Chapter 1 - that drinking game we love

That night I've taken her out for a drink. She loves it when I take her out and gets drunk, or pretend I'm drunk. It starts few hours before -

"Hey, pudding girl." I tell her on the telephone when I'm alone in my office. "Tonight we're going out, and you're driving. So make sure to eat a LOT, 'cause I don't want you to get drunk behind the wheel."

"Ok, sweetie." She says, and I can already hear that special shake of excitement in her voice.

"Lots of carbs to suck the alcohol away." I'm crossing my legs, imagining her touching herself already. "And you may masturbate, but no orgasm."

"Ooh!"

" ;Yeah, ooh."

When I get back home it's already after she had finished two loafs of bread with butter and jam.

"Looking good, Sophie," she says as I'm slipping into my sexy dress. I give her my royal smile, and then checking her out.

"I don't see enough skin, Olivia." I tell her sharply. She blushes. From time to time, after I make her gain weight faster than usually, she goes back to those black sacks she call clothes. I don't like it. It's annoying, as if she's telling me "I don't like your art."

You see, her body IS my art.

She changes her clothes to a skirt and shirt that I've got her a while ago. Very snug. Her fat folds spill from the skirt like soft pudding. I want to take a bite from her belly and shake my head like a dog trying to tear a piece of meat, to feel the warm soft sensation of the jiggling white flesh around my face. Ammmmm-hmmmmm.

Where was I?

Yes, the bar.

As she drives, I let myself lean in the chair and look outside the window. I had a long day at work, full of bony clients holding the table too tightly, their skinny-skinny arms full of blue veins. I hate them the most. Especially the richy-bitchy, whining because they want to look cool. They twist their face as I tattoo them because they have no meat. God, just eat something, you can afford it, right?

I'll never tattoo Olivia, though. She is like and ever growing moon - always changing and getting bigger. I don't want anything permanent on her.

I use henna instead. Black and red. It vanishes after couple of months, and her body is ready to except my next mark. Sometimes I plan in advance; sometimes I just do it intuitively, using her stretch marks as my guideline.

Olivia doesn't talk much when she feels I'm in the mood; I really appreciate that in her. Generally you may say she is the quieter kind of a girl. I really need to poke her weakest spots to get a reaction from her. I think that's why she's staying with me and taking in all of my dominatrix bullshit. I mock her, tease her, sometimes even making her cry... But I'm making her react. I'm forcing her to react, actually.

I'm having a hard time to think about her living normal healthy life, with a sweet husband encouraging her to go on a diet and reading the kids a bed time story. I seriously don't think she would have survived that kind of live. But maybe it's just me feeling guilty that I'e somehow traumatized her for a lifetime, preventing her this kind of HBO modern fairytale life style.

*** this. "Are you horny, fatso?"

Her hands on the wheel tremble a bit, but she stables them and tightens her huge thighs against each other. "H-how can you tell?"

I'm turning my face from the window, to her. "I can smell you."

I can tell how excited she is right now. Her cheeks are very pink, and her eyes sparkle a bit. "You have a very developed sense of smell there, darling."

"I am a very developed person."

She stops next to the new bar I've told her about, and park. She doesn't really have to park, we are in the middle of ***ing nowhere, it a road surrounded mostly by dirt. Still, she parks the car carefully next to another car, in a neat line.

"com'on." I open the door with my high heeled boot. "I want to drink a shot from the belly button of your before I'll make it pop."

"Sophie..." she is blushing again, but walking after me obediently, her flesh jiggles from one side to another as she tries to walk next to me.

As we go in, I see a lot of stares turning at me. I'm used to it. I can tell that during this evening, I'll have enough male attention. But this is not my plan for tonight. Tonight, I just want to humiliate Olivia so hard that she'll be able to feel a whole barrel with her juices even before we'll get to bed.