The customer is always right

As you emerge from the back, you feel a brief flash of relief as you see the men from earlier had left. That feeling is quickly replaced by dread as you see the long line stretching from the counter all the way back to the door. You usually have at least a few regulars at dinner rush, but you don't recognize any of these guys. And they're all guys, and they're all looking at your chest.

You're keenly aware of the way the wet fabric of your work shirt clings to your breasts. It's only a few steps from the prep room to the counter, but right now it feels like a mile. Does your chest always jiggle this much when you walk? Have the lights in this place always been this bright? And why is it so hot in here?

One of the men back in the line whistles. "Hot damn, Frank wasn't kiddin' about this place! I ain't never had a show with my sandwich before!"

Seriously, who the fuck is this Frank guy?

And what does he mean "show"?

You try to push those thoughts down as you reach the counter. Jeremy had told you to take care of the customers, and part of you hoped that if you did a good enough job then he would leave you alone. If you can just focus and make it through this line, everything will be OK and you can go home. This isn't your first rush. You can handle this.

"Wh-what can I get for you tonight, sir?" The tremble in your voice shocks you. C'mon, RC, what's the matter with you?

The man at the front of the line stares at your chest. "Uhhhhh..." He tears his eyes away and reads the menu behind you. "Um, tuna sandwich... wheat bread... extra pickles." You grab a roll of wheat bread and start to cut into it. "C'mon, can you, like, shake it or something?"

You freeze and look up at him. "Can I... excuse me?"

"Gimme a little shake while you do that. I wanna see those titties jiggle. What's the problem?"

Your cheeks burn and your mouth falls open. You can't believe what you just heard, and you feel an urge to snap at him. That urge fizzles out as you feel the heat between your legs flare at the thought of doing what he asks. What's so bad about that anyway? They already shake a little when I slice bread. Before you realize what you're doing, you finish cutting the roll, adding an exaggerated motion as you do so your breasts sway back and forth.

Your breaths are shallow as you put the knife down and look up at the customer. You can't believe you just did that, and part of you – the part that's responding to the growing heat – is eager to hear what he thought. When you see his smirk, your heart drops.

"That's it? How the hell did you get this job?"

"I... that isn't..." Your half-hearted protest dies out in the face of the mocking laughter filling the shop. You can feel the color in your cheeks start to spread down your neck, and the heat between your legs begins to throb. None of this makes any sense, and part of you wishes you could just run away from it all. But another part of you is starting to thrill at all the attention you're getting.

You quickly finish making the sandwich, and before you can ring him up you feel Jeremy shove past you. "I'll handle the register, dummy. You go focus on serving our fine customers. Try to put a little more effort into it than you did for this guy."

Jeremy and the customer share a chuckle as you dejectedly walk back to the other end of the counter. How did he see that? And why the fuck do I care what he thinks anyway? You try to summon a smile for the next man in line, but with your glowing red cheeks and soaking wet shirt you know you look ridiculous. "And what can I get for you, sir?"

The man grins at you. "How about your number, cutie?" He laughs at your confused reaction. "Well how about just a ham'n'cheese for now? White bread."

You start making the sandwich, and ask him what kind of cheese he wants.

"Cheddar's fine. So, what are you doing after work tonight, cutie?"

You keep your eyes down as you try to focus on your task. "Um, well, I get off pretty late tonight, so I'm just heading home."

"You got a boyfriend waiting for you back home?"

"Uh, no. You want any veggies?"

"Yeah, sure, gimme lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. So, if you did have a boyfriend, how would you fuck him?"

You look up at him, gaping. He just grins at you, and something in his eyes makes the throbbing heat between your legs start to spread through your whole body. "I... er... I like to be on top." What the fuck did I just say?

You're done making his sandwich, and as you hand it off to Jeremy to be rung up, you're surprised to see the customer frowning at you. "Is it too much to ask for you to flirt back a little, you dull bitch?"

Jeremy cackles at that, and as you walk back down to the other end of the counter, you feel desperately confused. Instead of getting pissed off when he insulted you, his words just fed into the growing heat inside. It's getting hard to think. Why are you just putting up with all of this? You hate it. You absolutely cannot stand the way all these guys are staring at your chest and treating you like meat, but for some reason you're not doing anything to stop it.

Maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is what I get for leading these guys on with my wet shirt.

The next customer is more reserved, seemingly content to just stare at your breasts while you make him his food. As you get near the end and ask him what condiments he wants, he suddenly perks up and asks to put the mayo on himself. That's a new one. After a brief hesitation, you hand him the squirt bottle of mayonnaise. Compared to the other "requests" you've had tonight, this one seems pretty harmless.

The customer stares at the bottle in his hands like he can't quite believe it. You furrow your brow in confusion, and you're about to ask him if he needs any help when he suddenly starts squirting the mayo all over your chest. You yelp in surprise, too shocked to do anything other than stare down as the viscous white fluid splatters over your breasts and torso. The men in line all whistle and cheer, and your cheeks somehow turn an even deeper shade of red.

When he's finally finished, the customer hands you back the much lighter squirt bottle, and you take it from him in a daze. Everything about this shift has been so surreal, it all feels like a dream. As you wrap up the sandwich and hand it to Jeremy at the register, he shakes his head at you.

"Way to make a mess, dummy. And I'd just cleaned off your shirt, too."

You gape at him. "But... I... he..." Christ I sound like a loser.

"That mayo is store property, dummy. You never should have given it to a customer. This is your fault. Now you gotta deal with it." Jeremy's green eyes are shining above his wide grin.

Your breaths are shallow. "Y-yeah, OK, I'll go clean up real quick."

Before you can turn to leave, Jeremy grabs your arm again and squeezes. The sudden, painful contact draws your attention to the unbearable throbbing heat between your legs. "Not so fast, dummy. You can't keep all these nice men waiting just cuz you screwed up. Get rid of that mess, right now, and get back to work."

"Wh-what do you mean?" You can't take your eyes away from where his fingers are digging into the flesh of your arm.

"Ditch the shirt, dummy."

Your eyes snap back to his face, and the heat inside flares white hot. The customers have gone silent. All eyes are on you, and you feel a brief flutter of confusion at your lack of anger. Lack of resistance. It's like the heat inside has burned away your tough exterior and left behind a shy, meek little girl. All these men have been looking for something in you that you haven't been able to give them. Now that heat is asking you, what if you did? "O-OK, boss. You got it."

Jeremy's eyes narrow and his grin widens as he releases your arm. Slowly, still not quite understanding why you're doing this, you pull your shirt up over your head. You drop it to the floor and readjust your visor. Jeremy is staring at your uncovered torso, and for some reason you aren't embarrassed. The heat inside is no longer an unbearable discomfort, but instead seems to give you strength and confidence. Do you like what you see, boss? You turn to the line of men, all staring at you. You all like it, huh?

The rest of dinner rush passes by in a blur. Part of you still despises these guys for being creeps, but that doesn't stop you from shaking your tits for them as you make their food. Some of them are nice, complimenting the size and shape of your breasts, talking about how much they'd love it if you made food for them back at their place. Others are more crude, talking about where they'd like to put that sandwich, or how they have something better than mayo, right down here sweetie. Then there's the ones who are downright mean, calling you a slut, a whore, insulting your hair, wondering exactly how much they'd have to tip to see even more of your young body.

The longer it goes on, the less you hate it, and the more you go along with it. Before tonight, even your friendliest regulars still just treated you as an anonymous sandwich maker. Now, you're the star of the show, the object of all these men's fantasies. Even the customers you've already served continue to stare at you as they sit and eat their meals. More than once, Jeremy tells you to calm down. You pretend to not understand what he means, but with your flushed cheeks and heavy breaths you know they can all tell what effect this is having on you.

Finally, you finish serving the last customer. You're practically panting by now, and you wonder if they can all see your painfully hard nipples poking through the fabric of your bra. I... I need to get to the bathroom and get off... I'm gonna go crazy if I stay out here any longer. Before you can say anything, Jeremy finishes ringing the man up and then grabs your arm again. You bite your lip to hold back a moan, and you shock yourself by wishing he would squeeze even harder.

"Hey, dummy, clean up out here and then come meet me in the back office. You still owe me some... extra nice treatment. Got it?"

Heart pounding in your chest, you nod. Jeremy disappears into the back, and you start to clean up the detritus of the dinner rush. You can still feel the eyes of all the men in the shop on your skin, and you start to wonder if you'll get any more customers tonight. There's usually a few stragglers between the big rush and closing time. What will they think when they walk in and see you in just your bra? What if it's one of your regulars?

Just as you're about to finish cleaning, you hear a yell from the dining area. "Yo, sandwich girl, can I get a little help out here?" You look up to see one of the men with a backwards cap on is waving at you. "I can't seem to figure out how to eat this thing, can you give me a hand?"

What the fuck? You see most of the men have finished eating, but none of them have left yet. They're all watching you, waiting to see what you do. The heat inside flares again, making it hard to think. You start to walk around to the other side of the counter, but then you catch yourself. Jeremy is waiting for you in the back, and you think you know exactly what he has in store for you. Shuddering, you rub at your arm where he grabbed you.

Being "extra nice" to Jeremy is the last thing you want to do right now, but you're also afraid to upset him even more. On the other hand, this crowd of customers seems eager for you to come out to join them, and the man with the backwards hat is leaning back in his seat, inviting you come "help" him eat. A small part of you that's been smothered by that heat tries desperately to warn you against going anywhere near these guys. You have no idea what they'll do to you, a clearly aroused and confused teenager in just her bra, and that uncertainty makes your pussy start to tingle.

You take a step, and then another. Time to choose. You can either turn left and head back to the office where Jeremy is waiting, or turn right and join your eager customers in the dining area.

Either way, you know this night is about to take a turn for the worse.