By: SachaWuss
The greasy burger joint was dead, as usual. Sacha's hands trembled as he flipped burgers, his eyes darting to the clock every few minutes. It was late, the greasy diner nearly empty save for a few late-night stragglers. He hated this shift, being alone with his thoughts and the sizzling grease. It gave him too much time to think about his pathetic life, his dead-end job, his inability to stand up for himself.
The bell above the door jingled, and Sacha looked up with a sigh, expecting some drunk college kid looking for a late-night snack. Instead, his gaze widened as Carola, a thick brown-skinned goddess with curves that commanded attention strode in. Her massive, round ass spilled out from her dangerously short dress, jiggling with every sway of her hips. Deep cleavage and jiggling thighs radiated heat, the salty-sweet musk of sweat and bacon clinging to her skin. Sacha could smell her from across the room and that made his mouth water. The few men in the restaurant stopped eating and stared, their eyes glued to her ass as she sashayed up to the counter.
"What'll it be, miss?" Sacha asked, trying to keep his voice steady. But his eyes betrayed him, darting down to her cleavage before quickly looking away.
Carola smirked, leaning forward on the counter. "I'll take two of your mega cheezy burgers, two large fries, twenty onion rings and a chocolate Sunday. Gotta keep this body in tip-top shape, you know." She winked, her full lips curling into a smirk.
Sacha blinked, taken aback by her appetite. "Uh, sure thing. That'll be $15.99."
Carola handed him a crisp twenty, her fingers brushing against his. "Keep the change, handsome." She turned and sauntered to a booth, her ass swaying hypnotically.
Sacha nodded; his face flushed, his mouth hanging open. He shook his head and got to work on her order, his mind racing. Who was this woman? And why did he feel so... unsettled around her?
He quickly assembled two big burgers, piling them high with fries, and onion rings. And he slid her tray onto the table, trying not to stare at her cleavage. "Here you go, ma'am. "
He was definitely captivated, but to pretended otherwise he tried to play it cool. "Damn, that's a lot for one person, you sure you can handle it all?"" he said, with a feigned indifference that could be perceived as condescension.
Carola looked up at him, her dark eyes smoldering. "I appreciate your concern."
Sacha's face burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just... surprised, I guess."
Carola's eyes flashed with anger. "Surprised? Or judgmental?" She stood up, towering over Sacha. "You think you can just make assumptions about me because of my body? Because I like to eat?"
Sacha stumbled back, his hands raised in surrender. "No, no, that's not what I meant at all. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."
Carola's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer. "You're lucky I'm not the type to make a scene, pendejo. But don't think for a second that I've forgotten what you said."
She turned and walked away, her ass jiggling with each step. Sacha watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest. He had a feeling he hadn't seen the last of Carola.
The rest of his shift passed in a blur, Sacha's mind consumed with thoughts of the mysterious woman. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow offended her, that he had made a terrible mistake.
As he was closing up the shop, he heard a voice behind him. "Leaving so soon, Sacha?"
He spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. Carola stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. "Wh-what are you doing here? How did you get in?"
Carola smiled, sauntering towards him. "I have my ways. And I think we need to have a little chat, don't you?"
Sacha backed away, his hands shaking. "I don't think that's a good idea. I really am sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean anything by it."
Carola's eyes flashed with anger. "You think a simple apology is enough? You think you can just say sorry and everything will be fine?" She advanced on him, backing him into a corner. "I don't think so, Sacha. I think you need to be taught a lesson."
Sacha's heart raced as Carola loomed over him, her massive breasts heaving with each breath. "Wh-what kind of lesson?"
Carola's lips curled into a cruel smile. "The kind that will make you remember never to judge a woman by her appetite again."
She shoved him into a Diner booth.
"What are you doing?" Sacha gasped, his back pressed against the cold vinyl seat.
Carola eyes gleaming with malice. "I'm teaching you a lesson, Sacha. A lesson you won't soon forget."
She reached out and grabbed his shirt, yanking him towards her. Her face was inches from his, her breath hot on his skin. "You think you can just make assumptions about me because of my body? Because I like to eat?"
Sacha shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. "No, I didn't mean-"
Carola cut him off, her voice a low growl. "You're going to learn to respect women, Sacha. Starting with me."
She turned around and before he could react, she hiked up her dress and straddled his face, her massive ass engulfing his head.
Sacha tried to protest, but his words were muffled by her flesh, the heat of her body enveloping him.
"Oh, you thought you could just walk away?" she said, her voice a low purr. "You thought you could just leave me hanging? No, no, no. You're going to pay for what you said, mijo."
She ground her ass against his face, her sweaty cheeks smearing across his nose and mouth. Sacha gagged, the stench of her filling his nostrils. He tried to pull away, but her hands held him in place, her fingers tangling in his hair.
"Smell it, pendejo," she hissed, grinding her sweaty fat cheeks against his nose. "Smell what you're going to get from now on."
She ripped a fart, the sound echoing in the small diner. The stench hit Sacha like a punch to the gut, making his eyes water and his stomach churn. He tried to turn his head, to breathe through his mouth, but she held him firm, grinding her ass against his face.
"You're pathetic" she laughed, her eyes flicking to the growing bulge in his pants.
She removed his trousers to check his tiny cock twitching against his will.
Sacha's face burned with shame, his cock leaking against his will. He tried to protest, to tell her to stop, but his words were muffled by her ass. He was disgusted with himself, ashamed of his body's reaction. The woman cackled, giving his dick a mocking slap.
"Look at you," she said, her voice oozing with mockery. "You're leaking like a faucet. You're pathetic, you know that? You're nothing but a little slut, getting off on being used and abused."
Carola leaned in close, her voice a low purr. "Guess who owns you now, Sacha? Guess who's going to make you her bitch from now on?"
She farted, a loud, wet sound that filled the cramped stall. The stench was overwhelming. But despite the humiliation, despite the disgust, he felt his cock twitch again, a pathetic orgasm rocketing through him as he choked on her stench.
Carola cackled, climbing off of him. "Fuck, that was pathetic. You came from that? You really are a fucking loser."
Sacha gasped for air, his face flushed and his body shaking. He looked up at Carola, his eyes wide with fear and humiliation. "Please, I'm sorry."
The woman sneered, standing up and straightening her dress. "See you tomorrow, puta," she said, her voice a low promise. "I'll be back for more."
She left him there, a gasping, sticky mess, his face smeared with her sweat and his own tears. Sacha sat on the Diner booth, his head in his hands, his mind reeling. What had just happened? How had he let it happen? He was weak, pathetic, unable to stand up for himself. And now, he was at the mercy of a woman who seemed determined to use him and humiliate him at every turn.
He stood up on shaky legs, splashing water on his face and trying to compose himself. He couldn't let this break him. He had to be strong, had to find a way to resist her. But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. He was already addicted to her, to the shame and the humiliation and the twisted pleasure of it all. He was hers now, and there was nothing he could do about it.
The following night, Sacha hauled himself to work like a man marching to the gallows. Acid coiled in his gut, equal parts dread and sickening expectation. She'd be there. Waiting to sink her hooks in deeper. However, the shift passed in a nerve-racking haze. No sign of her. No taunting, no traps. Just the usual grind of orders and fake smiles.
Then, as he flipped the lock on the front door, he felt it, the prickle of being watched. There.
Slouched in the shadowed booth, legs crossed slow as a blade being unsheathed. Her eyes caught the flicker of the neon "CLOSED" sign, sharp with promises that made his throat go dry.
"Mijo," she purred, her voice a low purr. "I've been waiting for you."
Sacha approached her cautiously, his hands shaking. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
The woman smirked, uncrossing her legs and spreading them wide. "Come here," she said, her voice a command. "I want to show you something."
Sacha hesitated for a moment, but her sent was mesmerizing. He knelt down in front of her, his face level with her crotch. She lifted her dress, revealing her massive ass, her sweaty cheeks glistening in the light.
"Smell it," she said, her voice a low growl. "Smell how wet I am for you, mijo. Smell how much I want you."
Sacha leaned in, his nose brushing against her skin. The stench hit him like a wave. But beneath the stench, he could smell something else, the musky, heady scent of her arousal.
She pushed her heavy ass against his face, her sweat and her juices mingling on his skin. Sacha gagged, but he couldn't pull away. He was addicted to this, to the shame and the humiliation and the twisted pleasure of it all.
The woman reached down, her fingers tangling in his hair. She pulled him closer, her ass pressing against his face, smothering him in her heat and her stench.
"Pathetic," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're nothing but a little slut, getting off on being used like this. You love it, don't you? You love being my little bitch."
Sacha couldn't answer, but he knew it was true. He did love it, loved being used and abused by her, loved the shame and the humiliation and the twisted pleasure of it all.
The woman laughed, her body shaking with cruel amusement. "I own you, mijo," she said, her voice a low purr. "I own every inch of you, every part of you. And I'm going to use you whenever I want, however I want."
She released him, standing up and straightening her dress. He knew he should be ashamed, should be disgusted with himself. But all he could feel was a twisted sense of pleasure, a deep, dark satisfaction.
"See you tomorrow, puta,"
And with that, she left, leaving Sacha alone with his thoughts and his shame. He knew he was in trouble, knew that he was already addicted to her, to the twisted pleasure of being used and abused. But he also knew that he couldn't stop, couldn't resist her. He was hers now, and there was nothing he could do about it.
The days turned into weeks, and Sacha found himself living for his encounters with the woman. He would go to work each day, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and anticipation, knowing that she would be there, waiting for him, ready to use him and humiliate him in whatever way she chose.
Sometimes, she would make him kneel in front of her, making him smell her farts, making him lick her sweat and her juices. Other times, she would make him service her in the bathroom, forcing him to his knees, making him choke on her pussy, making him French kiss her asshole until she was satisfied.
And through it all, Sacha found himself becoming addicted to the shame and the humiliation, to the twisted pleasure of being used and abused. He would go home each night, his face smeared with her sweat and his own tears, his cock hard and aching, his mind reeling with the memories of what she had done to him.
He tried to resist, tried to find a way to break free from her hold on him. But he knew it was futile. He was hers now, and there was nothing he could do about it. She owned him, body and soul, and he would do anything she wanted, anything she commanded.
One night, as he knelt before her, his face pressed against her at ass, his cock hard and aching, he felt a sudden wave of clarity wash over him. He realized that this was his life now, that he would never be free from her, never be able to escape the shame and the humiliation and the twisted pleasure of it all.
And in that moment, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, a deep, dark satisfaction that he had finally accepted his fate, that he had finally given in to the twisted desires that had always lurked beneath the surface.
He leaned in closer, his nose burying itself in her crack, his tongue lapping at her sweaty asshole. She moaned, her body shaking with pleasure, and Sacha felt a surge of power wash over him. He was doing this to her, was giving her the pleasure she craved, was fulfilling his purpose in her twisted little world.
"Good boy," she purred.
On her words, Sacha's body tensed, his breath hitching as pleasure coiled tight in his core, then snapped. A ragged groan escaped him as he came, hard, waves of release shuddering through him for what felt like an eternity. His vision blurred at the edges, time stretching thin as his hips jerked involuntarily, each pulse wringing out every last drop of ecstasy.
Across from him, Carola barely reacted. She simply smoothed her skirt with deliberate precision, fingers brushing invisible wrinkles from the fabric as if nothing had happened. The contrast was almost cruel, her composure unshaken, while he trembled like a live wire, still gasping for air.
Carola smirked, pulling a pen from her purse. She scribbled something on a napkin and tossed it at Sacha.
And with that, she was gone, leaving Sacha a gasping, sticky mess. He looked down at the napkin, his hands shaking. It read: "Hasta nunca, puta."
Sacha's heart raced as he read the note, his mind reeling. What had he gotten himself into? How would he survive without her?