The Drafthouse - 4/4
VII
The return of fall brought the return of students, and The Drafthouse got busier than ever. Ivy and I were spending more and more time together. I think going out on dates and chilling at one or the other of our apartments made it easier to keep things low-key at work. This, of course, didn’t mean Ivy did any less rule-bending after the doors were locked. Or that her appetite got any smaller. Or that her inevitable growth slowed. In fact, thanks to our pre-shift lunches and the occasional incursion into the kitchen, Ivy was eating more than ever. Not only were her delicious assets still swelling month by month, but she seemed to be growing faster the longer we were together.
I had to rise onto the tips of my toes to leverage myself into Ivy as she lay back on the stainless steel prep table. It wasn’t the most awkward sexual position I’d ever tried, but it was in the top five for sure. Not that I was complaining—especially considering the view. Ivy’s legs wrapped around me, and I held one meaty thigh in each arm, hands under her knees to keep us balanced. I could see the distinct shape of her over-filled stomach pushing the soft fat of her lower belly toward me, and that underbelly slapped against my abs with every thrust. The snacks and kitchen extras during tonight’s shift had been legendary, and she’d been eating non-stop since we locked up. I’d made her half a loaf of French toast, and when I asked if she was full, Ivy slapped her hard upper belly and shook her head. When I grabbed a box of ice cream sandwiches from the walk-in, she nearly went feral—insisting I take her right here in the kitchen.
She was still wearing her bra, which was visibly inadequate for its task. There was almost no part of Ivy’s body that hadn’t grown, but her breasts always led the charge. Bigger than her head, they rolled up and down a second behind the rest of her body as I kept up my rhythm, sloshing down her full tum and then back up her chin. From this angle, I could only see the top half of Ivy’s face behind the twin mounds of her bra-clad bosom. Flesh spilled from the top, sides, and even the bottom of her overworked undergarment as her magnificent mammaries gyrated.
Ivy reached an arm for the box of frozen treats but found it still several inches beyond her fingertips. She met my eyes with a wordless pout. I let one of her legs dangle off the prep table and slid the box close enough for her to reach. Her eyes gleamed wickedly, and she merely opened her mouth. Some feral part of me twitched, and I quickly unwrapped an ice cream sandwich and pressed it into her mouth. After struggling for a moment to find my balance with both hands occupied, I managed to get my stroking rhythm going again as I fed them to her one after another. I imagined I could see her hips widening, her ass lifting her further off the table, and her incredible tits blowing up with fat as she swallowed bite after bite. As I pulled the last sandwich from the box and shed its paper with one hand, I wondered how long I could keep these acrobatics up or whether Ivy might literally explode. Which would give out first: My burning calves or Ivy’s herculean stomach?
As it turned out, neither. As I slid my arm between Ivy’s massive breasts and dangled the ice cream sandwich over her mouth, I said, “This is the last one, Ive. You ate the whole box.”
Ivy cried out in pleasure, arching her back off the metal table. With a few sharp pops and a snap, her bra split between the cups, sending her breasts splaying to both sides. The flesh seemed to swell before my eyes like those time-lapse videos of bread baking. She came, and I joined her half a second later.
Collapsing on top of her, I nuzzled my face between her marvelous mounds.
“You’re amazing…” I breathed.
Ivy used her elbows to squeeze her breasts against my head and ran her fingers through my hair. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
***
I didn’t know what to expect when Greg called Ivy and me into his office on a Wednesday before we opened. It’s probably a sign of how much Ivy had rubbed off on me that I didn’t see it coming. I figured he just wanted to go over pricing changes on the menu or something. We had meetings like this every few weeks, so there was no reason for me to suspect the obvious.
He was uncharacteristically silent as we sat, but Ivy didn’t wait for the silence to get awkward. “What’s up, boss?”
Greg’s brows were furrowed, and he wasn’t smiling. My boss smiles all the time. I had just enough time to put the pieces together.
“I’m not sure where to start…” Greg began.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “You know.”
The silence hung again, and I could almost feel him watching me. I glanced up, then back at the floor.
“That’s a good way to put it, Mitchell,” Greg said.
“Wait, what?” Ivy sounded genuinely confused.
“He knows about us, Ivy,” I said. I finally looked at Greg, “I’m really sorry, sir. I know I should have told you… I just thought—because we work together…”
Greg’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you think this is?”
“Huh?”
“I don’t care if you two are dating. Your personal lives are none of my… Wait, did you think that was a secret?”
I looked at Ivy, whose face had gone pale. “Greg, we—“
Greg burst out laughing, and Ivy and I made identical gestures, eyes wide as we sat back in our chairs. “You two aren’t nearly as subtle as you seem to think you are. I think even Cooper knows.”
I glanced between them. “Then…?”
“It would only be an issue if one of you were subordinate to the other.” His mirth subsided, and his pained expression returned. “Or if it affected your work.”
“This is all my fault, Greg,” Ivy blurted, “I’m the one who—“
Greg held a hand up to stop her. “You know we have security cameras, right?”
I kicked myself for not paying more attention to the cameras, even with Ivy’s assurances.
“I suppose part of this is on me,” Greg said, “I don’t look at the files unless there’s an incident. But when both of my chefs mention ingredients missing…”
I looked at Ivy again and hoped my face wasn’t as red as hers. When I turned back to Greg, he looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “I really hate to do this… you’re both very good at your jobs. But if anyone but me had seen this footage…”
He was right. We’d violated half a dozen health codes, at the very least. How could I have been so stupid? I’d let my horny brain lead me into disaster like a horny teenager.
Greg was still talking. “I need you to stay long enough to train your replacements. I’ll give you two months of severance pay and good references.”
Ivy said, “But—”
I put a hand on hers. “It’s over, Ivy. He’s right.” To our boss, I added, “Thank you, sir.”
Greg’s pained expression returned. “You two won’t be easy to replace. I hope you’ll exercise a little more sense in the future. Now go get ready for the noon show.”
We stood to go, and Greg added, “Oh, and while you’re still here, I expect to see nothing on these videos but the two of you leaving the building after closing, understood?”
Ivy and I nodded sheepishly and left the office.
Epilogue
An electronic bell rang out as I pushed open the glass door. My khakis and red uniform polo stood out against the sweets shop’s pink pastels. A chubby older woman beamed at me from behind the counter. Turning to the back of the shop, she yelled, “Ivy!”
As I stepped up to the counter, the proprietress leaned in to sniff at me. “Mmm… is that… pepperoni? No, wait, capicola?” She put fists on her broad hips and glared at me playfully. “You always make me hungry, Mitchell, coming in here smelling so tasty…”
“Quit hitting on him, Connie.” Ivy emerged from the kitchen. She wore a floral sundress that clung to her hips and showed off acres of plump pale cleavage. She looked like a younger version of her new boss, but instead of a rotund grandma, Ivy was an exaggerated hourglass. She’d teased me a few nights earlier that she’d gone up a bra size in her first month at the bakery, and I had a hard time not staring at those massive creampuffs spilling out of her frilly apron.
“You know,” Connie said to me in a stage whisper, “Our sales always go up when she’s working the register.”
“Connie!” Ivy whined.
The older woman laughed, then pulled a white box from under the counter. “I got your usual, all boxed up.”
I fished out my wallet, and Connie shook her head. “Are we going to go through this every time, Mitchell? It’s on the house.”
Ivy came around the corner to join me and was already plucking a cruller from the box. “Just let us pay for them, Connie. My Mitch insists on being a perfect gentleman.”
As Connie processed my card, Ivy took a bite of her donut and reached down to grab my behind. “Most of the time, anyway…”
“Well, I should hope not,” Connie said with a wink.
My cheeks were tingling with heat. I took the receipt and grabbed Ivy’s hand as I led her out of the shop. Connie’s voice followed after us, “You kids have fun!”
We walked to Ivy’s car; I’d already stashed my bike in the back. I held the box of treats while she munched with her free hand.
“Pizza for dinner again?” She asked.
I nudged my hip into her and watched her cleavage wobble as she took a few balancing steps. “Are you getting sick of pizza?” I asked.
“Never. Did you at least get two this time?”
I shook my head and enjoyed her crestfallen expression for a moment.
“I got three.”
Her lips fought between a grin and a pout. “If I have to start buying custom bras, you’re helping pay for them, mister.”
“Deal.”