Quitting into the Arms of a Billionaire
A BBW erotic story about quitting a dead-end job and looking for the right “fit”
By, Venus Wille
Copyright 2018 Venus Wille
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1: Mr. Douche and the worst job ever
I’m a pretty smart girl, I recognize this now, but, in my desperation to get a “good job” with benefits, I found myself under-employed, though I had a full-time job, under-stimulated, and… basically… miserable.
I worked in a beige cubicle in a sea of cubicles on beige carpet, surrounded by beige walls, dim fluorescent lighting flickered overhead and each day the “to do” pile on my desk got bigger and bigger. I actually didn’t even have my own cube, it was a shared cube in the basement where the ceiling was so low that if I reached my hand up while standing, I could easy push up a square in the dropped ceiling.
I had a few tricks to get me through the 40 hours a week. I listened to erotica on my earbuds. 50 Shades of Grey, Big Juicy Peach, everything written by Anais Nin, erotica podcasts, etc. Basically everything I could get my hands on. I also had my art projects at home. I love fabric and fashion and, as a large, voluptuous woman, it’s hard to find clothes that fit right and that I feel good in. So… out of necessity I have learned to sew. You would think that would mean that I had some snazzy clothes to wear to work but it didn’t mean that. I wore plain, uninspired, dowdy Lane Bryant to work. There were 2 reasons for that- 1. All of my sewing projects seemed to be boudoir-themed, erotica-inspired costumes with a vintage flare… not exactly work appropriate, and 2. The few times that I wore anything that clung to my figure and showed off my curves, my boss, would not leave me alone. His name was Mr. Davidson, but he went by D and I secretly called him Mr. Douche, or the douche. Mr. Douche pawed at me, called me up into his office on the ground floor for menial tasks that he could do himself- like pick up a pencil that he dropped on the floor in front of his desk- and he generally gave me the heebie jeebies. He also gave me assignments that were kind of fun to do but it just wasn’t worth the yuckiness. So… dowdy clothes. I’m still convinced that he had cameras in the basement because he only called me up when I wore something that showed off my body in some way.
One good thing about my dowdiness at work, or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing, is that I found that, as long as I could came in dressed plain as can be, geI could get by just fine completely stoned. No one noticed because I was invisible. I think my cubemate, Erin, was on the autism spectrum. She didn’t really notice much about me in general. She was actually the best person at that office. She didn’t gossip or play games, she said what she meant, she did what she said she was going to do, and I never felt judged or appraised by her. She was a thin little waif and perfectly contented to take the far corner of the cube, which was great for me because I just needed more space than she did, it wasn’t a selfish thing, I just literally fill more space.
There were a few jobs in the business that I had applied for during the time that I worked there. I thought that if I moved up I would find more job satisfaction and get out from under Mr. Douche’s thumb. There was always a reason that I didn’t get the job. Once it was that they already had a shoo-in lined up and I just didn’t realize it. Another time there was a software requirement that I didn’t meet. The last time, I was pretty sure, Mr. Douche sabotaged my effort to move up. He even told me, “oh I’m glad you didn’t get that job, I need you too much here.”
I realized one day that I had sunk into a deep depression without even realizing it. When I realized this I figured I should at least try to make the most of the situation I had. I listened to a Tony Robbins audiobook and got inspired to pitch a database design that would streamline our office process significantly. I pitched the idea to Mr. Douche and he loved it and empowered me to run with it!
For the next several months I put in extra hours to complete the project and when it was done it was beautiful. I was so thrilled and I could not wait to show it off. I gave a presentation to Mr. Douche and didn’t hear back from him about it for a couple of weeks.
I stopped by his office at the end of the day on a Friday to check in on the status of the database.
“Oh, yeah, thanks for checking,” Mr. Douche replied, “It didn’t go over so well.”
A week later at our company-wide meeting, Mr. Douche gave the same presentation that I had given him but to the whole company. The president of the company congratulated Mr. Douche on this breakthrough project and praised his initiative and innovation. I had to duck out of the meeting early because I didn’t want anyone to see my tears of rage.
I called my besty and next door neighbor, Jenny, and she walked me through the next steps of what I needed to do.
I wrote a resignation letter and put it on Mr. Douche’s desk and then called in sick for the remaining 2 weeks. He was never going to give me a good recommendation, anyway.
Chapter 2: An efficient, multi-tasked, 90 words per minute blowjob
After getting over my rage towards that DOUCHE, I watched a bunch of Tony Robbins videos on Youtube, got myself pumped up for the next thing, and walked on air! Sure, Mr. Douche had lived up to his name in a major way, but I had created something really great for the company and I could do it again, but make sure that I get the credit, and pay, from the get-go. I got a new credit card, $3000 limit with 0% interest for the first year. I figured, that would be enough to get a few outfits for interviews, maybe a nice haircut, mani/pedi, stuff like that, just to look polished and ready to accept a new job. The shopping was… kind of fun. It was hard to find things in my size besides shoes and accessories. After 2 days of shopping at the mall, Jenny suggested that I just order some things online. This woman is brilliant. I got one of those stylist boxes delivered. It was a little over-budget ($650 over…) and needed a little alteration (another $150), but I looked like a totally new girl in my cute blazers, skirts, and silk pussy blouses. I used the rest of the money to buy some new pumps, a wool overcoat since winter was fast approaching, and an attache, which Jenny referred to as “the prop.”
“Hey there,” I said to my new professional reflection in the bedroom. “You look like a powervull, zeksie voman,” I have a pretty vague idea of a generically eastern european accent but I’m not shy about using it in my masturbation foreplay. “Vy don’t you come over here and write a report on that… pussy… blouse for zee Department of zee Synergystics?”
“Yes, mister Ozoseksie, I’m on it!”
“Goood, goood… Virst, I need you on this,” I held my favorite vibrating dildo, the lavender one, in front of myself, pointing up at my boobs- my imaginary sexy boss’s throbbing erection. In my mind I dropped to my knees to deliver him an efficient, multi-tasked, 90 words per minute blowjob. I had to ease myself down slowly because my tight tweed pencil skirt wasn’t designed for quick movements. I carefully opened my new shirt, imagining that I was being ravished, and pulled my boobs out over the top of my bra, my nipples were dark and hard. Mr. Ozoseksie twisted one of them and offered me a raise. I then performed a career-making blowjob on Mr. Ozozeksie’s big, purple, vibrating cock.
The fantasy was just getting started, I hiked the skirt all the way up around my belly button, slipped the vibrator between my wet pussy lips, and took some well-deserved R&R.
“Ahhhhh…. job hunting is fun,” I said to myself, lying on the floor of my room as the vibrator had its way with my clit.
Chapter 3: Dinner at Jenny and Sean’s
“So how’s the job search going?” Jenny asked me later that evening. Her husband Sean poured me a generous glass of Merlot. They are life savers, always having me over for dinner and listening to all of my drama.
“So far so good!” I answered, “I have 3 new interviewing outfits that look amazing!”
“You realize that you have to actually apply to jobs, right?” Sean asked, smiling.
“Yeah, yeah, Sean…” I answered happily. “Details!”
“But seriously,” Sean said, “you seem to have a new spring in your step. I see good things in your future.”
Jenny made her famous fish tacos that night, which gave me lots of opportunities to tell dirty jokes. “I just love a good fish taco,” I always say at the beginning of this particular meal.
Jenny rolled her eyes and Sean laughed. It’s our thing.
“Jenny, I hope you don’t mind squeezing around the table tonight,” Jenny said as she was finishing up with the salsa, “We invited a few other friends to join us.”
“Jenny, you know I’ll squeeze anything for your fish taco,” I answered.
“I thought you might say something like that,” Jenny responded as she looked for the salt shaker.
“You wanna salt my salsa, Jenny?” I asker her, I was just getting started.
“Oh yeah, Jenny, you know I do!” Jenny wasn’t so great at running with the jokes but she was a good sport. I didn’t mind if she was the smart one in the relationship, it left me room to be the funny one.
Twenty minutes later the other guests arrived. It was a gorgeous tall couple, Dev and Amra. She had big brown eyes and short, curly black hair. He had thick, salt and pepper hair, a pronounced square jaw, and what looked like a day’s worth of stubble. His black eyes glittered. Both of them had arresting good looks. They were both smartly dressed and seemed so… refined.
My jokes fell short that night, I just didn’t feel like I could be raunchy around Sean and Jenny’s friends. Jenny even asked me why I clammed up that night, after Dev and Amra left. She should have known that bringing up clams was going to get me going.
“Oh, you don’t like clams, Jenny?” I asked, “I got a reeeeal nice clam right here that I think can change your mind.”
“Ok, ok, nevermind, Jenny!” Jenny said, laughing but a little annoyed.
Chapter 4: Fantasy out of Control
That night, as I lay in my canopy bed, my vibrator and I had a drawn out fantasy about Dev, his glittering eyes, his toned abs, his warm, gentle hold on my breast…
“Jennifer,” he liked to use my “formal” name in my fantasy land, apparently, “Jennifer, I love your voluptuous body, I love your smooth skin, I love your firm breasts, but most of all I think I love your sexy, wet pussy.” Imaginary Dev moved down my body and my legs parted in thirsty anticipation. I have had lots of sexual fantasies through the years but this time was… Suddenly… more real than anything I had ever experienced before, regardless of how vivid my imagination can be, it was unreal how real this was. I could smell his cologne, aftershave, I think I could even smell his body wash. His body weight on top of me was heavy. His big, hard dick was palpable. I have never been so turned on in my life, there was no way this was possible, that I created him out of thin air but he was definitely… there.
He joyfully pushed his face into my vulva and titillated my clit with his tongue.
“Does that feel good, baby?” he lifted his head and asked.
“Yes!” I practically screamed, “please… don’t… stop!”
I knew that I was no longer in control of this fantasy, it has a will of its own. He worked my clit for a few moments longer until I felt a tension and then relaxation all over my body in a series of sudden jolts.
I reached down, ran my fingers through his thick hair, and gently tugged on his ears, “Please, I can’t take anymore, please…”
“Can I enter you now?” he asked, his eyes glittering, his voice sexy and low.
“Please do,” I whispered. He brought his face up my body, kissing along the way. My nipples tingled with anticipation and, my body was screaming for him to suckle my nipples, but he moved towards my face instead of my breast. My fantasy man seemed to have a mind of his own. I felt the sweat of his torso on mine and he leaned in, my musky scent on his face, and kissed me passionately as he plunged the length of his penis deep into my vagina.
He plunged, seemingly deeper and deeper, and with each thrust, his long movements stimulated my sensitive clit. I shivered in ecstasy.
“Maybe I’m sick,” I thought, “and this is a fever dream… or maybe there’s something extra in that weed I smoked tonight…”
We came together, my pussy convulsing in delight, and he let out a loud moan as he reached completion.
“I’m going to take a shower, my big beauty,” he said, “come join me, won’t you?”
“Yes…” I answered. Surely I was hallucinating. Well, I figured I might as well enjoy it.
He walked from my bed into the bathroom, completely naked. I admired his perky, round, athletic ass as he walked away from me. He had a heart-shaped birthmark on his right cheek, I thought that was pretty cute a nice touch from my imagination.
I got up to join him in the bathroom and, as I walked through the steam, it felt like reality set back in. Though the water was running and the bathroom was filled with steam, there was no beautiful man waiting for me in the shower. Of course. I imagined the whole thing. I decided to smoke less weed, I mean, it’s kind of scary that I was really starting to actually believe all of that.
Chapter 5: Job Interviews
I started getting interviews pretty quickly. I’m a resume spin doctor, I know how to incorporate the key words of the job description into my application documents. There is no HR software that I can’t get past. I was acing the interviews, I said all the right things in the right way, I was well-dressed, I did everything right and I knew I was on the right track. I didn’t hear back after the first few interviews but not all job interviews were going to be a home run, I knew that. I followed up consistently and had faith that something was going to work out soon.
After a few weeks, though, my morale was starting to wane as my savings dipped lower than it had been in the past year. One place that I interviewed with seemed interested and they told me that they would have their decision made in the next 6 to 8 weeks. SIX TO EIGHT WEEKS! JESUS. I was hoping to have a job by then. Another place called me back for a second interview but it weirded me out the way they asked me the EXACT SAME QUESTIONS in the second interview as they did in the first. I mean… were they testing me or something? I was taken off guard by this and, though I totally nailed it the first time I answered those questions, I bombed the second time. Also, it’s really hard to answer that question, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” I’m like… “working here? Hopefully?” I don’t know if I’ll ever know how to answer that one.
In my 8th week of the job search I was starting to feel desperate. I opened 2 more credit cards, but this time it was just to live, not to get cute new job clothes. Jenny and Sean were, of course, great. They encouraged me to come over for dinner every night until I had a job. They really wanted to help me out but I started to just want to be alone with my Netflix (compliments of Jenny and Sean, of course), my ramen noodles, and my oreos.
In the 9th week since I quit my job, I decided that I deserved a break and binge-watched Sex and the City, then Black Mirror, then Parks and Rec for 4 days straight, masturbating with my various dildos and vibrators. I think I took a total of 1 shower the whole time. I finally peeled myself off the the couch, washed the blanket that I had been laying on all this time, and pulled myself the fuck together. I thought.
This is how I started the 10th week of the search, and it was with renewed vigor and ambition. I decided to apply to 15 jobs per day. Yeah… that lasted for a total of 1 day. It was just so exhausting. I had stopped spin-doctoring my resume, I was just just putting it out there as much as possible. I burnt out on that pretty quickly, though. I was just spinning my wheels, putting myself out there and getting zilch. It seemed like I got better results at the beginning of the search- I was, at least, getting interviews back then. I just didn’t have it in me to finesse another fricking job application.
Finally I got another job interview, it had been weeks. It went pretty well, I thought. I called back about an hour afterwards to ask a couple of follow-up questions and the girl who answered the phone told me that they had already filled the position! And it was her! It was a reception job. I was kind of sad but mostly pissed. Why did they even waste my time like that? I thought I could sneak in there, pretending to be lost, and catch a glimpse of the oblivious bitch who got the job. I didn’t make it inside, though, I just peered through the window and saw a seriously, no fucking around, model-level beauty sitting at the front desk with a plastic smile on her face. Fuuuuuck. Is that what it takes? She’s tall… and skinny… her skin literally glows, like if you turned the lights off in the office she would radiate light like the fucking madonna.
I went to a bar that night and didn’t leave until last call, 2AM. I stumbled home to my apartment and the next thing I knew I was waking up on the rug, next to my couch. On the floor next to me were the first bills for my new credit cards and, would you believe it, I was already late… on all 3 of them! I started this job search thinking that I would be moving UP into an actual professional role, or a role that had opportunity to move up. That’s the only reason I applied to that receptionist job- because the job description said “advancement opportunities.”
“Is that even a real thing? I wondered out loud, “or just another bait and switch?”
Then, out of the blue, I had a brilliant idea! Why not drive for Lyber??? “Yesssssss!!!” I practically shouted.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Jenny: “Masturbating again, eh?” she asked.
“Nope!” I wrote back. “Just celebrating my brilliance!” But then I celebrated some more with a vibrator.
Chapter 6: Driving Lyber
Four days later I was a bonafide driver in the gig economy.
One day, who did I pick up but Mr. Douche. Of course it had to be the day that I spilled green smoothie all over my right boob, which also happened to be the day that my car smelled kind of funny from the last rider’s dog who, I should not have allowed in the car but I did and then the dog whimpered, scratched the seats, and puked. I mean I SHOULD have called it a day after that but I hadn’t met my daily goal yet and I just wanted to squeeze in one more ride before going home to gorge on ice cream and continue my rewatching binge of Game of Thrones.
Mr. Douche got in the car and acted happy to see me. He sniffed, not so subtly, and said, “Oh, hi, Jenny. It looks like you’re really “moving” in your new career, huh?” He actually did air quotes, that motherfucker.
“Haha,” I fake-laughed feebly. Fuck man, we were going to be in the car for 20 excruciating minutes. He started off the ride by asking me about what it’s like to drive Lyber, then he moved on to tell me about the amazing car that he rode in earlier that day. It was a towncar with snacks and in the seatback TVS, the driver was playing a Michael Buble concert. “Whoop-dee-fuckin-do,” I thought.
“Just something to work towards, kiddo.” Gross. I hated it when he called me kiddo. I felt like I would need a shower immediately after this ride. Then he told me, “just so you know,” that there was a wet stain on the floor and a “distasteful” smell in the air.
Then he got on his phone and had a loud conversation with someone. “No, this one’s not as nice as the last one,” he commented to the person on the phone. “Yeah, no tip this time, HA!” and he laughed loudly. “Just kidding, it’s an old secretary of mine. Looks like she found herself working for me once again… yeah I’ll throw her a bone…. Thanks but you don’t have to say that, it’s the decent thing to do….” My skin crawled, my knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly and I seethed listening to his condescending bullshit.
At the end of the ride, he got out of the car, about to walk away, then he turned back, opened the front door, leaned in, and breathed down on me like he used to. His eyes ran over my tits, stained shirt, belly rolls and then finally up to my face.
“Jenny, if you ever want to come back just give me a call, I can always pull some strings for you. I got promoted right after you left. I can help you.”
“Thanks, Mr. D, I might just do that!” I hated myself for my false enthusiasm but I didn’t feel like I was out of the woods yet with this job search situation. I was humiliated and I knew that he was going to go back to the office and talk about my pathetic circumstances and how he offered to help.
Chapter 6: Take me back?
A few days later after that ride with Mr. Douche, my car started smoking under the hood. I know I shouldn’t have but I squeezed in two more rides and then, the car actually caught on fire while a Lyber rider was in the car! I pulled over and, luckily Lyber required me to have an emergency kit with a fire extinguisher in the trunk. The rider was PISSED, though, and I got negative reviews from the other two riders when the car was smoking so… my Lyber privileges were suspended indefinitely.
I had all these looming bills and my rent check was due soon. I decided to call in that favor from old Mr. Douche.
“D here.” Even the way he answers the phone is douchy.
“Hey. Mr. D,” I started, my voice quivering from nerves, “It’s Jenny.”
“Oh yes, Jenny. I thought you might call…”
“Yeah, you know, it was so nice seeing you the other day and…”
“Are you looking for a job, Jenny?”
“Well, yes, actually.”
“Ok, well, I actually have a secretary job open right now, believe it or not, but you’re going to have to interview for it, we have several very qualified candidates. I think you’ll be the frontrunner, of course, especially after that database project you did for us,” he added, “but, you know, we have to go through these HR formalities.”
“Oh, ok, yeah, I understand…” I said, starting to feel a little hopeful.
“So, can you come in this afternoon for your interview? You’ll have an initial interview with HR and then 1-on-1 with just me afterwards.”
“Um, I mean, yes! I’ll be there.”
“It will be nice to see your… face… in here again, Jenny. Why don’t you wear that blue and white dress today?”
“Yeah, ok, sounds good, I’ll see you at… what time again?”
“Oh yes, 3:00, Jenny. Don’t be late.”
I had a few hours before going. I tried masturbating to get that rosy glow in my cheeks but I just couldn’t get into it. I put on the blue and white dress. It was a knit number that didn’t show a lot of skin but clung to my curves like a wet glove. I was kind of surprised that the D suggested that dress, or even remembered it because I only wore it to the office once, but at this point I would take any advice if it meant getting out of this financial pickle I had put myself into.
I aced the HR interview and then waiting outside Mr. D’s office in a row of other young women, all big and busty like me. Interesting.
One of the candidates walked out, of Mr Douche’s office, flushed but smiling. “Is there a Jenny out here?” She asked the group, “If so, you’re up next.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I answered. I picked up my “prop,” went inside the Douche’s office, and shut the door. Clearly he had moved up in the world since I had last been there. His new office was in a corner spot with floor to ceiling windows, art, plants, and even a minibar in the corner. The blinds were closed.
“Jenny, I’d like to think that I can be completely honest with you,” the Douche started off. Oh boy…
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Doo- I mean Yes, sir.”
“Good, good,” he said. I was still standing and he was leaning back in his chair with his legs spread wide.
“Well, Jenny, I’ve really missed having you here…,” he unbuckled his belt. My brain was going in slow motion, my initial thought was just, “that’s weird.”
“And you did really great work for me when you were here before… but… if I let you come back there will be new expectations, you know,”
“Yeah, sure, I understand,” I mumbled.
He stood up and dropped his pants. Through his boxer shorts his erect pink penis poked out.
“Jenny. Would you like to suck on it or bend over and let me take you from behind?”
Now I understood why he suggested this dress. It was a soft and stretchy knit sweater dress that I could easily move up my thighs and over my hips.
“Um…” I answered, suddenly feeling nauseous, “uh…”
Don’t be shy, Jenny, I have been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.”
“Uhhhh…” I said idiotically, and turned around and ran out the door, slamming it behind me.
“Don’t,” I told the women waiting outside the office as I ran down the hall. “Just… don’t.”
The Douche called me on my cell as I ran out of the building. I didn’t recognize the number and so I answered.
“That’s the last time you humiliate me, you bitch,” The D said in a low, threatening voice. “You’ll never find a job, I was the only one willing to throw you a bone. You want to know why you haven’t gotten a job yet, because I told everyone who called that you betrayed me and took credit for my work. You deserved that, you bitch, I was willing to help you out but you have to help-” and I hung up. I continued out the building and once I was on the bus I blocked him on my phone. I was dizzy, disoriented, and miserable.
As soon as I got home I immediately changed into my pajamas and called Jenny. She left work early to come comfort me. A true friend. She encouraged me to file a police report but, honestly, I just wanted to forget the whole thing. I never wanted to see the Douche or think about him again.
Chapter 7: Good, Silly Fun
“Jenny, I don’t know what to do. I can’t get a job, I don’t have any good references, my bills are piling up, I’m already behind on payments, and I just want to go to sleep for a few years…”
“Jenny, listen, do you remember Dev and Amra?”
“Yeah…” I couldn’t really forget Dev, he and I had enjoyed many orgasms together in my very vivid imagination.
“Well, they invited us to a new Burlesque club tonight. I think you should get dressed up and come, it will be good, silly fun and it will help you get your mind off of things.”
“No, I don’t want to be a fifth wheel in a sexy place like that…”
“Jenny, they asked for you specifically, don’t you think it could be something fun and different?” Jenny urged.
“Ok, I’ll go.” I was a little nervous about seeing the real Dev in the flesh, especially in front of his hot girlfriend. Would I totally give myself away with my stuttering and hot flashes the instant I saw Dev? Even though I was nervous, my desire to see him again was irresistible and it did feel like a nice diversion from the hellish day I had been through. If nothing else, seeing Dev’s beauty might wash the memory of the Douche’s disgusting pink pecker from my mind.
I had this cool flapper-style dress that I had been working on and abandoned a few months before. It just needed a few hours of work and it would be finished and exquisite. And a few hours was exactly what I had.
The dress was magnificent. It was emerald green and brought out my green eyes. My bare shoulders and cleavage looked amazing and I put the fringes in a sexy zigzag that kept the eye moving up and down my curves. I didn’t look great in everything but I looked hot in this. And I knew it. I wore simple black pumps and I had a lush headband with a peacock feather that I had been saving for just the right occasion.
I had just enough time to give myself vintage-style fingerwaves and then Jenny was knocking on my door.
“Wow, Jenny. Just. Wow.” She stared at my body. She was wearing jeans, a cowl-necked sweater, and a pea coat. She always looked elegant but… I think I actually outshone Jenny that night… definitely a first.
When we got to the burlesque club, I was under a spell from the moment we walked in the door. There were mirrors on the ceiling. I looked up to see my opulent breasts looking ripe and delicious. The surroundings had rich brocade, velvet, silk, and satin. I just wanted to get naked and rub my bare skin all over the delicious fabric. I managed to contain myself, but I couldn’t help touching every delicious fabric I encountered. A tall, willowy hostess in an old cocktail waitress uniform showed us to our table where Amra and Dev were waiting for us. There must have been a smoke machine or something, there was a smokiness to the look of the place, but without the smell. We sat down at our table, round, heavy, rich mahogany number. We sat on soft, plush velveteen chairs that were overstuffed and reminded me of pincushions.
“Jenny,” Amra greeted me with a warm smile, “we’re so glad you could join us tonight! You look amazing. Doesn’t she look amazing, Dev?” She turned to the gorgeous Dev, seated next to her, who had only just lifted his thick eyelashes to take in the sight of me.
I suddenly felt naked. My nipples pricked up beneath my sassy dress and my clit came alive. He scanned my body and seemed to see all of me.
“Stunning,” Dev murmured in a low voice. I felt a hot blush creeping up from my vulva, over my stomach and breasts, up my neck, and to my face. I felt awkward and shy again.
I sat down, with Amra between me and Dev. I feared that if I sat too close to him he would see all of the fantasies that I had had about him over the past few weeks. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, and aroused. Amra smelled amazing and my bare arm brushed up against hers, which was soft like a rose petal.
We drank champagne, played cards, and watched the beautiful dancers strip off their splendid vintage costumes until they wore nothing but bejeweled pasties, which also came off. It was really the best night I had experienced in a very, very long time. I was in good company (I had even stopped resenting Amra for getting the gorgeous hunk of a man to herself), we laughed and told stories, I felt light-headed and giddy and didn’t think of the earlier events of the day with the Douche. Not once.
At one point I got up to go to the ladies’s room. A distinguished looking older woman with short hair and wearing a pinstriped 5 piece suit approached me and asked me, how I was enjoying my evening.
“Oh, it’s just… magnificent,” I sighed, “This is my new happy place.”
“Wonderful, wonderful,” she said. I was on clouds and a little drunk and went on,
“I’m a seamstress, and I’m actually unemployed would you be interested-”
“Well-,” she interrupted, “we don’t have an opening for a seamstress at this time.”
“Oh, ok, I totally understand,” I felt a little stupid.
“But we do have a space for a dancer of your… body type.”
“What, no, I’m not a dancer, I’m sorry-”
“You don’t need to apologize,” the woman said softly and for the first time, she pointedly ran her eyes slowly up and down my body. “I think you could do very well here with our clientele. Why don’t you think about it for tonight, if you change your mind come back tonight at 1:00. I have some things that you could wear. You would fill them out nicely.”
“Well, ok,” I replied, flattered, and we parted ways. That was hot.
I wasn’t planning to do it but I warmed up to the idea as the evening continued. The champagne helped. It also helped that I saw Dev’s eyes lingering on my breasts and ass, when I stood, from time to time. Of course, I didn’t tell anyone at our table of my plan, I knew I would lose my nerve.
Chapter 8: Matilde’s Dressing Room
I rode home with Jenny and Sean at 11. Then at 12:30 I summoned a Lyber and made my way back to the club. I was electric with excitement and when I stepped back inside the luxuriant space it felt like a homecoming.
The owner smiled at me, she seemed to know that I would be back. Along the way she instructed me to call her Rene and told me that I would be paid $400 in cash that night, plus any tips I earned.
“This way, my dear,” she put one hand on the small of my back and guided me to a hidden door that led backstage. There was a door with the name “Matilde” on it and when I walked inside I gasped, causing the club owner to smile warmly in a way that made her eyes crinkle at the edges. The room was a bit disorienting with opulent textures, colors, and lights. A crystal chandelier hung in one corner casting glimmers of shimmering light throughout the whole space. A dressing table with a mirror, lined with globe lights. The highlight of the room, though, was the wardrobe. Satins shimmered, lace hung elegantly, and every color and soft, elegant texture you can imagine.
“Which outfit were you like me to wear, um, Rene?” I asked the club owner.
“Whichever you like is fine,” she answered, “but I think these would be especially sexy on you.”
She held out a long ivory silk chemise with black trim and a long, black boa. My breasts, my ass, even my belly looked elegant and sumptuous under the fine fabric. The thin fabric fell delicately on my hard nipples, and the color of my nipples was slightly visible through the thin, pale fabric. The lines and cut of the fabric were breathtaking. I can’t tell you, exactly, what it was like, but it was like the chemise had a magical quality. It didn’t transform my body but, rather, brought out the soft, voluptuous qualities that have been there all along. I was tempted to just stare in the mirror all night, touching each part of my body continuously.
But, it was soon time to go out on the stage and, thank goodness for the lights, I couldn’t see the guests in the audience. In the center of the stage, a mirror lowered slowly, perpendicular to the audience. The sultry music started and I made my way to my own reflection. I stared in awe at my own beauty in the lovely slip, falling gently on my soft curves. My hips undulated seductively and I turned around and around, slowly, provocatively. The slinky chemise, on its own, slipped its way way off of my shoulders and to the floor in a shimmering pool of liquid.
I was completely naked in front of a small crowd of strangers. The vapor from the stage smoke machines snaked its way up around my legs to my sex. It was like the smoke was going into me, touching me on the inside and I buckled and moaned in pleasure as the music reached its crescendoed. The crowd cheered and the lights went out. I picked up the chemise from the floor and made my way back to my dressing room, aroused by this public display of my own eroticism. I had never felt this alive before in all of my days.
I went Matilde’s room, flushed and excited, wanting to put my hands on my vulva, rubbing my cunt, feeling the excitement of the night. It was like the arousal of the viewers was channeled into my body and I needed some release. I got inside and locked the door, I slipped on a satin dressing gown and just as soon as I had poured myself a glass of water, I heard a soft knocking on my door.
“Jenny?” the voice said. The voice was deep and familiar but I couldn’t place it. How did this person know my real name? To the crowd, I had been “Matilde.” I had a brief moment of panic. Luckily there was a peephole and I looked through.
It was Dev! I flung the door open and he stepped inside cautiously.
“Jenny, I…” he started, “I had no idea you could dance like that,” he said quietly in his low voice. I noticed a quickening in his pants.
Relief and excitement washed over me that it was Dev standing in front of me. I was still elated and high from dancing in front of strangers. I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, all inhibitions gone. I felt as though my vagina felt like hot, slipper satin. My erect nipples rubbed against him through the thin silky fabric of my dressing gown and his thicker cotton weave shirt. I kissed him for a long time and he brought his hand up between my thighs to my pulsing and alert cunt. His long, masculine finger reached inside of me, came out slippery and viscous, and began to caress my clit.
All of a sudden, I stopped cold. Behind the walls of my imagination, Dev and I had consummated our passion for each other many times. But this time, it was real. He was REALLY here with me. And I realized that something was wrong.
“Dev,” I said, pulling away from his embrace, “what about Amra?”
“My sister?” he asked, confused.
“Wait, Amra is your sister?” I quietly asked in shock.
“Well, yes… “ Dev answered, “we’re twins. I thought you knew…”
“I didn’t know,” I answered and returned to his mouth with mine and guided his hands back between my legs, once again.
After we had made love and he held me against his warm, broad chest, he said, “I had just come back to tell you that you had done well and to pay you. This, however, was… very unexpected and very… nice”
“Pay me? Rene was-”
“Rene is my business partner, I have invested in her business. I was surprised to see you up on stage tonight, and since you are a friend, I asked Rene if I could pay you myself this once, she usually handles that stuff.”
“Oh,” I said and blushed. I could feel his eyes on me again, hungry.
“Jenny, the truth is, I have wanted you from the first night we met and… well… I think about you and me… together… quite often and it brings me… great pleasure.”
“It does?” I asked, him, still not believing.
“Yes and… now that I am thinking about it…” we both looked down at his renewed erection, “I was hoping that this would not be a one-time thing.”
“It’s not,” I whispered into his ear as I sucked on and bit his soft lobe. I climbed on top of him and he pushed his smooth, hard, glistening manhood deep into me, deeper than I had ever felt anything inside me before, even deeper than any of my dildos or vibrators could reach.
Chapter 9: A Business Venture
After that night, Dev spent many nights at my small apartment. He had an amazing place of his own with a breathtaking view of the city skyline but, in his words, it was cold, empty, and lifeless. One night, as he stood naked in my room, I noticed that he did actually have that heart-shaped birthmark that I had imagined the first night we met. “Could that encounter have been… real in some way?” I wondered.
He opened the extra closet in my room and was dazzled by the dresses inside. “Jenny, what are these?”
“Oh, those are my designs,” I answered, “I like to sew. I asked Rene if-”
“Jenny, these are lovely. They could make a fortune. You could build an amazing business…”
“Oh I would love to, Dev, but I am ridiculously broke these days.”
“Jenny. Didn’t you know? I’m a billionaire.”
And so that is how I met my first investor in my line of plus-size erotic wear.
But, before all that, I had one more encounter with Mr Douche. Dev and I were walking down the street, in the crisp fall air, hand in hand, stopping to press our bodies up against each other and kiss deeply while he snuck a hand between our bodies, up to my breast, down to my sex, or sometimes he just reached behind me and took a generous buttock in each hand as he pulled my hips towards his pelvis and we drank each other in thirstily. It was one such moment that I heard a familiar nasal voice say my name.
“Jenny is that you???” the voice said.
Dev and I pulled away from each other briefly and there he was. The Douche. “Oh, Mr. Singh, I didn’t realize that was you,” the Douche looked suddenly nervous and flustered. “I’m sorry to bother you,” the Douche continued, “I’ll just… uh… be on my way…”
We stood there and watched the Douche as he walked away.
“How do you know Davidson?,” Dev asked.
“Oh, we worked together a long time ago,” I answered vaguely. I just didn’t care about that Douche anymore, no need to rehash old shit. “How do you know him?” I asked.
“He tried to get me to invest in his garbage business idea,” Dev answered. “I never liked that man and he still seems to think that he can sway me because he kept calling and calling and showing up all over town and at my office like he was stalking me. I finally told him never to call me again and that if I saw him near me again my bodyguard would enjoy causing him… uhhhh… great pain.”
“Dev, you don’t have a bodyguard,” I said, confused.
“I know,” he said, smiling mischievously. We both burst out laughing as we watched the Douche a block away, power walking away from us as fast as he could.