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I forced a smile when the customer shuffled up to the counter. He must have been eighty, and I already knew his order would consist of black coffee, with maybe a side of mush-soft pancakes, but only if the old geezer was feeling adventurous.
“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?” I asked pleasantly and mentally awarded myself an Oscar. I would like to help him with assisted euthanasia.
He ordered coffee, no pancakes, and tottered off. I wiped the counter monotonously and shot a grin at Ingrid, who was stacking cups by the coffee machine. She gave me a flirty look.
Damn, this job sucked. I hated every fucking thing about working in a fast-food joint, but my rent needed paying, especially after I lost my cake job at the factory. The only thing that made coming to work bearable was Ingrid.
I walked over and pretended to check out the coffee machine. In reality, I checked out Ingrid. She turned and made a surprised sound, as if she had not noticed me there. Her huge breasts crushed into my chest.
“Oh! I am so sorry, Mister Smith,” she cried. I felt my cock twitch at the sound of her sexy voice. Her accent made the sentence sound something like, “…zo zorry, Mester Zmeth.” Ingrid was Ukrainian, or Romanian, or some sort of –anian. I didn’t care what. Her strawberry blond hair was cut in a pixy shag style, making her look like she just got fucked in the back room.
Her tits were large globes, too big for the white blouse she wore—the spaces between the buttons gaped open. The rest of her bod was fucking red hot. It didn’t help that my wife had been withholding sex. What the hell was she thinking? Men have needs. If my wife wasn’t willing to put out, I would just have to find some satisfaction elsewhere. The right hand would only get you so far.
“It’s okay, Ingrid,” I said in a purring tone. She walked toward the kitchen and paused to reach up and touch the order screen. Her ass was tight and amazing, even in the ugly gray uniform pants.
Several customers came in then, and I went back to the counter to perform my morning manager duties.
During the rush, I squeezed by Ingrid several times, once absently touching her on the ass when I squeezed by. She grinned at me, so the next time I passed, I gave one of her ass cheeks a firm squeeze. Ingrid only giggled.
The ass grabbing continued for a few days, until one quiet morning when I greeted Ingrid with my usual grope. She turned quickly, and my hand ended up at her crotch. I inhaled sharply, and boldly pressed my hand against her muff. Ingrid smiled and pushed her mound forward into my hand. I wanted to shove her back against the wall and see if her carpet matched her drapes.
One of the other grunts interrupted us, and I quickly went back to the counter, but after that I extended my grabbing to whatever part of Ingrid I could reach. I shoved a spatula between her legs one morning, wishing it was my dick, and she squealed like a school girl.
“You is a very naughty man, Mr. Smith,” she would say with a giggle. I started masturbating before work, just so I wouldn’t embarrass myself at the counter with an obvious hard-on.
I was alone in the storage room one dull morning, taking inventory for the billionth fucking time, when Ingrid slipped in. She smiled at me and reached over my head for a package of straws. I put both hands on her tits and squeezed.
She moaned and leaned into my hands, and then we were kissing like animals. Her mouth was hot and wet, and I thrust my tongue in and out, pretending it was my cock. She made moaning sounds, and my hands moved down to grab her ass. I bumped my hard dick against her crotch, wondering how long it would take me to come by dry-humping her.
I took one of my hands from her ass and shoved it down the front of her pants, breaking the kiss to get better leverage. For a minute, I chuckled, wondering what Ingrid’s husband and my wife would do if they could see us now. Probably kill us both. I wanted to laugh. My wife deserved it for being such a pissy bitch about my losing my high-paying factory job. Did she think
not giving it up was going to make me rush out and get a better job? What kind of fucking motivation was that?
When my fingers touched the soft curls of Ingrid’s bush, I didn’t care about my wife and her husband. I pushed my hand in farther, contorting my wrist. My fingers moved past the curls and touched the hot wetness of her slit. She bucked into my hand, and I cursed the stupid pants she wore—I couldn’t quite reach her pussy.
She moaned against my neck, and I knew I could probably yank her pants down and drill her right here, but the other two idiots in the kitchen would wonder where Ingrid had gone. The nosiest of the bitches would trot back to investigate.
I pulled my hand out and patted her on the ass with a wicked smile.
“Later,” I promised. When she was gone, I raised my hand to my face and breathed in the smell of her sex. It kept me on a high for the rest of the day.
Ingrid was off for the next couple of days. I talked to Bill, the afternoon manager, as we traded shifts.
“You’re working afternoon with me tomorrow, right?” he asked. “We’ll be busy because of the game.”
“Yeah, full crew.”
“Be nice to see Ingrid again,” he said with a grin. “It’s been awhile since I saw that hot tamale.”
I laughed. “I got a taste of that,” I admitted.
Bill’s eyebrows rose. “You too?” He whistled. “That babe gets around. I dip my wick into that pudding whenever I can.”
I licked my lips and felt a spike of envy. The asshole had already fucked her? I had thought getting to third base was an accomplishment.
“Hey, maybe we can switch off tomorrow,” Bill said. “You take the con and I’ll bang Ingrid in the office. Then we’ll trade.”
“Sounds good, but you take the con while I go first,” I corrected.
Bill rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t mind sloppy seconds. Just make sure you wear a condom—I don’t want your jizz giving me cooties.”
I made a face and snorted, but nodded. I went home, looking forward to work for the first time in months.
Ingrid had no problem with our suggestion. She obediently swished into the office and started undressing. For once, I was glad the tiny space had no windows. My palms were wet with sweat as Ingrid unbuttoned her blouse, and took off her bra. God, those breasts were amazing. The pink rosebud nipples jiggled as she bent down to pull off her shoes.
She slid her pants and panties off, and smiled at me, completely nude.
“You like?” she asked seductively.
“I like,” I admitted, and moved forward to take her mouth in a hungry kiss. My hands cupped her bare ass, and I lifted her onto the desk, knocking aside the owner’s fancy pen set and stupid motivational page-a-day calendar.
I pushed my fingers into Ingrid’s wet pussy, deeper this time without the barrier of clothes. She was already hot and wet, but I figured I could do better.
I bent down between her legs and fingered her lips open to expose her clit. I absently noted that her pubic curls matched her hair—natural then. I ran my tongue over her clit and she gasped raggedly. She arched her back. Fuck, she was hot. I pushed a couple of fingers in while I licked and sucked at her love button. She was soon a writhing mass of heavy breathing and
moans. A couple of folders slid off the desk.
She tried to stifle a scream as she came, and I quickly rolled on a Day-Glo condom. I pushed easily into her slick wetness—damn, it felt great even through the latex. I pumped into her, watching my cock slide in and out of that glistening hold while Ingrid made soft huffing noises.
I was so amped, it only took a few strokes before I shot my load and collapsed on those great breasts. I kissed Ingrid and she smiled at me.
“Oh, you’re so good, Mr. Smith,” she said. I nearly laughed. There was something bizarre about being addressed as Mr. when my pants were around my ankles and I was buried to the hilt in hot pussy. It was sort of a turn-on. I wondered if I had time to get it up and do it again. A tap on the door shut down that idea. I sighed and pulled out. I yanked off the condom
and dropped it into the trash.
“Hang on,” I said and yanked my pants up.
“It’s Bill,” he said through the door. Ingrid sat up, completely unashamed by her nakedness, and the fact that she was leaking all over the owner’s nice desk. I grinned at the thought of him coming back, oblivious to what we had been doing in here. I cracked open the door and Bill slipped inside.
“You had the rest, now get ready for the best,” Bill said to Ingrid with a chuckle. I rolled my eyes. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow with his hands on his belt buckle. “You leaving, or do you want to stay and pick up some pointers?”
“Fuck you,” I said mildly, but tucked my shirt in and went to the door. I looked back before I went out. Ingrid was already reclining on the desk again, and Bill’s pants were partially down. The door shut behind me and I headed back to the counter.
Shit, this job sucked, but the fringe benefits were awesome.
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