The AMFOP

Amy almost wanted to stick around for the comic spectacle of miniature Mr. Donelan standing on his tip toes so he can see out the drive through window. But it had been a harrowing day as she endured a barrage of unwanted touching, rubbing, brushing, and nudging from her married boss -- a man nearly twice her age -- to say nothing of the fact that he had asked her on a date. She felt abused and vulnerable and she needed to get home to a safe space with her loving husband. Still, Amy could feel the wetness between her legs and for a moment she considered the disturbing possibility that being groped by that sick midget might have turned her on. She banished the thought as soon as it came, reassuring herself that if she was aroused, then it was because her handsome young husband had come to her rescue -- eventually.

Amy could hardly wait to get away from Mr. Donelan, but first she had to thank Mark's co-workers for driving him there. She grabbed her purse and headed outside. Mark had exited the car and was waiting for her, but Slim and Doug were starting to drive away. By now, there was a car waiting behind them, but before they could move along, Amy approached the driver's side window. Slim rolled it down, only to find himself crushed against Amy's massive sweater puppies as she leaned into the car to give him a hug. "Thank you, guys, so much for driving Mark over here! He can leave his car at the office and we'll pick it up later. I really owe you guys one!" she said sweetly.

Slim was momentarily unable to speak. Looking into Amy's dreamy blue eyes, feeling her pillowy tits mashed against him, smelling her up close -- he was lost in lust. Luckily for him, Doug still had his wits about him and decided that, if the young beauty owed them one, then by all means she should repay the favor.

"Well, it was our pleasure," he said, leaning forward in the passenger seat so he could see around Slim's ample frame. "But since you owe us one, why don't you have us for dinner next Friday? Slim and I are single, so we don't get too many good home-cooked meals," he added, before breaking a toothy smile. The old man probably has dentures, Mark thought to himself. And that one needs a fucking girdle, he mused to himself as he watched Slim extend the hug and pull Amy closer. Watching his wife enveloped by his chunky co-worker, Mark wondered whose boobs were bigger -- Amy's or Mark's.

"Sure!" Amy exclaimed excitedly. "It's a date! See you guys at 6:00 next Friday evening. Mark can give you the address. Bring your appetites!"

"We will," Slim replied, his voice thick with double meaning.

With that, Amy and Mark piled into her car and drove home. They had a lot to talk about and didn't even notice that Slim's car didn't follow them out of the parking lot, but circled back into the drive through line.

The ride back to their apartment gave Amy almost enough time to tell Mark all about the nightmare with her boss, but not quite. As they entered the apartment, kicked their shoes off and got settled, Amy finally came to the dramatic conclusion of her story. "So that was when he asked me out. He tried to be casual about it, but it was so awkward. I mean, I know he's married and he knows I'm married. What the fuck?"

By this point, Mark was only half-listening, but he sensed that it was his turn to say something. "So, then what happened? he asked, resolving to pay better attention. This asshole was trying to date his wife, he reminded himself. He couldn't let that happen. But he was starting to find the idea strangely arousing and his thoughts began to wander, percolating with dark erotic visions of Amy and her boss, Mark snapped his head back and forth, as if he might shake the images from his mind.

"What happened?" Amy asked in response. "Do you mean what did I say?"

"Yes, what did you say?" Mark corrected himself.

"I didn't know what to say! I was in shock! I wanted to say hell no, obviously, but I was afraid of how he might react. I was all alone with him in there, sharing space the size of a postage stamp. It would have been crazy awkward to just say no."

"Wait," Mark said, almost incredulous. "Did you say yes?!" This possibility had never even occurred to him and he wasn't half-listening any more. Amy had his full attention.

"Well," she began, hedging. "I didn't say yes or no. I said I needed to think about it."

"You said you would think about it?" Mark repeated. "Doesn't that imply that you might be interested?" He felt his heart sink, but his cock start to stiffen.

"I don't care what it implies, Mark! I needed to get him away from me and it worked. After that, he gave me more space... not that it lasted long. This happened just before you guys pulled up." When Amy started addressing him by name, Mark knew she was getting agitated, so he decided it was better not to ask her too many questions. His head hurt anyhow and as he started to sober up, he knew a hangover was not far behind.

"You'll just have to find a way to get out of it without pissing him off," Mark offered as he rummaged around for ibuprofen.

"I'll have to do that? And what are you going to do, Mark? Just sit there drinking beers while your wife is under attack?" There she went using his name again. Her tone of voice really left no doubt that she was angry, but addressing Mark by name confirmed it.

"Sorry, I meant 'we,' baby. Of course, I'll help!" Mark knew he had to fix this before Amy lost her shit.

Amy was partially mollified, but only partially. "You didn't help when I first texted you," she shot back. "I had to send a bunch of texts before you finally got your ass over there. I saw the read receipts, so I know you got 'em."

Mark knew Amy had a bit of a temper -- another inheritance from her Italian mother. But he also knew that he didn't ignore her texts. Amy has trained me better than that, he thought drolly. He was just about to argue with his wife about those read receipts when, for once, he thought better of it. In a flash, he knew what had happened. Doug had his phone at the time. Doug read Amy's texts and deleted them, either on purpose or because he's a Boomer who can't use a Droid. I bet he was a master of the fucking telegraph, though, Mark laughed to himself.

He needed a different story to tell Amy. Mark didn't want his wife to think Doug was an asshole. She will probably figure that out eventually, he reckoned, but right now she was grateful to Doug -- and Slim -- for coming to her aid. Why spoil her good feeling? Hasn't she been traumatized enough for one day? Besides, she had already invited them both over for dinner on Friday and Mark wanted everything to go smoothly. Telling Amy that Doug had read -- and deleted! -- highly sensitive texts meant only for her husband would only get her more upset. So, Mark decided to just fall on the sword. "I'm sorry, honey. I really am. I wasn't trying to ignore you. It just took me awhile to convince Slim and Doug that we needed to go pick you up right away. Those geriatric old men don't move too quickly, you know?" Mark could have ended it there and his story would have been more or less true. But he couldn't resist embellishing it with a little white lie. "And I didn't want to tell them why it was so urgent, I'm sorry, baby," he added.

That seemed to placate her and she let the subject drop, Mark still had unanswered questions about the situation with Mr. Donelan, but he didn't want to risk making Amy angry again after he had just calmed her down. Mark figured that the less his wife was reminded of her encounter with Mr. Donelan, the better were his chances of getting laid. The opposite was closer to the truth, but Mark didn't know that. Later that night, when Amy asked her husband to make love to her, he didn't wonder what had transformed her trauma into arousal. He did hope that Amy would finally go down on him, but he couldn't be too disappointed when his hot young wife rode his dick instead. Her pussy had never felt so snug and wet and Mark lost himself in ecstasy as she bounced that big ass up and down on his rigid cock. Mark slept soundly that night, but Amy was up half the night, churning over the day's events. Her thoughts raced, keeping her awake long after Mark began snoring. Nothing she did seemed to quiet her mind until finally she reached a hand under the covers and began slowly stroking her clit, which was hard and swollen and exquisitely sensitive to her touch. As she manipulated the nub in small circular motions, occasionally pausing to dip two fingers into her molten hot depths, she thought about her wonderful husband and his tender love-making. Before she could come, however, her mind had to wander elsewhere. The places she went left her feeling dirty and disgusted -- before making her explode in the most intense orgasm she had ever had.

The next morning was warm, with a clear, cloudless sky. The young couple could hear birds singing as they woke up slowly, entwining their legs and snuggling beneath the blankets. They had no plans for the day, a rarity, so they could take their time getting out of bed. A beam of sunshine slipped through their window blinds, illuminating tiny particles of dust dancing in the air, and Amy luxuriated in its warmth like a house cat, purring contentedly and stretching her arms above her head.

When they finally got moving, it was to take a hot shower together. Amy shamelessly hogged the hot water, leaving Mark chattering and mostly dry, but he occupied himself by taking heaping handfuls of his wife's wondrous tits and fleshy bum. He loved watching the water cascade down her body. He loved feeling the warm, cushy softness of those beautiful E cup breasts as he soaped them up and then squeezed, kneaded, groped, pinched, pulled and mashed them together. When he twisted her nipples, her knees buckled and she let out a lusty moan before spinning around and sticking her tongue down his throat. An invigorating fuck ensued.

Sex in the shower was the perfect start to what turned out to be a perfect day. Mark and Amy held hands while poking around the mall, split an ice cream sundae, then went home and took a nap before heading out to meet up with friends for dinner and drinks.

On Sunday, they did some laundry, went grocery shopping, and then lazed about the apartment watching TV and snacking.

Early Monday morning, Amy began her shift at Starbucks. Once again, she was paired up with Elsa, the pretty and ultra-petite eighteen-year-old. Now that she knew Mr. Donelan's fascination with princesses, she understood why he would be so fond of the poised, perky young woman. Amy had to admit that Elsa was fine, her tight little bod was fire and even in her barista uniform she looked every inch a princess.

The morning rush kept them busy, but things slowed down in the afternoon and Amy had a chance to tell Elsa about the way Mr. Donelan had behaved toward her on Friday. Elsa, it turns out, had worked alongside Mr. Donelan over the weekend, so she had a new encounter with him to recount as well.

Amy went first. She wanted to warn Elsa about Mr. Donelan's aggressive attempts to invade her personal space, so she did not spare a single lurid detail. But something was off. When Amy had discussed Mr. Donelan's behavior with Elsa last week, she had commiserated sympathetically. At times, Elsa had seemed even more disgusted by Mr. Donelan than Amy. She had called him a "freak" and worse. Now, however, while Amy breathlessly explained how many times their older, married boss had made "accidental" contact with her hips, thighs, tits or ass, Elsa seemed unbothered by it, even though she admitted he had done the same shit to her.

"That sounds familiar," Elsa said, but she didn't sound angry or upset. She seemed almost wistful.

"That's not the worst of it, either," Amy continued. "He asked me out! The dirty little weasel knows I am married -- and he is married with a kid for Christ's sake -- and he fucking asked me out!"

Amy expected Elsa to be horrified but her reaction was surprisingly low key. The lithe little nineteen-year-old gave Amy an inscrutable look and then asked, matter-of-factly, "Did you say no?"

"Well...," Amy began, "not exactly..." The bronzed beauty felt a flash of heat hit her cheeks. She couldn't just say no to her boss while she was trapped in a tiny space with him, but now, retelling the story, she knew that saying anything other than "no" made her sound slutty. "He was all over me again," she said, eager to excuse herself. "He was rubbing against my tits and ass whenever he could and it was making me feel claustrophobic and crazy. I told him I'd think about it just so he would let me wait on the customers in peace."

"I'm sorry he made you so uncomfortable," was all Elsa said, before adding, "But maybe he sees potential in you."

"Potential?" Amy spat back. "What do you mean? I don't want that disgusting old lecher seeing anything in me."

"Um, I promised I wouldn't tell anyone about this, so you have to keep it to yourself, okay?" Elsa said with an air of mystery.

"Of course," Amy replied. "You can trust me. What is it?"

Elsa looked hesitant, but she continued. "This weekend, some guy came into the store to see Mr. Donelan. I guess they're friends or something. This guy was letting Mr. Donelan borrow some video cameras. After Mr. Donelan loaded the cameras into his car, he introduced us. Mr. Donelan told me that his friend runs a modeling agency... and guess what? The guy offered me $3000 cash on the spot to do a fashion shoot. Maybe Mr. Donelan thinks you have the potential to be a model too! I bet the camera would love you!"

Amy's head was spinning. She had so many questions, she didn't know where to begin, and she felt so many emotions at once that she was left numb. She felt afraid for Elsa, a naive young woman who probably had no idea what she was really getting into. She felt disgusted by Mr. Donelan, whose infatuation with hot little Elsa seemed to go beyond just her name. She felt a rising sense of desperation to get out of the date on which he had invited her. Contrary to Elsa's suggestion, Amy knew she had not misinterpreted Mr. Donelan's advances. He had not mentioned anything about modeling. He had asked her out. But even as those emotions percolated in the young wife, Amy could feel something else throbbing below the surface. She was turned on, even if she was only just beginning to know it.

At the moment, she was more concerned about Elsa. "Are you sure this modeling thing is legit?" Amy asked. "Who was this so-called friend of Mr. Donelan?"

"Don't worry," Elsa said coyly. "It's legit. I already signed all the consent forms, did the measurements and the fitting, and sat through the pre-shoot. And just for that I got a grand. I'll get the rest when we do the actual shoot."

"With whom?" Amy asked again. "Who is this guy?"

"Um, I think he said his name is John Hardon. He said he's a talent scout, casting agent and film director for an exclusive modeling agency. He left a business card..." Elsa said, her words trailing off as she hunted around in her purse for the card. When she found it, Amy's skepticism deepened. It wasn't a proper business card at all. It looked like a cheap, DIY job, something anyone with a computer could just print out. All it said was: "John Hardon, American Modeling Fantasies, LLP, a subsidiary of Omega Partners."

Amy rotated the card in her hand and stared at it for a moment, thinking about something.

Only a few miles away, her husband was knocking on Slim's office door, once again in search of assistance with calculations. He was trying to determine the buoyancy of a particular boat and the numbers were not making sense. Slim sipped an iced caramel macchiato from what looked like a new Starbucks mug and then bellowed, "Come in!"

Mark opened the door a few inches, poked his head into Slim's office and asked if he had a minute to go over some calculations. "I think I could do that, Markie," Slim said with a sly grin. "But first, you have to answer one question for me."

Mark noticed the smirk on Slim's fat face and wondered what it meant, but he just nodded, adjusted the stack of papers he was cradling in his arms, and said, "Sure."

"There's a man with three girlfriends," Slim began. Mark listened, unsure where this was heading. "He wants to marry one of them, but he cannot choose which one, so he decides to gift them each $3000 and see how they respond. The first girlfriend spends the money getting a makeover and buying sexy new lingerie, all to make herself look good for her man. The second girlfriend spends the money on golf clubs, top shelf liquor and an X-Box -- all gifts to spoil her man. The third girlfriend spent the money on a crypto currency. A month later, she tripled the investment and gave it all back to her man. So, which one does he marry?" Slim punctuated his question with a mischievous grin.

"Um, uh, I guess...," Mark fumbled his answer. "I guess he marries the one that triples his money."

"Nah," Slim scoffs, waving his hand dismissively. "He marries the one with the biggest tits," he said, delivering the punchline with gusto and them chortling loudly.

Mark cracked a smile.

"Is that how you chose Amy?" Slim asked, kiddingly. Mark didn't like his co-worker talking about his wife's breasts, even indirectly, and he should have just redirected the conversation back to the calculations with which he needed help. But since Slim had brought his wife into it, Mark couldn't resist giving him some shit.

"Don't be jealous, Slim," the young man said. "I'm sure someone will marry you for your big tits, too." Now it was Mark's turn to chuckle.

Slim was less amused, but the balding old beast knew just how to put young Markie on his back foot. "Speaking of married life," he responded. "Have you solved that problem you were working on?"

"Not yet," Mark admitted.

"Well, tomorrow's another day," Slim said, but his tone was more sarcastic than reassuring. "And don't forget Doug and I are coming to dinner on Friday. Maybe that will get the little lady going for you."

"Yeah, maybe," Mark said blandly, hoping to kill the conversation. If his chances of getting a BJ depended on an old ass man and an obese slob with a bad comb-over to get his wife "going," whatever that meant, then his dick would be dry forever.

That night, Amy and Mark arrived home at nearly the same time, giving them the chance to make dinner together and catch up. Mark didn't have much news to share, but Amy was eager to spill the tea about Elsa. While she chopped onions and Mark stirred the sauce, she told him how Elsa had suddenly warmed up to Mr. Donelan and, not coincidentally, a friend of his had offered Elsa a well-paying modeling contract.

"How much is she making anyway?" Mark asked.

"She said $3,000."

"Wow!" Mark exclaimed. "That's a lot better than Starbucks pays. Who is this friend of Mr. Donelan?"

"His business card said John Hardon. Elsa said he's a big guy. I just hope she knows what she's doing. It sounds shady to me. I wouldn't trust that gross little dwarf or his fat friend."

Mark was silent for a moment, thinking, but he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. "That reminds me," Mark said, steering the conversation in a different direction. "That gross little dwarf wants to take you on a date. Have you figured out how to get out of it?"

"Hope I get COVID? That would be helpful," Amy said with dark sarcasm. "Otherwise, I'm just going to say nothing and hope he doesn't bring it up again."

Mark wasn't sure that ignoring romantic overtures from her boss was the best approach, but he knew it was a touchy subject and he didn't have any better suggestions, so he bit his tongue.

The week seemed to drift gently by. The days were long and sunny and no one was working too hard. Amy was paired up with women at the drive through, which meant that she could talk about Mr. Donelan rather than fighting him off. Mark was buried with work, but he liked it that way. He enjoyed engineering. He took satisfaction from the rigor and precision -- the way you could really solve a problem, get the answer exactly right. Sometimes he wished he could understand Amy with that same clarity. He would have expected her to be apprehensive as Friday approached. As always, Mr. Donelan had arranged to work alongside his beautiful young wife all day on Friday. But whereas Mark thought that would make her nervous, she showed no signs of anxiety. On second thought, Mark considered that Amy had seemed unusually restless in bed. At one point in the night, he woke up to find her thrashing under the blankets and even moaning softly in her sleep.