Cash and Carrie

At the supermarket, Mr Watson was always giving me weird looks. I didn't like it, but then again I didn't like anything else about the place, either. It was hardly my idea of a great life to become a checkout girl; that decision was made for me by my lousy ex, when he put our TV and stereo in MY car and drove off leaving me with just the rent arrears!

My landlord wasn't a sympathetic man, and when I offered to pay him back as soon as I could, he came up with an instalment plan worthy of Shylock and a promise that, should I ever be late, a goon would be straight round to chuck me onto the street.

So I needed a second job, and fast..

Watson's Minimart was nearby and always had a vacancy advertised in the window, so the next day I dropped in and took the job. I worked a late shift, six till ten, Fridays through Mondays. It was boring work, but it would keep the landlord's goon from the door, and after three or four months I'd hopefully get my life back.

At least, that was the plan..

Alas, it took no account of Mr Watson. A tall, unnaturally thin man in his early fifties, he took an unwelcome shine to me from the start.

He was ever so creepy, and crept around the store as quietly as a mouse, so I never knew quite where he was. Then, out of nowhere, one of his long, bony fingers would tap my shoulder, or touch my back or, worst of all, my ass.

He really liked to touch my ass. And he wouldn't just touch it, he'd let his hand linger till I brushed it away, which always made him chuckle lecherously.

"Don't be a little prude, Carrie!" he'd say, or something like that, and I'd turn crimson and wish I was in a position to tell him he could stick his lousy job, but as I wasn't, I just bit my tongue and smiled bashfully while he went on ogling me like a fresh piece of meat.

Sometimes, when I was busy at the checkout, he'd sneak up behind me and lean over looking all businesslike, as if he was checking that I was doing everything right. The customers in the queue would be pleased, thinking what a diligent manager he was, making sure I wasn't short-changing them. But what they couldn't see was that at the same time, he was just fiddling with my bra strap! So while those customers thought I looked edgy cos the boss was watching, in truth I was scared my tits might pop out!

Sometimes I had to fetch something from the storeroom. It was like a commando operation, trying to get in and out before Mr Watson had spotted me.

It was a long, narrow room and very poorly lit, because the overhead lights were well hidden behind heavily stacked shelves.

I'd wedge the door open on the way in, then rush about grabbing what I needed as fast as I could and try to get out before I had unwelcome company. But often as not, I'd fail. Before I was done I'd hear the door swing shut and there, in the semi darkness looking just like a vampire, would stand the tall, thin silhouette of Mr Watson.

"Ah, Carrie! Fancy meeting you here!"

"I've g-got to go, Mr Watson -- I'm in an awful rush!"

"Nonsense, child! There's always time to exchange pleasantries with the boss!"

Pleasantries! That's what he used to call his unwanted advances..

I'd try to dodge him but to no avail. The aisle was ever so narrow and I always had my hands full, so there was little I could do to stop his wandering hands from finding my tits and ass.

One time, while I was trying in vain to wriggle from his grasp, he finally put his cards on the table..

"Have sex with me," he whispered, "and I'll give you £100!"

"Not for £1000!" I replied before running off, crimson and trembling.

He cooled down a little after that..

Looking back, I guess he'd known how skint I was, and had figured the cash would swing it for him. And when it didn't, that cooled his ardour a bit. Nevertheless, though he backed off, he didn't give up the game.

"My offer still stands, Carrie!" he'd say with a big wink, every time he got the chance. So even though I wasn't getting fondled any more, I still felt harassed. And even though he'd given up following me into the storeroom, I never could relax in there.

One of the main things I was forever having to fetch from the storeroom was chocolate bars. That's cos they were put right next to the checkout, so little kids would spot them and pester their parents. Not long after my relationship with Mr Watson had entered the hands-off phase, I went to fetch a few and was surprised to find an envelope lying at the bottom of the box.

It was very odd, there shouldn't have been anything there besides the chocolate bars. It was a tatty old envelope, and could easily just have fallen out of someone's pocket. As it was open, I decided to look inside and see what it was.

It contained £50, all in used fivers.

I felt my heart jump a little, and froze. I looked about carefully, to make sure nobody was watching. I thought long and hard about what to do and decided that come what may, I wasn't handing it in to Mr Watson, not after the way he'd been treating me.

Yet I needed to make sure it wasn't some kind of trap..

Thinking quickly, I hid the envelope in a box lower down. That way I figured I could wait a few days to see if anyone missed it, and if they did then it'd turn up near enough where it went missing, with no harm done.

But if they didn't, I'd be £50 richer!

I let three days go by to see what happened, and nobody said a word. So I went to see if it was still where I'd put it and there it was so, thanking my lucky stars, I slipped the wodge into my purse.

Pleased as punch, I merrily finished my shift. At ten, there was only me and Mr Watson left in the shop, and he would normally have said goodbye, let me out and then locked up.

But tonight was different..

Instead of wishing me goodnight, he gravely ordered me into his office. Of course I was most unwilling, after how he'd been treating me and all.

"Can't it wait?" I pleaded, "I'm awfully tired!

"I'm afraid not!" he insisted, "I've something very serious to show you!"

I gulped and shuddered, but reluctantly followed him into his office. "Because of certain discrepancies," he explained, "I was concerned there might be a thief on the payroll. So I set a little trap and, as you can see from this CCTV footage, I've found the culprit!"

As he showed me the film, I began to sob and tremble. He'd planted the envelope in the chocolate bar box, then hidden a camera on the opposite shelf. The video clearly showed me first finding the envelope, then hiding it, then going back later and taking it.

He had me absolutely bang to rights!

"I'm s-sorry!" I stammered, tears running down my cheeks.

"Oh, Carrie!" he exclaimed mockingly, making a great show of handing me a tissue, "You're not sorry now, but you soon will be! You see, I've really no choice but to call the police, and then, well oh dear -- what of your good name? Plus of course you'll lose your flat. And what kind of prison will they send you to? I do hope it'll be a women's and not a men's establishment! Because the thought of what a bunch of burly, violent criminals might do to you.."

"Oh, no! P-please, Mr Watson!" I begged, "I'm ever so sorry and I'll do anything! Just please don't call the police!"

He stroked his long, pointed chin, seemingly deep in thought. "It's tempting to help you," he said at length, "because in spite of everything, I really do like you. But you don't like me, Carrie, do you? No, you've made that perfectly clear! So I guess that narrows our options.."

Saying which he picked up the phone and began to dial.

Quick as a flash, I dived onto my knees and began to plead..

"Oh, p-please!" I wailed. "You're wrong -- I like you a lot, honestly I do! And I can be ever so nice to you, if only you won't call the police!"

He paused pensively, the phone dangling casually from his wrist.

"I'll tell you what we might do," he said at length. "If you'll come to my house tonight then I'll defer my decision till the morning. And if, between then and now, you can prove you really do like me, then I shan't need to call them after all!"

Tearfully I thanked him, and he locked up the shop and we went to his house in his car. Mr Watson lived alone on the far side of town and the drive took 20 minutes, during which hardly a word was spoken. I just sat and sobbed silently in the dark while his free hand wandered wherever he pleased; onto my knees, under my skirt, playing with my boy-bits through my skimpy panties.

Of course I hated it, but there was nothing I could do. I'd brought it on myself, and anything was better than going to a men's prison..

Once inside his house, he showed me upstairs to his spacious bedroom. The bed was a heart-shaped waterbed, strategically placed below a colourful mirrored ceiling. "Please make yourself a little more comfortable," he said, "By which I mean you may take off your uniform but not your lingerie."

Obediently, I did as he'd asked. The minimart uniform comprised a rather pretty pink blouse, worn with a red skirt, black stockings and three-inch heeled courts. I placed the skirt and blouse neatly over the back of a chair and stood before my boss in only my lacy black bra, matching panties and hold-up stockings.

With a wry smile, Mr Watson removed his trousers. He made quite a sight, stood there in his shirt, waistcoat and jacket but without any trousers! It certainly did little for his gravitas, and matters hardly improved when he took his boxers off!

"Come over here!" he commanded, pointing sternly at his shoes. Meekly, I knelt before him, and soon felt his throbbing manhood pulsating against my cheek. Like the rest of him, it was long but thin, a characteristic I considered a virtue.

"And now," he said, "we can begin to find out whether or not you really like me!"

With trembling fingers, I took hold of the stem of his nine-inch cock about halfway down, and eased it between my quivering lips. He was uncut and his bulbous cherry bulged like a party balloon about to pop.

Gently, I teased it past my lips before sliding his solid rod slowly down my throat.

"Excellent!" purred Mr Watson, taking my head gently but firmly in both hands whilst allowing his hips to ululate as he eased his throbbing manhood up and down the length of my tongue, while I sucked and blew in some hopeful semblance of synchrony.

Steadily his thrust increased, so that he was soon delving as deep into my throat as the laws of physics would permit, while I gripped his stem as best I could with lips and concave cheeks, hoping to precipitate an early deluge.

In which endeavour I was half successful..

Drops of salty precum soon began to trickle down my throat, though Mr Watson still pumped away, his stamina uncompromised by anticipation. My jaw began to ache like crazy, but I kept at it, blowing and sucking for what seemed an eternity.

Until at last, a breakthrough!

The first sign of success was signalled by his fingers, which suddenly tightened on my temples. There soon followed a loud, low-pitched groan, after which I tasted the first, surprisingly generous spurt of cream, which proved but one of many.

Indeed, it was a deluge alright..

No matter how hard I tried, my swallowing couldn't keep pace with his copious cum, and I gagged and gurgled loudly as I began to drown in salty cream. And the more I gagged, the more he joined my chorus with loud groans of ecstasy that increased exponentially until the last spurt of his heavy load was safely deposited at the back of my throat.

Gasping for breath he sat on the bed while, equally exhausted, I curled up on the floor like a baby.

"So far, so good!" he declared at length, still wheezing. "It's beginning to look like I shan't need the police after all!" He next explained that he was going to take a quick nap alone in another bedroom nearby, and suggested I try and do the same on the waterbed.

"Only don't get too comfortable," he cautioned, "cos like Arnie, I'll be back!"

Before leaving me to rest, Mr Watson gave me a pretty pink negligee to wear in bed, cautioning me on no account to remove my lingerie.

No sooner had he left the room than I collapsed onto the waterbed. I was absolutely shattered, and soon fell into a deep slumber, disturbed only by nightmarish visions of a long, thin, scaly reptile crawling all over me!

When I suddenly woke up, it was to find Mr Watson on top of me..

I'd been sleeping face down, and hadn't been disturbed till he'd pulled my panties onto my thighs and began to penetrate me. Once awake he found me much more malleable, and slid my legs as far apart as he could before beginning to work his thin, hard nine-inches of meat rapidly back and forth in my pulsating boy-pussy.

Length can rarely compensate for a lack of girth, but Mr Watson's manhood was shaped to reach those recesses other cocks cannot, and I soon felt his throbbing cherry tease a spot so far inside me that none of my many boyfriends had ever previously been there.

He worked fast and furiously, slobbering against my cheek and ear the while, which brought back recollections of my all so recent dream of horrible, large scaly lizards.

Gripped by a confusing melange of pleasure and mild discomfort I began to groan, which unfortunately only encouraged Mr Watson. He soon worked his manhood into a frenzy, his long, fast thrusts tearing at my tender butt-cheeks, which only served to increase my groaning, spurring him on yet more.

At last, it was his turn to groan..

Of a sudden, he shook violently as spurt after spurt of warm cream filled the farthest recesses of my aching bumhole. For a man of his age he had plenty of stamina, and again and again he surprised me with yet another generous deposit, till the bubbling of cum from my copiously overfilled boy-pussy echoed emphatically around the bedroom.

When at last he withdrew, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat..

"Well Carrie," he chuckled, "you'll be glad to know I shan't be calling the police after all!"

"Thanks," I muttered.

"But take some advice -- in future, don't sell yourself short!"

"Wh-what do you mean?" I stammered.

"Just this -- I offered you £100 for sex and you turned me down, so I set a little trap and now I've had you for half of that! You really should have taken the first offer!"

"So it was a trap all along?" I exclaimed.

"Of course, dear! Now do yourself a big favour and, next time I offer you £100, bite my arm off!"

"I'll bite something else off instead!" I muttered quietly to myself and left Mr Watson alone, looking rather too pleased with himself.