The Harem on the Hill (Part XXVII) (Patreon)

Tina takes a clipboard from the desk and reviews its contents.  "Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha."  She punctuates the red-headed hottie's name with back-and-forth pivots in her chair, before adding a final exclamation in the form of a devilish grin.  "You're going to love the report on Tabitha."

"Thrill me," you say.  It's like one of your staff meetings with middle managers from back in your corporate days.  Only this time the manager is naked and her middle bloated with Häagen-Dazs straight from the carton.

"Hmmm."  Tina scours the clipboard as if looking for a crucial stat, even though you're certain she knows it by heart.  "Twenty-five pounds."

"Twenty-five pounds!  In one month?  Holy cow."

Tina's chubby cheeks go full chipmunk.  "She's becoming one."

Twenty-five pounds.  It was hard to fathom.  Blessed with more curves than the autobahn, you assumed Tabitha's plumping pace would rival that of the vehicles on that famed German motorway--especially with indulgent tendencies already in place--but the first few months had been nothing but exercises in frustration (and frustrations with her exercise).  She stubbornly refused to cooperate despite promised rewards and administered sanctions.  You weren't sure what was more aggravating--her childlike petulance or her monklike willpower.

In business, you excelled at providing the initial impetus and creative direction for your companies, but like most visionaries, you found the day-to-day minutia a choking tangle of red tape.  So, at Tina's urging, you stopped micromanaging Tabitha's progress and turned over the reins of her gain.  You hadn't even checked her vitals in weeks.

"Twenty-five pounds," you repeat again.  "What have you been doing to the poor girl?"

"Does it matter?"

You jab the keyboard and Tabitha's kitchen returns to the monitor.  Having finished her cake, Tabitha cleans as instructed, plodding back and forth between the table and sink in nothing but her underwear, the spring in her step weighed down by circumstance and twenty-five additional pounds.  

It's the best look you've had at her since her arrival.  Tabitha thwarted previous peeks at every turn--obscuring cameras, hiding behind furniture and under covers, and even bundling up like an Eskimo--but now she makes no effort to cover up.  If she knew you were watching, you're certain she'd at least suck-in the glorious pot-belly doming over her hot pink panties.

"It just happened so suddenly," you say, hypnotized by the undulating flesh poking beneath said panties as Tabitha delivers a load of dishes to the sink.

Tina joins you in admiring Tabitha's fattened frame.  "It helped that I convinced her to stop sneaking in work-outs."

"How did you do that?"

Tina tosses the clipboard back on the desk with a clatter and hefts herself from the chair.  Her labored movement is accompanied by a suction sound as her hips pull free of the padded leather.

"Why ask so many questions?" she says, swinging her legs over your armrests and plopping her plump posterior in your straddled lap.   "Can't you just be satisfied knowing there's been growth?"

Despite topping 200-pounds, Tina remains nimble; however, the prodigious poundage pressing your pants suggests you were wise not to skimp on the quality of your office furniture as you did in your concubines' quarters.

Tina places one hand on your shoulder as the other explores your torso.  Eventually, it's between your legs, grabbing both your manhood and its attention.  She smiles as it stiffens.  "Your growth certainly satisfies me."

"I'm intrigued by the process," you say, running your hands along the supple skin of Tina's thighs.  They're plusher than the chair's calfskin armrests.

Tina guides your hands to her billowy bi-folded belly.  "I thought you were a results man."

Your hands follow the crease in Tina's stomach opposite directions around her waist until they rest on her shelf-like ass.  "The bottom line is important," you say, giving it a healthy squeeze, "but I like to be kept abreast."  You peck the tops of Tina's tits as they spread against your sternum.

"Ignorance is bliss."  Tina kisses the top of your head.  "You of all people should understand that."

In a flash, you're on your feet.  Tina gasps and dangles from your neck like an oversized choker until you plant her--hard--back in her own chair.

"What's your game, Tina?" you huff, trying to appear as if tossing Tina had been effortless.  A few months ago it would have been, but today you and your spasming back regret the decision.

Conversely, dumping Tina on her ass should have stunned her, but the collision between two such well-upholstered objects hardly phases her.  "No game," she retorts.  Tina settles back in her chair and pokes her belly, indenting its flab.  "We all have skeletons buried."  Then she looks at you and cocks her head.  "Some just deeper than others."

You force a tight-lipped smile, then pivot and stride from the room as straight as your back allows.  Clip-clopping down the hall, your mind is awash with hearings, trials, and an assortment of other unpleasant memories you're pissed to relive.  That's why you took early retirement and moved to this backwoods town in the first place.

Angry, frustrated...and more than a little horny, you find yourself at the entrance to your basement.  Time to relieve some tension.

What do you do?