Knight Fall (An Erotic BBW Romance)

by
Marina Maddix

www.MarinaMaddix.com

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@MarinaMaddix

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Copyright 2012 Marina Maddix

Cover design by Marina Maddix

Cover photos ©CURAphotography/Veer and ©Harris Shiffman/CanStockPhoto

The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

This story contains sexually explicit material, and is intended only for persons over the age of 18. All of the characters involved in the sexual situations in this story are intended to be 18 years of age or older, whether they are explicitly described as such or not.

About This Book:

Struggling a
rtist Kelly Saunders lives a dystopian life at a corporate job she hates. Her perverted boss thrills in torturing her simply because she finds him physically repulsive, her coworkers have shunned her because of her luscious curves and bodacious rack, and she can't quit or she'll lose her apartment. Will a chance — and extremely hot — encounter with a sexy biker at a gas station spell freedom or trouble?

Kelly uncrossed and recrossed her long, full legs for what seemed like the hundredth time. Her jiggling foot nearly shook her scuffed shoe right off. What was taking so long? Mr. Wigley had requested a meeting with
her
, not the other way around. She smoothed her flowing knee-length skirt, once again impressed that she'd scored such a nice piece for her work wardrobe from the local thrift shop. It was tough outfitting an artist's closet with corporate duds while trying to staunch the hemorrhaging bank account, but she thought she'd done an admirable — or at least adequate — job. This piece was suitable for work, but it also had a whiff of a Bohemian flair to it she found irresistible. She wouldn't be taking home the Best Dressed award at the office holiday party but she didn't care. She was only here for the paycheck.

Wigley's anorexic assistant kept eyeing Kelly. She knew her size intimidated a lot of guys — most didn't want their date to be taller than them, and at a solid six feet, she often was — but she'd always been surprised that many women seemed to hate her before they ever met her. That's exactly what she'd encountered when she took this job. The guys ogled her more-than-ample tits and luscious curves but, with one disturbing exception, never made advances, and the women had brushed off her attempts at friendship from day one.

Her mother had always told her the other girls were just jealous when she'd come home from school crying because some skinny popular girl had made cruel comments. But Kelly knew that wasn't it…or at least not all of it. She was different; she stood out. People are scared of that. They try so hard to fit a mold of what they think others expect that anyone who breaks that mold must be brought down.

Plus they were jealous bitches.

Kelly was tall and had full curves in all the right places. Big-boned is what her mother always called her, which didn't help her self-esteem as much as her mom had hoped. Sure, her waist was a little soft, and her ass was what some might call a 'bedonkadonk' — big, round and jiggly — but she wasn't so much overweight as she was just…big. That was never going to change, even with all the dieting in the world. She'd never be one of those petite little lemon drops jogging around the neighborhood in matching workout gear and hair bleached just the right shade of blond. For Kelly, exercise was a chore; something to get through to maintain her health — sort of like going to the dentist. It also helped counteract the calories in her nightly glass of wine and her weekly trip to the drive-thru.

Some of the women at the office were obsessed with the gym. She didn't get it. They worked and worked and worked to get down to a size zero so they could attract men who were only attracted to size zeroes. That was a recipe for failure in Kelly's book. One extra pound — say after you give birth to his baby — and the dude's out the door, looking for more pretty young things to impregnate. So she chose to not fight nature and just allowed her body to settle into a comfortable place, while taking care to eat healthfully…most of the time. Guys who liked confident real women, no matter their size, were attracted to her, but those guys seemed to be rare in corporate America. As a result, she hadn't had a date in months, and she'd really been feeling deprived (in other words, horny) lately.

"You can go in now." Wigley's assistant gave Kelly a once-over as she walked by, skimming over her figure with a sneer before zeroing in on her old shoes — the one thing Kelly wouldn't skimp on, and of course the one thing she couldn't quite afford yet. She wanted to slap the smirk right off the flat-chested bitch's smug face, but instead she held her head high, pushed out her tits and marched into Wigley's small office. The woman's smirk turned to a glare.

Wigley sat at his cluttered desk facing his computer screen. He didn't so much as glance at Kelly when she walked in, so she wasn't sure what to do. She managed to close the door on the bitchy assistant but she hovered nearby, hoping for a quick getaway, if necessary. As she waited for him to acknowledge her existence, she quickly scanned the room. It hadn't changed much since her initial interview six months earlier, except the photo of the wife and kids seemed to have magically reappeared on Wigley's desk.

She remembered that day, remembered him shuffling a few things — which must have included the family photo — off his desk and unceremoniously dumping them in a drawer the moment she walked into the room. The interview had gone well, especially considering she'd never worked at a huge multinational corporation before, yet she was still surprised when Wigley offered her the job. She almost leapt across the desk and gave his pasty, balding head a big ol' kiss, but she managed to restrain herself.

Instead, she listened to him drone on about her responsibilities, his nasally monotone nearly putting her to sleep. Funny, but when she'd seen the job listing on the company's website, she'd had no idea that 'Information Processing Specialist' really meant 'data entry'. No wonder there were very few skills listed as required. It didn't matter. She would've taken a job cleaning the muck out of the soles of the janitors' shoes — the job market for out-of-work artists was never really hot; it really sucked now.

As he was wrapping up his monologue, Wigley told her what a promising future she had with the company. That was nice to hear but she had no intention of staying very long. She just needed to save up a few bucks, and keep herself in paints and canvases — and, more importantly, food — until she found a gallery to represent her. But her elation at landing a decent paying job so quickly was dashed by Wigley's next words.

"You have many great…," he cleared his throat, "…assets." Of course he was staring freely at her breasts when he said it so there was no mistaking his meaning. "You just let me know if you need
anything
, okay?" Then he winked. Kelly did her best to hide the shudder of disgust that ran through her.

She'd been dealing with shit like this since she was 14, when she'd sprouted six inches over the summer and developed what appeared to be an irresistible set of tits. She honestly didn't see what was so special about them. Yes, she was a full D cup and they were pretty perky for their size, but they just seemed like boobs to her. But they often had this strange effect on men, and she'd learned over the years that the best way to diffuse the situation was to ignore it, pretend she didn't catch the implied come-on. "Great! Thanks again, Mr. Wigley. I'll see you Monday, 8 a.m. sharp!"

Usually the technique worked beautifully. The guy either figured out she wasn’t interested or assumed she was dense and let it go. Not Wigley. It seemed her Amazonian size didn't bother
him
a bit, even though she must have stood half a foot over him. For her first couple of weeks on the job, he would pass by her assigned desk at least once a day for a friendly peek down her shirt. He even offered to provide special one-on-one training in his office, which she demurely declined by saying she didn't want to waste his valuable time, that she was doing fine, that she'd muddle through. Whatever it took to keep him at bay.

Realizing that her artsy-fartsy wardrobe was a wee bit too revealing, she hit up every thrift store in town in a quest for button-ups, loose sweaters and blazers. It took a good month or so for Wigley to get the message that his tubby, pale body wasn't getting anywhere near her, a fact he was none too pleased to discover.

Soon Kelly's supervisor — a bitter, scrawny woman who had never been particularly welcoming — was assigning her the worst of the grunt work, which was normally divided up among all the data entry clerks out of fairness. Apparently fairness only applied to those who sucked the manager's scabby little dick. The worst part was that he hadn't said or done anything blatant enough to warrant a sexual harassment complaint, so she was stuck doing the crap work. Of course she could quit, but that was exactly what Wigley wanted. Which was precisely why Kelly was determined to stay put…at least for a while. She was nothing if not stubborn.

"Ms. Saunders," he said as he looked up at her. "I understand you were 30 minutes late for work this morning."

"Oh, yes, sir. I'm so sorry about that but I had a little car trouble on my way in." Her 17-year-old beater had blown out a tire on the freeway, and she'd barely escaped getting creamed by a semi on her way to the breakdown lane. Of course everyone else on the road had been in a big damn hurry to get to work as well, so she'd been stuck changing out the tire herself.

Wigley appeared unimpressed by her tale of woe and just stared at her. She shifted where she stood, feeling on display.

"I'd planned to work late to make up the time," she offered. That seemed to appease him a bit.

"I should hope so. See that it doesn't happen again."

He turned back to his computer, which Kelly took as a dismissal and popped out the door before he could say anything else. His nosey assistant was grinning like the Cheshire cat —she'd clearly been eavesdropping — so Kelly just kept moving.

What an asshole
, she thought, wondering what the hell she was doing in corporate America. She wasn’t cut out for it. All the politics, all the ass kissing; it just wasn't her. But she had rent to pay and paints to buy — though it dawned on her as she made her way back to her grim little desk that she hadn't painted so much as a stroke since starting this pathetic job. Regardless, for the moment, she'd do what she had to.

For the moment.

~ * ~ * ~

For the rest of the day, Kelly alternated between rage at the way she'd been treated since she'd started and depression that she was trapped here. She had no idea how much longer she could tread water before finally drowning in the corporate bullshit. She didn't even have any friends at work to vent to. Those in her department who hadn't immediately hated her had quickly seen that she was a pariah, and that any association with her would reflect badly on them. Besides they liked not having to do the grunt work. She was surrounded by assholes.

Quitting time rolled around all too slowly, and as her co-workers packed up and headed out to the local bar together to celebrate the end of the work week — she'd never been invited to join them — Kelly kept her head down in her little corner and continued punching numbers into the database. She had no idea what they meant or who would find the information useful, but her job wasn't to question why. Tap-tap-tap, that was her job, and she hated every moment of it. Two-thirds of her waking life was a misery. Tears started to well in her eyes.

Just then she noticed Wigley walking across the opposite side of the now-empty room with an armful of papers. She ducked behind her terminal, hoping he'd forgotten she was going to stay late.

"Wigley!" An dignified older man she'd seen a few times in the halls stepped into the enormous room filled with identical desks where the 'Information Processing Specialists' spent their days. "I left a note with your girl for you to come see me."

"Oh, um, I'm sorry, Mr. Turnstone. She didn't give me the message." Wigley flushed red, suddenly going from a cocky little bully to a simpering subordinate. Kelly was fascinated at the change and took the risk of peeking around the edge of her screen. She strained to hear every word of the conversation, which wasn't difficult because the older man was in the mood to give Wigley a good old-fashioned tongue-lashing.

"Listen," said Turnstone in an unmistakably irritated tone, "I've been asking you for those TPS reports for a week now. If I don't have them on my desk first thing Monday morning, our next meeting will be decidedly less cordial. Got it?"

Without waiting for an answer, Turnstone whipped around and left Wigley gawking after him. Kelly heard him mutter "Dammit!" as she eased her head back behind her terminal. She held her breath, afraid of the repurcussions if he knew she'd witnessed a berating by his boss. Just as she was moving to peek around her computer to see if he'd left, his face loomed over the monitor.

"Shit! You scared me!"