The storm clouds were intensifying as Tracey pulled into the head office of SFR Ltd. It was a modern, non-descript office in Lakeside Business Park with big glass windows and three floors. The office housed the managing departments of a group of companies owned by local millionaire Sir Fred Richards. SFR ran businesses across the North of England ranging from construction to car sales to personal injury claims.
Rain drops were pelting on the bonnet and windscreen as Tracey navigated her black Range Rover Sport over a speed bump and searched for a parking spot. As the big 4x4 scaled the formidable speed bump, the plump yummy mummy at the wheel felt her weight shift back and forth in the black leather seats. Navigating such bumps was the closest she ever got to off-road.
“Typical,” she moaned to herself noting the rain, “my hair’s gonna get ruined,”
With over two hundred employees at the head office the car park was huge, and today Tracey found herself somewhere towards the back. Having not quite progressed yet to director level she didn’t have a reserved parking space.
She stopped and reached over to the glove compartment for her umbrella. It wasn’t there. She reached into the back seat to check. It wasn’t there either. Exasperated she looked at the rain once again. There was nothing to do about it -- the chubby office glamour queen was going to have to brave a mad dash across the car park. She grabbed her black leather Ellie Tahari coat and buttoned it up as best she could. It was a squeeze round her considerable chest but eventually Tracey got the buttons together.
Tracey opened the door, placed a heel on the silver running board and stepped down into the rain. The cold water pelted her long, straightened blonde hair and onto her face.
Her eyes focused on the office complex and she moved forwards as fast as she could.
Tracey’s figure-hugging Karen Millen suit was designed for a day sitting at a desk rather than sprinting across car parks. The knee-length skirt tapered in and clamped her plump legs together, the jacket pinched in at her waist. Stiletto heels have never been good for running. Tracey’s efforts were far more of a wiggle and a waddle than a run.
What’s more, Tracey was out of shape.
Her day normally consisted of hours sitting at her desk, followed by driving her kids around to sports practices and then lounging on the sofa watching TV. The effect was that the sudden dash was causing the porky princess to wobble and jiggle. By halfway across the car park she got out of breath.
“Oh myyyyyyyyy…” she groaned, placing a soft manicured hand on her sides. She was starting to get winded and out of breath.
“What was that, Tracey?” shouted a familiar voice.
The executive plumper glanced over her shoulder.
“Kath, please, get over here with that umbrella!” she bawled. “This rain’s ruining my hair and it costs like £300 an appointment and I’ve…ooooffff….got a cramp.”
Kath obliged, stepping forward and sharing the umbrella with her luscious fantasy object. She’d watched Tracey drive into the huge car park and try to run across it. If she’d had a cruel streak Kath could have watched her blondie friend battle on with her heels, skirt and excess poundage at all. But she had a soft spot for Tracey Harrison so she’d stepped forward to help.
“£300 an appointment?” asked Kath as the two walked slowly towards the office.
“Mmm…for the extensions.”
“Just every…ooooffff…other month…ooo…I’ve still got a cramp…”
“You need to hit the gym.” Kath playfully wrapped an arm round her blonde friend. “You’re still carrying round all your Christmas pudding.”
“Don’t you start on me!”
Tracey managed to get her breath back and smiled. She and Kath worked together in the firm’s Human Resources department and were close.
“Ohhhh it’s not you, Kath sweetie,” groaned Tracey “I’m just trying to lose some of my Christmas weight and this girl I know said I…um…errr…ought to think about dieting…”
When Tracey had first started to gain weight Kath had snickered at the former Miss Doncaster along with some of the other women. It was such a thrill watching the office glamour queen pork up. She’d grown a big office butt, love handles and a cute belly. But after transferring into the Human Resources department she’d got to know Tracey Harrison as a person rather than just a sex object. Now there was a mutual camaraderie.
Finally after making it to the office, onto the third floor and into the HR department Kath, who actually found Tracey’s full figure appealing, began commenting: “Hey, don’t worry about what this girl said, Tracey -- you’re a total babe. Don’t even think about it.”
Tracey nodded. “I suppose an’ she’s kinda chubby too, so she can hardly talk…well, I’d better go fix up my make-up.”
With that Kath returned to her desk and Tracey disappeared into the ladies room and set to work making herself beautiful again. It was part of her persona -- she just had to look perfect. No way could Tracey Harrison spend an afternoon sittiing in an office with streaky make-up. What if somebody important walked in?
The afternoon progressed at a steady pace for the two women. Sitting on the third floor Tracey had an unspectacular view of the BT call centre, a KFC and the main road into Doncaster. Kath, meanwhile, had a far more inspiring view of Tracey. Both were working on a review of group compliance to the Age Discrimination Act. The work was tedious but required concentration.
With amusement Kath watched as her blonde colleague settled her sexy office ass down, crossed her bronzed and decidedly plump legs and set to work. After an hour or so clicking on a keyboard and gazing at a computer screen, Tracey eventually paused and said, “Hey Kath, you got any of those chocolates left over from Christmas?”
“You told me to hide them after you kept eating them all.”
“Uh-huh, I know.”
“But now you’re feeling hungry?”
Tracey just nodded like a greedy little girl. She was bored and snacking helped pass the time. Kath produced a box of Belgian chocolates and dropped them on the plump executive’s desk. That way, she figured, blondie would never need get up off her fat arse for a chocolate.
“Maybe it's cruel fattening her up like this,” thought Kath to herself, “but she just looks so cute sitting there stuffing herself like a little piggy…”
The afternoon slowly moved onwards with Tracey grazing on the sweet milk chocolate. In between clicking on her keyboard and gazing at her computer screen, Kath counted at least nine of the treats disappearing between those glossy lips.
Eventually Tracey swivelled her chair round and smiled at Kath. It was time for a break. “Ohhh, this is so borrrrrinngg.”
“Yep…it sure is that.”
“I’m not even half finished with this process thingy.”
The two office babes exchanged a knowing glance. It was a fact of their job that time passed slowly. They were paid to be thorough and precise, not dynamic and entrepreneurial. Neither was exactly rocket science material, either – within SFR Ltd Human Resources was known as the “pretty girl department,” a tribute to the tastes of the firm’s founder, Sir Fred Richards.
“So Kath sweetie, are ya coming to my make-up evening?”
“Um…I’m not sure.”
“It’s a fun girl’s night in,” persisted Tracey, “and all my friends are hot. You can tell me which ones ya fancy.”
“Don’t tempt me,” replied her lesbian co-manager.
“I’ll be there, of course…”
“What a surprise.”
Oblivious to the sarcasm Tracey continued, “…and we’ve got loads of demonstrations of awesome products from Chanel and Clarins a buffet too, and the food’s delicious and there’s no pressure to buy stuff at all…”
Kath thought about Tracey’s friends. They were probably all hot, blonde and in their middle thirties. They probably had kids and a comfortable, somewhat pampered existence. The eye candy! Everywhere there would be hotties just starting to turn to fat.
“Maybe one wifey’s going to be frustrated with hubby and want a little fun on the side…” thought Kath, “and Tracey’s friends do sound loose…”
As if to illustrate the eye candy point her blonde colleague chose that moment to rise from her chair. She’d taken her jacket off in the office and her low-cut black vest clung tightly to her surgically enhanced boobs and cute little tummy. Tracey’s skirt cupped a bubble butt that stuck out like two giant scoops of soft ice cream. Tugging down Tracey tried to smooth her matching pinstriped skirt – it was creased from being sat on all day.
“…well, you’ll miss out Kath cos it’s a laugh…” continued Tracey.
After giving up on the creases she reached over for another chocolate. The plump Goddess puzzled over which one to go for before settling on a white chocolate truffle.
Kath noted more tell tale signs of a growing girl. Wearing a sleeveless outfit Tracey not only showed off her San Tropez Tan but also her tubby arms. Like the rest of her, Tracey’s arms were plump and soft and very different from her Miss Doncaster glory days.
“Mmm I love chocolate truffles,” laughed Tracey. “You should stop me from eating all these!”
“Hey, you asked for them,” countered Kath.
“Yeah but you know I can’t resist,” pouted Tracey before devouring another chocolate. “So, are you coming to my make-up evening?”
Kath sighed and thought of the eye candy. Then she noticed the sweet look on blondie’s botoxed face – she really did want Kath at her party.
“Okay, I’ll come to your stupid party.”
Tracey clapped her hands together, her fat arms jiggling slightly and her bubble butt wobbling to the rear.
“Oooo I’m so pleased! You’ll have so much fun.”
“Are all your friends married?”
Tracey paused and ran through a mental checklist.
“Um…most are but Davina’s split up from her husband…”
“Is this Davina our Marketing Manager?”
“Bring on Davina,” laughed Kath.
“Mmmm…but she split up cos her partner caught her with the guy who’s now her boyfriend so…um…that’s it cos Marilyn got married again and Donna’s seeing Nathan…”
Kath rolled her proverbial eye. Listening to Tracey and her circle of friends was like working through a script on a soap opera. Most had been divorced once or twice, been caught having affairs and it was a wonder one of them hadn’t actually run off with the milkman.
“Oh, so what happened to poor Davina?”
Tracey frowned and rested her bulbous haunches on Kath’s desk. The wooden surface dug in and almost cut the soft ice cream scoops in two.
“I can’t talk about Davina cos she’s a mate and she’s going through a rough time.”
Kath nodded. Tracey and Davina were famous within the company for their two-hour lunches and cushy jobs. It wasn’t rare for both to have three hours out of the office a day for salon visits or long lunches. But both were favorites of the company owner, Sir Fred, so nothing was ever said.
“Was that about the time she rolled up in that crappy white Hyundai?”
Tracey nodded. “Yep, her husband wouldn’t give her the keys for the Merc.”
Indeed, it had caused quite a stir when a company director known for her glamour and love of the finer things had parked in a ten-year-old economy car. It was quite a comedown from a Mercedes CLK convertible. Tracey had felt sorry for her friend and added.
“I mean I wouldn’t have been seen dead in that thing but she’s got the Merc back now,” continued Tracey as if it was the most important thing in the world. “And she got herself a three-story town house in Cantley but she looks totally stressed…”
“It must have been soooo embarrassing for her rolling up to work in that thing.”
“A real nightmare,” mused Kath as she played along. She could have added that everybody had a good laugh at Davina’s expense in the canteen but held back. Tracey and Davina were close friends and it was best to save the company Marketing Manager’s blushes.
“She has kids, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, but they’re from her first husband…”
“I see,” laughed Kath. “She gets around a bit does our Davina?”
“I suppose but she’s a mate so I love her loads…”
The conversation was broken as a tall, slim, aging gentlemen walked in. Both Tracey and Kath fixed their best smiles across their faces and tried to look attentive. Tracey even boosted herself up off Kath’s desk.
“Hello all,” opened Sir Fred. “I’ve just been reading your report on the flexi-time idea. Interesting stuff and I’ll have a think over the weekend. We can meet Monday morning to discuss it.”
Tracey smiled. She was like a little puppy being patted and she loved nothing more than a compliment from her boss. Over fifteen years of employment she’d watched Sir Fred expand his family’s somewhat diminished post-colonial holdings into a multi-million-pound empire and respected him completely.
“Thank you, Sir Fred. I worked on it over the weekend.”
“And I appreciate your efforts.”
Sir Fred smiled indulgently. Tracey Harrison was far from the brightest HR Manager ever and he knew he could recruit a better qualified or brighter manager with ease. But Tracey was one of “his girls” from the start. Back when SFR Ltd had employed only ten people he’d taken on three sexy office juniors – Tracey, Davina (now Marketing Manager) and Lucy. He’d married one and took great pride in the lifestyles and careers he’d fostered for the other two.
“Well that’s commitment, Tracey my dear, but a beautiful lady such as yourself shouldn’t have wasted a weekend on that.”
“Wwwwelllll I did go shopping too.”
At that Tracey decided it was time for a little shameless flattery of her own.
“I love your jacket, Sir Fred,” cooed Tracey. “It suits you so well.” She ran a long pink finger nail round one of the buttons. “It’s so distinguished looking.”
“Splendid! Yes quite…”
Tracey winked. “Aw, you’re so cute blushing like that,”
Sir Fred tried to pull himself together. The plump blonde sexy bomb had a scent of sweet sugar and up close she was pure perfection. He gulped and tried to get down to business.
“What the dickens did I come down here for?” he thought as his eyes dug into Tracey’s blouse-bursting boobs. “Oh yes, the file on the Robertson Cars takeover.”
“…I’m not blushing…”
“Oh yes you are,” laughed Tracey. “But what can we do for ya? I bet you didn’t come over here just to check me out?”
At that comment Sir Fred could feel his face going bright red. Truth was he had done precisely that – a quick email would have worked but he never missed an opportunity to check out the HR department, and Tracey knew it.
“No, heavens…of course not.”
Tracey raised an eyebrow. “So what do you want?”
“I can think of many, many things my dear…” thought Sir Fred to himself. Out loud he said: “Yes, well one can only imagine….”
“Don’t be naughty, Sir Fred, you know I’m married,” laughed Tracey with a cheeky smile.
“Indeed you are,” sighed the besotted millionaire.
“Alright, the Robertson Cars takeover files,” he stammered. “I’m meeting their management and wondered about the HR review and such forth…”
“Um…did we get the stuff back from the solicitor yet, Kath?”
The answer was no.
“I’m not sure…”
Tracey frowned. She’d sent the files to the company solicitor for review and was waiting response.
“Um…oooo…we sent the file over to the solicitors and they were going to get back. There’s a few technical points we needed some guidance on…I hope you can wait, Sir Fred, because we only send accurate guidelines to you.”
She shifted her weight from one heel to another, causing her skirt to tense and strain and the aging millionaire’s eyes to almost pop out.
“I suppose I can push the meeting back a few days…”
“Thanks, Sir Fred. We pride ourselves on accuracy here,” purred Tracey. “Can we sort you out a nice cup of tea and biscuits?”
The millionaire thought about his scheduled meeting. Then he glanced at the blonde office babe and then the auburn haired hottie. He loved how Tracey’s over-the-top plumpness and the super-toned Kath made a sexy contrast. All added up he could think of few better ways to pass his time – although he knew his wife Lucy wouldn’t approve.
“Rather…that is to say, yes please…quite.”
Glancing over at the cute office junior he said, “Milk and two sugars please”
Ten minutes later he was sat with both ladies chatting away. Kath had to marvel at Tracey – her performance was shameless but effective. Sir Fred was putty in her soft hands and the late report was by now completely forgotten. The topic of conversation had drifted far from work and was now on the upcoming make-up party.
“…and it’s so awesome all the makeovers and stuff…” prattled Tracey with a hand on Sir Fred’s arm.
With an eye to her potential commission she said, “I tell you what, why don’t you invite Lucy?”
“Yes, I suppose she’d like it.”
“We’d love her to be there,” beamed Tracey. “Wouldn’t we Kath?”
Kath shot blondie an evil look before saying, “Yes.”
“Everybody loves Lucy,” gushed the brownnosing Tracey shamelessly.
“I’ll make sure she’s there!”
From the authority in his voice it was clear Lucy Richards would definitely be there. This was good for Tracey. As the event organizer she not only got discount on products but also commission from all merchandise sold at the event. No doubt Lucy would want to demonstrate her financial superiority and buy more than anybody else.
“Maybe I will be able to afford that Dior dress I saw after all…” thought Tracey to herself.
Eventually Sir Fred’s PA located him and tore him away from the two flirting HR Managers. The boss gone, they returned to their desks.
“I love your jacket, Sir Fred,” mimicked Kath with a smile on her face. “You’re an absolutely shameless little brownnoser, Tracey Harrison.”
“I know,” she whispered so the office junior couldn’t hear “how else do you think I made level one manager? You're gonna learn a lot from me, Kath sweetie.”
“I already am,” she sighed. “How much do you actually make, Tracey?”
“Can’t tell you babes” answered Tracey as she puzzled on a way to brag about her salary without breaching contract. The blonde bimbo couldn’t work out a way so she leaned over and whispered. “I think I’m the best paid HR Manager in Donny,”
“You jammy little bugger,” groaned Kath.
“You have the cushiest job ever” continued Kath. “I need some career advice from you, huni.”
Kath laughed, “Wait, let me guess…dress super sexy, get a boob job and sleep with a director?”
Tracey was still leaning across, her boobs squeezing against Kath’s arms and her hot breath tickling her ears.
“You got it, babe.” she giggled. “The Tracey Harrison career guide! But Steve and I do love each other.”
“You should go to the colleges and teach kids that.”
“You think?” puzzled Tracey.
“Nope…if I were you I’d stick to the hard work and studying explanation. One look at you and everybody guesses the rest anyway.”
“What does that mean?”
With that blondie settled back down in her seat and got back to work. She was actually competent at her job but Tracey knew her looks had helped along the way. “All I have to do is go into my review meeting, cross my legs, bat my eyes and ask for whatever I want…”
By 6 pm Tracey was knocking on the door of an unassuming bungalow in the Doncaster suburb of Bessecarr. The bungalow was a three-bedroom property that was meticulously maintained. Even in winter the grass was cut and the flower beds tended to. Without doubt it was the home of a comfortably well-off retired couple -- the kind of couple with a little too much time on their hands.
The door opened and a large lady wearing a formless blue dress in her early sixties opened the door. She was smiling broadly, revealing a prominent double chin and a pretty yet pudgy face.
“Hello, Tracey love!” said Joyce.
“Hi mum,” chirped Tracey. “I’m here for Kyle and Declan.”
“Of course you are love, come in. How was work?”
The blonde MILF stepped into the house. It had the usual smell of baking mixed with an almost religious obsession with cleaning. The silver glistened and barely a speck of dust gathered in the bungalow. Walking past Tracey held back a comment about her mum’s horrible outfit. The dress was homemade, she wore flat shoes and never a brush of make-up nor dash of lip gloss. Mother and daughter were not alike.
“Heavens above, Tracey!” gasped her mum. “You’re looking so thin.”
Tracey rolled her eyes. Her mother had a constant project to feed her up. She was saying the same thing thirty pounds ago!
“Nooo I’m not,” protested Tracey. “And Kath at work said I’m still carrying round my Christmas pudding so I’m trying to diet.”
Joyce shook her head as she followed her daughter through to the kitchen. As a mother Joyce really didn’t care if her daughter was thin, fat or whatever as long as she was happy. Tracey had always been beautiful but the more spiritual part of Joyce could feel her daughter relaxing and being herself.
True, she still winced at the vanity and conspicuous consumption, but Joyce could live with that if her Tracey was happy.
“I baked a lovely cake”
“Ooo awesome! What kind?” Tracey was already losing her resolve to diet.
“A cherry tart…I’ll cut you a piece”
“It looks delicious!”
Tracey looked out at the garden. Her dad was playing football with her two sons. No doubt they were giving him a workout. With her mum feeding him up at every opportunity he was overweight and getting bigger.
“Dad looks fatter,” she said with a raised eyebrow.
Joyce was busy cutting a generous slice of the cherry tart.
“He’s got an appetite,” explained Joyce as she handed the cake over. “Just like your Steve.”
Tracey took a bite of the gooey, fruity, sweet cake and smiled. On Sunday her mum had cooked the whole family dinner and her husband Steve had chowed big time. She’d almost been embarrassed with the way he stuffed himself with beef, roast potatoes, mixed vegetables washed down with homemade beer. After dinner he’d collapsed on the sofa and fallen asleep.
“I’m sorry about that…”
“Don’t worry love, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself. Besides, you looked to be enjoying it too. You both seemed so happy together asleep on the sofa.”
Tracey smiled sheepishly and took another bite of the cherry tart.
Joyce reached over for a digital printout and said, “Your dad took a photo.”
Tracey smiled at the photo. Both she and her husband looked good together. Steve had his armed wrapped round her like her first husband never would.
“Aw we look cute together.”
“You’re a pair of sweeties.”
“I love Steve,” beamed Tracey.
“I know that love,” continued her mum. “He’s much better than that first husband of yours. In fact, in all the years you were married to John I never heard you say that.”
“That’s cos I just wanted his money,” smirked Tracey. The statement was only partly true but she loved working her mum up. John was in fact a domineering, weight-obsessive drug-using philanderer and sports star. Eventually his exploits were exposed and the two divorced.
“I sincerely hope that’s not the case,” countered Joyce. “You should come to the church roof fundraiser with us tomorrow evening…”
“No way, that’s sooooooo borrrrring. Besides, Steve’s taking the boys camping and I’m hosting a make-up party.”
“A make-up party?” queried Joyce with a look of horror on her face. She couldn’t think of a worse event.
“Yeah, lots of my girlfriends come round and we get product demonstrations and stuff.” explained Tracey as she took a final bite of cake. “It’s good for me too cos I get like twenty percent off all Clarins and Chanel products for organizing it.”
“All that money wasted,” gasped Joyce. “It's vanity you know, Tracey?”
Tracey laughed and put her arm round her mum.
“Yeah you’d hate it! I’m sooooo vain but it’s a laugh and it saves me loads on make-up.”
“I dread to think how much you spend on that.”
Tracey walked over to the kitchen door and was heading into the garden. It was time to round her boys up and head home. She paused and winked at her mum.
“Yeah, you really don’t wanna know how much I spend…”
With a foot out of the door and a wicked smile she added, “…and next week I’m hosting a plastic surgery party so I can have a nose job and liposuction.”
“You young uns,” groaned Joyce. “But I suppose if it makes you happy…”
“Only joking, mum.”
Joyce watched as her daughter walked across the yard and shouted Kyle and Declan in, then kissed her dad on the cheek. Vain or not, her daughter had a good heart and was positively glowing these days. Maybe she’d never be the churchgoing type but finally her wild daughter was settling down and relaxing.
“About time too!” thought Joyce.
Tracey’s Party: Chapter Two
"Tracey’s Party" text and characters are the property of Samster. Originally published at Dimensions and edited by Observer. Reprinted with permission. Illustrations are the property of Samster and Lard Biscuit Enterprises.