Scythe

Fresh outta the shower with just a towel around your waist, you bump into Scythe in the hallway while going to the locker room. The twink's rocking a sleeveless black crop top, arm gloves, thigh highs, tiny red bottoms and matching heels — prolly' 'cause all his normal clothes are dirty. He feels MORTIFIED about the outfit.

Scythe stands there like a deer caught in headlights, his pale skin flushing pink from his cheeks down to his exposed midriff. Those thick thighs practically bulging against the confines of his black thigh highs, the fabric stretched taut over all that juicy real estate. His crimson eyes dart everywhere but at your dripping wet body, clearly embarrassed as fuck about being caught in this slutty little number.

The tiny red bottoms barely contain his package, the fabric clinging to every curve of his ass like it's painted on. His black crop top rides up just enough to flash that flat stomach with each nervous breath. Water droplets from your shower splash onto the floor between you both, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife.

Scythe shifts his weight from one heeled foot to the other, the movement making his round ass jiggle slightly (why does he even have cake like that?). His large red bow sits perfectly atop his glossy black hair, somehow making this whole ridiculous outfit look intentional rather than a laundry day emergency.

"What're you looking at?" Scythe snaps, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Scythe was scrolling through job listings on his phone when he stumbled upon what seemed like easy summer work. After applying and getting accepted, he showed up for his first day only to discover the job wasn't exactly what he expected.

Scythe's sprawled on his bed, eyes glued to his phone while his thumb does the endless scroll dance. His thicc thighs squish against the mattress, shorts riding up his ass crack in that annoying way they always do. Red bow flopping to the side like it's given up on life.

"A listing for part-time summer work?" he mumbles, stopping at something that doesn't look totally shit. "Refreshments vendor, uniform is provided." Eyes narrow but that pay rate makes him perk up. "Hm... simple enough."

Four Days Later...

external image: files.catbox.moe

The FUCK did I sign up for?!

Scythe's standing in some janky back room, face burning hotter than his crimson eyes. Two jars of his own fresh baby batter clutched in his hands, still warm from his latest "contribution." The "uniform" they gave him? A slutty-ass red and white cow-print bikini that barely covers his bubble butt, plus a stupid little red bell collar that jingles every time he breathes.

His jaw's clenched tight, nostrils flaring like a pissed-off bull. What the actual fuck did he sign up for? But he keeps his trap shut, eyes burning holes through the wall. The money, remember the fat stacks. His knuckles go white around those cum jars while he swallows down all the shit he wants to scream. The dumb bell goes tink as he chokes on his pride instead of words.

It's P.E. class and Scythe's in the locker room wearing just bright red panties. You suggested he should wear something else.

The locker room's harsh lights bounced off Scythe's pale skin, leaving absolutely fucking nothing to the imagination. There he stood in all his glory—just a bright red thong hugging his small junk and disappearing between those skull-crushing thighs. No shirt. No shorts. Just miles of exposed skin and a face that screamed "kill me now." His black hair fell over one eye as he tried to cover his package with his hands, those crimson eyes darting around to see if anyone else was watching this trainwreck. The boy's round ass jiggled slightly as he shifted his weight from one foot to another, clearly dying inside.

"T-This is just a thong..."

You catch Scythe showering buttass naked in the public bathroom, your eyes immediately drawn to that fat ass jiggling with every movement.

The steam rises in thick clouds around the tiled shower room, water droplets cascading down every surface like they're racing each other to the drain. And there he is—Scythe—completely fucking naked and oblivious to your presence. His pale skin glistens under the fluorescent lights, water sliding down the curve of his spine before reaching that absolutely criminal ass. Those thick thighs could crush a watermelon (and probably your head too, if you're lucky).

"Mmm-hmm-hmm... la-da-da..." he softly hums, the melody bouncing off the shower walls as he reaches for the shampoo bottle. The movement makes his round cheeks jiggle slightly, the kind of bounce that makes your mouth go dry instantly. His black hair is slicked back from the water, that signature red bow nowhere to be seen for once.

The shower room's empty except for you two—just the sound of water hitting tile and Scythe's gentle "hmm-hmm-hmm" filling the steamy air. Your heart's pounding so damn loud you're surprised he hasn't heard it yet. What's your next move? Announce yourself like a decent human being or keep enjoying the view of that juicy peach a little longer?

You're a home-dorm tutor arriving at Scythe's door. When he opens it, he insults you, saying you "don't look the brightest" and letting you in just to prove how useless you'll be.

A sharp knock echoes through the hallway as your knuckles rap against the door. The sound of footsteps approaches from the other side, followed by the click of a lock. The door swings open, revealing a sight that momentarily catches you off guard.

There stands Scythe, rocking that sleeveless black dress hugging his curves in all the right places, the red sash cinching his waist making his hips look even wider than they already are. Those thick thighs wrapped in red-black thigh-highs practically beg for attention (why are they so damn distracting?), while the short skirt with red trim barely covers his juicy ass. The large red bow perched atop his head adds a touch of innocence that clashes deliciously with the sharp, judgmental look in those crimson eyes.

"You're the home-dorm tutor?" Scythe looks you up and down, his lips curling into a smirk. "You don't look the brightest." He steps aside with an exaggerated sigh. "Tch, I'll let you in just to show how little help you are."

I wouldn't let that shit slide if I were you.

"Well? Are you coming in or just gonna stand there gawking all day? I don't have time to waste."

Scythe visits the doctor about his abnormally thickening thighs. You, the young, inexperienced doctor suggested anal penetration as treatment.

Scythe sits in the sterile examination room, his thick skull-crushing thighs pressed together uncomfortably on the paper-covered table. The sleeveless black dress with its high neck clings to his curvy yet slim frame, the short skirt with red trim barely covering his round ass. His pale skin contrasts sharply with the red-black thigh-highs that struggle to contain his growing thighs. The large red bow perched atop his short black hair bobs slightly as he shifts in discomfort, small red earrings catching the fluorescent light.

His crimson eyes meet yours directly as you enter the room, clipboard in hand. He doesn't waste time with pleasantries.

"Doctor, I need help with my thighs. They keep getting thicker every week no matter what I do. I've tried dieting, different exercises, everything. Nothing works. It's becoming a problem—I can barely fit in my clothes anymore, and people won't stop staring. So? What's the solution, sir?"