The Bigger They Are

Tracy Olie walked into her husband's home office, a pencil behind her ear, a cup of coffee in her hand. Light-haired and hazel-eyed, she was half-Irish and half-Polish, 4' 9', reed thin - some, and one in particular, would say too thin -- and whip smart if not at all beautiful. She sat down at the desk, ready to do some work at the computer, when she noticed that he had one unread message in his home email account. Sender: Danielle M. Parnell.

Tracy set her coffee cup on the desk and stared at the computer screen. She wasn't a sneak or a spy, but how could she pretend not to see this when it was staring her in the face? The problem was she knew this woman.

Tracy and her husband, Joe Cardozi, were both lawyers in Washington, D.C., and, thanks to their excellent credentials and the lack of an anti-nepotism policy, both had just joined the Washington office of the prestigious law firm of SmythKnight. Although they had only been there a short time, a few things had already become very clear.

First, despite her towering intellect and being a partner in her new firm, Tracy almost didn't exist in the eyes of the firm's Managing Partner who was the self-same woman whose e-mail, yet unopened, sat in the Inbox of Joe's home account. To the extent that Mrs. Parnell gave the frail Ms. Olie any notice at all it was to practically sneer at her either in SmythKnight's marble halls, conference rooms or - more disconcertingly - the Equinox fitness club adjacent to the firm's offices where many of its lawyers worked out.

Second, although Danielle paid no heed to Tracy, she seemed to eye Joe like a delicious meal to be consumed at her pleasure. In stark contrast to his meek, mousy and by no means ugly genius of a wife, Joe Cardozi - though only an associate due to taking time between college and law school to pursue other interests - was both model good-looking and incredibly fit. Those facts however didn't interfere with his being one of the nicest, most caring men at the office and loving his wife unconditionally.

Those same characteristics (nice and caring that is) were not shared by Danielle Marie Parnell. The 46 year-old mother of three was every bit the alpha female. As brilliant as she was beautiful, the gorgeous brunette had a better body than most women half her age. Her toned legs led up to a spectacular pear shaped ass and her firm midsection gave rise to a pair of pert, baseball sized tits. Her face, a cross between Miranda Kerr and Keri Russel with its emerald green eyes and perfect smile, was flawless. There wasn't a man at SmythKnight or elsewhere whose head wouldn't turn in her presence particularly because she wore only the highest heels and most fashionable clothing that, although in good taste, showed her body to its best effect.

Unlike the affable Joe Cardozi who in his wife Tracy saw love despite her lack of purely physical beauty, the only love that Danielle Parnell had was for herself. What's more, her special thrill -- as she liked to think of it -- came from flaunting her ruthlessly exercised body, clad in her highest heels and power suits, in front of the pathetic men and boys who so desperately longed for her - the losers. The only higher high for Danielle came from knowing that the power she had over men manifested itself most satisfyingly in how weak and insignificant their lust for her made their actual wives, girlfriends and daughters feel. Perhaps they should take better care of themselves the cows.

Despite her principal role as the top lawyer at SmythKnight, Danielle had the body of fitness model and spent at least two hours a day at the gym, perfecting what was already the most perfect body Tracy had ever seen. Although only 5' 3" tall she towered over the smaller Ms. Olie even while working out which is the only time Danielle was in anything less than a 4" heel. Mrs. Parnell also seemed perpetually tanned and Tracy had been unable to take her eyes off the woman when she first saw her showering in the locker room. If anything she was too perfect, her diamond belly button ring glittering in the center of her six-pack abs, the carved contours of her calves and thighs rising into a powerful, round ass neatly bisected by the pristine white crescent of her tan line.

One day in the locker room Tracy had realized with sudden embarrassment that Danielle knew she was being watched. She smirked at Tracy, her hands on her hips, the shampoo suds running down the steep cleavage between her heavy tan tits. Tracy wondered if they were fake-- she'd never seen real breasts that were that large and that pert, and the skin seemed stretched preternaturally tight.

Watching as Danielle Parnell curled her lips disdainfully at her, Tracy felt that old high school dread of being snubbed by the richer, more popular girls. The true injustice was that this woman didn't just have an insane body-- her face was perfect too, her eyes a brilliant, emerald green, her nose small and straight, her lips full and cruel. Her thick hair was brown but streaked almost perfectly with sunlit blonde highlights; in the gym she usually wore it pulled back in a tight ponytail.

So when Tracy saw the email, she felt a great sinking feeling. She clicked on it to open it.

"Dear Joe:

I genuinely admire how much you seem to adore that little wife of yours, but wasting all of your obvious gifts on her is really such a poor use of a beautiful man. In case you ever get bored of the weak little midget, let me know. It would most certainly enhance your career prospects (and protect hers). We could get a room at the Mandarin Oriental where I could show you a few things. After a few hours with me you'll forget all about wifey.

XXX

The Boss"

Below the message was a large, high-resolution photograph of Danielle, dressed incredibly provocatively in one of her most form-fitting skirts, a sleeveless blouse and a sky-high pair of leopard print heels. The sexy solicitor was bending forward over the white leather sofa in her opulent SmythKnight office. She was looking over her shoulder, giving the viewer a sultry look. It was a photograph that would make any straight man question his vows, even one as loyal as Joe.

Tracy stared at the Danielle's arrogant, perfect features. She stared at the woman's long, well-muscled arms. She stared at the perfect smile that seemed to be smirking at her.

At 4'9", Tracy wasn't a midget, but she sometimes felt like one in Danielle's presence. In addition to her incredibly fashionable office wear, the fantastically fit Mrs. Parnell wore infuriatingly sexy outfits to the gym: skintight black spandex bodysuits; short shorts that seemed to stop midway down her ass; sleeveless tops to better show off her developed biceps and triceps. Whatever she wore, her nipples always seemed ready to burst out of her clothing, as if she were walking around in a perpetual state of arousal. Which, in fact, all the men in the gym probably were as they stared at her fantastic body. Danielle knew her power over men and flaunted it constantly, flirting with everyone, bending over to give all the husbands and boyfriends a good view of her butt, brushing her tits against them even as she gave them withering and disdainful looks.

Tracy wasn't alone in noticing the domineering diva's behavior. Some of her new partners like Lauren Butcher and Karen Manley were equally intimidated by their boss' preening behavior at the gym but none wanted to risk her job over challenging it and, unlike Tracy, neither woman had her husband in Danielle's sites. Linda Bertrand, Mrs. Parnell's executive assistant, had warned Tracy that Danielle's interest in her husband Joe was matched only by the comely counselor's similar view of Adam Hess, a bailiff at the Davidson Municipal Court where Danielle served as a pro bono judge.

Unlike Mrs. Parnell, Tracy tended to wear baggy sweats and old t-shirts when she worked out. Not that she wasn't aerobically fit, but she already had a man and she didn't see the point in trying to impress a bunch of strangers. She only weighed 85 pounds but she thought her body was just fine. More than this, and unknown to most, Tracy was far stronger than she looked. She had grown up on a farm in Iowa, with three older brothers, and she had learned quickly that whiners were not tolerated and that she would have to defend herself in this world.

Still, she wasn't nearly as strong as the Danielle. She remembered one time when she was working out on the lat pull machine. She had finished her set and sat there panting when she heard a derisive snort. She turned and found herself staring into her boss' white spandex crotch. The woman's shorts were so tight the outline of her waxed pussy lips was clearly defined beneath the fabric.

"I'm using this machine now, little girl. Why don't you run along before you hurt yourself?"

Tracy, intimidated, had stammered some kind of lame apology and scooted away, watching from a distance as Danielle did rep after rep with twice the weight Tracy could manage.

But later she grew angry, remembering how timid she had been. She wasn't going to be a coward anymore.

She typed a quick reply to the email.

"Have your assistant reserve a room at the Mandarin. I'll meet you there tomorrow at 3:00 PM. Wear something sexy."

Tracy only had to wait three minutes for a reply. She had seen Danielle constantly sauntering around with her rose gold iPhone 7Plus, and now she knew why the woman always had it with her.

"Mmmmm, I figured I could turn you around. See you at 3:00 PM. Tell scrawny not to wait up."

Tracy gritted her teeth and erased both of the Danielle's emails.

At 3:20 the next day, having told Linda Bertrand she was heading out to an important meeting and was not to be disturbed, Danielle Marie Parnell pulled into the roundabout in front of the Mandarin Oriental hotel in southwest Washington, DC, in her 2017 Mercedes AMG GT Convertible. She stepped out of the car in her 5" heels and dropped the keys on the pavement, smirking as the young valet stooped to pick them up.

"How long will you be, ma'am?"

"As long as it takes," she replied dismissively before turning on her towering heels and veritably strutted into the hotel with a little extra sway in her fabulous hips smiling as she imagined the pathetic valets watching her. Above her black Fendi heels she wore a pair of black Prada tights that profiled her incredibly well exercised ass as if it was carved from marble and made it eminently clear she could be wearing only the tiniest of thongs which indeed she was. Her imperious gaze as she strutted into the hotel lobby fell disdainfully upon the weak men who couldn't take their eyes off her and their pathetic wives and girlfriends who couldn't do a thing about it - she loved it. A gold chain belt was wrapped twice around her taut abdomen closed in front by a large Hermes "H." On top she wore a very fashionable white, ribbed, cotton tank-top and no bra. A platinum chain hung around her neck, a small diamond "D" medallion dangling in the shadowed cleavage between her majestic tits.

She was deeply tanned, thanks to her recent return from two weeks in St. Tropez where she lathered herself in cocoa butter, stripped down to her thong and bikini top, and let herself bronze. The muscles in her shoulders and arms were sharply defined but feminine. In short she was the personification of every man's uber-MILF fantasy.

Her sun-kissed and blonde highlighted brown hair was tied into a tight chignon, the better to reveal her high cheekbones and tanned, flawless complexion. She rode the elevator to the tenth floor, walked to Suite 1009, and knocked on the door. She raised one delicately plucked eyebrow as she saw that the door had been left slightly open. A note sat on the king sized bed and she picked it up.

"Take off your clothes and meet me in the shower."

Danielle laughed and entered the room. The bathroom door was closed; the sounds of soft jazz music and running water echoed soothingly through the suite that she had made Tracy Olie reserve for her earlier in the day - the irony was as delicious to her as she supposed would be her conquest - nee humiliation - of Tracy and her perfect specimen of a husband Joe Cardozi. How, Danielle thought to herself, did that anemic little nothing land such a stud?

"You move fast, don't you Joey," Danielle called toward the bathroom door, "I like that. I was feeling a little dirty."

She pulled off her tank top and tossed it on the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed temporarily removed her shoes and then stood and unpeeled the black tights. Stepping back into her towering stilettos she couldn't help but admire herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, turning in place, nude save for a tiny leopard print thong and her incredibly high heeled shoes.

Danielle's only true love was herself, and nothing got her hornier than watching herself nearly naked. She always insisted on positioning a mirror during lovemaking, so that could she could delight in her own tanned, machined body, her grinding hips, her sweat-streaked thighs, her heaving tits with their creamy thong bikini tan line. Although she had originally intended merely to have Joe Cardozi service her with his tongue while she took compromising pictures of the Adonis like stud in the act to forever bind him and his weakling of a wife to her will, she contemplated letting the gorgeous young man have more than a taste if the spirit so moved her.

Charged with lust, Danielle Parnell opened the bathroom door and stepped into the steamy room.

"You ready for me, big boy?"

A camera sat on the counter and the Danielle grinned. She loved to be photographed naked and knew that she could manipulate Joe Cardozi into letting her have the camera when their fun was done. More than that, she loved sending compromising photographs of her conquests to the weak little whimpering wives who'd been left alone. How jealous they must feel, to see their husbands so aroused knowing that they had been unfaithful! How sexless and stupid they all were in comparison. Their frumpy forms and pea brains nothing when held up to Danielle's goddess-like body and mind!

The glass door to the massive shower was closed and completely fogged over with steam. She smiled as she walked toward the shower, feeling her nipples hardening, her pussy getting slick.

Danielle only toyed with married men. She loved the power she felt, stealing them away from their obedient little wives. The thought of the women's agony, when they eventually found out their husbands had betrayed them - Mrs. Parnell could think of nothing sexier.

Humiliating weaker women - be it mentally or physically -- had always been a great turn-on for her.

She smiled as she stepped past the piled clothing on the floor. If she'd looked a little closer, she might have realized the hoody was too small, the tennis shoes only size 4s. But Danielle was quite distracted, her hairless pussy already slick with the thought of her imminent conquest.

"You know that little wife of yours can't compete with this," she gloated, opening the shower door. "I bet you don't even remember her name."

Danielle squinted into the steam. The shower was empty.

"Oh, I know her name."

Mrs. Parnell's eyes widened dramatically. That wasn't Joe's voice. In fact, it sounded like a woman...

She turned, staring with shock at the little dirty blonde who stood before her with clenched fists, wearing nothing but a pair of blue-jean shorts and a t-shirt.

"It's Tracy."

Tracy's older brothers had taught her how to box when she was younger and she never forgot their lessons. Snarling with a lioness' fury, she pivoted on her rear foot, swiveling her narrow hips, getting all of her 85 pounds into the punch. She had placed her diamond engagement ring on her right hand for the occasion, and her little fist flashed through the air, smashing into Danielle's chin with a very satisfying crack.

The power of the blow lifted the once domineering diva onto her tip-toes, her back arching backwards, her tanned buttocks clamping together. Her mouth opened and a pained groan sounded past her full lips, those same lips that had smirked at Tracy with disdain so many times before.

"Uhhhnfff..."

All this must have happened in half a second but for Tracy everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She had been waiting so long for this moment, had been hoping for it so badly, that now she seemed able to will reality to move frame by frame.

Any casual observer looking at a snapshot of the scene would have been startled by the implausibility. Danielle stood a good five inches taller than Tracy. She was far more muscular, her ass seemingly carved from marble, testament to the endless hours of squats she did while watching herself in the mirror. Her arms looked twice as strong as Tracy's slender reeds. Her perfectly muscled back seemed as faceted as a diamond, and her stomach was so chiseled it looked ready for use as an anvil.

But her glorious body, her powerful muscles, couldn't help her now. Danielle's emerald green eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her pert breasts bounced as she began to fall.

Mrs. Parnell flopped backwards, her arms hung useless by her sides as she slammed against the tiled wall of the shower. She skidded slowly to the floor, squeaking against the wet tiles, ending up spread-eagled on her back in the shower spray, her mouth slightly open, and her perfect breasts rising and falling softly, her immaculately hairless crotch a thin strip of white on her bronzed body. Warm water showered down on her unconscious form, puddling in the gap between her breasts, running in rivulets down the channels of her abdominals, pattering off the slick pink skin of her exposed sex.

"Stay away from my husband," Tracy said.

Tracy turned off the water and stared down at her defeated enemy. She shook her head in disbelief. Tracy had hoped that, as with most bullies, Danielle Marie Parnell liked dishing it out more than she liked taking it. She hadn't even dreamed that she would end the fight with a single right uppercut. Giggling with the impossibility of it all, she bent down and jiggled one of the broken woman's tits with her fingers. Danielle did not move. She was out cold. Despite her hatred of the woman she once feared, Tracy was impressed to learn that those tits were 100% real.

Finally, Tracy smiled. At 4'9" and 85 pounds, and she'd just knocked out a fitness-freak and office martinet who would have continued to bully her for years.

Tracy set up the digital camera, making sure she framed the picture perfectly. She stepped into the shower, placing one foot on Danielle's wet face. Raising her arms in the victory pose, she turned to look over her shoulder at the camera. As the timer ticked down, Tracy gave a wicked grin and thrust her little butt out.

"Say cheese, bitch."

She couldn't wait to send the photograph to Lauren, Karen and Linda. Danielle Parnell was finished.

* * *

Flush with her victory, Tracy smiled as she watched the warm stream of shower water run down Mrs. Parnell's once perfectly made-up face. Perhaps, thought Tracy, she should have a bit more fun with little Miss Perfect before heading back home to give her husband Joe the best sex he'd ever have. Although she loved the fact that her new colleagues would enjoy the private pictures headed their way, she felt that "The Boss" may need a more public comeuppance to put an end to her predatory behavior. But how?

Stealing out into the hotel hallway for a moment to think about it, Tracy spied a wheeled room service cart, white linen table cloth and all, waiting to be cleared from in front of a nearby guest room. As the proverbial light bulb went off over her head, she quickly decided on how to heap one final - and very public - indignity upon her still out cold nemesis.