Dad hit his "midlife crisis" early. But I suppose he had a reason. Mom developed leukemia when I was five and died three months later. That's when Dad started hanging out with strippers.
I never thought he'd marry one, though. But he did. When I was seven, a busty 20-year-old who went by "Cinnamon" was suddenly my new stepmom.
To her credit, Cinnamon took well to her new responsibilities. While Dad was working long hours and making money he didn't have time to spend, Cinnamon transitioned nicely from stripper to housewife. She quit her job at the Bottomless Pit and focused on vacuuming, laundry, food shopping, cooking, and making sure she kept Dad happy in bed. I wouldn't say she went full Stepford wife, but she was definitely a credit to the household. And she made sure she knew what was happening with me. "You doing all right, David?" "How's your homework coming, David?" And as I got into high school, "Need help figuring out the girls, David?"
I managed to graduate without having too many issues along the way. Ended up dating three girls - one for 4 months while I was a sophomore, one for 2 months while I was a junior, and one for five weeks while I was a senior (that one ended badly: I caught her making out with a guy on the basketball team, called her a few very nasty things, and told the guy if he really wanted to have a cheating skank as his girlfriend, he was welcome to her, but that if she cheated on me with him, nothing was going to stop her from cheating on him - once a cheater, always a cheater.) I was on the track team as a pole vaulter for all four years.
I made plans to take a "gap year" before starting college. Quite frankly, I needed the down time. My high school was one of those where you had to work hard academically to succeed - they didn't just shove you on through. My dad had bought me a new car (not a fancy one: a Kia Optima, to be precise) for my 18th birthday, and I spent June and July volunteering at various animal shelters around the area on weekdays and chilling with my friends on weekends. Nothing fancy: we'd go to someone's house and eat dinner and watch movies, or we'd have a picnic in the park and bring things to grill, or we'd sit around and play video games. (I didn't hang out with people whose idea of a fun time was to get drunk off their asses and pass out. I never quite understood how giving yourself a hangover was supposed to be an awesome thing.)
And then in August, for whatever reason, the company my dad was an executive at decided to try and expand into Russia. They sent a negotiating team over there, of which my dad was one. I never found out exactly what went wrong, but the team was shipped back to the United States air freight - in very small boxes.
I'd never seen Cinnamon so distraught. Every day for a week she would sit on the couch next to me and bawl for hours. Money wasn't the issue (Dad had a massive life insurance policy he'd purchased on his own, plus the company had taken one out on him, and neither Cinnamon or I would ever have to work again.) I cried with her for the first three days before my tears were expended. We both really loved and missed him.
After the "crying our eyes out" phase ended, we entered the "obsessive activity" phase. Mine was hours on end of exercise - swimming, running, pull-ups, weight lifting, didn't matter what. It kept my mind off what had happened. I was already in pretty good shape, but I put on another 20 pounds of pure beef. When I went in for my yearly medical check-up in January, my body fat percentage was 4.14 per cent. The doctor said that was the lowest he'd ever seen - it's almost impossible for even a professional athlete to have a percentage under 5 per cent. The human body needs a certain amount of lipids in it to function properly.
Cinnamon's obsession was with comfort food. She ate more ice cream in a month than I'd eaten my whole life. She also consumed large quantities of pizza, soda, cookies and Taco Bell. (When Dad was alive, she ate salads, steak and vegetables primarily and drank only water.) She had never been rail-thin (her frame had to support her large bust), but she put on about 100 pounds in 6 months. Now instead of being toned and busty, she had become full-on BBW. Soft, round ass, thick legs, plump belly, still had her big breasts.
And much to my surprise, with every pound she gained and every dress size she went up, the more I found myself being attracted to her sexually. Although looking back, none of the three girls I had dated in high school were the kind whose ribs you could count from across the street. They weren't as massive as Cinnamon had become, but they were definitely somewhat "thick-framed".
The question now was how to let her know that without sounding like a pervert. I couldn't exactly go up to my stepmom and say, "Hey, baby doll, you're hot as hell, want to get naked and fuck?" She'd have, rightly, slapped my face hard enough to knock me into next week and then Bobbittized me. I would have to be more subtle.
My chance came at the beginning of February. After lunch, Cinnamon settled on the sofa and suddenly started bawling again. I came over and sat next to her.
It had been over 6000 of my planet's years since the controversial Lantern Law had been passed unanimously by the all male Galactic Parliament, causing about one tenth of one percent of the most beautiful, feminine, biggest bottomed women of the Apsteliun Galaxy to be officially designated as legal and permanent pleasure slaves. The Apsteliun men and free women would become the pleasure slaves' legal masters and owners and, because the people of Apstelii had been living happy, productive, and mostly peaceful lives since that time, many millennia ago, the Lantern Law became part of the Constitution.
My own story begins in the solar cycle year of 9917 when I, Emily, reached full maturity and it became apparent that I had become quite beautiful, feminine, slender, and my bottom had become quite large, which would designate me legally as a pleasure slave. I was required by law to join the tiny percentage of women who were enslaved permanently, as a Lantern girl, as we were sometimes called, like the other tiny percentage of the most beautiful women of our galaxy. I was collared and chained in the tradition of the Zaarman people, in Zaarma where I lived, and I remember my first day as a nervous new slave girl, caged in the kennel and slave pens of Crystal Island, where Zaarman slave girls were trained and kept until a ship arrived to take them to their new home planet to live their lives as pleasure slaves.
I was what was colloquially known as a "Calish" slave, which is an extremely beautiful slave girl with an exceptionally large bottom, and one who is usually enslaved to a city or village which has registered as a Lantern community with a "big butt" fetish. I had the slender shoulders, slim waist, and beautiful face of other lovely slave girls of course, but I possessed the unusually enormous hips and impossibly gigantic rear end for which Calish slave girls are known. In fact, the men who trained me at the slave kennel often commented on the massive size of my butt and the delightful way it jiggled enticingly when I was walked on my leash, and they mentioned happily that my huge rump was large even for a Calish slave girl.
Calish slave girls, and their incredibly enormous bottoms, were somewhat unusual in the Galaxy of Apstelii, but highly prized in some communities, and most likely I would be sent to one of those distant worlds to live my life. My thick, dark red hair, and large green eyes were prized on almost all planets and moons, and also somewhat unusual, but every Calish girl knew that there were some places where the people loved to own a girl with an absolutely enormous rump, and most big bottomed Calish slave girls traditionally were legally bound to be pleasure slaves to those people, and wear their collar and leash on those planets or moons.
The training at Zaarma Kennel was unique for Calish slaves, compared with other, more modestly big bottomed slave girls, focusing on our gigantic, jiggling backsides, and we were kept caged in the small, far eastern wing of the kennel. There was only one other Calish girl during my year at the kennel, so we were both locked in one little, stone kennel cage room for sleeping, each of us shackled hand and foot, and leashed to an iron post near different stone walls. Often, we were forced to wear long, smooth, glass butt plugs which were slid deep into our huge bottoms and locked in place. At night, before being kenneled for sleep, we would each be chained, standing, facing one of the stone walls, our hands shackled over our heads to the wall, and we would be spanked soundly. The repeated slaps on my massive butt, and the long glass butt plug inserted deeply within my huge, jiggling rear end, caused exquisite and agonizing jolts of pain and pleasure to shoot through me until I collapsed, before being leashed for the night, usually moaning and gasping as I fell asleep.
The other Calish slave girl in my slave pen had a very large bottom, but mine was definitely much, much bigger, though my waist was as slender as hers, and my shoulders as delicate and small. The men running the kennel seemed to deeply enjoy the massive size of my rump, and they would spank me longer and more firmly than they would spank the other Calish slave girl. I remember being a bit dizzy with intoxication at this and it helped me accept and submit to my spankings each night.
The Calish wing of the Zaarma Kennel was equipped with a large, plush, leather pleasure table as well, of course, and as a Calish slave, I would be bent naked over the large, soft, almost horizontal table, my huge bottom sticking up in the air, jiggling, and I would be shackled by my wrists and feet to the table, in this bent over position. The pleasure table was in a small kennel cage with a locking door, and I would be left like this for the men's enjoyment and recreation sometimes. My own bottom was incredibly large and jiggly for the enjoyment of the men with a true "big butt" fetish, but there were many who delighted in the massive mounds of fat on my enormous backside. One thin, older man with round glasses who worked the vineyard outside the Zaarma Kennel grounds would show up often when I was chained to the pleasure table, and I would feel him standing behind me, his hands caressing my gigantic butt and patting it gently, making it jiggle, and then I would feel him slide himself deep within my huge, upward angled, and exposed rump, repeatedly.
He would sometimes comment quietly on the massive size of my rump as I gasped loudly and moaned at each deep thrust, and I wriggled helplessly in my shackles, bent over for his pleasure. I could feel my big ass jiggle heavily as the vineyard man with round glasses smoothly slid himself deeply inside it and pressed his skinny hips against the fullest curves of my huge rear end. I would always become dizzy and breathless, as I experienced crushing jolts of pain and passion shooting through my entire body with each deep penetration, until I screamed in exquisite agony and collapsed in my chains and shackles, moaning and gasping for air. The vineyard man would finish, let out a deep sigh, spank my big butt a few times, and leave. I always felt the massive jolts of pain and pleasure shoot through me for a few moments after he was finished, and it took me a while to regain my breath, but I always secretly looked forward to the next visit from the skinny vineyard man. There were other men, naturally, who would enjoy my gigantic backside, and slide themselves deep within it when I was shackled, and bent over the pleasure table, but I still remember the skinny vineyard man, with his round glasses, very fondly.