Opening shift

You don't really remember going to bed last night. There was the palpable sense of relief to discover your mom passed out on the couch when you went inside. You know you showered, cleaning off the cum and the grime but unable to wash away the knowledge of what you did, of who you are now. Then you must have fallen right into bed. It's all a blur, unclear, unreal, like a dream.

Except, you remember your dream. You'll never forget your dream.

Kneeling down low on the tile floor, head craned back to look up, up, up at Jeremy towering over you. He's impossibly tall, filling your whole world with his stench, with his awful laugh, with his crooked smile. Your mouth is open, tongue out, and you're begging, pleading, ****. His cock is hanging out of his pants, and you want it to fill you, cover you, mark you for what you are. But with what? As your pleading becomes more ****, as your body shakes with the need for it, you begin to realize that what's about to fall down on you isn't cum. You sense it, feel it, certain with that dream-knowledge of its imminent arrival, and you're filled with bliss. You need this. You close your eyes and open your mouth wider, ready to fall to where you can never come back from.

You wake to the sound of your phone buzzing, drenched with sweat, pussy soaked and throbbing with need. The caller ID tells you it's Jeremy, and the clock tells you that you're already late. As you stumble out of bed, the dream is all you can think about. You try to ignore it, push it out of your mind and focus on getting ready, but it sticks to you like the dirt and cum stuck to you last night. Making your way down the stairs and out the door, past your mom still snoring on the couch, your thoughts swirl around that feeling of being on your knees, mouth open, begging Jeremy to defile you.

"You're late, dummy." Jeremy's voice is harsh and accusatory, but his green eyes gleam and his mouth is curved in a hungry smile.

You sit down in the passenger seat, feeling the dampness you left behind last night even through your black jeans. "S-sorry boss."

Jeremy glares at your chest as he pulls out of your driveway onto the road. "And your shirt's still dirty. You look like shit."

"I... I didn't have time to wash it last night." Hearing him berate you calms and focuses your scattered, sleep-addled mind. You find yourself staring at his crotch, mouth watering as you remember sucking him off.

"Always a fuckin excuse with you." He looks over at you. "See something you want, dummy?"

"Y-yeah, boss. I want it." Please please let me have it let me show you I can be good.

"Well too fuckin bad!" He smacks the back of your head. "You wanna get someone off, get off yourself!"

You whine and groan, a sharp knot of shame twisting inside your gut. You're not even good enough to suck your manager's dick. That feeling of utter worthlessness makes the heat in your pussy flare. Unable to help yourself, you follow Jeremy's implicit command and shove your hand down the front of your pants, rubbing at your swollen clit, letting out a stream of pathetic squeals and moans.

It's surreal to drive through your town like this. Usually when you're up this early it's just to walk to school. Driving to work, seeing all the early risers going about their morning business, while you sit in Jeremy's filthy car masturbating, feels like you're in a different reality. Like you've left your old life behind completely. Is this really what the future holds for you? You look back down at Jeremy's crotch again, frigging yourself even faster, wishing you could experience its awful taste again. I hope so. I want this. I don't want to go back.

You're so very close to an orgasm as Jeremy pulls the car into the strip mall parking lot. "Hand out your pants, dummy! Time to get to work." He cackles at you as you whine, not waiting for you to collect yourself as he gets out of the car and walks toward the sandwich shop, knowing you'll follow him.

This isn't the first time you've opened the shop, but you usually work lunch or close, so it's a struggle to remember exactly what you need to do. It certainly doesn't help that you're exhausted and turned on to the point of distraction. Jeremy doesn't cut you any slack, yelling at you for the slightest hesitation, berating you for the tiniest slip-up. It drives you wild with arousal, and at the same time focuses your mind. You want to do a good job to please Jeremy. Maybe if I'm good he'll let me suck his cock again.

With the opening tasks finally done, Jeremy unlocks the front door and turns on the "OPEN" sign, and it doesn't take long for your first customer of the day to arrive. When the door makes its familiar two-tone chirp, a burst of excitement and anxiety floods your body. Will the customers this morning be like the ones from yesterday? Or will they just be normal people looking for breakfast? With the state you're in, you find yourself hoping for the former. The thought of some ordinary person seeing you like this dredges up the last shreds of shame you're capable of feeling.

You stand ready behind the counter as the customer makes his way towards you. He's an older guy, bald with a halo of wispy white hair and a scraggly white beard, his worn-down clothes giving the impression he doesn't much care how he looks. He scratches at his gut as he regards the menu, and when he looks down at you his lip curls in a sneer. "Since when does this place employ purple-haired freaks? I just want a goddamn sandwich."

You're immediately taken aback, a ghostly echo of your old self flashing with anger at the insult, but there's no stopping your new desire to please. "I... I'm sorry, sir. What can I make for you?"

The man's face scrunches up with anger. "I just told you! You deaf or something, freak? Make me a sandwich!"

You're caught in a swirl of intense contradictory emotions. You've never been afraid of standing up to asshole customers, especially when they pull shit like this, but the new you needs to please. Needs to give this man whatever he wants, and more. You're **** for his approval, breaths growing shallow at the thought you might fail him. But how can you give him what he wants when he won't even tell you what it is? "Oh... yes, of course, sir. One sandwich coming up." You pull out a roll of white bread and prepare to cut it.

"What the fuck?" The man's outraged voice makes you flinch, a burst of erotic electricity sparking from your clit. "I want wheat bread! Bacon and onions on wheat with extra mayonnaise. How is that so fucking hard? Did that hair dye fry your tiny brain?" His eyes flash at you.

This is too much. You're shaking, and you can feel a flood from your pussy drenching your panties as the stream of berating words falls on you. As you pull out the correct bread, you reply in a weak and shaking voice. "I'm so... so sorry sir. Please. Please let me make it up to you."

"Make it up to me? What the fuck are you talking about? You can make it up by making me my goddamn breakfast!" He shakes his head, looking like he wants to spit. "I swear to god, in my day we'd take a belt to backtalking girls like you."

You let out a little moan. You can't help it. Desperately focusing on preparing this man his food, all you can think about is him bending you over the counter and whipping your ass red and raw with his belt. Oh god I want it I want it so bad I want him to hurt me and shame me and put me in my place please. "Here you are sir." You hand him his finished sandwich.

Just as you begin to ring him up Jeremy comes out from the back and walks up next to you. "Is everything alright out here, sir?"

"No!" spits the man as he pays in crumpled bills. "This idiot doesn't know the first goddamn thing about customer service!"

"I see." Jeremy sounds apologetic as he slips a hand down the back of your pants. "Don't you worry about a thing, sir. She's in good hands. I'll make sure she gets the training she needs." Without warning, he shoves his middle finger into your asshole, then leans his face over next to yours and speaks right into your ear. "Alright dummy, apologize to this nice man."

You take a shaky breath in a futile effort to steady your voice. "Aannhh... I'm... I'm sorry sir."

Jeremy starts wiggling his finger around, stretching your puckered ring. He moves his face even closer, his patchy mustache tickling your ear. "Now thank him!"

"hanh... hanh... thank you... thank you for your patronage sir... ANGH!"

The man looks at your flushed and panting face, and then at Jeremy. He doesn't say anything, just nods approvingly and leaves. Jeremy gives your backdoor a few good thrusts with his finger before pulling it out and holding it up to your face. "Clean it, dummy." He doesn't wait for your response before shoving the finger in your panting mouth. His lips curl in a mocking grin as you obediently suck your anal residue off your boss's finger. "Nice job. I can already tell today is gonna go great."

And it does. None of the other customers are quite as nasty as that first guy, at least not to start. Every new interaction is a chance to prove how pathetic you are, your meek and deferential demeanor inviting each man to belittle you, insult you, put you in your place. Jeremy is right by your side the whole time, creating a spectacle of your humiliation, egging on the customers by pulling up your shirt, fingering and fondling you, at times even humping you through your jeans to the endless amusement of the men you're serving. You float through the whole experience in a fugue, deliriously turned on by everything happening to you, everything you're doing. You can feel your inner self shifting and adapting to this new reality, your body and mind thrilling at your new purpose. You're lower than dirt, everyone stepping all over you.

Nothing has ever felt so good.

It's a couple hours into your shift when you see him. You know who he is even before Jeremy's panicked greeting confirms it. Frank. The new owner. Coming to check on his investment. He strides into the shop with a casual confidence that immediately grabs your complete attention. His shaved head gleams under the fluorescent lights. His black t-shirt and faded blue jeans are tight on his frame, thickened by decades but clearly carrying an impressive amount of muscle. His dark brown eyes slowly take in the state of his sandwich shop before finding you and holding. You feel their weight, their intensity, gripping you, crushing you, constricting your breath in your throat. You've never experienced power like this, and the only thing you want is to surrender to it. It's all you can do not to drop to your knees on the spot.

Frank speaks, voice deep and calm. "This the one, Jeremy?" He motions his stubbly chin towards you.

Jeremy stumbles over his words. "Y-y-yes sir, Mr. Morelli. That's her."

He points at Jeremy. "You take over out here." He points at you. "Follow me."

You don't have a choice. It's like he grabbed you and pulled you along behind him. You rush to keep up, his unassuming strides moving him quickly down the back hallway to the office. When you're both inside, he sits on the chair by the desk, the cheap furniture creaking under his weight. He cocks his head to the side and slowly scans up and down your body with his dark eyes. His face betrays nothing. "Your manager tells me you have potential."

Being alone with this man in this confined space is making your heart hammer in your chest. You pull in a shaky breath. "H-he said that?"

Frank cocks his head the other way, his expression unchanged. "No. But he told me what happened yesterday. He told me what you did. And that tells me you have potential."

Your breaths grow heavy and your pussy tingles. He knows what you are. "Th-thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet." He leans forward, his eyes piercing right through you. "I still need to see for myself before I decide what to do with you. Take the top off."

A small sharp shiver runs through you as his command reaches your ears. Removing your shirt has never felt so good. Doing what Frank tells you just feels right. After your stained work polo falls to the floor, Frank makes the slightest movement with his head, his eyes focused on your bra. That small motion is enough, his desire clear, and your hands move on their own. Your body doesn't belong to you any more. Baring your sensitive flesh to his gaze, you can feel those dark eyes drinking you in, and your nipples stiffen in response.

"Step closer."

You obey, your whole body tingling as it moves at Frank's command. A soft sweet moan escapes your lips as Frank's strong hands reach up and grasp your young flesh. He squeezes your breasts together, lifts them apart, moves his thumbs over your aching nipples, seemingly unmoved by the pants and squeals he's forcing out of you.

Once he's satisfied, he releases you and rests his hands on his knees. "Now the bottom."

You're quicker this time, taking your panties down with your jeans and removing your socks and shoes while you're at it. There's no embarrassment, just a warm satisfaction at doing what Frank wants you to do, what you're supposed to do. You think you see his mouth move, just a little, in what you can almost convince yourself is a smile, and that warm satisfaction blooms inside you into a pulsing heat.

Frank takes his time looking up and down your exposed body, his eyes finally reaching your face. "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue."

"Ah." It's such a small sound, coming from deep in your chest, but it holds so much. An offering, a celebration, a commitment to accepting anything Frank demands. Your mouth has never been wider, and you can feel drool beading at the tip of your tongue.

Frank reaches up, callused fingers squeezing your tongue and pulling, forcing you to bend closer, and just like that he shoves two fingers of his other hand down your throat. You feel your muscles relax, allowing the thick digits entrance, but he pushes past your limits anyway. Coughing and gagging, your body convulses at the invasion, thick strands of spit streaming down Frank's hand and arm. After a moment he pulls his fingers out of your throat and releases your tongue, giving you a small nod that feels sweeter than a lover's kiss. "Good, I can make something out of that." He stares into your open, panting mouth. "Bend over and show me the other holes."

You pull in a deep, shuddering breath as you turn and bend over, hands reaching down to the floor. His gaze burns against your exposed backside, and you know your pussy is gleaming in the dull light. You've never felt so exposed, like there's nothing at all you can hide from this man. You just want him to take all of it, all of you.

"I said show me the holes." His tone hasn't changed, but you still feel the command like a stinging blow.

The need to satisfy him overrides everything else, and you reach back, careful to keep your balance, grasping your cheeks and spreading them as wide as you can. You hold like that for a moment, thrilling at offering yourself to this powerful man, and then something extraordinary happens. Frank's strong arms arms reach out and grab your torso, lifting you like a doll and positioning you so your thighs are on his shoulders and your head is between his feet. You yelp, hands flying forward to catch yourself before your face smashes into the floor. But you don't need to worry. Frank has you.

With his arms locked around your hips, he brings his hands back and hooks his fingers into your pussy and asshole, pulling, stretching you open painfully wide. You squeal, the pain a sweet reminder that your own needs are completely immaterial in this moment. Knowing this man is staring inside you, forcing you to reveal every last hidden part of yourself, turns your squeals into moans of joy. A deep, complete bliss settles over you. This is what you're for.

Frank's breath reaches inside your wide open holes as he finally speaks. "Yes. This is what I'm looking for. These young holes are going to make me a lot of money." With a gentleness only possible through overwhelming strength, Frank lowers you down to the ground until you're folded up underneath him, knees under your chest and arms under your head. He then leans back, stretching out his legs and resting his feet on your back. "I have a proposition for you, and I'm going to need an answer right now. Can you do that?"

Your body is vibrating with joy. You wish you could gush out a thousand words of gratitude for being put so completely in your place, but instead you let out a small, whispered "yes, sir."

"I think your manager is right, you have potential. Certainly more than he realizes. Right now, you're working for my sandwich shop. I want you to work for me. I have a few other establishments where I can put your body and your attitude to work. You'll make a hell of a lot more than you would here, and I'll make sure you're taken care of." He pauses a moment, shifting his feet on your back. "But you need to know I take my investments seriously. If you're gonna work for me, I'm gonna make you work. If you don't think you can handle that, I'm fine letting you stay right here and pulling in extra business for me that way. I'm sure even your idiot manager can find something to do with you."

Work for Frank. Belong to Frank. The thought sends a thrill through you. You want it. You want to give yourself to this powerful man, you want to be owned by him, you want to put your body to work for him. But what if it's too much? What if you can't handle it? What if you fail him? Can you really belong at these... other establishments? Can you really belong at the feet of a man like Frank?

Do you really belong here, at your old shop, being used and defiled by Jeremy? You know you can handle that. You know you want that. The idea of being something more frightens you. You couldn't ever become more than this, could you?

Frank taps his heel against your back. "I said I need an answer right now, girl. What's it gonna be?"