A Beautiful Day

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You shouldn't have to work on a fine Summer's day.
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Ashson
Ashson
8,504 Followers

I woke up. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. It was a beautiful day, a day for relaxing at the beach, getting a sun tan, flirting with the boys. A day just made for a lovely young thing like me. I mean, look at me, an eighteen year old, blonde, blue-eyed, buxom, beauty. Like the alliteration. Ha, I should have added brainy, as well. Still, I've said enough so you can gather the sort of mood I was in.

A stinking one. I was in a vile humour. I did not want to get up at five in the morning, no matter how lovely the day. I wanted to sleep. I did not want to go to work. I hate working in a Diner. I hate being a waitress. I hate having to be nice to customers. I hate the fact that I'm so poorly paid. I really, really, had to find another job. Maybe I should become a ditch-digger. I'm sure ditch-diggers didn't have to smile until their faces felt as though they were going to drop off. Nor did ditch-diggers have to get up at five and put on a stupid uniform and wear stupid, sensible, shoes. OK, they probably had to wear sensible boots but I kind of liked the idea of wearing boots.

Muttering to myself I got out of bed and got dressed. A button was missing on my nice sensible blouse and the other one was in the wash, so I had to sew a button on. I put on my nice sensible shoes and the nice sensible shoe-lace broke. I had to put in a new shoe-lace, didn't I?

A fast breakfast consisting of cereal and coffee. Why cereal? Because it's impossible to burn the stupid stuff and I didn't really have time to cook. Why not have a nicely cooked meal at the Diner? Because the cook won't cook breakfast for staff. If we want breakfast we have to buy it and then the cook would probably burn it. I swear that Cookie's cooking is worse than mine, and that is a dreadful condemnation, I assure you.

It's only half a mile from my place to the Diner. That's one of those really aggravating distances. Any further and I could ride a bike or drive. Any shorter and it's a leisurely amble. Half a mile is just that bit too far to want to walk and a bit too close to ride a bike. Anyway, I finished my breakfast and hoofed it to the Diner.

Shaping up to be a beautiful day, nothing. The sun was already hot and the day was going to be a scorcher. The only saving grace with the Diner was that it was air conditioned. Except it wasn't, it turned out. Cookie had arrived before me and the ham-handed oaf had managed to break the air conditioner. How can anyone break an air conditioner by turning it on? We couldn't even ring to have it serviced until after nine, by which time the Diner was going to be an oven.

Would you believe Cookie made a smart-aleck comment about how it's good not to use the air conditioner as it saves on greenhouse gases? I pointed out that his rotting corpse would also contribute to greenhouse gases and that was likely to occur very soon if he couldn't get it fixed.

The breakfast crowd started coming and I started waitressing like crazy. It may have been the hot weather but they seemed like a surly, bad-tempered bunch, ungrateful for the food, the coffee, the service, and the lack of air-conditioning. Not that I could blame them for not appreciating the food and the coffee. I have had the misfortune of trying it at times. I agreed with them about the lack of air-conditioning. I didn't see any reason whatsoever for them to complain about the service, because it was impeccable. A trifle slow, possibly, but that was Cookie's fault. I can't serve it if he doesn't cook it.

By nine the crowd had thinned out and Cookie had time to call the repairman. We were in luck. He was just leaving the depot and would make us his first call. Ten minutes later he was there.

"Geez," he said. "How'd you manage to break this? I've never heard of one of these bits breaking before. I don't have a spare. I'll have to send off for it. May take a couple of days. I'll get back to you."

He happily trotted off to his car, not even feeling the laser death glare I focused on his back, the insensitive clod. I swivelled my laser death glare to cover the cook and he retreated hastily into the kitchen. A good place for him. Maybe the heat in there will sweat off some of his lard.

For some reason, Tuesdays were dead in the Diner. We'd get the breakfast crowd, a greatly reduced lunch crowd, and I didn't give a damn how many there were for dinner as I wouldn't be there. The late shift could worry about that. Other days you'd get the odd sod dropping in for morning and afternoon tea, but for some reason never on a Tuesday.

Except today. Just after ten we had a truck roll up and the driver came strolling in. I wasn't expecting him and I was out the back trying to find a cool breeze without any luck. I heard the entrance bell ding and I turned to head on in and start waitressing. Before I could get to the counter the impatient oaf started ringing the counter bell. I promptly balked and took my time getting there.

"Yes?" I said, giving him a nasty look.

"Bit slow with the service, aren't you?" he griped.

"Sorry," I chirped insincerely. "Had to stop and wash my hands. Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know."

OK, so maybe I shouldn't have run my eyes over his overalls, but they were a little greasy. Probably had engine trouble and had to fix it himself.

He ordered some bacon and eggs with coffee and I called the order through to Cookie.

"Hold on," the truckie said. "Aren't you going to ask me how I like my bacon and eggs done?"

"Ah, no. Why would I? It doesn't really matter what you want. Cookie cooks them his way."

"Really? And what way is that?"

"Badly," I said with a happy smile.

"Sorry," I said when I put the bacon and eggs in front of him. He could work out for himself if I was apologising for dropping the plate that last inch or for the contents of the plate.

"Accidents happen," I assured him when I spilt his coffee. "It's the vibrations of those big trucks going past."

He actually ate the bacon and eggs and paid the bill. No tip, I noticed. Asshole. Then he asked if he could speak to the cook. With a bit of luck he'd punch Cookie on the nose for cooking up a meal that bad.

Cookie came out and the truckie gave him a dirty look.

"That meal was the worst cooked meal I've ever had," he snarled. "You have got to be the worst cook in the land."

"You're only saying that because you haven't tasted her cooking," Cookie said, nodding towards me.

"Hey," I interjected. "My cooking isn't that bad."

"It's worse," said Cookie. "At least I've never sent anyone to hospital."

"That wasn't my fault. Anyway, only two of the party got sick."

"True, but that was because everyone else looked at the food and backed away, making the sign of the cross. Hell, one woman was calling for an ambulance as soon as she saw her husband take a bite."

I gave him a nasty look and pointedly ignored him. Oaf. What would he know?

"To get back to your cooking and you as a cook," the truckie said, sticking to his guns. "Let's just say you're the worst cook in the land who actually foists what you've cooked onto people and call food."

"You're probably right when you put it that way," admitted Cookie. "I'm just filling in until they get a real cook."

"Don't bother on my account," said the truckie. "I will never eat at this Diner again. A choice between starving and eating here, I'll carry on starving. I'll probably live longer."

"A wise decision," agreed Cookie, not at all insulted.

"That feral waitress of yours is easily the leading contender for the rudest and most incompetent waitress of all time," Truckie states.

I resented that but I wasn't going to waste my breath trying to defend myself. I'd let Cookie do it.

"Geez, mate," said Cookie, "but when you're right, you're right. I'd have to go along with you on that one."

I evenly divided a sulphuric gimlet glare between the two comedians. It was such a nasty look that I was surprised that the pair of them didn't fall down writhing in agony. Actually, I was already surprised that the truckie wasn't already down, after eating that meal. He must have had a cast iron stomach.

"Why do you keep an idiot like that on?" asked Truckie.

"Not by choice?" Cookie told him. "She at least turns up for work."

"Well, why don't you give her some training? A little discipline wouldn't hurt."

"Me? Discipline her? Are you crazy, man? You said it yourself, she's feral."

As if Cookie would dare try anything with me. I'd scratch his face off, rip off his balls, and feed them to him as rissoles. Discipline me indeed.

"I wouldn't mind having a shot at disciplining her myself," growled the truckie, giving me a nasty look. I just smiled at him. Fat chance, loser.

"No doubt you would," sympathized Cookie, "but there's no way I could stand here and watch you do that sort of thing. If you'll excuse me, there're some things I have to attend to out back."

With that, much to my surprise, Cookie just walked off. I heard the back door bang as he went out. What the hell was he playing at? He never went outside.

Anyway, with Cookie gone the truckie would leave. It's not as though I was going to listen to his complaints. I just smirked at him and ignored him. I'd been tempted to wave bye-bye, but thought that might be a bit much.

I should have been keeping a closer eye on the swine. While I was busy ignoring him he took two strides that brought him level with the table I was leaning against. By the time I'd turned to see what he was doing he'd already pulled out a chair and dropped down into it. With that he just grabbed my arm and yanked and it was either go in the direction he was pulling or get my arm torn off.

Not that I had far to go. One step on my part and then I was tripping over, falling across his lap. He lifted up the hem of my tunic and held it high up my back, his hand incidentally holding me where I'd fallen. Then his hand came down hard on my bottom and I let out a startled scream.

"What the fuck?" I yelled at him. "Get out of it, you creep. Get your greasy hands off me."

His reply was another hard spank with me screaming again. This time his hand stayed on my bottom for a moment and I can assure you I was well aware of it resting there.

"This is going to be fun," he told me. "For me, anyway. For you, not so much. By the way, spanking at your age are better on a bare bottom so I know you won't mind if I remove these."

With that my panties went south and he was regarding my bare bottom. Bottom, hell, he was looking at everything I had, what with me being head down, bottom up.

I gave a scream of fury and he laughed and his hand came down, this time on my bare bottom and it bloody hurt. I screamed and raged at him and he laughed and spanked and told me my manners were deplorable. I should consider this an incentive to develop better customer relations, he told me.

"My manners?" I shrieked. "What about your fucking manners? Since when has it been acceptable to beat-up the waitress just because you're in a bad mood?"

"I hardly think giving you a well-deserved spanking counts as beating you up," he said jovially. "Like I said, consider it an incentive. Anyway, I'm being quite polite about how I do it. It's not as though I'm trying to touch you here."

I might point out that he didn't even have the decency to stop spanking while we were discussing the issue. He just kept whaling away on my poor bottom, apparently thoroughly enjoying himself. If he wasn't careful he was going to break it off. Even so, that paled into insignificance when he showed me where he wasn't touching me, his finger poking me right in the middle of my pussy.

"Don't you dare touch me there, you reprehensible low-life snake," I yelled at him.

"What are you worried about?" he scoffed. "I said I was just spanking you which means I paddle this nice little tush of yours like this." He gave my bottom an extra spank to make his point clear. "I also said I wasn't touching you here." The unmitigated swine then poke me again to get his meaning clear. "Really," he went on, "if I was going to do something like that I'd be rubbing you like this." With that his hand closed neatly over my mound and he started rubbing it.

I had a spasm like a fish that had been given an electric shock, almost bouncing of his lap. Unfortunately, almost meant I was still across his lap and his hand was still covering my pussy and he was still rubbing it.

"You just fucking stop that," I raged at him. "I'm going to kill you, slowly and painfully. I'm going to fuck you up so bad that even dogs will be sick when they look at you."

A hyena had nothing on this guy for a sinister laugh. He finally took his hand off my pussy, standing up and lifting me up at the same time. The word seemed to spin around me and then I was sitting on the table, tunic still rucked up around my waist, and my legs parted showing all. Why didn't I just close my legs so he couldn't see everything? Because he was standing between them, that's why.

I glared at him and he smiled back with what looked like a very devious smile, and then it was a case of fucking hell, as he pulled open the front of his overalls and whipped out his cock. The fucking thing looked enormous and I'm sure my eyes looked enormous as well, they opened so wide when I saw it.

"You wouldn't dare," I said slowly and softly. "I'm still a virgin."

"So was my Aunt Matilda," he said. "Virgin until the day she died. She never did explain how she managed to have eight children while retaining her virginity. Don't worry, you'll find this won't hurt a bit."

He said that with confidence and I had a nasty recollection of a finger slipping inside me while he was massaging me. I had no doubt that he knew the true state of my virginity. Not that it would have worried him if I'd been the Virgin Mary. He knew what he wanted and he was taking it.

He moved a little closer and his cock was now touching me. I wanted to scream at him to stop but I couldn't see the point. Even as I watched he moved closer, only about an inch, but that inch was enough to move his cock from touching me to pushing into me. I saw my lips seeming to spread slightly as he pushed against them and then they closed over him.

"What time do you get off?" he asked.

"Wh-what?" I was confused.

"When do you finish work?" he repeated. "I want to be here when you do so that I can toss you up into my truck and completely strip you before giving you a serious fucking. This one is just the preliminary, giving you a taste of what is to come. So, what time."

"Three," I managed to say, stunned at what he was implying. "But you can't - argh."

What I'd been about to say was lost when he pushed quite vigorously into me, his cock seeming to charge down my passage. Before I could say take it out it was all the way in.

Just like that I was full of cock. I could feel it deep inside me and the longer it sat there the bigger it felt. I opened my mouth to say something but found I had nothing to say. His cock was in me. What could I say that would change that? I finished up just sitting, staring at him.

He smiled and winked at me.

"Let's just take it nice and easy to start with," he told me, and I could feel his cock dragging against me as he pulled back.

He seemed to take forever pulling back. I looked down and there it was, slowly coming out of me. I was expecting it to pop free at any moment when he stopped and reversed direction. Just as slowly as it had emerged it sank back in, scraping against my passage, letting me know it was there. Letting? Insisting was more like it. He kept doing that, slowly out and slowly in with me seeming to be more and more sensitive to its movement with every soft stroke.

It finally sank into my confused mind that I was actually moving with him. I was sort of relaxing when he pulled back (Relaxing? With a big fat cock in me? What a joke.) but then when he pushed back in I was moving to meet him. I told myself not to do that as it was just helping him and he didn't ought to be doing this, but my body just ignored me, continuing to push happily forward, accepting what he was giving me.

If I'd been able to take a step back and look at what was happening objectively I'd have seen myself sitting on the edge of the table, leaning back on my arms, head back and eyes nearly closed, while I enthusiastically rocked in time to the things this man was doing to me. Forget the nice gentle strokes. He'd graduated to full-blooded and urgent thrusts, driving hard into me while I mewed and bucked under him, taking him deep and wanting more, more, more.

When my climax it took me completely by surprise. I just hadn't been expecting it and wasn't really ready for it. The climax didn't care and just ripped through me and I nearly choked trying not to scream my fool head off. Wouldn't that have been fun? Screaming and having Cookie come charging in to see if I'd been murdered.

The truckie had also climaxed. I'd felt him jerking like a spastic asparagus and also felt him spraying me internally. I just stayed right where I was breathing hard. A few moments later and he was moving away from me.

"Until three," he said, slamming the door behind him.

I suddenly snapped to my senses. What the hell had just happened? What if we'd received customers while I was getting raped on the table top? What if Cookie had come in? How did I know he hadn't? First things first, I headed to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Three o'clock. That was hours away. Was he really going to come back at three, expecting me to let him rape me again? I had an uneasy feeling that he might. Still, if he did come back I might be able to learn something important. Like his fucking name!

Ashson
Ashson
8,504 Followers
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7 Comments
AnonymousAnonymous11 months ago

I’ve only read the first 4 of your stories and have decided not to read any more, I don’t find sexual assault and rape to be acceptable.

Marklynda2Marklynda2over 1 year ago

He not only gave her the tip but the whole thing and a happy ending. Amazing how one customer can change your whole outlook on a day. Thank you for sharing your vision and talents.

SorchakSorchakover 3 years ago
She really should have changed the 'brainy' descriptor

to 'bitchy' and 'bimbette'. If she was as smart as she claimed, she wouldn't have missed the obvious correlation between good attitude equals good tips while bad attitude equals little to no tips. No matter how pretty the face, or how big the tits, or how long the legs, if my server has a stick up her ass sideways while serving me, she gets what she deserves, which is no tip. Of course, she's still young (only 18, wasn't it?), so maybe she'll learn.

Akirababe87Akirababe87about 4 years ago
Awesome

I love non consent stories that start with spanking as punishment. Always the best ones.

AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
Ashson!!!

I'm surprised at you!!

I assumed that you Proof Read!

How do you explain a sentence that is very obviously missing an important word??

"When my climax it took me completely by surprise"

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