fast food sights erotic story

Fast Food Sights – An Erotic Story

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I had worked the drive-thru at the fast-food restaurant for a month and had already seen some awkward sights from customers. Old women with yapping dogs on their laps. Parents who had several kids barking through the window to get their burgers. Businessmen who swore when they spilled coffee on their designer shirts. Teenagers making out as I held their bag of food. Yes, every one of every stripe came through the drive-thru. And every one from every stripe had their oddballs.

When the spring semester ended in May, my manager asked if I would be interested in moving to third shift.

“It is a bump in pay,” she said but paused. She stared at me. “Before you answer, Michelle, our food attracts weirdos. I can’t be more straightforward and honest. The strangest people appear during that shift. And when they see you—a young attractive lady—they may come back. I’m not criticizing your prowess in anyway. It’s the people outside the window that I’m criticizing.”

“I’m ready. I’ve seen weird. I go to the local community college. Doesn’t that say enough? I also have brothers and cousins who had no filters.” I smiled and winked.

She knew that at school boys did stupid things and, despite the results, came back to do it again. Nothing would weird me out. Weirdos may be intriguing, actually. Stories for the ages.

“I’ll take the job.”

My manager nodded. “You got it. I’ll increase your hourly salary in the database and reset the schedule. Expect to start this weekend.”

The first weeks were uninteresting, compared to my manager’s warning. I only saw teenagers grabbing something to eat after their late-night shifts, families traveling on vacations. Once a state trooper sped away with blue lights flashing and sirens sounding. He left his food. And never came back to get it.

The boredom changed though when, one night, a cool voice ordered a hamburger, fries and a strawberry milk shake. Unexpectedly the voiced added, “You sound like a nice lady. Your kind are not found at places like these nowadays.”

“Thanks. I’m here to serve,” I told him, trying to be spritely.

He pulled up to the window, and I said, “Your total is $7.89.”

He shuffled through his jacket pocket. Meanwhile, I let my eyes smile at the crisp collar of his shirt. I liked his dark, glistening hair and clean-shaven face and air of confidence. I noticed his sharp profile of his face. He kept digging. He went into the center console of his car and then under the sun visor.

He finally gave up with an exhale. He looked at me.

“Do you take hundred-dollar bills? I only have one and no other cash or card.”

“We don’t take them, sorry. They’re too large for what I have in the register. A convenience store is right over there. I’ll hold the food for you until you come back,” I offered.

He suddenly got awkward. He looked away from me and toward the store. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and then said, “Can we make a deal instead?”

“I’m not allowed …”

He interrupted me. “I’ll let you have the hundred for the food.”

“I can’t do that. The store … my manager… correcting the money after my shift would be …”

“The extra money would be for you alone, because you’ve been so nice. I would only ask for one thing. It may sound weird, but a big tip would be worth it for both of us, I think.”

“This deal, what is it?” I asked him slowly, skeptically.

He coughed out his uneasiness. “Watch me. Don’t take your eyes off me.”

My eyes at that moment did the opposite. They darted away in my own uneasiness. “Watch you what?”

I was unsure what he had on his mind. My manager’s warning returned: The weird ones come out at night. He didn’t seem like weird. Quite the opposite.

He handed me the crisp green tender. I took it by the very edge to stay away from his fingers. I was not going to let him grab me or even touch me. I slid the brown bag with his cooling hamburger and fries to the window for him to grab.

I turned to tuck the bill in my purse. When I looked back, his seat was leaned back and his penis was out, fully erect. Long and pistol straight. He was stroking it steadily.

“Oh, my goodness!” I gasped loudly and covered my mouth. The bag of food fell out of the window and splatted on the ground.

He heaved out the words. “Are you looking? Keep looking.”

“I, uh, am.” I had to force my eyes to take in the hundred-dollar sight.

Hearing me, his hand sped up. The penis was tall because he was laid back and its head was the same color as red velvet cake. He hissed in and out with each stroke. Growling even. What intrigued me was the slurp of his lubed hand against his dick.

He glanced over to me once, probably making sure I was holding up my end of the bargain. He then closed his eyes and pushed deep into the driver’s seat. His hand stroked fast enough to be only a blur.

I had never watched a man do this in person. I hadn’t really had the urge. Jerking off, to me, was what horny teenage boys did in their bedroom at night in the dark, hoping that their parents would not find the sock or porn magazine. This, however, was an encounter strange enough that, tomorrow, I might not believe what had happened.

Despite all the weirdness and awkwardness, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, of his pulsating dick, one hundred dollars or not.

His harsh growl startled me from my blank stare. His body tensed, stiffening like his penis was stiff, and then there was an explosion of white goo over his shirt and onto his hand. After the initial shot, a little glob of cum oozed out of the tip of the blood-red head.

He let go of his cock. His head turned to me. He simply repeated, “Thank you, thank you.”

I didn’t have the wherewithal to respond. My mouth was agape.

He drove away, his food still on the ground.

A thought struck me. What did I just do? He just got off because I was watching him. A man wanted me—me of all people!—to watch him. I helped him get off.

The hundred-dollar bill seemed dirty as did I. However, I noticed my nipples were hard and my breathing was short. I felt that tingling as when I, later on, played quietly, rubbing my pillow between my legs. It was the warmth deep, deep inside me.

“You are not turned on by what just happened.” I commanded my mind and body. “You will not do that again.”

For a long time, that situation was a “one-night stand” of a sort. But over the next months, I was drawn to erotic stories about men jerking off in front of women and videos of women telling men what to do with themselves.

Thinking back to that night, I realized my power. I had been too naive to understand it for a long time. Women have power when it comes to sex, but that much power? A teenage girl with B-cup breasts and a fast-food outfit impacted a well-to-do businessman.

After that incident, when men would drive to the window, I wondered if I could actually make another man do what I demanded of him.

A young guy, good looking with light green eyes and dark eyebrows, pulled up to the drive-thru window. As he handed me his debt card, I guessed the size and thickness of his cock. He might have been too good-looking to be large. Waiting for the transaction to finalize, I looked at him and said, in my mind, “Show me your dick. I want to see it.” I shuttered at the possible consequences: Security cameras, customer complaints, or my sheer embarrassment if he said, “No, you’re ugly.”

I returned his card and said politely, “Have a good night.” And he drove away barely offering a thank-you. Such is life.

Over the months plenty of nondescript, faceless eaters drove up, grabbed their food and left. This power I thought I had was not useful because no one cared. That was until I heard a deep, rich voice order through the mic.

“Large strawberry shake, two burgers, extra onions on both.”

“Fries?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. Just the shake and burgers.”

“Pull forward.”

I imagined, based on the voice, a handsome man. Well-groomed, intelligent, clean-shaven. A businessman. I pictured shimmering, black hair and piercing blue eyes set against a determined brow. A white-collar man of affluence. A narrow nose. Maturity wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he gave his authoritarian smile to die for.

I slid back the drive-thru window pane. He was a teenager. Thin, lanky. Blond with an awkward grin and a baby moustache.

My dream man wasn’t there. I should have guessed. A shake and two burgers, extra onions? It’s not a meal for a corporate capitalist. That would be more a grilled chicken sandwich, trading French fries for a salad, hold the dressing.

“$4.81,” I told the kid.

He handed me a debit card. His name was Thomas Hiddle. A puny name that summed him up.

“Been busy tonight?” he asked me while we waited for the system to transfer the debit funds.

“Not really. Average.”

“I had a horrible night. People never stopped coming in. I dropped so many plates of food, burned steaks, mixed up orders.” He face-palmed his hand to his forehead.

“We’ve all got tough shifts when you’re dealing with customers in person.” I’d certainly been yelled at for messing up meals, spilling drinks, handing out the wrong bag of food, charging too much by accident. “I can sympathize.”

“I wish I could get a break. Some relief from such a bad night. A Netflix movie may help,” he said with a dour face. Eyes sagging, a smile turned to a frown.

He may be my next man, despite his bad day, or because of his bad day. I knew his struggle with the customer service industry.

“Need some real relief?” I asked to get a sense of his comment.

“Yes, definitely.”

“You open for some fun?”

He dragged out his skepticism. “I guess.” I smiled and winked.

“I want to see your dick. Unzip your pants. Show it to me.”

I felt like both a salivating wolf honed in on a lamb and a dominatrix. Plus a fool.

“You’re kidding!” he answered quickly.

“No, I’m not. Unzip your pants.” I rested my elbows on the window sill and moistened my lips with my tongue. A wolf.

He still eyed me suspiciously, no doubt fearing he was being set up to be destroyed by misconduct caught on camera and spread across the web and social media to his detriment for life.

“You’re not going to catch me with my pants down,” he retorted.

I giggled at his dry humor but reverted to the powerful woman.

“I want to see guys jerk off. It gets me all worked up, all horny.” I added that last word for emphasis. My shoulders jittered in an unexpected whoosh of excitement that shot from my neck down my spine. Hearing those words come from my mouth was arousing. No matter, it did for me what I intended for him. I do get off watching men, ever since my first encounter with that businessman. It makes me horny. My pussy heats up.

The boy countered me. “You’ve got to give me something first. Then I can trust you.”

Trust me? I didn’t consider giving something to get a guy’s pants down. Obviously, porn videos are lies, all absurd fabrications and fantasies. Even though, I figured any guy who is asked by a woman for a sexual favor would do it gladly. No second thought, no questions, no consideration. But not Thomas Hiddle.

What would I give him? I don’t have a large chest and I was looking through the pane of a small window, so I couldn’t show him anything else without being a contortionist. Then power came to mind.

“No,” I told him, “I am giving you my full attention. You’ve got me turned on already.”

It was enough. He slowly leaned back in his seat and undid his khaki shorts. He pulled out a half-erect cock from his boxers.

“Stroke it. Slow. Take your time.”

His hand massaged himself. It moved gently, smoothly, up and down.

“Feel that cock getting harder in your hand. That feels good, doesn’t it? Oh my gosh, you’re so big,” I told him.

His face winced, so I further urged him. “That’s right. Keep touching my cock. Making it nice and hard.”

He exhaled and let his hand move faster. I saw his teeth grit. He peeked at me.

“I’m watching. Keep going.”

I watched him for a few minutes, letting him enjoy this unique situation. Then he suddenly jolted and he breathed harshly.

“Oh, god. You want to explode, don’t you? Mmm, not yet. Not until I say you can cum.”

He uttered, “Ok.”

“Keep jerking off. Yeah, keep massaging that cock just like that. Up and down that dick. Yeah, mmm.”

A little later, I asked, “Are you ready to cum for me?”

“You know I do. I can’t last long.” He eeked out the words.

“Then go ahead, cum for me.”

His hand moved in a blur. It reminded me of the businessman. His hand had stroked into the same blur.

“Oh my god!” The words spewed out of my mouth. “You got my pussy so wet. Cum for me, go ahead. Oh, yeah, jerk that fucking cock off until you explode. Go ahead. I want you to come for me. I want you to fucking shoot for me.”

He grunted and grunted. Then there was a wild spatter of cum all over his shirt and caused dark spots to appear on his khaki shorts. On his hand was the remaining goo, sliding down to his wrist.

“Been a while?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” He struggled to answer as he returned from his erotic escape. “It has been a while. How did you know?”

“Womanly instinct.”

“Got any …”

“Here you go.” I handed him some brown, recycled napkins.

He wiped his hands, dabbed the last glob of cum from the tip of his dick, and then slipped his dick into his shorts.

“I needed that.”

“Glad I could help. After a bad night at work, this resets life.” I giggled. “Want your burgers? They’re cold and your milk shake is melted.”

“Yea, I’ll take them. Can I have your number with it?”

“I work third shift here. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“We’ll always have the drive-thru.” He took his bag of food and drove away.

Before long, I left the job because the school semester would be starting soon.

My manager and I discussed the third shift.

“You did a good job in your position. I appreciate it.” She smiled. My manager never knew what I had done. “You knew how to handle the freaks and weirdos. I never heard you complain or tell me any stories about them.”

“They came—the weirdos—but I just handled them easily,” I said with a grin. She grinned too. But she didn’t understand what made me smile.

That night was my last night of work at the restaurant. In the middle of the shift, I heard a cool voice. “I’ll get a hamburger, fries and a strawberry milk shake.”

My voice faltered. I thought immediately of that businessman. Was he returning to see me, especially on my last night?

I came to when I heard, “Hello? Anyone there? Did you get my order?”

“I’m sorry. My headset must have cut out. Your total is $7.89. Pull around.”

I hoped the voice was the businessman. Would it be?