Un-Final Ending

It had not been a good week for Tara Pelvig.

A group of big, strong, tall asshats who converged on her in a sheltered aisle of a big-box store with no one else around decided it was OK to pinch her asses. She managed to turn the tables and kick 2 of the 3 of them hard enough in the nuts with her middle foot that they fell to the floor in agonizing pain and were suddenly singing soprano, with the third one discreetly hurrying away, trying to avoid notice from anyone.

She’d almost been part of a road rage incident, with someone going berserk when she legally (and with signaling) moved into a space in the adjacent lane to which this other driver, who was vastly speeding, felt entitled to claim. Horn wars ensued between this other driver and her, with the other driver getting furious and stomping the accelerator in the lane to Tara’s right, intending to pass her or maybe even side-crash into her. She was barely half a meter far enough forward out of the way when the nut job’s car rammed the back of a Highway Patrol cruiser—the start of a major traffic incident and subsequent arrest she did not have to be any part of.

Months after her death and the scattering of her ashes, Tara’s father was still grieving the death of his beloved Bettina, with whom he’d bonded in love and moved in with nearly a generation ago when Tara was just out of college and taking over the family home. She visited her father as often as she could and had him over to the house the few times he was willing, but she wasn’t a mental health professional and he needed more help. She also had plenty of her own to deal with.

Besides all that, Mr. Mercer continued his downward spiral, from half functional to barely functional. With so many customers having fled, there was so little work to do that he and she were the only ones at Model Magicians this particular Friday. She picked up the slack where she could and after all these years knew the business well, but she wasn’t a prototyping genius with vast, deep knowledge of materials and tools and what is best for what, thus there were things she could not do. He’d been getting worse all week, to the point where she seriously wondered whether he’d be able to function at all come Monday.

His refusal or inability (she knew not which) to respond to her regarding the status of an overdue project for a good client who’d waited with saintly patience was the last straw. She didn’t want to bother him, given that his office door was closed thus he was almost certainly focusing on something. Still, it wasn’t normally like him to at least acknowledge her texts with a quick emoji if nothing else. She hefted her super-porky corpulent self up to go get answers.

The first answer she got was that his office door was locked. He never locked his office door when he was in there, and she knew beyond any doubt he was in there, given that she hadn’t left her desk since the last time he went in.

“Mr. Mercer!” Rattle rattle rattle—she hoped maybe the knob and latch mechanism were sticking. “Are you alright?” Rattle rattle rattle.

Nope, the door was definitely locked. Moreover, she heard sounds the likes of which she’d never heard before: clinking, clicking, and others, unlike any of the numerous model-making tools he normally used in his office.

“Mr. Mercer, I’m really sorry to bother you, but Jan at Northern Klondike has been waiting weeks for an answer regarding their project. Just tell me quick how to set their expectations, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

No answer. More strange sounds.

As soon as she heard him gagging and retching, she realized something very badly wrong was likely going on. Her mind flashed back to about 9 years earlier (not long after she’d started with Model Magicians) when thieves broke into the outer office where she worked through the front (hallway) door. They hadn’t jimmied the lock nor picked it, they’d thrown themselves against the door near the latch hard enough that it ripped the strike plate right out of the wooden door jamb of their old office building. That exterior lock set had been replaced with a stronger one with the strike plate deeply anchored by very long, strong screws passing through several framing members. The door to Mr. Mercer’s office was the same original construction and had never been upgraded.

All the above passed through Tara’s mind in mere seconds, at which point she backed up and ran full-speed at the door, using her left foot to kick it directly at lock level, just inside the knob, with all her weight and momentum behind it and full balance and stability from her two other legs.

It worked: the door flew open.

Of the many odd and out-of-place things a person like her familiar with Mr. Mercer’s office might notice, the only ones which registered with her were his startled, shocked expression, how messed up he looked, and how he was holding a handgun to his temple!

Adrenalin shot through her, allowing her to run straight at him, screaming “Noooo!” as she did.

He froze, unable to move, still startled and now seeing his three-legged extremely fat office manager who’d been slowing down as she fattened well into the 600s of pounds (not that he knew the number) run.

Bap!—she hit his right hand hard, knocking the gun right out of it, sending it flying through the air then skittering across the floor. It did not discharge.

He started sobbing like a baby, filling the room with wailing sadness of a depth few non-depressed people would ever know, and the top of his desk with tears. The tears weren’t the only liquid on the top of his desk: as she started to take in what else was out of the ordinary in the room, she noticed various fluids he’d obviously retched up. Then an odd mix of bottles with assorted liquids, some medicines and others she couldn’t easily identify. Then a stained piece of printer paper with a recipe for self-deliverance. Then a nearly empty bottle of bourbon.

It very quickly dawned on her that the gun was Plan B, which he was about to utilize after the chemical cocktail of Plan A came back up and out of him before it could succeed.

Mr. Mercer, why?!” she whined, instinctively claiming and caressing his hand.

Because I can’t stand the pain of living another day of my loveless life surrounded by stunningly beautiful people enjoying life and love when I can’t even get Hugs and Cuddles and can’t Ever share consensual sexy intimacy with them!” Soon as he finished speaking, his wailing sobbing resumed at full volume.

“Who?! I’m the only one here around the front office any more besides you. Or is this at home or somewhere else where the beautiful people are?”

It’s YOU!

Beyond being surprised, she didn’t know what to think when his sobbing suddenly stopped almost entirely, as he reached out both hands, placing them on her shoulders. His eye contact was intense, but then this whole situation was pretty much as intense as anything could get, and he was clearly in deep crisis.

“I hired you because of your qualifications, not your body. You were and are a spectacular office manager, and so much more, filling in gaps in our organization for the greater good. To say that you’re an asset to the company is a gross understatement!

“The fact that I found you attractive upon hiring was immaterial to the decision, being a nice bonus. Accommodating your special body’s special needs was a trivial expense back then when we were doing well, and worth every penny hundreds of times over in the years since, including the chair upgrades.

“Then as time passed, you kept getting sexier and sexier, unintentionally driving me crazier and crazier with desire as you went about your job and I struggled to go about mine.”

“Are you a fat admirer, Mr. Mercer?”


“An ass man perchance?”

“An ass addict, Ms. Pelvig. Buns, hips, thighs—any of these and especially the first two in large, fat, wobbly awesomeness melt me into a puddle of desire and own my soul!”

“And I have two asses with three buns, two hips, and three thick-thighed legs, all of which have kept getting fatter, along with my belly and a few other areas of me.”

Yes. My inability to control my desires—and I tried, including psychotherapy—along with my failure to permanently relieve both of us and the rest of the world of my obsessive unrequited lust-driven anguish over this past hour have brought us to this awkward moment.”

She eased in closer to him, gently moving his hands to her nearest hip and bun. “Wouldn’t it have been far easier to just ask?

“No, because employers asking employees for sexual favors is about as textbook a case of sexual harassment as there is. Especially older men asking younger women—the original problem the culture and later laws demanded be changed. Given this context, asking you for even a hug was wholly out of bounds.”

“So your only option was to kill yourself” she stated rather than asked, anger creeping into her tone.

“I’d considered disappearing for good, just walking away from everything. More literally driving away. The overwhelming thoughts and feelings of starting afresh at my age and attempting to do so with a new, forged identity and the high chances of failure and poverty made me even more tired and depressed. I felt and still feel suicide is my only viable option.”

Her eyes shot open wide. “Even with your hands on one of my asses and hips?!

“You’re being gracious beyond reason. Your succulent, fat bun and hip fill me with joy, light, hope, energy and more!”

“So why would you still want to kill yourself?!”

“Because you’re being nice to me and this can’t last. Then I’m back where I was, other than very slightly healed from this delicious taste of part of the wonders of your physical being. I’m forever grateful for what you’re allowing me to experience right now, at least this once before I am no more.”

“Remember what you’re feeling now. We’re not done yet.”

She walked away, over to the gun, picking it up very carefully. “Tell me how to engage the safety.”

He did, then she did.

“Tell me how to empty out all the bullets.”

Again, he did and she made it so.

She marched back over to his desk, asking him point-blank “Do you have another gun?”


“More bullets?”

He slid open his middle right desk drawer all the way out, extracting the original box and handing it to her.

“Is that everything firearm-related?”

“Yes” he sadly sighed.

“Stay right where you are, please, and don’t touch your poisons.”

Tara had to be even more careful than usual squeezing through the doorway, now that there were wood splinters where the strike plate had been. She looked back at him, smiling and saying, “Keep looking, Mr. Mercer. I want you to enjoy the show!”

Soon as she locked the bullets and the gun in two different safe places under her control, she squeezed back into his office and bobbled and bounced back to his desk. “Your deliverance cocktail didn’t agree with you, did it?”


“I’d better pour all the ingredients down the sink.”

“Please save the potassium chloride. It’s from the supply room and we’re low on it.”

“How do I know you’re not going to try a variation on that recipe in the future? Maybe with mint chocolate so it goes down better?”

BAHHah haah!

Huge breakthrough: she made him laugh, for the first time in weeks!

“It’s good to hear your beautiful laugh again” she smiled. “Seriously though, how can I be sure you won’t try to make another batch of this?”

“All bets are off until I can find ongoing love I can feel. The seeking of which is well outside my skill set and with supply and demand running vastly against me, leaving me flailing and twisting in the wind.”

“I don’t like that analogy.”

“Yeah. One has to be careful with hanging. It can be too easy to cause more pain and fail at ending life.”

“Do you have more of any of these death fluids besides the ones in my hands?”


“Don’t do anything to harm yourself until I’m back—and not then, either! And actually I’ll appreciate it if you’ll please come hold the cardboard shims in the door jamb so I can slide through with my hands full without shredding my skirt.”

“I may have to stand close enough to press into you.”

Feature! And where this day is going next. Let’s do this.”

The huge sigh he released pressing into her as she worked her corpulence through the doorway yet again startled her with how much it sounded like explosive pressure being safely discharged. “Stare at my body as much as you want. I’m better with it than you currently know.”

She disappeared into her restroom with the liquids, pouring each of them down the sink, then running the tap longer than was truly necessary. The empty containers didn’t seem recyclable, given what they’d held, thus she dropped them into the trash, hoping for the best.

He was still standing in the doorway when she re-emerged.

“You have a cuddle and conversation appointment with me on your office couch in about 5 minutes’ time, soon as I change the phone system message to indicate our emergency closure and lock the front door. It may be a long meeting, so please consider using the restroom before we get started. No promises, but it would be prudent to wash, rinse, and dry everything thoroughly.”

Only in his dreams had John Mercer seen Tara Pelvig smile so broadly and happily at him—until now, as she sensually wobbled and jiggled his direction.

In his dreams, he could only imagine what she might feel like as she sat down next to and on him (at the same time). For the first time ever in this moment, he felt her for real! To his utter amazement, most of her right butt was sitting on his lap, with her left seated on the couch as she cuddled intimately into his left side, her upper body at a standard just-touching spacing next to his.

“Is this OK?” she asked.

“It’s heaven!

See? And you didn’t even have to prematurely truncate your life to get there!”

“With all due respect to your beliefs whatever they may be, I don’t believe in an afterlife of any sort. I believe we make heaven and hell—such as these concepts even exist at all—right here on our plane of reality every day, depending on choices we make, including our outlooks.”

She encouraged him with her hand on his to caressingly explore her surfaces. “So why would you make such a horrid hell for yourself?”

“It wasn’t all my doing. Heaven has been right here all along, currently sitting in my lap as well as by my side, which concept melts me and makes me wish to meld as one with you. Couldn’t find a way to get to heaven, between common sense assuring me that a stunningly, uniquely desirable younger woman would have no interest in a nothing-special older man like me, and the equally common-sense sexual harassment prohibitions we already discussed.”

“May I call you John, please?”


“Call me Tara from now on, please. Ideally under all circumstances, including when we’re meeting with clients or anyone else, unless you believe it might offend someone.”

“I love your name” he smiled.

“I love yours” she smiled back. “How old are you, John?”

“60” he grimaced and sighed.

“I’m 41, going on 42 in a few weeks. Not quite a generation apart chronologically, and it wouldn’t matter to me if we were. I know you’re older, but it’s seldom at the forefront of my mind, and when it is it’s usually related to wisdom or the power of compound interest over time or similar positives.”

She pulled out her handheld, unlocking it and bringing up the document she wanted. “I want to show you something” she told him as she held her device so they could both see it.

It was a sketch drawing.

“By no means am I a great illustrator. This was something I needed to get out of my system, not meant for others to see. I would like you to study it while I enjoy cuddling you.”

He didn’t know what to think. It was a front-side view of a woman who was clearly her, naked and bent over, leaning against her desk, with an unfinished expression of what vaguely looked like blissful pleasure. Behind her and sketched in much greater detail was a man who looked an awful lot like him. Also naked, obviously fucking her on her right side, possibly reaching with his hand down into her left side. The expression in the drawing was a grin of fiery lust. His ears reddened as he continued reviewing the drawing, noticing details such as an x-ray view of the man’s huge thick cock deep inside her.

His bright red face and wide eyes made her smile. She reclaimed her device. “Notice the creation date: 4 years ago, approximately. Way before today, and my learning how deep your attraction to me is. I mean, I’ve had the sense that you rather liked my ultra wide back side and hips for some years now, but no idea how much! Being honest, I haven’t thought about you like this all the time—certainly not obsessing on you—but desires to get intimate with you have happened more than this one day when I was stuck on transit and especially horny.”

“But your feelings weren’t strong enough to reveal to me.”

NoOOOOh. I was under similar sexual harassment restrictions to you! Granted, as a woman and an underling I probably could have made a play for you, but being uncertain how you felt about me, it could’ve backfired and I might have lost the best job I’ve yet had—one of the few jobs I’ve had. No matter how qualified and good an employee may be and despite laws in place for equality protections, I can tell you from experience that most businesses don’t consider installing a special two-ass toilet to be a ‘trivial expense’. Even if they might be able to handle an extra-wide office chair, buying an even more expensive bigger, stronger one and rearranging parts of the office as the already-wide employee continued to widen and deepen via fattening into a monstrously huge double fatass isn’t something most places would abide.”

“Gorgeously huge double fatass” he couldn’t help countering, with a smile.

“I’m glad I’m your type” she smiled back, leaning into him and caressing his arm and a corner of his upper chest. “And that you’re my type.”

“What type is that?”

“Firm with a soft heart. Man of integrity, principle, and deep compassion.”

“Failing at his life’s work, life in general spiraling out of control.”

“Mmm mmm mmm” she scolded him, waving her index finger to and fro. Her voice became breathy, her hot breath heating up his neck and ear as she pulled in close to near-whisper, “Your biochemistry is way off because you haven’t had enough sex!

“I’ve been doing what I can solo, so as not to inconvenience anyone. Usually dreaming of you.”

“That’s not enough, John. I was reading the other day that the hormones and other biochemicals men’s bodies release differ when they go solo versus with a lover. The article said ‘woman’ as I recall, not lover. Not to mention you’re depriving your sex-positive, passionate office manager with a hard crush on you from better getting her needs met.”

“Do you truly want to share sex with me?”

Yes. Don’t you wanna do it with me?”

“More than you know!”

“So why are we still talking?!”

“Because I don’t know what you like. And what you don’t like.”

“I’ll try just about anything once. Tell me what you’re into and I’ll let you know.”

“I’m probably too boring for you. I greatly enjoy labia, clit, and nearby licking, especially if my lover enjoys it.”

Uuuaahh!” she moaned, aroused at the thought, her eyes rolling up.

“I remember enjoying typical P.I.V. sex from whatever position, though honestly it’s been so many years it’s hard to remember.”

“We’re fixing that. Today… right now.” She rocked back and forth on her middle and right buns to gauge his hardness and enjoy what she felt.

“I don’t have any condoms here.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. Fertile on both sides, and don’t wanna be a mom. At least not at the present time.”

“I had a vasectomy a few years ago, so that’s not the issue.”

“You did?! Even though you weren’t seeing anybody?”

“It was for my self-esteem, so I could feel like a lover even without anyone available. The condom is because it’s the proper thing to do when I have no STI tests to show you.”

“Do you trust me, John?”

“Yes. Deeply.”

“I’m clean. I trust you and the probability that you’re clean is exceedingly high in any case. You’re correct that normally I wouldn’t take an unsheathed penis into me, but we know each other, have a history of trust going back years, and you almost killed yourself in part because you haven’t had a good lay in far too long. More importantly to me, both sides of me are getting really wet, anticipating feeling you skin-to-skin in the most intimate possible way, pretty much.”

The time for talking was over. The time for letting their passions fly was upon them.

Tara led the seduction and mutual undressing, delighted with how John couldn’t stop staring, gasping, and panting faster and louder the more of her he felt and saw.

He’d seen (mostly images of) thousands of BBW bodies in various states of undress over the years, many gifted with deliciously succulent “pear” fat deposits which drove him wild. He certainly had representative photos of some of the famous outliers who’d modeled. Never before this moment had he had the good fortune to be making out with a woman so very well-endowed with this body shape. Never ever even once in photos much less in-person had he seen much less touched an extreme fat pear doubled up with two huge pear-shaped butts, because there were no others! There weren’t even any other living 3-legged women of any size and shape that he’d personally seen. Tara was the absolute pinnacle, sine quo non of his dreams—and she wanted him sexually, seemingly as much as he wanted/needed her!

No touch, no view disappointed. He quickly lost himself to her, in her. Every fold, bulge, and body area of hers hidden by other parts of her body was a revelation; an exciting new mystery needing thorough exploration!

She’d had more lovers than she cared to count, many casual and of convenience rather than carefully selected. Good, bad, deeply engaged, cooly detached—quite a range. Never in her memory had she had one need her this much. Had it been a weak, feeble need, it might not have appealed to her. The power behind this need was nearly frightening in magnitude. John Mercer had never been a domineering, aggressive, go-getter C.E.O. type. His was a quiet power: subtle in its strength. Model Magicians hadn’t created itself out of thin air: he’d made it, without needing to beat his chest nor shine in the light of fame, nor go begging to vulture capitalists for funding. He established himself and dominated via integrity, top quality, honest dealings, and timely delivery. Seemingly without trying he charmed those with whom he associated to contract for his firm’s services, work with and for him, and spread the word of what he and Model Magicians had to offer. She realized he’d charmed her in the past in a romantic sense without meaning to do so. Now that this was his and her intent, she felt the power aimed straight at her. Yielding had never felt so good!

One of the many manifestations of this romantic power was the physical object—the body part of his—currently finding its way into Smooth. She took in his power, enveloping it with her own.

So very lost to the deepest passions as he was, he didn’t remember the precise sequence of events which led him to entering her shaved side (her right, his left), nor even whether nor how he chose it over her other side. All he recalled was a drop of drool landing on his upper chest as he savored and immersed himself in the most thrilling sexual moment of his life. He knew and she couldn’t that he’d never been this engorged before, contributing measurably to the snug, smooth friction they both enjoyed.

And enjoy it they did! It was obvious even to him reading her expression and all signals her body gave off in sight, sound, and sensation that she was enjoying herself and their lovemaking to a very high degree. The more he pumped her with his prodigious prong, oozing desire for her and need of her and what they were doing out of every pore of his body and every nuance of his expression, the more she felt his power, yielding ever more to it while at the same time delivering her own in return, forming a more intense whole.

He begged her to jump over and try her other side before he lost his long-loaded load; she encouraged him and did what little was needed to assist. Plenty of others had done the same thing, finding her to be the joy of two women in one. John Mercer found her to be far more than that: a miracle being. A unique unity gifted not just for sex beyond what most mortals could enjoy, but a living goddess of love, beauty, compassion, and intelligence. As they gave it to each other good and she kept smiling, he realized their minds had shared forms of intimacy going back many years. He briefly became upset thinking about how in many ways she had long been his business partner, and how even though he’d given her rock-solid job security, raises, and the special equipment and furniture arrangements she needed to work, it was insufficient—she was too far above and beyond only an office manager to be stuck with that title. Before his mind could fully work through that thought, a crashing wave of renewed intense sexual pleasure broke over him. He startled them both by pulling out and rushing back to her shaved side, whacking her harder than he usually humped anyone as his body took him and her for a ride to a potent climax.

Tara had been on the edge of cumming for a deliciously long time, thus his release easily set her off around the same time, without either of them having aimed nor worked explicitly towards that goal.

He looked lost once they wound down, and indeed that’s how he felt inside. “What… shall we do now?”

“Cuddle” she smiled, easing her dazed lover back down seated on the couch beside her, getting up and sitting back down in his lap and to his side, as they’d been before, other than now nude and in afterglow!

He was a cuddler who needed cuddles; she loved cuddles. Soft peep moans, sighs, and recovering lovers’ breathing filled the room. Kisses were back; longer, slower, more tender; others brief and loving… all loaded with the deepest possible affection.

“I don’t know how to go forward, Tara” he confided a few minutes later, breaking the speech silence since nearly before the start of their lovemaking. “My plans were to end it all. You saved my life many dozens of times over so that didn’t happen. I am delighted and thrilled, but also lost. I don’t know what happens now. This sumptuous feast of pure love with a large physical component has nourished me beyond compare, yet my body and soul remain at a deep deficit. I fear for withdrawal rebound effects once we part for the night.”

“That’s one reason you’re taking me home with you tonight. Another is that I hunger for more of what we just shared, and variants thereof.”

“You do?!”

“I’m a big woman, with big appetites” she salaciously grinned.