Background Pony #74BB
"Yes sir... no sir... yes, we'll certainly be renewing the contract... no sir, I've been alright... thank you sir, yes, I'm very flattered sir... very funny sir... never heard *that* one before, sir... well, unfortunately I'm afraid I have another appointment that evening and I won't be able to make it... I'll try sir... yes, definitely next time if we can... you too sir..."
Ms. Smith sighed as the phone call with her client ended. She was sick of every man she talked to making "clever" remarks about her figure and trying to get her to go on dates with them. Despite everything she'd hoped, things still weren't getting any easier. Her life as a law professional had become difficult in ways she couldn't even have imagined before "the incident", with things worsening still further with each passing month...
"Jack Smith" had been one of the most respected and feared powerbrokers in the game, effortlessly scoring new clients and lucrative deals for his firm -- but "Jacqueline Smith" struggled to lock down half as many contracts despite putting in what felt like three times the effort. The depth of her knowledge and expertise in her field hadn't diminished in the slightest since that fateful morning when she had woken up with the body of a woman, but in the dog-eat-dog world of corporate politics it was the ability to build certain types of relationships and navigate complex dominance hierarchies which mattered most -- and Jacqueline was finding out first-hand just how sexist & unfair these male-controlled good-ol'-boy business networks and social clubs could be even towards hard-working highly-skilled professional women like her.
Everything had started last fall when Jack, stumbling out to his Lamborghini late one night in the strip club parking lot, had in his rowdy stupor apparently taken it upon himself to hurl random drunken insults at a young woman with short black hair in a purple pony T-shirt and slacks who happened to be passing by on the sidewalk. Jack mocked her rail-thin appearance, calling her a "beanpole" and a "flatsy with no ass" and other crude names. The woman seemed to ignore him and kept walking, muttering something under her breath that Jack couldn't even hear... and yet that would determine the future course of the rest of Jack's life...
The witch's incantation took root in Jack's DNA, rewriting his genetic code as he slept in a blacked-out sprawl across his big penthouse-suite bed, waking up with a hangover, a rather spotty memory of the night before, and a new, magic-altered body that was totally unfamiliar and strange -- and totally female.
Staring in terror at the unfamiliar woman in the bathroom mirror, her new body at first had seemed remarkably similar in appearance to that of the young woman she had lived to regret making fun of -- lean, slender, a somewhat boyish frame although on the shorter side at 5'1", short black hair. Her hips seemed quite narrow and masculine for a grown woman, and her chest didn't seem like anything that would require a bra, to her great relief. Still, living the rest of her life with a pussy instead of big "little Jack" filled her with dread. She felt vulnerable and fearful without her old male attributes and equipment. What the hell was her life going to become?
To her shock, nobody seemed to treat her all that differently at first -- the next day at work, although her office nameplate now read "Jacqueline", it was as if she were simply picking up where she had left off the previous week when she'd still been a man. Same clients, same job. Only her name, gender, and wardrobe had changed.
But over time, Jacqueline realized just how different things were indeed going to be for her from now on...
The small ways in which her male co-workers would ignore, belittle, or talk over her; the little negs that all the self-styled "alpha male" types she worked with would habitually slip into their word-choices when speaking to the opposite sex; the subconscious expectations of subservience that she'd started to notice being sprinkled into the power dynamics of her business meetings and directed towards her; the little hints of secret conversations she'd catch whispers of around the corners of the office halls that insinuated that she had achieved her present position solely by sleeping around or unspecific "diversity and inclusion" initiatives...
All of these things got much worse the more her body continued to change -- because her body *wasn't done changing,* not by a long shot...
To Jacqueline's revulsion and horror, after a mere two weeks as a woman, she had slowly come to realize that her upper chest was starting to feel inflamed with an irritated tingling sensation more and more frequently. Her nipples felt swollen and sensitive; it was starting to become difficult for her to focus at her job. She found herself absentmindedly clutching her chest with her forearm when she walked to prevent the sensitive nerve-endings from constantly chafing at the inner material of her shirt. One evening, looking herself over in the mirror at home, she couldn't deny it to herself any longer -- her chest was no longer flat.
Getting measured for her first bra had been absolutely humiliating for her, but she really didn't have any other options; she'd overheard one joke about the outline of her nipples being visible through the fabric of her white business-casual button-up, and that had been enough. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad, she reckoned, adjusting her bra strap the next morning, guiding the cups to cradle her still-sensitive still-swollen nipples -- a B cup bra seemed to keep her new feminine woes under control well enough, and soon enough Jacqueline adapted with ease to adding the new undergarment to her daily dressing and undressing routines. And anyway, she had much more important things to think about -- like by what potential strategies she might still manage to lock down that big juicy Powell contract by the end of the upcoming fiscal year...
As autumn changed to winter, "big" and "juicy" became words that entered Jacqueline's mind in a different capacity one afternoon as she was forced to accept that her panties no longer fit comfortably over her ass. Pudgy deposits of squashed flesh strained against her underwear lewdly as she came to grips internally with the fact that her butt was definitely several sizes larger than it had been just 2 or 3 months prior. Her hips were wider now too, framing her delicate feminine waist with an alluring sexuality that was seriously unnerving. Her hair had grown too at an alarming rate, changing in color from black to violet as it inched closer to her ass with each passing day. It was starting to look rather unprofessional, so she took to bundling it up into an increasingly lengthy ponytail, the mere thought of simply cutting it somehow never crossing her mind.
By February, Jacqueline took great care to replace the entirety of her wardrobe as her body increasingly tested the limits of good workplace taste despite her best efforts to ignore what was happening to her. Even her most modest black skirt was beginning to show off the curvature of her ass quite lasciviously as it had continued to fatten itself up against her wishes, and she'd finally been forced to admit that her little B cup bra was so thoroughly overmatched by her still-burgeoning bust that it was actually getting rather difficult to breathe. Her boobs were overflowing the cups so excessively by the time she went in for her long-overdue second measurement that the assistant at the lingerie shop felt compelled to lecture Jacqueline for a several minutes about the warning signs and consequences of an improperly-fitting brassiere. After all, a girl with breasts as big as Jacqueline's now were would need to take great care to manage her boobs properly or risk serious long-term back pain, and embarrassment. Jacqueline drove home from the mall that day with several G cup bras, feeling humiliated, and the loosest-fitting office-appropriate shirts and skirts she could find to wear without looking ridiculous.
Despite her best efforts to conceal her generous curves, one by one all of her clients and co-workers sooner or later began to occasionally drop references to her buxom, stripperesque hourglass figure into their daily conversations. Sly jokes about her boobs and butt became increasingly commonplace, the crudest of which were flung when male co-workers thought she wasn't listening. Jacqueline got in the habit of simply ignoring them. But by the time summer rolled around, it had seemingly become the office sport to make ever-bolder passes at Jacqueline Smith -- seemingly every other week she was overhearing some loud water cooler argument about which guy at the office would get to fuck the most eligible bachelorette in the business first. After all, surely she was going to discover her *true place* sooner or later... who ever heard of a professional in *this* industry who was a woman anyway -- let alone a girl like *that,* with boobs *almost as big as her head...?*
After overhearing that last comment, the famously thick-skinned Jacqueline Smith nearly felt like crying when she got home that night. Unbuttoning her large shirt, which for several weeks now had failed ever-more distressingly to mask the contours of her still-burgeoning chest, she felt a dark shudder of shame crawl up her spine as the sturdy black nylon material of her newest JJ cup bra revealed itself. There was no denying it -- she was *big.* Two huge mounds of bowling ball sized titflesh jiggled distractingly with her every breath, wobbling like squashed jello in their holsters. Already, she was starting to noticeably overflow her new bras, and it hadn't even been 2 weeks. Untying her long and violet-colored hair, which now hung down lankly well past her hips, Jacqueline rotated her body to assess the state of her butt in the mirror. A deep pit formed in the depth of her stomach as she realized that her plump buttcheeks were now straining so extravagantly against the fabric of her skirt (which had been the largest and most modest size that would still fit mere months ago) that the dark outline of her panties was easily visible even in low light. Jacqueline wanted to scream. This body was a nightmare... what had she done to deserve *this?*
She called in sick for the rest of the week, rush-ordering several custom-fit skirts, shirts, and bras from a specialty site for extra-curvy girls and refusing to leave her home until they arrived over the weekend.
Several weeks passed. Jacqueline noticed that while she could more-or-less manage her existing clients successfully, she was having real trouble locking down new contracts, losing out at nearly every opportunity to her male competitors. She simply wasn't being taken seriously any more as an industry professional in her field -- and worse yet, she gradually became aware that nearly all of her clients and co-workers seemed to feel personally slighted by the fact that she wasn't interested in sleeping with any of them. To her disgust, their efforts became more and more explicit. Clients began to insist on hugging her, and sometimes they would try to cop a feel. Co-workers made rude allusions to the size of their cocks whenever she walked by, and increasingly slipped transparent attempts to "meet up" in varying scenarios after hours. Jacqueline was beginning to feel deeply alienated in her former home turf. The strain was becoming so intense, putting in extra work every day for diminishing returns... Jacqueline felt *exhausted.*
A different form of strain and exhaustion was taking its toll as well.
Jacqueline's breasts and ass were still greedily swallowing up seemingly every ounce of calories her body took in, blossoming extravagantly to reach truly ludicrous proportions by the time September arrived. With deep distress she examined her side profile in her mirror -- her now-more-than-huge boobs were now absolutely monstrous in size, filling out and stretching even the extra-large shirt she'd ordered last month; her womanly burdens now weighed 15 pounds each and seemed to scream with heightened sensitivity to every slight brush or pressure, making it nearly impossible to focus in meetings; her new P cup bra seemed to need constant adjustments as she went about her day. Each breast was now several inches bigger than her skull, swallowing her torso and wobbling incorrigibly with her every step, no matter how carefully she tread. The constant pulling and stress on her body caused solely by her gargantuan chest was draining her energy so completely that she found herself regularly needing to sit down and massage her breasts, shoulders, and back in secret just to manage the pain.
Jacqueline's eyes moved to review her backside.
Jacqueline's ass had become so gigantic and overstuffed with taut lobes of sumptuous fat that it seemed to have a mind of its own, wobbling even worse than her tits when she walked. The bulging shelf it defined as it protruded obscenely against her straining skirt was breathtaking, competing so successfully with the impossibly bloated contour of her chest that she looked like she was constantly smuggling four pumpkin-sized waterballoons under her clothes -- two up top and two down below.
Her waist, of course, was just as trim and taut as ever.
Her curse-molded physique was dominated by an impossibly exaggerated and cartoonishly-proportioned hourglass figure so overwhelmingly voluptuous that the words "fantasy fetish model" immediately sprung to her mind despite her attempts to suppress such thoughts. Her body, despite her wishes, was nothing short of *pornographic*, no matter what clothes she wore, no matter what she did.
Her lavish curves were simply impossible to conceal under any circumstances.
Harassment at her job become a daily concern. Her co-workers made no attempt whatsoever to conceal their obvious boners in Jacqueline's presence -- and, even more distressingly, her body seemed to be responding to their pheromones more and more aggressively. Walking down the office hallway one day, her head full of anxiety regarding an issue with one of her clients, a passing male co-worker reached out and gave her ass a mighty slap right then and there just to watch it wobble and watch her mortified reaction as she squealed in surprise and the sympathetic jiggling of her titanic tits and ass nearly sent her toppling over. Her arms seized her wayward curves in a bid to restrain them as her male co-worker laughed and walked away. To her horror, afterwards, her panties were soaked and a warm energy tingled in her loins.
Somehow, this awful experience had only managed to make her feel incredibly horny.
Jacqueline found herself escaping to the restroom to masturbate more than once per week, then every day, then several times per day, as her co-workers and clients' bold passes and crude remarks increasingly made her laugh and flirt back if she didn't catch herself. Male confidence, boldness, cock size, and wealth -- she increasingly discovered -- were starting to turn her on so much that she couldn't help but fantasize about certain exceptionally masculine men she had encountered that day -- especially any who had been bold enough to somehow lay hands on her in some unsubtle way -- when she went home every night.
Jacqueline loved the way that being touched by big powerful men made her feel.
Soon, the big day arrived -- the Powell contract dinner. Jacqueline had ordered a tall pair of high heels and a sexy evening dress especially for the occasion; Mr. Powell had made his preferences crystal clear regarding the sort of attire he expected the women in his life to wear when it counted, and Ms. Smith was not about to let him down. Mr. Powell was so incredibly wealthy and powerful that she actually caught herself masturbating to fantasies of becoming his mistress the night before their big dinner. Lying in bed fondling her huge P-cup babyfeeders as she imagined taking in Mr. Powell's legendarily massive cock, Jacqueline knew that if any girl could bring to the table the unique attributes that could sufficiently impress such a high-status man as Mr. Powell and lock him down, it was her. Again and again, Jacqueline made herself cum that night.
The next evening, Jacqueline was tired, but she took every effort to look absolutely ravishing. Her colossal watermelon-sized funbags splayed generously from the top of her glamorous crimson dress with a deep rift of cleavage that was sure to bewitch every male she encountered; her gigantic rear-end filled out her outfit so completely that her twin lobes of bootyflesh nearly knocked over a lamp as she wobbled obscenely towards the door. Navigating her protrusive body as if she were guiding a great ship at sea, Jacqueline steered her massive chest carefully down into Mr. Powell's waiting limousine, taking care to avoid slamming her hip-hop-dancer-sized booty into the limousine door. Her massive breasts swallowed her lap entirely as she sat down, the tips of her tits nearly reaching her knees if she leaned forward. She loved the way Mr. Powell grinned, watching her body with great interest as it bounced, jiggled, sloshed, and swayed in time with every slight motion of the vehicle. His bold hand reached under her massive caboose to fill his grip with a bulging spilling fistful of willing ass.
Jacqueline squealed with delight.
The night would be long and the rendezvous would be successful; Ms. Smith would indeed win the business contract hands-down and ass-up. However, she would also turn in her resignation the following month -- after all, if she was going to be a proper loving mother to these triplets Mr. Powell had seeded in her belly, she wasn't going to have time for professional pursuits any longer. Even though she was going to be just one of Mr. Powell's well-stocked harem of biologically-gifted mistresses, Jacqueline knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was most certainly going to always be his favorite, and would without a doubt receive the most lavish and preferential treatment possible from her big powerful new lover.
At last, Jacqueline Smith was happy.
Ms. Smith sighed as the phone call with her client ended. She was sick of every man she talked to making "clever" remarks about her figure and trying to get her to go on dates with them. Despite everything she'd hoped, things still weren't getting any easier. Her life as a law professional had become difficult in ways she couldn't even have imagined before "the incident", with things worsening still further with each passing month...
"Jack Smith" had been one of the most respected and feared powerbrokers in the game, effortlessly scoring new clients and lucrative deals for his firm -- but "Jacqueline Smith" struggled to lock down half as many contracts despite putting in what felt like three times the effort. The depth of her knowledge and expertise in her field hadn't diminished in the slightest since that fateful morning when she had woken up with the body of a woman, but in the dog-eat-dog world of corporate politics it was the ability to build certain types of relationships and navigate complex dominance hierarchies which mattered most -- and Jacqueline was finding out first-hand just how sexist & unfair these male-controlled good-ol'-boy business networks and social clubs could be even towards hard-working highly-skilled professional women like her.
Everything had started last fall when Jack, stumbling out to his Lamborghini late one night in the strip club parking lot, had in his rowdy stupor apparently taken it upon himself to hurl random drunken insults at a young woman with short black hair in a purple pony T-shirt and slacks who happened to be passing by on the sidewalk. Jack mocked her rail-thin appearance, calling her a "beanpole" and a "flatsy with no ass" and other crude names. The woman seemed to ignore him and kept walking, muttering something under her breath that Jack couldn't even hear... and yet that would determine the future course of the rest of Jack's life...
The witch's incantation took root in Jack's DNA, rewriting his genetic code as he slept in a blacked-out sprawl across his big penthouse-suite bed, waking up with a hangover, a rather spotty memory of the night before, and a new, magic-altered body that was totally unfamiliar and strange -- and totally female.
Staring in terror at the unfamiliar woman in the bathroom mirror, her new body at first had seemed remarkably similar in appearance to that of the young woman she had lived to regret making fun of -- lean, slender, a somewhat boyish frame although on the shorter side at 5'1", short black hair. Her hips seemed quite narrow and masculine for a grown woman, and her chest didn't seem like anything that would require a bra, to her great relief. Still, living the rest of her life with a pussy instead of big "little Jack" filled her with dread. She felt vulnerable and fearful without her old male attributes and equipment. What the hell was her life going to become?
To her shock, nobody seemed to treat her all that differently at first -- the next day at work, although her office nameplate now read "Jacqueline", it was as if she were simply picking up where she had left off the previous week when she'd still been a man. Same clients, same job. Only her name, gender, and wardrobe had changed.
But over time, Jacqueline realized just how different things were indeed going to be for her from now on...
The small ways in which her male co-workers would ignore, belittle, or talk over her; the little negs that all the self-styled "alpha male" types she worked with would habitually slip into their word-choices when speaking to the opposite sex; the subconscious expectations of subservience that she'd started to notice being sprinkled into the power dynamics of her business meetings and directed towards her; the little hints of secret conversations she'd catch whispers of around the corners of the office halls that insinuated that she had achieved her present position solely by sleeping around or unspecific "diversity and inclusion" initiatives...
All of these things got much worse the more her body continued to change -- because her body *wasn't done changing,* not by a long shot...
To Jacqueline's revulsion and horror, after a mere two weeks as a woman, she had slowly come to realize that her upper chest was starting to feel inflamed with an irritated tingling sensation more and more frequently. Her nipples felt swollen and sensitive; it was starting to become difficult for her to focus at her job. She found herself absentmindedly clutching her chest with her forearm when she walked to prevent the sensitive nerve-endings from constantly chafing at the inner material of her shirt. One evening, looking herself over in the mirror at home, she couldn't deny it to herself any longer -- her chest was no longer flat.
Getting measured for her first bra had been absolutely humiliating for her, but she really didn't have any other options; she'd overheard one joke about the outline of her nipples being visible through the fabric of her white business-casual button-up, and that had been enough. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad, she reckoned, adjusting her bra strap the next morning, guiding the cups to cradle her still-sensitive still-swollen nipples -- a B cup bra seemed to keep her new feminine woes under control well enough, and soon enough Jacqueline adapted with ease to adding the new undergarment to her daily dressing and undressing routines. And anyway, she had much more important things to think about -- like by what potential strategies she might still manage to lock down that big juicy Powell contract by the end of the upcoming fiscal year...
As autumn changed to winter, "big" and "juicy" became words that entered Jacqueline's mind in a different capacity one afternoon as she was forced to accept that her panties no longer fit comfortably over her ass. Pudgy deposits of squashed flesh strained against her underwear lewdly as she came to grips internally with the fact that her butt was definitely several sizes larger than it had been just 2 or 3 months prior. Her hips were wider now too, framing her delicate feminine waist with an alluring sexuality that was seriously unnerving. Her hair had grown too at an alarming rate, changing in color from black to violet as it inched closer to her ass with each passing day. It was starting to look rather unprofessional, so she took to bundling it up into an increasingly lengthy ponytail, the mere thought of simply cutting it somehow never crossing her mind.
By February, Jacqueline took great care to replace the entirety of her wardrobe as her body increasingly tested the limits of good workplace taste despite her best efforts to ignore what was happening to her. Even her most modest black skirt was beginning to show off the curvature of her ass quite lasciviously as it had continued to fatten itself up against her wishes, and she'd finally been forced to admit that her little B cup bra was so thoroughly overmatched by her still-burgeoning bust that it was actually getting rather difficult to breathe. Her boobs were overflowing the cups so excessively by the time she went in for her long-overdue second measurement that the assistant at the lingerie shop felt compelled to lecture Jacqueline for a several minutes about the warning signs and consequences of an improperly-fitting brassiere. After all, a girl with breasts as big as Jacqueline's now were would need to take great care to manage her boobs properly or risk serious long-term back pain, and embarrassment. Jacqueline drove home from the mall that day with several G cup bras, feeling humiliated, and the loosest-fitting office-appropriate shirts and skirts she could find to wear without looking ridiculous.
Despite her best efforts to conceal her generous curves, one by one all of her clients and co-workers sooner or later began to occasionally drop references to her buxom, stripperesque hourglass figure into their daily conversations. Sly jokes about her boobs and butt became increasingly commonplace, the crudest of which were flung when male co-workers thought she wasn't listening. Jacqueline got in the habit of simply ignoring them. But by the time summer rolled around, it had seemingly become the office sport to make ever-bolder passes at Jacqueline Smith -- seemingly every other week she was overhearing some loud water cooler argument about which guy at the office would get to fuck the most eligible bachelorette in the business first. After all, surely she was going to discover her *true place* sooner or later... who ever heard of a professional in *this* industry who was a woman anyway -- let alone a girl like *that,* with boobs *almost as big as her head...?*
After overhearing that last comment, the famously thick-skinned Jacqueline Smith nearly felt like crying when she got home that night. Unbuttoning her large shirt, which for several weeks now had failed ever-more distressingly to mask the contours of her still-burgeoning chest, she felt a dark shudder of shame crawl up her spine as the sturdy black nylon material of her newest JJ cup bra revealed itself. There was no denying it -- she was *big.* Two huge mounds of bowling ball sized titflesh jiggled distractingly with her every breath, wobbling like squashed jello in their holsters. Already, she was starting to noticeably overflow her new bras, and it hadn't even been 2 weeks. Untying her long and violet-colored hair, which now hung down lankly well past her hips, Jacqueline rotated her body to assess the state of her butt in the mirror. A deep pit formed in the depth of her stomach as she realized that her plump buttcheeks were now straining so extravagantly against the fabric of her skirt (which had been the largest and most modest size that would still fit mere months ago) that the dark outline of her panties was easily visible even in low light. Jacqueline wanted to scream. This body was a nightmare... what had she done to deserve *this?*
She called in sick for the rest of the week, rush-ordering several custom-fit skirts, shirts, and bras from a specialty site for extra-curvy girls and refusing to leave her home until they arrived over the weekend.
Several weeks passed. Jacqueline noticed that while she could more-or-less manage her existing clients successfully, she was having real trouble locking down new contracts, losing out at nearly every opportunity to her male competitors. She simply wasn't being taken seriously any more as an industry professional in her field -- and worse yet, she gradually became aware that nearly all of her clients and co-workers seemed to feel personally slighted by the fact that she wasn't interested in sleeping with any of them. To her disgust, their efforts became more and more explicit. Clients began to insist on hugging her, and sometimes they would try to cop a feel. Co-workers made rude allusions to the size of their cocks whenever she walked by, and increasingly slipped transparent attempts to "meet up" in varying scenarios after hours. Jacqueline was beginning to feel deeply alienated in her former home turf. The strain was becoming so intense, putting in extra work every day for diminishing returns... Jacqueline felt *exhausted.*
A different form of strain and exhaustion was taking its toll as well.
Jacqueline's breasts and ass were still greedily swallowing up seemingly every ounce of calories her body took in, blossoming extravagantly to reach truly ludicrous proportions by the time September arrived. With deep distress she examined her side profile in her mirror -- her now-more-than-huge boobs were now absolutely monstrous in size, filling out and stretching even the extra-large shirt she'd ordered last month; her womanly burdens now weighed 15 pounds each and seemed to scream with heightened sensitivity to every slight brush or pressure, making it nearly impossible to focus in meetings; her new P cup bra seemed to need constant adjustments as she went about her day. Each breast was now several inches bigger than her skull, swallowing her torso and wobbling incorrigibly with her every step, no matter how carefully she tread. The constant pulling and stress on her body caused solely by her gargantuan chest was draining her energy so completely that she found herself regularly needing to sit down and massage her breasts, shoulders, and back in secret just to manage the pain.
Jacqueline's eyes moved to review her backside.
Jacqueline's ass had become so gigantic and overstuffed with taut lobes of sumptuous fat that it seemed to have a mind of its own, wobbling even worse than her tits when she walked. The bulging shelf it defined as it protruded obscenely against her straining skirt was breathtaking, competing so successfully with the impossibly bloated contour of her chest that she looked like she was constantly smuggling four pumpkin-sized waterballoons under her clothes -- two up top and two down below.
Her waist, of course, was just as trim and taut as ever.
Her curse-molded physique was dominated by an impossibly exaggerated and cartoonishly-proportioned hourglass figure so overwhelmingly voluptuous that the words "fantasy fetish model" immediately sprung to her mind despite her attempts to suppress such thoughts. Her body, despite her wishes, was nothing short of *pornographic*, no matter what clothes she wore, no matter what she did.
Her lavish curves were simply impossible to conceal under any circumstances.
Harassment at her job become a daily concern. Her co-workers made no attempt whatsoever to conceal their obvious boners in Jacqueline's presence -- and, even more distressingly, her body seemed to be responding to their pheromones more and more aggressively. Walking down the office hallway one day, her head full of anxiety regarding an issue with one of her clients, a passing male co-worker reached out and gave her ass a mighty slap right then and there just to watch it wobble and watch her mortified reaction as she squealed in surprise and the sympathetic jiggling of her titanic tits and ass nearly sent her toppling over. Her arms seized her wayward curves in a bid to restrain them as her male co-worker laughed and walked away. To her horror, afterwards, her panties were soaked and a warm energy tingled in her loins.
Somehow, this awful experience had only managed to make her feel incredibly horny.
Jacqueline found herself escaping to the restroom to masturbate more than once per week, then every day, then several times per day, as her co-workers and clients' bold passes and crude remarks increasingly made her laugh and flirt back if she didn't catch herself. Male confidence, boldness, cock size, and wealth -- she increasingly discovered -- were starting to turn her on so much that she couldn't help but fantasize about certain exceptionally masculine men she had encountered that day -- especially any who had been bold enough to somehow lay hands on her in some unsubtle way -- when she went home every night.
Jacqueline loved the way that being touched by big powerful men made her feel.
Soon, the big day arrived -- the Powell contract dinner. Jacqueline had ordered a tall pair of high heels and a sexy evening dress especially for the occasion; Mr. Powell had made his preferences crystal clear regarding the sort of attire he expected the women in his life to wear when it counted, and Ms. Smith was not about to let him down. Mr. Powell was so incredibly wealthy and powerful that she actually caught herself masturbating to fantasies of becoming his mistress the night before their big dinner. Lying in bed fondling her huge P-cup babyfeeders as she imagined taking in Mr. Powell's legendarily massive cock, Jacqueline knew that if any girl could bring to the table the unique attributes that could sufficiently impress such a high-status man as Mr. Powell and lock him down, it was her. Again and again, Jacqueline made herself cum that night.
The next evening, Jacqueline was tired, but she took every effort to look absolutely ravishing. Her colossal watermelon-sized funbags splayed generously from the top of her glamorous crimson dress with a deep rift of cleavage that was sure to bewitch every male she encountered; her gigantic rear-end filled out her outfit so completely that her twin lobes of bootyflesh nearly knocked over a lamp as she wobbled obscenely towards the door. Navigating her protrusive body as if she were guiding a great ship at sea, Jacqueline steered her massive chest carefully down into Mr. Powell's waiting limousine, taking care to avoid slamming her hip-hop-dancer-sized booty into the limousine door. Her massive breasts swallowed her lap entirely as she sat down, the tips of her tits nearly reaching her knees if she leaned forward. She loved the way Mr. Powell grinned, watching her body with great interest as it bounced, jiggled, sloshed, and swayed in time with every slight motion of the vehicle. His bold hand reached under her massive caboose to fill his grip with a bulging spilling fistful of willing ass.
Jacqueline squealed with delight.
The night would be long and the rendezvous would be successful; Ms. Smith would indeed win the business contract hands-down and ass-up. However, she would also turn in her resignation the following month -- after all, if she was going to be a proper loving mother to these triplets Mr. Powell had seeded in her belly, she wasn't going to have time for professional pursuits any longer. Even though she was going to be just one of Mr. Powell's well-stocked harem of biologically-gifted mistresses, Jacqueline knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was most certainly going to always be his favorite, and would without a doubt receive the most lavish and preferential treatment possible from her big powerful new lover.
At last, Jacqueline Smith was happy.