, smoothing the olive colored strapless dress wardrobe had decided to paint onto me.
“Hey what’s up guys, I’m Carla and this is Cooking with Carla on LiTtY.” I cock my hip and cross my arms under my enhanced chest, bringing one finger up to my lips pouting, dying a little inside. “ Today I’m stoked to welcome a special guest, James Rodriguez, to help us all learn some tricks for easier, doper dishes that will get you laid.” Gag. I narrow my eyes at the TelePrompTer and Chris, behind it -the author-giving me a shit eating grin.
James Rodriguez is a name I kind of know, he’s a hip young upcoming chef who struck it big on one of those reality shows, yada yada, has a catch phrase and Walmart Tupperware or whatever. The producer sent me a bio this morning but I just ... don’t care. I suspect he is a bad boy type. Smiling blankly at the camera, I hear the PA hiss “James, come on dude let’s go” and a new, bass toned voice mumble “sorry, going.” There’s a smattering of applause from the crew as James walks out onto set to join me. I turn to greet him and ... wilt in my strappy sandals.
James Rodriguez is the sexiest man I have ever seen. He grins jovially at me, with straight white teeth gleaming out beside adorable dimples, set in a face that’s somehow both full and strong. A shock of curly black hair tumbles down over his forehead and into his true brown eyes that are twinkling at me devilishly. He has his big arms crossed, framing a dramatically arcing dome of a belly that hangs heavily well over his belt, straining the buttons of his chefs coat in a way that sends a hot flush creeping up my cleavage to my neck. “Hey Carla!”, he booms, winking at me. “It’s great to meet you girl, let’s cook some shit!”
I am completely gobsmacked, standing there for an indeterminable amount of time in silence, staring at his delicious belly. Oh my god. I might faint. There have been a handful of chunky chefs on the program so far, whose straining bellies have caught my attention briefly, but not to the point of distraction because James ... James is f a t. I feel myself sweating as his smile falters, but, ever the showman, he turns to camera and claps his hands together. “Right, let’s get started. Cooking is fun! Eating is funner”, he punctuates the statement with a brief acknowledgement of his impressive gut, rubbing a palm down it briefly and winking to camera. My head spins and I try to recover my dead fish of a smile.
“It can even get you laid if you do it right” he adds, conspiratorially, shuffling over to the first setup. “I’m going to show you some hacks to build your repertoire from the bottom up.” There’s a chefs knife and some whole onions and carrots, on a sturdy wooden block. “Let’s see if flaca here can cut a vegetable” he booms, handing me the knife expectantly, handle out.
I have cut zero vegetables. I eat boiled chicken and broccoli from a bag, whey protein and water. Taking a shaky breath, I gamely try to cut the onion. The knife gets wedged in the top layers, and everyone laughs. “No ma’am” James gasps, pretending to be dismayed. “It’s ok, once you know the down and dirty tricks you’ll be cutting vegetables like a pro in no time. Luckily for you, I’ve got hacks that will get even the dumbest fuckers out there cutting vegetables like a boss.”
He’s behind me suddenly, wrapping his arms around me and placing his big rough hands over mine. “ Your knife is your partner, flaca”, he explains, his deft fingers curling mine around the knife solidly, arranging my left hand around the onion, to protect my fingertips. I hold my breath as I feel his belly press against my ass, getting wet with the contact. “Glide it through the vegetable.” He glides it, I glide with him. “There you go, isn’t that a sexy feeling?” It may have been my imagination, but his voice sounded a little thraotier, a pitch lustier. I smiled weakly, staying as still as possible so I could relish the feel of his tubby gut pushing into me. “You’re right!”
After a brief moment he disengages, and waddles over to a double broiler setup. “Chocolate covered strawberries”, he announces, gesturing to the setup boiling smartly, unaware of the powerful arousal I was feeling. I followed meekly, hoping for another hands-on demonstration. It didn’t come. I did get to watch James exuberantly explain a few additional cooking basics, using lots of sexual innuendos and saucy winks to camera. I wondered idly, watching his show, if he was sexually involved with food somehow. It would explain why he was so deliciously porky.
The segment was over too soon, and when the cameras stopped rolling, he gave me a brief inquisitive glance with a cocked brow before smiling mildly, seeming not to find the answer he wanted in my carefully controlled, if not a shade flushed, expression. “Thanks Carla, that was fun. It was good to meet you.” I watched limply as his people surrounded him, effectively cutting me off from his broad back as he turned away. I felt wild with desire as my assistants handed me a Diet Coke and my cell phone, ushering me to my dressing room. That couldn’t be the end of the interaction between me and James, I couldn’t let it be.
I wracked my brain for some pretense to visit his dressing room before he inevitably left for the day. A gift... that would be appropriate for a host of an online program to ostensibly give a guest. I scrolled my Instagram feed somewhat feverishly, my eyes boring a hole through the screen as I flew through post after post, grasping for an idea. My vision snagged in a sponsored ad for a pastry shop, touting plump looking chocolate eclairs. I raised my brow and held my breath as I typed the name of the shop into my map app, and viola, it was a mere five miles away from our studio. I hurriedly flagged over my assistant Jess and fumbled my debit card into her hand. “Go here and get these” I stuttered, flapping the screen in her face. “A lot of them. Hurry.” Jess gave me an unreadable look and then shrugged, sauntering off to do my bidding.
I held my breath for the whole twenty-three minutes it took for Jess to return with four boxes of eclairs and my receipt, which I assume she thought I had bought for the crew. “Thanks girl” I trilled, quickly grabbing the boxes and power walking to the dressing room our guests used. Taking a deep breath and readjusting the neckline of my dress, I knocked on the door rather forcefully.
James answered the door with a large black duffel slung carelessly over his shoulder, belly a mere few centimeters away from my own gaunt stomach. He looked surprised, then flashed me a truly panty-dropping grin. “Carla, hey, what’s up? I was just leaving.” He noticed the boxes in my arms and raised an eyebrow. “ What have you got there?” I opened one of the lids and turned it to face him. “Eclairs” he chuckled, though he looked appreciative. “Thank you, and enough for my crew too. That’s really nice of you.”
He reached out for the boxes, bracing the duffle on his hip, and I felt my heart sinking. “ Wait” I blurted, and he waited, looking at me expectantly. I drew a shaky breath, and he smiled patiently at me, crossing his arms like a generous fat god. “Don’t leave yet” I stuttured, feeling moronic. There was more silence as he continued to regard me, looking bemused. It was now or never. I knew from the email I barely glazed this morning that he was only in town for a week or so, that he lived in Cali and was promoting his new cookbook, and he was a late minute get. “Let’s hook up” I blurted, having an out of body experience apparently. James looked alarmed, then contemplative, then turned around and opened the door to the dressing room, standing aside to usher me in. He looked like a cat that caught the canary, and my face was crimson as I brushed past his unbelievable belly with my for boxes of eclairs in tow.
Once we were safely inside, his intense brown eyes found mine, searching. “Do you mean that?” he said, whistling low as he relieved me of my tasty burden. “I’m so down” he said, looking at my body appraisingly and apparently liking what he saw. I blushed even more under his scrutinizing gaze. He sauntered over to the door to turn the lock, then made a slow promenade towards me, closer, closer.
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