Dollar Swine

Why did Owen's intense stare make her feel butterflies in her stomach?

"As tempting as your promise sounds, I'm not sure I can call that good." Said Owen, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Unless you have some sort of payment for me today, I might just have to go with my other plan to get my money back."

Despite herself, Blair felt a thrill of fear shoot through her at his vague threat. She eyed the rough-looking man warily. He had to be bluffing. Could she take that risk?

"I have no money to pay you today," said Blair, trying to keep her voice even and calm, "But please believe me. When I have the ability, I'll make it my first priority to pay you back."

Owen shook his head. "Not good enough." Then he paused, his eyes staring into the middle distance, thinking. A smile played on his lips. "Wait... I have an idea. Have any plans this evening, princess?"

"Don't call me princess, asshole." snapped Blair automatically. She hated condescending nicknames like that. Cautiously, she added, "No. No plans tonight. Why?"

"We have an important party tonight and one of my wait staff called in sick. We're shorthanded. We could use an extra."

Blair stared at him for a moment, confused. She frowned. What the fuck? This idiot wanted her to wait tables like some kind of common serving girl? Did he even know who she was? She sneered in contempt. "Hell. No. I wouldn't be caught dead. I host fancy parties, dumbass. I don't wait tables at them."

"Suit yourself." Said Owen lightly, rubbing his hands together, "If you worked tonight, you could earn a little money and at least make a good-faith payment. If you could pay even a little, we might be able to work out some sort of gradual repayment plan."

Blair stopped right in the middle of composing another angry outburst. The wheels in her head spun wildly. She had a deep, inexplicable need to resolve things with this frustrating man so that it would no longer be hanging over her head.

One night. Could she humble herself for one night and work as a server in order to fix this problem? It stung. The humiliation of becoming a common laborer, even temporarily, was a bitter pill for a woman as proud as Blair to swallow. The idea of putting herself beneath a fucking prick like Owen was almost intolerable. He would be able to order her around, force her to do whatever he wanted. Blair felt the issue getting confused and muddled in her mind. She had to focus on what was important: she really really needed some money.

"Last chance, princess." Said Owen with a smirk, watching Blair processing, "Are you in or out?"

Blair forgot to tell him off for calling her that damn name again. She bit her lip. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had to pay this infuriating man back somehow.

"I'm in."

...

"I told you that they're not going to fucking work, Owen!" came Blair's frustrated voice from the back of the trailer, "I don't care if it's the fucking uniform; you're just going to have to let me wear my own pants."

Owen tried to wipe the grin off his face before Blair saw him. He had to hand it to Faria: he never thought he would be able to convince a spoiled brat like Blair Beaumont to work a catering shift. According to the detailed plans he had received from Faria, it was essential that her shift had the maximum psychological impact. The type of party they were working tonight would help with that.

Blair's new uniform was an essential part of what Owen had planned for his newest employee.

Although Owen told his new server that he coincidentally only had one extra uniform left, the clothes had actually been carefully prepared beforehand. He was confident that Blair could squeeze her fat ass into the dark jeans with a little effort. She wouldn't like how she looked in them of course, but the men at the party would love it.

"It can't be that bad," lied Owen confidently, opening the door of the trailer quickly so that Blair had no chance to hide.

Blair was standing in the nearly empty trailer, her street clothes discarded at her feet. The black work blouse was a little tight, especially around the chest, but it more or less fit. The dark jeans were another story. "Fuck!" Screeched Blair, looking up with wide, angry eyes, "Don't fucking come in here, I'm not... Jesus! Fine! Look!" She indicated her waist with two frustrated hands. The jeans sat unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of skin and a strip of pale pink underwear. "Seeing is believing, dumbass. How many times do I have to say it? They. Don't. Fucking. Fit."

Owen approached Blair, a strange, intense look in his eyes.

"What?" Said Blair, her eyes darting over his face to read his intentions, "What are you doing? Don't come near me."

Owen ignored her protests, drawing in close and reaching down without hesitation to grip both sides of the jeans. "Breathe deep," he said gruffly. Blair only had time to gasp in a surprised breath before he pulled the two sides together with his strong hands, secured the straining button, and released.

Blair slapped him.

She stuck a finger in his face, her expression red and furious. "Never, never touch me, asshole. The fact I'm helping you out tonight seems to have made you forget some things, so let me jog your memory. People like you don't get to touch people like me. I swear to Christ, if those filthy hands ever EVER touch me again I will make you fucking regret it, Owen Novak. Mark my words."

Blair walked past him in a huff, and Owen watched her go, eyes crawling over the indecent display he had engineered. The too-small dark jeans were practically painted onto Blair's massive ass, wedged deep between her cheeks and squishing her hips tightly. They were too low-slung as well, and poor Blair probably didn't realize that the small blouse shifted and revealed the top of her crack as she walked. Owen wasn't about to tell her. Luckily, Blair hadn't noticed the most important little surprise: the tiny, almost unnoticeable slit Owen had made in the normally-tough fabric of the waistband. If the waistband were to fail under stress at the wrong moment, things could get really embarrassing for Blair, really quickly. Maybe he ought to have a word with the host of the party, tell him that if he played his cards right, he might get dinner AND a show...

Blair strode angrily out of the trailer and towards the staging tent that Owen had shown her earlier. Stupid fucking Owen. What made that dumbass confident enough to touch his betters with his strong, rough manly fingers? Reaching down to dominantly grasp her pants, dragging his knuckles along the soft skin of her hips, just inches away from her.... Blair clamped down hard on the train of thought running through her brain. She didn't have time for random daydreams tonight: not while she had to learn the ropes of this poor person job.

She took small steps, testing the fit of the ridiculous jeans. They felt like they could burst open at any second. She would have to be careful. As she approached the tent with all of the food and beverages, she heard two voices complaining.

"Ugh, I hate these kinds of parties."

"I know! The fucking guys get so handsy! Owen should just stop taking events like this."

"I wish! I said the same thing, but he told me we have to take every job we can get to make up for when that fucking bitch..."

Blair walked through the flaps into the tent, Two workers paused in their conversation and gave the fresh meat a slow head-to-toe once over. Cruel smiles lit up their faces. "Never mind," murmured a slim blonde with a giggle to the bored-looking tattooed man next to her, "I think I'm good: I get the feeling that the boys will be distracted tonight." Blair couldn't help but notice that their jeans and shirts fit perfectly.

"Owen told me to come here and they would tell me what to do..." She said hesitantly, put off by the mocking smiles of her temporary coworkers.

"Oh, absolutely, sweetheart!" rasped the rough man cheerfully, the cruel sparkle never leaving his eyes, "We can help you there. Owen said you're going to be a beer girl tonight. It's so simple, even you can't mess it up!"

Blair frowned. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? She was distracted by the blonde woman smoothly taking over to continue the explanation. "All you have to do is take a tray of beer out and move around the room, handing them out to people who want them. When you run out, come back and get more. Easy, right?"

Blair turned to the woman, who was giving her a wide condescending smile. "What happens if nobody wants beer anymore?" The two workers turned to each other and burst into laughter. The tattooed man grabbed a tray of beer-filled plastic cups, thrusting them into Blair's hands. "That won't be a problem tonight, babe. Trust me. Straight out of the tent and to your right."

A feeling of dread suddenly rippled through Blair. "Wait... what kind of party is this?" She asked, eyes flicking between the two grinning caterers.

"College graduation. Frat boys." Said the blonde with a nasty smile. Blair rolled her eyes. She was sure that frat boys could be unpleasant, but these wage slaves had never dealt with the rich assholes like she had to while wooing investors. They were underestimating her.

She turned away from the strange pair, ready to get started working. "Don't make a big deal when it happens, it just makes them hornier," said the blonde with a giggle. Then, before Blair could react, the waitress slapped her sharply on the ass yelling, "Go get 'em, Tiger!" Blair swiveled to give the bitch a piece of her mind, but in turning, she almost spilled the tray of beer, and by the time she recovered, the two workers had moved deeper into the tent and were talking to some of the prep chefs. Blair drew her mouth into a grim line and huffed. She would have to give them a piece of her mind later. On her way out of the tent, she couldn't help but snag a cupcake from a serving tray. For some reason, she had been extra hungry lately, and the cupcakes looked delicious.

Blair could already hear the pounding music of the party from the tent, and it only got louder as she approached. She moved around the large suburban house where the party was being held, and then there she was. Two dozen tables sat scattered around the big backyard, along with a dance floor, a DJ, and rigged-up lights and sound systems. A few of the tables held older men and women, but the bulk of seats were filled with college-aged boys. Rich douchey-looking boys. Blair knew their kind from her college years. She was well aware that many people considered her entitled, but at least her money didn't make her a slimy creep like most men of this type.

Since she had never worked a service position in her life, Blair was poorly prepared for how this type of man would treat a lower class woman dressed up like a slut.

The problems began as she began making her way around the tables passing out beer. Boys turned to each other with knowing looks, elbowing each other and pointing out the bottom heavy slut in the tight jeans. A wordless agreement spread around the party. Tonight, this bitch was the main entertainment.

It didn't take long for the first hand to slide quickly across the curve of her ass, there and gone so quickly Blair almost thought she imagined it.

She whipped around to see that the boys at the table behind her could barely hold in their laughter. Blair narrowed her eyes, ready to raise her voice and really wipe the smirks off their faces. But the tables were crowded close together, and turning to yell at the first table left her tempting ass vulnerable to the boys behind her. She felt a sharp pinch on her butt and the boys in front of her that she had been about to lecture burst into cruel laughter at her expense.

She turned around again, eyes blazing with fury, but this time, as she turned, she felt a cold slosh of foamy beer slip down her ass crack. Some little creep had poured some beer down her pants, causing both tables to roar with laughter this time. Blair saw red as she felt the beer pool between her legs, wetting her crotch.

Blair had had enough. She threw her tray, half filled with beer cups to the ground. She was shaking with anger. The frat boys ooohed sarcastically as she backed away a step to face both tables and really let them have it. She took a moment to compose the epic, profanity-laden rant she was about to destroy these douchebags with. Just as she wound up to yell, the slimy-looking boy at the front of the table rolled his eyes and pulled a crisp fifty-dollar bill from his pocket. "Here sweetheart," he drawled, flashing her a look of amused contempt, "for excellent service."

What an insult! Did this little creep think he could just buy her off with a measly fifty bucks? She spent that much money on a bottle of water last week. She was about to tell him something along those lines, but for some reason, she couldn't take her eyes off the fifty-dollar bill. It was just so crisp, so green. Bent slightly by the way he held it in between his fingers. The huge amount of debt she owed to Owen leaped into her mind, followed by the rent payment she had been stressing about.

She didn't know these boys. She would never see them again after tonight. Was it really an issue what they thought of her? Their slimy little hands on her butt were unpleasant, but they wouldn't kill her. She licked her lips. Suddenly fifty dollars didn't seem like such an insulting amount of money. Part of her mind screamed in protest as she moved forward, her hand reaching out to take the bill. She couldn't help herself. The siren song of the money was just too strong. Making money was the most important thing in the world...

Just as her fingers almost reached the bill, the little asshole jerked it just out of her grasp. "Ah ah ah! Come a little closer, sweetcheeks."

Blair's eyes were focused on the bill. Her brain felt like it was filled up with fog. She didn't even register the insulting tone or condescending words of the frat boy; her mind could only focus on the money. She took a step closer, doing as she was told. The frat boy looked at his friends with a wink, then with deliberate slowness, reached his arm around Blair and slid the fifty slowly into her tight back pocket, using the opportunity to cup and squeeze as much of the surface of Blair's round, soft ass as he could.

Blair knew dimly that she should be yelling right now, should be making this foolish young man regret his arrogant mistake. But the money seemed to glow warmly in her back pocket, and she heard the soft words "Thank you, sir." come from her parted lips. The frat boys at the tables in front of her looked at each other with delighted grins. They knew exactly the type of girl Blair was now. She had just declared it herself, in huge flashing letters. Tonight, their beer girl server was a pay-to-play slut.

It didn't take long for the word to spread around the party: the server with the big juicy ass would submit to any and all groping, as long as you tipped her afterward. Hand after hand slid into her back pocket, teasing and groping on their way in and out. So many that she was forced to empty her pockets on one of her trips back to the staging tent (she took the opportunity to wolf down a plate of the Alfredo pasta they were serving that night. Serving was hungry work: she was starving!).

Pinches, slaps, full-palmed groping. Blair's big bouncy ass, tightly encased in the revealing jeans, endured them all, again and again.

Blair was being treated as a piece of meat; a sexual plaything for younger men who saw her as beneath them. She knew that she should be furious. She certainly felt humiliated. If you had asked her a week ago, she would have insisted that in this situation she would slap as many men as she had to, storm out, and sue everyone at the party for sexual harassment. But she did none of those things. She went back to the staging tent again and again for more trays of beer. Her face grew redder and redder with embarrassment as the rowdy boys grew drunker and bolder, and, inexplicably, infuriatingly, her panties got wetter and wetter, and not just with spilled beer.

One young Einstein discovered that, by rolling a bill into a tube, he could insert it into Blair's tight crack, just peeking above her jeans, nestling it between her cheeks. When the other boys saw that Blair's only reaction to this bold new tipping style was a yelp of surprise and a humiliated "thank you, sir", they were all eager to tip her again. After that, she struggled to pull moist tubes of money out of her pants fast enough to keep up with the rabid crowd. She could feel that some had gotten lost deep inside her sweaty cleft...

The other employees had moved from giggling at her slutty antics behind their hands to openly laughing at her with the cooks whenever she made her way back to the tent to grab more beer (and grab just a couple breadsticks... Why was she so hungry?) She was the laughingstock of the entire party, but she couldn't stop. The thought of the crumpled pile of bills she was stacking up in the staging tent, along with the strangely erotic effect of the humiliation, was driving her forward, forcing pathetic little 'thank you, sirs'' from her lips, creating a sticky, slimy mess between her legs. Her nipples were on fire, as hard as rocks, and her breath was coming in hot, ragged gasps.

Finally, the night began to wrap up. Nikki, the slim bitchy blonde who had been tormenting Blair all night, handed her one last tray of beers and let her know that this was the last call. She added yet another cupcake to the tray as well (oddly nice of her) winking and saying "You earned it babe! With all the cake you've been serving up to the boys tonight, you deserve a little something sweet for yourself." What a weird thing to say. She had probably just forgotten that Blair had just been serving beer tonight. Blair didn't much like Nikki, but she ate the cupcake. It looked irresistible.

Just one more trip around the tables and this strange, twisted, erotic nightmare of an evening would be over and she would never have to think about this sexually confusing experience again. She numbly submitted to one last round of pinches, and spanks, and even one extremely drunk guest running his tongue up the curve of her cheek over her jeans. All the while more and more cash was being shoved into her skin-tight jeans. The young men grew even bolder, pushing their fingers into her waistband to leave the dirty money inside. She shivered at the feeling of their rough fingers as they snuck a feel of the bare skin of her ass, reminding her of Owen's fingers earlier. How would his fingers feel on her ass? She forced the idea out of her mind.

She was relieved that the party was almost over.

Finally, the last beer was claimed. Blair let out a shaky breath. Her arms were sore from the long night of work and her face was burning with humiliation. Her too-tight jeans bulged in places from the crumpled cash the horny boys had thrust inside. All that she wanted was to grab her hard-earned cash, go straight home, pull out her favorite vibrator, and fuck herself silly until she had burned up all of the filthy, wrong sexual tension that was roaring through her.

Then she saw him. The young host of the party. So far he had been content to watch her humiliation from his seat, laughing at her with his friends. Now he was beckoning for her from the head table.

The smart thing to do would be to pretend she hadn't seen him and walk away. But she saw the green bills in his hand, and her brain filled up with that hazy, horny fog again. She couldn't think straight. Maybe if she played along, she could earn more money... She felt herself being pulled like a magnet towards the head table.

"I heard that you've been giving excellent customer service all night." Said the cocky young man with a grin, his eyes sticking to every inch of her body, "I think that deserves a big tip." In his hand he held a loose collection of bills, probably collected from the whole head table. Blair eyed them greedily. It was hard to estimate how much was there, but it was surely over a hundred.