Meet Pam Weedle

As Pam Weedle walked through the lobby of Blorb Marketing Concepts, she was struck by the unexplainable sensation that today was going to mark a turning point in her life. “Good morning,” Pam murmured at Blorb’s young, attractive receptionist, Sara Tinsel, who paid Pam little mind as she chewed her gum and lip synced to the music coming out of her headphones.

Pam was freckled, lanky and awkward, with buck teeth and straight red hair tied into a ponytail that made her look like a teenager, although she was actually thirty-three. She was considered a brilliant marketing psychologist, and on an intellectual level, she could devise a way to sell anything to anybody; however, she had always been hopelessly strange in social situations, and her personal life was a disaster as a result. She had very few friends, and hadn’t had a romantic relationship with a human being in five years.

On her way to her office, Pam passed by Tim Weathers, an attractive salesman she’d been harboring a secret, intense lust for. She did her best to squeak out a greeting while awkwardly avoiding eye contact and scurrying away.

As soon as she was safely in her office, she locked the door, drew the curtains on the windows, and began frantically rooting through her desk drawers for her secret work vibrator. Her panties were already soaking with her juices.

Pam was not a sexless prude, as many assumed. In fact, she was a sex-starved pervert with all manner of twisted, bizarre fetishes. She could rarely make it through a workday without masturbating at least once, and things had been getting even worse ever since Hunter had died.

Pam had to put Hunter, her German Shepherd, to sleep three weeks earlier, after he’d been hit by a car. She’d been devastated; she’d secretly trained the dog to perform cunnilingus, which had done wonders to keep her bottomless sex drive in check.

Pam had already begun to tear her pants and panties off when her cell phone rang. At first she ignored the call, instead opting to grope at her sopping, hairy crotch, but as soon as she recognized the ring tone as Olga’s, Pam’s old submissive instincts kicked in and she thoughtlessly picked up the phone. “Yes, ma’am!” she squealed, before she realized what she had done.

The deep, thick and sultry voice of Olga Stoutmeyer responded. “I’ve moved back to town, my little worm-girl. You will meet me at your apartment in one hour and surrender yourself to my service once more.”

Dizziness overtook Pam as she stood shaking with terror. A bead of pussy juices trickled down her leg and sweat began to accumulate on her brow. She hadn’t seen or heard from Olga for five years. “I… Olga... I don’t know… I don’t think our relationship was very good for my… my self-esteem,” she managed to assert in a timid whisper.

Silence radiated from the telephone for several seconds. “Who is caring what the worm-girl thinks of herself? Are you not my slave? You will be at your apartment in one hour.” After her brusque order, Olga disconnected. Pam fell back into her chair and thought about the last night she had spent with Olga.

Olga had rented a handful of German films. Pam had spent the evening tied up on the couch, her face squished right up the crack of Olga’s huge, naked ass. Olga sat on Pam’s face that way for at least six hours, eating a large bowl of chili and several bags of pork rinds as she watched her movies. Pam’s entire universe that night had been Olga’s enormous, sweaty ass and the wretched chili farts that blasted out of it.

The memory was at once humiliating and titillating. “God, what the fuck is wrong with me?” Pam wondered aloud. What was she going to do?

Pam will…

...attempt to woo Tim

...get back together with Olga