Unwillingly Seduced Part Five
- 3 years ago
- 8
- 0
Unwillingly Seduced, Part One free porn video
(Please read: there will be multiple parts to this story, so if you are looking for a quick fuckslut story, this won't be it. You've been warned!)
Sugar is a place I rarely go to. It's a little out of my way . Also, it has a limited amount of items that I usually need...it isn't bondage or S&M centric as my regular store. While a small shop, it carries a lot of general sex gear...there just isn't a large section of wall space devoted to, let's say, gags. Still, I was in the area and decided to stop in.
I like the cave-like feel to the store. With a small back room that made you wonder if you could be locked up in there overnight if you tried to shoplift. I gravitated towards the small amount of appropriate gear and took my time looking. Lightly touching a couple of paddles, packages of blindfolds and cheap ball-gags. Perused the bondage kits for beginners. Glanced at the rolls of different colored, “Japanese ropes”.
I stopped at the packaged spur. It was silver, long handle, and incredibly sharp looking spike. I took the package off the wall, wondering about it. How it would feel. On my back. On my legs. On my bottom. On my nipples.
I heard the bell ring as the door opened. I instinctively turned around, spurr in hand and saw him. I cursed under my breath. The guy from the restaurant He kept sending his steak back. By the the third time, I got in trouble with the executive chef, who made me go back out and personally ask how the steak was to be done.
He was so condescending about it. Clearly trying to impress his date; a very giggly and drunk blonde. All legs and breasts. A toy. Meanwhile, I was in my line cook duds, very. Dark hair tucked under a cap with the restaurant’s logo on it. I wished that I could be looking down at him, but it's hard to be intimidating at five feet tall.
He asked me if I knew what a spice rack was. If I knew the difference between rare and medium. How to use a burner. Each question humiliating because I had to smile and say yes as other tables watched the fun he was having with me. The blonde was trying hard not to giggle with each of my answers. Face burning, I went back and cooked his steak and that was the end of it.
When I got home that night, I cried. Hated that I cried. Hated the fact that the only moment that I got the time of day from an handsome man was to be humiliated.
So there he was, two nights later, walking into a sex shop. Still looking good; tall, even build, salt and pepper hair, jeans and a simple, untucked white shirt. I was really didn't like the fact that I still found him attractive...one shouldn't find douche bags attractive.
He stopped and blinked hard at me. I gave him my best yes-I-know-who-you-are-asshole-hipster-douchebag glare. The he looked down at my hands. I looked down and realized that I was still holding the spurr.
My face burned yet again as I realized that he had caught me in a sex shop, standing at the BDSM section, holding a spurr in my hand. I shoved the package back on the wall and with head down, stormed towards the door. I glanced sideways as I trudged past and saw the half smile on his face.
So I slapped him.
Hand stinging, I left the shop. Blindly making my way back to the Avenue..
Saturday night, a busy night. We line cooks making plate after plate, trying to be on time for our patrons, making sure each dish is the way the chef and expediter wants it. Steam causing my face to sweat, an unruly lock of hair falls from under my cap. Steak frites. That was the dish in front of me. Wiped the edge of the plate, gave it tot he server, expediter checked it and out it went.
A moment later, the server comes back and says to me, very nervous because she saw what happened last week, says to me, “He's out there again.”
“You should've told me when he first came in.”
Smiling at me, “Why? Were you going to spit in the steak?”
I shook my head, “Nah. I was going to add a new flavoring agent to the steak. It's called piss.”
She laughed and took the next plate out to another table. I was expecting her to be back in shortly, with the steak, more complaints. And then I realized where he saw me lat and wondered if he was going to humiliate me this time by describing my presence at a sex shop. Great.
But nothing happened and an hour later, I had forgotten about him. Saturdays are busy nights. Even so, the night doesn end at some point. My shift was over and I clocked out. I ripped the cap off, my hair messy, face sweaty, eyes a little dark underneath. Still short, too.
I looked at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. Being a line cook means no make up, no looking good for work because you end up looking like a cat that had been dragged through a steam press at the end of the shift. I sighed and walked out of the bathroom.
Once I stepped out I the night, I stopped, closed my eyes and let the night's coolness wash over me. After spending eight hours in a cramped kitchen, it can feel close to orgasmic. I sighed and saw him looking out over the harbor.
I just watched him for a moment. Curious. His back was to me. Jacket puffed up a little by the breeze. I stood there and decided to walk to my car, to ignore him. He was just going to humiliate me again. Make fun of me. Watch me get angry as he recounted the encounter at the store. Not being able to do anything as others filed out the back.
And I looked like my usual, post-shift, shitty look. I had to admit that was what bothered me the most. I don't like being be abused. I just didn't want to look the like the dumpy little loser that he obviously thought I was while telling me how inept he thought I was. It was as if, if he could see me how I really am, maybe he wouldn't be mean. Leave me alone at least.
That's a lie, I wanted him to notice me in a good way. But there are some lines you don't let yourself cross. Self-reliance and confidence are good things to have. Being tough as a woman, in a job dominated by men, you have to have a thick skin. I wasn't going to beg for his attention, but it still hurts when you go home alone Even tough women get girly every now and again.
“Hey.”
His deep voice startled me out of my thoughts. It sounded very loud. I looked behind me, the waitresses already watching. I ran my hand over my very tired eyes.
I looked over at him, “Not now. I have no time or energy for this. I'm too tired to even slap you again.”
He touched his cheek, “I deserved that.”
I glared at him, “Of course you did, you were a douche bag.”
He nodded., “Yeah, but not in the shop, I noticed that you had-”
“Not in front of my co-workers please.” I knew I had a panicked look in my face.
He held up his hands, placating me. He held up a finger, “Don't go. Please?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, “Fine.”
He walked over to the Lexus convertible. Of course he had one of those. My used Toyota had that wonderful look of an owner who knew nothing about cars. Me.
He closed the door and walked over to me. One hand behind his back. When he got to me, I realized how tall he was. My neck hurt to look up at him. But then again, everyone in the world is taller than me.
He coughed into his fist, “Ah...one question?”
“Make it quick.”
He glanced at the waitresses. Leaned in close to me. I didn't smell cologne, just soap. A nice and clean smell I liked. I stepped back.
He nodded in understanding. He looked into my eyes. His eyes were blue with a touch of gold. Very hard to look away from. After a quick glance to the women gathering at the edge of the parking lot he asked in a whisper, “Top or bottom?”
I blinked and considered slapping him again. I remembered the blonde, “What did your date say last week?”
He was surprised., “Oh. Her.”
“Yes. Her.”
He smiled that half-smile again, my hands closed into a fist this time, “I don't normally ask my sister about ther sex life.”
I closed my eyes. I was way too tired for this. “Fine, nevermind. Why do you need to know about mine?”
“Please answer. Please?”
I tapped my foot, “Afer the way you treated me?”
He looked uncomfortable. Good.
“Yes, I really need to know. When you were in the shop, were you looking for things to use or to be used on you?”
My face grew hot yet again. But I wasn't angry, I was just pissed. I was being jerked around. How dare he play games with me! What the fuck! My jaw clenched. My throat closed up. So angry. So angry. I gave him the finger.
I left hm there, mouth open. At least I had that. I ripped the door to my car open, threw myself in and rolled down my window to yell at him. I wanted it all to rush out, how bad he should feel for getting off on playing with my head, treating me badly.
He thrust out both of his hands. He was holding a small bag. Tiny handles on it. He didn't say anything. Just held it out t me.
He cautiously stepped forward. Afraid of my running him over, which felt like a good idea to me. The bag slowly made it's way to my window, Slowly in. I grabbed it and threw it on the seat. My mouth opened and closed, saying nothing. He nodded sadly, understanding my hate.
I gunned the car and sped home.
After a shower, I sat on the couch. I opened the bag. I already knew what was inside as soon as I saw it. And there it was. The spurr I was admiring the other night.
I rolled my eyes. It was an apology. He was saying sorry. I looked into the bag and saw an envelope. I pulled it out and threw the spurr back in. I wasn't sure if I was going to return it or throw it away. I opened the envelop and read the note.
He claimed to have been drunk himself. That he was being jackass but if he had know that it was me making his food, he wouldn't have been mean. He wouldn’t have sent it back. That he felt a need to put on a show to keep up appearances. How so very sorry he was and how bad he felt. His cell number was at the bottom, but no name.
Fuck him.
I pounded a bottle of wine over the course of an hour and was somewhat drunk. I picked up my cell and texted him.
Asshole. I'm throwing your half-assed apology away. Don't come to my restaurant again. Go away and stay away.
I clicked send and threw the cell down next to me. It buzzed less than a minute later.
I'm sorry. And I'm sorry to ask again...top or bottom?
I think I almost broke my phone stabbing out the reply.
FUCK OFF!!!!
After five minutes, I thought he got the message but it buzzed again.
I want to apologize, for real. I'll be at Slainte around 3 tomorrow. Let me at least buy you a drink and offer a real apology. If you aren't around then I know your answer and I will leave you alone.
Two seconds after I read it, it buzzed again.
I'm hoping that you will say bottom. I want to run the spur all over you. Watch your face, hear your gasps. I hope this doesn't drive you away.
(End Part One)
Sugar - [http://sugartheshop.com/home.html]
Slainte - [http://slaintepub.com/]
Sugar is a place I rarely go to. It's a little out of my way . Also, it has a limited amount of items that I usually need...it isn't bondage or S&M centric as my regular store. While a small shop, it carries a lot of general sex gear...there just isn't a large section of wall space devoted to, let's say, gags. Still, I was in the area and decided to stop in.
I like the cave-like feel to the store. With a small back room that made you wonder if you could be locked up in there overnight if you tried to shoplift. I gravitated towards the small amount of appropriate gear and took my time looking. Lightly touching a couple of paddles, packages of blindfolds and cheap ball-gags. Perused the bondage kits for beginners. Glanced at the rolls of different colored, “Japanese ropes”.
I stopped at the packaged spur. It was silver, long handle, and incredibly sharp looking spike. I took the package off the wall, wondering about it. How it would feel. On my back. On my legs. On my bottom. On my nipples.
I heard the bell ring as the door opened. I instinctively turned around, spurr in hand and saw him. I cursed under my breath. The guy from the restaurant He kept sending his steak back. By the the third time, I got in trouble with the executive chef, who made me go back out and personally ask how the steak was to be done.
He was so condescending about it. Clearly trying to impress his date; a very giggly and drunk blonde. All legs and breasts. A toy. Meanwhile, I was in my line cook duds, very. Dark hair tucked under a cap with the restaurant’s logo on it. I wished that I could be looking down at him, but it's hard to be intimidating at five feet tall.
He asked me if I knew what a spice rack was. If I knew the difference between rare and medium. How to use a burner. Each question humiliating because I had to smile and say yes as other tables watched the fun he was having with me. The blonde was trying hard not to giggle with each of my answers. Face burning, I went back and cooked his steak and that was the end of it.
When I got home that night, I cried. Hated that I cried. Hated the fact that the only moment that I got the time of day from an handsome man was to be humiliated.
So there he was, two nights later, walking into a sex shop. Still looking good; tall, even build, salt and pepper hair, jeans and a simple, untucked white shirt. I was really didn't like the fact that I still found him attractive...one shouldn't find douche bags attractive.
He stopped and blinked hard at me. I gave him my best yes-I-know-who-you-are-asshole-hipster-douchebag glare. The he looked down at my hands. I looked down and realized that I was still holding the spurr.
My face burned yet again as I realized that he had caught me in a sex shop, standing at the BDSM section, holding a spurr in my hand. I shoved the package back on the wall and with head down, stormed towards the door. I glanced sideways as I trudged past and saw the half smile on his face.
So I slapped him.
Hand stinging, I left the shop. Blindly making my way back to the Avenue..
Saturday night, a busy night. We line cooks making plate after plate, trying to be on time for our patrons, making sure each dish is the way the chef and expediter wants it. Steam causing my face to sweat, an unruly lock of hair falls from under my cap. Steak frites. That was the dish in front of me. Wiped the edge of the plate, gave it tot he server, expediter checked it and out it went.
A moment later, the server comes back and says to me, very nervous because she saw what happened last week, says to me, “He's out there again.”
“You should've told me when he first came in.”
Smiling at me, “Why? Were you going to spit in the steak?”
I shook my head, “Nah. I was going to add a new flavoring agent to the steak. It's called piss.”
She laughed and took the next plate out to another table. I was expecting her to be back in shortly, with the steak, more complaints. And then I realized where he saw me lat and wondered if he was going to humiliate me this time by describing my presence at a sex shop. Great.
But nothing happened and an hour later, I had forgotten about him. Saturdays are busy nights. Even so, the night doesn end at some point. My shift was over and I clocked out. I ripped the cap off, my hair messy, face sweaty, eyes a little dark underneath. Still short, too.
I looked at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. Being a line cook means no make up, no looking good for work because you end up looking like a cat that had been dragged through a steam press at the end of the shift. I sighed and walked out of the bathroom.
Once I stepped out I the night, I stopped, closed my eyes and let the night's coolness wash over me. After spending eight hours in a cramped kitchen, it can feel close to orgasmic. I sighed and saw him looking out over the harbor.
I just watched him for a moment. Curious. His back was to me. Jacket puffed up a little by the breeze. I stood there and decided to walk to my car, to ignore him. He was just going to humiliate me again. Make fun of me. Watch me get angry as he recounted the encounter at the store. Not being able to do anything as others filed out the back.
And I looked like my usual, post-shift, shitty look. I had to admit that was what bothered me the most. I don't like being be abused. I just didn't want to look the like the dumpy little loser that he obviously thought I was while telling me how inept he thought I was. It was as if, if he could see me how I really am, maybe he wouldn't be mean. Leave me alone at least.
That's a lie, I wanted him to notice me in a good way. But there are some lines you don't let yourself cross. Self-reliance and confidence are good things to have. Being tough as a woman, in a job dominated by men, you have to have a thick skin. I wasn't going to beg for his attention, but it still hurts when you go home alone Even tough women get girly every now and again.
“Hey.”
His deep voice startled me out of my thoughts. It sounded very loud. I looked behind me, the waitresses already watching. I ran my hand over my very tired eyes.
I looked over at him, “Not now. I have no time or energy for this. I'm too tired to even slap you again.”
He touched his cheek, “I deserved that.”
I glared at him, “Of course you did, you were a douche bag.”
He nodded., “Yeah, but not in the shop, I noticed that you had-”
“Not in front of my co-workers please.” I knew I had a panicked look in my face.
He held up his hands, placating me. He held up a finger, “Don't go. Please?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, “Fine.”
He walked over to the Lexus convertible. Of course he had one of those. My used Toyota had that wonderful look of an owner who knew nothing about cars. Me.
He closed the door and walked over to me. One hand behind his back. When he got to me, I realized how tall he was. My neck hurt to look up at him. But then again, everyone in the world is taller than me.
He coughed into his fist, “Ah...one question?”
“Make it quick.”
He glanced at the waitresses. Leaned in close to me. I didn't smell cologne, just soap. A nice and clean smell I liked. I stepped back.
He nodded in understanding. He looked into my eyes. His eyes were blue with a touch of gold. Very hard to look away from. After a quick glance to the women gathering at the edge of the parking lot he asked in a whisper, “Top or bottom?”
I blinked and considered slapping him again. I remembered the blonde, “What did your date say last week?”
He was surprised., “Oh. Her.”
“Yes. Her.”
He smiled that half-smile again, my hands closed into a fist this time, “I don't normally ask my sister about ther sex life.”
I closed my eyes. I was way too tired for this. “Fine, nevermind. Why do you need to know about mine?”
“Please answer. Please?”
I tapped my foot, “Afer the way you treated me?”
He looked uncomfortable. Good.
“Yes, I really need to know. When you were in the shop, were you looking for things to use or to be used on you?”
My face grew hot yet again. But I wasn't angry, I was just pissed. I was being jerked around. How dare he play games with me! What the fuck! My jaw clenched. My throat closed up. So angry. So angry. I gave him the finger.
I left hm there, mouth open. At least I had that. I ripped the door to my car open, threw myself in and rolled down my window to yell at him. I wanted it all to rush out, how bad he should feel for getting off on playing with my head, treating me badly.
He thrust out both of his hands. He was holding a small bag. Tiny handles on it. He didn't say anything. Just held it out t me.
He cautiously stepped forward. Afraid of my running him over, which felt like a good idea to me. The bag slowly made it's way to my window, Slowly in. I grabbed it and threw it on the seat. My mouth opened and closed, saying nothing. He nodded sadly, understanding my hate.
I gunned the car and sped home.
After a shower, I sat on the couch. I opened the bag. I already knew what was inside as soon as I saw it. And there it was. The spurr I was admiring the other night.
I rolled my eyes. It was an apology. He was saying sorry. I looked into the bag and saw an envelope. I pulled it out and threw the spurr back in. I wasn't sure if I was going to return it or throw it away. I opened the envelop and read the note.
He claimed to have been drunk himself. That he was being jackass but if he had know that it was me making his food, he wouldn't have been mean. He wouldn’t have sent it back. That he felt a need to put on a show to keep up appearances. How so very sorry he was and how bad he felt. His cell number was at the bottom, but no name.
Fuck him.
I pounded a bottle of wine over the course of an hour and was somewhat drunk. I picked up my cell and texted him.
Asshole. I'm throwing your half-assed apology away. Don't come to my restaurant again. Go away and stay away.
I clicked send and threw the cell down next to me. It buzzed less than a minute later.
I'm sorry. And I'm sorry to ask again...top or bottom?
I think I almost broke my phone stabbing out the reply.
FUCK OFF!!!!
After five minutes, I thought he got the message but it buzzed again.
I want to apologize, for real. I'll be at Slainte around 3 tomorrow. Let me at least buy you a drink and offer a real apology. If you aren't around then I know your answer and I will leave you alone.
Two seconds after I read it, it buzzed again.
I'm hoping that you will say bottom. I want to run the spur all over you. Watch your face, hear your gasps. I hope this doesn't drive you away.
(End Part One)
Sugar - [http://sugartheshop.com/home.html]
Slainte - [http://slaintepub.com/]
Mila
- 22.02.2021
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Unwillingly Seduced Part Two
- 4 years ago
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Unwillingly Seduced Part Three
- 2 years ago
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