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Posted using PostyBirb", "writing": "First off, thank you for reading my story. I have over 500. Around 400 which will be published on various sites in a quick and whirlwind fashion. Please like, comment, or share my stories wherever you want. Anything is better than nothing. But do follow if you like my writing. There is so much more to come! Second, I do commissions and this is like 4 years of backlog. They are not edited, they have shit for blurb, no book cover, no REAL title, and the tags are shit. If you are interested in doing any of these things so that I can put it into a main file and distribute the blurb, better tags, or book covers and stuff, please reach out, or put it into the comments section. If I present better, I will have more clients in a segregated category and thus will be able to write more of these unique individualized kinks. Equally so, editor needed. Now, I know what your thinking--- WHY am I not doing this myself? Well, good dear reader, Rough guestimation, I have over 5k pages to tinker around with. I've not shared my backlog because of want for perfection. Would you rather my words not perfect, or not have my work at all period? Backlog of 4 years. And if I don't push it out, I never will. I also run two businesses to keep me afloat. Unlike that one song, time, my friend, is not on my side. \nThank you again for being amazing! \nPLEASE like, rate, or whatever. Trying to build a community instead of being an invisible thumbprint on the far reaches of the vast internet. \nA final note. If you know anyone, or community, or website that might be of use to me? Never, ever, ever hesitate to contact me. This job is a HARD job, it is fulltime, but I love it so much. Help me continue living this dream of learning about unique kinks and desires. \nAnd if you have a complaint on my tense shifting or my comma splices. Take a number! I know my severe weaknesses. I know I am not the best writer, I also know that I am not the greatest, but I feel my gift is UNDERSTANDING a persons wants. That, alone, is my skill set, not writing. \nCHECK BIO FOR LINKS. Also, newsletter everyone. Sign it, please. \n\nThe streets of Mos Espa seemed shinier today, though Ethan couldn't put his finger on why. Charlotte had sent him to pick up a gorg for a late lunch, and he jingled the seven wupiupi she'd entrusted him with in his pocket.\n\nShe'd actually given him ten for his trouble, which tracked with her recent softening - though she was still as foulmouthed as ever. She never cursed more creatively than when she wanted a favor from him. For the usual berating she tended to stick to the classics. He looked up at the cloudless sky, casting his mind back to one morning he'd been slow cleaning the air filters. His boss spoke with her hands, and the way that made her tits shake tended to take the edge off even the worst invective.\n\nSomething heavy and soft smacked into his shoulder. Ethan cursed, turned to apologize, but the Beyre he'd collided with - red, as opposed to Charlotte 's purple - only smiled back at him, dismissed him with a friendly wave.\n\nEthan sighed. At least this one had been nice.\n\nThe suns beat down directly overhead, the street a dazzling, baking tunnel whose only shadows were staked out by jealous canopies and storefronts. Every cool spot was taken up by merchants and merchandise, pets and younglings crowding in the rare shelter to beat the heat.\n\nEverywhere else, people walked, jogged, jiggled, and sweated. Precious moisture soaked unlayered fabric and made mirrors of exposed skin. Loath as he was to touch these strangers, Ethan almost felt cooler just looking at them. The rainbow of their skin, itself a museum of textures - bumpy, scaled, smooth, all cool and damp like a cave mapped onto a human body, a Beyre body, hell, even a Tutt or Voydarian body.\n\nHe shook his head. He didn't want to get caught staring, though a leer from the proprietress of the nearby meat stand suggested that she wouldn't have minded.\n\nShe was human like him, blonde and about a head shorter. But where Ethan was skinny, she was round, a pile of flesh straining her robes and spilling from her neckline. It was all Ethan could do to keep his eyes on the gorgs hanging behind her and point to the choicest, fattest one for Charlotte to enjoy. The meat merchant smiled - green eyes nearly hidden by the creases of her face - and turned to retrieve it, showing that she was just as endowed in the back as in front. It was doing nothing good for the front of Ethan's pants. Reaching into his pocket for the money didn't quite hide his erection.\n\nHis eyes happened to light upon her cleavage as she turned around and they flicked back up. Ethan swore that she hadn't been that stacked a second ago. This time, of course, there was no hiding his perving. He knew he'd been caught when he made eye contact with the meat seller.\n\nBut she only smiled and winked. She nodded down, and for a moment he thought he was in a bad Corellian porno.\nThen he remembered the seven wupiupi in his pocket. Of course, that was what she was after. Of course.\n\nHe fumbled the coins out and into her outstretched hand, rubbing his fingers against his palm where the sweat had made them stick. She handed over the gorg, and that was the extent of their interaction.\n\nShe definitely hadn't licked her lips while she made the sale. The heat was just getting to Ethan, that was all.\n\nThat was it. That was the errand Charlotte had sent him on. Now he could get back to the shop, back to his break, and beat off mercilessly in the latrine so fantasies of this shopping trip wouldn't distract him at his repair work.\n\nBut now there was a long bantha train crossing the street he'd walked down to get here, and he didn't feel like waiting for the Bawas driving it to pass. It'd be quicker if he just took a side street. He knew of a tunnel he could take under the market road.\n\nIt just happened to be through the red-light district.\n\nEven at the height of the noonday heat, prostitutes of all shapes, sizes, and species lounged in the shade of the doorways and windows, dancing and calling suggestions down to the off-duty workers walking and milling about. Some of them were down there as well, beckoning or draping their arms around potential customers.\n\nHere too was something different about the city, and it finally occurred to Ethan what that difference was.\n\nThey were all fat, at least as fat as the gorg seller had been. They rippled when they moved, their skin shivering like sand in an earthquake as they danced, shiny with sweat that streaked the makeup on their faces. Perhaps fat wasn't the right word for it, they were puffed up, expanded, not in a fat sense but in an inflated sense. \n\nThat explained the extra shine that everything seemed to have, confirmed that it was indeed there. The suns reflected off of a hundred different skins, forcing Ethan to squint and focus on what darkness remained among the mirrored expanse of human and alien.\n\nAnd there was no end in sight, he realized. He'd walked down this road before, nearly memorized every alcove and the women who danced in them. But no matter how far he walked, the street never came to an end. It wasn't as if the scenery repeated, either, like in some kind of strange dream. Everywhere Ethan looked there was a new face, new flesh, new curtains rustling with wind and the enticement of all that they hid.\n\nThe sun beat down on an infinite stretch of street, flanked and filled with women, all of them enormously thickened.\nIncreasingly swollen, even. Like they were growing in size before his eyes, which was impossible, but apparently, not as impossible as the word itself would suggest. Ethan wasn't sure when he started to notice, but the people in the streets and in the doorways were fatter the further he walked, thicker in the limbs and wider in the belly and straining their sweat-stained silks closer to bursting every time he craned his neck to ogle elsewhere. It wasn't the distance that led to their growth, it seemed, but the time that has passed that he observed them.\n\nEthan didn't know where to look - left, right, ahead, over his shoulder, not that he was at risk of missing much given the endless crowd he was walking through. There must have been some kind of special event going on here in the Mos Espa whores' quarter, because the street was bustling as never before with girls. Only girls, Ethan realized through a haze of prurient curiosity. Pruriosity. Fuck, he was horny.\n\nIt was like the entire city had shrunk to this flesh district, or it had expanded to encompass all of Mos Espa, swallowed all of Tatooine, the whole Outer Rim even. There were no younglings weaving between people's ankles in search of loose purses, no traders or nomads looking to do business with the owners of those purses. None of the women seemed to have anywhere to hold a purse. Was there even any payment going on, or were they just enjoying themselves?\n\nEthan really hoped they were just enjoying themselves, because he'd left his purse at work.\n\nThey'd all noticed him. The girls were smiling down at him from the doorways and windows - which were getting bigger to accommodate their inhabitants - and a few were even whistling at him in the street. The bigger they are, the more sexually assertive they were. \n\nEthan had never been whistled at. It wasn't hard to see why that had changed. He was the only person around who wasn't a voluptuous woman, after all. But he was being whistled at nonetheless, and the novelty was enough to make him less concerned about this never-ending street.\n\nImpossibly long as the street was, however, it was getting narrower. Women of every shade and texture walked, slithered, hovered, and danced past Ethan, and all of them fatter and fatter. The walkable earth was shrinking before him like a rubber band pulled tighter, longer, thinner, tauter until it finally snapped.\n\nWhat that looked like Ethan didn't know, nor did he care. The women were now brushing against him, chancing here a quick feel, there a grope, a squeeze of his biceps and ass. They were all much thicker than Charlotte could ever dream of being, too, mountains of flesh swollen nearly round and waddling to and fro, on legs like the peg-feet of trivets.\n\nFinally, the way forward was swallowed up by the swelling crowd, and Ethan stopped. There was no forging a path through the obese prostitutes. They were pressed shoulder to shoulder around him, faces grinning from puffy cheeks that shook with their catcalls and laughter.\n\nFingers, hands, tentacles, wings - all manner of appendage reached out, over, between, all wanting to get a feel of the gawky human mechanic who now found himself at the center of a shivering pool of fat. Every inch of him was tickled, poked, and stroked by the inflated digits of women fascinated by him, wanting to feel him, caress him, gather him up in their chubby arms and press him into the dizzying depths of their cleavage.\n\nOne of them did just that. Ethan was picked up bodily by a dark green Beyre that stood a full head taller than he, her arms just barely long enough to overcome the tyranny of her own fat and wrap around him.\n\nHe was crushed, squeezed, soaked by an ocean of sweat oozing from her pores, covering him in a sheen of her moisture. His body drank deep and was quickly saturated, the Beyre's greasy essence describing ticklish trails down his arms and legs and dripping somewhere into the dust below. It was like being in one of those rare Tatooine rainstorms, a once-in-a-century deluge of salt and grime that he couldn't help but lick from wherever his tongue could reach. It was intoxicating and infinite, and the sweetest was yet to come.\n\nThe Beyre shoved Ethan between breasts swollen bigger than he. There was no telling or caring how or whether she was standing - she could have bloated to the size and shape of a Tutt for all Ethan cared. The twin suns of his world disappeared as he was stuffed into the sticky embrace of the enormous alien's tits, kept there by whoever was behind him, stuffing him into the cleavage with cleavage of her own like a big fleshy cork keeping him in a bottle of boob.\n\nEthan breathed as deep as he could, filled himself with the dank of the Beyre's cleavage, buried his face in this sweaty prison and let it crush him all around. Her tits wrapped around him, sealed him inside the depths of her cleavage, rendered functionally infinite by the darkness, the muffling of all things that surrounded them. It was airless and yet not suffocating, a state of near-total sensory deprivation.\n\nThere was a rumbling after seconds without number, some rupture his bloated captor finally triggered under her own mass, and he felt more than heard the explosion of this stunning alien, echoed in that moment by the street full of obese beauties who had all competed swelling for his attention.\n\nThe pressure rushed in from all sides. Every inch of his body was compressed, caressed, lavished with the essence of the Beyre as the women around her blossomed into a wet, fleshy supernova with Ethan at its center. In a fraction of a second, he was squeezed into a tiny point, infinitesimal in size and yet possessed of more bliss per cubic inch than any other particle of matter in the galaxy.\n\nHe'd always dreamed of this.\n-\nHe stopped dreaming. Ethan's eyes shot open. There was something blocking his nose and mouth. His lungs felt like a bantha was sitting on them.\n\nIt was the next best thing, of course. Or the next worst thing. Charlotte was sitting on him.\n\nHer ass was parked directly on Ethan's chest, fat enough to pile flesh onto his face and smother him. Her legs were spread to accommodate the expanse of her belly, which jutted out between her thighs like a boulder hanging impossibly off a cliff face, defying gravity with every step she took. Just over the enormous rise of her thigh Ethan could see her gravid mound shifting as her child rolled inside her. He couldn't recall when she'd gotten pregnant nor how long a Beyre's gestation period was, but he was almost sure she'd been knocked up for quite long enough.\n\n\"Rise and shine, Ethany-boy,\" Charlotte sang, swiveling her ass on his chest like a bantha luxuriating in a rare mud puddle. \"You're on for the gorg run.\"\n\nEthan was the only other tech in the garage, of course. This was her idea of a joke. Doubly so, as he wasn't going anywhere with her bulk smothering him.\n\n\"You looked like you were having such a nice dream,\" she said. \"Didn't want to disturb you.\"\n\n\"Well, not at first,\" she said with a stretch. She dug her heels into the floor and leaned back, performatively groaning as she centered more weight on Ethan's chest. He gasped fruitlessly as his boss drove the breath from his torso with the wholesale shift of her considerable weight. Stars were dancing around the edge of his vision by the time she leaned forward again and allowed him space to fill his lungs.\n\n\"But then I saw you trying to sneak in a quick jerk session.\" Ethan blushed, realizing she'd pinned his arm to his chest while his hand was halfway in his pants.\n\n\"Can't let you do that, babe,\" she said. \"That cot's company property. You jizz on that thing, it comes out of my ass.\"\n\nShe didn't seem angry, at least. Maybe it was because she had him right where she wanted him. She was nothing if not a tease.\n\nEthan gritted his teeth as she picked herself up and slid one hip down his body. She was leaning directly on his crotch now, her hipbone somehow leaping out of her mass of fat to poke his dick.\n\nIt was almost offset by the way she turned her body, crossing her arms over his collarbones and letting her tits rest on his chest and muffin over her arms. She drummed her fingers on his shoulders and cocked her head, her expression unamused.\n\n\"So,\" she said, putting a little extra breath into the S. He suppressed a cough. Her breath was meaty, sickly sweet. She must have been famished. \"You wanna take care of yourself and then get me my lunch? I'll let you munch on a leg if you're back in fifteen.\"\n\nEthan nodded. Instantly he felt weightless - Charlotte grunted as she put her hands on her knees and rocked to her feet, letting her hapless employee spring up. He surreptitiously adjusted his crotch and scampered for the door.\n\n\"You get a paid break if I get to watch,\" Charlotte cooed.\n\nEthan froze with his hand on the doorframe. Then he sighed and turned around.\n\nMoney is money, he thought, unzipping his pants.\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "First off, thank you for reading my story. I have over 500. Around 400 which will be published on various sites in a quick and whirlwind fashion. Please like, comment, or share my stories wherever you want. Anything is better than nothing. But do follow if you like my writing. There is so much more to come! Second, I do commissions and this is like 4 years of backlog. They are not edited, they have shit for blurb, no book cover, no REAL title, and the tags are shit. If you are interested in doing any of these things so that I can put it into a main file and distribute the blurb, better tags, or book covers and stuff, please reach out, or put it into the comments section. If I present better, I will have more clients in a segregated category and thus will be able to write more of these unique individualized kinks. Equally so, editor needed. Now, I know what your thinking--- WHY am I not doing this myself? Well, good dear reader, Rough guestimation, I have over 5k pages to tinker around with. I've not shared my backlog because of want for perfection. Would you rather my words not perfect, or not have my work at all period? Backlog of 4 years. And if I don't push it out, I never will. I also run two businesses to keep me afloat. Unlike that one song, time, my friend, is not on my side.
Thank you again for being amazing!
PLEASE like, rate, or whatever. Trying to build a community instead of being an invisible thumbprint on the far reaches of the vast internet.
A final note. If you know anyone, or community, or website that might be of use to me? Never, ever, ever hesitate to contact me. This job is a HARD job, it is fulltime, but I love it so much. Help me continue living this dream of learning about unique kinks and desires.
And if you have a complaint on my tense shifting or my comma splices. Take a number! I know my severe weaknesses. I know I am not the best writer, I also know that I am not the greatest, but I feel my gift is UNDERSTANDING a persons wants. That, alone, is my skill set, not writing.
CHECK BIO FOR LINKS. Also, newsletter everyone. Sign it, please.

The streets of Mos Espa seemed shinier today, though Ethan couldn't put his finger on why. Charlotte had sent him to pick up a gorg for a late lunch, and he jingled the seven wupiupi she'd entrusted him with in his pocket.

She'd actually given him ten for his trouble, which tracked with her recent softening - though she was still as foulmouthed as ever. She never cursed more creatively than when she wanted a favor from him. For the usual berating she tended to stick to the classics. He looked up at the cloudless sky, casting his mind back to one morning he'd been slow cleaning the air filters. His boss spoke with her hands, and the way that made her tits shake tended to take the edge off even the worst invective.

Something heavy and soft smacked into his shoulder. Ethan cursed, turned to apologize, but the Beyre he'd collided with - red, as opposed to Charlotte 's purple - only smiled back at him, dismissed him with a friendly wave.

Ethan sighed. At least this one had been nice.

The suns beat down directly overhead, the street a dazzling, baking tunnel whose only shadows were staked out by jealous canopies and storefronts. Every cool spot was taken up by merchants and merchandise, pets and younglings crowding in the rare shelter to beat the heat.

Everywhere else, people walked, jogged, jiggled, and sweated. Precious moisture soaked unlayered fabric and made mirrors of exposed skin. Loath as he was to touch these strangers, Ethan almost felt cooler just looking at them. The rainbow of their skin, itself a museum of textures - bumpy, scaled, smooth, all cool and damp like a cave mapped onto a human body, a Beyre body, hell, even a Tutt or Voydarian body.

He shook his head. He didn't want to get caught staring, though a leer from the proprietress of the nearby meat stand suggested that she wouldn't have minded.

She was human like him, blonde and about a head shorter. But where Ethan was skinny, she was round, a pile of flesh straining her robes and spilling from her neckline. It was all Ethan could do to keep his eyes on the gorgs hanging behind her and point to the choicest, fattest one for Charlotte to enjoy. The meat merchant smiled - green eyes nearly hidden by the creases of her face - and turned to retrieve it, showing that she was just as endowed in the back as in front. It was doing nothing good for the front of Ethan's pants. Reaching into his pocket for the money didn't quite hide his erection.

His eyes happened to light upon her cleavage as she turned around and they flicked back up. Ethan swore that she hadn't been that stacked a second ago. This time, of course, there was no hiding his perving. He knew he'd been caught when he made eye contact with the meat seller.

But she only smiled and winked. She nodded down, and for a moment he thought he was in a bad Corellian porno.
Then he remembered the seven wupiupi in his pocket. Of course, that was what she was after. Of course.

He fumbled the coins out and into her outstretched hand, rubbing his fingers against his palm where the sweat had made them stick. She handed over the gorg, and that was the extent of their interaction.

She definitely hadn't licked her lips while she made the sale. The heat was just getting to Ethan, that was all.

That was it. That was the errand Charlotte had sent him on. Now he could get back to the shop, back to his break, and beat off mercilessly in the latrine so fantasies of this shopping trip wouldn't distract him at his repair work.

But now there was a long bantha train crossing the street he'd walked down to get here, and he didn't feel like waiting for the Bawas driving it to pass. It'd be quicker if he just took a side street. He knew of a tunnel he could take under the market road.

It just happened to be through the red-light district.

Even at the height of the noonday heat, prostitutes of all shapes, sizes, and species lounged in the shade of the doorways and windows, dancing and calling suggestions down to the off-duty workers walking and milling about. Some of them were down there as well, beckoning or draping their arms around potential customers.

Here too was something different about the city, and it finally occurred to Ethan what that difference was.

They were all fat, at least as fat as the gorg seller had been. They rippled when they moved, their skin shivering like sand in an earthquake as they danced, shiny with sweat that streaked the makeup on their faces. Perhaps fat wasn't the right word for it, they were puffed up, expanded, not in a fat sense but in an inflated sense.

That explained the extra shine that everything seemed to have, confirmed that it was indeed there. The suns reflected off of a hundred different skins, forcing Ethan to squint and focus on what darkness remained among the mirrored expanse of human and alien.

And there was no end in sight, he realized. He'd walked down this road before, nearly memorized every alcove and the women who danced in them. But no matter how far he walked, the street never came to an end. It wasn't as if the scenery repeated, either, like in some kind of strange dream. Everywhere Ethan looked there was a new face, new flesh, new curtains rustling with wind and the enticement of all that they hid.

The sun beat down on an infinite stretch of street, flanked and filled with women, all of them enormously thickened.
Increasingly swollen, even. Like they were growing in size before his eyes, which was impossible, but apparently, not as impossible as the word itself would suggest. Ethan wasn't sure when he started to notice, but the people in the streets and in the doorways were fatter the further he walked, thicker in the limbs and wider in the belly and straining their sweat-stained silks closer to bursting every time he craned his neck to ogle elsewhere. It wasn't the distance that led to their growth, it seemed, but the time that has passed that he observed them.

Ethan didn't know where to look - left, right, ahead, over his shoulder, not that he was at risk of missing much given the endless crowd he was walking through. There must have been some kind of special event going on here in the Mos Espa whores' quarter, because the street was bustling as never before with girls. Only girls, Ethan realized through a haze of prurient curiosity. Pruriosity. Fuck, he was horny.

It was like the entire city had shrunk to this flesh district, or it had expanded to encompass all of Mos Espa, swallowed all of Tatooine, the whole Outer Rim even. There were no younglings weaving between people's ankles in search of loose purses, no traders or nomads looking to do business with the owners of those purses. None of the women seemed to have anywhere to hold a purse. Was there even any payment going on, or were they just enjoying themselves?

Ethan really hoped they were just enjoying themselves, because he'd left his purse at work.

They'd all noticed him. The girls were smiling down at him from the doorways and windows - which were getting bigger to accommodate their inhabitants - and a few were even whistling at him in the street. The bigger they are, the more sexually assertive they were.

Ethan had never been whistled at. It wasn't hard to see why that had changed. He was the only person around who wasn't a voluptuous woman, after all. But he was being whistled at nonetheless, and the novelty was enough to make him less concerned about this never-ending street.

Impossibly long as the street was, however, it was getting narrower. Women of every shade and texture walked, slithered, hovered, and danced past Ethan, and all of them fatter and fatter. The walkable earth was shrinking before him like a rubber band pulled tighter, longer, thinner, tauter until it finally snapped.

What that looked like Ethan didn't know, nor did he care. The women were now brushing against him, chancing here a quick feel, there a grope, a squeeze of his biceps and ass. They were all much thicker than Charlotte could ever dream of being, too, mountains of flesh swollen nearly round and waddling to and fro, on legs like the peg-feet of trivets.

Finally, the way forward was swallowed up by the swelling crowd, and Ethan stopped. There was no forging a path through the obese prostitutes. They were pressed shoulder to shoulder around him, faces grinning from puffy cheeks that shook with their catcalls and laughter.

Fingers, hands, tentacles, wings - all manner of appendage reached out, over, between, all wanting to get a feel of the gawky human mechanic who now found himself at the center of a shivering pool of fat. Every inch of him was tickled, poked, and stroked by the inflated digits of women fascinated by him, wanting to feel him, caress him, gather him up in their chubby arms and press him into the dizzying depths of their cleavage.

One of them did just that. Ethan was picked up bodily by a dark green Beyre that stood a full head taller than he, her arms just barely long enough to overcome the tyranny of her own fat and wrap around him.

He was crushed, squeezed, soaked by an ocean of sweat oozing from her pores, covering him in a sheen of her moisture. His body drank deep and was quickly saturated, the Beyre's greasy essence describing ticklish trails down his arms and legs and dripping somewhere into the dust below. It was like being in one of those rare Tatooine rainstorms, a once-in-a-century deluge of salt and grime that he couldn't help but lick from wherever his tongue could reach. It was intoxicating and infinite, and the sweetest was yet to come.

The Beyre shoved Ethan between breasts swollen bigger than he. There was no telling or caring how or whether she was standing - she could have bloated to the size and shape of a Tutt for all Ethan cared. The twin suns of his world disappeared as he was stuffed into the sticky embrace of the enormous alien's tits, kept there by whoever was behind him, stuffing him into the cleavage with cleavage of her own like a big fleshy cork keeping him in a bottle of boob.

Ethan breathed as deep as he could, filled himself with the dank of the Beyre's cleavage, buried his face in this sweaty prison and let it crush him all around. Her tits wrapped around him, sealed him inside the depths of her cleavage, rendered functionally infinite by the darkness, the muffling of all things that surrounded them. It was airless and yet not suffocating, a state of near-total sensory deprivation.

There was a rumbling after seconds without number, some rupture his bloated captor finally triggered under her own mass, and he felt more than heard the explosion of this stunning alien, echoed in that moment by the street full of obese beauties who had all competed swelling for his attention.

The pressure rushed in from all sides. Every inch of his body was compressed, caressed, lavished with the essence of the Beyre as the women around her blossomed into a wet, fleshy supernova with Ethan at its center. In a fraction of a second, he was squeezed into a tiny point, infinitesimal in size and yet possessed of more bliss per cubic inch than any other particle of matter in the galaxy.

He'd always dreamed of this.
-
He stopped dreaming. Ethan's eyes shot open. There was something blocking his nose and mouth. His lungs felt like a bantha was sitting on them.

It was the next best thing, of course. Or the next worst thing. Charlotte was sitting on him.

Her ass was parked directly on Ethan's chest, fat enough to pile flesh onto his face and smother him. Her legs were spread to accommodate the expanse of her belly, which jutted out between her thighs like a boulder hanging impossibly off a cliff face, defying gravity with every step she took. Just over the enormous rise of her thigh Ethan could see her gravid mound shifting as her child rolled inside her. He couldn't recall when she'd gotten pregnant nor how long a Beyre's gestation period was, but he was almost sure she'd been knocked up for quite long enough.

"Rise and shine, Ethany-boy," Charlotte sang, swiveling her ass on his chest like a bantha luxuriating in a rare mud puddle. "You're on for the gorg run."

Ethan was the only other tech in the garage, of course. This was her idea of a joke. Doubly so, as he wasn't going anywhere with her bulk smothering him.

"You looked like you were having such a nice dream," she said. "Didn't want to disturb you."

"Well, not at first," she said with a stretch. She dug her heels into the floor and leaned back, performatively groaning as she centered more weight on Ethan's chest. He gasped fruitlessly as his boss drove the breath from his torso with the wholesale shift of her considerable weight. Stars were dancing around the edge of his vision by the time she leaned forward again and allowed him space to fill his lungs.

"But then I saw you trying to sneak in a quick jerk session." Ethan blushed, realizing she'd pinned his arm to his chest while his hand was halfway in his pants.

"Can't let you do that, babe," she said. "That cot's company property. You jizz on that thing, it comes out of my ass."

She didn't seem angry, at least. Maybe it was because she had him right where she wanted him. She was nothing if not a tease.

Ethan gritted his teeth as she picked herself up and slid one hip down his body. She was leaning directly on his crotch now, her hipbone somehow leaping out of her mass of fat to poke his dick.

It was almost offset by the way she turned her body, crossing her arms over his collarbones and letting her tits rest on his chest and muffin over her arms. She drummed her fingers on his shoulders and cocked her head, her expression unamused.

"So," she said, putting a little extra breath into the S. He suppressed a cough. Her breath was meaty, sickly sweet. She must have been famished. "You wanna take care of yourself and then get me my lunch? I'll let you munch on a leg if you're back in fifteen."

Ethan nodded. Instantly he felt weightless - Charlotte grunted as she put her hands on her knees and rocked to her feet, letting her hapless employee spring up. He surreptitiously adjusted his crotch and scampered for the door.

"You get a paid break if I get to watch," Charlotte cooed.

Ethan froze with his hand on the doorframe. Then he sighed and turned around.

Money is money, he thought, unzipping his pants.
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