Skinny Bitch: A Gratuitously Filthy Office FemDom Gross-Out Story
JD Kindle
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 JD Kindle
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AUTHOR’S NOTE:
The sexual perversion described in this short fiction is disgusting in the way gross-out humor is disgusting.
Don’t blame me if you can’t handle it. Just sayin’...
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Olive went around the office wearing the shortest, tightest miniskirts she could find. Parading around on platform heels - her long, long legs as thin as twigs- everyone said she looked like 'Olive Oyl'. They made fun of her.
I was ashamed of myself for laughing along with them and letting all of them put her down. I should have spoken out.
I was ashamed because I felt exactly the opposite. I adored her.
Olive was skinny it’s true but - so what? - her legs looked super-sexy to me. The sight of her skinny ass drove me wild.
One morning I came around a corner and there she was she bent over, picking up some papers she’d dropped.
I nearly rear-ended her.
I had that tiny, tight, double-bubble ass of hers jutting up under my nose. Two skewered olives topping long toothpick legs.
I stopped in my tracks like a caged rat. Startled by the erotic charge I felt.
"Ghastly, isn't it?" came a voice from over my shoulder. Totally misunderstanding my reaction.
"Uh, oh, yeah." I said. I was afraid for anyone to know the truth. I dug that ass – I loved her whole look!
Olive heard me I’m sure. I’d denied my true feelings to blend in with the crowd. I felt like such a heel.
The injustice of it plagued my soul.
I mean, I’m not blind. I saw the same thing everybody else did. A tit-less shapeless bean pole body. I guess that's why I let it go on like that. All the put downs. The laughter. I rationalized all their immature, demented, behavior.
I figured they were just acting out what they truly felt inside.
It was like that everywhere I'd worked. A Gumby-looking girl like Olive was supposed to wear loose tops and baggy slacks and play down her height with flats, not flaunt her elongated giraffe-like body.
I think that's why I was so aroused by her.
I'd never seen such a long-tall bony-ass wench dress like this before. Openly trashing conventional fashion sense, and not giving a damn, just because she felt like it.
I couldn't bring myself to publicly admit that I adored the way she strutted her stuff. She prowled the workroom floor with her nose in the air and her tiny ass wiggling behind.
People thought she was a joke but I loved that bitch’s bean-pole body!
Olive never wore makeup or styled her hair but I didn’t mind. Like I said, she ignored fashion trends. She had her own personal anti-fashion aesthetic. She made no effort to fit in with the girls at work, which was bound to piss people off. So, like I said, they were pretty much justified in ostracizing her. She didn’t play their game.
The only way I fit in at work was by going along with the Olive haters. They thought I was one of them so that meant I belonged.
If that sounds fucked up think how I feel about it. I was screwed-up inside.
Things would’ve been so much easier if I just didn’t care about Olive. I told myself there is no way I should be turned-on by this chick but-- tell it to my stiff dick -- I was. I couldn't deny it to myself. She haunted my thoughts.
I imagined watching myself, in my mind’s eye, going down on her. There I was on my knees with my face buried in her naked lap, burrowing my face so far into her hairy crotch that it seemed like her legs were sticking out of my ears. I licked that muff till the pink part got creamy.
Then I flipped her over and polished her can with my tongue— her rump was so small I could suck on one of her buns like a gum drop.
The fantasy got me hard-- then wet. Yeah, that's right, I splooged my pants.
I've never been one to lick ass. But this ass was different. So tiny. So small. It wasn't dirty. Not in my fantasy.
I wanted to slide my wet fingers, fresh from fingering her pussy, into her tight, brown, asshole to let it marinate with flavor.
It would be like juicy southern fried chicken just dripping with flavor-packed herbs and spices. I’d take my wet thumb, slick with her pussy juices, and pretend it was a chicken leg drumstick and shove it up her ass and then pull it out again. Then I’d chow down and lick that special seasoning right out of her pussy-flavored asshole. Tasty.
My face would be greasy with it.
I'm sick. I know. I can't help it.
One day I finally caught Olive alone and I told her how I felt.
I told her I thought she was really ultra-sexy and how I had a fantasy of going down on her until her thighs were coming out of my ears. I held off on the part about eating her ass. I wasn’t sure she’d be into that.
Olive didn't believe me. She thought I was putting her on. Like maybe I was wired with a tape recorder and it was all a joke.
"You said I was ghastly." She said. "I heard you."
“That wasn’t me,” I told her. “I love your ass. When I saw you bent over like that, with your skirt riding high and pulled tight, I shot my wad right there. Right in the hallway. It blew me away."
She could see from the look on my face that I was telling the truth. I was having a hard time saying this to her. It was embarrassing for me. Olive softened up. She was starting to believe me.
"Janey saw me jerk and change color and thought I was getting sick,” I told her. “She's the one that said your ass was ghastly. I pretended to agree to throw her off from the real reason I turned colors and started jerking around. I'm sorry."
"You’re a fucking idiot," Olive said. “In fact, you are so fucking stupid I think you might actually be telling the truth.” She had a little grin on her face. It started getting wider. Sinister, I thought. I got scared.
It suddenly occurred to me that I gave her way too much information. She was a smart kid. With this new knowledge she had power over me.
I could see it all now. Blabbing to everyone about how I secretly stalked her. Shifting all their ridicule away from her onto me. The entire office would know what a pathetic wimp I was.
I saw it in her eyes.
She was going to leverage my confession into making a Sex-Geek out of me. I’d heard of stuff like that in other offices. How people got blackmailed into doing sex tapes on the internet and having sex with animals and stuff.
I still wanted to eat her out, front and back, but I was scared to death to think of what other perversions she might have waiting for me.
In my fucked-up state of mind I might agree to anything.
I didn't want any part of that kind of crazy stuff but, then again, I didn't want to feel the things I felt for Olive right now either. But I did. I might do anything to get a crack at eating her ass. She had me scared.
"You're not gonna make me your sex-slave now, are you?" I blurted like a fool.
Her face froze. It was blank-- inscrutable. Then she slapped me across the face real hard.
"All right, asshole, you’ve had your fun,” Olive sneered at me. “Yuck it up. You almost had me. Now get out of here. Get out of my face before I really let you have it."
I tried to stammer out an apology. I tried to explain. I tried to sort out all the things I was feeling but it was impossible. I rubbed the side of my face where she'd hit me and stood open-mouthed. Speechless.
She put her face close to mine and whispered in harsh tones, "All the other people here are ignorant stiffs. They're petty, small minded and vindictive. And that's cool. I can deal with that. It's the mentality they were born with and they never got past it.
"But you... you're in a class by yourself. You really had me going. I almost thought you meant it. But that 'Sex-Slave' shit? That’s too stupid even for you. You must really think I'm a dumb cunt if you think I'd fall for that. 'Please don't make me your sex slave'--- what a buncha shit. That's pure evil. Get the fuck out of here."
I walked back to my cubicle.
Outside her door Olive called out at the top of her lungs, "The whole lot of you can go fuck yourselves!"
She must've thought I was setting her up for a practical joke and that the whole office was in on it. Everybody was dumbfounded.
Over the course of the day I told them all what had happened. I didn't spare myself. I felt like such an ass. I felt evil. Just like Olive said.
All of us had dogged her for so long that she now found it unbelievable that I could have been sincere. I felt bad, really, really bad.
The whole incident seemed to wake everyone up to just how vicious we'd been to Olive. They started being nice to her.
Guys started pulling me off to the side and confiding in me how they too secretly found Olive hotter than hell but were too cowed by the crowd to break ranks and say anything.
Most of their fantasies were more conventional than mine--- Hell, ALL of their fantasies were more conventional than mine--- but almost everyone had some.
Janey, the same chick that called Olive's ass ghastly, called me to her office on the sly and purged herself of the true feelings she had for Olive.
"God, she is SO hot." Janey said. "She isn't that far from runway model material when you think about it. A little too tall and a little too thin--- and she doesn't have the looks for it--- but, really, she's closer to that type than anyone else in our office, that's for sure.
"She just dresses so atrociously. Who the hell wears purple pumps and purple skirts? And her skirts never seem to cover the tops of her stockings. Then she goes without panties but wears that garter belt that bulges under the cheap stretch fabric of her skirt. Creating terrible lines. Tacky. Just horribly, horribly, tacky.
"But, you know what? I wish I had half her cheek. She's totally immune to the opinion of others. I admire the hell out of that."
"Then why did you talk shit about her?" I asked.
"She had it coming, dressing the way she did." Janey said. "If she'd have answered me back or even come up and asked why I was being so mean I would have eased up on her. I'd like to take her around shopping and help her with her wardrobe."
"So why didn't you?"
"She never gave me the chance. She never cared one way or the other whether I was her friend or not. I admired that attitude but I was jealous of it too -- and angry that she didn't want to be my friend. I mean half the friends I have started off as someone I teased or made snarky comments about. That's my primary way of breaking the ice."
"You went way beyond teasing," I said.
"You don't know the half of it." Janey said. "One morning I called her 'Miss Dachau 1944'. Can you imagine? That has to be the most horrible thing I've ever said to anybody. It came out of nowhere. I was instantly ashamed for saying it. But she just looked at me like I was a piece of lint, a speck of nothing floating in the air, and went about her business.
"I wanted to go down on her right there. The surge of erotic feeling in me was so great. I went from intense shame to tremendous admiration just like that (snaps her fingers). If I had her power, that ability to not care in the least what anyone else thinks, I could rule the world.
"I knew right then that the only relationship a girl like her can have is... she owns you. No two ways about it. If you want to get close to her it has to be totally on her terms. I wanted to. I wanted to be with her intimately on whatever terms she asked. But she didn't ask. She just went about her business. Obviously, I felt rejected.
"I have this fantasy about her. Mind you I'm not a lesbian. I think girl-on-girl FemDom is beyond that.
“Like I said, I've never been with a woman. Other than at college. Or when I was rilly, rilly drunk. In other words I'm completely normal. A 100% strictly-dickly heterosexual girl.
"Anyway, I have this fantasy..." Janey came over to where Joe sat in a chair and grabbed the arms of it, bending into him. "Lady Olive comes into my office and looks me right in the eye like this." Janey pressed her forehead against Joe's. Eyeball to eyeball. "Have you looked, really looked, into her eyes? You can see all the way back to God in there. She's deep. Way deep." Janey paused momentarily overcome by the visual she'd created.
"At that point it's all over. I'm hers." Janey rolled Joe's chair, with Joe still in it, back against the wall. "Once Olive's got me where she wants me, she puts her one leg up, way up, on the wall behind me, doing the splits against the wall with me sitting directly in her line of travel. The only thing keeping her pussy from kissing the wall is my big ass sitting there with her bare bush staring me straight in the face."
Janey put her right foot on the top of the back of Joe's chair to demonstrate what she meant, "I can't do the splits thing but you get the picture."
Janey leaned her panty-hosed crotch an inch away from Joe's face as she reached inside to finger herself.
"Imagine. You'd be so close she'd feel you breathing in her bush. You’d be ready and willing to lick her slit at her slightest command. But she just stares you down. Her pink lips are starting to bloom from your hot breath. Moist. But you don't dare lick or even kiss them without her permission. Lady Olive might walk off and leave you hot and helpless if you can't control yourself."