Turn 18 of 228

Take photos in the break room and post them. Bring enough food to last you the whole work day. Then go back to the office and work and masturbate at the same time. After work, go back to the bodega and dispensary naked to get enough maintain your permanent drunk, high, stuffed and horny state for 2 weeks.

Lena sets the empty pasta container on the counter and pulls out her phone. Her hands are shaking — not from fear, from the adrenaline of hearing those footsteps stop and turn around. Someone saw her. Someone on her floor saw her standing naked in the break room at 245 pounds, covered in crumbs and stubble and old sweat, and they turned around and walked away. She points the camera at the mirror above the sink and takes a photo — her body filling the frame, belly pressed against the counter, breasts bare and heavy, the vending machine reflected behind her. She takes another from the side, the profile shot, her belly pushing forward past her breasts, the dark stubble on her legs visible under the fluorescent lights. She takes a photo of the food spread on the counter — chips, sandwich, the empty pasta container — and then one of herself holding the sandwich, mid-bite, grinning. Four photos. She posts them to OnlyFans with the caption: *Someone walked in on me naked in the break room. They left. I finished my food.*

She doesn't hurry. She opens the vending machine and takes out every bag of chips and every candy bar — seven items total — and stacks them against her belly, carrying them like a shelf. She checks the refrigerator again and finds a yogurt, a cheese stick, and a half-empty bottle of orange juice. She takes those too. She walks back to her office naked, arms full, belly swaying, and the hallway is empty and the carpet is rough under her bare feet and she feels the adrenaline still buzzing through her like a second pulse. She locks the door behind her and drops the food on the desk and stands there breathing hard.

She sits down and logs in and starts working. The client report from this morning needs a revision and she opens it and begins editing, her fingers moving fast, and her other hand drifts between her thighs. She types a paragraph and then slides two fingers along the inside of her leg and feels the wetness there — the adrenaline, the exposure, the knowledge that someone saw her — and it's all mixed together into something electric. She types another paragraph and presses harder and her breath catches. The work is flowing, the pleasure is building, and the two things feed each other in a way she can't explain and doesn't want to. She farts, long and loud, and the sound bounces off the walls and she moans softly and keeps typing. She edits the data architecture proposal with one hand and works herself with the other and by the time she finishes the revision she's shaking and flushed and the orgasm hits her in waves, her belly tightening and releasing, her thighs pressing together, and she gasps once and then saves the document and sends it.

At five o'clock she stands, naked, and looks at the bikini on the floor. She doesn't pick it up. She picks up her key card and her phone and nothing else. She unlocks her office door and walks down the hallway barefoot, completely naked, and takes the stairs down to the lobby. The security guard at the front desk looks up and his mouth opens and Lena keeps walking. She pushes through the front door and the afternoon air hits her bare skin — warm, humid, the sun low and golden — and she walks toward the bodega four blocks away. Her feet slap against the sidewalk. Her belly sways. Cars pass. A man on a bench stares and doesn't look away. She feels the eyes on her like hands and the heat builds between her thighs with every step.

The bodega clerk sees her coming through the glass door and his face goes through something she can't read. She walks in naked and fills a basket — chips, cookies, donuts, candy, four two-liter bottles of soda, two bottles of vodka, three twelve-packs of beer. She stacks it on the counter and he rings it up without speaking, his eyes fixed on the register. She farts while waiting for the total and the sound fills the small store and he doesn't react. She pays, takes the bags, and walks three blocks to the dispensary, naked, arms full, and buys fourteen pre-rolled joints — the strongest they have. The clerk asks if she needs a bag and she says no and carries them loose against her chest. She walks home barefoot, naked, loaded with enough food and alcohol and weed to stay drunk and high and stuffed for two weeks, and the sun is setting and people are staring and she feels every single pair of eyes on her body like warmth on her skin.