Big Butt Slut

The rest of her may have changed, but Molly's smile had stayed exactly the same.

She was wearing a simple black tube-dress, leaving her arms and shoulders completely bare and showing ample cleavage - and as she approached their table, John realised that it wasn't just her ass that had grown. Her breasts, already large, seemed to have increased in size as well.

The dress was clearly made for a slightly smaller woman, and Molly's assets were causing it to practically burst at the seams; her ass had brought the hemline up by at least half a foot, and John couldn't work out how big her boobs had actually grown, they were so restricted (and yet enhanced) by the tightness of her ensemble.

The black five-inch heels on Molly's feet lengthened her legs, almost forcing you to follow them up with your eyes until you reached her magnificent rear, and John realised that this was the first time he'd ever seen her in heels at all. It all came together so perfectly, creating an image of curviness and womanhood like John had never seen before that he was instantly hard, his mind immediately filled with dirty images of everything he wanted to do to her.

If he'd been capable of taking his eyes off her for a second and looking around the room, he would have seen that she had caused a similar reaction to every other man who had seen her.

By the time she reached the table and sat down, John was speechless. He felt as though his mind had been turned into putty by the gorgeous creature in front of him. He was vaguely aware that she was saying something, but he couldn't stop staring at her cleavage and remembering that ass - that ass! - of hers.

"Sorry I'm late," she purred. Even her voice was somehow sexier. "I had to pick something up on the way here."

John noticed for the first time that Molly was holding a plain paper bag. The rest of her body had blinded him from noticing anything else about her. The restaurant could have caught on fire and he wouldn't have spotted it.

"That's okay," he replied. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up to what she'd been saying, and a few seconds more before he was able to respond.

"Shall we eat?" she asked, seemingly unaware that anything was different, and almost before she'd finished the sentence, their waiter was at the table, visibly struggling to stop himself from drooling.

Molly ordered first, John unable to tear his eyes away from her for long enough to look at the menu. He dimly noticed that she was moving her lips as she read. It should have been horrifying, the smart, sassy girl he'd fallen in love with, seemingly struggling with reading basic English, but John couldn't stop thinking about how good her lips looked, how thick and full they were, how perfectly-constructed they seemed to be for sucking cock...

After Molly was done telling the waiter about the meal she wanted - emphasizing the "cream" in "creamy mushroom sauce" - John hurriedly ordered as well, not even registering what he'd asked for.

John stared, agog, as Molly munched on bread rolls and prattled about the changes she'd made in her life. He tried to listen out for any kind of information that would suggest how she'd changed from dowdy office worker to sex bomb in a week, but nothing jumped out at him, and soon he was forced to ask.

"Molly," he said, interrupting her story about which treadmill she liked best, "what on earth happened to you?"

Molly froze, a bread roll halfway to her lips, and John suddenly felt tremendously guilty. She looked like a dog who had been told off for jumping on the table, or a child scolded for grabbing the largest piece of cake.

"What do you mean?" she asked, pouting.

"Just...look at you!"

Molly looked down at herself, and suddenly went bright red.

"Excuse me," she said, and before John could respond, she left for the bathroom, leaving a trail of erections as she sashayed across the restaurant.

On the verge of tears, Molly burst into the bathroom and stared at herself. Dear god, what HAD happened to her? A few weeks ago, she was a respectable graphic designer who wouldn't be seen dead in a dress like this. Now, here she was, in a classy part of town, dressed like a common street-walker. No wonder John was disappointed in her.

And if John was turned off by the way she looked, just imagine how he'd feel about how damned horny she was all the time. The way that he'd stared at her, it had made her so wet that she was surprised he couldn't smell it...of course, now that she thought about it, that must have just been a look of disappointment.

Molly began to sob, huge, heart-broken sobs that caused her whole body to heave. She didn't fit any of her clothes, she couldn't go more than an hour without needing to masturbate, and she was so restless, all of the time. She could have gotten through it if she'd just had John's support, but he thought she was a freak. She had been looking forward to fucking him, but he probably wouldn't even want to touch a worthless whore like her.

And she definitely couldn't let him see her tattoo. Any chance of a reconciliation would be destroyed if he saw her new tattoo, saw how proud she was of it. He already thought she was a slut, he didn't need to see that she'd gone out and labelled herself as one.

As her tears hit the washroom basin, the sound reminded her of the rain. The rain...

Molly stood up straight, closed her eyes, and let the rain wash over her.

It felt like seconds, but was minutes later when she re-opened her eyes and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. If she'd learned nothing else from the past week or two, she'd at least learned how to turn every situation, no matter how bad, into a positive one.

So what if John didn't want to fuck her? That was his loss. Molly was horny, and if he wasn't going to satisfy her needs, she wasn't going to wait for him to come around.

And so what if her current clothes made her look like a slut? That sort of worked for her; Molly was in the mood to fuck, and her clothes absolutely helped advertise that fact. Any man looking at them would know exactly what she wanted, and be ready to give it to her.

So what if she didn't fit any of her old clothes? They definitely weren't going to help her get laid. Her new wardrobe, however, was perfect...it was almost as if it had been put together for that specific purpose.

And if she didn't want anyone she knew to lose respect for her by seeing her tattoo, there was an obvious solution: she just had to do her fooling around with strangers.

As she fixed up her hair and make-up, Molly giggled; she'd been doing that a lot lately. It was as if the world had become a lot more amusing suddenly, or maybe she was just now learning how to enjoy it.

(It was useful, too - whenever someone asked her a particularly hard question, a giggle gave her a few more minutes to think about the answer...and for some reason, everyone had been asking her particularly hard questions lately.)

Molly looked at herself in the mirror, and blew herself a kiss. She looked great, and even if John wasn't going to appreciate it, someone would...maybe that cute waiter who had kept staring at her, or maybe she could ask to thank the chef personally, or even that cute old grandpa, sitting all alone a few tables over...

###

Dinner had gone slowly for John. Molly had taken a ludicrously long time to return from the bathroom - he must have really upset her with his questions. After she'd returned, he'd waited a few minutes and tried to ask again, but Molly had simply excused herself in response, and been gone for nearly as long the second time.

Rather than make the dinner any more awkward (or deprive himself of the view any more than necessary) John stuck to safe topics for the rest of their meal. He got the feeling that he was boring Molly - she kept staring, looking around the rest of the restaurant restlessly - but at least she was no longer upset.

Just before they'd left, she'd excused herself one last time. John had waited impatiently, trying not to notice how long she was gone, and was proud of himself for not saying anything when she returned.

They'd gone straight from the restaurant to a movie - a film that John knew Molly had been looking forward to for a long time. The cab ride there was awkward; as John spoke about recent developments at his work, Molly seemed unable to sit still, unable to concentrate.

John wasn't sure what had happened to her since he'd last seen her, but he wanted to be supportive. He wanted to be there for her. He loved her, after all.

When they got to the theatre, Molly immediately excused herself, and practically ran to the bathroom. It had taken all the will-power she had left not to play with herself in the taxi; as John had droned on, she'd been mentally replaying the escapades she'd had at the restaurant, whenever she was away from the table.

The waiter had been the fastest - she had simply called him over as he was on the way back from the lone gentleman's table, and asked if he could "help" her with something. He'd followed her into the ladies room, and just a few minutes later, she was gulping down a fresh load of cream.

Excited by his enthusiasm, Molly had played with herself immediately afterwards, and he'd stayed to watch. By the time she came, he was sucking on her nipples and caressing her enormous ass, and had become so excited that she'd rewarded him with a titty-fuck (making sure this time to swallow as much of his load as possible, and wipe the rest off immediately after.)

After she returned to the table, she'd realised that the waiter's disappearance had caused the elderly gentleman's dinner to be delayed - when John started asking her some question about something, she'd again made an excuse to leave, and "apologised" to the older man in the best way she knew how.

Molly had planned to blow the old man but she'd somehow ended up completely nude, the gentleman's hands running over her body, and when they'd reached her dripping pussy, he'd asked politely if he could fuck her...

Molly was a sucker for politeness.

When she'd returned to the table, her meal had been delicious (if a little cold; the older man had decided taken his time. Molly had admired his staying power, and by the time they finished and she returned to the table, her dinner had been waiting for her for quite a while) and so before they left, Molly had decided to thank the chef personally.

She knew she didn't have all the time in the world, so she'd settled for giving him a blow-job. (he hadn't complained.)

As she knelt below the the chef inside the restaurant freezer before, she wondered why she wasn't cold. Her attire should have caused her severe discomfort, but the pure heat of their sexual act seemed to keep her from freezing, and as the chef came, it felt like the warmth radiated out from her mouth, thawing her whole body.

As they'd departed, Molly had only just remembered to take her brown paper bag, and thinking about what she'd purchased earlier in the day had done nothing but add to her excitement in the cab.

Within a few seconds of arriving at the movie theatre, Molly ran to the bathroom in excitement, and within a few minutes of arriving in the stall, she was crying out in orgasm, just at the thought of opening her brown paper bag and finally getting to try out the contents.

As the blissful afterglow of orgasm washed over her, Molly smiled. As she'd dashed for the toilets, she was sure that she'd noticed a few single men...and considering what she was wearing, she was sure that they'd noticed her.

Once the movie had started, and John was settled in, she was sure she could just excuse herself, pretend to be craving popcorn or a drink. She could head back into the foyer, find a man standing by himself (or, at worst, tempt one away from his girlfriend.)

She could persuade him to join her in the bathroom, and she could recruit his help with her new purchase.

And afterwards, she knew exactly how she could thank him.

Chapter 5:

As Molly walked into work on Monday morning, she was amazed at how quickly she'd adjusted to her butt-plug's constant presence.

As she'd predicted, it had been no challenge to find someone who could help her - she'd actually found a pair of young men, keen to assist - and had thanked them simultaneously for inserting her new toy for her.

The sensation of all three of her holes being filled simultaneously, one by her new, black butt-plug, the other two by her enthusiastic teenaged assistants had been overwhelming. Molly had never come so close to blacking out from pure pleasure, and when she tasted one of the boy's cum at the same time as she felt the other coming in her wet pussy, she experienced her strongest orgasm to date.

She'd forgotten why she was even at the cinema and gone home, leaving John alone and confused when he came looking for her half an hour later.

Driving to work on Monday, she'd almost gotten lost - Sunday had been spent cleaning: cleaning her apartment, cleaning her butt-plug, cleaning herself of the last of her body hair (for years, she'd refused to shave her pubic area, preferring to keep it neatly trimmed, but now even the idea of hair down there just seemed...wrong) - and when she wasn't cleaning, she was cumming.

The butt-plug seemed to amplify her sex-drive tenfold; she'd been easily worked-up lately, but with the butt-plug in, everything, everything reminded her of sex. Her TV remote immediately got her thinking about the cocks she'd sucked; the "submit" button on her email log-in made her wonder what it would be like to submit to a big, hulking man; even the act of plugging her iPhone in to charge reminded her how much she wanted to be plugged, how charged up she was feeling.

What Molly hadn't noticed was that each orgasm was knocking a few points off her IQ. After her fourteenth orgasm of the day, her to-do list has simply read "Cleen, jim, cum", and by Sunday evening, she couldn't even read that.

Panic had momentarily seized her when she couldn't work out how to turn the TV on, but after a few minutes of the rain, the quiet, peaceful, gentle rain, she realised that it wasn't worth worrying about - worry was for smart people. She didn't need TV, not when her pussy and her hands provided her more than enough entertainment to get her through the night.

Molly's dreams on Sunday night revolved around something other than sex, for the first time since she got her tattoo. She dreamt about how beautiful it was to be stupid, how her new, vacuous outlook on life was perfect; if she was dumb, she didn't have to think about nearly as much. All she had to do was focus on what she was good at - looking good, making men happy, and bringing herself off.

And cleening, of course.

So when she'd arrived at work on Monday, she was a few hours late. She'd forgotten to set an alarm, she'd gotten lost a few times on the way there, and when she'd eventually remembered the name of her work, she'd spent some time finding a helpful stranger who could push her in the right direction.

If she hadn't insisted on thanking him, she probably would have been in before ten.

Work passed in a daze - her boss had called her into his office for a meeting. He was clearly determined to make some kind of point, but Molly kept drifting off when he spoke, and that just made him madder and madder. She was so wet by the time he was done yelling at her that as she stumbled out of his office, she grabbed Luke and headed straight for the washroom.

The noises that followed made it pretty clear what they were doing in there.

After her orgasm, Molly had a brief moment of clarity. Looking at herself in the mirror above the sink, she felt like her old self was looking back, disappointed. Before she could really take that in, she noticed her tattoo - even though Molly could no longer read what it said, it comforted her - it told her who and what she was. She was a slut. A slut. A big butt slut.

Molly spent the rest of the day in the washroom, alternately playing with herself and pleasuring any man who came in. She found herself staring at her butt whenever she was getting off, or whenever she faced the mirror while fucking someone. It was so big and bouncy, such a perfect ass...she could see that it was driving the men who came to visit her crazy as well, and that just made her love it all the more.

At the end of the day, Molly's boss came in to escort her off the premises - she would have been annoyed, but he let her give him a quick blow-job before he officially fired her.

On Tuesday night, Molly sat in her lounge-room, looking at all the new clothes she'd bought, wondering if she should be worried about her job. A day of shopping had pretty effectively managed to take her mind off it - shopping was so much easier when you can't read the numbers, she'd discovered - you just grab anything that looks pretty (or slinky, or short, or slutty...) and hand over your cards. Towards the end of the day, her cards had stopped working, but that had somehow made it even easier - after a quick, wild fuck, the store clerks would often let her take the clothes for free.

Joke was on them, Molly had thought - she'd wanted to fuck them anyway!

By Wednesday, the rain had become a constant presence. Most of the time it was a gentle shower, caressing her face and telling her that everything was going to be okay, but during sex it was a storm, causing lightning to course through her body and rewire her brain. Molly had returned to the gym, but even after two whole hours on the treadmill, she was still buzzing with energy. She joined an aerobics class, and found something that finally took the edge off; standing in the front line of the class, and bending over, bending over, bending over...

The rest of the day was a wash, as Molly wandered the streets near her gym, bending over at every opportunity that she got. She was wearing nothing but her new work-out clothes; a sports bra and a pair of tights, but even if she'd been dressed like a nun her ass would have stopped traffic.

She quickly made a game of it, seeing how many men she could get hard, seeing how many people she could stop in their tracks by bending over in front of them. One look at her bountiful, gorgeous ass, and no man could continue thinking - all they could focus on were her enormous buns, her gluteus maximus maximus...Initially, she tried to look like she was stretching, but soon she was bending over without even an attempt at an excuse.

No one complained.

Every time Molly bent over in front of a man with a visual erection, images flashed through her mind of them fucking her, fucking her in the ass. She still hadn't been fucked in the ass, though she couldn't work out why - Molly knew that she'd been a slut for as long as she could remember. She'd always used her body to get what she wanted, and (conveniently) what she'd always wanted was to be fucked, as often and as hard as possible.

So why had no one ever fucked her where she wanted it most, in her greatest asset? Molly's brow furrowed, but she quickly shook it off. It wasn't worth worrying about; nothing was, for a hot piece of ass like her. Seeing a man crossing the street up ahead, Molly ran to get into position.

###

When Molly returned home that evening, a man with a familiar face was standing outside her door, looking worried. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Molly!" he exclaimed, "I was so worried!"

Molly stared at him, trying to place him, trying to remember his name. She was pretty sure that she hadn't fucked him, and he wasn't a member of her family or anyone from her work, but he was strangely familiar to her, and he definitely seemed to know her. Jake...Jim...John! That was it!

"John!" she said, hitting him with a smile. "What are you doing here?"