The AMFOP

Nothing feels better than shutting down your computer on a Friday afternoon and starting the weekend, Mark thought to himself. Except maybe sex with his new bride, he added with a little smirk as he closed out the CAD files he had been working on. Hopefully the wife was in the mood this weekend. "The wife!" He still wasn't used to calling her that.

Mark was fresh out of school and the newest member of a small, boutique marine engineering firm. Just twenty-six, Mark was the youngest engineer at the company. As the new guy, he couldn't be seen cutting out of work early, but most of the senior engineers were long gone. The only two still hanging around the office were Slim and Doug and they weren't working. They were just tipping back beers and swapping dirty jokes.

"Slim" was an ironic nickname: He was a big fat guy who must have weighed at least 260 pounds, maybe more. Slim was in his early sixties with a balding pate, a prominent gut and a double chin that wobbled as he slowly wound his way to the punchline. "So, she tells him again that she won't have sex with him. And this guy is all worked up: He needs some release desperately, you know?" Slim was getting invested in the joke now. "So, he tells her she can just give him a blowjob."

Slim paused for dramatic effect, taking a swig from his beer, while Doug waited expectantly. Doug was in his late sixties, a few years older than Slim, and he had the silver hair to show for it. Tall and lean, years of running 5k races had given Doug a taut, muscular build.

"'I don't give blowjobs,"" Slim continued, imitating a woman's high-pitched voice.. "'A man doesn't respect you after you've had his penis in your mouth.'"

That made Doug snort, but he didn't interrupt as Slim plowed ahead with his joke. Mark was ready to leave, but having overheard this much, he found himself hanging around for the payoff.

"The guy insists that's ridiculous. 'Of course I'll still respect you,' he assures her. 'I love you, sweetheart! Please!' This goes on for a minute or two, with the lady saying that she doesn't suck dick because otherwise men won't respect her and the guy using all his charm to convince her otherwise. Finally, the woman relents. She unzips his pants, takes out his cock and wraps her lips around the head. She's hesitant at first; due to her inexperience, but soon she gets into a rhythm. After a while, the guy is moaning, his leg is shaking, and she gets him to cum in her mouth. She swallows the load and, looking up at him, asks, 'Did I do a good job?" Again, Slim paused for effect.

"The guy doesn't miss a beat. He responds right away. 'Shut up, you cocksucking slut.'"

Doug laughed, but not as loudly as Slim, whose chins jiggled as he guffawed riotously at his own joke. Mark chuckled quietly, mostly to himself, but Slim picked up on it and decided to haze the new guy a little.

"What are you laughing at, boy? That joke is for the grown-ups. You're too young to get it," Slim taunted, with a broad smile on his face that let Mark know it was all in good fun.

"I'm only young compared to you old farts," Mark shot back, giving as good as he got. "But I'm no boy. Maybe you forgot, but I got married a few months ago."

The sassiness of the young man's reply had Slim momentarily at a loss for words. Doug immediately capitalized on the opportunity to roast both of them. "Yeah, Slim, maybe you forgot," Doug said mockingly, echoing Mark's words. "Little Markie here is all grows up," This time all three of the engineers had a hearty laugh.

As the chuckles died down, Slim polished off his beer and said to Mark, in a more serious tone, "I actually did forget you got married, Markie. As a newlywed, you must not have any problem getting all the pussy and blowjobs you want."

The comment was so prying and presumptuous that it caught Mark off guard. He knew he should just smile and nod. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Besides, Mark was a private and introverted person by nature. He didn't talk about sex even with his close friends -- and he hardly even knew Slim and Doug. But something in what the older man said had struck a nerve. Maybe it was the way he condescending way he referred to him as "Markie." Or maybe it was the way he smugly assumed he knows what the sex life of a newlywed is like. Or maybe it was something else. Mark himself didn't know exactly why he felt compelled to open up in that moment, but he did, candidly responding, "Oh, I don't know about all that. Amy and I are definitely still in that honeymoon phase. But blowjobs on demand? Ha! Amy would never go for that." There was a just a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

"Amy! That's your wife's name?" Doug asked, keeping the conversation clean.

"Yeah. Amy," Mark said somewhat sheepishly, remembering that his wife probably wouldn't be in the mood to fuck him later if she knew he would be blabbing about it to two dirty old men at work.

"And Amy doesn't suck her husband's cock?"' Slim asked, chiming back in. His question was so direct, and so vulgar, that a momentary hush fell over the room. Mark was annoyed at himself for having opened the door to this conversation and all he wanted to do is end it so he could get the hell out of there. The weekend beckoned to him.

"Well," Mark said, stalling for time because he didn't know how he wanted to respond. The frustrating truth was that no, Amy did not suck his dick, at least not yet. But before he could think of the best way to finish that sentence, the words were already flying out of his mouth. "I'm working on it," he said.

Slim and Doug turned to each other and laughed. Mark felt himself blushing with embarrassment.

"Working on it, huh?" Doug muttered. "What seems to be the problem?"

Mark had no interest in having this conversation with two decrepit old co-workers, especially on a Friday evening. He would rather do just about anything than explain to colleagues more than twice his age why his young wife refused to give him a blowjob, but he didn't see any way out of it. Mark cursed under his breath and then did his best to seem casual about the whole thing. "There's no problem. Amy is very sexy and good in bed. She just doesn't give head, that's all. Anyhow, my darling wife is expecting me, so I better get going."

Mark hoped that the guys would be satisfied with that, but Doug kept digging for more details. "Whoa, hold up, Markie. What do you mean she just doesn't give head? If Amy is so sexy, then there must be some reason why she won't suck your cock. You said you're working on it, so what is this bitch's problem?"

Mark felt the blood rush to his face. Doug had no right to talk about his wife that way. But the grin on older man's ruggedly masculine face suggested that he meant no offense, so rather than risk angering one of the firm's senior partners, Mark clenched his jaw, swallowed his anger, and pretended not to notice the insult. "I told you, there's no problem," Mark said, trying hard to sound nonchalant. "Amy is a feminist and she just thinks that -- "

Mark couldn't even finish explaining. As soon as Slim and Doug heard the "f" word, they began howling and hooting derisively. The old men were a few beers deep at this point and the alcohol had them feeling feisty. "A feminist!" Slim spat, as if the word itself tasted bad.

Inside, Mark wanted to scream. What was he thinking? Why had he allowed this conversation to even get started? He was furious with himself for oversharing with these old fucks. At this point, he fully expected these guys to go off on a misogynistic rant about how feminists suck -- or, worse yet, don't suck. But mercifully, Doug just slapped him on the back and said, "Go on, kid, get home to the Mrs. Maybe this is your lucky weekend. But don't worry. If it's not, then Slim and I will help you fix this little problem: We got you."

"Yeah, kid!" Slim concurred. "We will work on this little problem together!"

Having finally escaped the office, and his colleagues' prying questions, Mark began to relax. As he walked to his car, a heavy rain was pouring down, but he hardly noticed as a wave of relief washed over him.

Mark had to pick up some take out on his way home, so he arrived soaking wet. "Home" was a modest studio apartment on the bottom floor of a three-family house built circa 1935. It was a cozy little space, full of charming period details, but what really made it a home, Mark mused to himself as he turned his key in the door, was his even more beautiful and charming wife.

Amy was a wonder to behold. She was absolutely gorgeous, with elegant cheekbones, a radiant smile, and deep, soulful blue eyes that seemed to gleam with a hint of mischief. Her complexion was fair, but she tanned easily, for which she had her mother's Italian roots to thank. Her hair was dirty blonde and naturally curly, but recently she had been straightening it. The way the blonde locks fell delicately on her shoulders, framing her pretty face and contrasting with her smooth, honey-colored skin, made her look like an angel -- a golden goddess.

But despite her rare beauty, the first thing anyone noticed about Amy was never her piercing blue eyes, her pouty red lips or her perfect teeth. It was always her huge tits.

And as Mark entered the apartment, with his sopping clothes leaving little puddles in the entry way, he felt those massive, firm, natural E cups mash against his chest as his beautiful bride launched herself up on her tiptoes, threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into an enthusiastic embrace.

"Welcome home, baby!" she cooed sweetly as she pulled back, planted a smooch on his cheek and took the bags from Mark's hands. "Thank goodness you brought food - I'm starving," she said as she set it down on a small table in their living room. The young newlyweds relaxed and caught up on the events of the day while half-watching an episode of Peep Show.

While the TV droned on in the background, Amy tucked into a plate of tofu pad see ew and began describing what had turned into a hellish day at work. Amy was a barista at Starbucks, not far from Mark's office. It was a tiny, cramped, drive through-only store, with barely enough room for Amy and one other co-worker to maintain any personal space. The tight quarters were not a problem when Amy worked alongside any of her female co-workers. The women were all young and vivacious and they all got along well. But today she had the displeasure of sharing that small workspace with Barry Donelan, the shift supervisor.

Mr. Donelan was about forty years old and married. most of the baristas were scared of him, despite his small stature. A little weasel of a man, just barely five feet tall, Barry must have suffered from a severe Napoleon complex because he went out of his way to project confidence and control. He loved to strut around with his chest puffed out, tugging at his mustache and playing the big man, but even in his special sneakers with the two-inch soles, he found himself looking up at most of his employees. To compensate for his shortcomings, Barry was surly and churlish. The only barista with whom he seemed to get along was Elsa. He said he likes her name because his daughter is a Frozen fan, but it seemed no coincidence that Elsa, at just 4 feet 10 inches. was the only barista shorter than Barry.

In between bites of her dinner, Amy told her husband about her day at Starbucks. She had worked each of the last four Fridays with Mr. Donelan and she had begun to suspect that he was deliberately arranging her schedule to overlap as much as possible with his own. By the end of the day, she was convinced of it. Mr. Donelan had taken full advantage of the small space, constantly rubbing against the voluptuous young wife's tits and ass as they hustled back and forth making drinks, the busy flow of customers at the window giving them little down time. Throughout the day, Amy caught Mr. Donelan staring wide-eyed at the impressive twin peaks pushing out her little green apron, and he passed in front of her whenever the opportunity presented itself, always trying to graze against them. Amy didn't blame herself for the unwanted contact, but she knew it was easier to "accidentally" rub up against her body now that she had gained a few pounds over Christmas. She was by no means fat, but every time Amy got dressed, she was reminded that she is carrying some extra weight. Her sweaters were tight, stretched thin by a stupendous pair of tits that grew from a D cup to an F since the summer. Her ass was noticeably fuller and more jiggly than usual, too. Whenever she wore leggings, she found herself looking for the ones with extra support for her curvy rear end. As she explained at length how Barry had taken liberties with her throughout the day, finding every opportunity to "innocently" brush against her tits and ass, Mark suddenly lost his appetite.

His stomach knotted as he heard Amy describe how she spent her shift desperately trying to avoid contact with her pervy manager -- without much success. Mark hated the idea that this gross middle-aged midget was creeping on his beautiful wife, going out of his way to make contact with her thick young body. Mark suggested she quit, but they both knew that was impossible. The wedding had put them in considerable debt. Amy's mother was deceased and she had never known her father, so there was no financial assistance from the bride's side of the family. Mark's parents had generously paid for the rehearsal dinner and the open bar, but that still left Mark and Amy to pay for everything else. After exhausting their meager savings and racking up thousands of dollars in credit card charges to pay for the wedding, there was no way they could afford for Amy to quit her job. At least for now, she would have to find a way to endure her boss' unwanted attention.

The thought made Amy depressed and she grew quiet, absent-mindedly twirling her fork while looking at her husband, hoping he would come up with a solution.

Mark felt powerless. He had no control over Amy's work situation. Hell, he didn't even have much self-control, Mark thought ruefully as he remembered the way he foolishly divulged details about his sex life at work. But then an idea struck him.

"You know," Mark began, not sure himself exactly where he was going. "My office is right nearby. If Barry pulls this shit again, I could come use the drive through on a Friday. Maybe seeing your husband show up would make him back off. And if that doesn't work, I can always have a talk with him, man to man."

The last thing Amy wanted was her husband having any kind of "talk" with her boss. She liked to be independent and no self-respecting feminist wanted a man fighting her battles for her. But something about the way Mark was willing to stand up for her turned her on. Amy felt a tingle in her pussy. For just a moment, she wondered if perhaps it was all the rubbing from Mr. Donelan that had her worked up, but she banished the thought as quickly as it came. Mark still didn't get a blowjob that night, but he did get lucky.

The couple spent the rest of the weekend together in wedded bliss. They didn't have much spare money for entertainment, but they ran errands together, snuggled on the couch watching TV, and on Sunday they splurged on brunch. By the time Monday morning arrived, they both felt refreshed and ready to take on the week.

When Amy arrived at the Starbucks drive through, Elsa had already opened it and begun brewing the day's first pot of coffee. Amy shot Elsa a grateful look as she entered the tiny booth and began tying on her apron. Sharing the tiny space with Elsa was easy. She was extremely petite, probably weighing under 100'pounds. Amy had always liked Elsa, but until now she hadn't properly appreciated just how cute she is. At nineteen, Elsa still had the round face and chubby cheeks of a baby and she was just as adorable, with dreamy green eyes, long lashes, a button nose, and long brown hair that she wore in a tight ponytail. She had none of Amy's rich curves, but her body was young, tight, and didn't have an ounce of fat on it. The girl was a total knockout.

Amy was so distracted by her cute little co-worker that it took her a minute to remember that she wasn't supposed to share a shift with Elsa until Friday. "Hey," Amy turned to Elsa while strapping on the headset to begin taking orders, her voice sweet and gentle. "I thought we didn't work together until Friday. Did you accidentally come in on your day off?"

"No," Elsa replied while she poured a cold foam latte. "Mr. Donelan switched with me. I got this shift and he took my shift on Friday."

"Of course he did," Amy muttered angrily under her breath.

"Is that a problem?" Elsa asked, her tone one of genuine concern.

"No, it's not your fault," Amy began. She hadn't intended for Elsa to hear that comment. She didn't feel comfortable talking about their boss at work. But the cat was out of the bag, so Amy didn't deny her disdain for the man. "It's just that Barry -- uh, Mr. Donelan -- makes me uncomfortable. He has scheduled himself to work with me just about every Friday and when we work together," Amy's voice lowered to a whisper, "he always rubs up on my body. I feel his crotch against my ass whenever he slides by, or he will just happen to brush against my breasts. The man gives me bad vibes."

Elsa nodded sympathetically. "Me, too, sis! Everyone around here always acts like I'm so lucky because Mr. Donelan is nice to me. But if they knew what he's like when I'm alone in here with him, they would realize how fucked up it is. The man is a freak."

Hearing Elsa talk about their sketchy little boss gave Amy a momentary shiver. "What's he like when you're alone?" she asked, not knowing whether she really wanted to hear the answer.

Meanwhile, only a mile or so down the road. Mark was staring intently at an engineer's drawing of a Navy salvage ship. His assignment was to perform certain calculations to ensure that the dry dock could safely accommodate the ship's weight distribution when it came out of the water for repairs, but Mark was new to this and he was struggling to figure out the next step. Rather than risk looking stupid by asking for help, he had tried to figure it out on his own, but to no avail. Conceding defeat, Mark looked around for someone who could help him. Seeing that Doug was in his office, Mark knocked gently on the door before opening it and poking his head inside.

The senior engineer needed less than a minute to solve the problem that had been vexing Mark all morning. As an added bonus; Doug showed Mark exactly what to do with the next part of his assignment. That would spare him hours of wasted time. Mark thanked him profusely, to which Doug replied with an invitation. "If you want to thank me," the sly silver fox replied, "then hang out with Slim and me on Friday. We can throw down some brews and you can tell us how you're doing with that other problem of yours."

Mark had no choice but to accept.

That night, Mark was home before Amy, so he got dinner started and greeted her with a kiss when she arrived. Tossing her purse on a hutch, Amy bound into the apartment and headed straight to the bathroom to wash up. She loved when her husband cooked. "I'm going to clean up and change, but I'll be right back to eat," she said. "Wait until I tell you what I learned at work!"

Mark set the table while Amy washed off her make up, tossed her work clothes in the hamper and threw on a soft, comfy sweatsuit. When the blonde beauty returned, ready for dinner, Mark was already seated and gazing at her lovingly -- and lustfully. She was so gorgeous that even with her hair in a messy bun, no makeup and wearing sweat pants, she looked fantastic. Amy had indulged herself a bit over Christmas, making merry with cookies and pastries and candy and eggnog, so she was just a tad heavier than usual, but the extra pounds only enhanced the allure of her bountiful tits and ass, and Mark could not help staring at the way her killer curves made that sweatsuit pop. Just looking at her was enough to make him want to rip off her clothes and mount her right on the floor.