They could use some work

(This is a smut chapter.)

You stand on the other side of the counter dressed in the most modest, respectable attire you’ve had the pleasure of wearing for some time now. The navy blue two-piece outfit, consisting of a button-up blouse (with all the buttons!) and a pencil skirt, resembles that of a flight attendant. You even have a small round hat to complete the look. To top it all off, you get to wear pantyhose, the classy girl’s calling card which somehow always got shredded when you tried to wear them in Rifure Town. The only oddity about your outfit is that Ryan prohibited you from wearing underwear due to something about harming his co-worker’s uniform with “foreign fabrics”. This uniform does a fine job of covering you on its own, so you agreed.

After some brief training, you feel like you’ll be able to do this job effectively. More than that, you feel like you’re in control. YOU get to decide if people pass or not. You have glass to protect you from anyone with ill intentions. And you even get to wear pantyhose while doing it! Now if only you were getting paid…

“And remember, the password to lock or unlock the doors is 00015867. If you need anything, I’ll be in the back.” With that Ryan leaves, and you key in the password to unlock the doors and let everyone in.

You’re not too surprised to see a line of people file in from both doors, probably a bit impatient from having to wait outside. You follow your instructions to the letter, taking IDs, scanning them, and handing them back along with a stamped pass either into or out of the city. You were a bit nervous at first, but this is pretty straightforward. You clear the line in a few minutes. Ha, you’re a natural at this.

About half an hour later, you’re pleasantly conversing with a customer when, without warning, your hips are pulled through the curtains directly behind you. In an effort to continue doing your job, you lean forward to keep your upper body in front of the counter, continuing to talk to the customer as though nothing is wrong. You have no idea what’s happening, but you can’t act panicked in front of the customer. It would be extremely unprofessional. Your skirt is pulled up to your waist, and strong hands make short work of your beloved pantyhose, ripping a hole that exposes your slit to the open air. So cruel! Is this the fate of all pantyhose!?

You squeak in surprise, prompting a confused look from the customer, but you quickly cover it up with, “It’s n-nothing! H-Here you go, have a nice day!” They eye you skeptically before proceeding on their way, and not a second after they’re gone, you voice your outrage.

“Is that you Ryan!? What are you doing back there!? I’m working!” you scold.

“Don’t mind me Miss Emilia, just taking my break. You keep on working, you’re doing a great job,” he says, as though nothing were the matter at all.

Before you can give him any more grief, another customer walks up to the counter. “No funny business,” you whisper as you begin to help the customer, but no sooner than you’ve got the man’s ID in your hand, you feel a hot, throbbing shaft lodge itself into your pussy. You gasp loudly and zone out for a few seconds, only able to focus on the length that’s filling you.

“Uhh, everything okay there ma’am?” the man asks from outside the glass. “Y-Y-Yes! Everything’s f-fine! Entering or leaving?” The man irritably replies as if he’s already answered this question, but you still can’t focus on his answer as the guard behind the curtain starts a slow pace of thrusting in and out of your quim. You can’t bear to ask him again, you’ll just have to guess.

You move his card to the machine with a shaky hand, but right before you can scan it, Ryan gives your ass a light swat, and you accidentally drop the ID. “O-Oops! Sorry s-sir. Let me get that…” You can’t budge your hips out of the guard’s powerful grasp, and your awkward position requires you to fold your body almost completely in two in order to pick up the ID, using your free hand to keep your cute hat on. But as soon as you have the card in hand, the man behind you begins plowing your hole with reckless abandon. Wet noises emanate from behind the curtain. You hope the customer can’t hear them, but you’re certain they can hear you squealing, “*AH-AH-AH* S-Stoooop! I’m *FFFF* working!”

Your face burns scarlet as you bend over beneath the counter, reduced from uniformed, authoritative border guard to a moaning slut in seconds. Despite the pounding you’re receiving, though, you’re determined to maintain your front to the customers who don’t know the truth. After several seconds of intense thrusting, Ryan resumes a slower speed, and you stand back up with your best service smile on your blushing face. You finish helping the man, who you correctly guessed was exiting the city, and he gives you a perplexed look and calls you a weirdo before leaving.

You’re breathing a sigh of relief before he’s even out the door, but the guard pulls you behind the curtains right afterwards and pops some buttons off your blouse. Your boobs are bulging out obscenely, threatening to slip out from within the top at any moment! “How dare you! Uniforms are sa-” Your declaration is interrupted as he shoves you back through the curtain, and you find a girl about your age looking at you through the glass with suspicion. “Entering,” she says, never peeling her eyes from yours as she slides her ID beneath the glass.

Her sharp gaze already has your knees shaking in nervousness, an effect which is only multiplied when the guard starts fucking you even faster. Sweat rolls down your face as you start to bounce back and forth, your bouncing pillows nearly bursting free from your defiled uniform with every thrust. Your poker face is already waning when you pop her ID into the machine and, to your dismay, it flashes red.

“Uhh… *HA* Well this is *OHH* weird…” you stutter out between unsuppressed cries of pleasure. Damn, he never taught you what to do if it lights up red, and the bastard won’t stop shoving his dick into you instead of helping! You’ll just have to wing it…

“So, what’s *MMM* what’s your name?” The girl answers through a cheeky grin, and you reach for her ID to verify it against the card when you realize your blunder. You put the card in upside down. As if on cue, Ryan switches to slow but mindblowing thrusts, jarring your tits free from your uniform at last and forcing a series of adorable squeaks from you. Fuck, he’s hitting exactly the right spot. This is bad… When you regain what little of your composure is left, you look to the girl with a paper-thin smile and assure her, “Just *AHHHH* just had it upside-down, that’s all.” She rolls her eyes, her face absent of the irritation you expected. Instead, her smile is so huge it might consume the entire bottom of her face.

“Sure sure, I understand. Your job must be pretty HARD sometimes. You probably end up working LONG hours with no time to ENJOY yourself.”

She knows! She knows but she can’t know! “It’s not *LIKE* that!” you cry, but she doesn’t seem to believe you at all.

“Yeah yeah, just give me my pass, you dirty girl,” she says, dismissing your attempt at an excuse. You give up on convincing her and just give her the ID and pass. It’s not like she’s wrong, after all… Urgh, what a disgrace…

“Thanks cutie! Oh, and if you ever feel like getting paid for the other thing you’re doing, you can always sign up here instead. Later!” She slips a card beneath the glass and is on her way. It seems to be the business card for a brothel. You just put on this nice looking uniform and you’re already getting job offers as a whore instead? That didn’t take long…

You begin tucking your boobs back into your blouse where they belong, but you’re **** to brace yourself against the counter instead as Ryan starts pistoning into you rapidly, filling the building with your sweet-sounding cries and the sound of your juices splashing out every time his hips crash into yours. Though there are fortunately no customers passing through at the moment, the machine suddenly starts beeping and displaying ‘6:00 PM’.

“W-W-WHAAAT’S THAT MEAN!?” you scream in confusion.

“Rush hour’s coming,” he answers coolly. “Lot of people coming in here soon. If you don’t want them seeing you like this, you better lock the doors until I’m finished. You remember the password, right?”

No! Your lust-heavy brain doesn’t remember it at all! You haphazardly key in strings of numbers hoping that whatever pops out of your subconscious will be right. 0012786, 0105645, umm, uhh… You can hear voices outside, and at that exact moment you can see the numbers clearly in your mind. 0015867! You punch the password in, and your panic reaches critical mass when it doesn’t work. You’re doomed.

People walk in from both doors and begin to form a line when they notice something is strange. What’s tipping them off? Your bare breasts, or your cries of passion?

“So, uh, this is that kind of establishment now, huh? Fine with me, a little eye candy never hurt anyone.”

“Well I just want to go home FROM work. Could she do her job instead of getting a quickie AT work?”

“Stupid bitches like her are always giving the rest of us women a bad name…”

The verbal **** continues as your naked rack, bouncing erotically, leaves little room to defend yourself against their accusations. But still you try to act like it’s a misunderstanding. “It’s *FUCK-FUCK-FUCK* not what it looks like! I’m just *EX-ER-CI-SING!*” you beg for the crowd to believe you.

“Heh, if that snatch of yours needs a workout so bad, I’ll help you out.” The rest of the crowd echoes the rude man’s offer to train your pussy, but you vehemently deny that the exercise is sexual at all. Even as you deny it, though, you feel your body practically melting with lust from having been caught in such a depraved state on the job, and the guard’s incredible technique only magnifies the problem. If this humiliation doesn’t end soon, they’re all going to see you cum, making a mockery of the (formerly) respectable uniform you’re wearing.

“Hey, you have to stop!” you hiss, not doing a particularly good job of keeping your voice down. Like a jerk, he ignores your request and keeps plowing you faster than you can handle. Of course, the crowd loves it, laughing at your predicament. Your face lights up with a shade of deep red as the pleasure and shame become too much for you to bear.

“It’s not… I’m not… CUMMING!!!” you shriek, your composure completely gone as you reveal your climaxing face and body to the entire building of commuters. You tilt your head back enough for your hat to fall from your head like it was the last remnant of your faltering facade.

“Hear that everyone? She’s ‘not’ cumming, okay? Don’t think she is just because she’s shaking like a plucked guitar string.”

“So is this still the right place for getting into Vermilion City? I thought there was supposed to be a border guard here but I just see some slut getting off.”

As your orgasm starts to fade, the man behind you hilts himself deep into your cunt and fires his load directly into your womb, triggering an orgasm even stronger than the last. This time your eyes roll into the back of your head and a primal cry parts your lips, earning you applause from half of the crowd and sneers of judgment from the other.

Once you’ve been thoroughly seeded by the guard, he pulls out and smacks your asscheeks loud enough to ring out above the crowd’s cheers before shoving you forward. Your face and boobs press against the glass to give everyone an extra treat while you come down from your back-to-back orgasms. “It’s not… *huff* what it looks like…” you mumble while smearing your way down the glass.

Like a true gentleman, Ryan blocks you from walking through the curtain and getting some privacy, which forces you to straighten out your uniform while still in plain view for everybody. He also forces you to finish handling rush hour, during which you collect a large number of offers to “make you scream twice as hard” or similar feats. Any feeling of authority from before is gone as you squirm beneath everyone’s lewd gazes while handing them passes.

Finally the building is emptied out again, and you’re permitted into the back with Ryan while he gets ready to take over. “You’re awful,” you say bluntly.

“Really?” he asks. “Because I feel fantastic.”

You lay your head down against the table, unable to find the energy to argue any further, but your mind suddenly lands on something very important. “Hey, didn’t you say it was $50 to get into Vermilion City? How come none of those people had to pay?”

The guard explains, “That’s simple. Because it’s free, Miss Emilia. Getting into Vermilion City doesn’t cost a dime.”

The gears in your brain lazily grind away until they reach a conclusion. Oh. You were tricked. “…You’re awful,” you repeat. “Give me back my tears of happiness.” You lay your head down on the table again and doze off.