“You’re having a tea party?” Terri said, sitting at the kitchen table. She itched awkwardly at an exposed leg. Her grey sweats had been nearly destroyed by the work. At her Mom’s suggestion, she was trying out a baggy pair of shorts. After a week it felt a little strange to show any skin, but it did help with the low-level heat that filled the house.
“Book club,” Anne said. She was making canapés. And she had another one of her titillating dresses on, a green one with a white sash. It had a v-neck that plunged to the center of her chest. Two breasts poked out on either side. Terri had hesitated to ask, but they WERE bigger, weren’t they?
“Then what’s the book?”
“We didn’t actually get around to picking one,” Anne admitted. “But that’s why we’re meeting. To pick a book for next week.”
Terri rolled her eyes.
“Your eyes are going to stick like that if you’re not careful,” Anne said.
She rolled a piece of bacon around a fig. Terri nearly drooled. Why was she so hungry, all the time? Did it have anything to do with her newly irrepressible sex drive?
“Good! Then I’ll go around freaking people out with my all-white eyes. It’ll be great,” Terri said. “Who are these women?”
“Oh, you know. Ladies from the neighborhood. Mrs. Pritcher. Mrs. Scoaler. Mrs. Taylor…”
It was a nearly complete list of the prudish, busy-body women that staffed the Calving PTA and spent most of their time disapproving of things.
Terri opened her mouth to say as much, and Anne stuffed a fig in it. It was delicious. Her train of thought plunged off the rails.
“Go take a shower,” Anne directed. “I’ll give you one of my dresses to wear. You, dear daughter, will be serving the tea.”
Terri tried to fight back.
But the fig was stuffed with ricotta. And all she could do was nod.
* * *
Terri closed the bathroom door and examined herself in the mirror.
“Oh geez,” she murmured, to herself.
She was busting out in curves all over. That damn ice cream!
Already her rail-thin body was a memory. No longer could she see three bony ribs floating just underneath her boobs. Now her body was increasingly sleek and well-fed, almost glossy, rippling with a new bounty of curves.
What hadn’t gone to her hips had gone to her boobs. They had inflated like party balloons over the past week, swelling from mere bumps to the honest-to-goodness breasts she had had before college. Her hips were embarrassingly wide, back to the child-bearing country curves she had been so mortified by.
Not that she looked BAD…
“No more ice cream,” she told herself. That had to be it. That stuff was 90% fat. Whatever Reverend Flynn put in it, it was overencouraging the part of her genetic makeup that wanted to be described as “buxom.”
She eased her growing form into the shower. For the first five minutes she dully scrubbed herself.
“Okay, Terri, be honest with yourself,” she said, watching the hot water dribble down a small expanse of honest-to-goodness cleavage.
She was starting to get turned on… by pretty much anything. It wasn’t just at the end of the day, anymore. All morning Terri had caught herself day-dreaming about boys… sex… slutty little outfits she remembered from college…
A few minutes of the torrent of steaming water, and she started feeling red hot. Already her re-inflated nipples were perking up.
Terri eased a finger down to her snatch. She was starting to seriously considering shaving. Considering how much time she was spending down there, her pubic hair was just an irritation.
“No!” her mind told her, dragging her libido to the back of her head. Not now! Tonight. The tea party women would be there any minute!
Terri flipped the dial to ‘freezing’ and waited for the wet tingles to fall away.
It took a very long time.
* * *
“Oh, thank you, dear,” Mrs. Taylor said. She was in her mid-40s, with carefully crafted Mom hair that hadn’t been restyled since 1986. Terri refilled her mug to the brim. She made a face when the older woman couldn’t see.
The whole experience was mortifying. Serving tea. Acting like a… waitress… while the ‘ladies’ gabbed at each other. They all wore tasteful and boring dark-colored dresses, and had their legs crossed.
But what was most embarrassing of all was that she was wearing her Mom’s dress, and that it didn’t fit well. Too loose in the chest. Pinched horribly at the waist. Her two knobby knees stuck out of the bottom.
She had fought back against the heels. Anne had just shrugged and agreed.
Now she felt dumpy and short without them.
“How about The Road?” Anne suggested. “Cormac McCarthy. Oprah recommended it.”
“Oprah recommends lots of things,” Mrs. Pritchard said. She was a woman just starting to sag into old-lady. “It’s all depressing, I hear. End of the world, right?”
Anne looked cheerful. She wore a pattern skirt with a cinched black belt. The flower-covered tanktop was supposed to look demure.
“How about the Time Traveler’s Wife?” Anne tried. “Very romantic.”
“I don’t know. Time travel?” Mrs. Collie said. “It seems very risqué.”
Suddenly Reverend Flynn was there, in his black outfit. He moved quietly, and when he arrived, it was like he carried the church around with him.
All the ladies were very happy to see him.
“Reverend Flynn!” Mrs. Pritchard cooed. “Maybe you could help us pick a book. We’ve been agonizing over it.”
Flynn smiled. At all of them. His gaze lingered on Anne. “I hope you ladies had a chance to try my latest ice cream. With the pralines? You’d be surprised how hard it is to work with nuts.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” Mrs. Collie said, then looked around, suddenly mortified. Everyone else was still looking at Reverend Flynn.
He bit his lip. “I suppose the Bible would be a little clichéd,” he conceded. “How about the Invisible Man? Ellison? Lovely, thought-provoking book. I kept a copy with me in Korea.”
Terri nearly dropped the tea kettle. Flynn’s eyes glanced over at her. Then they noticed the poorly-fitted dress, and took a quick survey of the dark-blonde girl. Terri blushed.
There was a very awkward silence. There was no way Flynn could know that at least half the attendees had tried to remove the book from AP English. Right?
“Yeesssssss,” Mrs. Pritchard said, carefully. “I think we can do that. A change of pace. And I know we all have copies.”
Flynn beamed. “You can borrow mine if you’re missing out. I’ll see you ladies some other time.”
They all watched him go. Eyes, Terri noticed, locked on his rear end.
Mrs. Taylor snapped her fingers. “Oh! Anne. Dear. I quite forgot. You know I live next door to the Parrish family? Mr. Parrish has been having such a rough time with his son ever since Linda passed away. I heard that your daughter was back in town, and I thought she could get him out of the house.”
Terri had missed most of that, watching Flynn leap up the stairs. Had he really been… checking her out?
Anne considered this. “I think I could spare her, for a night,” she conceded. “It’ll be good to get her out, too.”
Wait, what?
They were setting her up on a… date? While she was right here? Had she just stumbled into a 19th century novel? Terri spun around.
Eight eyes looked at her. Terri opened her mouth, and shut it again, as they looked over her body and checked it for suitability. She clutched the tea kettle to her chest, and nearly burned her boobs.
“I’ll tell him Friday at 8? It’ll be a huge help. The man needs some time to himself,” Mrs. Taylor said.
“And you’ll help him have some time to himself?” Mrs. Collie said. Her eyes went wide. She snapped her fingers to her mouth. But the others just giggled. Including her own Mother.
And Mrs. Taylor.
“Terri?” Anne said, and Terri got ready to turn her down. A blind date, set up by a.. coven of meddling old women? No!
“Can you refill the tea pot, please?”
* * *
The fight hadn’t gone like Terri had expected.
She had told her Mom, flat-out, that there was no way in Hell, Heaven, and Earth that she was going on a date with some boy she didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Terri had let herself start slow, with a list of reasons why female slavery was illegal, then built up to a hissing denunciation of chores, dishes, and in general being treated like the maid.
Usually Anne gave as good as she got, until both girls were red-faced, shrieking, and panting for breath. Then Terri would run upstairs, slam the door five or six times, and sulk.
Instead, Anne had just sat at the kitchen table, radiant behind her sharp-rimmed reading glasses, and calmly tapped the surface with a pen.
All she had said was “But you look so much better, Terri.”
Terri had deflated like a popped bag of air. Even the run downstairs had felt forced and unnecessary. She hadn’t even bothered to slam the door.
Instead, she ran right to the bathroom mirror.
She DID look better. Her figure had swelled in all the right places, accentuating hips and thighs Terri hadn’t known she had. Not to mention a steadily increasing bustline, even now outlining her old High School t-shirt. But more importantly, her face was bright and healthy, and her hair had grown lustrous and bouncy once again.
Anne knocked on the door. “We’re going shopping,” she said. “Into town.”
Terri took a deep breath for the next salvo.
Instead, unbidden and unasked for, an image of a bright red dress faded through her head. It was strapless, and cut low enough to show off her new assets. She shook her head to clear it out. That just changed the color to green and cut three inches off the hemline.
“Alright,” she said, meekly. and turned back to the mirror.
For a trip to town, a t-shirt and jeans just wasn’t going to do it.
Terri licked her lips and felt them tingle.
* * *
On Monday, Colleen slammed the front door shut when she arrived home.
Neal was in the living room, sitting cross-legged and playing some video game.
“Hey,” he said, eyes locked on the screen. “Welcome home. How was your day?”
“Terrible. Very bad. We’re getting regulatory pushback from the State, and the entire factory needs… can you look at me when I’m talking?”
The petite girl wore dun-colored slacks and a sheath-like white blouse. “Did you do anything today? Besides video games?”
“Dinner’s ready,” Neal said, meekly.
He waved at the table. A chunk of white chicken and boil-in-bag rice. “I made some phone calls, but nobody needs a web designer in this town,” her husband said.
Dinner was rubbery. Afterwards, Colleen stripped off her work clothes and slid into a grey pair of pants and a tanktop.
“Dishes first,” Neal reminded her, as she picked up the remote.
“Dishes.. you’ve been home all day! I’ve been out there…”
Colleen took a deep breath.
That pastor had recommended it, Reverend something or another.
“Dishes first,” she allowed. That HAD been the deal.
Behind her, while she was up to her elbows in pans, the sounds of video games tinkled.
Colleen was ready to turn around and spit fire when the music stopped, she heard feet padding over….
And then Neal’s warm, strong hands were caressing her backside.
Colleen nearly bit her tongue.
“Thanks for all your hard work, honey,” he said, and then returned to the game.
The manager just stood there.
What had just happened?
Something about her husband’s grip had sent sparks shimmering through her rear end. Her whole body tingled with droplets of pleasure. She could still feel the heat of him, fading away.
Her snatch suddenly glowed cherry red.
* * *
On Tuesday, she did the dishes without a single word. Neal seemed pleasantly surprised.
That strange pleasure had been in the back of her mind all day long.
Twice she had lost her train of thought during a meeting. The first time, she had caught her staff—all men—watching one of the pneumatic secretaries walking out of the room. The girl had impractical heels on, and a skirt that rode up with each swaying step. Just watching the shimmering rear had caused her to simply… trail off.
The second time, she had shifted in her chair, and felt an echo of that odd, fun feeling when she put pressure on her ass.
Colleen realized, with sharp surprise, that she had been looking forward to doing the dishes all day long.
When Neal sat back on the floor she craned her head back and watched him from over the sink.
“Hey, Neal?” She called over, softly. He paused.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything,” she cooed.
Neal smiled and got up. Colleen stuck her butt out in eager anticipation. And—yes!—when he approached, he put those same sexy hands back on her sensitive ass.
This time they stroked up and down. Blasts of sexy fun shot through her mind. Rippling through her head, getting her hot. What was going on? Her butt had never been a big deal. But now all she could think about was getting it touched… fondled… showing it off…
Colleen moaned in the back of her throat. “Don’t stop that,” she pleaded.
“Stop what?”
“Your… butt massage. It’s… relaxing.”
“Is it?” Neal sounded surprised. But it kept those heavy hands locked on her rear end. This time they softly climbed up and down. Colleen closed her eyes.
“Yeah… I mean.. I’m under a lot of stress,” she said. God, the feelings were starting to climb up her pussy. How long had it been for them? Three weeks? Longer?
“Always happy to massage your rear end,” Neal said.
“It makes dishes a lot more fun,” Colleen said, and sighed, happily.
* * *
On Wednesday, Colleen crept off during lunch and bought a brand new skirt. It was floral yellow, and tight, with a feminine little zipper up the side. And a new bra, since the existing one was getting tight.
This time, when her colleagues watched the bouncing asses of the new secretaries, she just smiled. It was hard to blame them, after all. The girls had round, padded rear ends, pertly displayed in tight jeans or tiny skirts. Any man would admire them. And would want to come up behind, put their hands around, and rub a hard, insistent cock up against the back entrance.
It was only natural.
Colleen felt like an old woman in her usual black pants. All she could think about was the slippery new thing in her bag. She had spent over twenty minutes just looking at herself in the mirror.
This time her husband met her at the door. She gave him a burning, needy kiss and immediately disappeared into the bathroom.
“Dinner’s getting cold,” he called out, sometime later.
Colleen emerged.
She felt hot, coursing with jets of heat, barely constrained underneath a good-to-go skirt and a rippling white blouse. Neal blinked, uncertain.
“I, ah, cooked ribs,” he said.
During dinner Colleen just sat and tried to listen to her man. What he had done. How the futile job hunt was going. Anything on his mind. Underneath the table her left hand circled on the outside of a wet pair of panties.
Just sitting down was starting to get her hot, putting pressure on the warm button that had climbed into her underwear.
“Is everything okay?” Neal said, finally.
“Oh, yeah!” she said, bobbing her head. Her fingers were starting to dance, now.
“What do you want to do after dinner?” he said. “I was thinking I could maybe light some candles… or…”
“Dishes,” Colleen said, firmly. “I want to do dishes.”
Her knees felt weak even before she stood in front of the sink. Neal waited behind her, scratching his head.
“Are you sure you want to do dishes in that skirt?” he asked. “It’s brand new, right?”
“Don’t you like it?” Colleen said. Her voice dripped sweet sugar. She stuck her rear out, towards him. It outlined every crease and curve in the fabric.
“Well, yeah,” Neal said. “I thought maybe later..”
“Do you want to.. touch it?” Colleen said. “You can stroke it and touch it and have… fun with it. If you want.”
Neal shook his head. “Colleen, what…”
“Come on, Neal,” Colleen said. She couldn’t keep the whine out of her voice. She could feel herself dribbling onto her panties. “Isn’t it a nice ass? Don’t you like your wifie’s tender little butt?”
“Yeah, but..”
“So come on and touch me!”
Her guy put his warm hand on her rear. This time Colleen moaned, thickly, and leaned forwards against the sink. The new fabric caressed and kneaded her tightly toned butt, and her body shook with the sensation. She tried to work on the dish in her hand, but the way she was trembling, it would probably shatter in half.
“Come on, get the skirt out of the way,” she said, casting a hot look backwards.
Soon it was just a belt of fabric around her waist. Colleen shivered when the open air hit her ass, and again when it climbed inside her wet panties. Neal was breathing fast now, getting into the unabashed groping. His hands started to get rough, running over her soft skin.
There was someone moaning, and Colleen realized it was her.
Soon Colleen’s panties were bunched around her ankles, and she was bent over the sink. Her tits nearly hit the water, and everything smelled like soap. Her husband rubbed with one hand just outside her dripping slit, the other hand still running up and down her butt.
Then it disappeared. Colleen looked back just in time to see her man reappear with one of the kitchen chairs.
“What..?” she said, muzzily. Thinking wasn’t easy. Most of her thoughts concentrated on the needy emptiness just inside of her pussy.
“I need a better angle,” Neal explained.
Then his fingers disappeared up her cunt. They searched, found her clit, and plunged in and out.
Colleen’s feet left the floor. She balanced like a top on the side of the counter, screeching as orgasm after orgasm swept through her brain. When it was all over with she oozed down the side of the sink, ass still glowing cherry red, a dripping pile of sensitive girl parts. Her frontside was all wet and soapy.
When she came to the manager realized she was on her knees, her pussy splayed open for her husband to see, on the kitchen floor. He still sat on his chair, eyeing her with concern.
His cock was easy to reach, so Colleen swallowed it and sucked him dry.
* * *
Colleen didn’t make it to work until Thursday afternoon.
She had gone shopping again. She had blown a month’s pay on tight shorts, hip-high miniskirts, and a new array of stockings.
When Colleen could think clearly—which was increasingly rare—she thought of her bubbling ass like it was its own person. It simmered constantly, now. Too-hot breezes would set her off, and the mere thought of her husband’s experienced hands made her shiver.
Sitting down meant that a euphoric buzz of simmering heat emanated from her happy, healthy rear end. Even the slightest pressure would set her off.
Colleen spent most of the staff meeting shifting from one cheek to the next, dribbling into her chair, while around her the boys compared notes as to which secretary was the hottest. The admiring glances they slipped her didn’t hurt, either.
Afterwards the petite brunette had sashayed around the office, in her new, towering heels, and dropped her pen seven or eight times. For practice.
“What’s wrong with me?” she thought later, behind a locked door. Two fingers pumped out a needy, juicy snatch. She couldn’t sit down without igniting an eventual orgasm. Work was a joke. She spent most of her time thinking about Neal’s oozing cock.
One of the secretaries floated past, just outside. Colleen could tell because of the giggling.
Then she glanced at the clock. 3:30. Colleen bolted upright.
“I’ve got to get home!” she thought, suddenly frantic. She had to cook dinner, vacuum, dust, and… she shivered to think… do the dishes.
But she still took the way out of the office that led her past a long row of slavering men.
* * *
A few hours later, Colleen’s boobs were covered in hot, soapy water, barely suspended over the sink. She had braced herself on the side of the counter, and waited happily for Neal to finally push his glistening cockhead inside of her.
“Faster,” she urged, spreading her legs just a little bit wider. She hadn’t known she could stretch that far. Her rear gleamed in the overhead light, a bubble of fun and happiness.
Dinner had been a success. Neal had loved her pot roast. Then she had sat in his lap and cooed as he ate, feeling his rock-hard erection bump into her butt. He had liked the hot pink dress, too, especially the sheer stockings and the easy-access panties.
Neal finally got his cock between her legs. The first uncertain stroke nearly toppled Colleen into the water. Her husband had to grab her tits from behind to keep her steady.
Her husband. Just the thought sent ripples of fun hurdling through her already-fried brain. Maybe that’s why she had such a tender, inviting ass. To make her husband happy. He deserved it, after all. Some of those video games looked pretty hard.
Not only did her pussy glow with the delicious sensation, but the feel of his rough, hairy body slamming into her sensitive ass…
Colleen came. She shrieked to the world, luxuriating in the heat of her own body. She was just a quivering, shivering ass with a girl attached, trying to make her husband happy. Her heels hung off her spasming feet.
* * *
On Friday Colleen tried to stay on her feet.
She stood by the side of her desk and tapped on her laptop. Work had been piling up while she had been lost in a happy haze. E-mails were becoming increasingly urgent.
Her boss had corralled her in the hallway and demanded a little order. Colleen had just stared at him. Her ass had been pushed up against the wall, and it was all she could do not to grind it into the plaster. She wore a slinky yellow dress, beaded with turquoise, that wrapped around her hips. Plus two sexy stockings. She looked like a lost call girl, wandering around an office building.
Her tits were starting to feel heavy and hot, same as her pulsating rear. She had cupped them in the bathroom, and that warm glow had pricked through her head.
“What’s wrong with me?” she sighed, trying to make sense of the past week. So many orgasms, so much time spent dripping onto changing room carpets.
To type standing up she had to bend over. A man could come in, any man, see her wanton, shaking ass, and…
Colleen had tried google, but “sexy ass hot feels good feels fun orgasms” had not produced anything useful.
Colleen checked her watch. It was 1:36 in the afternoon. How could she have left her husband alone for so long? She ambled to the parking lot, climbed into the car.
The seat beneath her grew wet and sticky.
* * *
“More… more…” Colleen screamed.
That was another nice thing about doggy-style. She didn’t yell in her man’s ear. He had both hands braced against her beautiful, shimmering ass, and that long, thrusting dick was somewhere inside of her. He had come after about two dozen condom-less strokes, and she had squeezed everything into her snatch.
Then she had coaxed out another round.
Colleen wondered, between flashes of pleasure, how she could’ve been so blind. Her body was telling her: stay at home, get fucked, please your man. And what better way then presenting him with a baby boy or girl?
She was stuffed so full, bits of juices kept dripping onto the carpet. Her knees burned with friction burns. Colleen scarcely cared.
On the way home she had called and quit her job. Maybe she could call back and get Jennifer’s. If that’s what Neal wanted.
In her head she wondered just what she could make her husband for dinner.
And how many dishes she could use.

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