Monday

You’d kissed Katie goodbye and your girlfriend had hardly stirred. She’d called off sick because she was having a little trouble walking, and also because even after an hour of showering her thin body was still covered in ghostly filthy words. Brittany had texted you about it too, complaining about your birthday being in the hot time of year. When you arrived to work you saw why. Brittany was dressed in a long sleeved, high necked sweater and a floor length skirt.

“I’m already sweating like a whore in church.” she grumbled.

“Whore at work.” you correct her, chuckling.

Work is quiet for the most part. Your boss hassles you and Brittany for slacking off. It’s a normal day. The afternoon drags on, Katie texts you and shows her results after another shower, she’s mostly unmarked now. “No tits” is still slightly visible on her chest.

“Hey Britt.” you call in the quiet office.

“Yeah?” she answers. “What’s up?”

“Show me your tits!” you chuckle.

Brittany giggles and stands up, her back to the door to your office room. The big woman shakes while giggling and pulls her sweater up. Her massive tits are in a bright orange bra, squished together and pushed up, it would be a massive cleavage if the sweater didn’t have a neck on it. The pale skin is red from her scrubbing but still shows ghosts of the words. “Big titted slut” shows prominently.

“Asshole.” Brittany mutters when you laugh.

“It’s nice.” you respond in a Borat impression.

“What are you going to do for Katie’s birthday?” Brittany asks, quickly returning to normal, as if she didn’t just flash you.

“Haven’t thought much yet.” you admit, “Party at my place like mine, but present wise, nothing can top what I got.”

“She was super into being made to watch.” Brittany reminds you, “Think there’s something there? Me and you again? Is that enough.”

“We need something crazy though. I don’t think we can top it.” you respond.

“What like a sister?” Brittany giggles, “Mine? Hers?”

“No fucking way.” you sigh.

“It happens.” Brittany says matter of factly.

“In movies.”

“Trust me.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Trust me. Do I have to show you my tits to get you to stop arguing with me?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Ass.”

“That might work too.”

Brittany throws a wadded up piece of paper at you.