Rosie Cheeks Ch. 04: Swinging Volley

"Hey, Mom!" Rosaline practically sang into her phone.

"Who is this?" A gentle voice floated back. It managed to sound like a melody despite the distant crackles. "Mom? I'm not a mother. I haven't been for years."

Rosaline beamed, tears already beginning to blur her vision. "You're a liar."

"Oh... wait. There's just the faintest memory... Josie? Little Josie?"

"No, no, no, hon, you've got it all wrong. That's our son Schmozaline," another voice joined in.

Rosaline laughed. "Hi Dad!"

As usual, her father broke first. "Oh, Rose! Hello! We miss you!"

"Your father never lets me have any fun. How's school, sweetie? We've been missing you constantly."

Rosaline sniffled. She could hardly believe it. After a month, an entire MONTH of maintaining the no-contact rule, she was finally hearing her family's voice. "School is good! It's hard, but... good."

Rosaline reclined backward, anxiously waiting for a reply. She was sat outside a coffee shop, situated right outside Darrington Library. The quaint little place sat right on the top of a massive hill that rose hundreds of feet in the air, giving her a bird's eye view of the campus below. From here, she could see it all -- dorms, lecture halls, students like ants running to and fro, all dwarfed by the massive eyesore that was the bell to the south. It was all a mite overwhelming, yet Rosaline found herself oddly soothed by the hustle and bustle of it all so far down below.

Before she knew it, Rosaline was gushing about the shape her life had taken at Garrison University. She told her parents about how scared she had been on her first day, and how she had been terrified of every person's eyes. She told them of Grace and her comforting effect, and how the two had become fast friends. She told them of her classes, her schedule, and the transition from bombastic and new to mundane and expected her campus life had taken. She hadn't noticed until the words left her mouth, but she was beginning to settle into her new life. Her cheeks hurt from smiling at the thought.

"Grace sounds like a treat to be around," her father applauded.

"Hold on to that one, Rosie!" Her mother agreed. "I don't suppose we have any boys to worry about?"

Rosaline felt a little drop in her stomach and shot an anxious glance around the pavilion. She shifted a little in her seat, and once again thanked her lucky stars the best coffee shop on campus had seating without armrests. "Actually... there might be. Still a maybe, but... I really like him," she confessed, reeling a touch from her mother's excited squeals on the other end of the line. "I'm supposed to be meeting him in a second, actually..." her voice lowered, as if this was a fact to be concealed.

"Oh, well, if you're meeting him don't let us keep you, Rose. Can't wait to hear more about him!" her father exclaimed. Was that... a crack in his voice? She could barely hear it through her mother's excited hollering in the background.

"You will!" she beamed. "I'll call you guys later. I love you!"

"We love you too, hon. Take care!"

And just like that, with a muted click from the other end of the line, she was alone again. She halfway expected to feel a pang of longing return in her chest but was surprised to feel... excitement. She was alone -- but not nearly as alone as she'd been just a week or two prior. Something had shifted inside her. She was examining this feeling, curiously experiencing it, when she began to feel whispers coming from behind her.

She tensed. Rosaline rested her elbows on the table before her and took a little sip of her coffee. All too soon she was yet again keenly aware of the fact that her gigantic buttcheeks, ever determined to defy containment, dangled off her chair to the left and right. She must look ridiculous from behind, she realized. Turning her head over her shoulder as subtly as possible, she just barely caught a glimpse of movement from a group of boys about her age. They had been walking behind her, and a few had quickly turned their necks up, down, to one another as she had peeked at them -- averting their gazes. They whispered inaudibly to one another with displays of comradery, clapping shoulders, silent laughter, eyes making dangerous peeks at Rosaline's titanic ass that looked to be capable of swallowing the chair underneath her. She was intensely aware of their eyes and the chair, both of them digging into her assflesh with exploratory curiosity. She forced herself to turn forward again. Watching them would do no good -- they would ogle her anyhow, and she had learned to expect the stares. That was a part of her curse, after all -- one could only do so much to hide a posterior large enough to swallow a man like Titus.

Titus. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of him, the memory of him being drawn into her, engulfed by her humiliating lower half. Humming to herself to drown out her spectators, she opened up her phone and clicked on his name as it had been saved -- Ty, with a little smiley face next to it. She opened their messages and read them to herself, feeling a gentle flame of anticipation rise up within her.

"Hey, Ty! I know we've spent the past few nights together, but... would you want to meet me for another date after work?

"Heya boat girl. I'd love to -- where/when?"

"I'll meet you at the coffee shop at the top of the student center?"

"Be there. I'll make my way down when I get my break at 4. ;)" The wink caught her off guard. It was incredible how such a simple thing made her heart flutter.

"See you then, handsome." She cringed. Grace had begged her not to send that one, and she hadn't listened. Now she was thinking that perhaps her best friend had been right about it being "a little too much." Rosaline tossed aside the thought and looked at the time. 4:04... he'd be here any minute! She fought the urge to squeal. She had not stayed a single night in her dorm since the night she and Titus had met, a fact Grace had reminded her of constantly. Four days of classes, hanging out with Grace, Elle, Kara, and Frannie, and meeting Titus after work -- Four days of drinking, sloppy kisses, and feeling him inside her. The two had spent the nights talking at the bar and waiting until it was empty, and every night they had returned to that little break room... with some difficulty. Little had changed - Rosaline's colossal ass was still far too wide to enter the room, even if she turned sideways and waddled through like a crab -- her cheeks would simply become wedged with utterly no hope of escape. Even if she wanted him then and there, as soon as possible, she was forced to rely on him to force her mass through. Some days had been harder than others as she had stood there, forced to admire the feeling of his rough hands on her expanse, so tantalizingly close to the futon where he would have her yet incapable of moving forward an inch without his aid -- tossing sweet temptations over her shoulder as her legs struggled to pull her through. Every night she needed him to free her -- and every morning she again required his help to escape. Her face grew hot. Visualizing it now left her mortified, humiliated, cursing herself for allowing herself to be seen in such a position -- but every night, without fail, her inhibitions had been shed and she had again found herself trapped and cooing at his touch.

Again she surveyed her surroundings, doing her best to avoid looking directly at her unwelcome entourage. Titus wasn't within eyesight, but that wasn't unusual. He worked a varying shift and was sometimes expected to remain a tick past the start of his break. "Plus," he had told her, a mischievous grin on his face, "I tend to get some bigger tips when they know I'm supposed to be gone."

And so she waited, gingerly sipping at her coffee. Piping hazelnut blend grew cold as she sat, checking her phone, shifting her weight, trying to get comfortable in the pitiful chair. She cursed under her breath. She really, honestly thought about grabbing another chair to share the load.... but had decided against it. What would the other students who walked by the open pavilion think? The last thing she had wanted was to draw more attention to her most enormous asset. Forcing herself into one chair had done little to dissuade the small group of boys from taking a seat at a table behind her, however, and now she was plagued with cramps deep in her glutes.

"How is that even possible..."

Rosaline's back straightened as she made out one of the whispers behind her. Her cheeks sank into a cherry red and she buried herself into her phone. No word from Titus -- and the time was 4:33.

"Hey," she typed, then erased it. "Still on for tonight?" She corrected, and hastily hit send. She watched a blue bar crawl across the top of her screen, as the message was sent.

"Can't even fit..." a whisper marveled behind her, dripping with awe.

The young woman sighed. She dared not engage them, but her patience was wearing thin. She shifted again, scrolled through her messages, and tried her best to look occupied.

"Imagine the recoil."

That did it. Rosaline planted her feet and stood purposefully on rigid legs. It did little to stifle the wobbles and waggles of her ass, and her onlookers gasped behind her with reverence and fear. She made a loud, exaggerated sigh and with dignified prose began to make her way to the exterior counter. Her butt, unruly as ever, refused to comply, and both cheeks seemed to wave at the little crowd of boys emphatically as she walked. Her focus was straight ahead -- she refused to look back despite the temptation to rip into them.

Nevertheless, she was keenly aware of just how much "recoil" was happening behind her as she reached the front counter, ordered another coffee, and waited for the group of boys to grow bored and leave the pavilion before she returned to her solitary table. As she timidly made her way back, she found that her seat had gained a companion while she was gone -- a second chair, placed right next to the first. Rosaline regarded it with exasperation and scanned the area for the boys that had left her this "gift..." but they were absent from the pavilion, having departed with shocking speed. Shaking her head, she swallowed her pride and eased her massive lower body on the wider surface the combined chairs offered her. They creaked with her weight, and she tensed, halfway expecting them to snap like twigs beneath her. No such fall came, however, and she slowly relaxed as she began her work on her new coffee.

She couldn't deny this seating arrangement was much more comfortable.

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It was 5:10... and still, Titus was nowhere to be seen.

Rosaline scratched the carboard cover of her second empty coffee cup, eyes darting back and forth across the tables and chairs -- now looking much more deserted. This was unlike him. He had been late, sure, but never by more than an hour... never by more than thirty minutes. Something had gone wrong. She extracted her phone and, for what must have been the fourth time in the last five minutes, returned to she and the bartender's texts.

"Sent," taunted the little grey text under her last message. He still hadn't read it. Perhaps it was a busy night? Unlikely... it was a Wednesday. She bit her lip and began to type again.

"Hey... you there?" Her finger hovered over the send button.

...Was she being dramatic?

Slowly, her shoulder sank as she grappled with the question. It was possible. After all, she and the bartender had never defined their relationship... and it wasn't as if she hadn't been spending enough time with him as of late. Still, this was so unlike him, and the fact that he hadn't even read her text may have meant that something bad had happened. She entertained the thought of going to the bar to check on him...

"Thaaaaat's edging into crazy territory, Rosie," Kara's voice lazily interjected in her head. A good point Rosaline's new friend would have made, were she here.

"Maybe he just needs his space..." Grace's light, prancing dialect cautioned.

"Or maybe he doesn't want to be seen with some fat-assed SLUT," Mocked Britney Darrington's caterwauling. Rosaline winced, a hand unconsciously grasping at her backside... as if that would cover a fraction of the thing. She decided she liked Grace's interpretation better. Frowning, she opened her texts one last time.

"Heya, bar boy," she wrote out. The history major read what she had typed, cringed, and immediately revised it; "Hey, Ty. I missed you at the coffee shop! I've decided to head back to my dorm for the night. Text me if you want to hang out, or when you're free!"

She proofread the text carefully. Before she could stop herself, she clicked two more buttons -- adding a <3 as a bookend. Before she had a chance to think about it, she had clicked send. Her freckled face grew flush in seconds, and she replaced her phone at her waistband with wide eyes.

Perhaps she'd see what the girls were up to.

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Elle threw her chestnut hair over her shoulder and stared across the net with gentle determination in her eyes. She wore a back top with a wide skirt that playfully suggested at the surge of modest hips, but drew her thin form together in a pointed intensity. She flipped a tennis racquet through her fingers with ease and held the fuzzy green ball close to a cocked hip.

"What's the score?" She asked innocently as her chest rose and fell, mild exertion just barely detectable in her call. She looked positively elegant, assured, in her element. The same, however, could not be said for her opponents.

"You know damn well -- It's 3 and 0!" Kara called out, gasping. Her short green hair had been pushed in uneven patterns about her scalp, melded together in matted clumps here and there and glistening with sweat. She had, despite all notions of heat and exertion, refused to take off a huge dark hoodie that threatened to swallow her hands and the racquet she held in them whole, and the result was a dark blob held aloft by two bulging legs. She turned to look at Grace, the unfortunate partner behind her, fury crackling behind her eyes. "Can you believe her? Won three games, about to win another, and she ain't broken a sweat!"

"You mean 30 -- love!" Elle corrected, stretching her arms upward. Elle was tall, but her 0dominance made her positively tower above the meagre forms of Grace and Kara.

"I'LL SHOW YOU 30 LOVE!" Kara fumed. Her eyes were front and center, her position low. Her myriad of piercings flickered across her ears in the harsh sunlight. Grace had to squint.

"She's trying to get to you," Grace warned. Her voice was light, but her eyes were low and wide, her breath thick. She prided herself on her easygoing demeanor, but she'd be lying if three consecutive losses hadn't been a stab to her morale.

"It's. Working." Kara hissed back.

"I mean, if you'd like to just hand us the win..." Elle shot a thumb over her shoulder at Francine.

"Rosaline's coming," she groaned in response, her voice gruff and stilted. She was sitting on the court, allegedly Elle's "partner," and staring at her phone through the thickest pair of sunglasses Grace had ever seen. The curly-haired woman felt a little grin creep across her face, and she let it stay.

"I promise you, I'll have scored a point by the time she's here." Kara's eyes had not left Elle. Grace was unsure if they had even blinked.

"Sent 8 minutes ago." Frannie added. There was a slight irritation to her tone -- no doubt a symptom of yet another hangover.

Grace swore she heard something in Kara's head pop. Her mouth dropped open, the beginnings of a torrent of insults and profanity assuredly on the tip of her tongue.

"That's strange," interjected Elle, unbothered. "I thought she was spending time with her... new friend today?"

"Every other day, too," Grace agreed. "Did she say what happened?"

"Nothing. Just said 'I'm on my way, save me a serve, haha' then 'forget I said that last bit' with a crying emoji."

Kara's mouth still hung open. For a moment she looked as if she'd continue with her rampage, and then her entire body stiffened. She clasped her hands together and breathed deeply, and when she had finished she almost looked serene. "Maybe they didn't work out," she offered, nonchalant.

Grace scoffed. "What just happened to you?"

"Didn't work?" Elle's mouth twisted, Grace's comment overruled. "She's been on and on about him for a week."

"She... may get a chance to tell us herself. Check it out." With a little wave of her hand, Frannie directed the girls' attention to the hill just above the tennis courts. Beyond the chain link fence but before the looming shadow of the Garrison Center of Recreation was Rosaline -- the silhouette simply could not belong to anyone else. She was descending the steps to the lower courtyard where the four of them sat watching, lugging the form of her monstrous derriere behind her as she did. Oblivious to the stares of her friends below, she was hurriedly wiggling in the general direction of the gate they themselves had used to enter just an hour or so ago. She made to shimmy through before stopping, as if she thought better of it. The girls watched as she made a 90-degree turn and stopped again, staring intently at the gate, then over a shoulder a her rear, then at the gate, then back to her rear again, performing some silent calculation. Eventually, it seemed both plans were insufficient, and Rosaline turned and started back up the stairs...

Before rocketing down them again in a full sprint. The fact she didn't collapse under the considerable force of her back end was a miracle. For all the girls on the court knew, she could have been letting loose a battle cry or running forward in stony silence -- all they heard was the clatter of her footsteps and the shattering impact of her doughy hips into tall black fence. The whole of its structure shook at the intrusion, as if some beast from the outside raged against its structure.

When the dust had settled, the fence was still being rocked back and forth. The outcome of the great struggle was plain for all to see -- where once had been a generous gateway in the fence now stood pale Rosaline, twisting and shimmying her hips against her newest constraints. This time, Rosaline's cry of frustration was loud and clear.

"No, no! Sh- shoot, I... oh, son of a BITCH!"

Grace blinked. She wasn't aware Rosaline could use the word "bitch." The rest of the girls sat silently, taking in the spectacle. Kara's eyes were locked in, but Frannie and Elle seemed to find more interesting things to ogle elsewhere.

"You think we should get her out of there?" Kara mused, a gentle smirk settling across her face.

"No, definitely not," Grace decided. Another embarrassment might kill the poor girl. Better for her to think her mishap had gone unnoticed by her friends below.

"She's something else," said Elle. "If I had a- or if I needed to- nevermind." She bounced her tennis ball errantly, not having found the words to say what she wanted in any way close to kind.

In a moment the girls had returned to their one-sided game. In the lulls between impossible to match serves, Grace looked up the hill to the gap where she knew her friend had wedged her massive ass in an entryway she herself had passed through effortlessly, and she found herself overtaken by a heat below her belly. She silently welcomed the familiar sensation and discreetly bit her lip, returning her focus to what had just become their fourth lost game in a row. The girls started anew, left with little choice but to await Rosaline's arrival... though they didn't have to wait long. Haggard, blushing, and out of breath, the mega pear of Garrison's campus came slouching down the hill just a few minutes after her battle with the fence above. Her lovely blonde hair had become a tangle atop her head, but more noticeable was the state of her leggings. They had fallen low around her fatty hips, leaving bare skin of hip and ass visible for all the world to see, and the outer extremities of her lower body were covered in a reddish latticework of chain-link imprints. Whether she hadn't noticed her bottoms falling or simply didn't care was anyone's guess, though Grace certainly didn't find herself minding too much. She walked to the girls silently, bell-shaped legs wiggling and wobbling all the while, her eyes affixed to the ground as she approached.