Chapter 1: Ginger
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Rape, Incest, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Cream Pie, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1: Ginger - This story dedicated to three doctors in Kansas City who got me through my problems. You know who you are. Ginger resolves finally to stop Steve from molesting her daughter.
My legs were wrapped around Steve's ass sort of tightly, allowing him just enough leeway to thrust back and forth inside my pussy. In reality, there's enough strength in these legs to hold him in so tightly that he couldn't move at all. That tactic though is reserved for after he cums, so that his pearly gift won't ooze out of me and so that he himself can't pull out and run off to piss. I only let him go when he promises to suck up my cream pie before he goes to the bathroom. He knows that if he ever breaks that promise, his pleasures within sight of my body will be limited to the use of his strong right hand.
The strength in my legs comes from waiting tables six days a week, off on Monday. The place is one of those chain restaurants that you see advertised on the TV. They make their big money not on the food but on the beer, wine and liquor that we're supposed to push. And that pushing works to our advantage, since the tips are generally between fifteen and twenty-five percent of the total bill. The schedule calls for me to work lunch and afternoons on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, as well as dinner and evenings on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. By 'our' I mean all the waitresses. That's what I call myself, even though officially the title is Server. That sounds too much like servant. No males need apply, because they have no tits.
"Hi, I'm Ginger. What can I get you to drink?" If I introduced myself as anything except Server, I'd get my ass reamed out, but if I don't call myself anything at all, I can get away with it.
"Are you spicy?" they reply with that tired old cliché, gently hitting on me. Every one of those dumb fucks thinks that he's the first one who ever used that line on me.
"When I want to be," I say, letting them know – or think - that they have a chance, so that they'll order more to drink than if I was some fat old crone. Guys always assume quite early that they're going to score.
On weekends in particular, there are a lot of single guys – or guys claiming to be single. The tips are better then and a waitress can usually find someone to go home with, if she's interested and he's willing to wait until closing time. I'm generally interested, unless I've got my monthly visitor. Even then, I'm game if he seems to have money or to be nice. I don't tell him about the menstrual flow until it's too late for him to change his mind. Once they're hard, they'll accept whatever they can get.
They tell me that I'm a fine piece of ass, of which I have no doubt, but relationships never last more than two or three weeks. That's because I won't let any of them do my ass and I make it clear to each one that he is definitely not the 'only' one that I'm fucking. As the guys say, why buy a cow when milk is so cheap? All of which means that I don't give a flying fuck if he's pronging one or more other girls.
A little about Ginger: that's me. Five foot three, plus another three on Friday and Saturday nights when I wear those stilettos. One hundred twenty pounds of bubbly joy. OK, 125 to 130 if you must know the truth. My tits are 36D and my jet black hair – rarely cut – goes all the way down to my ass. Which by the way looks good from behind. I know, I use a mirror.
At age 23, I already have a four year old daughter, Kate. I got married right out of high school and went to work as a waitress in a greasy spoon. When I became pregnant, Shithead realized that he wasn't cut out to be a father and he took off with some skank who hung around the motorcycle shop where he worked. Good riddance, Prick. Once the baby was born, I waited six weeks and then got my present job. My Mom Lucy takes care of the baby when I'm at work – or getting laid.
The boss doesn't mind at all when we toy with the customers. He knows that it helps the bottom line and that keeps the home office happy. It also increases his year-end bonus. His name is Steve, and it was his cock that was inside of my snatch back there in the first paragraph. Generally, he fucked each of the waitresses once a week. It would be in the morning before opening if I was working a day shift, or at night after closing on the weekends.
"Take off your blouse. Let me see what you've got."
"Huh?" The request (demand) surprised me. I understood the words of course but just couldn't believe what he had said. My first thought was to say 'fuck you' and go file a sexual harassment case. My second that was that it would take forever and I needed a job. I couldn't waste time on a he-said she-said case.
The office wasn't a hell of a lot bigger than an airplane lavatory. The walls were full of posters from every conceivable combination of the alphabet from government agencies about Workers' Compensation, Wage and Hour, OSHA, IRS, etc. (No political comment is intended here.) The shelves were filled with how to do it manuals from the home office. The desk was disheveled, as was Steve after a full day of working.
"Come on, Ginger. All we have to entertain our customers with are your tits. I have to make sure that yours can do the job."
The idea of showing my tits didn't bother me. I had been doing that ever since Middle School. I was proud of them, and thankful that Mom had taught me to dress for emphasis. My cherry had gone to Hymen Heaven when I had been fifteen, thanks to the Prick, the father of my beautiful Kate. I'll say this for him; he had taught me to enjoy sex. And I do, whenever and wherever – and with whomever - I can.
Still, I hesitated. Not because I was shy. Hell, I knew after thirty seconds of the interview that I had the job if I gave him a blow job, and I had no problem with that, but he just was not particularly likeable.
I unbuttoned slowly, whorishly. The blouse remained on but wide open. He stared at my bra, pink, lace, a teeny bow between the cups. My tits pushed out over the cups but only a bit. His eyes moved to my face but he said not a word. Finally I got it. The blouse came off and I reached behind me to unsnap the bra. It fell to the floor.
He put out his hands and cupped my girls, kneading gently. His eyes kept bouncing back between tits and face. His thumbs flicked out to touch my nipples, which grow hard for any excuse. He bent and began to nurse. I started to get tired of this bullshit.
"Sit down, Steve. Let me see what you've got."
He sat. This time I was the one who waited silently, until he understood that he would have to unzip by himself. He pulled out his meat. I must say that I was impressed. I'd seen larger, but Steve's was the biggest white one. Despite my ambivalence about the man, my pussy began to drool. I knelt and took him in hand. Because of that same ambivalence, I made no attempt to get his pants off. Sure, if some cum dribbled out of my mouth after he was finished, it could ruin his slacks, but that would be his problem, not mine.
Actually, swallowing every drop is a talent that I've developed. But the idea of having to suck cock to get the job pissed me off, and I decided to deliberately let some of his fuck sauce drip onto the slacks. Just a girl's way of getting even.
My tongue quickly disposed of that little drop of pre-cum and my lips wrapped around the (circumcised) crown. His hand came down on the back of my head and he pressed. I shook my head violently until he took the hint and let go. I may be on my knees sucking your cock, Mister, but you don't control me. He leaned back in his chair to enjoy it, resigning himself to keeping hands off.
Sucking cock well is another talent I've developed, though I'm sure that many of my gender do it just as well. Yes, I married the Prick right out of high school but I was far from committed to him before that. I sucked any of the boys who had the nerve to ask me out, at least half of the male teachers, the Principal and Assistant Principal and the rival cross-town high school basketball team. Definitely I was a slut, but a very popular slut.
I became faithful when I got married, but once the Prick left me, I went back to my old ways. However, the percentage of fucking versus sucking went way up, which is I guess natural after high school. Not that I acted like an adult, but I didn't object to adultery.
Most guys would like a girl to just gulp their cocks in and start sucking. Your humble correspondent didn't like that. In fact, once they begin to feel my slow start, they really get turned on and they cum quickly, before my jaw begins to ache.
Did every waitress hired by Steve, I wondered, have to give him an interview blowjob to qualify? From what I had noticed when 'casing the joint' prior to applying, all of them were attractive and none of them looked virginal.
My tongue began the job by licking all around his purple crown. Usually I couple that with fingering his nuts, but that would require pulling down his slacks, even a little bit, and I had already decided to stain them by letting some of his cum ooze out of my mouth. A soft puff of air warmed his cock. Then, my hand holding it at the root, my tongue licked up and down the shaft. Turning my head sideways, my lips kissed along the shaft, leaving red lipstick smudges as evidence. Not that I expected anyone else to see it before he had a chance to shower.
Being very, very careful not to do damage, I let my teeth take little nips of his skin along the shaft. He jumped at the first nip but then decided that I intended no harm with the rest. After that it was a hand job, gentle then rough. When his breathing sped up, that was my signal to suck. My mouth opened wide, bent to take him inside and then my lips close over his cock. I sucked like a madwoman.
It didn't take long. It never does. He grabbed my head reflexively and again I shook it off. And then he exploded with a grunt. My sucking sped up with each SPURT, SPURT, SPURT, Spurt, Spurt, spurt ... spurt ... spurt. And then a dribble.
I swallowed, but slowly, and as planned, let enough escape from my mouth onto his slacks, enough to stain them irrevocably if not cleaned immediately. And I knew he'd never notice.
I started the following day. The lunch crowd consists of the occasional tourist but more likely the young executives and would-be executives who worked in the nearby office buildings. Those who were paid a salary did little more than eat and ogle, no more than one drink, decent but not excessive tips. Only the serious drinkers, and by this I mean the commission people who entertained customers over long lunches at titty bars, were our real money sources.
Every new girl has to start on the lunch shift. That makes sense. No matter how often she sucks Steve's cock, nor how well, if she can't get the customers to buy drinks, she's out of a job. As Steve says, there are plenty of good cock suckers around. Yes, he is a prick.