Chapter 3: Record Sales and a New Idea
The beanbag sighed under Naomi’s weight, a vast expanse of lavender suede conforming to the epic curve of her hips and ass. She’d wiggled out of her yoga pants an hour ago, the waistband pinching her soft belly, and now sat cross-legged in just a pair of tiny, stretchy shorts and one of Dewy’s stolen hoodies. The fabric strained heroically across her chest.
On her laptop screen, two faces grinned back at her. Marin, the Delphox, her fur meticulously groomed, her smile razor-sharp. Beside her, Brond, the Machoke, looked like he’d rather be bench-pressing the server tower.
“The numbers are incontrovertible,” Marin said, her voice crisp. “Q3 projections exceeded by forty percent. The ‘Cloud-Touch’ fabric line is sold out in every color.”
“Told you the double-reinforced seam would hold,” Brond grunted, cracking his knuckles. The sound popped through Naomi’s speakers.
Naomi beamed, her tail giving a happy, lazy flick behind her. “That’s amazing! You guys are the best.” This was the part she loved. The creation. The comfort. The idea of people feeling as cozy and confident as she did in her own clothes.
Marin’s smile tightened slightly. “It is. But we’re facing a convergence. Market saturation in our direct-to-consumer online space is imminent. The algorithm favors novelty. We need a new vector.”
A cold trickle of anxiety, wholly separate from the warm, damp feeling growing between her thighs, made Naomi shift. The beanbag rustled. “A new vector?”
“Physical retail. Partnership. Brand immersion,” Brond said, as if reading from a mental list. “We need bodies in gear. Real bodies, in real spaces, seen by real eyes.”
“Pop-up shops?” Naomi offered, her mind conjuring images of messy kiosks in mall corridors.
“Too temporary. Too… common.” Marin leaned forward. “We need an environment that synonymous with the physique, with effort, with… allure.”
The word hung in the digital air. Naomi’s tail twitched again, this time with a jittery energy. Allure. Her gaze drifted past the camera, to the hallway that led to their bedroom, to the memory of Dewy’s hands on her last night. His patience. His devotion. The way he looked at her like she was the only source of light in the world.
A thought, half-formed and impulsive, bubbled out of her. “What about gyms?”
Brond’s eyebrow raised. Marin’s ears perked up.
“Gyms,” Naomi repeated, gaining steam. “We partner with them. Sell directly through their pro shops. Offer exclusive colors for their trainers. Get the clients wearing our stuff during their workouts. It’s… it’s the perfect audience. People already invested in their bodies, in feeling good.” Her heart hammered. She was thinking of one gym in particular. Of the sleek, mirrored walls and the scent of clean sweat. Of him. “We could start with a local one. As a pilot. Dewy’s gym is super high-end. It would be perfect.”
The silence on the call was brief, then Marin clapped her hands together. “Naomi, that’s it. That’s the vector. A targeted, high-value ecosystem. The association is flawless.”
“I’ll draft the outreach,” Brond said, a real smile finally touching his face. “Tough sell, though. Need the right in.”
“I have the in,” Naomi said, her voice suddenly softer, possessive. “My boyfriend works there. I can… I can make the introduction.” The idea solidified, taking on a delicious, double-edged shape. Business. And a chance to see his world. To remind everyone there, especially that ice-queen Sammy with her judgmental eyes and her too-tight suits, who he came home to. Who he belonged to.
After the call ended, she stayed slumped in the beanbag, the nervous arousal from the meeting mingling with a hotter, more primal current. The meeting had excited her. The thought of seeing Dewy at work, of walking in there not just as his girlfriend but as a business owner, a partner… it sent a thrilling shiver through her. She imagined his face, surprised and happy. Imagined sliding her hand into his in front of all those watching eyes.
She hauled herself up, the movement a tidal shift of flesh and fabric, and padded to the kitchen. She poured a glass of water, her mind racing. She’d need to look professional, but still like herself. Maybe the new charcoal-grey set with the seamless waistband. It was still yoga gear, but it looked like luxury athleisure. Respectable.
The low thrum of the garage door opener startled her. He was home early.
Dewy walked in, his usual radiant smile seeming to take a second to ignite. He looked tired, the blue fur around his eyes a little tight. But when he saw her, the warmth flooded back into his face, genuine and overwhelming.
“Hey, you,” she purred, closing the distance. She enveloped him, her body swallowing his frame in a hug, her face burying in the crook of his neck. He smelled of sweat, of the gym’s generic soap, and underneath it, the unique, warm musk that was just him. “Rough day?”
He nuzzled into her, his arms wrapping around her waist, hands splaying against the small of her back. “Just long,” he murmured, his voice slightly muffled against her hoodie. “Missed you.”
She believed him. The tension in his shoulders under her palms told a different, subtler story. She kissed his temple, a slow, lingering press. “I have news. And a plan.”
“Oh yeah?” He leaned back, looking up at her, his crimson eyes searching hers.
“Mmhmm. Big business move. We’re partnering with gyms. Starting with yours.” She watched his face carefully. The flash in his eyes was too quick to parse—surprise, definitely. Something else? Alarm? It was gone, replaced by a supportive grin.
“That’s amazing, Nomes! They’d be lucky to have you.”
The reassurance washed over her, soothing the tiny prick of doubt. “I’m going to come by tomorrow. Talk to Sammy about setting up a vendor partnership. Make it official.” She traced the line of his jaw with a fingertip. “And I get to see where my amazing boyfriend works all day. Maybe even steal you for a lunch break.”
His smile held, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pulled her closer again, his embrace almost fierce. “That sounds perfect,” he said, his voice low.
But later, as they lay tangled together on the couch, his head in her lap while she scrolled through design mockups, she felt the faint, persistent tremor in his fingers where they rested on her thigh. He was stressed. She knew it. She attributed it to work, to difficult clients, to the pressure he always put on himself.
She leaned down, her massive chest pressing against him, and kissed his forehead. “Everything’s gonna be great,” she whispered, a promise to them both.
He nodded, closing his eyes. “Yeah.”
In the quiet of the apartment, with the lo-fi beats still playing softly, Naomi’s mind was already in tomorrow, envisioning her triumphant entry. Dewy’s mind was in the same place, a cold knot of dread tightening in his stomach, the unsigned contract in his gym bag feeling like a buried landmine he was now powerless to stop her from walking toward.