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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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The B.J. Cafe
by Feebofile (feebofile@hotmail.com)
***
Marissa works at a diner where she gets exploited by
everyone, from the customers to the cook. After fucking
and sucking them all, she gets hers back. (M+/F-teen,
reluc, oral, anal)
***
Marissa Ellis only took the job at BJ's because they
were the only place that would hire a 17-year-old with
no questions asked. It was a shitty waitressing job in
a shitty part of town, which is exactly where she
lived, but still, it was a shit hole.
A year ago, she would never have imagined she'd be
doing this. She was an honor roll student at Saint
Gregory Prep and dating Brad, the hottest basketball
player at school. Her problems really started when she
decided to let him fuck her. Her parents had raised her
Catholic and she was planning to save herself for
marriage, but she loved him and wanted him to be happy.
The problem, of course, was that she fucking loved it.
She loved his cock, she loved getting fucked, and
sometimes he was fucking her two or three times a day,
in the school bathrooms or in the teacher's lounge
after he had basketball practice.
The team made it to the state competition and Brad was
gone for a week, which meant nobody was around to fuck
her. Well, at least, nobody that she was supposed to be
fucking, anyway. After finger-fucking herself for the
first two days, she got cock-lonely and started
scheming to see who'd boink her for a few days until
Brad got back.
She was at the library after school making a list of
people who might be willing but would keep their mouth
shut. She had just eliminated just about everyone off
the list when some guy sat down in the cubicle next to
her and started chatting her up. Normally, she'd tell
the perv to go fuck himself, but her horniness took
over and before she knew it, she was back at his
apartment, kneeling on his bed, and getting the dick
that she craved.
They fucked, he ate her out, and then he fucked her
again. Brad wouldn't ever lick her pussy, and she loved
it even more than getting her cunt plowed. Afterwards,
he took her out to dinner at this fancy Italian
restaurant. Brad never did that, either.
He told her all sorts of shit that she should have been
too smart to believe, like how his name was Henry Shell
and he was the 23-year-old heir to the Shell company
fortune. It never really occurred to her that someone
who was actually rich might drive a nicer car than a
Toyota Camry, or that people on Boards of Directors of
Fortune 500 companies don't troll public libraries for
teenage girls on the weekdays.
She broke up with Brad the next day, and over the next
two weeks, she fell in love with Henry. He bought her
flowers every day and they fucked so often that she
could barely walk. He was the one who introduced her to
beer and anal, both on the same night, and not by
coincidence. She fell asleep afterwards, and didn't
wake up until the next morning.
The shitstorm that hit when she went home in the
morning woke up half the neighborhood. It was clear
that Marissa hadn't been at the library, which is what
she told her parents, and because her parents had
called every single one of her friends frantically
looking for her, she couldn't say she slept over at
someone's house.
Her parents were so mad they couldn't even think of an
appropriate punishment. Their little girl came back
home in the morning, smelling of beer and unable to
walk straight. She was not only grounded, but they
thought about calling the priest to come over and do an
exorcism.
They never got the chance.
Marissa packed two skirts, four shirts, and all her
underwear into her school bag and skipped school after
third period. She took the bus downtown to Henry's
place and he picked her up from the bus stop. He gave
her a sympathy fuck and let her stay at his place.
He convinced her to drop out of school and emancipate
herself from her parents. They didn't contest the legal
move, and didn't say goodbye when the court proceedings
were over. That night, they went home, and fucked for a
good part of the night.
Considering they had been fucking without any
protection at least once a day for the past four
months, it was a wonder she hadn't got pregnant
earlier. Marissa assumed that he would marry her at
that point; when he balked, things started going
downhill. She became increasingly possessive of him,
and found out that he wasn't really on Pfizer's Board
of Directors when she followed him to work at a tuna
fish factory one day.
His name wasn't Henry Shell, and it wasn't Henry at
all. She didn't even find out that last bit until after
he had kicked her out and she had reported him to the
police. He was Larry Rumsfeld, 36, and had a warrant
out for his arrest for molesting teenage girls at
Disneyworld in Florida. Marissa hadn't wanted him to
actually go away, she just wanted the police to go and
scare him a little bit, but once they found out who he
was, she was pushed aside as they charged in.
Now she was two months pregnant in a shitty apartment
in the shittiest part of town with no money and nobody
who would help her. Her parents refused to talk to her,
and all her old friends wanted nothing to do with her
either. She couldn't go back to school because she
didn't have an address, and she couldn't use her
parents because she was emancipated.
Henry - no, Larry - was not only poor, but he actually
was in debt. Two thugs showed up at the apartment one
night around 3am. What Marissa should have done is
pretend she had never heard of a Larry Rumsfeld. Her
explanation that he was in jail didn't convince the
hardened collectors, and they ended up raping her
before taking anything of Larry's that wasn't bolted
down.
She had a miscarriage the next morning. It was probably
due to one of the thugs punching her in the stomach to
get her to bend over. Marissa curled up in a little
ball on the floor, cum and blood leaking out of her
pussy, and cried her eyes out. How did it come to this?
How did she fuck things up so badly?
Marissa started looking for a job. Rufus, her neighbor
and crack dealer, offered her a job transporting little
vials of crack in her ass, but not surprisingly, she
turned him down. Ever since Larry disappeared, he was a
real pain in the ass, following her around and
harassing her.
At first she tried looking in the nicer parts of town,
since they paid more, but she was underage, nobody
would hire her. She tried shittier and shittier places
until she was left with BJ's. It was only three blocks
from Larry's apartment, right beside the freeway. The
owner's name was actually BJ, and he made all the
waitresses wear these tight little orange dresses to
attract the truckers. He was rarely around himself, he
was one of these guys that owned about a zillion
different places and just let them run themselves.
The worst part of the job wasn't that the truckers
would smack her ass as she walked by, or that they'd
try to cop a feel whenever she leaned over the table.
The worst part was that she actually enjoyed the
attention. Sometimes, she had to go to the bathroom and
masturbate in the middle of the day in order to stop
her pussy from getting too wet. She'd go home with any
one of the men in a second if she thought she was ever
going to be more than just a one-night play toy for
them. They all had wives and children and houses in the
suburbs, and she doubted she'd ever have that for
herself.
Marissa showed herself to be a diligent waitress and
much friendlier than most of the other washed-up drug
addicts that were employed there. BJ asked her to move
to the night shift, and Marissa accepted. The obvious
benefit was that the money was much more stable -- the
restaurant would pay her a time and a half plus double
all her tips since there were fewer customers. Working
nights also meant that she'd be walking home in the
morning rather than late at night.
Sometimes, the customer base was so thin that she was
able to bring a book or two and study for her GED.
Frequently, around 3 or 4 am, it'd just be her and the
cook, Gary, who was this big fat black guy. They'd
shoot the shit and complain about the asshole
customers. Eventually, they got to know each other well
enough so that he asked about her past.
Marissa answered as vaguely as possible, telling him
that she had dropped out of school and that she was
hoping to get her GED and save up enough for community
college, which is why she took the night shift job.
Gary laughed and asked her how long that was going to
take.
Marissa shook her head. At the rate she was going,
she'd be well into her 20's before she could afford any
sort of school. Gary suggested stripping. Marissa
thought he was joking at first, but he was dead
serious.
"Purty little girlies like you can make a hell of a
buck," he explained. "Ya gotta be 18, though."
Marissa didn't insult him by pretending she was 18. She
knew she could probably get some fake ID, but the part
that really scared her was not knowing what to do if
she got onstage.
Gary suggested they close down the restaurant and she
could practice a little bit with him in the kitchen.
Marissa figured why not. After all, Gary was probably
as harmless as she was going to find, and she trusted
his opinion. They closed the front doors and went into
the kitchen, where Gary put on the radio and then
pulled his dick out of his pants.
Marissa asked him why and he said it was a way for her
to tell whether she was being sexy or not. She was
amazed at how big he was - nearly 8 inches long and
probably three inches around. His dick was already a
little hard when she started a slow bump & grind,
gyrating her hips and pressing her crotch up against
the corner of the cutting counter.
Gary gave her tips and pointers as she flashed her
panties and bra-covered boobs. She watched his dick
grow bigger and bigger until she finally took her
entire uniform off. The song ended and some commercials
came on the radio, so she figured it was a good
stopping point.
Gary's dick was still jutting out of his pants, and
since she figured she owed him for the lesson, Marissa
wordlessly walked up to him, knelt in front of him, and
worked his dick with her slender hands until he came
all over her chest and bra. They cleaned up together
and then re-opened the restaurant, and nothing else
happened for the rest of the night.
The next few nights were busy, and they didn't get a
chance to practice any more until the weekend. Marissa
brought one of her nice black miniskirts and a white
blouse from home, and she practiced again. She was
definitely more comfortable this time around, and
Gary's dick got hard within a minute. She had to stop
in the middle to give him his handjob because he was
visibly squirming in his seat, and finished her
striptease with a big load of cum on her chest, which
got him hard again by the time she finished.
A few nights later, Gary told Marissa that he was going
to spring for a gift -- fake documentation. He had a
friend in the government who owed him $500 from a poker
game, and Gary called in his debt. Marissa got a new
last name and a Social Security number.
"Marissa Gonzales?" she asked incredulously, as she
opened the little brown bag.
"I thought you might be Hispanic," Gary laughed.
Marissa laughed along with Gary. She was actually one-
quarter Hispanic, and had long brown hair with brown
eyes. The two of them celebrated by hitting up a
Baskin-Robbins before heading to work.
Marissa had Wednesday off, so she took the bus out to
the only strip club in town -- Peeping Tom's, just
outside the county line. She wished that Gary could
come with her since she felt safer with him by her
side, but he had to work double-shifts on Wednesdays.
The interior of the club was dark and musty. The place
smelled of booze and cigarettes, and the few patrons
who were there on a Wednesday afternoon gave her the
once-over as she walked in. A joyless dancer was
wiggling on stage, and she had to walk the full length
of the bar to get to the manager's office.
Marissa brought a resume, but the manager, Wes, sort of
chuckled as she handed it to him. Most girls didn't
bring resumes to these sorts of interviews. He put it
on his desk and asked to see her moves. Marissa was a
little nervous, especially since he didn't have any
music on, and she knew he wasn't exactly pleased from
his disinterest.
"Well, thank you, Miss Gonzales, but we're not really
looking for any more performers right now," he said.
Marissa grew angry. Not because he didn't want her, but
because for once in her life she was good at something
and she wasn't being given credit for it.
"Wait," she said, "I could show you some more."
"How much more?" he asked. He was no stranger to this
game, and half the girls in the establishment got their
jobs by blowing him. Marissa was a terrible dancer, but
she was beautiful, and he certainly wouldn't turn down
a little lap dance and a blowjob from a hot 19-year-
old. She looked even younger than that.
Marissa showed him exactly how much more. She started
by taking off her panties from underneath her pleated
jean skirt, and then removing her bra. Wes helped her
out by queuing up some songs on his desktop computer.
Marissa danced her heart out, bending over frequently
to show him her exposed cunt. Eventually, she made her
way onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.
She could feel his cock through his pants and dryhumped
him for several minutes until she came quietly.
Dismounting him, she knelt down between his legs and
fished his dick out from his pants. Lowering her lips,
she sucked his dick for a few seconds before he spurted
into her mouth.
Marissa swallowed his bitter cum and tucked his dick
back into his pants.
"I'll have to open a new position, which means I need
to owner's approval," he commented, as he tried to wipe
up the wet spot on his crotch. "Otherwise, you'll have
to wait until a spot opens up."
He handed Marissa a box of Kleenex and told her to make
herself presentable while he talked with the owner next
door. Wes seriously thought about hiring her. After
all, that was probably the hottest lap dance he had
ever gotten, and the big bucks were in the private
shows anyway.
Marissa wiped off the sweat from her face and chest,
and then put her undergarments back on. Had she just
whored herself out for a job? Was he going to expect
this regularly from now on? Shit.
She had run through the calculation a million times in
her head, but she started thinking about the money
again because it made her happy. A few hundred a night
might as well have been a million dollars to her. She
was barely making $80 a night at the cafe. She could
even move into a better place and save more money than
she was doing now.
"Miss Gonzales? The owner wants to talk with you."
Marissa whirled around, and her jaw dropped. It was BJ,
the owner of the cafe. He came in and sat down in Wes's
chair, and then nodded to Wes to get him to leave.
"Miss Gonzales," he started, as he tapped his finger on
her resume. "Or should I call you Miss Ellis?"
"G-Gonzales," Marissa stammered. "My last name is
Gonzales."
"Then why did you apply as Marissa Ellis?"
"I don't know."
"So your name is Marissa Gonzales?"
"Yes."
"You have documentation?"
"Yes."
"Let me see it."
Marissa handed him her driver's license and he walked
out of the room. The seconds ticked by like minutes,
and to Marissa it seemed like hours before BJ came
back. In reality, it was probably less than two
minutes. BJ knew exactly who to call to get his
information, and came back to Marissa with a scowl on
his face.
"This is fake."
"No," Marissa protested, "I just-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" shouted BJ. Marissa had never seen
him so mad before. Generally, when he was around the
cafe, he was jovial and kind. He seemed a lot stricter
here, maybe because the rules were a little tighter.
"Marissa," BJ explained, "How do you think Gary knows
Bruce Jefferson?"
"Who?"
"Bruce Jefferson, the man at the SSA who set all this
up for you?"
Marissa was speechless.
"We all play in the same goddamn poker game!" BJ
shouted as he slammed his hand down on the desk.
"Listen, I was willing to help you out a little. You
needed a job and I needed a waitress. I know you were
underage but I was willing to overlook it because you
weren't so fucking dumb as to try using fake ID. Now I
catch you with a fake ID and fake Social Security
number and I've got a fucking legal responsibility to
turn your ass into the feds!"
Marissa couldn't hold it in any more and just started
bawling. BJ threw the box of Kleenex at her and called
her a fucking bitch. He paced around, thinking, while
Marissa blotted her eyes dry. All her eyeshadow and
glittery makeup ended up on the tissues.
"I've got no choice," BJ concluded. "I have to turn you
in. Wes knows too much, he could turn me in if I don't
report you. You're not going to get employment here and
you're fired from the cafe as well. I'm going to have a
little chat with Gary too."
He started to walk out of the door but Marissa lunged
at him, grabbing his arm and pushing him against the
file cabinets.
"Please ... please!" Marissa begged. "Please! I'll suck
your dick! I'll let you fuck me! Just let me keep the
job at the cafe and leave Gary alone."
BJ didn't immediately push her away, so she took that
as acceptance of her proposal and dropped to her knees.
BJ was still pissed off at her, and fucked her mouth
and throat roughly. He slapped her once when her
sobbing caused her to scratch his dick with her teeth,
and grabbed her hair to force her head back and forth.
He pulled out before cumming in her face, deliberately
trying to get some into her eyes and hair.
"Get the fuck out of here," ordered BJ. "It's going to
cost me at least $5,000 to keep Wes quiet about this,
so I expect that you're going to work it all off next
time I drop by the cafe."
Marissa didn't even hear anything besides the fact that
she still had her job at the cafe. She grabbed her fake
documentation and left. None of the customers seemed to
notice the crying, cum-covered girl running out of the
strip club.
BJ didn't show up that night, but he showed up the next
night around 2am. Gary had already warned Marissa about
how pissed off BJ was. Because the strip club was
subjected to heightened scrutiny, even just applying
with a fake ID could trigger some nasty audits.
"He's outta git you, girl," he cautioned.
BJ wasn't in the restaurant for more than 30 seconds
when he ordered Marissa to come over and suck his dick.
She wrote out the check for a few customers and then
followed BJ to the back corner. He had (thankfully)
laid out a nice table with a long tablecloth, which
allowed her to get underneath the table and start
fellating him without exposing herself. Gary brought
out a nice thick steak and a beer for BJ, and then BJ
started eating. It took him nearly half an hour to cum
because he wasn't even focusing on his dick. Marissa
swallowed his thick semen and then got back to waiting
tables. Two people had left without paying, and BJ made
her pay their bill out of her own pocket.
True to Gary's warning, BJ started coming around fairly
frequently. At first it was every other day, but soon
he settled into a twice-a-week routine. If there were
no customers around, BJ would make Marissa kneel on the
floor in the middle of the restaurant and blow him with
the door unlocked. If they were around, he'd make her
do it underneath a table.
It was inevitable that sooner or later someone would
catch them. That it took nearly 4 weeks for it to
happen was the real miracle. One night nobody had come
in since about 1:30. BJ came by at 3, and got out the
dishtowel to pad Marissa's knees. She was slurping away
and just brought BJ to orgasm when two truckers walked
in. Instinctively, she pulled away and tried to stand
up, but all that meant was that his sticky load ended
up on the front of her uniform instead of in her mouth.
"HEY GIRLIE! CAN I GET SOME OF THAT TOO?" one of the
truckers yelled.
"I DON'T SEE IT ON THE MENU, IT MUST BE A SPECIAL!" the
other laughed.
Marissa ran into the back to change her uniform while
BJ zipped up and casually went to counting the cash
register. Fortunately, there was a spare one in the
back, and she made sure there were no traces of sperm
on her face or hair before walking back out.
At first, she just ignored the comments from the two
truckers. They asked her how good she was at sucking
dick, and whether she got off on it. They asked her for
a repeat performance, but she just smiled and told them
she'd bring their food right out. She had sucked enough
dick to last her a lifetime, but she was really itching
for a good fuck. Did she dare? Could she start whoring
herself out to customers at a greasy diner?
No, she told herself, she had to maintain some self-
respect. She went to the bathroom and masturbated
furiously. I'm not a fucking hooker, she reminded
herself.
The two customers left her a $10 tip but made sure to
hand it to her personally and tell her there's plenty
more "tip" for a "girl who's willing to earn her
money". She watched them walk out the door, and was a
little surprised when she heard Gary's voice right
behind her.
"I dunno why ya do this shit," he commented.
"Do what?" she asked.
"Ya turn down money for doing what ya wanna be doin'
anyway."
"I'm not a hooker!" Marissa exclaimed.
"Yeah, but why not?" Gary questioned, "Every time one
of these fuckers roughs you up, you end up in the
bathroom diddling yourself anyway. If you're going to
get off on it, ya might as well get paid, y'know what
I'm saying?"
Marissa was a little shocked, but she realized he could
probably hear her through the ventilation since the
kitchen was right next to the ladies' room. She
shrugged him off and got back to work, but she started
thinking about dicks more and more. The idea of fucking
for money really seemed wrong, but Gary's word kind of
had merit -- she was getting off on it anyway.
A few nights later, one of the customers pulled her
down onto his lap and planted a huge kiss on her neck
before letting her go. She pretended to disapprove, but
even before they had left, she was planning her next
masturbation session. However, since they were the last
customers for quite possibly a while, she quietly
locked the door and reached under the counter where she
had stashed a few condoms.
All she could think about was Gary's big, thick cock,
and he didn't object when she showed up at the kitchen
door with her panties around her ankles telling him to
fuck her. He sat down on a chair and rolled the condom
on, and just watched as the 16-year-old bounced up and
down on his lap. She came twice before he even got off
once, and since he didn't soften even a bit after his
orgasm, she kept riding him until they both came one
more time.
She pulled off the rubber and kissed his gooey
pricktip, then tucked his dick away and cleaned up.
Things started to change between Marissa and Gary after
that incident, and not for the better. Gary started to
demand more and more from Marissa. At first it was a
little playful, just trying to cajole her into having
sex with him. But he did it so often she really did
start to feel like she should be charging him.
One day, he demanded that she let him fuck her while
she was blowing BJ. The two men bent her over a stool
at the counter, with BJ sitting down and getting blown
while Gary hammered into her from behind. For the first
time in her life, Marissa was totally unaroused during
an actual sex act. Neither Gary nor BJ seemed to
notice, or they didn't care. They just kept pounding
into her until they came, and then walked off without a
thank-you.
Marissa began to plan her escape, but in order to get
enough money to start over, she had to plan things out
a little bit. The first thing she did was agree to
start blowing customers for money. They had to wear
condoms and she gave Gary a 10% cut to make sure there
wasn't any funny business. She kept a close watch on
where he hid his money.
As word spread, people started showing up by the
droves. Ten people showed up the next night, and
Marissa's jaw was pretty sore by the end of the night.
She anticipated a full house the next night with $50
each, plus BJ, who usually carried a few hundred on
him, so there'd be at least two thousand dollars in the
restaurant. Gary winning the poker pool that night was
simply icing on the cake, as he had an extra $1,500 in
cash.
The plan went off without a hitch. She feigned
ignorance as to why there were so many people in the
restaurant, and made sure to seat a few customers in
the back room so that BJ had to wait for his BJ. She
also made sure the register was nice and full so that
BJ felt compelled to squirrel some money into the safe
in the back.
As soon as he started walking for the safe, Marissa
brought out her gun and followed him into the back
room.
"Is that thing loaded?" was all BJ asked. Marissa
nodded.
The gun was courtesy of one of her "customers" -- the
night before she told him to bring a cop outfit and an
unloaded .22. There was a box of .22 ammunition behind
the counter, left over from a few years ago when BJ
used to keep a gun behind the counter. Two other
customers had brought her pairs of handcuffs, and after
handcuffing the sniffling, wheezing BJ to the radiator
in the back room and emptying the safe into her
handbag, she went into the kitchen and did the same to
Gary.
"Thanks for helping me out, Gary, but you've become a
real fucking asshole recently," she explained. She
helped herself to his poker winnings and a $300 stash
of pimp money, and then moved him into the back room
and handcuffed him to the radiator with BJ.
She then changed into her old cheerleading outfit and
strutted out to the main restaurant and one by one,
pulled down the blinds. The restaurant was dead quiet
as Marissa explained simply what was going on.
"If you want to leave, now is the time," she said, with
an evil grin. "Otherwise, it's going to cost you $50 to
stay. Oh, and you're going to need your own condom, or
you can buy one from me for $10."
As they lined up to hand over their money, Marissa was
hit with a bolt of inspiration, and she improvised a
little.
"There is a new dress code being enforced in this
restaurant," she announced. "Nobody gets to wear
underwear... including me."
She reached down underneath her little orange pleated
skirt and wiggled out of her panties. The men cheered
and they were almost tripping over themselves to strip.
Stupid fuckers.
As soon as all the money was in her hand, over $1,200,
Marissa calmly put the money into her bag and pulled
out her gun. Before she said anything, she fired a shot
into the middle of the ceiling.
"I have 5 bullets left," she bluffed, "I can't shoot
you all, but you better ask yourself whether it's worth
the $50."
She scooped up all the pants that were within reach,
and then backed herself out of the restaurant. She
called up Rufus and sold him all the credit cards she
had for a lump sum of $500, making sure to use one of
the customer's cell phones just to make sure the police
nabbed him as a final fuck-you. The total haul was just
under $6,000 -- not enough to retire, but enough to get
her on her feet again.
For the next two years, every time she passed by a cop,
her heart skipped a beat.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 61