Chapter 6: The Grand Opening
The following Tuesday, dusk painted the bayou in bruised purples and oranges. The neon “Gas ‘n’ Go” sign sputtered to life just as a beat-up sedan with a rattling tailpipe pulled into the gravel lot.
Brandy, Crystal, and Amber slithered out. Their ‘work uniforms’ were an affront to decency. Brandy had opted for a denim mini so short the frayed edges kissed her lower cheeks, her tube top straining like overfilled water balloons. Crystal’s lace top was utterly transparent, her nipples hard points against the mesh. Amber’s crop top ended just below her breasts, her booty shorts showcasing the full, freckled moons of her ass.
They pushed through the glass door, a jingle of bells announcing their arrival. The air inside was a thick soup of fried food, stale beer, and age. Earl didn’t look up from his ledger, his posture echoing the weary slump of the building itself.
“We’re heeere,” Amber sang, popping her gum. She immediately draped herself over the counter, her breasts squishing against the Formica. “Ready to work our little fingers to the bone.”
Earl’s eyes, cold and assessing, travelled over the trio. “Ain’t no bone you’re workin’ with,” he grunted. He jerked a thumb toward the aisles. “Coolers need stockin’. Chip rack’s a mess. Restroom’s gotta be hosed down.”
They moved, but it was a parody of labor. Brandy grabbed a case of longnecks, making a show of bending over to place them in the cooler, her ass aimed directly at the register. Crystal ‘organized’ the potato chips by squeezing each bag, her pouty lips making a soft ‘ooh’ at the crinkling sound. Amber found a feather duster and began dusting the top of the beer cooler, her body undulating, her shorts riding up to reveal the cleft of her ass with every reach.
Within ten minutes, the pretense collapsed.
Crystal sidled up to the counter where Earl stood, pretending to examine a lottery ticket. Her hand, small and pale, snaked out and cupped the formidable bulge in his overalls. She squeezed. “Inventory feels low, boss. Might need to check the backstock.”
Earl’s hand clamped over hers, holding it there. “Thought you was here to work.”
“We are,” Brandy said, strutting over, her heels clicking. She pushed Crystal aside gently and dropped to her knees behind the counter without another word. Her fingers worked the brass buttons of his fly with practiced ease. The denim fell away, and the heavy, veined reality of him sprang forth, already flushed and eager.
Brandy didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth, painted lips stretching into a grotesque O, and took the head in. A guttural, wet sound echoed in the quiet store.
“My turn,” Amber whined, joining her on the floor. She nuzzled against Brandy’s cheek, her tongue darting out to lick the salty base of Earl’s shaft where it emerged from Brandy’s stretched lips. Crystal remained standing at the counter, a lookout of sorts, one hand idly rubbing her own breast through the lace as she watched the empty road.
It became a sloppy, competitive rotation. Brandy would deepthroat until her eyes streamed black tears, gagging strings of spit that pooled on the floor. Amber would then push in, her oral fixation turning into a frenzy of slurping and ball-sucking, her nose buried in his pubic hair. Crystal eventually traded places, her quietness disappearing into a hungry, noisy enthusiasm, her pout replaced by a look of glazed-over zeal as she choked herself on his girth.
Earl never moved. He leaned back against the cigarette rack, one hand occasionally tangling in a girl’s hair to guide the pace, his other still resting on the counter. A customer, an old man in a trucker cap, came in for a pack of smokes. Crystal, her lips swollen and glossy, rang him up with a dazed smile while Earl remained hidden below, Amber still noisily working him. The old man left none the wiser, the jingle of the bell mingling with the sounds of slobber and grunt.
When the clock above the register hit ten, Earl pushed the last girl—Amber—off with a soft grunt. He buttoned himself up, damp and glistening. “Shift’s over. Clean-up time.”
He led them to the back, to the storage room that already smelled of their previous corruption. This time, there was no negotiation, no bending over oil cans. He pointed at the sagging cot. “Brandy. On your back. Ass in the air.”
Still buzzing from the throat-fucking, Brandy complied, presenting her already-remembered hole, still looser than the others, winking under the fluorescent light.
Earl spat into his palm. He mounted her, and the familiar, brutal stretch made Brandy squeal into the moldy cot. But this time, it was different. It was a claiming. A routine. He pounded her with a steady, possessive rhythm.
“Don’t just stand there,” Crystal hissed at Amber. They fell upon each other, a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths. Crystal shoved Amber’s shorts down, burying her face between her friend’s ass cheeks. Amber yelped, then groaned, her own hands fumbling for Crystal’s micro-miniskirt, fingers plunging into the wetness she found there.
The room dissolved into a gooey, slapping, grunting mess. Earl finished in Brandy with a groan, painting her insides once more before pulling out and pointing at Crystal. She scrambled from under Amber, assuming the position without being told, her blonde hair a messy curtain. He took her with the same relentless efficiency, her petite body jolting with each drive. Amber, her face slick with Crystal’s juices, crawled over and began licking Earl’s balls as he fucked her friend, her own fingers busy between her legs.
When Crystal’s ass was thoroughly claimed, he moved to Amber. She was ravenous, pushing back against him before he was fully hilted, her red hair a fiery mess. “Fuck yeah, granddaddy, wreck it!” she screamed, as Crystal and Brandy, both leaking and spent, watched with heavy-lidded eyes, their hands roaming over each other’s sticky bodies.
The cot groaned. The air was solid with musk and sweat and sex. When Earl finally pulled free from Amber’s shuddering form, all three girls lay in a heap on the cot, a single, exhausted organism of used holes and satiated addiction.
Earl tossed a stained towel onto the pile. “Same time Thursday,” he said, his voice unchanged. He turned off the light and left them in the dark.
In the sudden blackness, their breathing was the only sound.
“Y’all think he’ll ever let us use the slurpee machine?” Amber mumbled into Brandy’s shoulder.
A faint giggle bubbled up, then another, until they were all laughing, weak and helpless, in the smell of their own spent depravity. The gas station was quiet outside. Their shift was over. They had two days to recover before they’d be back, begging for it all over again.