Chapter 5: Grandaddy's Gas 'n' Gooners
The rusty deadbolt slid home with a final, echoing clunk. The "BACK IN 5 MINUTES" sign faced the empty road, a bald-faced lie. The fluorescent lights in the main store buzzed, illuminating empty aisles. All the life had been sucked into the back.
The storage room was a cave of forgotten stock and sweating concrete. Earl didn’t guide them; he herded them, a silent, looming presence at their backs until the heavy door swung shut, sealing them in the humid, oily dark. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting jumping shadows over towers of oil cans and sagging beer cases.
Brandy tried to reclaim her swagger, putting a hand on her hip. “So, granddaddy, what’s the—”
Earl’s hand shot out, not at her face, but at the waistband of her denim shorts. He spun her with a brutal twist. A startled squawk died in her throat as he shoved her forward, bending her at the waist over a unstable pyramid of quart-sized cans. The metal rims dug into her bare stomach. Her platform heels scrambled for purchase, finding none.
“You’re the ringleader,” Earl grunted, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls. His big, grease-blackened thumbs hooked into the back of her shorts and tiny underwear, yanking them down to her knees in one rip. “You get the inaugural run.”
Crystal and Amber watched, mouths agape, hands already creeping over their own bodies. Crystal pinched her own nipples through the lace, a feverish glint in her eye. Amber chewed on her lower lip, her gaze fixed on the formidable, now fully-rigid tool Earl was stroking with a casual, terrifying ownership.
He didn’t tease. He didn’t prepare. He just spat once into his palm, slicked the swollen, purplish head, and positioned it at Brandy’s tight, puckered starfish.
“Earl, wait, that’s not—!” Brandy’s protest turned into a sharp, inhaled shriek as he leaned his weight forward.
It wasn’t an entry; it was a conquest. The sound was a wet, unyielding thrrrp of tissue giving way, a sound louder than any in the cramped room. Brandy’s entire body arched, her spine a taut bowstring, her shriek morphing into a long, gargling wail as he buried himself to the hilt in one devastating plunge. The oil cans beneath her clattered in protest.
“Grandaddy’s wreckin’ hole!” she screamed, her voice cracking, mascara already starting to bleed down her cheeks in inky rivers. “Oh fuck, it’s in my SPINE!”
Earl began to move, a slow, deliberate withdrawal followed by a brutal, piston-like re-entry. Each thrust produced a wet, slapping echo and a choked squeal from Brandy. Her body, forced into the rhythm, began to betray her in other ways. A low, gurgling rumble built deep in her guts, escaping as a shaky, sputtering fart that vibrated around his invading girth.
“Hear that?” Crystal whispered, awe-struck. She dropped to her knees beside the quaking stack of cans, getting her face dangerously close to the juncture where Earl’s massive shaft disappeared into Brandy’s violently stretched rim. “Her guts are singin’.”
Amber joined her, their bratty rivalry forgotten in the face of the spectacle. They jostled for position, their tongues darting out to lick the sweat-slicked base of Earl’s balls, to trace the stretched, fluttering skin of Brandy’s abused entrance. Every time Earl pulled back, the ruined hole gaped momentarily, a dark, pulsing flower.
The room filled with a symphony of gross: the slap of flesh, Brandy’s sobbing cries, the wet squelch of deep, invasive fucking, and the intermittent, breathy sputters of gas forced from her depths. The air took on a new, sharp, organic tang.
Earl’s pace became punishing, animalistic. With a final, deep grind, he shuddered and unloaded. Brandy felt the hot, surging flood fill her colon, a sensation so intense it short-circuited her resistance. Her body convulsed, and with a wet, splattering pop, her own control gave way. A torrent of shit, mingled with Earl’s seed, erupted around the still-pumping cock, painting his balls and the watching girls’ faces in a warm, chunky mess.
The silence that followed was broken only by Brandy’s ragged weeping and the drip of filth onto the concrete floor.
Crystal, her cheek smeared, didn’t flinch. She looked at Amber, and a silent understanding passed between them. They each plunged a finger into the overflowing, gaping maw of Brandy’s ass, scooping up the hot, mixed slurry.
“You gotta taste what grandaddy did,” Crystal pouted, and shoved her filthy fingers into Brandy’s open, wailing mouth. Amber followed suit, finger-blasting Brandy’s mouth with her own waste. Brandy gagged, then suckled, her eyes rolling back in a cocktail of shame and shocking pleasure.
Earl withdrew, his cock slick and glistening with aftermath. He looked at the three of them—Brandy sobbing and chewing, Crystal and Amber eagerly licking their clean hands and moving to lick him clean.
“We wanna work here,” Amber blurted, nuzzling against his thigh. “For real. Stock shelves. Clean the shitters. Whatever.”
“Just let us come by,” Crystal begged, her hands kneading her own breasts. “For… inventory.”
Brandy, still bent over the cans, her hole a ruined, dripping o-ring, turned her head. Her voice was a broken, slurry whisper. “Please. We’ll be good. We just need… we need that dick. And… free beer?”
Earl looked down at them, these filthy, desperate, gorgeous brats. He zipped up his still-damp overalls, the fabric tenting obscenely once more. He didn’t smile. But he gave a single, slow nod.
“Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he rumbled. “After dark. You clean up this mess first.” He gestured to the floor, the cans, to Brandy herself.
He unlocked the storage room door, the main store’s light slicing into the dark. He left them there, in the stinking, humid dark, already hearing the first licks and whispers as they began their assigned task. He flipped the sign back to “OPEN” and settled behind the counter, the faint, satisfied ache in his groin a promise of things to come. The Gas ‘n’ Go had just gotten some very motivated, very unconventional new staff.