Same job, new you

The men used you well past the official end of your shift. At some point, Jeremy had thought to lock the door so nobody could disturb the action. Not that you noticed, or would have cared if anyone else came to join in. You were completely lost in the thrill of giving yourself to these men. These men, who saw you as nothing more than an object, something to be crudely desired, roughly used, and thoughtlessly discarded. One after another they filled your eager pussy. You lost count of the hard cocks that stretched out your tight ass. Your favorite part was when they **** you to service them with your mouth. Something about willingly giving in to their desires that way, admitting – to them and to yourself – that this was something you wanted, just made everything else feel even better. Those weren't just anonymous dicks pounding into your holes, they were instruments of your self-discovery.

You just never thought you would discover a hidden love to be used by strangers.

Eventually, the men had their fill of you and left. You were an absolute mess, cum dripping off your body and out of your well-fucked holes, a dazed smile on your face. Jeremy gave you a minute to catch your breath before putting you back to work. First, he cleaned you off with the wall-mounted sprayer in the back. The sharp jet of water stung your sensitive skin, but the pain didn't bother you. You were starting to figure out you actually liked it. Not that your boss gave you any time to think about that. Once you were no longer dripping jizz onto the floor, he had you put your visor – and nothing else – back on and clean up the sticky mess in the dining area. He didn't help, he just watched, lazily jerking himself off as you did your bizarre chore. Once you were finished, he had you kneel down to catch his ejaculation in your mouth. After you swallowed his foul load, he drove you home, and your long shift was finally over.

For some reason, that's all Jeremy would ever do to you. He barely even spoke to you anymore, except when he absolutely needed to in order to direct your work. And, of course, to call you "dummy" every chance he got. You would be glad to do more for him. As you grew accustomed to the new way you were expected to serve your customers, you were amazed how much you loved it. How much you loved when these strange men treated you like meat, insulted you, demeaned you, made you do things for them the old you would have been disgusted by. And no one disgusted you more than Jeremy. He seemed... intimidated by the new you, though. Almost as if, now that you were growing accustomed to being used by multiple strangers a day, he didn't have the guts to do anything else. Or maybe he was just insecure. You didn't really care either way. It was enough for you to take his cum in your mouth or on your face once or twice a shift. Being used as your boss's cumrag was just a small bonus on top of your wonderful new workload.

And what a workload it was. The customers that came with the new owner were all more than happy to indulge your newfound desires, and the more word spread about the purple-haired sandwich girl the more they would demand of you. Shaking your tits and raunchily flirting while you made sandwiches was just a matter of course, now. A popular condiment request was "sandwich girl juice", which would involve you frigging yourself right there behind the counter and sprinkling your secretions from your soaked fingers onto their sandwich. Whenever it was slow, you were more than happy to wrap up the sandwich preparation process by reaching across the counter and giving your customer a quick handjob, being sure to direct their cum into your tip jar. If you were caught up on your chores you would sometimes join your customers in the dining area, sucking them off or giving them a leisurely titjob as they ate their food. And then, of course, there were your closing shifts.

These days, you would consider the line from that first night to be a disappointing turnout. The new clientele had all heard the story of the sandwich girl gangbang, and now any time you were scheduled to close up the shop the place would be completely packed. Your customers weren't shy about telling you exactly what they were planning on doing to you as you made their food, and you made no effort to hide how excited it made you to hear it. As soon as the last customer had paid for his sandwich, you were out in the dining area, eagerly submitting to the rough and degrading attentions of these strange men. The only reason you even waited that long – barely able to focus on your work as your pussy ached to be used – is you didn't want to upset the man who made this all possible.

Frank.

The new owner appreciated your popularity, which is why he kept giving you so many hours, but he expected you to turn that popularity into profit. Giving your customers that "extra" service so they kept coming back was all well and good, but if they weren't paying hard cash what was the point? It always seemed a little strange. You knew what the customers were really there for, and you knew what you really wanted to give them, but you had to do the little ritual of making food and taking money for it to keep Frank happy. You would be glad to keep him happy in other ways, but Frank was strictly business.

He had made that clear to you the one time you had a chance to speak to him. The weekend after that first closing shift – the one where you had discovered your true calling – he had come to the shop to check on things and called you into the back office. You had immediately felt a surge of excitement at the thought of being alone with the new owner. The idea of being made to serve a man with so much power over you made your clit buzz.

When you step into the room, you're immediately taken by the sheer presence of Frank. He isn't exceptionally large, but he has an energy that fills the space, owning it. He's dressed simply, in a pair of faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt. His shaved head gleams in the low light, and a five o'clock shadow accentuates his strong jaw. You can tell most of his bulk is muscle, but his arms and torso have thickened with age. Your mind immediately fills with thoughts of that strong body picking you up, holding you down, taking whatever he wants from you...

"I heard about Friday night."

His matter-of-fact tone snaps you out of your daydream, but the sheer authority of his deep voice makes your pussy start to ache. Who knew I had a thing for powerful guys? "You did? You... you did. I'm... is that OK?"

He smirks at you. "I'm not one to second-guess my employees when they show initiative like that. Especially when they treat my customers so well." His eyes give your body a quick once-over. "Show me your tits."

You're taken aback by the sudden command, but you don't hesitate. Nipples stiff with anticipation, you grab the hem of your work shirt and lift up. You stopped bothering to wear a bra to work after that fateful night, and Frank nods in acknowledgement when your young breasts come into view.

"Alright, alright, not bad. Now your pussy."

Breaths heavy, you reach down to unbutton your pants and push them down your hips. You're not wearing panties either, and you start to feel hot as Frank's eyes take in your damp brown bush and slick pussy lips.

"Play with yourself a little."

A thrill shoots through you. Holy shit I love it when he tells me what to do. Holding your pants with one hand, you start to rub at your wet pussy with the other. Your fingers push your swollen lips apart, and you gasp as one begins to sink inside your entrance. You want more, you want something to take you, stretch you beyond your limits, give you more than you can possibly handle.

"Good. Now come closer."

You can barely breathe. You want him to fuck you so bad. You want him to pull you down into his lap and stuff his hard cock in your needy pussy and fuck you absolutely senseless. Stepping closer, close enough to feel the heat from his body, your finger inside you presses against your sweet spot and you shudder. Frank reaches up and flicks at your hard nipple. The small, pleading noise the sensation forces out of you sounds like someone else. Is... is this really me?

"Give me your hand, the one in your twat."

Reluctantly pulling your hand away from your soaked pussy, you hold it out to him. He grabs your wrist in a strong, callused grip and pulls your glistening fingers into his mouth. He sucks, rubbing his tongue forcefully over them, the strange sensation making your knees weak. When he's satisfied, he pulls your fingers from his mouth and releases your hand.

"Hmm-mm love that teenage flavor." He looks you up and down again, his expression unchanging. "Yeah, you'll do. Get your shit together and get back out there. Keep my customers happy and I'll make sure you get plenty of hours. Deal?"

You nod dumbly as you pull your uniform back into place. Is... is that all? Does he really not want more? Your body burns with unfulfilled heat as you get back to work. The feeling of being not good enough – of that powerful man judging your body and casting you aside, unused – feeds into that heat, making it hard to think. Cheeks flushed, breaths heavy, nipples pressing against the fabric of your shirt, you know exactly how you look. Luckily for you, your customers are more than happy to give you the attention you need.

Frank doesn't really talk to you after that, seemingly satisfied with you bringing a steady stream of customers into his sandwich shop. You often think about him as you serve your customers, making their food, showing off for them, letting them use your body however they want. Why didn't Frank want to use you? What did you not have that he wanted? Maybe getting ogled and fucked by random customers really was all you were good for.

Not that it really bothered you. Your new life of serving the many strange men who came to the shop was a blast. You loved the feeling of being lusted after, used, and tossed aside. You didn't understand it, but the way your body craved it – not to mention how hard you came every time – kept you coming back for more. Sometimes, though, you wondered if there were something more. What if being used by one disgusting man after another wasn't all there was to your newly discovered desires? What if Frank had seen something more in you, something that would have grabbed his attention? What if there was something else you could do to explore this part of you, something that didn't involve the drudgery of washing dishes, and mopping floors, and being called a "dummy" by your manager as he covered your face in cum?

Maybe there is something more, but could you ever really find something so special? After all, no matter how many times you show your customers your body, no matter what you tell them you hope they do to you, no matter how many of their hot loads you take inside or over you...

...you're just a sandwich girl.