Anne Fuck

She ground her fat ass against my hips trying desperately to get me as deep into her sweaty baby maker as possible. I pull on her long hair like reins and her head snaps back, straightening her spine. Her dead fish face stared off into the distance, committed to making a baby any way she had to.

“Stupid bitch,” I spat as I shoved myself into her snatch again. She shivered in response and let out a breathless and humorless laugh. She loved being mistreated and I loved the power I had over her.

When we started working together I hated Anne almost immediately. She was in her early thirties, making her four or five years older than me, but old enough to have a sense of superiority. She was always polite, but anytime you tried to tease her, make a joke or disagree with her, she got a look on her face like you were beneath her. That’s not the worst thing if the girl is exceptionally hot, but not when she’s thirty to forty pounds overweight. I mean, I’ll grin like an idiot all day at a stuck up bitch if she’s hot enough, but not Anne. She had a cute smile, on the rare occasion when smiled, but her face was round and flat and there was too much space between her eyes. That combined with her usual frown gave her a dead fish face.

It was clear that we didn’t get along and even had a number of fights at work that needed a superior to settle. She really pissed me off and I’m sure the feeling was mutual. We kept to ourselves as much as we could, but after my first child was born she started trying to be friendlier toward me. One night, after a big celebration for the firm I went back down to the office to get my cell phone and found her crying at her desk.

It became clear after an embarrassingly drunken conversation that she and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for some time, but she found out that he was impotent and didn’t have the heart to tell him.