7 comments/ 29306 views/ 6 favorites Good Service By: bawidgetcoms I parked my blue Camry and mustered my courage. I hate dealing with things like this, as a general rule. I had to get my brakes checked because the car was shaking when I braked hard. No big deal for most people, but I'm introverted and moody; I just wasn't in the mood for explaining what was going on with my car to some man who would probably look at me like I had no idea what I was talking about, talk down to me, and then extend his hand for my keys, stopping just short of rolling his eyes at my naivete. Sometimes men at automotive places really have made me feel that way, which is extremely offensive because, most of the time, I know exactly what I'm talking about. I know cars, and I make it my personal business to know any car I own. In fact I hardly ever take a car for maintenance of any kind without already having an idea of what needs to be done to it. I'd say 90% of the time, I'm right. This time was no exception. I'll admit I'm stubborn. You know how some people refuse to go to the doctor until they're on death's door? I'll take my car to someone else, but I hate having to do it. I hate when I come across something that I can't handle myself. I've helped change brake pads before, and I know how to bleed brakes... but I didn't really have the equipment or the time. Part of growing up, I guess, is learning to let other people help you out! I was wearing a blue and white plaid sundress with a white, lace, cropped, short-sleeve jacket. My feet were clad in delicate, white sandals, and my fingernails and toenails were painted red. My hair was pulled up in a wavy ponytail, and silver hoops filled the holes in each of my earlobes. I carried a blue, fabric purse, slung over my right shoulder. As I walked through the door to Pros' Auto and Body, I reached up with My left hand to remove huge, "movie-star" sunglasses. I realized then that, if I wanted to look like I knew what I was talking about concerning my car, I had probably not dressed the part. I looked up toward the desk and met the gaze of the man sitting on a stool behind it. He raised his bushy eyebrows and asked how he could help me. I explained that I needed my brake pads and rotors checked because my car was shaking when I braked hard, especially when braking at high speeds. I was pleased to find that he really listened to me. He nodded as I spoke. He repeated what I'd said back to me to clarify. He said it would take them about 30 minutes to get to my car, and I was glad to wait. I sat down in one of two chairs on either side of a small table stacked high with various magazines. In the chair opposite mine sat a man wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt, green, khaki shorts and brown, leather sandals. He was balding and had very short, gray hair everywhere except the bald spot. I was surprised when the man behind the desk asked for my keys before even ten minutes had passed and sent someone from the shop out to get my car. He stood outside the door, and I knew he was smoking, but I couldn't see him. I could smell him - he was smoking Marlboro Lights. I'd bet anything on it. I'm not a smoker, but I grew up around smokers, and something about that smell has always appealed to me. I think it's nostalgic. I watched him as he walked back to the desk when he finished. Sure enough, he carried a pack of Marlboro Lights in his hand. He was wearing jeans and a work shirt with the name of the shop stitched on the left side of his chest, above the pocket. It was dark blue and worn. His jeans were a relaxed fit, and his legs were long. He wore glasses, which smoothed his ruggedness and made him look a little more intellectual. He had a full beard that was once blonde, but quickly growing gray. His hair was blonde as well, also spattered with white and gray. Just above his forehead, his hair was thinning. His skin was tan, and his eyes were so blue that I could see their color from across the room when he looked at me. He wasn't bad looking at all; I'd guess he was around 55 years old. After sitting on his stool again, he turned to his computer and began entering information about my car. He verified the make, model and year, and then he asked me if it was LE, XLE... I answered twice, but he couldn't understand me. I tried again, speaking louder this time and looking straight at him as I spoke. He heard me that time, and he told me that being around loud machines all his life had damaged his hearing. I nodded and indicated that I didn't mind repeating myself for him. The man opposite me, who struck me as a man who probably didn't know how to open the hood of his car, much less his way around beneath it, looked at the man behind the desk and said, "Losing your hearing, huh? Guess you are about a hundred now!" His voice did not convey a manly presence. I'm biased, I know. I'm accustomed to and attracted to rugged, deep-voiced, capable men, usually from the country, who know a thing or two about fixing... well, just about anything. The man behind the desk fit this picture. The man insulting him didn't! I wanted to speak up and defend him. He didn't look anywhere near 100 to me; he looked capable and sexy, in his own rugged, weathered way. Just then a man from the shop, who reminded me of Jerry Garcia, stuck his head inside the door and said, "Hey, Bill..." I don't really remember what else he said; I just caught that the man behind the desk was named Bill. Bill started to follow him out the door. As he left he looked at the other man and responded, "No, I'm not quite THAT old yet." When he turned away from the man and toward the door, his gaze lingered on me just a moment. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd winked, but he didn't. He walked out the door. When he came back, he had keys for my fellow customer. When he left Bill and I were alone. I expected Bill to bury himself in busy work at his computer, but instead he looked up toward me. He asked me how I got so many miles on my car, what I did for a living, when I'd start my new job, where I'd just finished school... question after question. He told me about all of the vehicles he owned and which manufacturers he thought made the best automobiles. Foreign makes, he agreed with me - Toyota and Honda. Domestic, he favored Chevrolet. I found myself hanging on his words; I respected his opinion! Bill excused himself to the restroom just before a new customer walked inside. I honestly wanted the man to leave so he wouldn't interrupt my conversation with Bill! I told him Bill was in the restroom, and he walked outside to talk to someone else from the shop. I got the idea that he was a regular customer. I was quite enamored with Bill - his base of knowledge, his way of talking, how he made me feel like he valued my input and opinion. He was a great conversationalist and drew me out of my shell easily. It was awhile before he returned from the restroom, which was a room off of the waiting area, separated from me only by ten feet of space and a metal door. Finally, I heard him wash his hands, and the door knob turned. I quickly arranged myself. I checked to make sure that I was showing some cleavage but no bra fabric. I flattened the fabric of my skirt against my knees and re-crossed my ankles. I looked down at my phone and pretended to be doing something very important - my fall-back when I'm not quite sure what to do! Bill walked past me out into the shop, spoke with someone briefly and came back inside. Then he squatted down right beside me. I thought maybe he got so close so he could hear me better; my voice is naturally very soft. I could feel his breath as he spoke to me. His knuckles barely grazed my right knee. Without thinking about it, I held my breath while he began to speak. He said that he thought I didn't quite need new rotors yet. They'd probably turn them and give me new brake pads. The left was more worn than the right. He said they'd let him know for sure shortly. The whole time he spoke, I struggled to pay attention. My body wanted me to focus on his nearness, the grazing touch of his rough knuckles, and the light scent of Marlboro mixed with an earthy, yet clean smell - a fragrance uniquely him. I looked into his very blue eyes while he spoke and wondered if he was thinking about anything besides what he told me about my car. Did thoughts like mine run through his head too? Could he smell the lightly fragrant oil I sprayed on legs after showering? Was he awed by the bright green of my eyes the way I admired his striking blue? Had he noticed that I'd forgotten to breathe? I nodded, said something appropriate in response, and thanked him. I expected him to rise and return immediately to his desk, but he lingered. "Do you, uh..." He seemed to be struggling for something, anything to say to keep him there beside my legs, at least I secretly hoped that's what he was doing. "Do you want a lukewarm bottle of water?" A lukewarm bottle of water? Best pick-up line ever. "Sure, I like water," I responded. He traipsed back behind his desk, bent forward and grabbed a bottle from behind it, and walked back my way. He wiped his hand on his pants before turning the cap for me. He extended the bottle in one hand and the cap in the other. I reached out and took them both, and when our hands touched, I felt electricity - a tingle running from my brain down my spine to settle in my crotch. I was going to leave a wet spot on this man's chair when he'd barely touched me, and he was easily old enough to be my father! What had gotten into me? Instead of returned to his desk, he leaned against the wall by the door to the shop, not five feet from me. He pretended to look out and watch the guys working periodically, but his gaze always returned to me shortly. He asked if I'd planted a garden this year, if I usually did, if I had any other vehicles... He played it cool, continuing to glance between my and the shop. I knew they were going to be done with my car soon, but I didn't want to leave Bill. I could have sat there talking to him all day. While we talked I drained the bottle of water. During a lull in conversation, I realized I really needed to pee. I excused myself, crossed to the restroom and locked myself inside. I quickly dropped my demure, beige panties (definitely not my sexiest) and had a seat. I wondered if Bill sat in the same spot earlier, but I shook my head and pushed that thought aside. I didn't want to think about him taking a dump! When I finished I turned to find the tissue so I could wipe, and I found that the roll had two, TWO, tiny little squares left. Wow. I looked for paper towels. No paper towels, just a hand dryer. Drip dry? Strangely at that precise moment, I heard Bill's voice just outside the door. "You oughta be ready in ten minutes..." Was he talking to me? Awkward... and strange. I said, "Oh... okay!" And I thought he'd go away, but instead I heard light a knock at the door. "Lacey?" I guess he remembered my name from the information I'd given him earlier. I took a deep breath. Really? Was I really having a conversation with him through the door while I sat on the toilet with no tissue? "Yes?" I might have sounded a little perplexed or even annoyed. "I, uh... There's not any tissue in there, is there?" "No," I responded. "No, there is not." "I can get you some but, uh... you're going to have to unlock the door. I won't look." If I were into conspiracy theories I would think this guy had used all the tissue, given me water hoping I'd have to pee, and then suggested I open the door so he could give me some tissue as some ploy to see me with my panties around my ankles. There was probably a camera behind the mirror above the sink right across from me. I looked in the mirror and raised my eyebrows at my reflection. Of course, Bill didn't give me a creepy vibe. He was giving me an I-suck-for-taking-a-shit-and-leaving-this-nice-lady-no-toilet-paper vibe. I found him terribly attractive. He wanted to open the door while I was sitting on the toilet defenseless. Okay, I wasn't entirely defenseless. I had a knife in my purse. A big knife. Should I take it out? Should I even unlock he door? I couldn't drip dry now... he'd KNOW! "Are you the only one out there?" I asked, almost yelling through the door. I really hoped he was the only one out there. "I am. No one else out here." "Alright. I'm going to unlock the door." So I unlocked the door, and I expected Bill to just open it a crack and shove some tissue inside. He did that... and then I heard him say, "Be right back. Gotta drain the hose!" Then he was in the bathroom with me. His eyes were closed. He was holding the roll of paper out like an offering. And he was in the bathroom with me. What?! "Bill?" I barely managed to squeeze his name out. "Why are you... in here?" I said with directness. "John, who was working on your car, just walked in to tell me it was done as I was opening the door. Then he sat down, and I couldn't just shove tissue in here with you. I just... I guess I panicked." Without meaning to he opened his eyes as he uttered the last few words. He looked down at me, and I gasped and drew my hands to my chest, defensively, like an actress in an old movie. He squeezed his eyes back shut. A few seconds passed, and then I heard John right outside the door. "How much longer you gonna be? I'm about to piss myself out here." So that's why John stayed. Great. I stared up at Bill, panicked, as his eyes popped open and met mine. We could not waltz out of this bathroom together with John out there watching. I looked around. No windows, no ceiling tiles, no other doors. No way to get out of this tiny, little restroom unless be put a hole in the wall... with.. the toilet tank? Bad idea. "Can I have the tissue, please?" He was still standing there holding onto it, and I'd been to shocked to take it from him. He handed it over, and I said, "Turn around... Please." I took care of my business, pulled up my plain, beige panties (how utterly embarrassing), stood and flushed. "You can look now." The restroom was so small that we were elbow-to-elbow while I washed my hands. I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the mirror and realized he was taller than I realized. He had a good foot on me. I think he might have been blushing, but he was too tan to really tell. I still had no idea what we'd do. John knocked on the door a few times. "You in there, Bill?" Didn't they have another restroom?! I asked Bill. They did. It wasn't working. Ugh. The next thing I knew, Bill turned around and flushed the toilet again. While it was flushing, he turned on the sink, masking the sound of the sink with the flushing of the toilet, and then he started flinging water at the floor in front of the door. He managed to fling enough water quickly enough to make some start to trickle underneath the door. "I might be in here awhile, John. You better run across the street to the BP." I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. "Clever," I said approvingly, nodding as I spoke. "You think so?" Bill winked at me. John huffed and said, "Alright then." Then he was gone. And Bill and I were locked in a tiny bathroom by ourselves. It felt like sparks were flying everywhere, and I wondered if he felt it too. He dried the floor with some tissue and then flipped the bathroom fan on - I'm not sure why. I was starting to get a little suspicious, even if he did seem like a nice guy. "So, how much of this was planned in advance? Did you purposely get yourself shut up in a bathroom with me?" He looked straight at me and insisted it was an honest mistake. I believed him. There was no reason we couldn't both leave then, but we were riveted in place. Neither of us moved a muscle. My breathing felt labored. My face became flushed. I tingled all over my body. Bill turned away from me finally, and I thought he was going to open the door. "Wait! Don't go!" I said. He turned back toward me. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'm been holding. Then he turned toward the door again. Shit. He thought I was crazy! Instead of leaving, he turned the lock. He hadn't locked the door behind him when he came in earlier! When he turned back to me, something broke loose between us. We finally had permission, though unspoken, from each other to do whatever we wanted behind that locked door. He'd answered my questions - he did want me, perhaps as much as I wanted him. Bill knelt in front of me on the floor he'd just dried. He lifted my dress and began to slowly lower my very plain panties. "Those... are not my best panties," I insisted. "Shh..." Bill responded. "They won't be on long." I stepped out of them when he got them down to my ankles. He'd caressed my legs with his slightly rough fingers throughout the entire journey from my hips to my feet. My breathing was shallow and deliberate. I had to remind myself to keep taking in air! After he'd removed my panties, Bill brought them to his face, sniffed them, groaned heavily, and stuffed them down in the right pocket of his jeans. "Oh wow..." I said it before I could stop myself. Bill looked up. "You like that, Lacey?" I bit my lip and nodded. Bill grabbed a side of my skirt him in each hand and brought his hands to my hips. He gripped me firmly, pulled my body closer to him, and surprised me by actually sniffing between my legs. This time when he groaned, I felt the vibrations of his sound against my mound, and I moaned in response. His groan grew louder, and he pressed his lips closer. My pussy quivered, and I placed my hands on the back of his head, pulling him even closer to me. I just barely moved my hips, rocking my pussy against his face. He stuck out his tongue, and the next time I rocked against him, it slipped between my lips at their apex and brushed ever-so-slightly against my hardened clit. I thought my legs would go limp and make me fall over right there, but Bill held me firmly in place. I realized he wouldn't let me fall. "Spread," he said, looking up into my eyes from his position against my pussy. I spread my legs as wide as I could comfortably. He dipped his head, ducked between my legs, and I felt his nose, followed by his tongue, glide from my perineum up the length of my slit. My legs shook at the feeling. When he reached the top of my slit, coated in my juices, his lips closed around my clit, and he sucked at it so gently and teasingly that I thought I would die. I experience such a feeling of pleasure that I couldn't stand the feeling, and I almost pushed him away. Just when the soft teasing became too much, he latched on firmly and began to suckle my clit, flicking the tip of his tongue. When I thoughty I was near exploding, he stopped. He licked a few times from my vestibule back up to my clit, flicking his tongue against its tip. I moaned and grabbed his shoulders to steady myself, wondering what he would do to me next. Bill pressed two of his fingers against my opening and then slid them slowly inside my very wet pussy. He gave my entrance and walls time to stretch wider to accommodate his large fingers. When they were deep inside and completely soaked in my juices, he removed them. Then he looked up at me, straight into my eyes, and moaned as he licked and sucked my cum from one finger, then the other. I was so moved by his actions that I closed my eyes and whispered his name. "Bill..." "Yes, Lacey?" I didn't expect him to respond! "You're... amazing." I smiled down at him. "So are you... and you have a beautiful smile." He looked down again, and his gaze focused on my smooth, recently-shaved vagina. "And this is a beautiful pussy, Ms. Clark." "It is? Thank you," I answered meekly. "It is!" he replied. Then he growled in his throat as he plunged his tongue back between my labia. He licked around my hole, lapping at my juices. I can't describe how wonderful it feels to have a man flick his tongue against the soft, sensitive flesh around the edges of the opening to my pussy. My body quivered, and I nearly screamed. I bit my lip instead. Good Service: Appetizers As it were, Carlie would have rather hung a "Will Work For Food" sign around her neck and walked out than serve one more table full of snobby East-end diners at Serra's. She disgustedly shoved her two-dollar tip into the pocket of her apron, mumbling under her breath that it should have been twenty dollars for all the trouble that couple had cost her. ("Excuse me, we ordered the quarter chicken, not the half" -- "Actually ma'am, you did order the half." -- "Now look here, Missy --") "Carlie? Table three for you." Carlie gave the hostess a glare that sent the timid girl scurrying back to her post. Then she took a deep breath, straightened out her chestnut ponytail in her reflection in the cash register screen, and stomped out to greet the two men who sat at number three. "Hello, how are we all tonight? Wonderful. My name is Carlie, and I'll be -" "Yes, yes, skip all that." A square-jawed, muscular 40-something with a British accent cut her off. "We don't much give a damn either. Now be a good little waitress and fetch us two scotch on the rocks, Glenfiddich, mind you, and be snappy about it." Carlie stared at him, stunned. His soft-bellied but equally muscular companion leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and regarded her sweetly. "You do speak English, miss, don't you?" Carlie looked incredulously from one to the other, opened her mouth to retaliate, then thought better of it and pivoted on her heels to go place the order. As she rounded the corner she could hear the two men snicker, and one murmur "What a sense of humor, eh?" "Since when did we start serving donkeys?!" Carlie fumed as soon as she was safely out of earshot in the servers' station. The nostrils of her pert little nose flared in rhythm with the heaving of her modest but buoyant chest as her lithe, 5'2" figure stomped about. Her coworker, Mark, snickered and shot her a mock warning glare. "Don't be impudent," he cooed, "they're just having some fun at your expense." Carlie grumbled some more and punched in the order on the touch screen with a bit too much force. "I think they should go and have their fun somewhere else." She said acidly. "And I think you sound like you need to get laid." Mark grinned. "Don't let them get to you." "Sod off. Dammit!" In her annoyance Carlie had punched too many buttons and frozen the outdated computer which she then smacked soundly with her open palm. The machine retaliated by releasing the cash tray, which shot open with a chime and whacked Carlie soundly in the gut. "Owww!" Carlie moaned, more out of annoyance than pain. Mark paused and looked back at her, his arms laden with plates. "All right?" he asked with genuine concern. "F-fine." Carlie stuttered, clutching herself. Despite her anger, a noticeable blush coloured her cheeks. Mark grinned knowingly, and slipped around the corner. As annoyed as Carlie was, it wasn't enough to make her forget her slight crush on her cheeky coworker, eight years her senior, whose ash brown hair and twinkling chocolate eyes put even the boyish handsomeness of Brad Pitt to shame. Nor could she forget the short and scandalous fling they'd shared at the company Christmas party only a few months ago, brought on in part by shared sexual frustration and Carlie's frequent teasing of his ever so slight French accent. ("How do you say, 'voulez-vous coucher avec moi'?") That said, she had decided that, despite her feelings, it wasn't the best idea to start a relationship at work. Somewhat placated by the exchange, Carlie went to tend to her other tables before picking up the two scotches at the bar from Eric, the bartender, who told her they were out of Glenfiddich and he had substituted another scotch whiskey instead. Carlie shrugged and brought them to number three. She had just set them down when the British man caught her by he wrist. "Don't move an inch." He ordered, and picked up his scotch. He sniffed at it delicately, swirled it around in the glass, and took a tentative sip, all the while without releasing her wrist. Then he swallowed, put on an exasperated expression, set the glass on the table, and looked Carlie seriously in the eye. "Miss," he spoke slowly, "tell me how long you've been working here." Carlie stared at him with a wide-eyed gaze, captured by the force of his eyes and unable to fathom what he was getting at. "Uh... Two years?" The man and his companion snickered. "Two years? Is that a question?" Carlie grew suddenly wary. "Sir, please let go of my hand." He was suddenly serious. "Miss, when I ask you a question, you will answer me quickly and firmly, without hesitation. Now, tell me, if you have been working here for 'two years?'" - his intonation inclined in question form, mocking her - "Then why do you seem unable to order me the correct scotch?" Carlie glared, angry now. "We were out of Glenfiddich, sir, now please let go of my wrist." The British man shook his head sadly, ignorant to Carlie's feeble attempts to escape his grasp. "What do you think, Roy? Have we ever had such an impudent little miss for a waitress?" The man called Roy looked thoughtful. "I don't think we have, Greg. Perhaps we should make a point of it." "Sir." Carlie's attempt at raising her voice was undermined by a sudden ripple of fear coursing down her spine. The men did not seem drunk, but she did not like their behavior or the ominous feeling it inspired in her gut. "If you do not let me go I shall have to ask someone to remove you." "Will you now?" Greg half-smiled at her, with all the confidence of a rhino who has been told he will be shooed off by a mouse. Without further warning, the hand that held Carlie's wrist yanked it firmly, sending her tumbling forward into Greg's lap. Carlie gave a cry of surprise as her feet were lifted off the floor and she was balanced over his knee, the skirt of her short uniform flipping up to reveal lace panties. "This is the treatment impudent little misses like you get!" His strong hand smacked her soundly on her upturned butt. "Excuse me!" Carlie exclaimed, at a loss for further words. The scuffle had caught the attention of the entire restaurant, which besides Carlie's protests was now completely silent. Patrons as well as coworkers stood frozen in surprise, staring at Carlie's predicament. To her speechless horror, as more stinging smacks began to rain down on her butt, a few onlookers' expressions went from shock to amusement. "Oww! Oww! Sir, stop!" Carlie kicked her feet to no avail - Greg's strong arm on her back prevented her from wiggling off his lap, subjecting her exposed bottom to his brutal palm. Her flailing limbs did nothing to affect his hold of her, and yet Carlie would not consider giving in. Being turned over and spanked like a child was beyond humiliating, and she could feel a bright blush warming both sets of cheeks. Carlie kicked and yelled some more, yet no one made a move to help her. Suddenly it seemed that most of the audience were finding the situation rather entertaining. Roy still sat across the table, calmly watching his friend administer Carlie's punishment and sipping his incorrectly ordered scotch. Mark, who stood but a few tables away, wore an expression that clearly stated just how amused he was by her display. Carlie turned her eyes on Mark, intending to stare daggers at him for not helping her, but suddenly found herself disarmed by what she found in his expression. The look on her crush's face was not simply mocking, but calculating. Mark regarded her situation with a thoughtful air, and Carlie realized he was looking for her own reaction. That simple realization suddenly made butterflies appear in Carlie's stomach, and she realized with a new blush of shame that she liked to see him watching her be humiliated this way. Finally Greg picked Carlie up and set her back on her feet with ridiculous ease, as if she were as easy to handle as a doll. Too embarrassed to look at him or anyone else, Carlie set her eyes on the floor and kept them there. "Now, we'll try that again." Greg pulled his chair back in to the table and calmly pushed the scotch glass towards her, along with his companion's now empty one. "Please take this crap away, and find us some Glenfiddich." Without a word, Carlie picked up the glasses and fled to the servers' station. Behind her, the room dissolved into stifled giggles and murmured shocked conversation. Carlie chucked the glasses into the busser's bin and leaned against the wall in the corner of the small room, fighting the urge to cry or shout and wondering why she was even considering such childish thoughts anyway. After all, she was a full grown woman - she should immediately go and find her manager and have those ridiculous men kicked out. But thinking of the faces of the customers and her coworkers as they watched her - she shuddered to think the words - get spanked, her resolve diffused and vanished in a cloud of confused shame. "Are you all right?" A man's voice asked her from the door of the station. Carlie looked up to see not whom she expected - not Mark - but the bartender, Eric, staring at her as if he were horrifically afraid to approach. "Did that guy... uh... hurt you?" Eric seemed rather strained for words. Carlie just stared at him, considering whether or not to bite his head off and storm out or not. Finally she sighed and accepted that she was going to be the joke of the year anyway, and decided not to make it worse. "I'm fine." She said dismissively. And then, surprising herself, "Where's Mark?" Eric blinked, not seeing the connection to her question, but answered her anyway. "He left for the day. His shift's over." "Oh." Carlie's brow furrowed. After the way he'd been watching her, she would have expected a snide parting comment or two. Though she didn't dare admit it to herself, she felt disappointed. "Uhm, I think I found some more Glenfiddich." Eric mumbled, shirking back as if he were waiting for her to blow. Ironically, Carlie felt dissolved of her anger. "Can you bring it out to table three, Eric?" That was the least he could do. "I think I'm going home. My shift's almost over anyway. Ask Alyssa to close my bills for me, would you?" "Sure!" Eric jumped and practically ran to do as he'd been asked, grateful to avoid the wrath he'd been expecting. Carlie changed out of her uniform and slipped out the back door, feeling numb. * * * The next day, Carlie showed up for work with the full knowledge that she would be hearing about yesterday's incident for some weeks to come, at least, and had arrived at a state of grudging acceptance. She didn't have to wait long for the onslaught of jibes when she stepped in the back door - even her boss, Tracy, had evidently been informed of the whole story. "Ah, Carlie, you're here. There's a couple at table five that you can take, they've already asked for coffees. And you'd better be quick about it - the man looks like he's got a good arm!" Snickers erupted from the serving staff as Carlie passed through, sighing. "Thanks, Tracy." The rest of the morning was more of the same, and Carlie found herself constantly fighting a blush whenever she passed through the kitchen and servers' station. It didn't help matters much when she slipped around the corner, bright red from a fresh comment, and nearly collided with Mark. "Morning, Carlie." He smiled warmly, mischievously. "That colour becomes you." "H-hey." Carlie sidestepped him, stammering like a child, and ducked into the kitchen. The butterflies that appeared whenever she was around Mark had only worsened since yesterday, and now they hammered at her ribs, making her stomach do backflips. Mark followed her casually, adjusting his uniform. "How's the floor today? Any more annoying customers?" Carlie ignored the implied tease, hoping she seemed aloof. "You sure took off fast yesterday." She hesitated, then ventured, "you didn't like the show?" Mark's eyes positively twinkled. "On the contrary." He grinned. "I had some errands to run." He picked up a spatula and twirled it casually in his palm. "How about you, hmm? Did you like the show?" Carlie stopped fussing with the plates she was stacking and stared at Mark in shock. "Excuse me! I most certainly did n-" Mark stopped her short by taking her by the shoulder, whirling her forcefully around and smacking her soundly on her bruised ass with the spatula. Carlie froze, her stomach somersaulting now. She looked back at Mark uncertainly. His one eyebrow was raised in question, waiting for her reaction. Carlie felt her cheeks redden and rubbed gingerly at her buttocks. She swallowed thickly, on one hand furious with Mark for discovering her, and on the other, too excited for words. Mark appraised her, then grinned widely, and replaced the spatula. "I thought as much." He said quietly, and then whisked himself and his brilliant smile from the room. Carlie looked around quickly. There was no one in the kitchen - no one to witness the scarlet blush that Mark's new discovery had brought upon her. It seemed that, for better or worse, her new secret was safe with him. Good Service "Bill... oh wow... ohhhhh..." He moved his tongue away and replaced it with a finger. He plunged that finger deep inside me and began to stroke my g-spot. I was impressed that he found it so quickly! I felt his rough finger rub and press against the rough spot inside my pussy as he returned his lips to my clit. He closed his lips around it and then began to circle his tongue. I felt like I would explode, but I couldn't quite reach my orgasm. I grabbed his head and began to grind my clit against his mouth. He stuck out his tongue and let me ride it. I felt myself speeding toward orgasm. He started to remove his fingers, but I said, "No! Fuck me with your fingers!" He returned that finger and added another. Then he started fucking me with them hard, ramming them into my pussy as I rubbed my clit against him. He pulled away from me a little, and I loosened my grip. When he began to suck my clit again with urgency, I moved gently against his mouth. I was so close to cumming on his face! At last he hit just the right spot. "Keep doing that!" I cried out. I'd said it loudly, and I wondered if anyone heard. His eyes flashed open widely, but he kept eating my pussy. He began to moan as he continued to "keep doing that" until I reached the top of my mountain. I couldn't help it. I screamed. He didn't move his mouth away as I came but continued licking softly as my legs shook. He licked around my lips until I was relaxed. Then he backed away, and stood up on shaky legs. I grabbed his head and pulled his faced down toward mine. I stood up on my toes and kissed him passionately. Our lips pressed together roughly. His tongue pushed between my lips, and I sucked it softly. We kissed for minutes that seemed like days. I lost track of time, and I didn't want it to stop, though I knew we couldn't stay in that restroom all day. When Bill pulled away, he told me with such sincerity, "You have the most delicious pussy I have every had the pleasure of eating." I blushed. "Thank you." "No, thank YOU!" Bill unlocked the door and peaked into the waiting area. He whispered, "When I leave, count to one hundred and then you leave." He stepped outside. I counted to one hundred. It seemed like it took forever, but I tried not to rush. When I exited through the blue, metal door, Bill was behind his desk again. He held up my keys, and they made a little jingle. I paid for the service, but it didn't quite add up. I think he charged me half price! Bill followed me outside when I left. "Pop your hood real quick," he requested. Bill looked around then lifted the hood of my Camry. He glanced about once more to make sure no one was watching, and then he grabbed a hose near the front left and pulled it loose. "What are you..." I only got a few words out before Bill interrupted me. "That won't hurt anything. It goes to your washer fluid." He looked around under my hood some more. "You know, I think your engine needs de-greasing. And it's probably a good idea to have us look at your transmission since your mileage is so high..." He looked up at my and grinned. "Ohhh..." It dawned on me what he was doing. He wanted me back there as soon as possible! "You might have to play dumb a little. I know that you know how to fix that hose, and you can probably de-grease an engine. I know you know brakes. God, you're sexy. Do you know anything about transmissions?" He winked. So our earlier conversation had turned him on a little! I held up my right hand and tilted it back and forth. "I know a little. Not nearly as much as you, I'm sure." "See you back here... when?" He looked like a little boy asking his mom if he have some ice cream. The look contrasted with his manly presence and was adorable and endearing. I grinned. "I don't have anything to do tomorrow... Nothing pressing." Bill grinned right back at me. "Come at 11, and I'll take you to lunch while your car's in the shop." I raised my eyebrows and nodded. "See you then." Then I got into my car and drove away. In my rear view mirror, I saw Bill walking back inside. I could swear he pumped his arm like a victorious teenager, but I'm not sure.