The Two Carers

PART 1

The lounge room had two settees, facing each other: one deep and soft, the other shallow and firm, more like a gym bench than a place to relax. On the firm bench sat Cat, a 23-year old woman in tights and tank top, 5 ft 9 and 210 lbs/95kg: a little on the plump side but toned and fit. By her side stood Vera: 67 years old, 5 2, thin (90 lbs/41kg), slightly hunched, and birdlike. Vera's bitter expression seemed fixed forever into the lines of her face. She stood with hands folded in front, as though awaiting instructions -- which she was: publicly she was a friend of Cat, but privately and more truthfully she was the strong young woman's slave.

Lying on her back across the main, soft settee was another thin, short, lady, six years older than Vera: this was Betty, who was currently being sat on by a fat young woman named Anna -- short wavy blonde hair, a smooth, almost waxy face, 5 6/167cm, 380lbs/172kg: her expression was most often calm and relaxed, but sometimes her lips pressed together, giving her a look of severe determination. Anna was 23, three years older than Cat, and 50 years younger than her victim Betty. The old woman's age showed in her dull eyes and withered neck. Frail, then, someone to be looked after. Instead of that: sat on and squashed.

South of Betty's collarbone you lost sight of the old thing: she was hidden under the Anna's hip, smooth and huge and as perfectly curved as a planet. To regain sight of the aged woman your eye had to travel across Anna's vast, spreading left thigh, then across her vast spreading right one: across both thighs. Betty finally re-emerged in the form of a faded floral dress or skirt, hard to tell which, and the skinny legs within it. Apparently it was the softness of the couch that saved her from the full effect of the mountain of weight above, for her old head still moved to and fro, though feebly and not very often. And yet, she had consented to this. Her eyes stared into space.

It was a scene of pressure, suffering and peace, Cat thought. She had seen it many times now. She knew that Betty felt a deep need to be squashed in this way, but at the same time the old woman was only 5 2 like Vera, and frailer at 80lbs/38kg -- and less than a quarter of Anna's weight. The hardship she endured under Anna was very real. As for Anna, things were simple: she simply loved to bring her weight down on someone, sitting on them for long stretches of time. Yes, they had to be a consenting adult, but they also had to be far, far smaller and thinner than herself.

Simple -- or was it? Cat had a double vision of normality and of electrical, storm-like intensity. Without Betty under her, Anna would have been just one more BBW sitting placidly on a couch, and that is just how she behaved: she acted the part perfectly, with no more embarrassment or worry than a normal fat woman whose ass sank only into cushions. And if Betty had been just lying by herself on the couch, that too would look unremarkable, apart from the automatic issues raised by her age and fragility. Simple, normal... but Cat knew that Anna was very aware of what she was doing to the withered lady below her, who could barely breathe, whose blood could barely pump through her body, thanks to the pressure bearing down from Anna's abundant buttocks -- yes Anna aware of it every moment, and drawing deep pleasure from it. For it turned her weight from a burden that she had to carry around into an almost magical means of domination, a means to fill someone else's mind with herself. When she was sitting on Betty, all her womanly weight, all the bulk and spread of her hips, thighs and buttocks -- and, too, the flesh on her arms, and face, everywhere -- became something for her to cherish.

Cat narrowed her eyes, trying to tease out some last element of what she was thinking. Yes, socially speaking it was unremarkable for a woman, even a very heavy one, to sit for hours at a time as long as her ass met nothing but a chair or settee. But sitting on a person was very different in the public eye: it was set aside for wrestling, for horseplay; for the 60-second Youtube challenge, for an outrageous moment in a TV comedy -- and it was always short term. What Anna somehow managed to do was take what she wanted from both these worlds: she made squashing a frail vulnerable person under her ass something unremarkable -- her easy manner brought the suffering of the victim below, and the celebration of her own heaviness and bulk, into the world of everyday acceptable things.

Cat told Vera to bring out more of the buns and cake they had brought. This she did quickly, and silently offered them to the two young women. Cat waved it away, she had stopped after one bun, but Anna had quite an appetite. She now took another, and consumed the carb-rich sugary offering without any word or glance toward her friend's slave.

"Go for it," Cat said. "You carry your weight well." Anna ate it so quickly that Cat snapped her fingers again at the birdlike Vera. "Two more buns for Anna," she said.

"No, two slices of banana cake," Anna said, her words needlessly loud, but that was her normal speaking voice. She licked cream from her fingers.

"Make them generous," Cat said, and Vera moved off wordlessly to obey.

A comfortable silence settled. Anna sat unmoving on the old woman, not offering her any relief whatsoever. The thin, wrinkled wrist now fluttered a little. Anna watched this idly while weighing her down, keeping the air out of her aged chest. Her own thighs emerged majestically from her short dress, her skin smooth as a child's, while Cat looked on admiringly.

PART 2

Anna and Cat had met online through a kink group dedicated to squashing, and had discovered some very promising things: they lived in the same city, and had a mutual interest in sitting on and bossing round older, thinner women. And there was another link: they were both aged care workers by profession, and had met their older female partners that way -- and had both taken complete control of their partners' lives.

Naturally they inquired closely into how the other one had achieved total domination of the older woman whose lives they now ruled. But this is also the story of the older women themselves. And things are always more complicated for the squashed person, the victim: their reasons for consent tend to be complex; any pleasure they take in being squashed is only one factor in that consent, and not always the main factor, and in any case, it is always combined with stress and suffering.

With Anna and Betty things had started innocently enough. While working as a temp at an aged care agency, Anna had been assigned to visit Betty few times a week to check up on her welfare. But Anna looked at Betty's smallness, thinness and frailty, and was powerfully triggered. When she sat on the firm bench opposite, engaged in polite care-worker chit-chat, it took considerable willpower not to just walk over, lie the old thing down, and settle her own broad ass on the lady's chest and side-turned head, and then just sit there on top of her. This special kink lust began to power Anna's conversation with Betty; more and more she wanted to get inside the old woman's head and heart, she wanted to become important to her, needed by her, to become, in the end, someone Betty couldn't say no to.

Ideas about squashing Betty crowded forward: these ideas were like a crowd pushing at a thin chain barrier, until some of these ideas and images slipped through, and took the form of words: the notion of someone sitting on someone smaller began find its way into Anna's casual conversation -- rarely and cautiously at first, then, meeting no resistance, with growing confidence and regularity.

What did Betty make of all this? Anna loomed ever larger in the old lady's life. It had been many years since anyone showed so much interest in her: she now lived for Anna's visits, which brought such colour and warmth to her otherwise-empty days. At the same time, as Anna had calculated, Betty felt less and less willing to challenge anything Anna said.

As for her casual comments about people sitting on those who were smaller or thinner, well that did seem strange, once she began to notice it. But because it came from all-important Anna, she let it go. And also, it began to stir very old memories. The thing is, in old age people often forget what happened last year or last week, but retain memories formed when their minds were fresh and young; and Anna now began to remember games in childhood where her sisters and her had had fun sitting on each other, sometimes two or three at a time ¬ and even ambushing other kids on the way home, and sitting all in a row on them. Because Betty had been younger than her sisters and friends, she'd been a victim more often than a conqueror. But that had been fun too. She mentioned all this to Anna, who seemed eager to talk about it. As kids, Betty and her sisters had done all sorts of other things too, in their horseplay, but Anna only seemed interested in people sitting on each other, so that's where Betty's thoughts remained.

And then, the sudden thought struck the old woman: good lord, could it be -- that this heavy young girl actually intend to sit on her? She had a moment of fear, as she somehow knew she'd hit on the truth.

There are times when new lovers stop talking and silently close together for their first kiss. But there are other times when a man burns to take hold of her, and a woman, with mixed, confused feelings, silently surrenders to him. And so it was between Betty and Anna. Anna's fat arms reached forward, her fat hands took Betty's thin shoulders and began -- silently, gently but firmly, to push her down. And then Anna did speak.

"I'm going to sit on you now, Betty," she said, the way a nurse might say, "it's time I took your temperature." The solid young woman's voice was so warm soft and reassuring, and was so authoritative, that Betty acquiesced, and found herself flat on the couch. Betty wasn't sure what she expected next -- some light, playful, token action, surely -- but instead she saw Anna's vast broad rump coming down on her. Oh, I will die now, she thought quietly. And then Anna sank onto her, driving all breath from her lungs, pinning her arms and upper body beyond any hope of resistance. Oh yes, I am about to die. But she did not die. Somehow Betty found a way to breathe, just a little, but enough to survive on. Anna reached down and ruffled her hair, and spoke lightly and warmly, reassuring her again, as the young woman's huge soft buttocks spread out on her from collar bone to pelvis. And she kept sitting on her. Four seconds went by; ten; thirty... minutes went by, and Betty remained squashed, while Anna, her young friend Anna, kept reassuring her.

Anna meanwhile was filled to the brim with the satisfaction: victory at last. Like a hunting she-bear or tigress that has many misses before bringing her prey to ground, Anna had had many frustrations up to this point. More than half the old ladies she visited were as fat as Anna herself, and therefore unappealing to her as cushions (though one at least had potential join her in a double session one day, if Anna had read the signs right). Of the thin ladies that Anna visited, many were prickly, or proud, or still well connected to friends or family, all of which raised red flags for Anna.

She had actually picked out three of her women to try to squash, and put a lot of ground work into them, but when the time came each of the old things panicked and squawked about like birds. One had even tried to report her, but as she was dementing that was easily brushed off. It had all been most unpleasant. But now these frustrations brought added savour to the act of squashing Betty... how beautiful it felt to immobilize the old woman so completely, with no effort to herself, just by letting the frail lady take her weight.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later that Anna stood up, and raised Betty upright on the couch. She bent down toward her, plump hands on her plump knees, interest and amusement filling her fat face. Betty saw Anna's face swim toward her; in her oxygen-deprived state Betty could not be sure at first if this was the real Anna or a cartoon character on television.

"A cup of tea now, Betty?"

The world swung back into place. Betty nodded weakly.

"Perhaps not just yet," Anna said. "It would make you sick, all that water in your tum, because now I'm going to sit on you and squash you again. Down you go."

And then it all happened again.

This time Anna did not keep up the running line of reassuring patter. She said nothing in fact, communicating only through her soft mountainous weight bearing down continuously on Betty. But Anna found that a supremely effective way to communicate -- a one-way discussion, it is true.

Anna played with her phone, scrolling, texting; she had one official-sounding conversation, it was a work call, Betty realised: Anna was giving a report about Betty herself, behaving as though nothing unusual was happening. And she kept on squashing her.

PART 3

When Anna finally arose, 20 minutes later, she pulled Betty to a standing position, but kept her hands firmly on her shoulders, managing to weigh the old woman down slightly as they walked alongside each other. Anna's voice was now brisk and no-nonsense. Her voice, in fact, had an edge to it, warning Betty away from the slightest query or complaint.

Betty, after 20 minutes and then another 20 minutes of being squashed, had moved on from her initial shock. Fear and anger had both taken their turn in her, but had now been squashed out of her mind. All that she felt for Anna now was awe; and it was Anna she thought of, not herself: Anna had become her whole world.

Anna told her she'd visit again the next day. And she did, with a phone call an hour before, warning Betty not to have any food or drink before her arrival. When she appeared Anna led Betty straight to the couch, and sat on her at once. This, then, Betty realised, was how it would be from now on. And so it was: Anna found time to visit her for two hours every day.

A week later, when the routine of squashing was well-established, Anna's old friendly ways began to return. She talked easily to Betty while sitting on her, and afterwards she'd guide her back into the kitchen, her fat hand on the exposed ridge of Betty's backbone. Here they began to have the same chats as they had done of old -- but with certain differences. Anna no longer made the tea or brought out the biscuits, Betty had to do it all. But that too soon became routine. And now, Betty no longer started any conversation, it was always Anna who began. The fat young woman's voice was forceful, cheerful and loud, Betty's voice timid, thin and increasingly faint.

Anna was intensely aware of every moment that she sat on thin old Betty. It was difficult, in fact, to stop, even when pressing engagements loomed with other clients or back at the office. And after the squash finally ended and she led the withered woman back to her hard kitchen chair, Anna often snuffed out Betty's voice, talking over her when she ventured a remark, and she often halted Betty before taking her first sip of tea or eating her first biscuit, so that the acts of speaking, drinking or eating felt increasingly fraught to the old woman -- something a bit wrong, something to feel guilty about; something likely to cause trouble.

Anna had many delicious moments when she'd decide reluctantly to get up, and start to get up, but then sink back again instead. It was like the pleasure you feel during those moments when you know you have to get out of bed, but instead you languish a while longer -- but the pleasure that Anna felt now was a hundred times more concentrated.

Anna's enjoyment of squashing the frail lady did not diminish over time. If anything it increased, as she became aware of more and more subtle aspects of squashing. She was delighted to feel each small, despairing movement from the victim below. She was almost equally happy at Betty's faltering self-confidence. But squashing was always paramount. As she sat on Betty, Anna sometimes drifted into a form of meditation, thoughts dwelling on her own body, one part of it at a time: her right thigh perhaps, or her left buttock, even the sweet parting between her massive cheeks as they sank deep into Betty's abdomen and chest.

Sometimes Anna would carelessly finger the old woman's skin, which was becoming looser as she moved further into old age; Anna would press the skin out of place, as though wishing to speed up the process of Betty's decline. At other times Anna made work phone calls while squashing Betty, almost forgetting her existence, while Betty was almost comatose. At these times, when the two women's minds were elsewhere, the bodies of Anna and Betty developed a silent intimacy of their own, as the pets of two friends might develop their own distinct relationship. But with the bodies as with the minds, the relationship took place through a massive continuous blast of inequality, Betty's body only just able to function, Anna's stimulated by good chemicals flowing through her, released into her system through the pleasure of squashing someone.

On the other hand, Anna was more and more frustrated by her time away from Betty. For years she'd been resigned to her work routine, as so many workers are; now, that routine felt unbearable. She felt as though a crime was being committed against her whenever she was not on top of the old woman, weighing her down. It drove Anna mad to think of Betty free from the shaping effect of her lard-like buttocks coming down on her -- Betty, free to walk about, to breathe deeply, to eat as she pleased. Bettys' freedom at these times irritated Anna so much that she came out in a rash.

Anna was not the sort of person who simply put up with frustrations. She worked and worked on Betty, until, after two months, she got the old woman to hire her as a full time a live-in help. Anna was now freed from casual work, and able to focus on Betty entirely. Bliss... she squashed her for longer periods every day. Anna put on weight from inactivity, while Betty spoke less, breathed less and ate less. This was not only a pleasure in itself for Anna, it speeded the pace of Anna's growing domination of Betty. Day by day, Anna increased her control over the old woman, emotionally, physically, in every way.

After four months she controlled all the old woman's money and assets, including her debit card, with Betty's full consent: the "salary" Anna drew as a live-in help was something she paid to herself, for tax and welfare records, to maintain the fiction of professional care. Cleaners now came in twice weekly, paid cash-in- hand, doing the work supposed done by Anna. Many of the meals were home delivered, the rest cooked by the feeble Betty when she was free of Anna's weight. By this time Anna did no work at all, she did only what she wanted, which was mainly eating, reading, chatting to friends, watching TV, all while weighing Betty down under her ass.

Anna maintained her private life with friends, and sometimes swam at the local pool. At these times Anna made sure Betty was fully occupied in cooking, knowing that Anna would expect to see results as soon as she was home. Betty had had very little life before Anna: walks around the block, shopping, visits to a hairdresser. Now Anna closed all that down. Anna had a passion to make herself everything to Betty: to be all that she felt, saw, heard or even smelt.

Under Anna's guidance Betty changed her will to disinherit her relatives. But that mattered little: Betty had already given over deeds of her house and all her money to Anna, and had given her Power of Attorney.

Anna wanted the relationship to continue for another 20 years -- I want to see her out, as she put it to herself. But once her domination felt complete, Anna also began to imagine replacement victims, or perhaps supplemental ones; she also though about finding sisterly collaborators. And so she reached out to her fetish community -- sitting on Betty as she typed eagerly away, staring at her PC screen -- and discovered Cat and Vera.

PART4

Cat watched on as Anna escorted Betty to the couch. The old thing looked quite caved in; she was 74 but her shoulders were becoming hunched like a woman ten years older. It was as though her torso had been permanently bent under the shape of Anna's huge spreading buttocks, Cat thought, which sank into her so very often, most of the day in fact.

Betty never spoke these days; she was faded and empty, a wraith -- in sharp contrast to the energized, pink-cheeked Anna. It was as though all personality had been sucked out of Betty -- sucked up through the ass of the fat young woman, and into her young woman's body. For, even though Anna did very little, she was full of life and vitality. She had stopped Betty cleaning her teeth, she told Cat; the old woman's teeth were bad, and at the first sign of further decay, she intended to have them all taken out, simply to remove more of her, it seemed, to wither her down further, and to reduce her food intake to tasteless mush, while she watched Anna eat her fill of large, rich and varied meals.

Cat looked up at Vera. Her 67 year old slave was looking most respectfully at Anna, but when her gaze fell to Betty she was full of scorn. That had always been the case, and indeed her scorn deepened with every step in Betty's deterioration.

But now Cat stood up and pointed down at the bench. Vera, with a show of silent displeasure, but no resistance, lay herself down on it, waiting to be sat on.

Cat herself had tried being sat on once, with a friend, slightly less than her own weight. She discovered that being sat on was no joke, she'd been surprised at how stressful and painful it was, and she had not lasted long, 30 seconds if that.

Perhaps you just had to get used to it, she thought -- happy with the fact that she'd never know. But sometimes she liked to remember that one experience -- particularly times like now, when she settled her firm, toned thighs and backside onto the weak chest of Vera: very aware of her 210lbs on Vera's 90. It felt wonderful that she herself felt no stress or pain whatsoever while Vera had so much of it. Just look at those young thighs of mine, she thought: muscular but still with plenty of female fat relaxing and spreading out on that ribcage below. She placed her hands on those thighs, closed her eyes, tilted up her face and arched her back, intensely aware of the human warmth from Vera's chest, the effort her older companion had in taking in any air at all.

Like Anna, Cat had for years been a personal carer for the elderly. Unlike Anna, Cat still worked out in the field, doing temp work via several agencies. The old women found her warm, helpful, sensitive and respectful.

But Cat was a woman with two sides. For many years she had worked a second job as a dominatrix, where she'd liked nothing more than to flog polite and grateful old gentlemen; they would be allowed to touch her thigh, for comfort and relief from the pain; nothing more. But the polite old gentlemen were fading out, the younger male customers coming in had no scary memories of childhood whippings or canings to work through in a "dungeon", no, they wanted soft porn stuff and talked about customer satisfaction and total quality service. Cat went off men. She reduced her hours and catered only to women, though as with the men she preferred older ones, and found herself wishing that they were older still.

But then, when she went to her day job in the health sector, she started seeing her aged female clients through a kind of double vision. Her two worlds were overlapping, in her head, and it disturbed her.

It was then that she had been sent to help Vera. Vera had been 65 at the time, not so very old, but had broken an ankle. Vera had been most resistant to help from Cat -- another crusty cantankerous thing, in denial about her injury, Cat assumed. But slowly Cat realised that Vera resisted help for a very different reason: it should be Cat having things done for her, Vera kept insisting, while she hobbled about doing everything. Why? Cat asked, smiling and puzzled. Vera did not reply, but with each visit Vera insisted on being Cat's servant, and Cat's corruption began.

One day she told Cat her history, going into remarkable personal detail. Vera had long been divorced. Her husband had hit her, she said, but also sat on her: foreplay before sex consisted of him lying her down, face to the ceiling on a low bench, then sitting on her stomach or chest with his tough hairy legs to each side, and masturbating as he watched the blood rush to her strained face.

This was not Vera's first taste of being sat on. As a child from the age of six her three older brothers routinely done so, often all at once -- close together, belly middle and chest, legs to each side. Training sessions, they'd called this activity. Or else they sat on her side by side when they want to watch TV, laying her on the floor in front of the couch rather than on the couch itself, which they said would have been "too easy" on her. Any housework not done by their mother was done by Vera. When she wasn't being sat on she'd slave away in the kitchen while her brothers watched TV. These were the days before remote controls, and when it was time to change TV channels they'd call her in to do it rather than get up from the couch to do it themselves.

Any sexual abuse or nudity? No, even when the boys were in their teens, though they did other things to her, too gross to mention, she told Cat. But they did not grow out their bad ways, they continued to enslave her and sit on her. When her first boyfriend came around he laughed and joined in, occasionally all four males sat on her at once! He was the one she married: a slave to him from the start. He'd allowed her brothers one more time on her, then told them it was time for them to find women of their own. (What they did instead was use their mother. She was now never allowed out of the house, did every scrap of cooking and cleaning, and got sat on by husband and boys.)

For Vera's then, there had been a seamless transition from family to married life. But when her husband was jailed for corporate fraud she was offered free legal help to divorce him, and she did. Now she was celibate, and only wanted the company of women.

The longer Cat listened to these details, the more she saw the relish in old Vera's face. Training sessions... yes, cat thought, Vera had been trained into a deep seated, bitter masochism, by the treatment she received and by seeing her mother as role model.

When the story was finished, Vera told her, "now don't you do a thing Cat," in voice quavering with quiet intensity. "I'll do every last thing for you."

"You should come to my place, it's such a mess," Cat ventured.

"Let me fix all that too. But you will have drive me there, I am sorry, I never learnt to do that."

At the office Cat looked at Vera's file. Yes, she had often reported blows from her husband, and went around telling any neighbour or visitor who would listen, displaying her bruises, blackening his name. But she'd never reported the sitting.

Vera never said she enjoyed being squashed; she never said she enjoyed anything. But being sat on and squashed felt right, she told Cat, who came to understand that suffering and servitude were the only ways Vera felt truly alive.