Becoming a Wife and Mother Pt. 04

She was a terror at the office. Hard-edged, hard-nosed, power-hungry and driven. She was gunning to be CEO someday, but in the meantime she was content to make Greg's life miserable at work.

"She" was Miranda, the young and sexy senior director who had been hired last summer. She was a stunning blonde who was all tight curves and tailored skirt suits. At first she was affable and cooperative, but once she detected how her role could be used as leverage over Greg, she had quickly developed into his ultimate nemesis at work.

Greg ran a hand through his messy salt-and-pepper hair. He was a nice enough guy, so he thought. A caring and well-educated executive whose bachelorhood had lately grown a little stale. He was handsome in a soft, worn-in kind of way that seemed to attract only the wrong kind of woman: the domineering, bullying kind.

Miranda was a perfect example, although attraction didn't seem part of the equation. He had started out liking her immensely, perhaps even feeling a little flattered by her flirtatious friendliness. Only too late he realized it was a device to disarm him as she engaged in her calculating designs to outcompete his team and wrest away his authority and credibility with the partners. She seemed determined to have Greg at her mercy. "And not in a sexy way either," Greg thought wryly. Only in a humiliating way.

Just that afternoon, a vicious email thread had put Greg utterly at a loss. He was headed out of the office early so he could go see his therapist. He needed a good long talk with a woman who didn't hate his guts.

He had begun seeing Dr. Clara only in the last month, when his work stress had robbed him of sleep one too many nights.

One of his golfing buddies - a happy, prosperous exec with a huge family of 12 children - had enthusiastically recommended her.

Dr. Clara was a statuesque Latin American woman who was the stuff wet dreams are made of -- except she was so intelligent and comforting, Greg was much more interested in talking and absorbing all of her insights about the mind and relationships.

He had been so depressed, he had originally thought Dr. Clara might put him on medication. To his surprise, her diagnosis had been about the symbolism of manhood.

"You need to demonstrate your masculinity in the office environment," she had said the first day they met.

Since then he had been slowly finding ways to connect with his manly energy: putting phallic-shaped lamps and objects in his office, wearing crisper and bolder suits and ties, even taking a weight lifting class. He was now addicted to that, at least. He was beginning to get more definition in his abdomen, and it did help his confidence. But a lot of what Dr. Clara said definitely qualified as "woo woo."

"You need now to not be the slave of this woman's desperate urgency," Dr. Clara was declaring. "She is trying to take your male energy from you. But she needs to be made to receive. This is very complicated in the modern work environment. But I can share with you a tool to soften a woman of this kind."

Greg looked at her searchingly. The beautiful doctor was bent over a drawer in her desk, carefully collecting a small object. She gently took Greg's hand, and enclosed his fingers around a small pendant.

"Keep this with you at work, particularly in your conferences with the problematic woman. Invite more opportunities even, to interact with this woman. It will catch her off guard, and you will see a result."

Dr. Clara's eyes were firm, commanding. Even a little hypnotic. Greg nodded slowly, gripping the small stone and chain in his sweaty palm.

"You will see the result," she said again, with a reassuring smile.

***

"Shall we start with my agenda items? First off, I have assigned Greg's team to provide back-end support on the Tillerson campaign. My team will act as lead."

Miranda's eyes glittered with satisfaction as she led the meeting. She was insatiable in her quest for glory at Greg's expense. Her strategems were working too. One of the senior partners nodded approvingly at Miranda, and she wore a smug smile as she glanced at Greg derisively.

Only...she wasn't so smug, it seemed. She was...distracted.

Greg had dutifully brought the crystal to work with him, per Dr. Clara's instructions, and he had been playing with it in a desultory way at the conference room table while Miranda gave her presentation.

Its dull lustre seemed to have distracted her. She looked dazedly at the crystal, then up at Greg and bit her lower lip. She seemed suddenly a little flushed.

Greg watched her impassively as the moment seemed to lengthen. Had Miranda's composure shaken? She resumed her meeting agenda, but it seemed - he felt, at least - that there was a little less naked animosity toward Greg.

"Win one for the crystal," he thought sarcastically. He had been a little disappointed and confused by Dr. Clara's gift, but it was hard to deny that something had happened in the conference room during the meeting. The energy had shifted.

Greg himself felt a bit bigger, a little more powerful. A little less pushed aside by this harrying woman.

***

What with the new campaign launch, the week went by quickly. Greg pulled a couple of late nights so his team could stay ahead of Miranda's demands.

It was nice to work in the quiet afterglow of the day. Greg's office window looked out over a landscaped courtyard behind the office tower. He took a moment to watch the sun set against the skyline.

Abruptly, he heard a noise. He was not the only one working late. Hard heels clacked down the hall, and Miranda's narrow face peered into Greg's doorway.

"Working hard, or hardly working?" She said a little cattily. Greg smiled tightly. What with the new workload, he hadn't had much opportunity to take Dr. Clara's advice about seeing Miranda one-on-one. Now she was standing right in front of him in a brazen power stance, her perfectly-toned form accentuated by the crisp lines of her skirt suit. She looked haughty, contemptuous and ready to assert her dominance in one way or another.

Greg realized this was the perfect opportunity to "use" the crystal. He gripped it in his pocket, and drew it out slowly, so it seemed natural to fidget with it at his desk.

"Oh, you know, Miranda," he said lightly. "Just doing what I can to help the cause."

Miranda snorted, ready to let a sharp remark fly when suddenly her eye got caught on the crystal. The words died on her tongue. Her posture sagged. She blinked several times.

"What...what were you saying?" She asked hesitatingly.

Greg was baffled. He hadn't been saying anything. He fumbled for something "manly" to say that Dr. Clara might approve of.

"I said you shouldn't work such late hours, Miranda. You need to go easier on yourself. Let us strong men do more of the heavy-lifting!" He had said the last bit as a joke, but Miranda was slack-jawed and nodded slowly.

"You're right...Greg." She said his name almost with reverence. "I do work too much. It can be a little exhausting." She looked down and adjusted her hair. There was something meek and girlish in the gesture.

Miranda meek and girlish? Greg couldn't believe his eyes. He was laser-focused on her reactions to the crystal. It clearly had some kind of effect on her beyond what his rational mind could conceive of. A little giddy, he decided to see how far he could push it.

"You know, when I was growing up," Greg said commandingly, in a tone he had heard from certain alpha males in his life, "a woman's place was at home."

His heart was beating hard. He felt it was grounds for sexual harassment just to utter those words. He put his faith in the crystal and went on.

"A beautiful young woman like you, Miranda. Well, she would have had her pick of husbands. And she would be at home right now with the children, making sure dinner was on the table." He paused. He couldn't believe the words he had just said. The crystal seemed to make him more bold and masculine. He almost felt like he was channeling pure testosterone.

Miranda just nodded shyly. "I know. That's true," she said softly, in a daze. "You know, I just haven't found the right one yet." She looked up at Greg meaningfully. She looked...hungry. Eager. A little flushed.

You could have knocked Greg over with a feather, but he boldly took the conversation a step further. "Miranda honey, I would like to take you out for dinner tonight. Why don't you set the office aside for a couple of hours and enjoy a nice glass of wine with me?"

Miranda stared at him unblinkingly. She nodded energetically. "Oh, um, wow, Greg. I mean, I didn't think...you know, after the way I had acted." She was blushing deeply now and stammering like a school girl. "Well I didn't know if you would even, um. You know, care to..."

Greg hushed her and stood up to grab his jacket, shepherding her too-petite frame toward the door in a fatherly way. His hand looked large and rugged as he gripped her shoulder lightly.

"Come along, little girl," he said flirtatiously. "We've got a date with a serious surf and turf at Delmonico's." She nodded eagerly, her eyes glassy and her manner shy. Greg kept the crystal in his pocket. Its mere presence seemed to have humbled his power-mad arch-enemy into an uncertain little girl.

***

And a needy little girl. After one glass of red, Miranda had begun to play footsie with Greg under the table. At first Greg sat stony-faced and unresponsive. He felt a little conflicted about what was happening.

Here they were. On a date? The dim lighting and intimate atmosphere of the restaurant made the whole scenario seem unexpectedly romantic. At least, Miranda seemed to think so. Her sexy high heeled shoe was off and her naked foot was tracing against Greg's pants leg. Her small feminine fingers were delicately placed near his large hand, and the air between them felt electric.

How is this happening? Greg thought. Was Miranda just pretending? Would he get fired if she decided to cry sexual harassment?

But the crystal was having its effect on him too. His cock was straining in his pants as Miranda's foot stroked against his leg. Her cleavage, though small and sculpted, was very much on display. "She needs to eat more, fill out a little," he thought critically as he stared unabashedly at her tits. She caught his gaze and straightened up so she could thrust her chest out a little. Her proud little B-cups, no matter how prominently displayed, didn't seem sufficient to him.

His mind was clicking along in silent thought. "She needs to be big and healthy for when she has children and needs to breastfeed. I want to see her with a sexy, womanly body. Not looking like some skinny little girl." His cock surged a little as he thought of the skinny woman in front of him getting bigger and heavier.

Aloud, he said, "Eat up, honey. I'm going to get us four or five appetizers and some dessert. What do you want for your entree? I see the way you pick at those salads in the office. I want you to show me how a real woman eats."

His tone was authoritative, and he twisted the crystal in his fingers as he spoke. He had decided to take charge. He was determined to see how far this could go. After all, Miranda had played him like a puppet on a string. Now it was his turn. At least for tonight.

The skinny blonde did not demur when plates of food started to arrive. Instead she ate lustily, devouring every crumb on her plate, frequently fidgeting with her hair as she and Greg got to know each other better.

He found out she had grown up near his hometown, and both their parents lived within an hour of each other. He learned about her choice to forego a degree in literature in order to pursue an MBA and law school. Her parents had encouraged her to have hobbies and friends, but she had always been so driven to achieve.

Greg had been the same way himself, he thought. He should have been married by now with a couple of beautiful children. His desperate need for this had never seemed so crystal clear as it did right now.

By the time they left the restaurant, they had polished off two bottles of wine and had started exploring each other's bodies under the table. Their hands intertwined, and he had massaged her narrow rib cage and slinky hips under her clothing. She had found his cock and traced its deliciously bulging outline with her fingertips. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

He recognized the signs. She needed to get fucked, bad. Greg wanted it too, but he wanted to fully command her. He needed to put her in her place. "Are you a needy little girl, Miranda?"

She bit her lip and nodded drunkenly. "Please, Greg."

"Please what?"

She looked around. They weren't near other diners. The waiter had brought the check. She leaned forward and said softly. "Please take me home with you. Please let me worship your big cock."

Greg smiled. Now his was the smug smile. He was loving this, but he didn't want things to accelerate this quickly.

"No, Miranda. Good little girls learn to wait. I need to see that you know how to please me. I need to see you act like a beautiful woman who can accept a strong man into her life. I need to see that you're ready for a strong man to take charge of you."

Miranda's face looked so disappointed, Greg almost took pity on her. She nodded quickly though. "Yes...sir," she said, now shy again. She lowered her gaze.

Greg paid the bill and led her out into the night. It felt good to be in charge.

***

Changes happened quickly around the office after that.

At first, they were subtle. The intern doing the filing noticed that Miranda no longer followed her strict keto diet anymore. Rich cakes and platters of snack food began to appear in the break room for the employees to share.

The junior executives noticed Miranda coming in later and leaving earlier. Whereas before she worked 12-hour days regularly, now she was barely on time, and seemed like she couldn't wait to leave each day.

It became apparently quickly that she wasn't spending her time at the gym either. Her designer-perfect body was noticeably softening, and clothes that formerly had given her a sleek, sharp appearance were now bulging and uncomfortably tight. Her bras and underwear were clearly too small and cut into her soft back, making indentations that formed womanly rolls of back fat. Deep pantylines bissected her big buttcheeks, cutting tightly into her ass as new rolls bulged against her tight skirts. In fact, before long she had given up tailored clothes entirely and wore elasticized dresses and cardigans that skimmed her now generous curves. She wore her hair down now, her long blonde hair curling angelically where before she had had a sleek blow-out. She definitely looked less professional these days, although much more feminine and approachable.

Finally, the work suffered. At each meeting, it was clear that Miranda was at best preoccupied and at worst disorganized. Her attention span had seemed to shrink. She never had her notes in order, and rarely prepared an agenda to lead her calls. The partners exchanged glances with each other during one particularly pointless meeting. The now-chubby blonde had waddled in late and spent 20 minutes getting to the point of the campaign status update, which showed - surprisingly - that Greg's team had advanced the lead strategies and come in nearly three times over goal.

Greg himself was polished and erect at the back of the conference room. His shoulders were broad from his weight lifting habit. He had a fresh haircut. Male confidence was radiating from him.

He looked with self-assurance at the partners. "Miranda has agreed to let me delegate her team's responsibilities to close out the campaign. I'll be taking charge."

One of the partners nodded, glancing to the side at Miranda. Miranda was nodding enthusiastically. "I'm so grateful for Greg's leadership on this. I just don't have the experience. He deserves the command." She was practically gushing. The partner tightened his lips and said they looked forward to reviewing the metrics at the completion of the campaign. There was something ominous in his tone, but Miranda just beamed. She was hungry and asked cheerfully if anyone might like to go to lunch.

***

Greg had witnessed these changes at first in stunned amazement, and later with deep satisfaction. Particularly once Miranda started to pick up weight, he couldn't stop fantasizing about her. Her big round ass, the growing pot belly, and the way her tits now hung heavily against her tight shirts and jiggled as she waddled down the hall in her painfully tight heels. Those little B-cups were dangerously close to a fat DD.

He had expressed his satisfaction with Miranda in guarded ways, always with the crystal firmly in hand. He still couldn't quite believe it wasn't all a put-on. His hateful nemesis becoming his beautifully tubby office angel, and practically his slave.

Part of the reason she left early each day was because she enjoyed going to Greg's house and cleaning and cooking a generous meal. She prided herself on having supper on the table every day when Greg arrived home. Sometimes he came over to her house, and she offered the same slavish devotion to his comfort.

Her reward has been the slow progression of his physical affection toward her. At first he was reluctant, but once he saw how genuine her devotion was, he pushed her to gratify him.

She made a habit of blowing him at the office each morning. She loved to get on her knees and worship his cock, swallowing his cum eagerly as her lipstick and makeup smeared. He loved to see his cum drip from her lips and into her deep cleavage. If he had her strip, he enjoyed cumming against her jiggling tits, watching his hot white cum ooze off her fat nipples.

It all made her pussy unbearably wet. He liked to demean her around the office, pulling up her skirt and fingering her soaking pussy right when she might get caught moaning or writhing.

He had initially resisted fucking her, but he could only deny himself for so long. The first time he fucked her, he was alone at the office after hours. She had stayed behind to do his filing, and was obeying his commands as he wrapped up his campaign report.

She was bent over in her tight high heels, her panties tight against her big ass, a close-fitting sheath dress showing off the chubby curve of her thighs, wide hips and rounded bosom. She had blown Greg twice that day. When she stood to continue filing, a dark wet spot shown at the seat of her dress.

Greg couldn't stop looking at it. It had been several months since his initial command of Miranda, and he had denied himself assiduously. Even Dr. Clara, kind and congratulatory about this apparent victory, had encouraged himself to let go and enjoy the spoils of his manliness. "Fully claim what is yours," she had said decisively. Perhaps on some level, Greg wasn't fully sure if Miranda was his. But each day he grew more confident and more eager to test her.

Today was the day. He came up behind her as she filed. He rubbed her now too-large backside, feeling up her chubby hips and ass.

"Baby. You got so big. You're such a sexy big girl now." He kneaded the thick flesh, inhaling her spicy perfume. He heard her sigh. She was very passive, awaiting his desire. His hands moved around toward her rounded tits. "These are gorgeous baby. You're such a big, gorgeous girl." He turned her around and began to kiss her on the mouth. Her tongue was yielding, submissive. She moaned and softened into Greg's strong arms.

"Such a good girl," he breathed as he kissed her, deftly reaching around to unhook her bra. The large breasts flopped outward and her swollen nipples strained against the fabric of her dress. Greg bent down to suck them. He wanted to taste milk when he sucked her. He knew now he wanted to fully own her body. It was time.