Baby Doll Ch. 01

Author's Note: All graphically described sexual contact in this story involves characters who are legally adults, more than 18 years old. All characters in this story are fictional. This story will eventually contain elements of Homosexuality/Bisexuality, Role-Playing, BDSM, Group Sex, and Violence, although the violence will generally be non-sexual, and I will try to keep the violence at a minimum. As for the BDSM elements, I am not personally an expert on such things, but I did try to be as respectful of the concepts as much as possible. Please keep this in mind. I do not wish to surprise anyone with something they aren't comfortable with. This is something of a slow burner of a story. So, grab a snack and chill, yeah?

*****

It was around two in the afternoon, close to closing time, when the girl arrived, secretly annoying Jenny. The waitress didn't want to pander to customers. She wanted to sneak into the kitchen and bother the head cook. Jenny put on a noble smile, though, as she went on to do her duty. The other waitress was busy. Jenny was the only one available, and she'd rather not be yelled at for slacking off.

The girl was the only customer at the tiny cafe. So, Jenny wasn't feeling any sort of rush when she laid a menu down on the table, introduced herself cheerfully, and asked about the customer's possible desire for a beverage.

"I'd like some ice cold water," the girl said in an exhausted voice, "please, I just need water, and a job application." She smelled a little bit like fresh hair dye. Maybe all that black hair wasn't natural?

Jenny tried very hard not to give the girl a funny look. The customer had to be fourteen at the youngest, sixteen at the oldest, just had to be. She wasn't quite a little person or dwarf, but she was fairly short, wearing baggy clothes that only made her seem smaller, and her hands were delicate with a fresh manicure of perfectly pink colored fingernails.

The strange, pained look on her white face warmed Jenny's heart, though, and she wondered if the girl was running away from home. Her gentle, almost childlike tone and quick accent seemed to imply that she certainly wasn't from anywhere nearby. She had to be a Yankee or something like that.

The little black mole under her lower lip was cute. It was like a beauty mark, close to a corner.

"Oh, that's alright," Jenny told her, "I can get you one." She tried to be even friendlier than usual, since this was most definitely a teenager. Teenagers had fragile little minds, and they needed all the love and assistance in the world, or that's what Jenny believed, at least. "How old are you, Sweetheart?"

"I'm twenty-seven, Ma'am." The customer said this with the sweetest of politeness.

Jenny stared at her for a few seconds, smelling bullshit, but trying not to let it show on her face. There was no god damned way this girl was older than her!

"Alright." She blinked a few times, then she wrote down the girl's, no, the woman's order for water. "I'll be back in a few with water and an application."

The first thing she did was look for the manager, Tommy, big guy, nice guy. "Tommy," she said to him as he was confirming something with one of the cooks, "we got a girl looking for a glass of water and a job. Says she's twenty-seven, but I ain't buying it."

"Stop judging and get an application from the office," Tommy told her without looking up.

The head cook, the most beautiful woman on planet Earth, said over her shoulder, "Honey, the call-in will be ready soon, Mr. Willis' burger." The cafe served breakfast all day and lunch after twelve. Mr. Willis always ordered a burger close to closing time, and he was always quick to pick it up.

"Alright," Jenny said as she went to the office. She found an application and a pen. Then she left the room to get a plastic glass to the soda fountain. Once she had a tall glass of ice and cold water, Jenny glided off to the little woman. A drinking straw was pulled from her black apron, and within a few seconds, the customer had everything she needed. "Would you like to order now, or do you need some time to decide?"

The woman smiled at her, and there was a relief there, seeping out from those big blue eyes. Under those eyes there were dark circles. Poor thing really looked sick. She was tempted to buy her a bowl of vegetable soup. In fact, she made up her mind right there. Jenny nodded to herself. Then, she said to the customer, "You wait right there, Sweetheart."

Courteous, yet confused, the girl, no, no, that was a woman, the woman said as Jenny walked off, "Oh, I didn't mean to imply that I was ... okay ... that's fine."

As Jenny went back to the kitchen, she noticed that Mr. Willis had arrived, and he had taken his package of food. That was good to know. Jenny went to Tommy. "Hey, Tommy, that girl looking for a job, she's at table A-1. She really looks like she needs some food. Get her a bowl of veggies on me, alright?"

The head cook heard the demand, and she gave her opinion, "She must really look bad, Honey. I'll put in a little extra for her."

"Thanks, Jessa!" Jenny smoothed out her apron and took a small glass of water for herself. As she chugged it down, she heard the employee's door open and shut, and then she heard Tommy say that the Boss was here.

***

"Hello, I heard you're looking for a job."

That voice was a lovely combination of intimidating and cordial, a vocal contradiction. She looked up from her only partially filled out application, and there was a man, a tall man. Geez ... a really tall man. Arms and hands on the darker side, like he was part Cherokee, or Lumbee, or a similar sort of Native American, she really wondered what race he was. Looking up at his face didn't really answer her question. While his face was strong with a jawline that could cut glass, he had a broad nose and green eyes. Wild brown hair framed that face, not quite an afro, but certainly not flat. Was it wavy? She sighed and decided it was sort of wavy.

Damn, that smile was sweet.

She reached out to shake his hand, and she looked straight up into those happy mossy green eyes, just as she had always been told one should do. "Hello. My name is Rebecca James. It's nice to meet you." She hoped she didn't sound like a child. Once, she had been told that sometimes, especially when she was nervous or timid, she sounded a bit too young, and she never could figure out how to change the behavior, since she always did it without knowing. Hell, certain people encouraged the childlike voice.

"Cliff Miller, nice to meet you too." Wrinkles formed under his eyes as he spoke. In Rebecca's mind, she called them the wrinkles of a smile, even when the person wasn't smiling. "I own this place."

Well ... that's not frightening at all! She wasn't expecting an interview so soon. She wished she had on a less casual outfit. Rebecca laced her fingers together on the table and tried not to collapse. The fact that he was handsome only worsened her state of mind. She put on her best fake smile. "It's a very nice place, Sir."

She wasn't lying about that. Conner's Cafe looked clean. The decor was simple, yet relaxing. A yummy smell was teasing everyone. And just when this Mr. Miller was about to say something else, that waitress named Jenny went to them and put a bowl of soup on the table. "It's on me," she said. Then she turned to the owner. "Hey, Boss. I'm paying for that. She needs it."

Rebecca liked charity, but her pride wouldn't allow her to take it without a protest. So, she waved her hands a little, fingers spread, and she said, "Thank you very much, but that's not necessary."

The owner put his great hand on the table and grinned down at her, displaying a very muscular arm. "If Jenny wants to buy you lunch, then it's fine. Hey, what kind of position do you want?"

He smelled like pine needles and charcoal grilled steak. Rebecca fucking loved charcoal grilled steak. She almost wanted to rub her face on the man like a cat. She gave a small exhale. "Sir, I'd love to be a waitress. I need a job where I can meet new people and ... interact." She really hated having to explain herself to people, especially since she had to keep up the eye contact as she did so. She wondered just how harshly this man was judging her. "I haven't been getting out much lately. I believe that it's best for my own sanity to get out and see people."

"Well, you really don't look like you get out much, huh?" His nose crinkled up like he wanted to laugh at her. "Waitressing will get you lots of socialization, but you got to be sweet to people. This is a hospitality business."

"Oh, I know, Sir. I understand this won't be a job where I can sit down and eat candy. I need to work hard." She nodded firmly at her own statement.

"You ever been a waitress before?" He slid down in the booth's seat in front of her. Even sitting down, he looked so tall to her, a damn giant.

"No, Sir. I'm sorry."

"Think you can write down some references for me?"

She hadn't thought of that. She froze. How in the hell was she supposed to do that? How was she supposed to do that without ... how ... what if ...?

"Hey, you okay?"

Her breath ran away from her mind, chest heaving. Oh no, she failed. She fucking failed before she could even fill out an application. How in the fuck was she supposed to provide references? Rebecca knew ... she just knew that she was doomed. She was doomed to poverty. She could never get any job, ever. She was a stupid, worthless excuse for a human being. The best she could hope for was a life of street walking!

"Woah. Hey? How old are you?"

"Hm? Excuse me, Sir?" She shook her head and blinked.

"Where do you live?" His face had suspicion painted all over it. He must think she's some sort of criminal.

"Mm ... My car." Her face reddened from the embarrassment.

Those green eyes widened. "You live in your car? Where is it?"

"It's in the parking lot, Sir, the little old blue one." She didn't know jack shit about cars. She could barely drive one.

Mortified, she watched his thick neck strain as he stretched to look through the large window to see her car. It was full of suitcases and bags. If someone stole that thing, it was game over for her.

"Shit, Girl." His voice was quiet.

"I'm sorry." That was all she could think of to say.

"Are you running away from home?" he asked as he readjusted himself, looking back at her face.

"Sir, I promise, I'm not a criminal or a drug addict!" Her toes were curling in her dirty sneakers. "I have my ID and my social security card. You can check me out all you want. I've never been arrested for anything. The worst thing I ever got was a warning from a cop after being pulled over, and that was because I drove too slowly. I don't even like alcohol or cigarettes. I'm as clean as your kitchen probably is."

He stared at her for a minute. Rebecca was trembling. She knew she wouldn't get the job. She knew she blew it. She was no doubt giving him the impression that she was a maniac.

"What are you running away from, Kid?"

She took a deep breath, let it out, and told him very calmly, "Sir, I am twenty-seven years old. I have a bachelor's degree. I know that bachelor's degrees aren't worth much, especially in this economy, but I have one, and it's all mine, and it's not in Women's Studies or something stupid like that. It's in English, Bachelor's in English. Sort of useless, I know, but it's better than Women's Studies."

She thought that since she wasn't getting the job, she might as well vent out a little steam. "I've already figured out that you won't hire me, and that's fine. I understand, but you should know that I have some pride. I don't care what job I do. I will do it, and I will be happy to do it, as long as it's legal." She rubbed her fingertips into her temples and groaned. "I should probably leave now. I'm so sorry to have wasted your time."

"You didn't touch your food."

Her eyelid twitched. "I beg your pardon, Sir?"

His long, thick fingers slid through that great mop of hair easily. His grin was brash. "Jenny's going to be real mad if you don't eat that, which means Jessa, her wifey, ain't going to hear the end of it for a long time, which means I ain't going to hear the end of it for a long time. Oh, Jessa's my sister." Sometimes, on certain words, Rebecca thought she heard something of a growl or a hiss, and she didn't know what to think. Still, he sounded normal, fairly southern, redneck-like, but not like stupid trailer trash sons of bitches who pop all kinds of pills and do everything they can to get all the welfare babies.

Rebecca decided the best thing to do was shut her stupid mouth and nod at Cliff Miller as he went on with his smooth words.

"So you're twenty-seven, huh? You sure don't look like it. Where you from? Oh, no, wait." He held out his hand as if stopping her from doing something. "Let me guess. You're from Virginia."

She shook her head. "No Sir."

"Ohio?"

"No Sir."

"I don't know then." He slapped the table, making her jump in her seat. "New York?!"

"My hometown isn't really far from here, actually. An hour away? We're still in the coastal plains, aren't we?"

A snort, and then Mr. Miller said, "Wait, you can't be from the Carolinas." He was trembling from suppressed laughter.

"Yes Sir, this Carolina, North. At least ... I don't think I crossed any state borders." A thoughtful finger touched her chin. "Have I ... accidentally ended up in South Carolina?"

"Nope, you're still here!" He was laughing then, and a tear leaked out from his eye. "You're still in North Carolina! God damn, Girl. How do you not know where you are?!"

She didn't know how to answer that question without giving something up. She honestly was afraid that the more truth she gave out now, the more truth she would eventually have to give out later. But ... she didn't think that outright lying was the best thing. Lies could be easily found out.

"I ... I didn't think about where I was going." She swallowed down a knot in her throat. "I got in the car and I kept driving until I was comfortable. I didn't even use a map. I should have, though. I have no sense of direction when it comes to driving." She stopped herself. It wasn't good to ramble.

Those hands of his ... they looked scarred and beat up. She didn't know if those scars were a sign of labor or violence. Either option was kind of nice. She liked strong, hardworking men. Those were the types of men who would bleed out just to make sure that those they cared for would live comfortably, just like her Daddy. Mr. Miller was probably that sort of man, Rebecca thought.

He was smiling at her with those kind green eyes, and those well shaped lips were exposing beautiful teeth. This guy didn't bleach his teeth to hell and back. He even had a slightly crooked tooth on one side. He probably wasn't a crazy perfectionist.

And suddenly, he wasn't smiling anymore. He was studying her face, and then her throat.

Rebecca blushed again.

"What are you running away from?"

She blinked at him.

Mr. Miller slammed his hand onto the table, and Rebecca wasn't the only one who jumped that time. One of the cooks even came out to look at him for a moment. "Why the hell won't you just eat the damn food?" Mr. Miller asked, almost angry.

A little fear trickled down her stomach. Rebecca starting shoveling the soup into her mouth. She couldn't even process the taste. She just kept chewing and swallowing, entirely mechanical and quick about it. A few minutes went by, and Mr. Miller was silent through all of them. Rebecca gasped and gulped down as much water as possible once she had eaten all of the soup she could stomach. At the end of it all, she was panting in her seat, her little hand pressed against her throat, the other against her belly.

Patiently, very patiently, although Rebecca could see the tight annoyance in his fingers, Mr. Miller waited until she was calm again, and he asked a third time, "What are you running away from?"

She made what she would have called an executive decision. She gave him some of the truth. "I'm running away from an ex-boyfriend."

"Oh. Well, that's something." Not a hint of surprise came over him. His white T-Shirt strained under his body as he leaned over a bit. "How bad is he?"

"Pretty bad."

"Big guy?"

She nodded. "About as big as you, and much stronger."

"Did he hit you?"

Rebecca didn't want to get specific. She shook her head. "I'd rather not talk about it."

His thick eyebrows pressed down. He looked kind of pissed. "Did he do anything else?"

She hugged herself. Her legs crossed. Her head turned away from him. "I don't want to talk about it." She said that with much more force.

"So you think this guy's badder than me?" Mr. Miller looked pretty bad.

Rebecca didn't want to insult the man, but she didn't think it would be good to make him want to go all knight and shining armor for her, in case that sort of opportunity arose, and she hoped it wouldn't. "He's pretty bad. He'd throw you across the room like you were nothing, and you look like you can hold your own."

"Well, maybe he'd throw you across the room like you were nothing, because ... well ... come on, you're a skinny thing."

"I am not skinny!" Rebecca removed her large hoodie and showed him what she looked like wearing her tight T-Shirt. Then she stood up and pulled her jeans up a bit, tugging on the excess fabric. She took a single spin around, then she sat back down and pulled her hoodie back on.

He bit his lip. Then he smothered a laugh with his hand. "Okay, you're not skinny, but you are tiny, and I can throw you across any room."

It was then that Rebecca remembered that her bra size was an A, or she thought they were, since she didn't normally wear bras; she had tiny little things with pointy nipples ... and she hadn't been wearing any bra at all under her T-Shirt. Mr. Miller had probably figured out the exact length of her nipples just by looking at her. She slapped her reddening forehead with her palm and closed her eyes. She wasn't trying to come on to the man, but she was pretty sure that she just did. She was not going to get this job.

"Well, you just fill out the rest of that application," Mr. Miller said, leaning back and resting his arm against the back of the seat. He had a tasteful necklace, a silver colored chain. "And you stay right there, okay? I'm going to have a talk with some of the employees.

***

She ended up in a manufactured home in a neighborhood full of similar houses, and the occasional traditional house. It wasn't much of a neighborhood, though, since it was a long walk to even see another house. The surrounding trees at least gave her a place to explore, though. The house belonged to Jessa, the head cook of Conner's Cafe, and Jenny, who was Jessa's wife. They claimed they were looking for a roommate, and this situation was all too perfect for them.

Rebecca was going to pay rent for the only spare bedroom in the place, and she was going to pay with her new income from waitressing. How in the ever loving fuck she managed to get a job there, she wasn't sure. Maybe it had something to do with pity, or maybe the owner had a thing for short girls and hired her because of sex appeal. Rebecca wasn't going to question it, but she knew that she wasn't even going to think about sleeping with her employer. To her, that was inappropriate.

Jessa ... well, if Cliff Miller could ever be a woman, that would be Jessa. Jessa Miller was tall, muscular, and damn beautiful. The first time she met her, Rebecca was immediately trying not to drool over how attractive she was, especially since the woman was married. During her first night in the place, she completely lost all attraction to the woman, though, because Jessa was loud in the bedroom, and Rebecca could hear it. It was almost as awkward as hearing her parents.