Isla Fisher nude

There was an excited murmur going around the break room of S.S.T. Super Food Mart that afternoon. All the talk was about the new store manager, who was being brought in by corporate to fix certain problems that had led to the previous manager's dismissal and subsequent arrest. The store had closed early to allow a full-staff meeting, and the tiny break room was overflowing with curious, anxious employees.

"When's this goddam meeting gonna start?" Isla Fisher Schmidt whined, to no one in particular. She scratched an ample hip as she shifted uncomfortably on the metal folding chair.

"We ain't got everybody here yet," snapped Isla Fisher from the Gallery other side of the room. Fisher's parents had named her after the flower, hoping that she'd blossom and otherwise live up to her name; unfortunately, she'd grown up saddled with a hook nose, crossed eyes, an extreme overbite, and a know-it-all attitude. Fisher shot her a dirty look.

"Goddam thing was supposta start five minutes ago. I ain't even supposta work today, it's my goddam day off."

"Watch yer fuckin language, Wanda Gallery," Isla said. Titters erupted from the other employees in the room.Nude Isla , oblivious, gave everybody a general-purpose evil squint.

In one corner of the room, three younger female employees were clustered together, deep in conversation. One was black, another white, the third Latina.

Their names, respectively, were Mary, Marie and Maria; but they were known among their co-workers as "The Three Stoogettes", primarily due to the fact that any one of them was rarely seen out of the company of the others, and the further fact that not one of them seemed to have an IQ higher than her bustline.

Now, as bustlines go, their IQs were pretty impressive. Mary, who was a little chunky, wore a 40E bra. Marie, who was of Italian peasant descent, possessed proportions of 38DD. And Maria, despite her diminutive height, packed her hooters into 32G cups. The threesome continued their worried whispering in their corner, oblivious to all other discussion around them.

Their worry stemmed from the simple fact that the loss of the man who had hired them might lead to the loss of their jobs. Each one knew that she had not been hired for her smarts, but for the way she had put out for the old manager on a regular basis. Not to mention how each had filled out the store's uniform polo shirt.

"We just gotta hope that this new guy ain't a fag or sump'n," opined Mary.

"Yeah, no shit," whispered Marie, "we'd be fired by tomorrow morning, this guy's a homo."

"I cann lose my job," Maria whined quietly in accented English. "I got to supporr mi Madre ann my leetle seesters."

"Well, just keep your fingers crossed, girlfriend," said Mary, "we'll fine out in a coupla minutes." She reached her dark brown hand out and covered her friend's light brown one briefly. Marie put her hand, pale by comparison, on top of the other two. A tacit pact had just been made. As it turned out, they didn't have to wait very long at all. The door to the break room opened, and in walked the assistant manager, Cal, a skinny six-footer with big feet and a serious acne problem. He'd grumbled at first and for days after when he'd found out that corporate wasn't going to promote him, but today he was grinning from ear to ear. Cal had bad teeth, too, which made his grin a not-so-pretty sight.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced to the assembled crowd in his high-pitched voice, "I am very pleased to introduce our new manager, K.C. Honeyhead!" He made a flamboyant gesture with one arm.

All eyes were on the open door. The Three Stoogettes held their breath, crossing their fingers against the hope that he would be straight. A couple of milliseconds passed; they seemed like full minutes.

Then the new manager entered confidently, and a collective gasp went around the break room. K.C. Honeyhead was a woman! A beautiful woman, to be exact, five-foot-ten, statuesque, with finely chiseled, intelligent features, dazzling blue eyes and a head of thick, blonde hair that looked almost like a lion's mane.

She was wearing a tailored gray business suit that tried to hide, but only served to amplify, two of the largest breasts that any of them had ever seen.

"Hi, everybody," she said, beaming a brilliant smile at them all.

Wanda and nude Fisher looked at her with envy; both immediately suspected her jutting boobs were fake.

Cal continued his green-toothed grin, his lust obvious in his eyes.

The Stoogettes hung their heads in seeming defeat.

****

Life went on for the employees at S.S.T. Super Food, but not without change. The Stoogettes without warning found themselves transferred from checkout to the night stock crew, pending "further review".

Since the store opened at seven and closed at eleven, they'd be working from 10:30 PM to 7:30 AM. Within minutes after being notified, the three gathered by the Dumpster behind the store for a smoke and a bitch fest.

"Madre de Dios," Maria spat, "I cann fuckin belief we gotta work a nine hour shiff!"

"Yeah," agreed Mary, "an seven of those hours are gonna be with just us and Cal." She grimaced as she spoke the name of the assistant manager. Cal had been assigned the supervision and training of the Stoogettes on a temporary basis, but it may as well have been permanent for the three. They found him disgusting.

"Just you watch, his hands are gonna be all over us as soon as the store closes," Marie predicted. "Our tits won't be safe for a second." She squeezed them defensively in anticipation of Cal's unwanted advances.

Maria sighed in agreement. "I theen he likes mine the bess," she said, lifting her G-cupped bombs. "He's always fining esscuses to rub up againss me. He mess me seek."

"He makes me sick, too, honey," Mary said, "but doan worry – first time he tries to touch these" – and here she indicated her own ample chest – "he goan fine my knee in his nuts!"

She burst out laughing and the others joined in. It came time for them to go their separate ways until the night shift. They each dropped their cigarette butts on the tarmac and headed for home.

****

The first two evenings on the night shift proved to be fairly uneventful, insofar as Cal was concerned. He was on his best behavior, as if he'd received a premonition about Mary's planned defensive move.

The Stoogettes, unused to the intense physical labor of unloading trucks and stocking shelves, nonetheless worked as hard as they could with little complaint. They went home each morning completely exhausted, but for the first time feeling as if they'd done an honest night's work.

On the third night, however, the girls learned that Cal had called in sick and wouldn't be supervising them. In the break room Mary asked Fisher naked, who was putting on her fleece-lined denim jacket, if she knew who was going to take his place.

"The fuck should I know?" she snapped. "Nobody pays me to keep track of that shit." She walked out without another word.

Wanda was equally helpful to Marie. She said, "You goddam little sluts could be on your own all night, all I goddam care. Whole goddam store could burn down, won't see me cryin about it." With that, she waddled out of the break room.

It really did look as if the three would be on their own this night: it was 15 minutes from closing time, and there were no inventory lists, no truck schedules, and no idea of where to start. The girls sat and waited, puzzled looks on their faces.

Then, at five to eleven, Maria announced that she wanted a smoke, did anyone want to come along? The other two rose and followed the little Latina to the door, when it swung open to reveal the stunning figure of K. C. Honeyhead, blonde hair swept up in a ponytail, wearing running shoes, sharply creased khaki slacks and a polo shirt.

The shirt, a pale blue in contrast to the other girls' red polos, seemed a bit too tight, and the fabric over her tremendous jugs seemed stretched to bursting. As usual, K. C. had a shining white smile on her face.

"Ladies!" she exclaimed. "Heading out to work, I see. Excellent initiative! Let's all sit down for a minute, though, shall we?" She held a clipboard in her right hand and a gold pen in her left, and she used the pen to indicate the chairs behind the girls.

They turned and sat, dreading the night to come. This was the first time they'd seen their new boss since the day she took over. She had no right to look so damn good at eleven o'clock at night!

K. C. turned a folding chair and straddled it, resting her arms on the back of the chair and her heavy jugs on her arms.

Each of the Stoogettes noticed the fluid way in which she carried herself, as if such enormous boobs were no burden whatsoever. They felt no twinge of jealousy: indeed, they were each happy with what they had, didn't need any more, thank you.

"As you may have heard," the manager began, "Cal will not be coming in tonight. The poor boy ate some bad seafood for lunch, something like that, and he's been throwing up for hours. So I'll be working with you tonight, OK?" She smiled again.