The alley crates

I clocked out with the burn scar on my forearm itching and no interest at all in the man who runs my line. I am twenty-four. I do not fuck my chef and I do not fuck my owner. Benji is twenty-six and Alto is thirty-three and they cook in a restaurant that is not mine, which is the entire point. Their place was already closed. The alley behind it smelled like wet cardboard and old heat. I stood beside the stacked plain crates in a white t-shirt and a dark apron with nothing written on it, clogs on the concrete, curls tied back. I looked like a person who had finished work. I had. The fuck I wanted next was not a shift.

We said the word before anyone got a cock out. Eightysix. If I say it, hands off, cocks away, night over. They repeated it back. Benji asked if rough meant my hair. I said hair and hips, and you stop on eightysix, and you do not invent a third thing to try. Alto asked if he could fuck my cunt while Benji used my mouth. I said yes, and then you switch, and then both of you cum in my cunt, one after the other, because I want to be filled twice and walk home like that. They said yes. Clear heads. I had picked them and I could send them.

Alto turned me toward the crates and took a fist of my curls the way I had allowed. The pull went straight to my cunt. I swore and laughed and said harder, not eightysix, harder. Benji got his cock out and I sucked it, spit on my chin, while Alto shoved my jeans to my knees and pushed his cock into my cunt from behind. Thick. I moaned around Benji's cock and reached back to tap Alto's hip, which meant wait, let me take it, then fuck me. He waited. Then he fucked me. Hard, the way I had ordered, hips knocking mine, hand in my hair and nowhere near my throat. My cunt took his cock and got wetter for the empty street at the end of the alley and the fact that I had asked for exactly this.

I came with Benji's cock on my tongue and Alto's cock deep in my cunt, a sharp messy orgasm that made me pull off and say switch while I was still shaking. Benji's cock replaced Alto's. A little slimmer, and he fucked me fast, one hand on my hip, the other careful in my hair because I put it there and told him the grip. Alto fed me his cock, slick from my cunt, and I sucked him like I meant to ruin his balance. I told Benji to cum in me. He did, pressed deep, heat flooding my cunt. I told him out. Alto turned me, got one of my clogs braced, and fucked his cock into the mess. Fill me, I said. He came in my cunt while I rubbed my clit and came again, laughing, apron twisted, eightysix unused because I had not wanted a single thing to stop.

I wiped my thighs and my mouth with the apron. I did not give them a number or a next night. I walked. The clogs were loud on the alley. My cunt was full, I was tired, and I was already thinking about a shower and not about either of their faces over a cutting board. They could lock their own door. I was off the clock in every direction that mattered.