Giving The Billionaire Curves (BBW, billionaire breeding erotica)

Today is my birthday.

I'm turning 25. I guess today would normally be an amazing day for most people, filled with parties and cake and presents, but I'm just shaking with anxiety and considering calling off from work. No, that'd seem suspicious though.

See, I guess most people wouldn't mind getting cake and having a short party at work for their birthday, but I do. Because I'm fat. And I work at a gym. This wasn't an issue until a new manager was hired in who promptly fired most of the people that liked me and replaced them with assholes who mock me for being overweight. The manager either joins in or just lets it happen, and even yells at me when I have to go to the bathroom and compose myself or cry afterward!

I have to go in, though. If I call off on my birthday I might get fired, and I've been looking for another job since my manager was hired. There are none out there for me, or for anyone really. So even though they abuse me, I need to pay for my apartment, so I have to work.

I brush out my long, brown hair. The waves reach down to about the center of my back. The oils I put in my hair on occasion keeps it shiny and healthy, and I'm proud of that. Brushing some brown mascara over my thick eyelashes, I flutter my green eyes a bit. Even just looking at myself in my mirror, I can see that I'm trying to hold back tears. I take a second and try to compose myself enough to not give away how upset I am. They're like hyenas, and my emotions are a juice steak. I can't let them eat me alive.

I blast pop music on my drive to work. The pink blouse I put over my khaki pants looks slimming, in my opinion, even though it's a little tight around my waist and you can see a hint of my muffin top. I arrive a few minutes early, but it looks like everyone's already there. Sighing and adjusting my hair and checking my makeup, I get out of my car and head inside the tall building. The front of the building is mostly windows, tinted slightly to give our patrons some privacy. I head over to my desk, the front lines of the gym, where every new member or visitor checks in and pays before heading to the machines.

I open my bottom drawer and stuff my purse in there, pull a pen out from another drawer, and set to work filling out the paperwork for some new gym members. Best to keep myself busy- if everyone sees me working maybe they won't bother me with taunting.

Of course that hope goes right out the window as I hear the clicking of Maria's high heeled shoes. She helps with the phones and does personal secretarial work for the manager, typing his letters and getting him food most often. She's an absolute bombshell, her long blonde hair and Nordic features awe inspiring even while she's insulting me. Today she's wearing what looks like a very expensive red dress with black heels, her cleavage shaking a bit with each step toward me.

“Happy birthday, Sarah! Why don't you join us in the break room for some cake!” Her cheery voice has me on edge. This is always how she sounds when she's about to do something extremely mean to me. I try to gulp down the knot in my throat and smile, but I know I only come off as pathetic. I set my pen down on my desk and stand up.

Following her, my hands begin to shake again. Trying my best to prepare myself for what's to come, I take deep breaths, in and out, as I watch her hips sway back and forth with her movements.

The break room is decorated, colorful streamers and confetti placed here and there. The white board on the fridge even says “HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH”. As I enter the room, I'm greeted with smiles and pats on the back.

The warm welcome actually calms me down, and I smile and thank everyone. There's a cake on the table, but I can't quite read it before Maria moves in front of it. There's a flick of a lighter, and the candles that read 25 come to life. My coworkers push me towards the table.

I bend over and blow out the candles, my eyes closed. When I open them, I can finally read the cake, and as I do my heart sinks and the horrible feeling I've had all day comes back a million times worse. I stand back up and force myself to smile. I can't let them see me upset. I'm done with letting them win.

“Thank you guys so much, the cake looks great!” I lie. Everyone looks puzzled or annoyed, but Maria just smiles and pats my shoulder. She starts to cut the cake while I try to ignore everyone else's angry stares and my own need to run out of the room and cry. She hands a few pieces to others before handing me my piece.

She had cut the cake so that I would get the piece that specifically has the word “fat” on it. The entire phrase on the cake was “Happy Birthday, Fat Ass!”

I can feel my ability to hold back my tears breaking, and I excuse myself back to my desk. They know they won, I can see it in the wicked smirk Maria gives me as I turn toward the door to leave. I manage to keep my cool until I reach the end of the hallway, but as soon as I see my desk I break down. Sobs wrack through my body, so painful that I hunch over a bit. I have to hold myself up with my arm on my desk.

I set down the cake on the edge, sitting in my chair and lowering my head into my arms. This is usually our slowest time, so I figure I can take a few minutes out here to let myself sob it out, before I go clean myself up in the bathroom.

Of course, I don't hear when the door does glide open. Nor do I hear the soft rubber soles of expensive leather shoes against the carpet as a man draws near. It's only when the man is near enough for me to hear the slight jingle of keys in his pocket that I realize I'm not alone, and look up at the intruder.

When I see who it is, my back straightens and I wipe my tears off my face, standing up. “Mr. Calaway! I wasn't told you'd be here today, I'm so sorry for how I look. Can I take your jacket?”

Mr. Calaway owns the company. He's 33 years old, very handsome, and filthy rich. Maria's been trying to get him to date her since she got hired, but luckily he's smart enough to have stayed away from that gold digging bitch. I see worry in his blue eyes as he runs a hand through his short, jet black hair. “Why were you crying?”

I stiffen, and the words come out of my mouth as a stammer. “I-it's just been a rough day already. It's my birthday and... and I'm having a hard time coping with getting older...” He eyes me suspiciously, before looking down at the piece of cake. The bright red FAT glares back up at him, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “I'll be right back.” I watch as the clearly fuming man makes his way down the hall and to the break room, where everyone else is still eating cake and laughing.

The room goes quiet, presumably from the shock of seeing our boss there without any warning. I look around the corner, trying to better hear the conversation.

“Would someone like to explain to me why this cake says 'Happy Birthday Fatass'?”

“Oh, it's just a joke, Mr. Calaway...” I hear Maria's whiny, high pitched voice say. There's not even a hint of worry in that sociopath's words.

“This is not the kind of joking we do here. Whose idea was it?”

There's silence for a moment. Then, one of the trainers speaks up. “Maria and Brett's, sir.”

Silence again. Brett is my manager. “Maria, join me in Brett's office please.”

As the man and woman walk down the hall to my manager's office, a few heads poke out, first watching them, then looking to me in fear. I just turn around and sit back at my desk. I pick up my pen and start to work on my papers again, but the smell of the cake is getting to me. It's right above my trash can, so I use my pen to flip the plate off of my desk and into the trash.

A few hours later, I hear my manager's door slam shut, and cursing from Maria and Brett's voices. My handsome boss glides out of the hallway and towards me, his expensive suit whispering a bit as he moves. “Sarah, right?” He asks, addressing me. I nod and lower my eyes, not wanting to make eye contact. “No, honey, look at me.”

Blushing, I do as I'm told and stare deep into those cool blue eyes. He seems to dive into my soul as he looks into mine, holding me captive. “Please understand this. You are beautiful, much more beautiful than Maria will ever be. Here's my card. Could you write down your address so I can have my driver pick you up around 8 for a home cooked meal at my house tonight?”

Stunned, I don't know what to say. I begin to shake my head and say no, but he holds up his large hand. “I insist. You deserve to be treated well.”

I give in, and write down my address on a post it note, handing it to him. He smiles and turns to leave, but turns back really quick to add, “Oh, and one other thing- Brett and Maria have exactly 30 minutes to get their things and leave. If they're not gone by then, see to it that security escorts them out.”

I admit that left me even more stunned than being asked out by the richest man I know. I didn't have to call security though- 10 minutes later both of them were leaving with a box full of their belongings. Both glare at me, likely trying to kill me with their hatred. As Maria follows Brett out of the building, she turns to me and points. “Don't get to excited, bitch. I'll give you what you deserve.”

It turns out that one of the few nice trainers we have was promoted to manager. As soon as Maria and Brett had left, he came out to shake my hand and apologize for what happened.

I think of the shame on everyone else's face while I wash my hair in the shower. If I'm going to be having a home cooked meal with a billionaire, I have to look and smell good. I use my best shampoo and soap, both of which smell lightly of roses. I blow dry and curl my hair, pinning a few curls up for a more classic look. As for makeup, I decide to only put on some powder and eyeliner, leaving my face otherwise fresh and clean. The man saw me crying, so I'm sure he won't mind seeing me without a ton of makeup on.

As I finish dressing, there's a knock on the door. I grab my purse that houses my phone and debit card and go to answer it. Standing outside is an older man, about 60, with a smile on his face. “Ms. Deliant? I'll be taking you to Mr. Calaway's home tonight, if you're ready.”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose I am.”

The drive to Calaway's house is beautiful, once I'm out of my neighborhood. He lives in a more rural area, where trees line the road and houses are few and far between. Turning onto a dead end road, we drive for another 10 minutes, the driver being silent the whole time. I wish he'd say something, but maybe he's not allowed to, so I don't pressure him. The black car slows as we approach a tall gate. Hitting the button on a remote, the gate opens and we drive through.

After parking, the driver looks to me through the rear view window. “Don't be scared. Mr. Calaway is a great man.” He exits the car and opens the back door for me, helping me out and pointing the way of the front door.

As I approach, I wonder if I should knock or not, but that's answered for me as the door is opened by Calaway himself. “Sarah! I'm so glad you decided to join me. Come on in, please take off your shoes.”

I walk into the mudroom and remove my strappy shoes, silently happy that I gave myself a pedicure before I came. Calaway smiles at me and I return the smile. “Dinner is just about finished, I'll show you to the dining room.”

The house is absolutely huge, and adorned with beautiful paintings and furniture, some of them obviously imported antiques. The hallway to the dining room has a few paintings on either wall, family portraits. As I reach the end, I begin to notice a trend- all of the mothers are as heavy as I am!