Bret had a large cumbersome bulge in the front of his pants and he sat on the lunch counter stool, still eyeing the young woman, waiting for her to catch his penetrating and questioning stare. Finally, she saw him looking at her, particularly at the lush ivory-white cleavage which peeked out from the folds of her uniform.
"You finished?" she asked, pointing to his empty coffee cup. "Or you want something else?"
Bret nodded his head.
"What'll it be?" she asked, rather impatiently, looking at him curiously. "I don't got all day, mister. There are other people waitin' for service."
Her arrogant and irritated manner amused him and he laughed to himself. She was a turn-on, all right, he felt sure of that. Slowly, he got to his feet, standing in front of her so that she would have no trouble, no difficulty at all in seeing the enormous protruding bulge in front of his fly.
Bret's pecker was hard and rigid, throbbing hotly as he watched the waitress giving him the once-over. He knew that she would soon enough notice his hard-on and he knew as well that she wouldn't be put off by the sight of it. There was something tough and experienced about her, something that told him that he might just be able to succeed in his little scheme of things.
"So?" she asked, her hands on her hips, her lacquered black hair rising above her head like a crown.
Reaching into his pocket as she followed his motions, Bret saw how the waitress opened her eyes wide at the sight of the thick pipe-like outline which rose up in his pants. Then, laying three ten-dollar bills on the counter, he pointed to his cock.
"What the fuck's going on?" she asked, looking at him with a mixture of awe, excitement and hostility. "This a proposition, mister, or somethin'?"
"Exactly," he said in an even voice, smiling all the while. "I'm not fussy or too particular. Do you have a back room? It'll do perfectly."
"Shit, some guys are really too much," she mumbled. But, obviously, the sight of the money was too enticing. She glanced over at the chef who had, Bret realized, been watching what had been going on between the two of them. He was a squat burly man with powerful arms and a florid complexion. The guy nodded his head and winked at the waitress.
Then, she turned back to him. Bret wondered if the chef was the boss, wondered too if he was pimping for the waitress, for it seemed that she just might conceivably do this kind of thing pretty often, perhaps even on a regular basis. His wink seemed to say to Bret that it was all right for her to leave her station behind the counter and then, as she looked at him, he noticed the sneer planted on her lips, a sneer of unvoiced arrogance and superiority.
Her manner excited him all the more, for he hoped that she wouldn't be a quick lay, a woman who lifted her legs, shut her eyes and didn't budge. "Sure thing, mister," she told him, tossing her head back and motioning for Bret to go through a swinging door that led into the kitchen.
He heard plates rattling and smelled food cooking as he got up and walked behind the counter. He didn't look back. Through the swinging doors he saw another door that led off from the kitchen. Turning the knob, he stepped inside. It was dimly lit, but he made out a couch and an old office desk. Excited by the prospect of having sex with the nameless woman, especially in the back of the lunch counter, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, undid his cufflinks and took them off, laying them carefully over the desk chair.
He could feel his heart racing. The thought of the woman's lush sensuous body made his loins ache with lust and desire and he whipped off his belt, unzipped his pants and stepped out of them. His shoes and socks followed until he was down to his undershorts.
Bret glanced up and down the length of his body, pleased with himself. He was still in good shape and his cock rose up in front of his briefs, stiff and ready for action. Then, sitting down on the moldy leather couch, he lit a cigarette and waited for the waitress with considerable desire and even more impatience.
CHAPTER THREE
Less than ten minutes after Bret had disappeared into the back room of the lunch counter, the waitress opened the door and stepped inside. She closed it behind her, glancing at the man who sat on the couch, clad only in his briefs.
"Aren't we a fast worker," she said smugly, looking at Bret sitting before her with a huge hard-on, smoking a cigarette and acting calm and relaxed.
"I'm not one for wasting time," he said, glancing at his watch and hoping that his secretary would cover for him. He stubbed out the cigarette and got slowly to his feet.
Moving over to the woman, whom he saw was wearing an embossed name plate upon which was engraved NORMA JEAN, he suddenly lunged out, no longer willing to wait or hold himself back. He grabbed the woman tightly, squeezing the cheeks of her plump ripe ass as he pressed his lips against hers and she began to struggle, trying to free herself from his fierce embrace.
But the more she sidled away, the more she resisted, the more excited Bret became. He was holding her firmly, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth, mashing his lips against her and feeling his pecker growing even larger as it frictioned against the front of her uniform. Her ass was warm and yielding and before she could say another word, he moved back a step and reached out for her boobs.
Standing where she was, her arms on her hips, the waitress glared at Bret as he fondled her jugs, carefully and slowly undoing the topmost buttons of her uniform. He pushed the satiny material aside and stared at her black lace brassiere. Inside the wide deep cups he could just about see her firm round boobs, the nipples pointing straight out as Norma Jean sucked in her breath.
Reaching down to rub his fingers up and down the length of his cock-shaft, Bret told the woman to get undressed. "And make it snappy," he added, picturing what it was going to be like, the kind of things he would do to her, the kind of things he would force her to do to him.
He was determined to get his money's worth, but Norma Jean still didn't move. Her eyes were unblinking, glassy and doll-like. But he noticed that her gaze was fixed on the outline of his cock. Grabbing hold of her hand he pressed it up against his quivering penis and she groaned slightly, running the tips of her fingers along the entire hot length of his cock, as if to judge its very shape, thickness and size.
"Man, you ain't no bummer," she said with a laugh. "Ain't no slouch at all. That's what I call a stud."
He laughed with her, caught her off her guard and helped her out of her uniform. It dropped to the floor and Bret studied her, noting every detail of her body as she stood before him. Clad only in her bra and a pair of tight nylon panties, he was able to see the dark triangular shadow of her pubic mound behind the thin and tightly stretched cloth of her undies.
Bret licked his lips, edging his undershorts off of his hips until they fell around his ankles. Then, kicking them off and onto the floor as his cock plopped out into view, he reached over and undid Norma Jean's bra straps. They slipped off and she quickly unhooked them from behind her back.
The bra came off then and he sucked in his breath, staring with lust and mounting excitement at the sight of those two lush creamy-white tits, rising high and firm before his eyes. He touched them, fingering the nipples, kneading and fondling the soft resilient flesh as the waitress watched his fingers feeling her up, cupping her boobs in the palms of his hands.
Then, unable to resist, Bret bent down, crouching before the woman and sucking in one nipple right between his lips. He scraped his teeth up and down the firm pointy little knob, making her shiver and tremble against him.
"Oh more, baby, more," she whispered, her hands moving up and down along his sides as Bret got more and more aroused. He pressed up against her, so close that his stiff-standing cock – rising up against his hairy belly – grazed along the waitress' pubic mound.