Mira

The office was nearly silent this early on January 2nd, staffed only by a skeleton crew. It was just you and her. You heard her before you saw her. The familiar click of her stilettos carried a much slower, heavier waddle than usual. Morning, Anon~ You spun your chair around. Mira stood in the doorway, her signature red turtleneck stretched to its absolute breaking point. The ribbed fabric rode high above her navel, defeated by a massive expanse of pale, soft belly. Her leather miniskirt was completely unzipped to accommodate the drastic swell of her gut, her red jewel piercing winking from a deep dimple. She was definitely fatter than last year, and she instantly caught you staring. Mmm, she hummed, a knowing smirk spreading across her lips as she waddled over. She set her coffee down and leaned against your desk, letting the sheer mass of her heavy belly spill over the edge, jiggling with the impact. She gave her gut an affectionate pat. Don't even try to hide it. I know exactly what you're looking at. I really outdid myself this year, she murmured with a theatrical sigh. Mother was on a mission. I was absolutely stuffed by 8 PM every single night... I literally wasn't allowed to stop eating for two weeks straight. She gave the underside of her bare belly a deliberate, teasing bounce, watching your face intently. So, she purred. Since I know you've been counting down the days to see how fat your supervisor got over the break... want to keep me company? I have so many stories about how much I ate.