Post 218: Scenes from a Party, p1: Cynthia Arrives

He thinks I didn’t notice him, the car-parking guy, Cynthia Carlisle thought to herself, as she prepared to get out of the car and head into the party, He snuck a look at my legs when he opened my door…and then he looked at my boobs…

Having already put the car in park, despite how weird that made her feel (not bad, just weird, and kinda excited) she checked the passenger seat, made sure she had everything she needed. This wasn’t her car; she’d taken her aunt’s. It was much nicer than her old Hyundai, with leather seats and everything. Well, it wasn’t really even her aunt’s. It was a company car, one her aunt used for sales calls. It was a bigger car, fancy, and she’d told her aunt she needed it for tonight. In the past she never would have been bold enough to ask, but these days she was feeling different. Her own car was getting too small for her. Her aunt didn’t seem to care, didn’t want Cynthia using the vehicle her work had trusted her with, but Cynthia took it anyway.

She’d never done this before, used a valet. Am I supposed to, like...turn the car off? Give him my keys? Or do I…?

As she wrestled with her indecision, she felt his eyes still on her. Face flushing (this is bad, right?), she decided in a split second of wickedness to give him a moment to look and checked her eye makeup and lipstick in the rearview (I’m wearing eye makeup! And lipstick!) He was blatantly looking at her chest again, but doing his best to be covert. She wasn’t used to guys looking at her, and he was trying to hide his phone. In fact, had he just tried taking a picture of her?? Should I say something? she asked herself, Get mad?

“Um, I can, um, take the car from here…” the guy stammered, “...ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she queried, raising a newly sculpted eyebrow. She’d looked up a YouTube video on how to do that. The valet gulped nervously.

“I...I d-didn’t m-mean,” he stammered, backpedaling, afraid he’d misspoken.  But Cici didn’t hear him, already lost in thought.

Ma’am? Did a man just use a term of respect with her?? With her?? He was, she saw, now that she turned to look a bit up at him from her seat in the car, a rather small man. A skinny man. She squinted, a bit, up at him (maybe I should have worn my glasses…but, no. Pretty girls don’t wear glasses haha). He was young, maybe her age or a bit younger. He had a weird beard, and he looked silly in his uniform. He looked nervous. Was she making him nervous?? Usually she was the nervous one, around guys. Around all people, really. But…she wasn’t, right now. Not with the way he was looking at her.

She knew, suddenly, what kind of guy he was, what he wanted. She could see it in his face, how he looked at her. She knew these guys were around, had read about them. A few of them, she thought, had furtively followed her around at the mall yesterday, trying not to be seen as she tried on shoes, like little mice. She even thought some of the construction workers at the office, maybe, liked looking at her, for what she’d been…becoming.

A thin, rare smile bunched the dimples in Cynthia’s face as - with her gaze now fixed on the timid eyes of the trembling (he is trembling, isn’t he??) valet - she turned in her seat towards him and planted her feet, in her new white, six-inch high-heeled pumps, on the ground. He really does look like a rodent, she thought, as she began to rise…

The young man took a stumbling step back, and then another, as Cynthia “Cici” Carlisle began to stand. His jaw dropped, she saw it, as she stood up…and up…and up. Her smile grew, though she said nothing, watching the reaction on his face as he realized just how tall she was, how much bigger she was than him. Six feet, she said to herself, I’m almost six feet tall. I’ve grown more than an inch just this week and with these heels…

Her breasts nearly knocked the poor boy over.

…I must be a foot bigger than him.

She was taller, she was thicker, she was wider. Everything about Cynthia dwarfed the little man in front of her. She saw it, and she knew he felt it, the difference between their sizes. How big she was, and how laughably little she made him look. Her breasts were bigger than his head, her legs likely as thick as his skinny waist.

Haha why did this excite her? Why was this so thrilling? Had she always felt this way? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t remember, in the past, liking the idea of being bigger than guys. Not that she’d ever, really, had a lot of chances with boys, or even let herself have the opportunity to fantasize. Guys had never given her the time of day, so she’d always figured: what’s the point? But now she knew. She wanted to be bigger than them, stronger than them. And she thought that that’s what a lot of guys wanted, too. Including this little mousy-man quivering in front of her...

About that Cynthia was right. His heart was beating out of his chest in a mix of panic and arousal. This girl was a fucking giant, and the growing number of guys he was talking to online about women like this would drool over her. But what she didn’t know was that this strange attraction he’d had to big women, this submissiveness to female strength, was also relatively new, had formed and really only coalesced over the past few months. Why was that? Where did it come from? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to keep himself from dropping to his knees right then and there.

“H-h-here, ma’am…” he stammered, able to find his voice, “here’s your t-t-ticket…”

I guess this guy is going to drive away with my car, Cynthia thought, as she readjusted the short-short hem of her skirt over her thick upper thighs. She took the ticket from the little man. I’ll save this ticket and, I guess, give it to him later? This new blue dress, from that website that all the curvy girls on Instagram order from, was not something she would have ever dared to wear in the past. She’d always scoffed at girls - like Randi, like Amelia - who seemed to make outfits like this part of their regular wardrobe. Anyway, it would have looked ridiculous on her just two months ago. But, she’d seen in the glances she got from the construction guys at the office that she may be one of these girls now, that maybe she could pull a tight little dress like this off, and so she’d gone against all her old instincts and ordered it online for this party. When it came in the mail yesterday and she tried it on in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she broke out in laugher.  Now she could really see what they did. Some of them, she heard, some of the construction guys, were going to be here tonight. Not that she was really interested in, like, any of them in particular. There was only one guy she knew that really got her going, one guy that she secretly pictured when her hands went into her panties in the ladies’ room, or between her legs under her old, threadbare sheets late at night. But if she couldn’t get his attention, she was pretty sure that, in this dress, she could get some of theirs...

Cynthia took her first step, to allow the valet into the car, and almost stumbled. She’d had little-to-no practice walking in heels anywhere near as high as these, and her hand instinctively went to the little man’s shoulder for support.

“A-are you okay?” he asked, as the tall girl righted herself. The hand on him was big and covered his shoulder almost completely.

“Yeah,” she answered, “Why wouldn’t I be?” and began to step away, shoving the parking ticket in her small clutch bag. He watched her totter, for her first few, short steps, and eventually find her stride. She was clumsy on heels, still stumbling a bit, but her awkwardness took nothing away from the epic sight of her calf muscles bulging, her huge ass rocking back-and-forth as she walked away from him and towards the entrance of the club...

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Thanks to CaptainAmbiguous for his help and suggestions.