The factory floor hummed with the low, steady thrum of idle machines, the only real sound besides the occasional soft drip of coolant from a distant hydraulic press.

Most of the night shift had clocked out hours ago, leaving the place dim and echoing under the buzzing fluorescent lights. Jonathan’s car ticked itself cool in the employee lot outside, engine still warm from the long drive in. He killed the headlights and sat there for a long moment, adjusting his glasses on his nose, brown hair slightly damp with sweat from the day’s work. Nineteen, quiet, reserved. He didn’t talk much to anyone on the line. Just kept his head down and did what he was told.

But lately his eyes kept drifting. To her.

Cathy. The boss. Fifty-eight years old, with long straight black hair tied back in a loose ponytail that swayed when she walked the floor.

Sharp almond eyes that could switch from warm approval to cold command in a heartbeat. Her body was impossible to ignore, massive natural G-cup breasts that strained heavily against her work blouse, full and heavy, jiggling softly with every step she took.

A small waist that flared out into wide hips and thick thighs, and then there was her ass. Enormous, round, heart-shaped, the kind that looked pornographic no matter what she wore.

Tonight it was those tight blue jeans again, the denim stretched so taut over her plump cheeks that the seams dug deep into the soft flesh, making every curve bounce and shift.

The way the material hugged her massive bum made it look even bigger, fatter, more inviting. Jonathan had spent the entire shift trying not to stare.

He wiped his glasses again and stepped inside. The air smelled of metal shavings, oil, and faint grease. He was finishing the last crate when her voice cut through the quiet like an order he couldn’t refuse.

“Jonathan. My office. Now.”

No please.

No explanation.

He obeyed without a word, quiet as always. He followed her down the short hallway to the small supervisor’s break room off the main floor. The door clicked shut behind them with a finality that made his stomach tighten.

The room was cramped and industrial, a worn leather couch against one wall, a metal desk cluttered with paperwork and a half-empty coffee mug, a flickering desk lamp casting yellowish light. A small window looked out onto the dark, empty factory floor. The faint hum of the building’s systems vibrated through the walls.

Cathy leaned back against the desk, arms crossed under her heavy tits, pushing them up so the fabric of her blouse stretched tight. The tight blue jeans creaked softly as she shifted her weight, the denim hugging her enormous bum like it was painted on.

“You stayed late again,” she said, tone nice at first, almost warm. “Good boy. I like workers who put in the extra effort. Shows you know how to follow orders.”

Jonathan stood there, hands at his sides, eyes lowered behind his glasses. His dark brown hair fell slightly over his forehead. He didn’t speak. Reserved. Always reserved.

She noticed everything. Her sharp eyes tracked his gaze as it flicked, just for a second, to the way those jeans stretched obscenely across her massive ass when she turned slightly to adjust a paper on the desk.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” she said, still nice, but an edge was creeping in. “Or is my quiet little worker too busy staring at my bum again?”

Heat rushed to his face. He adjusted his glasses, swallowing hard. “Sorry, ma’am.”