Post 224: Scenes from a Party, p7

If one were to drift away from the party proper, if one were to step down the hallway which led past the restrooms and to the private lounges, one might pass a doorway left half ajar. One might peek in and see a tall, blonde woman talking with a young, bald man. That’s exactly what Angie Wade, recent hire in the accounting department at what was once Far Horizons Medical Associates, barely registered as she dragged her new employer by the hand past the door. “Hmm I figured,” she could be heard to say as she closed the door, ostensibly to give them more privacy, “that one’s taken…”

….

Dr. J had barely looked her way that whole evening, she thought with consternation. Can’t he see how big I am? Cynthia Carlisle seethed to herself, wincing again at the pain in her feet in these goddamn heels which somehow seemed too small already, I’m the biggest one here, and he hasn’t even noticed!! She was frustrated. She was upset. Even though she usually didn’t drink, she’d had a glass of wine. And then another. She hovered at the edge of the crowd in her new blue dress, squinting. Maybe I should have worn my glasses. Astigmatism. But then she saw him, that guy, AJ, eyeing her, trying not to be noticed. Drifting closer. Saying hi.

He’s one of the construction boys. Used to date that stuck-up new-girl Angie from accounting. I’ve seen him working on some of the vents. He looked at my legs. Cici bit her lower lip, considering. I heard him on Wednesday saying something about needing to be in the building after hours, bragging about having a key. Wheels started turning in Cynthia’s mind. He could be....he could be useful...

He offered to get her another drink. ‘No let’s go find a back room.’ Haha had she actually said that? She’d never been this bold. She didn’t know what to do next but found herself alone with him, in a dimly-lit private lounge, leaning back against a wall among soft chairs and a couple cushioned booths. Someone had just closed the door on them, sealing them in. As if not knowing her own strength, she’d inadvertently tossed a small cocktail table out of the way, making his eyes go wide, making him laugh nervously. She thought she maybe needed to act more coy. He talks a lot.

He told her about the keycard because she had asked.. That little construction foreman, he’d said, a red-head with cute freckles but a stick up her butt, technically his boss, had entrusted him with a keycard to get inside so he could work on the HVAC this weekend. He was obviously very important, smarter and more capable than the other guys, he explained. Did she know that he used to own his own construction company? That’s probably why the redhead had picked him t-

Anyway, that’s when Cici decided she wasn’t going home tonight.

Before she knew it, he was kissing her. It shocked her, a bit. One of the taller guys here, AJ was maybe just about her height...but in her new, white, six-inch leather heels: I’m so much taller than him, she thought with a flush, he’s up on his tiptoes. She could kick off her shoes, or lean down a bit more, make it easier on him but...no. It thrilled her, that he had to strain to reach her kiss. It made her feel tall, powerful, wanted. Let him struggle.

Cici’s heart was racing. It had been - what was it? Three years? - since she’d kissed a boy. And that had been her “boyfriend”, the nephew of the lady who worked with her aunt, the guy who moved away. He was, now that she thinks back on it, a lot like a mole, just as awkward and passive as she had been, back then. More into his anime and his model spaceships than he was into her. Who could have blamed him? Back then, she was short, overweight, meekly shy. But here she was, eight inches taller, with all these new curves, making out with a tall, handsome construction worker. With tattoos. And it felt good. Her heart was beating even faster, now.

As was AJ’s. He’d been with lots of girls before, girls of all types. Recently, he’d been strangely attracted to, uh, dominant women. Angie had fit that bill perfectly, he thought. She was a confident spitfire, a tiger in the sack, had learned how to push these newly submissive buttons of his. But this Cindi girl was something else entirely. Physically, she was like another species, like that brunette friend of Angie’s, Melissa. Look at her: tall, blonde, thick. Strong. It lit fires inside him in places he didn’t know existed, thinking of what she could do to him. What’s wrong with me?? he thought, as he began dissolving into their kiss, Why would he want her to-?

Cyhtnia’s lips were big, they were full, and she could tell that as she became more heated they were almost smothering him, and she was getting excited. Just go with the flow Cici,  she thought to herself, relax. He kinda likes how aggressive I’m being. Her tongue had just tentatively ventured into his mouth, at first, but now - after several minutes of kissing - it inhabited, controlled, dominated. Doing whatever it wanted. As she moved it around his she could feel him squirming and it…excited her. This was a new feeling, controlling someone else like this. It made her kiss him a little harder, devouring his face with her lips, push her tongue in deeper. I could make him choke on it, she thought in a lustful whim, acutely feeling her own strength, how it outmatched his, kill him with my tongue. Or I could suck the breath from his lungs. He was weak, meager compared to her and she felt it exciting her deep in her bones. She was, though, still able to control herself and when she finally pulled back to look in his eyes he seemed dazed, light headed.

Wow, I must be an amazing kisser, she thought, watching him struggle, gasping, if the goal is to make someone breathless. Seeing the effect she was having on him, she watched with libidinous interest as his eyes started to refocus. She began to consider what else she could do to this man, AJ, the handsome ex-boyfriend of Melissa’s arrogant friend.

Cynthia placed her hands on AJ’s shoulders, feeling them for strength. They were not broad, but leanly muscled.

“Am I pretty?” she asked, curiously, looking him in the eyes, blinking slowly.

The question surprised him, and though he was eager to answer he struggled to find the right words. “Y-you’re...you’re...omigod so…so big…”

Weird, but it was praise, and it flustered her. Big, yes, haha I know. Though that’s not what I asked. “But…am I pretty?”

His breath rattled in his lungs. He answered. “Y-you’re like a goddess…”

‘Goddess’? Cici thought, half-startled, Haha no one has ever, ever called me that before. Why did he say that? Because her breasts had grown? Because she was now obviously tall? Obviously strong? Because guys these days found that attractive? It was all thrilling, of course, not something she was used to, being the object of adoration of a boy, their haha goddess. But, still...it was not what she asked, she considered, as she squeezed his shoulders a bit, making him wince. She wanted to know...

“AM…I…PRETTY?!?” she asked, surprising herself with the volume of her voice, it’s commanding timbre as she pushed him down by the shoulders, onto his knees.

Oh my god haha.

She had felt some resistance, a little, from him. But she’d pushed right through it, making his legs buckle, his spine bend. He’d complained, a moment, confused - “C-c-Cynthia..?” he asked, as he crumbled - but she’d ignored him, pressing him to the floor.

She must outweigh him by thirty pounds, maybe more.

“Look up at me,” she said, plainly, a new authoritarian tone to her voice making it sound haha like a command. His gaze, in his muddled wonder, had dropped to her feet, looked at her shoes, ankles. But now - told by her to do so - he looked up, up past her breasts in her tight, light blue dress to her face which peered down, with bland interest, at him. It was like he was an oddity, a curiosity.

Suddenly Cynthia lifted her right leg, put her high-heeled foot up onto his left shoulder. AJ was shocked, again, by both the sudden motion and the new weight.  “Feel my leg,” she told him. Without hesitation and with both hands he grabbed into and felt her ankle, her shapely calf, how solid with muscle it was, how smooth the skin. She began to grind her foot into his shoulder. She’d never done anything like this before, but somehow she knew exactly what to say next. “Kiss it. Kiss my leg.”

His brows knit for a second, but he did not hesitate. Twisting, craning his neck, he laid his lips on the lower swell of her meaty calf. It was huge. Once, twice he kissed it. A third time.

He looked up at her, still peering down at him.

“Now,” she commanded, “kiss my shoe.”

Oh my god, thought AJ, realizing what he was doing, I'll do it. I’ll do anything this girl says.

He did. Awkwardly twisting his neck even more, he kissed the white leather of the pump on his shoulder. She raised her foot, and -  leaning back against the wall for suopoirt - made him kiss the underside of her shoe, its sole, dirty as it was from its evening on the floor.

As he kissed, not drawing back, Cici cocked her head and, still curious, began pressing her foot into his face, and then down onto him. She stood up straight, away back up from the wall Slowly, he was getting pushed down and back, and finally he fell onto the ground, gracelessly toppling onto his side. Her foot remained on his face, but no longer at his mouth. She had the sole of her high-heeled shoe on his temple, on his skull. She watched as he did nothing to right himself, to pull away, or escape. Rather, he lay there, and had groaned.

He likes this.

Watching him on the ground, flailing, writhing, he reminded her of a little bug, a worm. "Bugs get stepped on…" she found herself saying, and it felt right, natural, to extend her leg further, place her foot more firmly on his head and press down. She could crush his skull, she knew, right here. Her six-inch heel, its sharp point, could puncture his neck. Still, he was doing nothing to fight her. He was, she realized, submitting to her, letting her do whatever she wanted to him. She could kill him, in a moment.

Why haha was she thinking this way? Why did she feel this way? This was thrilling, having a man, a full-grown man, at her mercy. Slowly she pressed down more upon him, making him endure the pain and humiliation of being overwhelmed by a woman’s foot. He’d begun to grunt, more rhythmically now, and it was just then that she noticed that his hand had reached down between his legs.

Omigod what is he doing?? she silently gasped, Is he touching his...thingy???

She - poor, chubby, cloddish, socially awkward Cynthia Carlisle - had a man groveling under her sole. Jerking off to the humiliation. Worshipping his goddess. Her ego - a poor, forgotten thing just two months ago but now newly hatched - was swelling by the second.

She kicked off her heel.

“I want to feel how small your head feels under the ball of my foot,” she said, down to the little man writhing below her, pressing her now bare foot roughly into his cheekbone, “feel how easy it would be to break it.”

She had thought, at times, that it was nice to be part of a group, a pack, a hive. But she knew how the other girls looked at her, talked about her behind her back.  Maybe she didn’t need them. “When we’re done, you’re going to take me to the office,” she told him, watching him brainlessly pleasure himself under her foot, “That’s where we’ll start to have some real fun…”

It’s going to get impossible to ignore me anymore, Dr. J…

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Thanks to CaptainAmbiguous for his help and encouragement on this one.