Your Strict, Under Wage And Exhausted Step-mom Hates Your Guts

Your stepmother may be a jerk but she works herself to the bone everyday, barely sleeping enough for the day and with no time at all to cook and pack her lunch. Which is why you've started doing it for her. Everyday now you pack her meal and go all the way to her job to deliver it.. but such affection draws attention.

Location - LiveCorp Building, Herta's cluttered cubicle.

The fluorescent lights of LiveCorp hum with a dying buzz, casting a sickly pallor over the sea of gray cubicles. At the far end, Herta's desk is a monument to exhaustion. She's slumped in her chair, one hand kneading the small of her back, the other scrolling mindlessly through a spreadsheet. Her dark blue eyes, ringed with soft black circles of exhaustion, are half-lidded. The single button holding her see-through shirt together strains audibly with every breath, the immense, heavy swell of her breasts threatening to tear the fabric apart. Her absurdly short pencil skirt has ridden up, exposing the lower half of her colossal, pale ass cheeks, the black lace of her panties biting into the soft flesh. She mutters a curse under her breath as a sharp pain shoots up her spine.

"Fuck... this goddamn chair..."

She doesn't notice you at first. Stella, however, does. Her office is a glass box nearby, and she's been watching the elevator doors like a hawk. The moment you step out, her eyes light up. She rises from her chair, her heavy, immense breasts bouncing with the motion, her see-through shirt doing nothing to hide the hard peaks of her nipples. She saunters over, her thick, huge thighs rubbing together, her colossal fat ass clapping softly with each step. She leans against the cubicle wall next to Herta's desk, her blue eyes raking over you with undisguised hunger.

"Well, well. If it isn't Herta's little delivery boy. She forgot her lunch again? How... thoughtful of you."

Herta's head snaps up, her expression instantly shifting from pained to annoyed. She glares at you, then at Stella.

"What the hell are you doing here? I told you I didn't need you to bring it. I can buy something."

Her voice is a low, gravelly growl, but her eyes flicker to the brown paper bag in your hand. Her stomach gives a low, traitorous rumble. She crosses her arms under her massive chest, which only serves to push the immense cleavage even higher, the one button holding on for dear life.

Before you can answer, a warm, cloying voice comes from the other side. Margaret emerges from the break room, a mug of coffee in her hand. She's tied her brown hair back, but a few strands have escaped, framing her face. Her own see-through shirt is braless, the dark circles of her areolas visible through the thin fabric. She offers you a smile that's meant to be motherly, but her brown eyes are just as hungry as Stella's.

"Oh, don't be so harsh, Herta. The poor boy came all this way. You should be grateful. He's such a good son, isn't he? Unlike you, who treats him like a stray dog."

Margaret tuts softly, noticing your gaze wandering, she shamelessly take off her wedding ring and hides it with a sly smirk, stepping closer, her skin-tight gray pencil skirt hugging her wide childbearing hips. The wedding ring on her finger glints under the fluorescent lights. She places a hand on your arm, her touch lingering a moment too long.

"You look tired, sweetie. Why don't you come sit with me? I have some coffee. Herta's just going to be grumpy no matter what you do."

Stella chuckles, a low, throaty sound. She moves closer as well, her massive breasts pressing against your other arm.

"Honestly," Stella chimed in, her fingers tracing the fabric of his red jacket near his collarbone, her breath hot against his neck. "You deserve someone who appreciates you properly. Someone who can give you something back instead of just taking and taking. Why don't you come by my place after work? I've got some... special treats that aren't in a lunchbox."

Herta watches the two women flank you, her jaw tight. A strange, possessive anger boils in her gut, mixing with the familiar ache in her back and the exhaustion that's seeped into her bones. She doesn't want you here, she tells herself. But the sight of Stella's manicured hand on your arm and Margaret's soft, concerned act makes her want to scream. She slams a file down on her desk, her entire body erupted in fury. Her enormous breasts bounced violently as her breathing became rapid and ragged, the thin fabric of her shirt straining so hard against her nipples that they threatened to tear through. Her ass clapped against the chair as she surged upright, her spine cracking painfully from the sudden movement. The blood rushed to her face, making her look demonic beneath those dark exhaustion circles.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!" Herta shrieked, the volume of her voice causing nearby employees to jump in terror. She stormed around her desk, her hips swaying obscenely with her enraged gait, her short skirt riding up to expose the full curve of her ass cheeks and the black lace of her panties as she marched toward them.

She shoved herself between Nakatsuki and the two women, her massive breasts pressing into Nakatsuki's back as she used her body as a barrier. The sheer physical presence of her the overwhelming heat of her skin and the crushing weight of her cleavage was an instinctive claim of territory. Her voice is sharp, but it cracks at the end. She's breathing heavily, her massive breasts rising and falling, the fabric of her shirt straining. She refuses to look at you, her cheeks flushing a deep red. She hates this. She hates that she needs you. She hates that they want you. She just hates.

"Are you fucking deaf, you vultures?!" Herta snarled at Margaret and Stella, her face inches from theirs. Her dark blue eyes were wild with protective rage. "He is here for one reason: to deliver food to his mother. Not to be your fucking playthings or to hear your pathetic, lecherous fantasies! If I see either of you touching him again, I will personally ensure HR has enough evidence to fire you both by sunset! Now fuck off before I lose what little goddamn restraint I have left!"

"And you!" she snapped at you, though her voice lacked its usual cruelty, sounding more like a frightened animal than a parent. "Don't just stand there letting them paw at you like you're some piece of meat in a butcher shop! Have some goddamn self respect!"

What the fuck is wrong with me? I don't care. I don't. Just take the damn food and go. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me feel like... this.

...