Twisted Part-Time Job
I got an offer for a summer part-time job to make some extra cash at a village Sokolovna—a local community hall with a pub. The job description was serving drinks and food to the guests, clearing and setting tables, and helping out behind the bar every now and then. It was only supposed to be afternoon and evening hours, which is when the regulars hang out the most. And since every dollar counts, I took the offer. "Well, why not? Every experience is good, at least I'll learn something new and see some new faces," I thought to myself. The pub was pretty big with a backyard garden, so it was obvious I'd be running around quite a bit. At first, I was worried about how I'd handle it, but I soon got the hang of it and figured out how things worked—what to prioritize, what to avoid, and that communication with the guests is the most important part. The afternoon regulars were pretty chill since they had to be home with their families by evening, but the nighttime loners didn't care about having a few extra drinks and just wanted to have a good time. Weekdays were manageable, but once Friday or Saturday hit, it became a total whirlwind. Before long, we got used to each other, and I was glad they welcomed me into their circle, even though I was an outsider.
The welcome consisted mostly of ordering shots and drinking to get to know each other, so within a few days, we all knew one another. There were also a few guys who showed interest in getting even closer. It started becoming a rule that I’d be invited to a table to chat for a bit over a shot and keep them company. On one hand, I was flattered, but after visiting a few tables, I was falling behind on my orders. But the bartender didn't care; he was just glad the guys were having fun, ordering more, and bringing in business. It looked like everyone was happy, and I was slowly adapting too, starting to enjoy the work. Gradually, my stage fright faded, and getting my ass slapped as I walked past tables or hearing lecherous comments became just an unavoidable part of the job to me—though I have to admit, I often gave them a reason. A short skirt with an apron tightly wrapping my swelling cheeks, with my pantyline easily visible, wasn't exactly a statement of modesty. And my occasional flirting and frivolous behavior probably gave off the impression that I was easy. The guys started pushing it more and more, and it wasn't rare for me to get 'indecent' proposals. At first, I took it as a joke and just tough talk from guys who were in a good mood and buzzed, but it turned out some of them actually meant it and had an uncontrollable urge to get into my panties. Their cute persistence went so far that they started offering me gifts, ranging from expensive drinks to cash rewards. I always just smiled and tried to ignore it. I won't deny that I was flattered, but what scared me more was that I was playing with the thought of taking advantage of it. I figured that over time, they'd get tired of looking at me and things would quiet down. But I was wrong.
One busy Friday night, I was invited for a shot at a table where a group of horny teasers was sitting. I didn't really feel like it because the pub was packed and I had my hands full. I figured I'd ask the bartender, and he told me to go ahead and take a break, that he’d cover for me for a bit. So I went to sit with them. "What are you having?" one of them asked. But before I could even answer, another guy stood up and said, "Don't worry about it, I'll grab something." A few minutes later, a fifth of rum and six large shot glasses were sitting on the table. I shuddered and asked for a chaser. The guys kept pouring and asking all kinds of questions. They mostly wanted to know where I was from, what I did for a living, and if I was single. After the third round, I already felt it would be smarter to get back to work and tried to excuse myself. "What are you doing? Where are you going?" they asked, almost in unison. "Well, duty calls, and it's a long time until closing," I replied. "Forget about that, stay seated, I'll take care of it," he said and went over to chat with the bartender. "Well, there you go," he said when he came back, "you're off the clock for the rest of the night." "Off the clock? Well, thanks then," I answered in surprise, "as long as I still get paid." "Don't worry, that's already taken care of," he calmed my fears. After another round, the conversation took a turn, and the guys started teasing me. Any attempt to change the subject was useless. “So, how about we slip away together?” he whispered in my ear. “I’ll give you a tip afterward.” His blunt proposal took me a little by surprise, but since I was in the mood to get laid, I nodded. “Where should we go?” I asked cautiously. “You don’t know your way around here very well yet, do you? Follow me,” he said, getting up and walking past the bar toward the back. We went through a door and found ourselves in a large garden behind the bar. It was quiet all around, with only the faint sound of the bar seeping through the door. I waited tensely to see what would happen next, but before I could ask anything, he’d already pulled down his pants and his cock was sticking out toward my crotch. He turned me around from behind and pressed me against an old bench that must have seen a lot in its time. I was actually pretty glad he took the initiative for me, and I just held on. I realized right away that his only interest was to get laid and relieve the tension in his pants. He didn’t even care if I was ready down there; he hiked my skirt up over my ass, pulled the string of my panties aside, and started fucking me right away. I didn't get much out of it because I kept squirming, worried that someone would walk in or that we were being watched. But he clearly didn't care. Once he was done fucking me, he got dressed, pulled something out of his pocket, and shoved it down my blouse. "Thanks, come join us at the table," he said, leaving me standing there with my skirt pulled up, and walked back to the bar. I reached down my blouse and pulled out the 'tip' he had tucked in there. Surprised, I sat down on the bench and replayed what had just happened. I was used to getting a little attention or a favor in return for sex every now and then, but I'd never gotten a 'tip' before. "Well, now I have proof," I told myself. I got up and, with mixed feelings, walked back to the bar and over to the table, where poured glasses were already waiting.
To my surprise, everyone acted as if I hadn’t even left. I calmed down a little, but not for long, because his friend, sitting across from me, nodded at me and said, “Should we go too?” I stared at him in astonishment and was about to ask where, even though I had a vague idea. I took a sip to give myself some courage and followed him into the garden. Practically everything happened again, with the only difference being that he sat down on a bench, let me fuck him, and finally let me finish him off with my hand. He sprawled contentedly on the bench and caught his breath. “That was awesome. I’ve really been missing that. What do you want?” he asked me a question that caught me off guard. I didn’t know what to say. After a moment of hesitation, I answered him, "Well, let's keep it the same as with your buddy." "Alright then. And don't you want to stay here for good?" he asked. I didn't answer that and made it clear I wanted to head back and get a proper drink. "Yeah, let's go. But just so you know, my coworker is interested too," he added and stood up, "well, at least that's what he said." "Oh, you don't say. Go on ahead, I'll go use the restroom and join you guys in a bit," I told him, making a run for the locker room where I had my makeup in my purse and, most importantly, needed to take a piss. Over the sink, I rinsed my pussy, used my fingers to curl my matted pubes, and tried to touch up my makeup. Meanwhile, I thought about the last half hour and told myself I wouldn't go back to their table and would just get back to work. But I guessed wrong. Just as I was fixing my hair, the door opened and the third friend, who had already been mentioned, walked in. "Well girl, where have you been?" he asked, "closing time is in a bit and you're nowhere to be found." I had no idea what time it was, threw everything back into my purse, and turned around, thinking I'd hurry back to the floor. “What’s the rush? We’ve still got time to enjoy ourselves,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me close, sliding his hand under my skirt, and running his finger straight under my panties to my opening. “Now, now, now, take it slow,” I said, trying to rein in his enthusiasm. “Are you in the mood, too?” I asked. “And how do you want it?” the words just slipped out before I knew it. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Just make it quick,” he mumbled. “Well, come on then, you impatient one,” I said, turning around and leaning against the sink. I was calmer than I’d been out in the courtyard because I was the only woman in the bar, so there was no risk of anyone interrupting us. I hadn’t even had time to position myself properly before he was already rubbing himself against my crotch. He tried his best, but it was clear he was socially exhausted. “Sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work,” he said disappointedly, “and I’d imagined it would be so wonderful with you.” “Oh no, don’t worry, it’ll work out. I’ll take care of it,” she tried to encourage him. I turned to face him, squatted down, and started jerking him off. I pulled my blouse down below my tits and began rubbing his glans against my erect nipples. He obviously liked it, and it was working. He stiffened in my hand and thrust against my breasts. He was about to say something, but then he started to spurt. His cum spread all over my nipple, and some of it dripped cutely onto my thigh. He put the 'tip' down on the sink and walked back to his friends without a word. "Great, now I can start all over again," I thought to myself. I stood there pacing for a moment, wondering what everyone’s faces would look like, because there was no way my absence had gone unnoticed. Finally, I gathered my courage, put my purse back in the locker room, and tried to slip past the bar back to my spot without making a scene. Luckily for me, there was hardly anyone left, and the remaining regulars cared more about the TV than my little self. Even the bartender didn't question my absence; he just asked me to go around and clear the empty tables. It was almost shocking that everything went down without any judgmental or condescending looks or remarks. I tried my best to act like everything was perfectly fine. Once everyone had left, the bartender called me over, and we did the daily cash-out together. He paid me, and we said our goodbyes with a "See you tomorrow...". I chose not to think about anything else, got home, showered, and crashed instantly from exhaustion. It wasn't until the next morning that what had actually happened in all that rush the night before finally started to sink in. Surprisingly, I didn't feel bad about it; it was just clear to me that to them, I'd only be a whore from now on. For the first time, I took cash instead of gifts, and with that, I sealed my fate. "But whatever, it’s basically the same thing anyway," I told myself, and in the afternoon, I headed out for my Saturday shift.
The regulars were coming in as usual, and everything was going perfectly fine until late afternoon, when the first 'shift' left and the evening crowd took over. Of course, the usual suspects all showed up. In the back of my mind, I hoped word hadn't gotten out and the guys had kept it discreet. Everything pointed that way until the mood picked up, cigarette smoke filled the whole bar, and the TV tried in vain to drown out the loud, cheerful guests. A few tables went through the usual rounds of shots—just the kind of vibe a pub is supposed to have. I hadn't even thought about the night before until the moment I was serving a beer at one of the tables and a regular addressed me, saying, "I heard you and I could have some fun together. What do you think?" and to make his intentions clear, he grabbed my leg under my skirt. "Well, that spread fast," I thought to myself. "Well, maybe. Do you have enough for a tip?" I asked callously. "You know I do," he replied, and his hand, moving higher and higher, already reached the edge of my intimate areas. "Then let's meet in ten minutes by the bench in the backyard," I told him and gracefully slipped away. I gestured for him to go first, saying I’d join him in a moment. "So, what's it gonna be? On the bench or standing up?" I asked when I got out to the backyard. “You know, I have a better idea. Are you familiar with this place?” he answered. “Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere outside,” I told him. “Not outside. I know of something more comfortable right here. Follow me,” he urged, and I followed him. We went upstairs to a small, windowless room with an old office desk in the middle and a lamp with a flickering light in the corner. I had no idea a place like this even existed here. “Better, right?” he asked with a smile. “Yeah, it is,” I replied in amazement, took off my panties, pulled up my skirt, and leaned my back against the desk, facing away from him. I expected him to come up behind me and bury himself in. Instead, he told me to turn around, lie down on the desk, and spread my legs. “Well, why not? At least it’ll be a change,” I thought to myself. I climbed up, braced my feet against the edge of the table, licked my fingers, spread my labia, moistened my hole with saliva, and waited for him to slide it in. But he lowered his head, buried his face there, and began licking me eagerly. I hadn’t expected that. My pussy wasn’t prepared for oral sex. He alternated between licking me and fingering me. I gently thrust against his fingers, thinking that would provoke him into fucking me, because so far it seemed like he was only interested in licking and playing with my pussy. Not that I didn’t like it, but it would have been quicker. I gradually gave in to it, started to lose my nervousness, and became more relaxed. I realized that if I was going to keep this up, I had to make it fun, give in only to the physical sensations, and above all, not think. He was jerking off under the table, and it looked like he had no intention of fucking me. I had the feeling he didn’t want to waste a single drop of the juice flowing out of me. It was different from those three quickies from last night, when I barely had time to even get turned on. Sometimes a skilled tongue can do more than even the biggest cock. Apparently, I’d lost control and started expressing my arousal more loudly without even realizing it. He picked up my lace panties from the table, sniffed them, and shoved them into my mouth. I bit down on them and gave free rein to my passionate moans. That was apparently the trigger he’d been waiting for—the one that brought him to climax! He sat up straight and spurted fiercely from below onto my hiked-up skirt. He wiped the remaining droplets into my curly pubic hair and rubbed his fingers along my thighs. I pulled my panties out of my mouth and wiped myself all over them. I lowered my legs to the floor, stood up, and asked him why he hadn’t had sex. “That’s just how it is, girl. I’ve got plenty of regular fuck buddies at home, but this is what I’m missing,” he replied as he got dressed. “I see. Interesting room—I had no idea it existed,” I remarked out of curiosity. “It’s been here for years for occasions like this.” Some guys have secret mistresses, so they slip away up here every now and then to let off some steam. It's like a little 'hookup spot' that only a few chosen ones know about. And after last night, the bartender told me I could let you in on the secret too, but you can't talk to anyone about it. Always make sure to ask him first," he explained the whole situation to me, tucked the 'tip' into the waistband of my skirt, and we headed back to the bar. On the way, I stopped by the locker room to put the 'tip' and my panties, which were completely ruined by now, into my purse, and went back to the bar to serve everyone panty-less.
I got let in on another secret that night. There was another door that led into the adjacent gym. It was normally locked, and only the bartender had the keys for emergencies. Toward the end of my shift, an older regular who mostly sat alone invited me over to his table. I didn't expect him to be interested in my company too. He ordered a nice drink and asked me to sit next to him. I mistakenly thought he just wanted to talk. He slid his hand under my blouse, started rubbing my back, and threw in a kiss on my shoulder every now and then. "I want you!" he said out of nowhere and pulled me close. I smiled a bit, pretending to be flattered by his interest, but I wasn't exactly thrilled. He looked clean and well-groomed, but I just couldn't really picture it. After all, there was a huge age gap between us. "Hm, that's sweet," I replied. "So please order me another one, and we can go," I added boldly. "Sure thing, and ask the bartender for the keys—he'll know what's up," he added. When we finished our drinks, he gestured that we could head out. I got up and followed him. We came to those locked doors, and once past them, we stood inside a large gym. "So, you think you'd like it in here?" I asked, looking around. "And why not? Follow me," he said, leading me into a recess around the corner where there were mats and a workout bench. "Good, right? What do you say?" he perked up, pointing toward the bench. I got the hint, walked straight over to him, lay down on top of him with my legs bent, and waited to see if he’d undress me or if my exposed pussy would be enough for him. He smiled, knelt down in front of me, and used one hand to tease me through my panties while jerking off his cock with the other. I unbuttoned my blouse and started massaging my nipples so I wouldn’t just lie there like a virgin, waiting for him to be ready. Suddenly, he grabbed my calves, spread my legs into a V shape, and, saying, “Come closer, you slut!” he pulled me toward him and rammed his cock into me like a barrel. Surprised by how hard he was at his age, I arched my back and moaned. Holding me tightly by the hips, he didn’t let me catch my breath for a single moment. I felt like an inflatable doll he was using to satisfy himself. But I have to admit that this was the most enjoyable fuck I’d had on that lounge chair so far. “So? Do you like it? Huh?” he egged me on. “Get on all fours! Now I’m gonna fuck you like a bitch!” he ordered, and rolled me onto my stomach. I got up on all fours and stuck my ass out at him. He slapped my ass and thrust himself into me. I could barely hold on as he shook me around. “This is something, you slut. You’re already nicely fucked. You’re going to enjoy yourself here!” he tried to say something to me, but I wasn’t really paying attention. “Hold on, you bitch, I’m almost there,” he told me, and just then he pulled out of me and stood over me. I wanted to turn around quickly to finish him off. “Stay lying on your stomach,” he said. I obeyed and waited while he jerked off above me. Suddenly he cried out and started to spurt. I felt it splatter all over my back, all the way up to my hair. Once again, my skirt and satin blouse took the brunt of it, and they started to feel pleasantly cool. “What a mess,” I thought to myself, “how am I supposed to go back to the bar now?” Disheveled and soaked, I remained kneeling helplessly on the lounge chair while he got dressed. He looked at me and said, “I’d love to go for another round with you, but it’s already late. You know what, babe? Go change into your street clothes in the locker room, and I’ll wait for you. There won’t be anyone left at the bar anyway.” So I went to the locker room to change, packed up my work clothes to wash, and tidied myself up a bit. Just then, I realized he hadn't given me a 'tip.' "Man, I'm such an idiot," flashed through my mind as I hurried back to the bar area. Sure enough, there was no one left, except for him sitting at his table, waving for me to come over. The whole time, he kept his eyes locked on me, smiling mysteriously. "You really have some nerve walking around dressed so seductively," he said as I sat down at the table, "but it suits you. You're sexy. Come on, let's have one more for the road and head out. And here's your reward," he added, sliding a beer coaster over to me. I lifted it and, pleasantly surprised, discreetly slipped the 'tip' into my purse. We finished our drinks, said our goodbyes, and I went to finish cleaning up a few tables. When the bartender saw that I’d had enough for one day and was putting the chairs up on the tables with the last of my strength, he waved at me to just pack up and go home.
During the workweek, nothing much really happened because the regulars left for home earlier, with that "excitement" of having to get up early for work in the morning. And my extended side hustle started up again on Friday. A month went by, and I gradually swept through various corners of this cute pub while also getting to know a few steady friends whose evenings I made more enjoyable. Surprisingly fast, I embraced my new role and couldn't really picture the end, which was inevitably drawing near. The most interesting part was the final weekend when everyone wanted to say goodbye. I didn't get to spend much time out on the floor then. When I was saying goodbye to the manager on the last day, I got an unexpected offer, asking if I'd be interested in coming to help out at least on weekends—that he’d really appreciate it. I told him I’d think it over, but I already knew that if it was at all possible, I'd gladly come back. After a few days, I realized something was missing and that my current job wasn't fulfilling me. I constantly had to think about that "twisted part-time job" and became more and more convinced that it was a line of work that completely harmonized with my lifestyle.
