Chapter Text
Elphaba Thropp is painfully familiar with the exact mathematical proportions of perfection. She has pored over the literature, romantic and classical and philosophical, studied conceptions of beauty throughout the ages from antiquity and modernity and found herself reflected in exactly none of them. She is painfully, consciously aware of just where and how and why she falls woefully short of perfection, thanks to a lifetime of brow-beating and abuse by her domineering father. Bad enough she was born a woman, depriving him of the firstborn son he always sought to secure his legacy and save his dwindling fortunes— worse still her shameful verdigris, her impure skin and race and soul. Her sister, too, was born defective in his eyes, but her disability was more easily forgiven, and blame more easily shunted onto Elphaba after their mother’s passing. So while Nessarose was doted on and adored like some precious pet, dolled up in the gilded cage of her wheelchair, Elphaba was trained to never forget each and every last one of her insufficiencies, to the point where her failings and flaws became an unconscious mantra drumming on repeat in the back of her skull (her gap teeth, her lisp, her broad bulbous nose and broken bridge, her hair and skin, her plump figure and pudgy middle and awkward, unbecoming, unladylike stature).
Sometimes, she wonders if this heightened, never-subsiding state of permanent, paralyzing self-awareness was a cruel cosmic joke, for her heart only ever aches for those who embody the beauty she herself is bereft of. It is ironic, she supposes— in her experience, it has been rare enough to find a woman in Oz who harbors her same affection for the fairer sex, and even then those rare few are decidedly not attracted to the type of woman that Elphaba Thropp is.
Perhaps this is why, in yet another twist of cosmic irony, she finds herself presently in the employ of Miss Galinda Upland— who is, by anyone’s account, perfection incarnate.
Galinda was not always this way, of course. This is what Elphaba finds so magical, so marvelous about the younger woman; Galinda is entirely of her own making. What had been a burden since birth for Elphaba is something Galinda embraces wholeheartedly, had chosen for herself in spite of the tremendous cost. In Galinda, Elphaba finds a new reason every day to love and cherish her own womanhood. This is one of many reasons Elphaba loves her. It is a simple fact, but one that is decidedly less simple to speak out loud; inside her head, however, this is something Elphaba has always been able to easily and freely admit. She loves Galinda Upland. She tries to show it, in her own way, in the only way she can.
Elphaba still vividly remembers the day they met, remembers the exact words that were uttered in their first-ever meeting that inspired her to pledge herself to the care, protection, and service of the younger woman. At that time, in spite of her age, she had no formal training, no employment history, no education beyond what very limited homeschooling her father would allow. She had spent the entirety of her life as her invalid sister’s caretaker, then her father’s caretaker in turn after her sister passed and she practically ran his business for him while he was inconsolable and ailing. Alas, this was not an official position in any sense of the word, so it counted for very little in the eyes of the working world. Now, the business started by her mother and mismanaged into a state of decline by her father was gone, scrapped and sold for parts, and what little profit remained after paying her father’s numerous creditors had been spent to ship him off and shore him up in a home far away, where he would receive good care and someone else could look after him as he gracelessly slid into doddering senility. Elphaba could bear his abuse no longer, which was why it was imperative that she found a decent-paying job in a hurry. Her only other alternative, should her finances fall short, was part-time work to allow her to care for her father at home. Now that dear Nessa was gone and no longer in need of Elphaba’s protection from his cruel, erratic whims, she no longer felt strong enough to weather the tempest of his temper a minute longer.
Elphaba’s resume was a very curt, concise, typed half-sheet that listed only skills she was capable of demonstrating during an interview to prove her competency. She did not bother detailing her long and sordid family history, or the thankless work she did in the dying days of their dwindling business; she knew no interviewer would care, and did not wish to bore them with a sob story.
But of course, Miss Galinda Upland did care. She had scarcely even stepped through the door of her interviewer’s office, scarcely even taken a seat, scarcely even noted the way the early morning sun caught in Galinda’s glorious locks of blonde or the way her cream-colored dress tapers to flatter her sturdy shoulders and torso when the precocious young executive piped up—
“Elphaba, I presume? Please, enter! Take a seat, take a seat. Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I was perusing over the copy of your resume you sent us in advance, and couldn’t shake a certain feeling of familiarity towards your surname… you wouldn’t happen to be related to the Thropps that ran that floral arrangement courier service, would you?”
Elphaba, wearing a monochrome navy pinstripe pantsuit, approached Galinda’s desk with some trepidation, clammy green palms patting her thighs to dry them off in preemptive preparation for a handshake. The shorter girl gestured eagerly at the empty chair across from her, then leans forward and folded her hands together to rest her head atop her knuckles, listening raptly as if expecting a story. Cautiously, Elphaba sat, feeling as if she was under intense scrutiny. Even at the time, though, she could not help but feel as if the way Galinda’s eyes flitted up and down and around the vast expanse of her body was… different than the usual stares and sneers she received on a daily basis. The thought that this might be something sudden, new, and altogether impossible to describe did nothing to quell her interviewing anxieties.
“I am indeed, Miss Upland,” Elphaba replied, schooling her tone to sound neutral, dispassionate, solemn, serious, respectful and reverent of the younger woman’s authority. “I… worked as something of a home secretary for the owner in an unofficial capacity.”
Galinda scowled a little, and Elphaba worried she had done something to offend her— until her interviewer spoke again.
“Very well then, Miss Elphaba,” Galinda said sorely, the word she chose to stress only exacerbating Elphaba’s confusion. “Were you aware that Melena’s Floristry was this company’s preferred courier service when sending conciliatory bouquets to our models? Why would you neglect to mention that fact on your application?”
“I was not aware of that, Miss Upland,” Elphaba replied. “And I did not think the connection relevant to the topic of this interview.”
“Well, whyever not?” Galinda splutters. “Surely, you could have used that existing relationship to negotiate an interview for yourself in the first place!”
Elphaba fidgeted in her chair. Galinda’s prying had caused her chest to constrict curiously, as if she is struggling to breathe, and she realized with a start that she forgot to undo the button on her blazer when she sat down, causing her jacket to distort around the faint pudgy protrusion of her core. She was painfully aware of how foolish she must look, especially after making a faux pas that highlighted one of her many deviant imperfections. “My… position within my family’s company was not an official one. There is no one you could call to confirm my working history within the business, for the business itself has gone defunct, and those that worked there in management would have no memory of me besides that of a precocious green nuisance pestering them from within my father’s shadow. My father himself certainly would have no desire to corroborate that story. Listing experience that would be impossible to verify would be disrespectful to your time and demeaning to your intellect.”
“But we have verified it,” Galinda insisted. “I already took the liberty of making a few calls, tracking down the old secretary pool at Melena’s Floristry— a bit of a bother, really, considering how hard the disincorporation was to track, but nothing too difficult, you were worth it— and those lovely little old ladies were more than happy to regale me with countless stories of how every time they needed their boss when he was out of the office, you answered the phone for him at home, and put out more fires than they could count behind the scenes. They held you in such high esteem, I couldn’t not give a candidate as remarkable you an interview. Honestly, Miss Elphaba. It’s called networking. Have you ever heard of it? The name of the game is popular.”
And those were the words. Those four words that stood out as if they had been spoken in bold face, yet Galinda had blurted them out as if they took no effort or thought at all, four words Elphaba had never heard before. That subtle admission that Galinda had cared enough to even give her a chance, to stick up for her, to see past her grotesque appearance and find potential buried beneath her hideous surface, was enough for Elphaba to completely make up her mind then and there. She would love this gorgeous little creature her whole life long, and never utter a word of it, for fear of violating her station or upending the little world Galinda had fought so hard to chisel out for herself. She would not tarnish the blonde’s spotless reputation with her mere presence; she would be the model of pure professionalism, she would be distant and detached, and she would do her duty gladly no matter how the space between them stung.
She knew all of this instantly and immediately, and yet she said absolutely none of it. And, Elphaba thinks, she still hasn’t. Not even now, coward that she is.
“Popular?” Elphaba intoned, quirking a lone eyebrow. “I’m afraid I’ve never played that game before, Miss Upland.”
“Well now,” said Galinda, beaming from ear to ear, “here’s how to play. You have successfully leveraged a prior business relationship to secure yourself this interview, and throughout the course of our discussion, successfully managed to charm me with your intellifying wit, consummate professionalism, and dazzling people skills.”
Elphaba let out a snort at that, rolling her eyes, and Galinda giggled. It was faintly husky and twinged with a scraping twang of early-morning gravel; it was the most precious sound Elphaba has ever heard, and Elphaba could tell Galinda was so mortified at her perceived “unladylike” display that her eyes bulged out of her skull and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Elphaba felt a faint, hairline crack beginning to develop down her frozen, crystalline heart, and though she had only just met Galinda Upland, her cold green heart threatened to break in two for her.
When Elphaba continued to smile gently at Galinda, though, in spite of her vocal fatigue, the blonde mercifully lowered her hand of shame and offered a sheepish smile back.
“Don’t laugh, Miss Elphaba, it’s rude. That’s our story, and we’re sticking with it,” Galinda admonished, and Elphaba felt a heady rush at the thought of being involved in this little corporate conspiracy with her new boss, their secret to share. “It’s important to control the narrative, you know. So! Based on these factors, I am pleased to offer you the position of my private secretary— which, frankly, you’re overqualified for— as soon as you’re able to begin. When might that be?”
Standing up from behind her desk, Galinda beamed at her like she would be genuinely happy to have Elphaba in her life (even if only in a working relationship), and thrust her hand across the desktop expectantly with a glimmer in her eyes. Elphaba accepted the offering hesitantly, still half-expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment, when she noticed something, Galinda’s fingers were long, yes, but also slender, and Elphaba found a curious thrill from the discovery that hers were bigger. She did not let this scintillating revelation distract her, however, clasping Galinda’s palm and giving her hand a swift yet cordial shake before breaking away from the blonde and beginning to pick up the stacks of paperwork strewn haphazardly all over her new boss’ desk. Galinda let out a noise vaguely resembling an indignant squawk, but Elphaba paid her no mind.
“Now would be just fine,” Elphaba informed her. “I have an awful lot of cleaning up after you to do. I should have your things re-organized in proper working order by day’s end, and will be ready to assume proper secretarial duties by the morrow. I assume the desk out in the penthouse lobby is mine?”
“You really don’t have to do that, Miss Elphaba,” Galinda tittered weakly.
“Oh,” said Elphaba with a secretive smile. “But I do, Miss Upland.” And indeed, that was precisely what she had done every day since. She had done everything she was supposed to do in the line of her secretarial duties, and then some more.
Galinda, she discovers very quickly, is not built to be an executive. This is no failing on her part— she is a creative soul, and it is clear from that first day spent sifting through her messy piles of paperwork that she would much rather be down on the ground floor of her family’s design house, in the studio, weaving magic with her hands (of the discarded loose leaf sheets she sorts and catalogues, over half have doodles of dresses on them). Elphaba, then, does everything in her power to facilitate her boss’ desire, taking a scalpel to Galinda’s schedule and meticulously carving out more and more time for her to do what she loves. Meetings, progress reports, purchase requests, bookkeeping, budget-balancing, and any and all forms of administrative detritus; all of these are duties she assumes for herself. She is an ominous omen in black throughout the halls of the Upper Upland Boutique headquarters, always thundering to and fro, knocking on doors and chastising errant employees whose callousness has made Galinda’s life harder by mucking up her schedule with redundant meetings and aggravating e-mails. She gladly bears the barbs they sling and slurs they hiss behind her back; she is doing this for Galinda’s sake, so she suffers them with pride.
She also discovers very quickly that Galinda’s morning voice gets craggy depending on how much sleep she gets, which in turn depends on whether a favorite drama of hers was airing the night before, or if she left the office with an idea she was smitten with and unable to stop thinking about. She learns to anticipate these days, and schedules her morning beverage orders at the coffee shop down the street accordingly, bringing Galinda her quadruple-sugar milk-with-a-splash-of-coffee most mornings, and tea with honey, milk, and a drop of lemon on morning voice days instead to ease the woes of her dysphoria. She walks the blonde through her vocal exercises and reminds her to take her medicine (at first, it is merely pills, but when Galinda’s prescription is upped to an injection and she wilts at the sight of needles, Elphaba gently administers that for her too). Galinda is “scatterbrained,” to use an unkind word her father often employed for Elphaba’s dearly departed sister, and when she gets fixated on something she has a tendency to forget everything else. Elphaba learns to anticipate this too, ordering in lunch and dinner, reminding Galinda that she does in fact need to eat.
And at least once a day, Elphaba sinks below Galinda’s desk, wraps her lips around the base of her little shaft, and drains her dry, for she has found that Galinda is prone to nerves and overthinking every possible detail of her day, and by doing this, for a few merciful minutes the blonde’s eyes go glassy and her pretty little head is completely bereft of thought. And sometimes, when Galinda is working late, Elphaba takes the elevator down to the design studio, and wraps her hands around the smaller woman from behind, and settles her head atop Galinda’s shoulder and against her neck, and in the dim lights of a desolate office with their only illumination a sleeping city skyline outside their windows, they fuck without care for consequence and with the passion they deny themselves in the waking world. And Elphaba wears heels every day because she sees the way that glorious pink blush blossoms across Galinda’s cheeks every time she has to crane her neck to stare up at her in what could be best described as abject awe, and their size difference so obviously makes the blonde feel small and mouselike and very much girlish, and how could Elphaba possibly consider any kind of more comfortable footwear when she sees the way Galinda ogles her?
These are all things Elphaba does, because to her, they are simply a part of her job. Her job is to take care of Galinda, and she takes that to mean caring for her in every way. At first, she allowed herself the small kindness of pretending that the blowjobs she gave Galinda under her desk really were just part of the job, in a classically exploitative superior-subordinate kind of way. She would tell herself that it was fine, though, since Galinda had no idea how she truly felt, so if anything she was the one taking advantage of her boss. That flimsy excuse fell apart under even the slightest scrutiny; even if Galinda did fall first, more often than not, it was Elphaba who initiated any elicit contact. Especially now.
Especially now that she was carrying her boss’ baby within her womb.
Motherhood, like beauty, and true love, and happily ever after was one of those storybook fictions Elphaba had scoffed at as a little girl, knowing such a fantasy would never, could never come to be for one so odious as her. She loved to nurse her dolls, she secretly stuffed pillowcases under her shirts to play pretend. She had practically raised Nessarose all by her lonesome after their mother passed, loved her and cherished her and cared for her when their father would not, could not. And she stayed with her until the very end. Nessa was the only reason she had stayed. That, Elphaba figured, was the closest she would ever come to realizing yet another impossible dream, and even then it had begun and ended with tragedy. Perhaps she was better off not dreaming, for the sake of those she loved.
Yet once again, Galinda Upland had the magical quality of making the impossible seem tantalizingly real. Elphaba still remembers the countless tests she took to confirm what her symptoms had already led her to expect, still remembers the trepidation in her hammering heart when she pushed the buzzer outside Galinda’s penthouse to pay her boss the one and only social call that had ever transpired in the entirety of their relationship. She remembers covertly clenching her fists within the sleeves of her jacket as she informed Galinda of this latest development, just standing there in the doorway, not daring to intrude and soil the finery of Galinda’s apartment with her mere presence. She remembers saying that she was pregnant beyond a single shadow of a doubt, but that due to the impropriety she displayed in her position, especially in her reckless conduct of late, she would gladly resolve the matter expeditiously so as to avoid staining her superior’s reputation. She remembers lying about that, she remembers bile rising in her throat at the thought.
She remembers Galinda crying. Weeping, begging her not to, crying in terror and unexpected jubilation. Telling her she wanted this, no matter how difficult or scary, no matter how much it would hurt to hide and suppress. Elphaba remembers telling her that she wanted this too. But she does not remember telling Galinda that she wanted her. She does not remember pushing through the penthouse door, grabbing Galinda’s adorable little face and mauling her with a flurry of kisses. She does not remember telling Galinda that never before has she felt so completed by someone who sees her, truly sees her, sees the work she does and the way she cares and values her. She does not remember telling Galinda that she wants to keep her all to herself, like the wicked green thing she is; she does not remember saying that now that she is here, she never wants to leave. All she remembers is a single stunted line spilling out of her stupid lips about how she, too, was glad they were in agreement. All she remembers is numbly shuffling back into the elevator after wishing her boss a cordial good night.
She wants to let all those words out, but she is not like Galinda, endlessly expressive and full of such obvious love and life and wonder and emotion, not like Galinda who wears her heart on her sleeve even in spite of the cruelty the world has shown her. When Elphaba has big, important feelings, they all reach a bottleneck upon her tongue, where they wedge fast and become unable to free themselves. This gives her a chance to think, and over-think, and re-think, and second-guess, and so she always swallows them back down, retreats into the safe pre-determined roles of their working relationship, where Elphaba can pretend this is all merely her doing her duty as a good secretary, merely showing her gratitude for the life-changing, life-saving employment Galinda had provided, She knows how to behave professionally, clipped and cordial. Etiquette has rules, and rules have always come easy to her, because they can be neatly and comprehensively understood. But there are no rules, no rails, no guidelines on the way she feels when Galinda looks at her starry-eyed in the heat of passion, like she really is beautiful, and perfect, and motherly, and loved. And that terrifies Elphaba Thropp.
Galinda has been giving her more of those looks lately. A lot more. Elphaba freezes, and a hand instinctively flocks down to her fertile middle to place a palm reassuringly on its swell, remembering the heavy-lidded look of desperation in her eyes just earlier that morning when the blonde finished all over her behemoth bump. In just two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, she reminds herself. Galinda’s control over her libido has always been pitifully poor (one of the many reasons Elphaba loves her, she finds it adorable and immensely flattering), but the fact that she seems to be getting worse the bigger Elphaba grows was intoxicating to the voluptuous verdant mother-to-be. She swears these hormones must be making her into a sadist, because she’s trying to get Galinda to make control faster and faster, living for the moments the littler girl goes totally limp and becomes putty in her hands.
Naturally, she does this solely out of an altruistic desire to ensure her boss is appropriately relieved of her daily stresses. Should Galinda ever inquire if Elphaba is trying to sate her own raging libido in the process of their taboo little trysts, Elphaba has meticulously rehearsed a response vehemently denying it.
But at times like this, she thinks to herself as she slips into Galinda’s office without her usual no-nonsense knock-knock, the truth would be very hard to deny indeed. For it is six forty-five, everyone else in the building having cleared out and gone home for the day. Only she and her superior remain… and Galinda is fast asleep, slumped over in the leather-backed swivel chair in her corner office, drool dribbling down her chin and slender neck as she snores like a whole sawmill. The rosy, pinkish glow of a faraway sunset shimmering off spires of concrete and glass reflect upon her serene, sleeping face, and it makes Elphaba’s instinctively dour and downturned lips twitch upward with the ghost of a smile.
Today was a busy day for Miss Upland— two whole meetings for the poor girl, Elphaba frets as she waddles closer to brush a lock of hair away from Galinda’s mouth lest it get stuck to her lips by the saliva trickling down her chin. Elphaba tries to make it so that she has none, or one at the most, but quarter-end is always busy, and sometimes these things cannot be helped. The first was with the design department, her people, and though Elphaba needed to be elsewhere (briefing marketing on specifications for the last legs of the fall rollout, conferring with accounting on a few losses to be written off), she suspects it went well enough. The second meeting, however, was with finance, and featured no shortage of annoying questions for Galinda about her present positioning, or the return on investment for a private runway showing they had booked and organized for local Emerald City designers (a pet project of Galinda’s). Her girl had stammered through several responses shyly (Elphaba was so proud) before Elphaba intervened, literally positioning the bulwark of her bump between the CEO and the rest of her board before bluntly informing the finance department that she would be fielding all further questions. And that shut them up, for everyone knew that Elphaba Thropp had a spiteful tongue and the temper to wield it lethally. Even though the rest of her schedule was wide open, though, Galinda’s spirits never seemed to recover, so Elphaba supposes it is a small relief to find her napping like this, blissfully oblivious to the rest of the world.
She stares at Galinda like this for a while, hovering just out of reach, watching her eyes flit behind her eyelids peacefully, listening to breathy gasps escape those pretty pink bow lips, hearing Galinda whimper something that almost sounds like her name but shorter. Immediately after hearing that, for no real reason, Elphaba drifts closer, her eyes fixating on the bony protrusion of Galinda’s knees and her subtle yet shapely legs in those tight-fitting, high-waisted pink pants. Likewise, for no reason, she very gently eases her pregnant girth down into Galinda’s lap (delicately, so as not to wake her), idly noting that just one of her sturdy thighs is nearly the same size as both Galinda’s legs together. And similarly, for no reason, she begins to grind back and forth in Galinda’s lap, grinding against the smaller girl’s thighs, her core ignited with a burning need, the ill-fitting panties beneath her stretched-out pencil skirt soaked through, damp, and uncomfortable with the force of her want. She is humping herself to completion on her pretty, perfect girl’s leg like a bitch in heat, risking a most unbecoming snail trail stain on her boss’ slacks, and she could not care less— she craves the friction with a senseless desperation, hormones hot and heavy in her blood, and she so nearly finds the relief she seeks, when—
A sleepy little yawn and a wet smacking of lips freezes her mid-hump. With a shake of her head, golden curls tousled and falling back down to frame her face fetchingly, Galinda’s eyelids flutter open with a start, still too tired to have fully processed that her secretary is sitting in her lap. Elphaba’s mouth opens, fumbling for an explanation. In her infinite wisdom, she decides that not providing one would be the least suspicious option.
“Good afternoon, Miss Upland,” Elphaba says, face stone, completely balking. “It is six fifty-seven. You fell asleep some time after the lunch hour. Time to be going home.”
“Oh,” says Galinda softly, her mouth sounding dry. She blinks very slowly, clearly confused by their present position together in the same chair, but Elphaba is acting so unbelievably normal about this that she seems to have simply accepted it. “Okay.” But she makes no move to get up, and neither does Elphaba.
“Did you get any design work done after the meeting with finance?” Elphaba asks, making corporate small talk and trying to pretend like Galinda can’t feel a conspicuous wet spot dampening her slacks.
Galinda shakes her head from side to side slowly. “N-none I can share at the present moment, I’m afraid. Besides, I was… a bit distracted, and I doubt the fashions that currently have me captivated would synthesize well with our current collection. What about you, Miss Elphaba? Did you have a productive afternoon?”
“Very much so,” Elphaba informs her. “I handled the negotiations with the Emerald City civic center where our latest gallery showing will be held— that contract is pending, and will merely need your signature come the morrow. After that, I tidied up your inbox, and responded to the most urgent of your communications. You have a few responses to that request-for-proposal you put out in the independent designer scene. I will have a laminated copy of each for you to leaf through by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Galinda says, and bows her head again. Elphaba tries not to breathe too deeply, for she is painfully aware that the pendulous protrusion of her pregnant abdomen is pressed flush up against Galinda’s frilly white blouse, their chests rising and falling and tandem.
“I forgot to thank you,” Galinda blurts. “For intervening during the finance department briefing. You really didn’t have to do that, you know.
Elphaba huffs, relieved the conversation has taken yet another diversion rather than acknowledging their present predicament. “Nonsense, Miss Upland. It was my job.”
“There must be something,” Galinda insists. “Something I can do for you, Miss Elphaba, after all you do for me. I hate to feel so useless, after all the work you’ve done for me… all the work you’re doing, even now…”
Elphaba sighs fondly, as she watches Galinda’s eyes drift downward towards her massive middle. No matter how many times Galinda openly ogles her belly, she never tires of the tiny grins of awe its engorged enormity elicits. Galinda’s intonation is pointed and her emphasis obvious.
“Galinda,” Elphaba says slowly, and this makes Galinda gape, as it always does when Elphaba breaks from protocol and uses her first name. “I love my work. All of it. I do not think of it as a burden; to me it is a privilege. I take care of you because I want to.”
“Even—“ Galinda begins. Elphaba cuts her off immediately.
“Especially that.”
“Oh,” Galinda says for a third time, and this time her voice is weakest of all. Hesitantly, her hand wavering, she reaches outwards and plants her palm upon the rounded surface of Elphaba’s middle, mouth contorting into a tiny o-shape of awe, feeling it rise and fall. The festering heat that had settled over Elphaba’s core burns anew— her stomach is stretched so taut and thin that the membrane of her skin has become especially sensitive to sensation, prickling and throbbing at the slightest of touches, and Galinda’s gentle rubbing back and forth in a rhythmic, clockwise motion is driving her mad.
“I would,” Galinda says bluntly, smiling despite a pang of mourning in her eyes. “In a heartbeat, Miss Elphaba. If I could, I would. I really would.”
And now Elphaba feels bad for the heat coiling in her belly, when she sees the sympathy and solidarity and hollowness spreading in Galinda’s guilty gaze; she feels guilty at the thought of her superior having any reason to doubt how beautiful and beloved she is, especially in the trivial ways their bodies differ that make her no less of a woman.
“I know you would, my sweet,” Elphaba croons. “But I’m something of a workaholic, you see. Even if you could, I very much doubt I would let you. So there’s no need to feel guilty.”
Without even thinking, Elphaba places her hand atop Galinda’s, guiding the smaller girl’s hand to cup the underside of her burgeoning bump. Galinda blushes and giggles, and it really is Elphaba’s favorite sound in the entire world.
“All you need to do,” Elphaba explains gently, “all I want you to do, is exactly what I tell you to do. Can you do that for me, my pretty?”
Galinda burns a furious fuchsia, but her head bobs up and down eagerly. Elphaba scrapes her teeth over her lower lip, chewing on it in contemplation. And then, as she typically does when the sun sets and she is alone with her sweet, she throws caution to the wind.
“Very good, Miss Upland,” she praises. “Now then. Get it up.”
Galinda chokes on air. “W-whuh— what— Miss Elphaba, y-you—“
“I do not recall stuttering,” Elphaba snaps, too pent-up, hormonal, and pregnant to care about her protests. “I was perfectly clear. You said you would do as you are told. So get it up. Now.”
And without any need for conscious exertion, just from the tone of Elphaba’s voice, Galinda’s body immediately obeys. Beneath her maternal middle, Elphaba feels something pressing up and into her underbelly, hears Galinda hiss in discomfort as the fabric constricts around her length. She watches Galinda rummage around beneath Elphaba’s rotund abdomen and scoot back slightly in the swivel chair to give herself some breathing room, then undoes her high-waisted slacks to release her dick from its claustrophobic confines.
“Good girl,” Elphaba praises, and she watches Galinda’s cock pulsate and wag like a tail from the attention. She feels the urge to coil her bony, thick fingers around Galinda’s shaft, to scrape gently with her long manicured nails to make it shiver and throb, but she is reminded that they are all alone now, no time limit— no reason to stop herself from going slowly and enjoying this, no sense in not taking this opportunity to scratch the itch that has been building between her legs.
“On your desk,” Elphaba barks. “Flat on your back.”
Galinda practically shoots out of the chair, scurrying around her desk and haphazardly shoving off everything on top of it— her nameplate, her monitor, a little mug full of writing utensils, cloth measuring tapes and a binder of material samples and a single sketchbook.
“How I wish you were worse at your job,” Galinda moans. “It would be ever so much fun to knock a big stack of papers off my desk, but you whisked them all away months ago.”
“Why, Miss Upland,” Elphaba intones dangerously, “Are you voicing your dissatisfaction with the services I’ve rendered thus far? If you are, I can just as soon stop this right here and nip our affair in the bud...”
Galinda lets out a giddy little squeak and hops onto the tabletop by way of response, sitting down and hugging her knees to her chest, dress slacks halfway down her shins. She holds out a hand shyly, and Elphaba realizes that she failed to consider the logistics of precisely how she would be clambering up off the ground and onto Galinda’s desk, too.
It proves to be an arduous affair. Galinda ends up needing to pull Elphaba up by both her hands while Elphaba removes her heels and stands on her swivel chair, struggling to retain her balance. Her first step up onto the desk plants a foot on the other side of Galinda’s slight little frame, but the second is off-balance and leads to her accidentally stepping on Galinda’s slender stomach. This, in turn, sends Elphaba toppling over and landing ass-first onto Galinda’s chest, knocking the wind out of the smaller girl’s lungs and smacking her belly straight into Galinda’s head. Elphaba can’t see Galinda’s face, and concerned with her well-being, she scoots backwards down the blonde’s abdomen to be closer to her groin. There, leaning forward, she can see that Galinda is grinning like an idiot despite the bump to the head and the ragged rise and fall of her lungs from the blunt impact to her ribs by the full force of Elphaba’s considerable maternal mass. Both women sit together like this, one atop the other, just catching their breaths for a moment. Elphaba wipes off her brow with the back of her head, mortified that she had worked up a proper stinking sweat just from the simple act of hopping up onto a desk. If her out-of-shape pregnant physique being placed directly atop Galinda had left her perturbed, however, she certainly didn’t show it.
“Ride my face,” Galinda weeps. “Please, Miss Elphaba. If I suffocate, I’ve already amended my will to ensure you receive no repercussions. In fact, you’ll inherit the co—”
Elphaba cuts her off with a wave of her hand. Her answer stems partly from the embarrassing difficulty of maintenance down there with her massive, obscene orb of a belly inhibiting her visibility, and partly from that same desire for force and friction that motivated her to hump Galinda’s leg. “No. I don’t want your mouth right now, Galinda. I want you inside me.”
Galinda gasps with disbelief, and simply nods, shifting her legs while Elphaba hoists herself up, half-squatting as she pulls her practical black slip aside beneath her skirt, and gradually sinks down to sheath herself upon Galinda’s length. She is so wet— has been, since before Galinda even awoke a few minutes ago— that her cunt squelches wetly as it clenches around the throbbing head of the blonde’s cock. Galinda bites her tongue to try and contain herself and immediately regrets it, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she fights a losing battle against the glorious sensation cradling her on all sides. As soon as she feels the smaller girl plunged deep enough inside her, though, with wobbling legs and trembling core Elphaba plops down with a guttural exhale, their loins fused and her belly heaving against the slender concavity of Galinda’s stomach. She is riding Galinda cowgirl, facing towards the woman beneath her, who she realizes has not once stopped staring at her heavily pregnant body towering over her in absolute awe. Given her considerable girth, and her sensitive gravid state, Elphaba knows she will have to do most of the work to generate momentum and make this ridiculous position work, but she’s never minded that. It’s precisely the way she likes it, in fact.
Steadying herself. Elphaba arduously hoists her hips upwards, rising off of Galinda’s dick. The blonde whines and bucks her hips upwards to follow Elphaba, wanting to remain precisely where she was as that veiny shaft shivers and trembles. Elphaba’s lower lips hover over her cock-head ominously, poised seconds before free fall as the engorged emerald woman regards her expectantly.
“Tell me,” Elphaba orders her in between ragged gasps. “Tell me what a good job I’ve done. Tell me what a good job I’m doing.”
The pace they are moving at is barely even a quarter of the normal speed at which one rides cowgirl, and yet their speed is timed perfectly in tandem. This more gradual, arduous affair, this war of attrition as they attempt to fuck through and around the limitations of her preposterously pregnancy-laden state, is almost more erotic to Elphaba somehow. It allows her to feel even the slightest shifts Galinda makes inside, enables her to feel every inch of her partner’s girth stretching her out and scratching that itch from within.
“So good, Elphaba,” Galinda whines, clapping and grinding against her pregnant partner with every shift and shake and slow-motion bounce. “You’ve been working so hard. Growing so big, so round, so pregnant… so fucking full and heavy…”
One of Galinda’s arms darts outward and clasps Elphaba by the hand, locking and lacing their fingers reassuringly. The other reaches up to tenderly caress her stomach, that unbecoming bulge of undeniable fertility. It tenderly teases her popped, protruding outie navel, follows the path down her linea negra (or linea viridis, perhaps?) with her pointer finger. And then, Galinda’s fingertips skim over all of Elphaba’s pale green sage-colored stretch marks, gliding ghostlike as they lovingly trace all the canyons and crevasses created by these newly formed scars in her skin. The hand Galinda is holding receives another squeeze, as if to remind the larger woman that they are fully tethered together, that she is here and they are here and there is nowhere else she would rather be.
“So… proud of you,” Galinda cries, sucking in air between every other word, even as Elphaba grunts and snorts and exhales violently out of her nose, sweating and shaking like a pregnant sow as she struggles to ride. “So… fucking pregnant… so perfect… so good, so good to me… work so hard, E-Elphaba… always… t-taking care of me… like this… look so pretty, bouncing on my… m-my cock… like you were when I f-fucked your belly full to bursting… c-can't believe you even let me...”
Elphaba’s braids have slipped out of the loose bun she tied them up in, and are now cascading down all around her face, shifting from side to side like a curtain as she tosses her head back in the throes of pleasure. The repeated jostling up and down has jarred her massive mammaries loose from their ill-fitting bra, and now her tits flop freely from their cups, heavy, sagging breasts bouncing with every pump and thrust, her sensitive saucer-sized nipples stinging in the static office air. Elphaba plops down onto Galinda’s cock a final time and suddenly feels very weak and wobbly, her lower body no longer able to support that considerable weight, the heat pooling into her belly writhing and wriggling, so close to pouring out of her and flooding her body with its warmth. Galinda, too, seems worn ragged, and as she thrusts tenderly up into Elphaba’s welcoming cunt, she lets out a final hoarse plea.
“Oh, Elphie,” Galinda gasps, and her head recoils back against the wooden top of her desk. Elphaba, too, comes undone at the sound of the pet name, squirting all over Galinda’s cock until they are both sticky and soiled and slick mixed with Galinda’s watery load is dribbling down Elphaba’s tubby green thighs and soaking into her dark translucent stockings. Breathlessly, she flops forward, peeling herself away from Galinda so she can collapse by the smaller woman’s side, her aching back no longer able to support remaining upright in such a sex-drunken state any longer. Her head feels light, there is a pleasant buzz about her ears, and she is riding the high of riding her boss at seven and a half months pregnant. For the moment, the ponderous pounding at her temples from her pregnancy hormones has been sated and silenced.
But outside their windows, the sun is going down, and the streetlights of the city are flicking on one by one. Soon, Elphaba will have to hoist herself back to her feet, no matter how little she feels like walking right now. She will clean herself quickly, dispassionately, and spend much more time providing what little aftercare she is physically and emotionally capable of for Galinda’s sake. She will change into the spare set of stockings and underwear she has tucked away in the lining of her briefcase for just such an occasion, bid Galinda goodbye with a “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Upland,” then hobble out of the building (with an even more pronounced waddle than usual) and down the street before she misses the last bus that passes by her neighborhood.
Elphaba wonders if Miss Upland knows that this is how she says she loves her. Despite her vow to distance herself, to avoid dragging this perfect petite blonde angel down with her, Elphaba is a hypocrite and a sinner, and cannot bring herself to stay away, just as she cannot bring herself to truly close the distance. So this is how she confesses the truth she has always known, over and over again, in every little thing she does around the office, in the way she wields her body to make up for her own lack of appeal. And sometimes, she is almost convinced that her little ruse is successful, with the way Galinda looks at her longingly.
(Like how Galinda is looking at her right now, snuggled up against Elphaba’s swollen bump atop her desk, arms encircling her spherical waistline, looking so content and at peace that Elphaba knows it will take a supreme act of will for her to let go now).
But deep down, Elphaba knows with an unshakeable certainty that the beauty of Miss Galinda Upland is of such a classical, aesthetically pleasant sort that there could be no mistaking what she is and what she embodies, circumstances of her birth be damned, and that this beauty is infinitely beyond her grasp in every way. She is the most ancient, most timeless ideal of perfection the species had ever conceived. In another era, she would have been a high priestess, an idol, one of the rare few capable of communing with eternity, and every time Elphaba sees her, images of armless marble statues with slender, supple bodies and soft, flowing curves set impossibly in stone appear unbidden in her mind. But these comparisons are unfair— even comparisons to Lurline Herself cannot do Miss Galinda Upland justice.
No, Galinda is perfect, in an ephemeral and brilliantly blinding way that Elphaba cannot comprehend. She is something far greater than her own mortal flesh and blood, something she had only ever read about in story books as a little girl and scoffed at as a fairy tale. She is divine. Gloriously, radiantly, impossibly good. She is kind, endlessly giving, and full of grace. She is the warmth of the flickering hearth, fire and rain, a goddess transcendent beyond the prison of the flesh. She is soft and gentle and she exudes the cautious jubilation of a girl who has finally found comfort and contentment despite a lifetime of repression, and Elphaba wants nothing more than to nurture and nurse that newfound peace within her heart. Galinda is the most beautiful creature she has ever seen, and Elphaba is carrying her child, and she is too terrified to say she loves her.
She is a woman, thinks Elphaba mournfully. Were that she only mine.