Super-Sized

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The last day of Jamie Bartlett's probationary period was hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. There was no other way to describe it.

The schedule had her working 2 to 10. A shift that included a torrent of tyrannical tourists, a birthday party from hell and the usual assembly of overeaters, junk food junkies and expedient eaters. It was their day. 29-cent hamburger day. And they were there to show their support. How? By buying their beloved burgers by the sackful.

That's all they wanted. The burgers. Keep them supplied with fried beef patties topped with a strip of onion, slices of pickle and a dollop of ketchup, sandwiched between steamed buns and the burger-eaters were more than happy. Deny them this gastronomic goodness, however, and you were guaranteed to feel their wrath.

Jamie Bartlett was feeling the wrath of the burger-eaters.

Her supervisor had put her on the grill, entrusting burger production to "Jamie's capable hands". He actually said that. Aloud. And the burger-eaters had heard. They knew her name. She wasn't faceless - anonymous - anymore. They knew her name and used it - repeatedly. It wasn't the "slow girl on the grill" pissing them off by denying them their precious patties, it was Jamie. Jamie! Jamie!! Jamie!!!

That's all she heard. Her name in ever-increasing volume. And it was driving her nuts.

"Can I get a little help around here!" Jamie yelled out in frustration, but none was forthcoming. As usual. What did she expect from the Princesses?

That was what Jamie called her female co-workers. The Princesses. Beautiful, statuesque women with the biggest tits Jamie had ever seen. A fact that probably wouldn't have bothered Jamie if she fit that description as well. But she didn't.

In a store full of Princesses, Jamie was - what? - the pitiful pauper? Ugly duckling? Frog waiting to be kissed? Probably, a little of all three, Jamie thought; comparing herself to her co-workers. Something she vowed she would stop doing. But looking at the Princesses made keeping that vow hard. Impossibly hard.

Why were they working here? That was the question. One Jamie had asked nearly a million times since she first started this job. Why would women as beautiful as the Princesses work in a lowly fast-food job? It didn't make sense. They weren't like her, she thought, as she began reflecting on her own reason for working fast-food.

She needed the money. In a nutshell, that was her reason for working fast-food. As a college student living off-campus with her fiancé, Barry; Jamie had bills, responsibilities, and debt. The goodies that come with being an adult. And she was prepared for them. At least, she thought she was. Unfortunately, with the goodies came a lack of time, energy, and, again, money.

Enter the world of fast-food.

Jamie took the job reluctantly. She thought she was too good for fast-food. Too smart. Too cultured. She had two images of fast-food workers. Either they were uneducated illiterates incapable of anything else or they were highschoolers working their first "real" job. Being neither of those images, Jamie was sure fast-food had nothing to offer her.

Barry tried convincing Jamie that her images were outdated. He told her that a lot of college students worked fast-food. He couldn't name any at the time, but...

Jamie listened to Barry half-heartedly. She loved the man, but he was getting on her nerves. Suggesting I be a burger-jock, she thought to herself. Easy for you to say, Barry. After all, you have a real job - a paid internship with a Fortune 500 company.

But internship or not, the reality of Jamie's and Barry's situation was that they still needed money. So, Jamie applied for a job at a restaurant. She made sure it was close enough to campus and her place of residence, so it was easy to get to, while making sure it was far enough away that none of her friends could see her flipping burgers. It sounded paradoxical to Barry, even after Jamie explained it to him. Repeatedly.

Jamie went to her scheduled interview with the same prejudices and stereotypes about fast-food that she always had. Barry hadn't had much success in enlightening her. But seeing one of the Princesses for the first time enlightened her and then some.

The manager had greeted her at the door and escorted her to an out-of-the-way booth for her interview. She was going to ask the manager how he was able to identify her without ever having met her, but the man started talking before she could open her mouth.

She listened to him sing the praises of the restaurant. She listened to him tell how one man - a seller of paper cups - had the vision, the drive, the determination that transformed a family business into the #1 franchise in the history of fast-food. She listened as he talked and talked about the restaurant. Endlessly.

Bor - ring, Jamie thought, feeling her eyelids droop. The manager was putting her to sleep. She was about to stand-up, quote Johnny "Mr Take-This-Job-And-Shove-It!" Paycheck, and walk out of the restaurant. She really was. The thoughts were actually in her brain, readying themselves for the trip to her spinal cord, when she saw one. For the first time. Jamie saw one of the Princesses!

The woman was spot-cleaning the dining area and collecting food trays. Routine maintenance for a restaurant employee. The kind of thing, so common, that most people if asked could tell you they saw someone doing it; yet be unable to tell you anything specific about the person.

Jamie didn't have that problem. There was no way she was forgetting this woman. This goddess. It was too surreal - too bizarre - an experience.

She remembered the customers crossing her field-of-vision during her interview. Nothing specific, of course. The customers were ordinary people. Average Janes and Johns. The type that always had to re-introduce themselves when one encountered them. It was the demographic that this franchise paid millions to get and they succeeded. They had the common man, common woman, and common child continuously consuming their product.

But the woman Jamie saw was anything but common. She was in a word: spectacular. Every inch of her. A work of art. A vision too overwhelming in its totality. One had to view this woman in bite-size chunks. Which is exactly what Jamie did.

She started at the woman's feet. Tiny and dainty. Beautifully formed. Encased in regulation black, no-slick soled sneakers that looked brand new. Working, as the woman did, around hamburger grease, soda spills and the like, you'd expected her shoes to show some signs of degradation - normal wear and tear - but they didn't. Odd, thought Jamie, moving her eyes upward. Encountering the woman's legs.

Legs? They were more like columns. Majestic. Strong and long. They exited the woman's "straight from the shoe-store" footwear curving outward in the form of firm, shapely calves. Above the knee, the woman's thighs beckoned. As strong and shapely as her calves, they were no more than an appetizer. Something to feel. To grab. A "wake-up call" for the sense of touch. Preparing you for the main courses below the waist. Front and back.

Jamie thought of the former - secreted in the tight pants of the woman's uniform - for a moment. A fleeting, altogether brief moment. And got wet. Just a little. A trickle to match the brevity of her thought. A reaction so strong, in its potential to publicly embarrass, that it prompted Jamie to move to the woman's backside.

And, as if she read Jamie's mind or was cued by some hidden director, the woman responded. She displayed her backside - her ass - in a manner that Jamie was unable to ignore. She bent over. Jamie stifled an audible squeal when confronted with the sight: tight, firm buttocks filling out pants so tight that they looked painted on. And squeezable.

Jamie wanted to squeeze the woman's ass. She had to squeeze the woman's ass. But couldn't. So she squeezed what she could. Air. A poor substitute, she thought, as her hands, under the table, squeezed what she imagined were the eighth and ninth wonders of the world - the woman's right and left ass cheeks.

And those were merely the sights she saw below the woman's waist, a narrow equator leading to the woman's flat stomach barely visible because - because of the woman's -

Tits!

Jamie looked around the restaurant, making sure she hadn't screamed the word aloud. She hadn't. Fortunately. But that didn't change the need for the outburst. The woman was immense.

Jamie stared at the woman's breasts, unable to take her eyes off them. They filled her field of vision like they filled the woman's shirt - completely.

The unmistakable outline of the woman's bra was stretching the shirt's material to its breaking point. Jamie was able to make out every detail of the foundational garment - the straps, the hooks, and the floral pattern. She could see how, despite the bra's enormous dimensions, it was being overwhelmed by the sheer size of the woman's breasts.

Large handfuls of breast flesh were escaping the confines of the bra. Effortlessly. From all angles - the front, bottom, and sides of the bra - one could see excess flesh. She literally had more tit outside her bra than Jamie had in hers. Jamie was thinking of that fact when -

"Are you okay?" The manager's voice snapped her out of her Princess-induced trance.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Well, I've just run down the benefits you'll receive from this wonderful company after you complete your probationary period, the manager said, concluding the interview. "Do you have any questions?"

"No," Jamie said, still recovering from the spectacular sight of the Princess. "I believe you covered everything."

"Well, I have some papers I need you to fill out." He placed a folder containing tax, insurance and other miscellaneous forms on the table. "I'll be back in a moment with your schedule and uniforms."

Jamie watched the manager leave the table. The moment he disappeared from view, she began filling out the forms. She was determined not to take her eyes off the paperwork. There was no way she was going to fall back into her Princess-induced trance.

Moments later, just as she completed the last form, the manager returned.

"I guessed on your size," he said, handing her two plastic-wrapped uniforms and a written copy of her schedule. "Feel free to try the uniforms on in the restrooms, if you like."

"No, I'm sure they'll fit alright," Jamie said, trying to exit the restaurant as quickly as possible.

She left the booth and headed towards the door, trying hard not to look at anything or anyone. She had to get out of the restaurant. She had to avoid seeing that - that woman. Those were the thoughts running through Jamie's mind when, moving too fast, she ran right into the Princess.

Jamie was once involved in an accident that triggered her car's airbags. That's what it felt like when she collided with the Princess. The impact was such that Jamie rebounded off the woman's enormous breasts and hit the floor.

"Are you alright?" the woman asked Jamie, showing no ill effects from the collision.

"I - I'm fine," Jamie said, rising from the floor, trying to avoid anymore contact with the woman. This attempt to dodge the Princess put her in direct view of the front counter where she saw - where she saw -

Them!

Manning the register. Working fries. Serving ice-cream. Everywhere Jamie looked there was a tall, beautiful woman with enormous tits.

They were sisters - allowing for differences in race, height, and age - fashioned from the same goddess mold. Divine in being. Perfect in presentation. Working minimum wage at a fast-food joint. These women - these Princesses - who overwhelmed Jamie's faculties so much that the only way she could maintain her sanity was to leave. Fast.

She dashed to her car, fumbled with her keys, managed to get her car moving, and came dangerously close to hitting an elderly couple ambling towards the restaurant. Without acknowledging whether the couple was alive or dead; Jamie continued her reckless driving, merged with the flow of normal traffic, exceeded the speed limit by 20 miles-per-hour, received a ticket from a rookie cop named Steve, and somehow managed to make it into her driveway where she rear-ended Barry's Mustang.

Jamie's fiancé ran out of the house when he heard the noise. He saw Jamie. He saw his Mustang. He saw red.

He went to the driver's side of Jamie's car, saw that her window was down and let loose: Mustang! Pride and Joy! Money - Lots of Money! Life's Blood! Do you understand, Jamie? Mustang! My Mustang!

That was the first time - the first lecture. But based on Jamie's reaction - no reaction - he wasn't sure she understood him. He wasn't sure that she heard him. And since it was imperative that she realized how serious it was that she hit his - his Heaven on Wheels, Barry proceeded to repeat himself. Six times. It took that long for him to realize that Jamie wasn't listening to him.

"You think I'm overreacting?" Barry said, taking Jamie's silence as an accusation. "Well, I'm not!"

He saw she had "the look" on her face. The same one she wore whenever Barry was acting stupid and doing things like going on long tirades about cars with little or no damage. The look was usually followed by a smug, "I know-it-all" attitude that drove Barry crazy. But not this time and Barry realized something was wrong with Jamie.

This realization took Barry's mind off his car - finally - and calmed him down enough to feel the proper concern for Jamie. Was she in shock? was the first thought he had about his fiancee. This was followed by the panic of not knowing the proper way to treat Jamie. How do you treat a victim of shock? Should I call 911? What do I do?

Barry, gripped by indecision, began pacing. He would approach the house to call 911, then retreat. He would go to touch Jamie, then wouldn't. He didn't know what to do and it showed.

"What am I doing?" he asked aloud, walking towards the house. Barry had made his decision, concluding the best thing for Jamie was to bring in the professionals.

He had just put his hand on the doorhandle when he heard Jamie's voice. It was repeating a word. Faintly at first, but getting louder. It sounded like...but why would she be saying that? But she was. Princesses. Jamie was repeating the word, "Princesses", over and over.

Barry, seeing that his fiancée was functioning, removed her from the car and carried her to their bedroom. He dressed her in her favorite PJ's, tucked her between the sheets, and dimmed the lights. All the while, Jamie kept repeating the word. Princesses.

At some point, Jamie stopped talking and started sleeping. She slept the night away. Twelve hours total. Barry didn't disturb her. He concluded that she needed the sleep and hoped for the best.

Jamie woke the next morning as if nothing had happened the day before. She performed her usual morning ritual of making the bed, beautifying herself, and preparing breakfast every other day. To her, status quo was status quo. And then the small talk began.

"Breakfast Talking" was what they called it. An agreed upon way to stay close to each other. A way to maintain that lovers' bond that often dies in the face of a fast-paced society. Quality time, in other words. A normal part of Jamie's and Barry's relationship. A part that surprisingly filled Jamie with apprehension this morning.

The topic of conversation was Jamie's job interview, started innocently enough by Barry asking how the interview went?

Instantly, the color left Jamie's face, as she told Barry she had the job. It was a reaction that didn't go unnoticed by Barry. He knew she wasn't thrilled with the prospect of working fast-food. She had expressed her displeasure many, many times. But this reaction was different. It felt wrong; especially in the light of yesterday's event. So Barry asked Jamie what was significant about the word: Princesses.

The word instantly sent images of the restaurant woman and the others like her flashing through Jamie's brain. Overloading her nervous system. Corrupting her coordination. Causing Jamie to spill her morning glass of O.J.

"Princesses?" she asked, cleaning up the spill. "What? Like royalty and fairy tales?"

Oh, no, not the lame jokes, thought Barry; watching Jamie's defense mechanism kick in. He knew this was typical Jamie Bartlett behavior. Something she did when stress overtook her. Tell jokes; forming a wall of humor. And nothing he did - or tried to do - would be strong enough to break that wall. He learned that lesson in the past. Only Jamie(and Jamie alone) could tear down her defensive wall.

But Barry wasn't ready to give up. Jamie, the woman he loved, was hurting and in pain. And he wasn't going to just sit idly by and do nothing. He couldn't. He had to do something. And did.

He told Jamie the truth.

From her hitting his Mustang to him putting her in bed. He told her in as much detail as possible, everything that happened yesterday. And he was making a dent in the wall. He knew he was. Jamie was on the verge of telling him. He could see it. She was opening her mouth, forming the words until -

She clammed up.

Damn, Barry and Jamie said to themselves almost simultaneously. It was frustrating. Damn frustrating. Especially to Jamie. She wanted to open up to Barry. She needed to open up to Barry. But couldn't.

She didn't know if it was low self-esteem, jealousy, fear or what; but there was no way in hell she was going to talk about the Princesses. It was a woman-thing (Jamie's feelings of inadequacy) and a man-thing - Barry being a man with needs and wants.

A fact understood by Jamie. She shared those needs and wants. Lived for those needs and wants. Hers and Barry's.

But in her mind, there existed a threat. Something that had the potential to take away - to destroy - what she and Barry had. The Princesses. That was the threat. The fact that they existed and worked where she did. Those beautiful, big-titted bitches, thought Jamie. If I let Barry get a look at them, I'd lose him forever. No way am I going to let something like that happen.

And so, hiding behind her wall of humor, she watched Barry get more and more frustrated. She watched as he watched her, hoping that she would tear down the wall. And when he concluded the wall was here to stay, she watched him walk out of the door.

"That went well," Jamie said aloud, still using lame jokes as a defense mechanism. "Not."

She regretted that confrontation. It wasn't fair to Barry. It wasn't fair to herself. But, unfortunately, she saw no way to avoid it. She wasn't ready to talk about the Princesses. Hell, the way she was feeling, she might never be ready to talk about the Princesses. She only hoped that she could make it up to Barry somehow.

Later, when Barry arrived home, he found it transformed by Jamie. Candles, occupying every conceivable inch of space, caused his eyes to blink with their muted light. The subtle smell of potpourri prepared his olfactory sense for the even stronger aroma of a gourmet meal that Jamie had spent hours preparing. Rose petals, littering the floor, acted like a red carpet directing Barry to his fiancée dressed in her sexiest lingerie.

"Surprise," Jamie said, rubbing her scantily-dressed body against Barry.

He knew what she was up to. She was trying to make him forget the events of the morning. Well, it was going to take more than something out of a Harlequin Romance novel for him to forget. A lot more.

Like the blowjob she gave him later that night. It was incredible. And a rarity. Jamie wasn't known for her skills in fellatio. But she sure was after that night.

She had led Barry to their bedroom, noticing her fiancé's reluctance. You are so stubborn, Barry, she thought, realizing the romantic evening wasn't enough. Well, I know how to handle you.

Barry knew he and Jamie would end up in the bedroom. As the U.N. of their arguments - the place they went to resolve their feelings of hostility - it was inevitable. But just because something was predestined to happen didn't mean one couldn't put up a fight. It was a matter of freewill, Barry thought.

So, he let Jamie lead him into the bedroom where the first thing he noticed was the smell of honey. A strong, rich smell of honey. It saturated the room.

Barry was going to comment on the smell of honey when Jamie threw him to the bed in a move worthy of a Judo master. It was quick, unexpected, and it knocked the air out of the man. "Ja - Ja - Jam - " Barry was trying to get the name of his fiancée out when the woman suddenly leaped on top of him. An act that combined with his loss of breath and Jamie's "pleasantly plumpness" was causing him a great deal of pain.

Jamie saw the look of pain on Barry's face. It was hard not to. But, in her mind, it was necessary. Not that she wanted to hurt Barry, but she was trying to make a point.

What that point was she wasn't 100% clear about. There were a lot of points running through her head. The Princesses and how she couldn't risk Barry ever seeing them. The fact that she was suddenly working a fast-food job she felt was beneath her. The routine way that her and Barry would resolve their personal problems by going to bed and having sex(almost as if they were U.N. delegates trying to iron out a treaty). And so many more.

Well, it didn't matter. Barry was beneath her struggling for air. And she was determined to show him a good time whether he wanted one or not. And if he should happen to forget the petty argument they had that morning - Well, what is sex for?

Jamie didn't wait for Barry to regain his breath. She had read in one of her women's mags that near-asphyxiation was often a good way to heighten one's sexual pleasure. Well, she definitely wanted Barry's sexual pleasure heightened. But, first, she had to get him out of his clothes.

Jamie attacked Barry's clothing. Literally. She charged his shirt like a rabid animal, ripping the buttons off with her teeth. She worked her way to his pants and ripped those buttons off as well.

Barry, who hadn't fully recovered from his loss of breath, noticed Jamie's attack of his clothing. His expensive clothing. The thought occurred to him that thinking about the cost of ones clothing while being ravaged by one's significant other was - uh, well - lame; but, dammit, clothes cost money! He was about to say: "Dammit, Jamie, clothes cost money!" when the destroyer of expensive clothing had him by the balls. Literally.

She was cupping his balls; massaging and stroking them with her hands. This was classic Jamie - "male foreplay" she called it - and she knew Barry loved it when she did this. It was normal. Predictable. And unfortunately, when contrasted with the aggressive sexual demeanor Jamie displayed earlier, somewhat disappointing.

But then he felt the warm, sticky substance Jamie was rubbing on his balls.

This is different, Barry thought with a smile.

It didn't take him long to associate the substance with the smell saturating the room and realize that Jamie was coating him with honey. Warm - sticky - honey. In small, sensual strokes. Up - down; side-to-side, and in circles.

Barry loved the circles. They felt the best. Were the best. The most erotic, pleasurable, sexual, carnal sensation of the flesh that Barry ever - -

"Ahhhh!" he screamed in ecstasy. A result of Jamie's hand job. Jamie's incredible hand job. Barry had never felt anything like it. It drained him - his sexual fluids spilling forth, running everywhere, merging with the honey.

"Ja - Jamie," he gasped, "that - that was the most - the most incredible thing I - I've ever felt!"

Jamie didn't respond. Her mouth had another appointment. Elsewhere. One that would make Barry re-evaluate his critique of her hand job: Was it the most incredible thing he ever felt or did it suddenly take a backseat to Jamie's current activity?

Jamie licked up Barry's honey-flavored cum. Slowly. Her tongue lapped his inner thigh in long, sensuous strokes. Her hot, panting breath caused goose bumps with every exhalation. While her skin, touching his, caused shivers of ecstasy.

She was making her way closer to Barry's manhood, giving her fiancé time to recover from her hand job.

Recovery time proved unnecessary as Barry's dick regained rigidity in an instant. It pointed straight up, waiting on Jamie's tongue to show up. Shaking in anticipation every time Jamie approached, hoping that her tongue - her lips - would make contact. But the tease seemed to be going everywhere but Barry's dick.

Damn!

Barry watched his shaking dick go spastic. It was suddenly vibrating so fast that it looked like a divining rod in the presence of water. "Jaaammmiiieee!!!", he yelled out, his voice sounding more jackhammer than human. "Iiii'mmm goooingg toooo cummmm!!!"

Jamie, hearing her lover, moved quickly to his manhood. She affixed her mouth over his dick, forming a tight seal, and sucked, swallowing the erupting river of juices.

"Thanks, Jamie, I needed that," Barry managed to say after catching his breath.

Jamie, licking the residual cum around her mouth, smiled wickedly at Barry and said,"No problem, honey, I was just warming up."

"Warming up?" Barry asked puzzled.

"Yes," Jamie said, gripping Barry's flaccid penis, "that was practice; this time it's for real!"

Barry tried protesting - weakly and lamely - about how tired and drained he was. How he needed time to recover. How this and how that. None of which mattered, of course.

Jamie was determined to give Barry the best blowjob of his life. One he would never forget. It would be one for the ages. Something he would cherish in this world and the next. One to make him forget their morning argument.

Jamie succeeded on all counts. Especially on making Barry forget their argument and, yet, she didn't feel happy about her victory. She had accomplished her mission, she thought, as her hands slowly stroked Barry's manhood returning it slowly but surely to a state of hardness; and yet she still felt a sense of dread. A feeling of foreboding. A panic of - of -

Princesses!

For 90 days. That's how long her panic of Princesses lasted. 90 days. Her probationary period. A period in which on several occasions, Jamie almost called it quits. It wasn't worth it, she thought, thinking about the roller coaster-like experience her life had become.

The ups and downs of her home life with Barry. The arguments. The reconciling. The joys of being with, living with, and loving one's soul-mate in the glow of day versus the nightly fears of losing that same soul-mate to, of all things, a worker in a fast food joint.

It was too much for Jamie - working with the Princesses. The pressure. The stress. Real or imagined was just too much. And so she quit. Repeatedly. But every time Jamie quit there was Barry.

Her supporter. The wind beneath her wings. Always doing and saying the right thing. He more than anything else was what helped Jamie through her 90 day probationary period.

But was it worth it? she asked herself unable to come up with a definite answer.

Her mind tried to help by replaying every day of her restaurant experience. An experience that included rude, obnoxious customers; long hours standing on her feet, and, of course, the Princesses.

Hell, Jamie thought. That's what this job's been. Living hell. From day one to day ninety, working here has been nothing but hell. I can't wait for today to be over.

But as Jamie glanced over her shoulder at a wall clock with the restaurant's internationally-known logo in its center, she could tell that her ninetieth day was far from over.

"Damn," she mumbled aloud.

"Did you say something?" The manager suddenly appeared behind her.

"No," Jamie said awkwardly. She didn't know what it was, but something about her manager weirded her out. His eyes and mannerisms were just...weird. Too weird.

"Jamie, I hate to have to tell you this, but I'm going to need you to close."

"No problem, " Jamie found herself responding in an automatic fashion. Getting stuck closing was a regular thing for her - almost a constant - as one or more of the Princesses was always calling out sick.

Of course, Jamie doubted any of the Princesses ever really got sick. What virus or bacteria would dare infect those perfect bodies? Dates, she thought, were the real reason for the Princesses calling in. Dates - lots and lots of dates - with some of the finest, most eligible guys in the city. Given the choice, what girl would choose to work when she could be entertained by some tall, dark, rich, handsome -

"Jamie!" the manager yelled, getting her attention.

"Uh, sir?"

"Well, I was saying that due to a large amounts of call-ins and no one else being available to work tonight, including myself, that you're going to have to close by yourself."

"I have to close by myself?"

"Yes, Jamie," said her manager patting her on the shoulder and quickly removing himself from her line of sight. He did this maneuver with the skill and proficiency of a ninja - one minute he was beside Jamie, the next he wasn't.

Bastard, Jamie thought. Who does he think he is asking me to close and then disappearing like that. What did he think I would do? Go back on my word and refuse to close or something

After a moment of thought on her part: Of course, I would go back on my word and refuse to close.

"Bastard."

"Did you just call me a bastard?" a short, elderly lady - a customer - asked Jamie.

"Uh, no ma'am," Jamie replied, thinking quick, "I asked if you wanted: 'Mustard, mayonnaise or catsup?'"

And thus began the rest of Jamie's ninetieth day. A day where if anything could go wrong it did.

For example: The men's toilet overflowed because a customer - probably some bratty kid - wiped his ass with paper towels instead of toilet paper. One of the fryers leaked oil over the backroom's floor. And all day - in a nonstop buzz of annoyance and anger - customers loudly voiced their displeasure of the restaurant running out of hamburger patties. Patties instrumental in the making of the 29-cent hamburgers they all seemed to crave.

Ordinarily, these problems wouldn't have bothered Jamie. She knew they came with the job. Staffing problems, equipment problems, people problems, and any other problem one could imagine. But today, of all days, every problem had to be solved by Jamie. It was like she was the only one with a clue.

The overflowing toilet? Jamie had to play plumber and using her hands - glove covered, of course - had to remove the wet, feces-covered paper towels and dispose of them properly. The oil covering the backroom floor? She - and she alone - cleaned it up. The shortage of hamburger patties? Required Jamie to drive to every sister store in the vicinity collecting every spare hamburger patty she could. No one mentioned paying Jamie for all the gas she was using or all the surplus miles she was running up on her car. She didn't receive a single "Thank you, Jamie, for going the extra mile for the company." Nothing, nada, zilch, zero - that was all Jamie received for her troubles.

That and being able to close by myself, thought Jamie. What a way to graduate from probate to a fully privileged worker entitled to all rights and benefit?

She had waited on the last of her customers. A family of ten that literally ordered everything on the menu, an order totaling more than $100 dollars. Jamie bagged the food in hopes that the family would leave the restaurant allowing her to start closing. Her hopes, unfortunately, were dashed when the family announced they were eating in.

Jamie watched the family as they displayed some of the sloppiest eating habits known to man. Condiments - red, yellow, and white - missed their intended targets of food with uncannily bad accuracy. Ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise covered the tabletop in such abundance that it could have easily served as the palette of a 20-foot tall painter. Paper wrappers and cardboard containers littered the floor followed by cold drinks that spilled with such regularity that Jamie was starting to believe the table had urinary problems.

Jamie tried to clean up around the family. But the more she cleaned, the messier the area seemed to get. Finally in frustration, she just gave up. I'll do it after they leave, she thought. How long could that be?

Two hours later, the family finally left. A mess. Oh, they exited the restaurant as well, but at that moment the mess and the fact that the family didn't leave a tip were the only things on Jamie's mind. A mind that began calculating how long it would take to clean up the area. About an hour was Jamie's estimate. Her conservative estimate.

Jamie couldn't do anything but scream. Which she did, seeing as how she was the only person in the restaurant.

"Another hour! Another hour after the two they spent making this - this mess! Aargh!!!"

Screaming had no effect on the mess or the time needed to clean it, but it made Jamie feel better. She got the necessary cleaning supplies and went to work. She mentally gave herself a pat on the back for sticking it out and not quitting as she believed anyone else would've done after a day like the one she just had. Barry will be so proud, she thought with a smile - the first real one on her face since she clocked in.

Later, after the mess was cleaned and all her closing duties were completed, Jamie headed towards the kitchen area where the time cards and clock were located. The area, which was usually brightly lit, was now blanketed by darkness.

"Don't tell me all the lights blew out," Jamie said, starting to believe she, the restaurant or both were cursed.

She thought seriously about replacing the lights, but changed her mind. "I've worked enough tonight," she said stepping into the darkened kitchen. Her only hope was that the clock's LED face would be enough light for her purposes.

As Jamie walked towards the time clock she couldn't escape the feeling that something was wrong. For starters, why hadn't she reached the clock yet?

When the lights were working, three or four good-sized steps was all it took to reach the clock and cards. Jamie had taken ten times as many steps as normal - all of them good-sized - and still hadn't reached the time clock.

And the darkness wasn't helping matters. It was stirring up all kinds of fearful thoughts in Jamie's mind. Chief thought being that Jamie was no longer alone. Someone's in here, she thought, scanning the darkness with her limited night vision.

Nothing was revealed and yet Jamie still felt she wasn't alone.

She had stopped walking when she scanned the area, thinking a fixed position would aid her in detecting the "presence". It didn't. And suddenly not being in motion was making Jamie feel vulnerable. Scared. She instantly started walking again. Her pace: fast. Her direction: forward. She had to reach the time clock. She just had to.

Those were the desperate thoughts running through her head. An inner voice to parallel the inner jackhammer-like beating of Jamie's heart. That was Jamie inside. Jamie outside was goose bumps, sweaty palms, and biting her nails. Nervous. Paranoid. Terrified. She somehow was able to continue forward.

Something caught her eye. A flicker of light. Could it be the clock, she wondered?

It was.

Like a water-less desert nomad who miraculously comes across an oasis, Jamie approached the clock. Her fingertips caressed its metallic chassis with great trepidation as if it was going to disappear at any moment.

Not waiting for that moment, Jamie immediately began searching for her time card. Using the faint glow emitted by the clock's LED face as her guide, she thumbed through the names of her co-workers - the Princesses - looking for her own.

Finding her card was easy. Too easy? she wondered, pulling it from the rack and sliding it into the mouth of the clock as fast as she could. She put her index finger on the tiny lever that would officially end her day of hell at the restaurant. She pressed down and -

"SURPRISE!!!"

Blood flowing to Jamie's heart was temporarily diverted. Her eyes, trying to adjust to the lights suddenly coming on, went blind. And her bladder was on the verge of emptying. Jamie was definitely surprised.

After she calmed down, a process that involved repeatedly yelling every "four-letter word" she knew, Jamie noticed the people surrounding her. They were her manager and the Princesses.

Her manager looked uncomfortable. Surprising Jamie to the point of profanity wasn't exactly how he planned this little soirée. The Princesses, of course, were as beautiful as ever. Their radiant smiles - whiter than white - remained permanent fixtures in the midst of the storm that was Hurricane Jamie.

"Uh, 'surprise', Jamie. Congratulations on completing your probationary period. We - uh, I - uh, I mean your co-workers and I wanted to throw you a surprise party. It's tradition," her manager said, feeling the need to justify the obvious - ice-cream and cake, overhead banners, and Princesses in party hats.

"A surprise party? For me?" Those were the first words Jamie said following her profanatory explosion. They also were the last words Jamie said following her profanatory explosion.

That's all it took. Jamie no longer swearing and her surprise party suddenly became a blur. A nonstop blur.

Beginning with the Princesses, who mobilized better than any army known to man. Their mission: keep Jamie entertained. Which they did exuberantly. Dancing with her one moment - her body being bumped and buffeted by their big bosoms - and shoveling cake, soda, and ice-cream down her throat the next.

As disorienting as the Princesses' behavior was, it at least served a purpose. Jamie's manager - the nuisance - served no purpose whatsoever. He would disappear one moment, reappear the next, and say to Jamie word for word what he had just said: "You're going to love your benefits!"

The first few times he did this, Jamie chalked it up to him being a manager - company loyalty, "I, manager - you, laborer", and the like. But as he continued to repeat himself, Jamie could come to only one conclusion: the man was drunk. And it was spreading.

The Princesses soon echoed the manager. "You're going to love your benefits" became the words of the night. They were said so much that Jamie began thinking she was on one of those surprise, Candid Camera-type shows. The kind of practical joke she would expect from her fiancé, Barry. Was he here? Jamie wondered.

He wasn't, and soon neither was Jamie. She had to leave the restaurant. Immediately. The scene was just too weird. She needed Barry and the normalcy he provided - ASAP!

She didn't say her goodbyes. She didn't say anything. She waved and left. She guessed her manager and the Princesses understood, but to be honest, she really didn't care. Barry, the comfort of his arms wrapped around her, and how normal all that sounded was all she could think about.

The darkened house that greeted her marred that thought.

"Dammit, Barry must've fallen asleep!" Jamie said aloud, thinking about the hellish night of work she had just had and how the least he could do was wait up for her. "He knew this was the last day of my probationary period!"

She entered the house ready to run to their bedroom and give Barry a piece of her mind when the smell first hit. It was strong. It was musty. And it was her.

"Pooweee, I stink!" Jamie said, stating the obvious. "I'll deal with Barry later, like after I take a shower."

The shower was heavenly. Without a doubt, it was the highlight of Jamie's day. The water, the soap, the loofah - a triple threat - overwhelmed Jamie's senses with the most sensual of touches. Her skin tingled. Her body hair raised. And her womanhood got moist.

Erotic. That was the word that suddenly came to Jamie's mind...and body. Erotic. It described the shower. Explicitly. A shower that had somehow acquired the qualities of a friend, the attributes of a lover, and the skills of a fuck-buddy.

It enshrouded Jamie in a "shower's grip". A grip that made her incapable of movement, while somehow reassuring her that incapacity was for the best. A grip that caused Jamie to surrender and accept a "whatever the water does to me, I will willingly accept" attitude.

It was the shower's idea of foreplay. Getting Jamie to surrender. Something it had done quickly, easily, and efficiently. Preparing her for the next step. The big one. The one that both Jamie and it had been waiting for.

Starting at the bottom and working its way up, the water gently lapped Jamie's toes. Toe-sucking her shower-style. Stimulating not only the tip of the toes, but between the toes, under the nails, and places so secret that no human could ever find them.

Massaging her legs. Torturing them. Caressing them. Walking the fine line between pleasure and pain, while showing Jamie the beauty of both.

Her womanhood. It would be saved for later. A main entree following the hors d'oeuvres. The grand finale. The pièce de résistance.

Ditto for her ass, so abundant in fleshiness that the shower couldn't help but squeeze.

It made its way to her breasts and here it lingered. It encircled the small mounds on Jamie's chest, as if weighing its options. Deciding on a plan, the water began trickling on Jamie's nipples, causing them to jut out to their maximum length. Her areolae, rising like the smallest of goose bumps, darkened in anticipation of the water's next move.

The water, arcing away from Jamie's breasts, coalesced into a miniature tidal wave. It stood away from Jamie's body, surveying the terrain before it, waiting for the right moment to -

SPLASH!!!

The wave crashed into Jamie's chest, awakening every nerve possessed by her breasts, and remained there. Creating a pleasure loop that caused Jamie to orgasm over and over and over. Her juices, Niagara Falls-like, ran down her legs in such plentiful amounts that Jamie was on the verge of dehydrating. The shower, sensing this, supplied Jamie orally with all the water she needed, while simultaneously muffling her screams of pleasure. A pleasure that only increased when the water decided it was time for its main course.

Jamie's womanhood. Her anus. The water couldn't decide which one it wanted to visit. To pleasure. Most. So, it chose both of them. It divided itself into two, smaller, more penetrating streams. One entering Jamie from the front; the other from the rear.

Approaching her like a skilled hunter stalking its prey - slowly, subtly, efficiently - they reached their respective targets, as they knew they ultimately would, simultaneously.

They plunged into Jamie, instantly playing havoc with her equilibrium. Her legs, losing their support, collapsed. Her arms, without any strength, unable to grab anything. Jamie was falling out of the shower. The inhuman sensations of water - so pleasurable - had Jamie approaching the very painful course of hitting the bathroom's floor.

Fortunately, Barry showed up when he did.

He was waiting up in their bedroom, expecting to surprise Jamie. But she surprised him instead. Instead of going to the bedroom first, as was her usual habit, she made a beeline for the bathroom. Barry soon heard the sounds of the shower and made the decision to give Jamie a break. A period to relax, cool down, and get work out of her system. That is, until he heard Jamie's screams.

They started off soft, sensual, and barely audible. Barry, with a smirk on his face, assumed Jamie was taking matters into her own hands - literally - by pleasuring herself. But then the screams got louder. Barry, definitely detecting a painful quality in the screams, ran towards the bathroom. He had to help Jamie.

When he entered the bathroom, he saw Jamie's silhouetted form behind the shower curtain. It was spastically jerking up, down, back, and forth. Its movements were so chaotic that even the water spewing forth from the showerhead seemed to be affected. To Barry's eyes, the water was alive. Its movements made it look like it was trying to fuck Jamie. But Barry discounted that idea immediately. Everyone knows water doesn't fuck people.

His attention turned back to Jamie. Watching as she buffeted the shower curtain. Over and over again. What the hell is wrong with her, he thought, transfixed by the spectacle before him.

A spectacle that turned dangerous as Jamie suddenly exited the bathtub without warning. Barry couldn't tell if she slipped or was pushed. All he knew was that the woman he loved was about to collide head first with the bathroom floor and that he, and only he, could save her.

He rushed to Jamie. He rooted himself tree-like in the desired spot. He spread his arms wide. And, thanks to luck, God, skill or a combination of all three, he succeeded in his rescue.

Jamie was safe. Her prone, wet, naked body was lying on top of Barry, soaking his clothing. She looked at Barry staring at her. His concern and worry so visible on his face that Jamie was prompted to say: "I'm fine, Barry."

Barry had his doubts, of course. Seeing his fiancée moving in a shower like an epileptic having a seizure and then literally falling out of the shower wasn't something he saw everyday. He continued his staring.

"I'm fine, Barry," Jamie repeated with a smile on her face. "I've never felt better."

And she was telling the truth. She felt invigorated. The long hours spent at the restaurant were forgotten. Jamie felt like she woke up from a full night's rest ready to conquer the world. Her mind. Her body. Her skin. They all felt newborn baby new. Especially her skin, which was tingling all over.

Tingling. That was the only way to describe the sensation Jamie was feeling. Tingling. She had first experienced it during the shower. It was mild then. More subtle. The tingling. But now it was stronger. Suffusing her body, affecting her emotions, causing Jamie, without warning, to start laughing.

Barry watched Jamie succumb to a laughing fit. It had struck without warning. One moment, she was professing how fine she was, the next she was laughing like a loon.

It was crazy.

"Jamie, what's going on?" he asked, but the laughter prevented her from answering.

Continuing to laugh, she righted herself and stood up.

Barry followed. He was now standing in front of Jamie unconsciously keeping a buffer zone of personal space between them. An action that definitely wasn't like him - distancing himself from Jamie - but this whole situation was starting to scare the shit out of him.

Jamie didn't notice. Thanks to the tingling and the laughing fit. She wasn't thinking about Barry, she wasn't thinking about her nudity, she wasn't thinking about being dripping wet in a bathroom that could've used a little more heat. She wasn't thinking about anything but the tingling and the laughing fit.

Fortunately for her, Barry didn't have such problems. He noticed Jamie shivering. A lot. And instantly went to action. The fear - the shit being scared out of him - instantly dissipated as he found the largest, warmest bath-towel in the bathroom closet and wrapped it around Jamie.

Barry started drying Jamie off with the towel. A simple action that changed things instantly. The laughing fit, for starters, stopped. Jamie, not knowing what was going on, just stared at Barry.

Jamie's staring combined with the silence created when she stopped laughing were nerve-wracking to Barry. He started asking Jamie if she was alright, whether he could do anything for her, and anything else he felt that would restore things back to normal.

"Tingling."

Barry had heard the word. Barely. And discounted it. Why would Jamie be saying the word: "Tingling"?

But then she said it again. Louder than the first time. She kept on saying it. Repeating it in such a fashion that her breathing grew heavy and her throat grew hoarse. For a moment, Jamie sounded like she suffered from emphysema. But only for a moment. The hoarseness - grating, irritating, and painful to the ears - gave way to a different sound.

To Barry's ears, it was the sound she made in the throes of passion. When the fucking was so good - so right - that neighborhood dogs could hear her scream his name. That's how Jamie's voice sounded now.

Barry was about to ask about the word, "tingling" when he noticed something strange. Jamie was smoking. Literally. Barry removed the towel from around his fiancée and was instantly greeted by a wave of heat. Jamie's skin was so hot that it was turning the remaining water on her skin into steam. Impossible, thought Barry, not believing what his eyes saw. For the moment, at least.

He heard Jamie start moaning. He watched as sweat, attempting to cover her body, was instantly turned to steam. A steam that greatly decreased visibility as it overran the bathroom. It was like one of those Ninja smoke bombs or James Bond smokescreens had been detonated, thought Barry unable to see Jamie.

He tried to clear the smoke. He turned on all nearby fans and air conditioners, directing their streams of air towards the bathroom. But the steam wasn't ready to leave. Like an unwanted guest who couldn't take a hint, it was going to leave on its schedule. All Barry could do was wait.

Eventually, the steam departed. Barry, who had kept his distance during the steam's occupancy of the bathroom, approached slowly. His curiosity and love of Jamie compelled him to move forward, but his fear caused him to hesitate. For every step he took forward, he backed up two. That is until he heard Jamie scream.

He ran into the bathroom and saw a woman staring at herself in the mirror. A strange woman. A woman who couldn't possibly be Jamie. Of that, Barry was certain. This woman looked like a supermodel. Something that Jamie admittedly wasn't. The woman stood over six feet tall, a height that dwarfed Jamie's five feet nothing. Her body, tone and athletic, contrasted greatly with Jamie's pleasant plumpness. Her beauty couldn't possibly be equaled on earth; whereas Jamie's cuteness was the epitome of earthiness.

"Barry," the woman said, interrupting Barry's mental comparisons, "what's happened to me?"

"Jamie?" Barry inquired, recognizing his fiancée's voice. If the strange woman was Jamie, then her voice was the only thing that remained from the original version.

"Barry, look at me!"

Barry didn't have to be told twice. He stared at the strange woman - Jamie, he reminded himself - looking her up and down. The sudden tightness in his pants revealed he liked - loved? - what he saw.

"So, you like this body?" the new Jamie said, stating the obvious.

Barry was suddenly tongue-tied. He nodded his head in response. At least, he thought he nodded his head. He really wasn't that sure. Of anything.

The new Jamie started walking towards him. Her body was executing, with ease, some slinky strut that should've required a lifetime to master. This woman was beyond confident. She approached Barry like a feral wildcat - a maneater - ready to consume him in one bite.

Barry, seeing the hungry look in her eyes, began backing up. He was trying to escape from the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A fact that was both crazy and true. Unfortunately or fortunately - Barry, at this point, wasn't sure which - the woman had backed him into a wall. He tried to overpower her, but there was some unbelievable strength in those feminine limbs. She was holding him against the wall one-handed, making it clear that if Barry was going anywhere it was only because she allowed it. Which, at the moment, she didn't.

"Barry, what's the matter with you. It's me, Jamie!" the woman said.

"Jamie? You can't be Jamie! You sound like her, but you don't look a thing like her!" Barry yelled.

The new Jamie went on to explain about her co-workers. How everyone of them - the Princesses as she called them - was a tall, beautiful woman with enormous tits.

"Enormous tits?" Barry wondered aloud. The words escaping his lips automatically, as his eyes went instantly to the woman's chest. He saw and knew that, without a doubt, she was a tall and beautiful woman. One that possessed firm, good looking tits. But "enormous tits"? What she had wasn't even close!

"My tits are nowhere near enormous," she said, echoing Barry's thoughts. "The Princesses' tits are enormous. I'm tall and beautiful like the Princesses. I think I should have tits like the Princesses. That makes sense to you, Barry, doesn't it?"

Barry, hearing this woman rant and rave about Princesses, began questioning her sanity. With her superior height and the above-average strength she was demonstrating, he started fearing for his safety. He forced himself to nod his head in agreement.

"Of course it makes sense," she said fueled by Barry's nodding agreement with her. "I should have big tits like the Princesses and I should have them now!"

As soon as the new Jamie said the word, "now", she felt an electrical sensation run through her breasts. It was so powerful that for the briefest of moments she took her hand off Barry. He was free. Temporarily. But as soon as he tried to escape, the new Jamie forced him back against the wall.

"No, no, no, Barry," she said waving the index finger of her free hand in his face, "I can't let you leave before the show - the 'RRRReally-Big Shew', as Ed Sullivan use to say, starts. I'm sure you'll be hugely entertained!"

Barry watched Jamie's chest. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. Jamie, arching her back and thrusting out her chest, positioned Barry's face so he was looking directly at her breasts. Out of fear, since he would never under normal circumstances try to avoid looking at a woman's tits, Barry tried turning away from Jamie's chest. But that damned strength of hers held him fast.

"Here it comes, Barry! Here it comes!" Jamie yelled as her breasts began growing.

Slow at first, the growth was almost invisible to the naked eye. But to the recipient of the growth, Jamie, the feeling was there. She knew, without a doubt, that she was growing. Her nipples had jutted out, growing over an inch in length. Her areolae - small and lightly colored at first - began spreading, puddle-like, across her breast flesh darkening in color. And then the real growth began.

Barry had witnessed the changes in the new Jamie's nipples and aureolas and was impressed. He had considered her breasts perfect - incapable of improvement. And then, through some supernatural agent Barry wasn't even going to try to fathom, she went on and improved them. Amazing. But the improvements weren't over, as he noticed Jamie's breasts were still changing.

They were inflating. Twin spheres of breast flesh growing larger and larger; faster and faster. Becoming so firm that they somehow defied the laws of gravity. They expanded so quickly that they ran through the letters of the alphabet, the sizes of fruit and the shapes of miscellaneous game balls in an instant.

Jamie's breasts filled the space between her and Barry rather quickly. She had moved back, giving her breasts "growing room". A strategy she continued to employ as her breasts grew. That is, until the growing room finally ran out.

Jamie, almost a yard away from Barry, had him pinned to the wall with her tits. An uncomfortable feeling for Barry, who was trying hard to escape this "titty-trap". Squirming, pushing, and pulling, he tried anything and everything to escape. But failed. His actions - pointless in helping him escape - turned out to be perfect foreplay for Jamie.

Jamie began swaying back and forth as Barry stimulated her super-sensitive tits. Her movements extended to her tits causing them to bombard Barry with their great size and weight. Barry, feeling like a sock in a dryer, was bounced one way and then another. It wasn't long before Jamie's breasts had him lying on the ground. Just where she wanted him.

Barry was dazed and confused. Getting clobbered by Jamie's giant-sized breasts had him on the floor trying to find his sense of direction. He had just got his bearings when his world disappeared. The room, the floor, the ceiling - everything - was suddenly gone and replaced by flesh. Wall-to-wall flesh. That's all Barry could see, feel, and touch. Flesh.

"You okay in there, Barry?" Jamie asked.

Barry responded. Jamie couldn't make out what he said, but seeing as how he was able to respond, she concluded he was alive. Good, she thought. My breasts didn't suffocate you. That would've been a real downer.

A voice in Jamie's head appeared out of nowhere. It questioned the actions of this new Jamie. How she abused her superior strength. How she had no real regard or concern for Barry's welfare. These were things the old Jamie would never do.

"Well, here's something else the old Jamie never would do!" Jamie said aloud, totally dismissing the inner voice.

Jamie lowered herself on Barry's horizontal form. She reached for his pajama bottoms and ripped them off. Grabbing his cock - rock hard - she inserted it inside her and began riding Barry with all her might.

Up - Down. Up - Down. Up - Down. It wasn't long before Jamie came. But she didn't stop. Eventually, Barry came. But she didn't stop. In Jamie's mind there was only one thing that would make her stop.

Her job.

She was scheduled to open the restaurant in about three hours. And though she closed by herself, hadn't had any sleep, and could easily call in sick, Jamie knew she would never ever miss a day of work at the restaurant. Why?

Her benefits were too good.

End