It Was Him

This is just the first part of a multi-part story, just to get a feel, please let me know what you think in the comments!

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Prologue

As soon as I saw her walk in, I knew the game had begun. It had been 3 years since I last saw her, played with her, tasted her.

Regan walked in on her first day so innocent, unsure of exactly how this busy restaurant worked. She was just over 6 foot tall, muscular. I liked them just like that, not too skinny. She has medium length dark hair, brown eyes and an amazing smile. Her face is very expressive, more so than the words she uses and I had made her moan, scream, pant, and I was determined to do it again. I had only been with her twice but I could still feel the grip of her pussy on my cock. The feel of her lips moving from base to tip, and I could feel that panicked cough as her throat grips my cock after pulling her head down onto my throbbing member.

She looked around the restaurant and our eyes met. I could see her get nervous, stand a little straighter. I don't know how I was going to manage it, but creativity was one of my strengths. Regan is smart, she will out perform all of these halfwit, big tit waitresses. She has always been a hard worker, that was one thing that was so endearing about her. She wants to work so hard for approval whether it was a "good job" for cleaning the menus, or a "good girl" for taking all my cum without a single drop hitting the floor. She has to be mine again to play with when and where I want.

A few weeks went by and I saw something that I had not seen in her before, confidence. She held her own against asshole customers who tried to berate her, or bimbo waitresses who could not pull their own wait, or the bartenders that clearly thought less of women. This is definitely going to be harder than I thought it was, then she started closing. They had a rookie closing the kitchen, he missed a lot, not in the cleaning, and put in prep for the next day which always seemed to throw our mornings off, so it was easy to convince Parker that it was a good idea.

The first couple nights I used to see how she worked, efficient as I suspected. She seemed to enjoy music, swaying her plump hips, walking with more of a strut. I think this confidence could be fun, more of a challenge, like breaking a prize stallion.

Images flew through my head. Images of me bending her over one of the tables, holding her torso down, and pulling down her jeans to reveal her ass, beautifully plump, spankable ass. Images of me fingering her while she was pushed up against a wall writhing in ecstasy, dripping down my hand. Images of her on her knees and me driving my cock, holding it at the deepest part of her mouth, feeling her struggle, but not giving up until I have pumped my cum directly down her throat with tears streaming down her face. Images of her doubled over, moaning and squirming as I am driving my throbbing cock into her, feeling her ass grip my cock like a vice. "Breathe little one, you need to breathe," I would whisper in her ear as I inched closer to having my entire cock driven inside her.

Challenge accepted...she will be mine.

Chapter 1

This was my chance. I had finally moved out, and on my own. I have my own place, a new job, starting over. This is not a 'moved across the country' kind of story. I moved to a new neighborhood in the city. I got a great job at a super cute restaurant. It is a really busy place, especially in the evenings. I exhibited a teaspoon of logic and reasoning and a couple tablespoons of on the spot problem solving over the first couple months, and now I am a shift manager. I don't always like it, and definitely don't love it, but it is good money.

The owner of the place, his name is Arthur but everyone called him Parker, he is very involved. He always wants to know what I think, or what needs improvement. It took me a couple weeks to really realize that he actually cares and is really wanting suggestions. He has taken a few of my suggestions, which is actually really cool. We had our closing waitress quit unexpectedly and move, so I have been taking on the role of closing at the end of the night.

Soon after starting to close we noticed that less "mistakes" were made at the registered and so we made the decision that I would close more often. A few shifts after I started closing, the sous chef took notice and started to be the one that stays late and justified it by saying he "needed to make sure everything was tied down and prepped for the next day." Art saw an uptick in productivity so it just made sense to keep it that way.

All this sounds good, however I used to know the sous chef. His name is Tim, he is about as tall as me, just over 6 foot. He has no hair on his head, and a great beard. He has dark eyes that makes something in your stomach flutter, as well as something south of your stomach. We have a brief, yet intense history, one that I am not overly proud of, however do not regret it. It was a time that I needed physical attention, and did not care too much about the emotional attachment, but then did care. As I said, history.

He took notice of me the first day I worked, in the swoosh and bustle of the kitchen. I was a little overwhelmed. I think he found it funny, and I found it humiliating. I got my bearings and figured it out, and was able to avoid his eyes, always watchful, undressing me, consuming me. Avoiding it until now. It does not take a rocket scientist to close out registers, however I have to lock the door, so it does not matter how fast I can do it, I am usually waiting for Tim.

This particular night, something was different. I would say he reminded me of a hunter, but that is not enough of an accurate descriptor. He reminded me of an orca. They watch their prey, document how they move, their habits so they know when and how to attack for the most effective kill. He did not want to kill me, he wanted to consume me, control me with his words and touch, and it scared me because I completely believed in his ability to do just that.

He always plays music while working, and sometimes I did not know the songs, but I always liked the melody. Most of them were folk-sy songs, some classic rock. This night the music was just perfect, and it had been such a good shift. Art even mentioned how smooth, and how awesome the customers were. He left a couple hours ago with a big smile. He has such an amazing presence. He is a big man, about 6 foot 4, well built, he has happy eyes, a beard, and a big jolly smile. I noted today how his hips kind of swing very subtly from side to side.

While I did a last sweep of the dining room, making sure the chairs are where they need to be, tables cleaned, condiments refilled, the whole nine yards. I danced and swayed the whole time singing under my breath. I turned and there Tim was, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. I stopped in my tracks, the light, happy feeling sank in my stomach. "That was really cute," he says with a smirk.

"Thanks," I say with a slight giggle.

"No need to stop for me, keep dancing," he said in a tone that sounded more like he was daring me to dance. He moved closer, now leaning up against one of the booths.

"I have things I need to do to close, I don't have time to dance anymore," I tried to say in the most matter of fact tone. I walked towards the register past where he was standing. As I got closer, he pushed off the booth, making it impossible for me to walk by without either running into him, or side stepping. I turned away from him and side stepped. He leaned into me, I could feel his body against my back, the curve of my rear. I heard him inhale, like his was sniffing out his prey. I held my breath and continued with as much false confidence as I could muster. I stared at the screen blankly, my head rushing with all the thoughts and feelings that came with his presence.

Tim gave a little chuckle, a quiet little expression that I think meant that he was not done. It only took me a few minutes to finish what I needed to do, so it was all up to when he finished. I still heard him clanging around and working, singing under his breath. He actually had such an amazing quiet, deep voice, like a siren who lured sailors into the deadly water of the sea. I peak in, and see that he is not much closer to finishing than he was earlier.

As if he sensed me there he looked up and smirked. "You know it would go faster if you helped." It felt like a challenge.

"What do you need help with?" I asked with an even voice.

"You could help with the dishes, or help me prep the cucumbers, or carrots, or eggplants," he said.

"I have no idea what you need down to your cucumbers, carrots or eggplants, so if you will just gather the dishes to be done, I will get them done." I said dismissively. I started gathering the various bowls and sheet pans, and knives. He had everything scattered across a large counter space, forcing me to reach. Suddenly I felt him, he was directly behind me, pushing his body against mine. I straightened up, which only made my body push against his. His mouth was next to my neck. I could almost hear him inhale and feel him exhale on my neck, giving me goosebumps.

"Don't forget these," he whispered in a deep, gravely voice as he set down a set of bowls he was working with.

"Thanks," I whispered back, not because I intentionally wanted to, I just couldn't muster any louder of a voice.

He put his left hand on my left hip, not lightly, like he was demanding my attention. I gasped and panicked. I needed to detach, now, like right now or I knew that I would surrender to his gestures. I pushed away from the table and did a bit of a spin move to get out of his grasp and moved to the sink/dishwash area without looking at him. I got right to work. He came, pushed his body against mine each and every time he dropped his dishes off, each time he pushed against me, holding there a little bit longer.

I washed the dishes as fast I could, putting the drying ones up in the drying rack above the sinks. As I reached up to put the last couple bowls away I felt him behind me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pushing himself into my back. He pushed his face into my hair and neck taking a big inhale. I felt parts of me flash awake, wanting more.

"You smell the same," he whispered in a voice that gave me goosebumps.

I gave a sharp inhale, I tried to say something, anything in protest, a movement, a squawk, anything. I felt frozen, unsure if it was fear, excitement, arousal, or a mix of all three. He held onto me, I was on my tippy toes, afraid to lower down and settled into his body. He would take that as consent and there would be no turning back.

"You feel the same too," he said in the same whisper as he wrapped his other arm around me. His hands moved from my waist. One traveled up, over my breasts as the other traveled down, to my pelvis. I could tell my body was responding to his advances no matter how much my brain did not want it.

"I am not...the same. I..moved on.." I stammered, finally finding my voice, and my footing. I could feel a very prominent bump pushing into my rear. I needed to run, I needed to get out. If I could get out, I could find someone to help me.

"You don't seem like you have, I can feel that you are a wet little one," he said, slipping his hand between my legs. I knew that he was correct, I was aroused, my body wanted him, wanted to feel what he could do.