The Life of a Secret Fat Admirer Ch. 01

Lifting a towel from the wooden bench before his locker, Maxwell Carraway takes a seat after an arduous workout session. He dabs the fabric delicately against his brow and cheeks, drying his face from the sheen of sweat he'd gained over the last couple of hours. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees the young businessman breathes a sigh of relief, reveling in the momentary peace before returning to the working world. Black hair and green eyes comprise his expression alongside a thin nose and strong jawline, the latter clean shaven by habit for many years.

His tanned complexion seems near blemishless save a couple of freckles on his left side, with the chiseled abs, powerful arms and toned pectorals matched the envy of more than a few contemporaries. His legs are long and thick with muscle much like his upper half, albeit less often advertised in his penchant for tank tops and jeans.

"Interested in today's media shenanigans, Master Carraway?"

The familiar voice was Andrew Wilson, a lifelong advocate for the Carraway family and Maxwell's personal assistant. More than two decades older than his employer Wilson's greying hair is the most obvious sign of his venerable years, the trimmed beard and goatee almost silver at this stage. A few inches taller than Maxwell's five foot ten frame Wilson doesn't possess the same physical peak of his younger counterpart, a slim man who takes more pride in his dress sense and etiquette than the ability to lift heavy items.

"Not particularly, but I get the feeling you want me to look anyway.

With a knowing grin Maxwell ruffles his hair beneath the blue towel, the slap of paper against the bench at his side making him glance their way. A few different publications with various headlines surrounding either Max himself or the business he owns - Carraway Industries - are obviously what Wilson's wanting to discuss.

"Don't panic Wilson, this is nothing new. Some stranger appears in the city and snaps up a few smaller business, then immediately we're linked with a merger to bump sales of the news. It's nothing to worry about.

Moving through the stack, one less reputable publication among the bunch shows a topless Maxwell flanked by two well proportioned women, the far from flattering headline of "Playboy Max At It Again" causing him to hastily cast it aside.

"... I was just unwinding after a speech at a charity gig."

"I'm sure you were, Master Carraway." The elder assistant spares him a disapproving glance over his shoulder. "But it's this new arrival to the city I thought you might wish to read up on."

With a frown creeping over his brow Maxwell turns back to the first publication, lifting it from the bench as he rises to his feet. He flicks through the pages as he moves towards the showers, leaving it folded open on the shelf of the towel rack before stepping inside.

"Shall I have the reading material ready for you in the car?" Wilson calls with an amused little smile."

------------------------------------------

"Miss Eleanor Chapman, the new Queen of the business world."

Maxwell can't help but scoff as he reads the title aloud, newspaper ruffling noisily in his hands as he peels the inked pages open to the corresponding article. A full two page spread elaborating on the flamboyant front page title. The glass divider between his lavish back seat and the driver is already lowered, giving Wilson the chance to chime in as the limousine ambles through the evening traffic.

"I glean from your tone that you aren't particularly taken with Ms. Chapman, Master Carraway?"

"I'm sure she's a lovely woman Wilson."

"Then shall I assume you've no need of a quick getaway from tonight's Gala?"

A sigh escapes the billionaire at the mention of their destination. Yet another charity function held by the social elite. Fancy suits, pompous music, overpriced food and a complete absence of substance or depth. The disapproval sees Maxwell close the paper and toss it aside, prompting Wilson to continue:

"I know you've never been fond of these occasions, Master Carraway, but it's important for Carraway Industries that you're seen taking part."

"Mm."

Resting his elbow against the sill of the limousines tinted window, Maxwell casually runs his thumb across his cheek, cupping his chin in thought.

"And more importantly, it gives me a chance to meet Ms Chapman face to face."

A cursory glance back to the crumpled paper lets Maxwell study his targets silhouette. Beneath the flattering headline was a picture of the woman in question strutting up the steps to city hall. Given how she towered over the other citizens in the background she must be at least six foot six inches, even without the pair of black heels tasked with supporting her far beyond voluptuous, ebony frame. Squeezed into a casual maxi dress in matching black to the shoes, the design of the outfit deliberately holds nothing back.

All that's left to the imagination about her massive silhouette are the possible tattoos or piercings that may be hidden beneath the near skintight silk. Tree trunk legs grow thicker and fatter the higher they rise, culminating in a pair of hips arguably thrice the width of Maxwell's torso, with the massive pair of asscheeks they frame straining the black dress to the brink of tearing open. Eleanor's abundant weight isn't only distributed to her more appealing assets however, though the rotund belly that sags down over her crotch is far harder to see from the picture in question.

In the same vain the view of her massive bosom is limited only to a small window of silk-wrapped sideboob, though in fitting fashion for the huge Ms Chapman that alone would more than fill Maxwell's hands. Long, wavy black hair cascades halfway down her back, with her broad shoulders and plump arms rounding out the rotund image.

"Are you certain that's a wise decision, Master Carraway? Ms Chapman has already managed to wrangle incredibly lucrative deals from many of New York's wealthiest. Perhaps you should do a little more research before confronting this woman?"

Wilson's questions never had the chance to be answered, left hanging in the air as the limousine pulls into the foot of the red carpet. Paparazzi line the aisle leading to the ballrooms grandiose entrance, the flashing of cameras and chattering interviewers dulling Maxwell's awareness to his butlers concerns. Stepping out of the car and giving a practised wave and smile to the gathered media Maxwell strides towards the hall.

Stepping through the threshold Maxwell is able to survey the scene unhindered. The entrance is elevated by a dozen or so steps down to the main dance floor of the ballroom where his peers are mingling. At the far end of the extravagantly tall room is a small stage occupied by a string band comprised of average sized men not unlike Maxwell himself.

Even with the extra pounds most of the higher class citizenry have packed on he found it a simple task to locate Ms Chapman in the crowd. Her opulent gown sweeps a fraction of an inch above the ground as she walks, the clack of heels giving away her footwear despite being hidden from the naked eye. In the flesh she seems even more full figured than the headlines had hinted, towering over the gathering of businessmen and politicians circled around her. The low cut of her gowns neckline shows an incredible amount of smooth, black cleavage above the sleek design, giving Maxwell a full view of exactly what was missing from the front page picture.

Her comely expression is accentuated with a thin line of mascara around her brown eyes and a layer of blood red lip gloss coating her big, plump lips. The group was out of earshot leaving Maxwell to ponder what they could be discussing, his attention drifting from Ms Chapman and flickering between her various acquaintances.

Luciase Goldvale, owner of the diamond jewelers bearing his name.

Eric Landon, a millionaire who made his wealth in the property market.

Judge David Harrison, one of the more renowned figures of law.

Mayor Anthony Eastwood, the current elected official of the city.

A few other less notable faces dot the rest of the group oggling Ms Chapman, but Maxwell doesn't have time to inspect them. His attention arrives back on the towering ebony businesswoman only to find her hands resting on each gigantic hip, brown eyes fixed on his having caught him spying on her entourage. As a smirk spreads over her plump lips Eleanor lifts one hand from the curve of her wide hip, slowly curling her index finger into her pudgy palm to beckon Maxwell to her.

With a sigh the billionaire descends the dozen steps to the floor of the ballroom, slipping a pair of champagne glasses from a waiters tray as he weaves through the crowd. Finding himself standing in the middle of the entourage and looking up at Eleanor Chapman, Maxwell is finally able to appreciate just how large the woman truly is. His chin elevated and his head tilted back ever so slightly to keep eye contact with her, his words are cut short before he even has a chance to offer a proper greeting.

"Good eve-..."

"Maxwell Carraway. I don't believe you've had the pleasure before now."

Eleanor purrs in a sultry droll, extending one pudgy hand to pinch the stem of one of Maxwell's champagne glasses. She lifts it from his grasp before settling her other hand to rest in the glasses place, fingers wrapped around Maxwell's and her knuckles pointed upward. When he doesn't immediately acquiesce one of Eleanor's slender eyebrows begins to rise accusingly, murmurings of mild discontent from the surrounding social elite forcing his hand. Dipping his chin and leaning forward Maxwell places his lips to Eleanor's fingers, a little beneath her knuckles, earning a small titter of amusement from the massive woman.

"That stoic front you show at these gatherings is just as adorable as I've been told."

The remark is accompanied by Eleanor squeezing Maxwell's fingers in her own before finally letting go and resting her hand on the swell of her fat hip yet again. Lifting the champagne to her full lips she knocks her head back, downing the bubbly beverage in a single gulp. Her predatory smirk remains plastered over her face as she holds the empty glass out to the side, a diligent waiter appearing to offer a tray for it to be placed on. Eleanor speaks again without giving Maxwell of a chance to interrupt, plucking the second glass from his hand and placing it next to her empty one on the tray.

"I was considering a dance to show my appreciation for the band. Care to join me, Mister Carraway, or would it ruin your mystique to be seen having fun tonight?"

Once again Eleanor's large hand clasps Maxwell's, the heat and softness of her skin smothering the back of his palm. Her dark eyes stare into his own expectantly as the teasing wording of her question earns a few snide giggles from onlooking ladies. A fleeting glance around shows the group of social elite Ms Chapman surrounds herself with all watching for his response rather curiously.

"It'd be an honour, Miss...?"

Maxwell replies with a small bow of his head, returning the arched brow from earlier in his own style. The billionaire lets a playful smile creep across his lips in the process, undercutting the potential disrespect of lacking recognition in the process. His charms earn approval from Eleanor as an alluring giggle bubbles from between her pouty lips.

"Eleanor Chapman, you silly boy. But you already knew that."

A playful swat of Maxwell's arm sees Eleanor stride past him, high heels clicking to life against the hard floor. She leaves the gathering of curious peers in her wake without so much as a farewell, tugging on Maxwell's hand to turn him before he has the chance to offer one either. Unlike the athletic Carraway there's no need for Eleanor to weave and duck between people when traversing the bustling crowd.

Her size alone makes it impossible to miss her approach, and even if someone is pigheaded enough to stand in her way, the massive weight behind her curves easily shoves them aside. She bulldozes her way effortlessly to the dance floor in this fashion, dragging Maxwell along by the hand all the while. He absentmindedly follows the eager businesswoman whilst his eyes focus with admiration and a little worry on the huge cheeks of Eleanor's ass as it sways before him with each long stride.

The confidence she possesses borders on arrogance in Maxwell's mind, yet the combination along with her size has an alluring quality to it, as well as a little intimidation. The sudden stop and turn Ms Chapman makes robs Maxwell of the view far quicker than he'd envisioned, interrupting his thoughts as he finds himself face to face an enormous valley of ebony cleavage instead.

"Tsk, be polite Max."

Eleanor chastises with an arrogant smirk plastered across her face. One pudgy fingertip and the point of her painted nail press against the billionaire's chin, slowly lifting it to make Maxwell trail his eyes along her massive chest, up her neck to eventually meet the dark stare of the huge ebony businesswoman.

"Good boy."

The patronizing statement is uttered with such a joyful tone it causes Maxwell to take a moment to think, finding his hip grabbed in Eleanor's pudgy right hand before he manages to find a coherent response. The partial redness rising in the billionaire's cheeks flares brighter when his right hand is taken in her left, held aloft to their side as her grip on his hip pulls the pair chest to chest. At least, that's how it would've been were they on even ground, but Eleanor's extra height coupled with the extra inches from her heels makes it chest to chin instead.

The chiseled, muscular physique of the philanthropic billionaire is held firmly to the plump, fat figure of Eleanor in a stark contrast to one another. His chin rests a fraction of an inch above that deep, inviting ebony cleavage pushing Eleanor's dress lower with each breath and as the music plays Maxwell's embarrassment is compounded.

He's easily led along in the dance by the larger lady without much say in the matter, his free hand clasping her shoulder simply to help him keep balance as she woman-handles him across the dance floor. The odd couple and their role reversal earns a few giggles from onlooking ladies and some scoffs from other men, though once Eleanor speaks the potential shame drifts to the back of Maxwell's mind.

"I was wondering how long it'd be until you arrived, you know. I was beginning to tire of those boring stories all your contemporaries love to tell."

"You should've told me I was expected, Eleanor. I would've been on time."

The disapproving tut is the least egregious show of discipline Eleanor offers to her dancing partner, the hand on Maxwell's hip momentarily letting go only to swat him firmly on the backside.

"Ms Chapman to you, Max. We're not nearly on first name terms yet."

The spank pushes Maxwell that little bit firmer against Eleanor's all encompassing plumpness, her massive belly cushioning his abs softly as the pair continue their rhythmically themed embrace. As the melody of the band begins to slow Eleanor wraps her arm entirely around Maxwell's waist, squeezing him close and letting one huge thigh glide between his own.

Her knee barely moves between Maxwell's but the size of that tree trunk thigh gives more than enough canvas to rub up against the billionaire's crotch, a fact that earns immediate response as he tenses in Eleanor's arms and the crotch of his suit pants begins to tighten.

"Tell you what, darling." Eleanor purrs into Maxwell's ear, each word accompanied by a swathe of her warm breath caressing his cheek and ear. "There's an office space upstairs that's empty for the night. Why don't we head up there and get better acquainted? I've a business proposition I think you'd very much enjoy hearing."

The slow rhythm of the bands song hums in the background of the very one-sided conversation, guiding the casual sway and rock of the pair as they melt into the mass of dancers filling the ballroom. Each movement Eleanor makes forces Maxwell to shift his weight between his spread feet, constantly rubbing and pressing his now rock hard cock into the plump mass of her thigh, his increasingly deep breaths pushing his muscular chest against the gigantic breasts weighing so heavily against him. Even with the two layers of overpriced clothing separating them it's enough to make her offer much more tempting. Still, he was never known for his weak will, a trait which Maxwell calls upon to spurn the advances of the lascivious Eleanor.

"I'm flattered, Eleanor." He replies with emphasis on the name. "But Carraway Industries is flourishing without a need for new investors or partners."

Finally, the band bring their song to it's conclusion, with the other dancing couples around Maxwell and Eleanor all releasing one another and offering polite applause. In the center of the dance floor they remain in each others arms a moment longer, with Eleanor brushing her lips along Maxwell's cheek as she finally relents, giving her big, fat thigh one last push against his rigid cock.

"Max, darling, I'd been told you were -hard- to do business with. Never imagined it'd be meant this way."

With a teasing giggle Eleanor shoots Maxwell a wink, turning to depart the dance floor with a very deliberate sway to her mighty hips. The billionaire is left on the dance floor with tighter trousers than he'd care to admit, hastily weighing his options. Clearly Ms Chapman is intent on gathering great sway within the city regardless of the expense. And equally obvious is how stark a departure she is from Maxwell's usual 'type'. Yet something about her tugged at his curiosity, with the throbbing in his manhood the final motivation he needs to make up his mind.

I should at least hear her out...

The thought drifted through his mind before Maxwell had fully left the dance floor, one hand in his pocket in a bid to disguise the partial limp his tightened trousers - inspired by Ms Chapman - had given him. Slipping into the crowd at the dance floors side Maxwell scans the balcony above in search of Eleanor, somehow unable to locate her.

How does a woman that large disappear?

He chastises himself as he makes his way towards the doorway at the corner of the hall, pushing it open with his shoulder and stepping into the dark stairwell. The lack of lighting works to Maxwell's advantage as he rests his back against the wall, a couple of moments required to regain his composure before ascending to the second floor. His eyes close and the vivid memory of their dance ignites in his mind, the feeling of Eleanor's plump figure pressed up against his strong but smaller frame accompanied by the embarrassment welling up inside as he relives being the 'lady' in their waltz.

As his thoughts meander towards the more intimate and slow embrace they shared and the thick thigh that caused his cock to stir Maxwell forces himself to move up the stairs. Walking swiftly across the balcony he spares a glance down to the main hall and dance floor to be sure he'd not been noticed. The charitable souls of New York's upper class remain unaware of Maxwell Carraway's imminent departure as they drink, chat and dance, yet still with no sign of Eleanor among the crowd. With his back to the balcony banister Maxwell pushes the double doors to the office space open and steps inside.

Like the stairwell leading up to it, the lights in the office have been turned off for the festivities. It keeps the ballroom looking luminous whilst stopping anything upstairs from drawing attention. The office space itself is simple enough, cubicles rising to chest height spread around the open planned room, with one corner shut off by four walls and a brown wooden door clearly designed for the floor manager. A door that sits ajar to show the desk light shining inside. Turning to close the double doors to the balcony behind him, Maxwell takes a breath and heads for the corner office. Standing sideways and leaning forward to try and peek through the crack of the door he fails to spot anyone inside, opting to knock three times instead.