BHM The Company Woman [~BHM, ~FFA, ~~WG, feeding, trad romance, gentle domination, slow]

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[~BHM, ~FFA, ~~WG, feeding, trad romance, gentle domination, slow] A woman begins to question her life after she starts a new job with an attractive but domineering employer.

The Company Woman
by TradWifeFeeder
After getting hassled by the reception staff for not already having a company ID before she'd even begun her first day of work, Eleanor Lowood wondered to herself why she'd ever applied to Giant! Corporation in the first place. Was it the trendy, downtown campus, that boasted perks like free beer and endless "healthy" snacks? Or the fact that it was ranked a top 500 company and had been voted one of the best places to work by Shill Magazine? No, she thought, smiling wryly to herself. It was because at the college recruiting fair, she'd liked the photos that they'd had displayed of the new CEO, George Ashe. Pictured in his signature vested suit, tall and portly with short dark hair and icy eyes, he looked like he was literally the giant behind the name. She recalled how she'd seen a video interview of him a few months back, where the camera had zoomed in and focused on how his thick belly and bottom were filling his chair on the set, before the interviewer asked him how he felt about his history of taking big executive bonuses in order to allegedly save dying companies. He'd said something fiery in a posh British accent about how it was only a fraction of what he ended up making for corporate shareholders, when he was indeed saving their failing assets. Eleanor admired his hot-headed passion, which had probably served him well in his career, but she'd admired his hot body even more. She'd never claimed to be a deep woman. And that's what got her here, today.

Growing up, she'd always had a fascination with the few big boys that she spied around her school, but they were very few and never in her class. Consequently, she'd never seriously dated anyone; the other boys just didn't hold her interest, no matter how "cute" the other girls declared them, and she couldn't explain why. They just seemed like they were lacking something, and didn't hold a candle to the fat TV actors that she found herself crushing on instead. She'd hoped that situation would change when she went off to study humanities at Spruce State College, and had it! Not only were there big guys around, but there were almost always a few in each class -- and that number just grew during her four years there, thanks to the all-you-can-eat cafeteria, and how every campus club used free pizza, soda, cake, and cookies to bribe students to meetings. She began to take note of a small group of students that she internally termed "The Grazers," who seemed to be attending a different event in the Student Hall every night of the week, dutifully showing up just to enjoy snack time, as attested to by their strained belts and missing buttons.

After settling in for a few weeks, Eleanor decided to get involved in student life herself, and picked an environmental activism club that frequently held bakesales and donut fundraisers for the vague cause of a healthier campus ecology -- mainly just because she wanted to meet the kind of clientele that would be drawn to buy even more treats when there were already so many free ones to go around. She smiled sweetly and turned on the charm with each big guy who came by, hoping to build a rapport with someone cuddily that would lead to a date. That dream ended with a rude awakening -- literally. Her flirtations and invitations to dinner were often met with sneers, rebuffs, and skepticism, as if something were wrong with her. Unlike the warm and fun-loving chubby characters on TV, the real thing could be quite rude. It left her dismayed, as she couldn't understand why this happened. Was a bakesale the wrong place and time? She tried reapproaching some of the same guys after class or elsewhere, and had the same or worse results. An association began forming in her mind between fatness and disagreeable personalities. Her dream for college dating faded, and she gave up, alleviating her sadness by throwing herself into her studies and campus job. Done with unrequited crushes, she started hooking up with whomever would have her, regardless of her own lack of attraction, and went through a series of unfulfilling, uncommitted relationships with bland, skinny boys where it felt like talking about sex was the only way for her to get any positive male attention.

That's how she found herself here at her job today, thinking with her loins again as she'd stupidly been drawn in by the prospect of having some impeccably-dressed eyecandy as her boss. In reality, she'd probably never see him in person at all. It was a huge, sprawling corporation, and four years of being a top student at her college had only made her good enough to be hired for the secretary pool. Sorry, "Personal Assistant." She made a face at that term, but knew that "secretary" was no longer considered correct language, and language mattered. Once allowed inside the building, she sat in the lobby while waiting for her first assignment. Spread out on the coffee table before her were a collection of magazines featuring photos and headlines about the new CEO. "The fatman may be a miracle-worker, but he's no jolly ol' St. Nick," read one tagline. "Make room for the new Big Boss in town," read another. "Can he last long enough to save the company? A look at the health toll of corporate life," read a sensationalist one, as if Ashe was going to abruptly drop dead from his weight at any moment. Eleanor rolled her eyes, but flipped the rag open to see if there was a photo shoot featuring him.

A ruefully smiling HR worker appeared next to her. "Miss Eleanor?" This made Eleanor wince. She hated when anyone addressed her that way. But she hid it with a smile while she stood. "Miss Eleanor, we have a special opportunity to offer you. We know that you had your heart set on being a Personal Assistant," that was a lie; she'd just done a general job application. "But we just had an opening for Executive Assistant pop up. Would you be interested in that?" The woman tilted her head to the side and the unhappy smile returned. Eleanor raised her eyebrows and blinked. Well, that at least sounded like a pay upgrade. She honestly didn't see much of a difference, otherwise. "Absolutely!" she replied, faking enthusiasm.

Pleased, the other woman narrowed her eyes, then motioned for Eleanor to come with her.

--

Eleanor couldn't catch her breath and felt as if her heart were beating out of chest as she walked down the main corridor of the Executive Floor. She arrived at the door, paused for a beat to try to calm herself (it didn't help), and then stepped inside. There, seated on the corner of his desk, was George Ashe. Yes, she really had been made Executive Assistant to the CEO on her first day. Her life was finally changing for the better. Maybe hard work did pay off in the end.

In three-dimensions, he looked even bigger than she'd pictured. Or maybe he'd put on more weight. In her amateur estimation, he was well over 350. He looked up from his desk, and rose expectantly when he saw her. She froze, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as she stared, wide-eyed. "I'm Eleanor Lowood, your Executive Assistant," she blurted out, feeling her heart swell in saying it.

His expression turned cold as he walked closer, frowning down at her. Then he sighed in exasperation, going behind his desk and collapsing in his Big & Tall executive chair. Hands over his face, he mumbled, "Those frumpy old hags in HR have done it again. Do I have to micromanage everything, here?" Inside, she sank lower than she ever had before at hearing this. She didn't understand what she could've possibly done wrong already. Again, her dreams were dashed.

He composed himself and gave her a lugubrious look. "Sweetheart, you're too beautiful for this line of work. I can't believe they've sent you here." He raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug, then slammed his thick palms on the desk top. "Well, we'll just have to make do for the moment, unfortunately. I need the help to keep above water, for now."

Her heartbreak at being inadequate then turned to indignation. Did he think that she wasn't smart or capable enough to do this job, because she wasn't ugly? She couldn't believe that she was hearing such unabashed sexism, and on her first day. She was shaking.

He gathered up some scattered folders from his desk, and held them out to her. "See if you can file these away, darling. And don't forget -- actually, those confounded scolds probably didn't tell you -- teatime is at 3. Is it too much to expect that your predecessor left behind the instructions in your desk? Well, if they're not there, just do as you think best with what's in the kitchen. Tea at 3."

Eleanor's ears burned. Did he really think that she was too incompetent to make tea? And what had happened to the previous assistant? Ashe hadn't been here more than a couple of months. She lowered her head, silently turned and left his office, going to her own adjoining one to do the filing. "See if you can," she mockingly mumbled while working, then stopped as a thought hit her. Had she intentionally been set up with what must be the worst job for her first day? Did they do this because they knew that Ashe was a sexist pig who hated pretty women? Did HR hate her, too? She slumped down at her desk, fuming, then rifled through the drawers. The desk was virtually empty -- the previous occupant hadn't left anything beyond some office supplies. Great, so now he was going to think that she couldn't even do tea right, because she didn't have his precious instructions for whatever abstruse way that he liked it.

She caught up on messages and appointments until after lunch time, as she had no appetite, then went to that floor's kitchen a bit early, to familiarize herself with it and plan for how she might impress someone with tea. She'd also taken the time to do a bit of research on her PC, to see what was traditional for a low tea. She chided herself for actually putting work into making this the most enjoyable for him with what was available. Why be nice to someone like him? That's exactly what her friends would tell her. Despite that line of thought, she did find herself thinking of how attractive he was, and growing warm at the thought of bringing him food. Either way, she'd do her best, for the sake of her job.

Promptly at 3 o'clock, she carried in a steel tray with a classic spread of a variety of biscuits, breads, fruit spreads, clotted cream, and a white china teapot of an afternoon blend, with a matching teacup. She had wanted to do a Devonshire Cream tea, but that would have to wait until she could get a food order in, as there were no scones stocked in the kitchen. She was fortunate to find what she did in the disorganized mess that had been left to her. Ashe looked up as she entered, and motioned for her to take it to a corner sitting area of his office, where he then took a seat, and gestured at the other seat. "Please, join me for a moment. Have some, if you'd like."

She wanted to scoff at him, but had already resolved to just bite her tongue in his presence. She sat and looked at him blankly. What now, put jam on his biscuits for him? Unfazed, he poured himself a cup, grabbed a biscuit, and sat back, looking at her. Her eyes drifted briefly to his waistcoat and the color rose in her cheeks again, and she forced her eyes to remain fixed somewhere on his forehead.

"I just don't understand it. You did a lovely job. Wouldn't you rather be at home doing this for your family, though? Do you have a family?" He took a bite, watching her thoughtfully.

Did he expect her to quit? Well, it wasn't happening. She wanted to prove herself and was going to stick it out. This was the kind of job that some people would kill for: working next to the CEO at one of the largest companies. It's the kind of job that she'd been trained to go after for her entire life. She didn't know what she'd do if she lost it. "I have parents," was all she said, keeping her words as minimal as possible.

He frowned, nodding. "No siblings. A shame, when you turned out so well." He took another bite and a sip of tea. "Surely you have a boyfriend." She simply nodded. "For how long?" he asked. Why was he asking, she wondered. Would sexual harassment be next? At least it'd be less likely if she could prove that she was already taken. She thought back for a moment, as she honestly hadn't cared how long she'd been with her boyfriend before; it wasn't like Isaac was going to take her out for their anniversary, or something. "Over a year," she said after a moment. Ashe rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, setting down the teacup while he fixed himself some bread with cream and jam. "What a loser he is. Not only has he not married you by now, but he's sent you off to work this awful job. What does he even do?"

She gave him a furious stare; it was becoming harder to hold her tongue. "I don't know if I want to get married," was all she could say without exploding. Ashe raised his eyebrows at her. "You don't know if you want to marry him," he corrected. "Nor does it sound as if you should." She was taken aback at him telling her what to do like this, but simply shook her head and said nothing.

He stared at her as he ate the slice of bread. Eleanor felt that she should be enjoying this sight, but was feeling distressed about the grilling he was giving her. "Do you really want to be a secretary?" he asked next. Was this some kind of trick? She didn't know what the right answer was, so she decided to just be honest. "No, I don't want to be a secretary," she replied softly. He nodded with a small measure of satisfaction. "Good girl. Only someone warped or desperate would have a life goal of being a secretary. You have options."

"What options?" She couldn't keep the edge of bitterness out of her voice. "This is literally the only job that I was offered, after graduating with top honors."

Ashe made an exasperated gesture. "See, I knew that you were brilliant." Eleanor couldn't hide her confusion. "It's a tragedy," he said to himself, checking the watch on his thick wrist. He popped a couple more biscuits in his mouth, finished his tea, then stood. "Must get on with the day, then." He rose and offered a hand to her. Eleanor took it, still baffled, and Ashe pulled her up and to him, holding her there by her hand for a moment. "You just deserve better, love," he dropped her hand and patted her side, then turned and lumbered back over to his desk. Still confused and also aroused by the touch, Eleanor went on autopilot as she picked up the tray and took it back to the kitchen. "Easy for you to say," she mumbled to no one.

At half-past 5, she checked in on him. He muted the phone call that he was on and waved her off before she could say anything. "Go home. I'll be fine." She backed out, then grabbed her bag as quickly as she could and practically ran out. She really needed to talk to someone after that day, and pacing around outside, she texted friends until she found a couple that were willing to meet up for drinks that night. Isaac said that he didn't feel like it, oh, and he was super jealous of her job and that he'd never have an opportunity like that because he was male. She sighed, and walked the few miles to the bar, trying to clear her head with some outdoors time, and figure out what to say about the day to her friends.
 
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The Company Woman: Chapter 2

Eleanor slept poorly that night, and as she walked to work in a haze early the next morning, she reviewed the conversation over drinks from the previous night. Her friends had acted simply horrified and outraged on her behalf by how her day had gone. Quit! No, stay on and show him! Report him! Get revenge! Sell her story! Sue! They had a dozen contradictory suggestions, and none of them seemed feasible. Things didn't just work like that in reality. With a little distance and a clearer head, she thought it over. Were things actually that bad? Was it anything that she couldn't handle? She remembered her two main motivations for applying to this job: money and an attractive boss. Neither of those things had gone away; in fact, that situation had gone better than expected, as she was now working directly under him. She steeled herself and resolved to find a way to make this work.

Although she was one of the first to make it to the office this morning, she was startled to see that Ashe was already there at his desk, reading a bundle of papers in one hand, while eating a takeout breakfast sandwich in the other. He glanced up at her as she stopped in the doorway. "Good morning, Ms. Lowood."

Being addressed this way made her happy. She enjoyed something about formality, and hated that, as a woman, she went through life often getting called by her first name or some silly nickname, or worst, Miss Eleanor. "Good morning, sir. What can I get you?" She carried over a document that had been left for him overnight, and stood nearby, watching him take a big bite of the sandwich. She noted with pleasure that he had a sack with more on his desk.

"A pot of coffee. Please." He paused to give her a warm smile, and not able to help smiling back, she rushed out to the kitchen and worked quickly. She returned several minutes later, carrying a tray with a metal coffee carafe, a large mug, and a containers of cream and sugar cubes. She set it on an empty corner of his desk. He'd started on another sandwich and another document by then, and he inclined his head toward the tray. "A good amount of cream and sugar, please." She wasn't sure what was a "good" amount, but generously added them to the steaming mug, before placing it in his reach. He shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, then grabbed the coffee and took a sip. "Perfect, darling. Your talents are being wasted here, but such is this absurd world in which we live." He leaned back to look at her. "Too much to do today, so do order lunch delivery for me. There should be a list of my approved establishments -- ah, who am I kidding, I'm sure that's gone. Just surprise me. It's not like I'll starve to death if I don't like it." He patted the stomach that was mostly filling his lap, and then pulled out a fountain pen from his vest pocket to begin making some notes. "See you when it arrives, Ms. Lowood."

She went to work at her desk, but was continually distracted by the thought of what to order for his lunch -- and how much of it. She found a stack of takeout menus in the kitchen, unsure of whether these were the approved restaurants, but she'd take a chance on it. She decided that it'd be hard to go wrong with a selection of easy-to-eat common comfort foods, so she chose a place that did British fare. Just before noon, she carried in a sack of them, and set out an array that included shepherd's pie, beer-battered fish & chips, banger & egg sandwiches, and sticky toffee pudding. Had she been overzealous and ordered too much? Listening in to a conference call, Ashe nodded and smiled wide with approval at her, then grabbed the sandwiches and began stuffing his face. She stood watching from a few feet away, momentarily forgetting about work as she instead just imagined how full he'd be if he ate all of that, and picturing how it'd plump up his belly. He glanced up at her with curiosity after a moment, then gestured that she may go. She hurried out, her face red at having been caught staring.

She wondered if he'd still want tea that day, but it was blocked on his calendar, so she assumed so. She'd ordered scones from the nearby bakery, and prepared a tray with a proper cream tea when it was time. As he was still busy at his desk, she brought the tray over there, and set it down in a clear spot near him. She noted with excitement that all of the takeout from earlier was gone, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned now. He looked over at the scones, took a thoughtful bite of one, then chewed the rest and shook his head. "This is from that damned bakery a couple of streets over. They're no good. Fake, food-like substances." He picked up the tray and handed it to her. "I'll just have more of what you brought yesterday, please. That was much better." So, he could be particular about his food, she thought. Which meant that he did actually mean it when he showed appreciation for the other things that she'd served. She actually felt some sense of accomplishment as she took the tray back to the kitchen, and replaced the scones with biscuits and toast. She'd have to search for a better bakery. She paused to note that, yes, she did actually want to find the best bakery for him, and it gave her pleasure to do so.

She brought the tray back and stood next to his chair while she waited to see if it met his approval. He nodded to her, but hardly looked up from a binder in which he was making notes. "I need to finish this soon, so would you terribly mind pouring up a cup for me and just feeding me some biscuits?" She locked up, torn between wanting to do it -- really, really wanting to do it -- but also feeling that something was improper about being asked this by her boss, especially because this request was something straight from her erotic fantasies. However, he couldn't possibly know that, and such fantasies weren't normal, right? It was certainly unusual of him to ask, but it was probably meant as an innocent, absent-minded request of someone stressed and quite busy. Or maybe he really was just that demanding.

He glanced up at her. "I have to apologize, darling. Normally, I'd take you to dinner first, before asking to be fed, but I could really used it today." He winked at her, then looked back at his documents. She was at a loss for words. It did mean the same thing to him as to her, which was unbelievably arousing, but also meant that he'd crossed into inappropriate territory. Unable to decide what was right to do, she went with instinct. She found herself picking up a biscuit, then placing it to his mouth, which readily accepted it with a small moan of appreciation. She watched him chew, then blurted out, "Why don't you?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well, as you're my employee, that would be a bit scandalous, wouldn't it?" She couldn't deny that. She covered another biscuit with clotted cream and strawberry jam, and then put it to his mouth. He accepted it with a look of delight. "I have a boyfriend, anyway," she muttered.

"Yes, of course you do," he said with an exasperated sound. "But what does he do for you?"

"Do for me?" She frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Does he invite you out? Take you to elegant places? Or at least make you dinner from scratch? Does he check in on you at work? Or escort you home? Does he surprise you with gifts? Buy you fine things? Plan for a future together? Or, does he go dutch on fast food, insist on evenings in with TV and sex, and avoid investing in you because he wants to 'keep his options open?'" He was shaking his head. "A woman like you should be given the royal treatment, yet I'd bet anything that he would never do that, based on some misguided principle."

Eleanor felt her anger rising. "I don't need someone to buy my affection," she snapped. "I don't know what you think women are like, but I'm not some shallow gold-digger."

"Young women today are going to great lengths to martyr themselves, just to prove that they don't sponge off of anyone," he sighed. "I suppose because foolish young men must demand it, and they end up sponging off of women instead." She was a little amused to hear Ashe talking about the youth today as if he were much older, when he couldn't have more than ten years on her, and was young for such a well-regarded CEO. He'd become a success at the age of 19, when he joined the floundering startup run by his childhood friends, saving it and making all of them wealthy. This kicked off a career in which he'd gone on to do more of the same for other companies, until he was regarded as a business prodigy.

"A man should regard his partner as someone to invest in for a future together. If he wants such a future, he also has to consider that, no matter what, their burdens in life will be unequal. She takes greater risks in entering a relationship, and so he must impress her to show that he's worthy and capable of improving her life, as he can and should. Otherwise, why should they be together?" He gave up on his work for the moment, setting it down to regard her reaction.

"We have fun together, he and I. We were friends in college and just stuck together. I mean, what else is there to want? We have a good time. We don't depend on each other for anything. No pressure."

He shook his head. "You can have 'fun' at a carnival. You can make friends anywhere. That's not fulfillment. That's not building a life and a legacy together. Relationships should feel like more than dorm-room hookups with friends. Does a woman of your quality really want, 'just hanging out, no pressure' for the rest of her life?"

She had avoided thinking about what she actually wanted, because she hadn't known that there was a choice. "This is just how relationships are, now," she replied. "I mean, what else am I going to do?"

"Find someone better," he patted her hand. "I'm not trying to suggest that that's me. There must be someone out there whom you fancy and who will treat you well."

"Not for everyone," she scoffed. "No, of course not for everyone," he agreed. "But no one can be exactly the same, and a consequence of that is that some will do much better than others. It's unavoidable."

She took a step back, scrutinizing him. "So what's your ideal relationship, then? Someone who obediently waits around, feeding you when you order her to?"

"As much as I'd love to have a full-time feeder, that's not a relationship, that's a job," he said sardonically. "Most work is going to resemble that much more than a relationship ever should. A romantic relationship should be a partnership of mutual benefit, of making each other's lives easier. It's as much or more about the woman as the man, since there's more that he can do to ease her burden of -- one would hope -- having children one day, as part of their legacy."

"So just baby-making, then?" she smirked. "Is that your idea of fulfillment, doing nothing but popping out kids to be a burden on society?" She flicked her wrist dismissively.

"Yes, baby-making, because good genes deserve to be passed on. If you love someone, you want to see them continue living on through their children one day," he answered patiently. "You act as if this isn't important or vital work to continue the future of humanity. And I don't blame you, sweetheart, because I know that a lot of pressure is put on young people to not have children today. It's treated as a sin, a screwup. Because it interferes with the short-term profits of corporations like this one, as it could lead to mothers or fathers choosing to stay out of the workforce, committed couples that have more financial independence than perpetual singletons do, and so on." She looked surprised to hear him saying this, and he spread his hands in a shrug. "I look at the long-term, not the short, which is why I've done as well as I have. Well, except for when it comes to this." He lowered his hands to either side of his belly, and jiggled it briefly. "My vice is eating food without putting too much thought into the long-term consequences of that. But it helps me to relax and focus on more important work, like saving people's livelihoods."

She was running over what he said in her mind, and feeling overcome with a mixture of emotions. "I'll leave you to it," she said softly, and turned and left quickly. This was a lot to process. She went to her desk and tried to finish off the day's work. Hearing no more from Ashe that afternoon, she promptly left at 5:30, not wanting to check in on him again until her thoughts had settled down. She decided to bring some takeout to her boyfriend's and spend the evening with him, to give herself some reassurance. She picked up some of their favorite salads on the walk to Isaac's place.

Eleanor let herself in with a key when she arrived, predicting that he'd be busy watching a streamer and not want to be interrupted. She set the bag of food on the kitchen counter, then went to join him. She pulled up a chair next to his desk chair, which reminded her of the ones that her school used to have. "How are you?" she asked. He made a face and a grunting sound, not looking away from the screen. She was used to him never reciprocating in conversation. "There's some soups and salads in the kitchen. Um, I spent about $30." He nodded, then motioned to an open bag of Veg Stix between his skinny legs. "Thanks, but I'm already eating," he mumbled. She'd always offered to go fifty-fifty on their dates, and he expected it, but he was bad about offering himself, and when pressed on it, used the excuse that she had a better job than him because she was female. This had never actually been the case until recently, now that she was an Executive Assistant and he was still a "retail associate" at a chain store. He insisted that this was his choice, because he couldn't -- nor should he be expected to -- handle the stress of anything more demanding, just because he was a male.

She turned to see what Isaac was watching. It appeared to be an emaciated but fully-grown adult man with multi-colored hair, who was screaming like a child while he was harassing actual children in a video game that they played together. A few moments later, a very similar looking woman entered the frame, and the man stopped playing the game in order to struggle to pick her up, while it was her turn to scream. Eleanor usually refrained from any kind of criticism of Isaac's life or tastes. They, like many of their friend group, simply never criticized each other. Don't judge and don't tolerate judgement, had been the way that they'd been raised throughout all of their schooling. Inspired by today's events, she decided to test the waters by actually expressing some of her real thoughts.

"He looks like he could use a cheeseburger," she said under her breath. Isaac finally turned to her, making another face. "What? Um, body-shaming? Really? Also, cheeseburgers are maybe the worst thing you can eat, especially for the planet?" he gaped at her for a moment, then went back to watching. She shrugged. "Well, he should be able to pick up his girlfriend," she replied after a moment. "If he can't, that doesn't seem healthy."

Isaac dramatically dropped his bag of fried cornmeal on the floor. "Wow, okay. First of all, he's in an open relationship, so don't assume that's his girlfriend. And what kind of sexist assumption is it to say that he should be able to pick her up? It's just as sexist to have expectations for men as for women," he said, getting riled up.

"Yes, it is sexist," Eleanor muttered, mostly to herself. "And maybe that's fine." She was ready to have expectations -- another word for standards -- and to go for broke for what she wanted.

Not paying any attention, Isaac continued. "I mean, look at how women like you are always getting better jobs than me. You did better in college than I did. It's not fair to place any kind of expectations on me in that situation. I mean, it's only fair that women have to support men now that things are different. You shouldn't get special treatment or get to live off of someone. Equal lefts for equal rights!" he suddenly yelled, slugging her in the shoulder. "Ow!" she winced. It didn't so much physically hurt her, as it hurt that he wanted to do this to her, to make some kind of point about women in general, not seeing her as an individual who was trying her best -- and this wasn't the first time. Rubbing her shoulder and feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, she rose to get her salad from the kitchen. She opted to eat standing at the counter, since there were no other seats.

"Speaking of," Isaac went on, oblivious. "I've been thinking that, now that you have this job, we should move in together."

Eleanor froze, fork in mid-air. "Really? You want me to move in here?" She started imagining having to clean up this sty, and it didn't even come with a fat pig, she mused to herself. In fact, she found it increasingly difficult to be intimate with Isaac because of his choice to look skeletal rather than give in to any standards of masculinity. Not that he really had much of an interest in intimacy, anyway, when there were other distractions.

Isaac laughed. "No, no. It's too small. I was thinking, that since you just live with roomies now anyway, that you can easily find someone to take over your lease, and then you can get a bigger place, and then I can move in with you. I mean, you can afford it now. Then I wouldn't have to bug my parents so much about bills. I've already started looking at places and have some picked out for you. We can also get a maid service, finally." His eyes were fixed on the screen, watching now as the girl was sitting on the guy's lap while she took her turn at griefing kids.

"Ah, alright," she trailed off, looking down at her salad. Finally, it had all been enough. She slammed the lid back on her bowl, shoved it in the bag with the other food, dropped her key on the counter, and then walked out with the sack, not bothering to close the door behind her. She figured it would be a few minutes before Isaac even noticed.
 
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The Company Woman: Chapter 3

Eleanor didn't even know if she slept that night. Before dawn the next morning, she dried her tears and rose to go to work. She arrived at about the time the sun was coming up, enjoying how quiet the campus was at that hour. She headed directly to the executive kitchen to make herself some coffee. She was startled to see someone already there at this early hour, and to be greeted with a good view of Ashe from behind. He was trying to reach a higher shelf, and she could see how the waistband of his pants was digging into his generous lovehandles, and his ass filled out his pants. He turned around to see her. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned in the front, showing his undershirt, and how his waistband sunk into his doughy belly. "Um, good morning, Mr. Ashe. Sorry to surprise you, I didn't expect anyone here at this hour," she said nervously. "Were you -- were you here all night?" She tried to avert her gaze.

"Good morning, Ms. Lowood. I apologize for not being decent yet. Yes, I've been busy all night, and didn't realize it was already morning. I feel as if I can go without sleep forever, as long as I eat to keep my energy up." He rested a hand on top of the prominent curve of his stomach, then turned to go back to making himself some toast with chocolate spread.

Eleanor resumed staring. "Well, shall I order you some breakfast? It's still early, yet."

"That would be lovely. Per usual, surprise me," he replied, glancing over his shoulder at her. She hurried off to her office to do so.

When it arrived almost an hour later, she carried the huge Lumberjack breakfast platter into his office. It was filled with pancakes, bacon, sausage patties, biscuits, gravy, fruit compote, and whipped cream. Ashe had showered and dressed as he normally did in that time, using the executive bath that adjoined his office, and was now in front of the computer at his desk. She placed the platter near him, along with some cups of coffee and juice. She tried to stall for a moment, so that she could awaken and excite her tired brain by watching him eat. "What else can I get you, to make your day easier? Do you need laundry? Um, I could make up the sofa for you to sleep on?"

He was already distractedly smothering the pancakes in syrup, fruit, and cream. "No thank you, this is quite fine." He dug in with gusto, like he hadn't eaten all day and night, although she'd seen him just having a snack about an hour ago. "Alright, I'll leave you to it, Mr. Ashe," she replied, and reluctantly turned and left, taking a last look over her shoulder at him stuffing a forkful of pancakes in his mouth. She wondered if she could hang about outside the door and peek in on him without his noticing, but decided not to push it. She went to her desk and sat down numbly, as most of the blood had left her head and gushed to her lower body. Amazingly, she wasn't sleepy, either. She found herself looking ahead and planning for his lunch, thinking that he might need a good steak and potatoes with all of the fixings, and of course, some cobbler for dessert.

Teatime rolled around that afternoon, and bordering on deliriously giddy tiredness herself at this point, she resolved to finish what she'd started yesterday. Carrying in a tray of what she hoped were good scones this time, along with the requisite jam, cream, and tea, she placed it on his desk, where he was obliviously typing away. Then, she surprised him by sitting on the edge of the desk herself. "Would you like me to feed you your tea again?" she asked, as coolly as she could manage.

He gaped at her for a moment, his eyes betraying just how much he wanted that. "Well, as much as I would enjoy it, I had a momentary lapse in judgment yesterday as a result of the temptation that you offer me. I stand behind my words then, that I shouldn't request such of someone that I wouldn't ask to dinner."

"Why not?" she returned, meeting his gaze from her perch on the desk. He stared silently back for a moment, drinking in this scene. "You should demand better, and stop settling for less than you deserve," he replied. "Demand what you really want in life."

She nodded, biting her lip as she thought it over and worked up her resolve. "I demand that you ask me out." He took a deep breath, putting a weighty, warm hand on her knee. "Good," he said. "However, it sounds as if you're already in a committed relationship, so it would be improper of me."

She shook her head slowly. "You know, something occurred to me last night," she paused to laugh. "I don't think that I ever was! He never actually asked me out. He never called me his girlfriend, or anything like that -- in fact, he probably would've objected to the terminology. We met because, at a college party, he passed out drunk on the couch next to me, falling asleep with his head on my shoulder. I was lonely, and accepted it. When he woke, we made out, and hung out for the rest of the weekend, and just kept hanging out like that. I had enough last night, when he assumed that he's going to move in with me because of this job. It's funny to think that I wasted all of that time with him, who never did actually ask me on a date, or to be someone special to him," she finished, tinged with sadness.

Ashe looked her over with a soft expression, and then swallowed. "Let's have tea, then," he said gently. She took a moment to wipe her eyes, smiled at him, and then brought a scone to his mouth. She felt much better when he said that it met his approval this time, and she proceeded to load up another with strawberries and clotted cream for him.

--

Eleanor came into work the next day at a more normal hour, much better rested and refreshed, to find a bouquet of pink gradient roses in a glass vase on her desk, with a tiny greeting card attached. The outside was a pretty golden foil floral pattern. Inside, in his blue fountain pen ink, was written: Will you come to dinner with me on Friday evening? - George

She pulled out a stationary card from the desk, carefully wrote her reply, and then laid it on a tray for him, placing on top of it a wrapped chocolate bonbon from her personal stash, and his morning coffee. She carried it in to him, and he eagerly read the card: I want nothing more. - Eleanor

He tried to suppress his smile as he looked at her, and then popped the candy in his mouth. "Thank you for the coffee, Ms. Lowood."
 
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The Company Woman: Chapter 4

For once, Eleanor had no idea what to expect for her Friday evening, and she quite liked that. She didn't join George for tea the next day, as he had a meeting at the same time, but when she brought in the tray, he handed her a note that told her to meet him outside at 6. She finished up her work a little before then and took some time to freshen up before heading down. She changed into her best black cocktail dress, which wasn't much as she'd bought it on a student's salary, but was the most that she could do. It'd hardly been worn until now, as she had but a few occasions to go out.

She was standing on the sidewalk a couple of minutes before 6, not exactly sure as to what was to happen. Before long, a black luxury car pulled up next to her, and George emerged, walking to the sidewalk in order to open the passenger door. "If you please, Ms. Lowood," he gestured for her to get in. She took her seat, admiring the fact that this was the cleanest and best-smelling car in which she'd ever been. She turned to George as he returned to his seat. "I'm surprised that you're driving yourself," she remarked. "I'd rather that we have a pleasant, private time together," he replied with a smile, before driving off.

His home was as secluded as one would expect, situated in the woods just north of the suburbs. The commute was a little longer than what Eleanor was used to, with her cheap city apartment that was shared four ways. She could understand why he'd choose to stay at the office on busy nights. However, his longer commute was worth it, as George's home was more spacious than any house that she'd ever before entered. The multi-story chalet wasn't a mansion, but it must've been close. They parked at the front, and he opened the door for her, then followed her inside. "It's gorgeous," she breathed, looking around the entrance.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to make you dinner," he took her jacket, and hung it in the closet, along with his own. She followed him into the kitchen, and took a seat at the bar.

"I continue being surprised. I thought that you'd take me out, or order catering," she said, watching as he took out some dishes from the professional-looking refrigerator and got started.

"I think that a private setting such as this is more enjoyable, and I have more control over the meal. I can choose the best ingredients and cook it how I like. It's a luxury that's worth it to me."

"Hmm," she cupped her chin thoughtfully. "So, I don't get to order for myself?"

"No." He turned to smile at her, and then remembered something. "Ah, forgive me." He then busied himself making a drink, a light gin and tonic cocktail that he placed on the counter in front of her.

"Thank you." She tried it with a cautious sip, and it was delicious. Perhaps he knew what he was talking about in regards to having the best ingredients. "Would it be the same if we went out to a restaurant together? Would you order for me?" She continued sipping, with an amused gleam in her eyes.

"Yes." He grinned, and then went back to preparing the meal. "And what if I didn't like what you ordered, or what you cooked?" she asked, and tilted her head, watching him. She liked the side view that she was getting of his big belly almost touching the counter as he worked. George finished up a charcuterie board that he'd been preparing, and set it in front of her. She selected some salami, stilton cheese, and currants, to pair with her cocktail.

"Then, I would take your feedback and attempt to do better," he replied. "Why not ask me from the start, so that you don't risk an error?" she returned. She was enjoying trying to understand his mindset, which was totally different to hers and to anyone else that she'd known. A man ordering for a woman was a relic from the past, something that she might have seen in an old film, or that was trotted out in one of her classes as an example of how backwards culture used to be, and how liberated they were today in comparison. She now questioned that thinking.

"The point is to take that risk," he answered, coolly. "On a date, it would be my job to impress you. I want to show you both how well I know your tastes, as well as the quality of my own tastes. I also should try to entertain you by introducing you to something that you may not order for yourself because it's new to you, or you might be too modest to request it, such as an expensive item. The point is to make it a different and more enjoyable experience, as compared to simply dining on your own. And if you were dissatisfied and asked for something different, of course I would do my best to please you. I'm not telling you what to eat, but merely trying to impress you with my best suggestions." Eleanor mulled this over while nursing her drink, trying different items from the charcuterie, and watching him, now busy by the stove. She wasn't sure that she agreed, but she was starting to at least get an idea of his viewpoint. She liked it and was open to giving it a try. "Alright, then I'm eager to see how you try to impress me."

He was busy at the stove for a few more minutes, and then came over and gestured to the nearby dinette table. "Please join me, Ms. Lowood." He pulled out a chair for her, and she took her seat. He brought out a couple of plates, and set one before her, containing a ribeye with a dark sauce, and a side of scalloped sweet potatoes with cream. His own plate contained bigger portions of the same. He presented a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and poured each of them a glass. George sat and motioned for her to start eating, so she cut a small piece of steak and cautiously tasted the sauce. It had flavors of chocolate and red wine. "Oh, wow. That's really not what I was expecting, but it tastes amazing," Eleanor said, cutting another piece. George grinned, as if this was exactly the effect that he'd wanted to create.

"Tell me about what you want in life," he asked, pausing to watch her. "Don't be shy about anything." She took a bite of sweet potato and thought about it. "Well, we already established that I don't wan to be a secretary," she laughed. "No one has really asked what I would like to do, before. It's always been about what I should or could do. Everything has been about getting that supposedly safe and secure specialized corporate job. Molding myself to be a disposable part in a machine. But it's not really safe or secure, is it?" He shook his head, no. She nodded, thoughtfully taking another bite of ribeye. "No, it isn't. But everything around me for all of my life -- except for you -- has made me feel like something is wrong if I don't have that. That I've somehow failed, if I'm not a company woman." She shrugged, drank some wine. "Well. What I'd actually like to do is be a researcher who attempts to better understand that sort of thing. Why and how our environment became this way, why it seems that all people of my generation feel like this. What was lost. How we can change. Why someone like you is different." She looked to him, and he nodded slowly.

"A worthier use of your time," he said. "I just hope that there's room in that plan somewhere for this humble suitor, perhaps to hold you to reaching that goal." Eleanor smiled and blushed. "It's not so much a plan as an idea. There's no way for me to do that at this time," she replied. "I'm struggling to pay bills as it is. I don't imagine that anything else will pay as well as being a corporate drone."

"It might take longer to become a success in it, but I think that it'll ultimately be better for you. The problem is having the patience and the luxury of time," he appeared to think it over for a moment. "Perhaps there's something that I can do to help. For instance, I have plenty of room here for you to stay and have separate quarters."

"I wouldn't want to impose like that," she murmured. George reached over to take her hand. "It's no imposition at all. I want to support someone promising and whom I admire. Don't concern yourself about if it doesn't work out, either. I have every confidence in you, and should you change your mind, then there are no obligations. Leave to any place you like, on your own timeline. I'll write you a glowing recommendation should you choose to seek other work."

Eleanor shook her head slowly. "This sounds too good to be true," she said. George smiled at her. "I told you, that you deserve the best. I want to be the man to provide it for you. You would honor me by allowing me to do so."

"It's a lot to consider," she said to herself, looking down. "But I also have very little to lose."

"There's no hurry to make a decision. Remain where you are for as long as you like. I have absolutely no complaints about your work, except that you're too brilliant for it." He kissed her hand, then stood and cleared their dishes, and came back shortly with a cake plate and coffee. "However, I would like to request that, in the meantime, you feed me some dessert. And enjoy some yourself, of course." He removed the cover from the cakeplate, revealing a fresh cherry cake frosted in mascarpone cream.

She brightened up, and eagerly took the proffered cake server from him. She placed a thick slice on a dessert plate, then sat on his knee, feeding him bite after bite. He sighed blissfully and held her against his side.

After they'd finished off the cake in a very one-sided manner, with about 90% going to George, Eleanor lingered on his lap for a while longer. They kissed as he ran his hands up and down her back. "I guess that it's late and I should go," she finally said, reluctantly. "Stay," he breathed, and then held her close, pushing her against his full belly. "There's no need for you to go. I have a guest room," he said. Eleanor thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "If I'm going to stay, I want to stay with you," and with that, she grabbed his head between her hands and pressed her lips against his, hard. He wrapped one arm under her legs, lifting her up and holding her tightly to him, and stood. "Then I must oblige you, as your host," he said wryly, and carried her to the upstairs bedroom.

He gently placed her down on the bed as they entered. It was very dimly lit, but she felt herself on a large bed, covered in furs. He stood at the edge of the bed next to her, and stroked his hands down her body while looking at her, relaxed there. "What would you like me to do?" he asked. Eleanor was flustered, and couldn't bring herself to say. She bit her lip, and then stammered, "I want you to do what you want." George smiled, and gently massaged her hips and thighs, while moving between her legs, which hung partially off of the bed. "You want to be under this big belly, don't you?," he said, more of a statement than question. "Mmhmm," was all she could say, giddy and slightly embarrassed at the thought that this was making her so hot. She'd wanted to be taken by a bigger man for all of her dating life, and finally, it was happening.

"Well," he said, leaning down and slowly easing his considerable weight of nearly 400 pounds onto her lower body. "We have to make sure that you're ready, first. Since you enjoy feeding, I bet that you want to know how good I am at eating." He carefully pushed up her dress and removed her stockings, before kneeling between her thighs. It was her turn for many blissful sounds, as she did indeed learn how well he could eat, as well as how good it felt to be gently crushed and pinned under a very stuffed and fat belly. What mattered most, however, and what brought happy tears to her eyes as she lay next to him that night, he on his side with her cozy between his breasts and his softening belly spread across her, was that she felt loved. Really, truly loved, by someone who was finally right for her.
 
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Epilogue, five years later

Eleanor grunted as she struggled to pull the belt through the buckle, pushing one hand deep into George's fat apron. "There!" she panted, satisfied when she finally had it fastened at the last hole of the belt. He sighed in relief as he could finally stop holding his breath, and tried to feel around the buckle with his pudgy fingers, but couldn't quite reach it. "This was the largest size costume that I could find," she said, collapsing on a chair in their bedroom for a needed break. She wondered if getting tired this easily was an early sign of another pregnancy, which would be her third.

"Oh no, it's certainly my fault for overdoing it with the Yuletide treats," he said, rubbing the sides of his abdomen, feeling the belt biting into it. "But I can't resist it when I see a gorgeous woman tempting me with all of the delectable recipes that she's trying." He moved closer to her, lifting the belly that hung most of the way down his thighs, and gently pressing her against the chair with it. "I think that she likes being crushed under all of this fat, though, and can't help herself."

She moaned appreciatively and wrapped her arms as far as she could around the fat gut that was holding her down. "Don't get me all hot and bothered before the party," she sighed. "It's bad enough seeing you bulging out of that costume."

"Don't want anyone seeing that you're hot for Santa?" he teased, and smacked his fat, jiggling it against her. The slightest motion set off waves all across his over 600 pound body. "Sorry, love, but I'm going to be stuffing myself silly right in front of you all night. Must play the part, you know. And after all of the exertion of hauling around this greedy gut tonight, I'm going to need a belly massage, and for you to feed me lots of cookies and eggnog."

She bit her lip and squeezed him. "It's too bad that you don't have a lap anymore," she said, gently smacking his fat rolls and watching the waves propagate. "Although, the tradeoff for being smothered under all of that fat instead is worth it." He eased off of her, and then helped her up. He took her hand in his meaty one, and then waddled out to the house party with her at his side.
 

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