The Vulture St Café was an old home on stilts, a sunbeaten yellow paintjob that peeled along the sides, with enough antique and vintage decor to make it feel rustic instead of dilapidated. Nestled between two similarly built houses, one turned Thai massage parlour and the other hair salon, the Vulture was skinnier and had a front stair case that led to the French door entrance, opening into a tight corridor between counter and coffee tables, milk crates with thin cushion seats, a mismatch of paintings procured from attics and thrift shops alike, until ascending another small flight of stairs to more tables and the kitchen. Out back there was seating and a vegetable garden, the tropical greenery loving those hot summer days and stormy nights.

The place had a habit of swaying under the duress of customers. Heavy steppers were always felt and the workers grew used to the constant shifting and bobbing beneath their feet as a large man may lumber down the stairs with his steel-capped RM boots or a heavy bottomed woman may snuff the life from a thin cushion as she let her weight fall on the seat. Not helped by the uneven flooring, folded up bits of paper shoved beneath the feet of many tables to keep them from wiggling. But it’s all about those vibes, right?

It was the tail end of a mild Sunday morning shift, a gaggle of ladies sitting near the front window, some early twenties recovering from a hangover near the back. Oliver was standing behind the counter, cleaning the espresso machine, he was of average height and slender build, unkempt hair, acne on his chin and stubble that resembled an archipelago, he was somewhat of a respected pianist for a band and so he worked long weekend shifts to make up the difference. His parents lived in another city and his sister didn’t talk to him anymore. He was listening to his coworker Maya talk about the secret rave she went to on Friday, inside an old sewer tunnel, crossing the stream with gumboots, rocked on ketamine and grinding on the DJ. Doof, doof, doof, she didn’t remember any of the songs.

“Sounds like fun,” he said. “We should go to the next one.”

“Eh. It was like an exclusive thing,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s a private Facebook group.”

“You should add me. I’m a riot.”

Maya liked talking to him about her weekend debauchery as he had a kind of pathetic way he would stare at her in awe, this palpable glint of FOMO in his eyes mixed with adoration at the fact she moved in such circles and this longing to be included. She was only two years older but to her it felt like twenty years and she viewed him as such, she didn’t mind sharing her life with him but it wasn’t like she wanted to him to be a part of it.

At that moment, the telltale rattle of someone heavy took the stairs, that subtle thump, thump, thud, thud and the bell above the door rang as the patron came inside. An enormous young woman, turning slightly to get through the door fanning her face from the humid day. Standing at six feet tall, it wasn’t so much her height that gave the impression of her stature, but her girth, not that she was fat perse, it was the way her body rounded around her chest and hips. Some of the largest boobs Oliver or Maya had ever seen, stretching her white top so much it lifted and revealed her navel and soft belly, delightfully curving into full womanly hips, thunder thighs that beheld an ass of massive proportion. Big, thick treaded boots that seemingly rocked the whole joint as she walked to the counter.

“Hello,” she said, breathing a little heavy. “I’m looking for John.”

The stranger came with a pungent waft of perfume, a potent mix of a blooming Dior marinated in the folds of her hot, sweaty body. There’d been a high of 34 today and you could tell by the redness in her face and the faint but noticeable sweat stains beneath her armpits and chest and the moistness where her blonde tied back hair met her forehead, that she didn’t do well in the heat.

Oliver, almost frightened, pointed to the back door. “He’s out there.”

“You’re the new hire?” Maya asked.

“Yes.”

“Upstairs and out the back you’ll find him. He’s bald.”

“Thanks.” She walked off and both of the employees watched her turn and gawked at her big ass as it rocked back and forth, confined in tight blue jeans.

“Glad we finally hired security,” Maya said.

Oliver snorted but couldn’t bring himself to pile on, there was something exciting about such a person being hired here. He’d made a terrible first impression hadn’t he. Though it wasn’t easy to stop thinking about her, he’d never laid eyes on someone so… voluptuous… so womanly… so much damn meat on those bones… she was taller than him too. He sniffed the air and the scent of her lingered, it sparked a well deep within his heart that told him. Go, my friend, go. He’d reached a point where he knew his other coworkers weren’t interested in him and his passes, Maya repeatedly turned him down and Lucy would openly laugh at him, but with this new hire, whoever she was. He had a fresh start.

Later, she came back inside, followed by John their boss. He led her to the counter and cheerily slapped down his hand.

“So which one of youse is gonna show Emilia how it’s done around here?”

Maya didn’t look up from the glass she was cleaning, and that left Oliver, beaming, eager to help, and as much as John knew Maya was a better pick how could he say no to that face. He had a soft spot for Oliver, who often did make mistakes, but would overcompensate tenfold to make up for it, one time after being sent home early because he dropped a glass and cut his hand, he showed up after close and cleaned both bathrooms by himself until they were spotless.

“Alright. Emilia, Oliver.”

Oliver wiped his hands on a tea towel and the two of them shook hands over the counter, her large hand enveloped his, even her fingers felt suffocating around his thin, dainty piano hands. The fleshy pad of her palm wrapped around his.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile. She just nodded.

John clapped Oliver on the shoulder and shook him. “She’s a bloody powerhouse ain’t she?”

Wanting to seem chivalrous, Oliver said, “Well. I think she’s gorgeous.” Causing Maya to snicker, John to chuckle and Emilia to glare and take her hand away.

“Alright, Romeo.” John broke the tension. “I need you to hook the kegs up for tonight, and then run through the arvo transition and clean. Take her through the ringer.”

“Right. Gotcha.” Oliver walked around the counter and motioned for Emilia to follow. Up the stairs and out the back they went, Emilia curiously glanced into the kitchen as she passed. The Vulture would change from café to bar at four in the afternoon and this meant a change in menu and opening of the bar downstairs. Under the house had been refurbished to have corrugated iron walls and a façade of dinge, there were stools and tables, and the seating area faced the backyard. Behind the bar there were the beer taps where the kegs were to be connected. By the vegetable garden was the shed where they were held. Oliver led Emilia there, briefly telling her what vegetables were growing as they passed. The kegs were heavy, and he struggled under the weight of one as he grasped both handles and felt his neck strain as he waddled it toward the bar. By the time he got there and gradually eased the metal cylinder down making sure not to hurt his back, Emilia came behind the bar, carrying a keg of her own. Her arms being held so closely together had caused her cleavage to eat her shirt and both her big boobs jostled against each other as they fought for space. Though unlike Oliver, she had no issue with carrying the keg and placed it down next to his, without a grunt of exertion either.

Oliver was still catching his breath and had his hands on his hips.

“Wow. You’re really strong huh?”

She eyed him up and down. “And you look like you’ve never seen the inside of a gym.”

For the rest of the afternoon Emilia followed Oliver’s lead as the regulars trickled through, interspersed with groups of colleagues coming from work. She picked it up fast and was soon pouring beers with perfect head. It was rather busy, and they didn’t have much time for chit-chat, but even then, spending hours beside another person is bound to have some effect. It seemed that way to Oliver as they shared a chuckle after reaching for the same beer tap, or a passing glance as they walked by, she didn’t smile at first but the last time their eyes caught she gave him what could be called a quirk of the lip. He wasn’t crazy, there was something there.

By the time it came to eight o clock, the bar patrons were fewer and farther between, and Oliver had finished rinsing all the dirty glasses and wiping down the counters and sat himself on the bench next to the sink and pulled out his phone. Zero texts, no surprise. Bored, he looked up and started ogling Emilia’s big butt as she bent over to organise some liquor bottles.

“So, what’re you up to tonight?” He asked.

She tinkered with the bottles for a few more seconds before she stood back up and leaned back on the bar, her butt moulding around the edge, she crossed her arms.

“Are you trying to ask me out?”

“Oh. I – uh.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“I was just gonna ask if you wanted dinner. The kitchen makes a mean chicken burger.”

She mulled on that and sighed through her nose.

“Is that a yes?”

“Are we done here?”

It all came crumbling down before him, he was three for three. Every single girl he’d asked at the Vulture had rejected him. First Lucy, then Maya and now Emilia. He was a loser, a pathetic and desperate loser.

“I meant with like, our job.” She gestured around.

His eyes widened. “Yeah, right. Yes. We are. Whoever’s opening can worry about the last few bits and pieces.” He was extremely chuffed and his smile showed the fact. Humility wasn’t one of his strong suits. He jumped off the bar and rushed upstairs to ask for two classic vultures and chips.

Oliver didn’t know it but his sudden rush of excitement as he raced past Emilia was actually the first time he’d made her smile. Not that quirk of the lip that was really a look of contempt but a genuine smile brought on by his actions. Upon first impression he struck her as slimy or greasy, and considering his stature compared to her, he made her think of a skinny rat. But after watching him scurry off to fetch her food she caught herself smirking, thinking to herself, I can work with this one. She thought she deserved the world and so far in life every man she’d met had disappointed her, her attraction relied on the physical sure but she was after something less tangible. A sort of devotion, like one present in those peasants in the Middle Ages who wholeheartedly believed in the Lord and worshipped him as such. Someone slightly dull but worked themselves to the bone to please her, to treat her like a queen.

Twenty minutes later they were sat across from each other by the vegetable garden, the lanterns giving their faces a soft amber glow as they tucked into their dinner. Oliver watched fascinated as she scarfed down the saucy fried chicken burger, taking huge bites and noisily chewing between gulps of beer. She would stare at him as she finished chewing and her throat bulged enormously as she swallowed, then she’d tuck right back in. He was only halfway through his own burger by the time she started on her fries.

“Ha, somebody must’ve skipped lunch,” he said.

She stopped chewing. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I –”

“You ever say something like that to me again and I’ll gut you.”

“Okay, shit. Sorry.” He put his hands up in defence. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“What did you mean by it then?”

Oliver’s heart started racing. He was finding it hard to maintain her intense eye contact. “I don’t know, it’s just – it surprised me how fast you ate that burger.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! Really, I don’t.”

“Is it because I’m large? Is that it?”

“No! Well, no, I…” He didn’t know what to say, and his words devolved into a mimed blabber.

“Ever thought that maybe it’s you that’s small?”

He looked down. “Sorry. It was just a joke. I guess I was self-conscious that you ate so much faster than I could.”

“There we go Oliver. Honesty. Don’t project your insecurities onto me.” Emilia resumed her fries, pinching a handful and dragging them through ketchup. Her massive gob opened, and she practically shoved her hand inside, lips puckering as she sensually sucked on her middle, pointer and thumb, a momentary string of saliva as she pulled them from her mouth. It was impossible to turn away. “Go get me another one of those sandwiches. And another beer,” she said finishing her pint.

“A-alright. But, um. We only get one meal free.”

“Okay then pay for it.”

He nervously laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m kind of broke right now.”

Her brow raised as if to say… and?

“Alright, yeah. Sure. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned Emilia was almost done with her fries, scraping the last of the sauce onto them. She hungrily snatched up the burger and he placed the pint next to her empty glass. He sat down across from her and picked through his food as she finished off her second dinner. He’d be staring at her eating, watching the grease stain the edges of her mouth and then quickly look away when she raised her eyes.

It was hard to describe how she made him feel. Slightly intimidated maybe, she definitely made him feel inferior and he didn’t appreciate having to use the last of his spending money on her, but she was also so utterly captivating that it felt worth it. Everything she said laced with a venomous prejudice and yet he’d sooner poison himself than have nothing at all. His mouth went dry watching her finish her burger and lick the grease off each finger one by one.

Emilia leaned back, letting forth a luxurious moan of contentment as she stretched her arms, her breasts parted heavily with the arc of her back.

“What are you doing after this?” He asked.

She yawned and came to rest. Smacking her lips twice. “Going home.”

“W-would you want to come back to my place?”

“Definitely not.”

Oliver’s head hung in shame as she grabbed her beer and sculled the rest of it, letting out a long belch right after. She smirked to herself as he sat there, like a little boy who wasn’t allowed to play with his toys. He was so easy.

Suddenly, she rose from the table and leaned forward to grasp the back of his head with her hand, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. The chicken and hops still on her breath and that heady Dior BO stench invaded his space. Her breasts lightly bounced against his torso before splaying out.

“Why don’t you come back to mine, and I’ll fuck your brains out as thanks.”

Without even thinking, Oliver sported a half chub and his breathing became rapid. She whumped back on her seat, rocking the table and almost spilling his beer. Crossing one arm beneath her bust, she rested her chin between the nook of her fingers as she watched the last few neurons in his brain fizzle out.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” he said too fast. “Yes. Yes it is. Let’s go.”

Emilia lived on the top floor of an apartment complex that overlooked the river, she was supposed to share it with her brother but he was never around and so his room had been filled with her spare clothes. The foyer led right to the kitchen with its marble benchtop that overlooked the loungeroom, a big grey couch sat in front of a plasma TV mounted on the wall and there was a huge window on the far side that overlooked the buildings lining the riverbank. It was paid for by her father, a recent pain point as it was the whole reason she started working at the Vulture in the first place. After he came to visit one night because he was in town for a work conference, he’d been outraged at the mess of the place, the kitchen tops covered in sauce and spilled coffee stained down the cupboards and her clothes over every single chair around the table and stacks of her books and coursework everywhere and her shoes and socks and bras and panties all over the floor and by God Emilia, the smell. The bin hadn’t been emptied in three weeks and she couldn’t remember the last time she did laundry. She liked to cover it all up with the potent, eye-watering fragrances from her expensive perfume collection. But no, she wasn’t allowed to live like this, she had to earn her keep he said. Fucking asshole.

So now the place was somewhat clean. There were still the occasional loose sock or shoes where they shouldn’t be, and the kitchen wasn’t spotless but it was definitely cleaner, and she’d even promised to air the place out every once again, though she always left the aircon on.

Oliver followed her through the front door and looked around wide-eyed. He’d never been to a girl’s place before, and he’d certainly never seen one so lavish. He was struggling to keep his mouth shut and had been yapping on for most of the taxi ride home to minimal responses.

“Woah Emilia. I don’t mean to pry, but how much do you pay for this place?”

She turned on her heel and stuck a stern finger in his face. “Shut the fuck up.” The extra two inches given by her boots heightened the small difference in their height and made her seem much more imposing.

“I was just curious.” His hands went up in defence again. It pissed her off how timid he became at the slightest hint of conflict.

“I didn’t invite you over here to talk, did I?”

“No, you’re right. Sorry.”

That made her smile and she cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Good boy.” She released him, letting her fingers linger for a moment before she swayed her hips over to the couch, sighing heavily as she plonked down. A little unsure, he followed and was about to sit down too when she tutted.

“Boots first,” she pointed at her feet.

Without any resistance he knelt down by the couch and grasped one of her boots. They were a big pair of brown Blundstones, quite heavy in his hand as he tugged at the heel, her woollen sock scraped its way along until her foot popped out and the rest came off easy. She wore thick mauve socks that went halfway up her calf, soiled along the bottom and extra fabric all bunched around her toes that’d been marinated in leather tombs for eight hours straight. She cracked her toes and scrunched that sweaty fabric between the ball of her foot, spreading the earthy musk around.

Oliver coughed and turned his head away. He was about to comment on the absolutely horrid stench wafting from her feet before he remembered what had happened last time he made a comment like that, also the fact she was shooting him daggers. He took one last deep breath through his mouth before he grabbed her other boot and slowly slid it from her foot, the same squelching procedure with her freshly released ped. Thinking he was done with his duty he went to sit next to her on the couch but she moved her foot in his way.

“Nuh uh. Sit on the ottoman, I want a massage.”

To his right was a small leather ottoman, he dragged it over in front of her and sat down on it. Her feet followed shortly after and placed themselves in his lap, wide heels sinking into the meat of his thighs. He held them and started to rub her arches with his thumbs, ignoring how wet her socks were and giving Emilia a warm smile.

“You are such a fucking moron.”

“What?”

“Why would I want a massage with my socks on?”

“I don’t know.”

“So take ‘em off big guy.”

He peeled her long socks off, gradually revealing her hot and red feet, they were wide and plush with meaty toes. Fuzzy bits of lint were riddled all between her grimy toes and the stench became more muggy. He grimaced but tried to turn it into a smile as he looked back up at her.

“What?” She said innocently, wiggling her toes. “Do they stink?”

A tear rolled down his cheek. “No, no, they’re great. Really great.”

She tutted and started to stroke his cheek with her big toe while he began massaging her free foot, digging his thumbs into her soft but slick arches. She gave him her other foot and he continued with his massage, her head leaned back and she moaned contentedly every now and then.

Oliver was diligent in his work, not about to back down when he was moments away from getting what he wanted, he put in the extra effort, really getting into the ball of her foot, his fingers covered in a sweaty fuzzy mix. He was so entranced in her big feet that he hadn’t noticed her breathing become heavier.

Her zipper undone and her hands were down her pants, a subtle squelch as her fingers worked. The two made eye contact and Oliver felt he were a deer in headlights, privy to some unspoken art. She chewed her lower lip, picking up the pace before she removed her hand, drenched with her juice. She sighed and stood up so her crotch was eye level with him sitting on the ottoman. A balmy heat emanated from her lacey pink panties, the fly of her jeans opening to give way to that potent feminine stink. The dampness felt upon his face.

She looped her thumbs through her waistband and shimmied her tight jeans over her hips, having to be more forceful to make it over the hump of her huge ass. Her jeans dropped with a soft thud and she stood there, exposed, her hungry pussy having drenched her panties, like a caged animal, the mons large and pronounced through such thin fabric. One slight step forward so her feet flanked his, her belly jiggled to a stop and her pussy was right in his face. She placed one hand on his head, combing through messy brown hair until she held a handful of it and he was forced to look up over her round belly and tits and breathe in her arousal.

“I like the way you’re looking at me Oliver.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

“Sorry,” he practically whispered.

“I want you.” Her left hand felt up his cheek and she forced her thumb into his mouth as she flicked his lip, letting him taste her. “To remove my panties.”

Oliver’s hands tremored as they glanced up her plump thighs until he pinched the thin waistband and slowly pulled them down revealing an overgrown blonde bush and another wave of balmy excitement as the glistening lips of her pussy stared at him, it quivered with anticipation as she felt his breath. He went to stand up but she pushed him back down on the ottoman.

“A-aren’t we going to f-fuck?”

“Aww diddums.” Emilia snickered and shook her head. “Look how desperate you are.”

“But you said!”

“I lied.” She pouted. “Get used to it.”

Emilia sat back on the couch, dragging two fingers to open her lips wide.

“Eat.”

Oliver, hurt by her words but not letting it stop him from trying to impress her, shuffled forward on his knees until he was between her thighs, she gave him one last look before he plunged forward and buried his face in her muff.

The heady scent assaulted his nostrils and it was all he could smell as he worked his tongue inside, her fishy arousal wet across his tongue. He licked around the walls of her pussy, trying to find that sweet spot that made her coo, he mouthed the ABC’s and to his surprise he brushed over a little bump that earned a moan. He’d found it! The elusive clitoris, and he went to town on that pink love hump. She gripped his head and forced him deeper, starting to forcibly rub his face against her and she could tell but didn’t care that he was struggling for air as it only made it better. She tweaked her nipples through her shirt and growled.

It went on like that for some time as she rode his face into her, sometimes pressing him in such a way that his nose would bury itself in her mound and she’d jostle it around in their feeling his nose on her inner labia. Her moans grew louder and she became rougher, squeezing her thick thighs batting his ears in their fleshy embrace. He’d nearly disappear in there, his head outsized by those big legs. She’d mutter taunts and call him terrible names that he could barely hear. She never called his name and as she came to her climax she groaned and pulled his hair tight and shoved him deeper to extend her blissful state.

He fell back with a long gasp, taking deep breaths of fresh air that were no longer tainted by the odorous nectar that spewed from her beautiful pussy and coated his lips and tongue. He lay with his head on the ottoman as he stared at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened and if he’d enjoyed himself. He wiped a pube that was glued near his mouth.

“That was… intense,” he finally managed.

But all he got in response was a snore.

He looked up and saw Emilia with her head lolled back and her eyes closed. Snoring peacefully, a nasally snort caught in her pharynx. His head leant back again. He decided he’d done an incredible job, so incredible that he’d knocked her out cold from his cunnilingus-based talent, a talent he was unaware he had. Even if he hadn’t quite enjoyed himself, he was proud of his performance.

After he’d recovered, he gathered his phone and wallet and stood by the couch in her quiet apartment, looking over the enormous sleeping beauty. He found a blanket tucked beneath the TV cabinet and lay it over her. He blew her a kiss and let himself out. All he knew is he wanted more. He had to earn her favour. And, as he left, his mind clouded with the memory of aromatic, animalistic Emilia, he failed to notice his shoes felt a little looser.