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Description
Boobies! Yep, I'm feelin' pretty mature today.

Story:

Bess wasn't sure whether she ought to feel proud or ashamed over the developments of the past few months. On the one hand, she was handily employed, well paid, better fed and three bra sizes heavier. On the other, she'd lost contact with the outside world entirely, she felt as though she hardly did any work anymore and she'd gained a whopping 57 lbs (most of which, admittedly, had gone to her boobs, though she felt all around bigger and less agile than before). Her life had apparently devolved into an endless cycle in which she was constantly either sleeping or starving and, therefore, eating.

Contemplating this as she waddled across the lawn she stuffed another handful of chips into her mouth, chewing noisily. It was an odd place, she'd give you that much. Lovegood's Ranch was situated squarely in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in between Colorado and Wyoming, straddling the border in a kind of no-man's land. The manager (whoever he was) certainly had a type too, she mused, watching as another hefty young woman huffed past. All the live-in staff were attractive, female and increasingly overweight. They tended to be just-out-of-college and just-into-debt, with a few exceptions. Debbie was plain broke, and Rachelle didn't get along with her family. Desperate women, the lot of them, in one way or another.

Bess reckoned the manager was some wealthy old man, sitting comfortably in a mansion somewhere. Now and again, she made a surreptitious search for hidden cameras and though she hadn't found any yet, she was certain they were all being watched. Employed for viewing pleasure, not that she really minded. Sure, it was creepy, but what choice did she have? As a creative writing major she had been perpetually unemployed; at least now, in theory, she had time to write and no longer worried about money.

"Bessy, hey Bess!" Rachelle called, walking up with her sort of heavy sashaying pace. "Office wants you. You better get down there."

"Thanks, Rach."

Bess waved her friend off, watching her retreating caboose for a moment. It was quite the sight and nearly as wide as the diminutive woman was tall. Turning away, she began the long trek towards the Office. But first, her bag was nearly empty. She tossed it into one of the many trash barrels and grabbed a box of cookies off the nearest snack stand, waving off the plump dispenser who offered her a lemonade.

"Thanks, but I'm trying to watch my weight."

"You?" the redhead squealed. "But you're so thin!"

"Well," Bess said, struggling between confusion and smugness as she observed the other's swaying belly. "Just trying to break even, then."

Now what could the Office want, she wondered. It worried her, but not overly so. Hardly anything worried her much anymore--not since she'd given up on keeping in touch with her boyfriend. Long-distance relationships were just so hard, she sighed, and with zero cell-service out here . . .

She shoved a couple of triple-chocolate-dare cookies in, savoring the flavor and the sugar and that strange tang that all the food here had. By the time she reached the Office, she was swallowing the last of twenty cookies as she knocked timidly at the worn wood.

"Come in!"

Inside she found her overseer, Millie, a fat, dark-skinned woman with big liquid eyes and friendly lips. As Bess came in, Millie got to her feet (after a couple of tries) and walked around the desk to shake her hand.

"Congratulations, Bess!" she crowed. "We've been watching your work with interest and have decided that, of all our employees, you've earned it."

"Earned what?"

"Best Cowgirl!"

"Is that like--what, Employee of the Month?" she asked, trying to disentangle her fingers from Millie's crushing grip.

"Yes, a little like that. There's an award and a reward and you get to meet the manager--!" Millie sighed as if she'd just described a fairytale come-true.

"Really?" Bess asked, interested despite herself. "The Manager? Where? How--do I take a plane?"

"No, of course not," Millie said, looking puzzled. "You just go through that door . . ."

[To Be Continued . . .]

Description
Boobies! Yep, I'm feelin' pretty mature today.

Story:

Bess wasn't sure whether she ought to feel proud or ashamed over the developments of the past few months. On the one hand, she was handily employed, well paid, better fed and three bra sizes heavier. On the other, she'd lost contact with the outside world entirely, she felt as though she hardly did any work anymore and she'd gained a whopping 57 lbs (most of which, admittedly, had gone to her boobs, though she felt all around bigger and less agile than before). Her life had apparently devolved into an endless cycle in which she was constantly either sleeping or starving and, therefore, eating.

Contemplating this as she waddled across the lawn she stuffed another handful of chips into her mouth, chewing noisily. It was an odd place, she'd give you that much. Lovegood's Ranch was situated squarely in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in between Colorado and Wyoming, straddling the border in a kind of no-man's land. The manager (whoever he was) certainly had a type too, she mused, watching as another hefty young woman huffed past. All the live-in staff were attractive, female and increasingly overweight. They tended to be just-out-of-college and just-into-debt, with a few exceptions. Debbie was plain broke, and Rachelle didn't get along with her family. Desperate women, the lot of them, in one way or another.

Bess reckoned the manager was some wealthy old man, sitting comfortably in a mansion somewhere. Now and again, she made a surreptitious search for hidden cameras and though she hadn't found any yet, she was certain they were all being watched. Employed for viewing pleasure, not that she really minded. Sure, it was creepy, but what choice did she have? As a creative writing major she had been perpetually unemployed; at least now, in theory, she had time to write and no longer worried about money.

"Bessy, hey Bess!" Rachelle called, walking up with her sort of heavy sashaying pace. "Office wants you. You better get down there."

"Thanks, Rach."

Bess waved her friend off, watching her retreating caboose for a moment. It was quite the sight and nearly as wide as the diminutive woman was tall. Turning away, she began the long trek towards the Office. But first, her bag was nearly empty. She tossed it into one of the many trash barrels and grabbed a box of cookies off the nearest snack stand, waving off the plump dispenser who offered her a lemonade.

"Thanks, but I'm trying to watch my weight."

"You?" the redhead squealed. "But you're so thin!"

"Well," Bess said, struggling between confusion and smugness as she observed the other's swaying belly. "Just trying to break even, then."

Now what could the Office want, she wondered. It worried her, but not overly so. Hardly anything worried her much anymore--not since she'd given up on keeping in touch with her boyfriend. Long-distance relationships were just so hard, she sighed, and with zero cell-service out here . . .

She shoved a couple of triple-chocolate-dare cookies in, savoring the flavor and the sugar and that strange tang that all the food here had. By the time she reached the Office, she was swallowing the last of twenty cookies as she knocked timidly at the worn wood.

"Come in!"

Inside she found her overseer, Millie, a fat, dark-skinned woman with big liquid eyes and friendly lips. As Bess came in, Millie got to her feet (after a couple of tries) and walked around the desk to shake her hand.

"Congratulations, Bess!" she crowed. "We've been watching your work with interest and have decided that, of all our employees, you've earned it."

"Earned what?"

"Best Cowgirl!"

"Is that like--what, Employee of the Month?" she asked, trying to disentangle her fingers from Millie's crushing grip.

"Yes, a little like that. There's an award and a reward and you get to meet the manager--!" Millie sighed as if she'd just described a fairytale come-true.

"Really?" Bess asked, interested despite herself. "The Manager? Where? How--do I take a plane?"

"No, of course not," Millie said, looking puzzled. "You just go through that door . . ."

[To Be Continued . . .]