The state motto of Ohio: “With God, all things are possible.”
So far as concerned Plains City, that great cosmopolitan conurbation at the heart of Ohio, it was possible God could even fix the plague of potholes afflicting every road surface, if He really wanted to… But God moves in mysterious ways, and apparently had chosen not to respond to any prayers on the matter since about 1960. Neither, of course, had City Hall.
Connoisseurs of Plains City’s dilapidated roads had made tier lists of its most impressive potholes, and published them on Youtube. Their consensus was that the most S-tier car-traps lay in the hilly suburb of Southwich. There, mansions of eclectic fashion lurked behind the trees that filled their massive old gardens. And the cheap, thin asphalt road surface preferred by the municipal authorities was no match for the roots of these century-old American Oaks. Hence there were devastating hazards awaiting the unwary motorist.
It was a wet morning in Southwich.
Over the pleasant background of genteel birdsong came the rumble of a convertible Porsche Carrera – a brand new model, with personalised plates identifying the owner as “S0PHIA”.
Alas for the Carrera’s chances of reaching its first birthday, Sophia was a worse than mediocre motorist. An attentive person might have taken care about slamming her car through a “shallow” puddle in Southwich, lest the water should conceal an axle-bending sinkhole of epic depth.
With a slam and the bang of an exploding inner tube, Sophia’s white Porsche bucked and jumped diagonally onto the verge amid a tidal wave of water displaced from the monster pothole into which she had sped. Tyres dug their way through sodden grass, leaving trails arcing left and right, until the thirty-something blonde driver braked to a halt.
“Yuk!” The blonde screamed in dismay.
Not particularly because of her Porsche. Frankly, her husband had been in a disgracefully cheap mood when he’d bought it a few months earlier.
In fact, Sophia Sloane darkly suspected her billionaire husband – the wealthiest of the Plains City Sloanes – had simultaneously picked out a much nicer car for whichever slutty little whore he happened to be banging at the time! For his wife, the mid-range Porsche had been a fucking embarrassment! Hence Sophia was in no way upset that the crunching sound with which it had bounced off the crappy Southwich road had sounded expensive.
Sophia was less upset about her car, than about her drink – an XXL hot chocolate with no few marshmallows and extra syrup. It had sloshed free from the cup holder and absolutely drenched the light grey stretch-fabric of her pencil skirt with warm chocolatey gunge. Right over the swell of her belly – which, since she wasn’t on her way to see anyone she knew this morning, was free of a body-shaper and bulging comfortably over her lap.
“Aww, dammit! That was like half my drink!” Sophia sniffed.
“And just my luck that my slutty little maid…” Sophia Sloane was pretty certain her husband was currently banging the maid responsible for dry-cleaning and taking care of Sophia’s wardrobe. “… is just the sort of whore who’d snitch to my husband just because I’ve had a little hot chocolate to drink in the car while he thinks I’m on a diet. Tee, hee-hee, Mister Sloane! All those sneaky hot chocolates in the car are why your wife can’t even wedge herself into a size twelve skirt no-more!”
“No, Miss Pert-Assed Maidservant, Slut!” The blonde ranted to the dashboard of her stricken car.
“The reason Mr Sloane’s beautiful blonde trophy-wife has fattened up into a size fourteen hippo, is because Mr Sloane is obsessed with having ‘A son and heir!’ But nonetheless the fathead insisted on pumping five daughters into his wife, one after another! Which is why I am FAT! And if you don’t think that’s a real excuse, Miss Skinny Servant, then you try getting through six pregnancies in quick succession, when you have a personal chef who’s practically paid to keep you overfed for nine months at a time, and then feed you back to peak fertility for the next attempt ASAP! Oh, yes. And into the bargain – no sex, because you ‘look too bloated’ and your husband’s into skinny models! Literally. BAH!”
Sophia thumped the steering wheel in annoyance, exited the car, and then enjoyed a momentary tinge of satisfaction that while her Porsche wasn’t going anywhere without a tow-truck, it had brought her to the wrought-iron gate of the very address she’d been heading to. Number 1, Witch Crescent!
“Aha! Witch Crescent!” Sophia brushed off as much chocolate as she could, and strode along the arcing, sycamore-lined driveway. The place certainly had a creepy, overgrown vibe! Just what she was looking for! A venue to host a season of spooky parties for her wealthy friends in High Society!
Up ahead, the grand old house at Witch Crescent looked just the part! Turrets - multiple! Gargoyles - large! An over-the-top weathervane. An off-vertical wall! Aged timber! Rooms with windows at erratic levels, dribbly candles on the sills! Probably stuffed animals or a skull on the shelves, if you looked closely – but Sophia had the keys, and it would be easier to let herself in rather that squint through the glass.
“Splendid!” Sophia panted, into the damp morning air. Even Rachel Tate wouldn’t be able to match this venue!
The voluptuous billionaire’s wife was out of breath, and so while she slotted the shiny new key into the one working lock on the foreboding front door, she decided to grab a drink from the kitchen before exploring her property. The driveway had been a good sixty yards, and Sophia Sloane was chunky and unfit! And not just because six pregnancies of baby-weight had engorged her once-lean hips, belly, and caboose! There was also her hot-chocolate habit. And, as well, although she’d made a few attempts to get fit in her post-pregnancy thirties, they had only lasted longer than three visits to gym on those occasions she’d been fucking her personal trainer. Hence Sophia Sloane was a solid three dress sizes too fat draw her husband’s eye back from a succession of mistresses and maidservants… But, on the plus side, she had a solid pre-nup, and free rein to splurge her husband’s entertainment budget of a few million a year on hosting lavish parties! And, though her husband wasn’t one, there were plenty of eligible men in Plains City eager to fuck a wealthy blonde milf who’d enjoyed a perfect body ten years ago, even if she was chunky now!
“Phew!”
Sophia refreshed herself with a cup of water, and took in the ambience of the stone kitchen. It was almost medieval! Copper pans lined the wall, a black cast iron kettle hung in the cold fireplace, and there were rafters, and an evocative latticed window overlooking the herb garden.
“What a fabulous, little place! Bijou, even!” Sophia trilled.
Yes, Number 1 Witch Crescent was the perfect place for spooky-themed parties! Her Halloween was sure to win acclaim this year in the society magazines! The house had olde New England charm. But it also boasted a colorful history that would make a great atmosphere for seances – the previous owner’s much-younger wife had been caught up in a lurid story of alleged grave-robbing, after he passed away and his antiques business fell to her.
Yes, there was more to Witch Crescent. Probably two-dozen rooms more!
But, as fortune would have it, before Sophia spent a happy morning smirking over the “authentic” décor, stuffed ravens, skulls, and under-carpet pentagrams of her new place, she chanced to begin her tour in a back study, where a shelf of bric-a-brac happened to conceal the one item of actual authenticity.
“What’s this?” Sophia giggled delightedly at an ebony bookshelf filled with odd carvings – and one glittering necklace or pendant that sparkled and caught her eye. She read the handwritten paper label.
“The Dargon’s Scale Pendant. Hmm…”
There was more spidery writing on the label. Smaller than the heading.
“Let the Dragon’s Scale Weight Your Wishe for One and All!”
Obvious nonsense, but a little bit of magical nonsense was exactly the sort of ambience she’d bought the house to achieve!
“Hmm. How enchanting! I wish…” Sophie giggled, as she gave the glittery gold lump on the pendant a rub, and grabbed the flabby bulge of her belly with both hands for emphasis. “… I wish for One that I had my perfect youthful figure back, and as for All… Well, I wish all this flab would end up on all those sluts my husband’s been banging behind my back! Haha!”
Sophia tittered, and on a whim put the necklace on, letting the golden lump nestle between her creamy and heavy breasts.
There was a little flash of lightning, and light rumble of thunder. Sophia peered out into the light rain of gloomy Southwick, and made a note to have her driver beware of rain-filled potholes when she finished touring her new house and messaged to be collected.
“Tee hee, Miss Pert-Assed Maidservant. Wouldn’t that just be your just desserts! Haha. Hahaha!”
Wow, Hadn't realized she was so plump then! Must have been embarrassing for her to have an extended swimsuit scene so far from her peak and to be so obviously heavier than the other woman!
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