“I swear, it won’t happen again.”
“Somehow, I seriously doubt that. I’ll expect your uniform by the end of the day. Don’t bother coming back tomorrow morning.”
As Natalie finished taking one last bite of her cinnamon bun, she felt the blush fill up her scarlet, round cheeks. She really had blown it again. It wasn’t like she had anyone to blame other than herself--her and her stupid belly.
Still, could anyone really blame her for taking a couple of the sweets off the display counter? She was working at a freaking pastery shop! The store was practically shoving free food in her face. Yes, she may have taken a little bit more than necessary, but, really, at the end of the day could anyone blame her for snagging a few donuts at the end of the day for herself?
At least she lasted the month.
She felt a little humiliated more than anything--no, more than a little humiliated. She had been reprimanded in front of the entire store at the busiest hour of the day, and--even worse--she would’ve gotten away with sneaking had her uniform’s button not sprung off. This would’ve just been embarrassing, had said button not rocketed across the room, homing into the back of her boss’s head, whacking him upside his bald head. No, that statement wasn’t accurate enough. It had actually hit the brim of his fedora, knocking the hat off of his bald head, before the button bounced into the air, spinning like a flipped quarter, before landing heads right on the crown of the guy’s skull.
Natalie had wanted to just crawl into a ball under the desk at then, but the first stupid customer to come to her kept calling for her, attracting the boss to her plight. And then--well, the rest was history.
Natalie waited through the rest of her shift, well aware that, even now, she was leaving the only job that would hire her. She went to the locker room in the back, withdrawing her stuff, as she hastily tore off her uniform. She struggled a little bit as she pulled it off over her breasts, which caught hold of the elastic bands. Why would an elastic uniform need buttons anyway?
She caught a glimpse of her naked body in the mirror.
It seemed like she had accumulated a little fringe benefit from the job.
She pouted once more as she ran a hand over her slightly pudgy belly--no, it was a little more than that now--as she pulled her jeans over her thighs, which had grown a little more bountiful with every truffle and little pastery consumed. As she hopped up and down, struggling to fit into her size eights, she compared herself to an ice cream cone overflowing with vanilla ice cream.
No, more like strawberry.
She was blushing.
Her belly hung slightly over the lips of her pants, a sensation she was unfamiliar with. The pinching and uncomfortable awkwardness was uncanny, abnormal. In high school, she had long, sleek legs, the type you’d associate with a dancer or something. In actuality, she had done soccer with some running on the side, but the technicalities weren’t important.
Point is, when she pressed a finger to the flesh, she felt her muscle buried beneath her meat. Maybe if she had some sort of excavation to the center of Natalie, she’d find some muscle.
Until then…
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