Meat Between Buns

"Want two?" Fran asked.

"Nah, I'll try to coast to dinner."

"On the house?"

The customer took a moment to consider that. In this town, there really was no such thing as a free lunch. Then again... a free foot-long dog was nothing to sneeze at.

"Sure, if it's free."

"I got two left. I'm probably gonna pack it up for the day after this."

"They ain't old, are they?"

"Nah, I dropped 'em an hour ago."

"You DROPPED them?"

"I put 'em in the water an hour ago. It's hot dog lingo. I didn't drop 'em on the ground."

Fran nestled the last two wieners in their buns. The man set down his money and took the two dogs, plain.

"Don't you want some mustard?" She asked, trying not to sound desperate, her hand falling on her cock as a reflex. "Onions? Relish?"

"Nah, this is good." He bit the end off his first wiener. "Thanks for the freebie."

He walked away.

Fran whimpered. Maybe she shouldn't have been so generous. She was aching to decorate one last dog, her glands aching from the denial. She withdrew the implant from her rear and dropped the mostly-depleted device into her trash. Most of the time, when she removed the implant, arousal subsided a few seconds later.

This time... her cock stubbornly refused to go down.

Fran took down the umbrella down from the center of the cart and collapsed it. She used this to indicate that she was no longer open for business, though she wasn't sure this was universally accepted in the world of hot dog carts. (If someone wanted to buy a soda or something else that didn't have to be 'prepared,' she would surely oblige them.)

Lashing the umbrella closed, she leaned it against the cart. She had dealt with one large erect thing standing there for all to see, but the other one was unfazed. She could just get dressed and wait for it to fade. She'd done that a few times...

Today, Fran grabbed her cock and started jerking it. There was no hot dog to decorate. She didn't even have an empty bun ready to make a mustard sandwich, like she was a broke and stoned college student. Fran was just jerking her cock for her own pleasure, out in public, without the thin veneer of feeding the hungry that turning her jizz into mustard presented her.

Maybe she should... grab an empty paper tray and pretend she was doing what she always did. Her head turned about nervously, watching as passersby seemed to be eyeing her, no longer hidden by the shade of the umbrella. It really felt like people were suddenly walking through her bedroom while she was trying to have a private moment.

Why was she doing this? Why couldn't she stop? Why was she feeling so embarrassed? Why was this taking so damn long? It hadn't been THIS long since she'd done it without the implant, had it?

Clenching her muscles, she finally sprayed her jizz into the unappreciative maw of her trash can, the yellow streaks fading to her natural emission color of white.

Fran wiped her tip clean with a few napkins as her erection faded. She took out her rolled-up dress and pulled it over her head.

Now that she was no longer naked, that made it official: it was time to go home.

--

She couldn't go directly home, of course. She had to take the cart back to storage.

Fran pushed the cart through the city streets, deflecting a few requests for hot dogs. The city eventually thinned and she turned down a one-lane street and found herself pulling up to a storage unit facility.

In the rare times she was able to hang out with her friends, they asked her how she stayed in shape, or to which gym she was a member. Nothing like that was necessary when she pushed this cart over two miles every day. That and standing for hours at a time had sculpted her thighs beautifully. Luckily, that most important 'foot-long' she was selling was thick enough to not look smaller in comparison.

After a tiring, if not exactly grueling push, she arrived at where she parked her cart each night: a self-storage facility. She pushed this thing towards a corner of the fenced-in facility, near the offices. The position of this unit meant she had everything she needed close to hand to keep this cart in excellent condition. The facility itself had electricity, the nearby office had an external spigot, there was a storm drain off to the edge of the blacktop...

And most critically, it was out of the way, where nobody would bother her. In all the days she'd done this, she'd been interrupted maybe once or twice.

Fran lifted the still-warm pan of dingy hot dog water and poured it down the storm drain. Depending how well she had controlled the propane burner doing the day, this could still be hot enough to burn her fingertips if she wasn't careful. Sometimes she'd make a makeshift mitt out of a clump of napkins, but... seemed a waste to use them like that.

Once the tray was empty, she opened the valve at the bottom of the cart and released the waste water, slowly advancing across the blacktop and to the drain. Of course, if she was allowed to dump this at the site, the cart wouldn't be quite as heavy during the long arduous push.

Fran stripped the cart of all other extraneous and shelf-stable food products and accessories: chips, napkins, sodas, utensils, etc. She brought them into the storage unit and placed them on the metal storage shelf. The leftover onions, relish and other perishable stuff were dumped into her trash bag.

She unhooked the propane tank and set it off to the side of the storage unit. She set the umbrella inside the storage unit in the corner. She then stripped the cart of every removable piece of stainless steel until it was an empty shell.

Fran pulled her hose out from storage. It was a light blue color. She bought this hose at the beginning of her hot dog-slinging career, where she saw this hose was meant for potable water. Of course, that outdoor spigot may or may not really be potable water, so she would fill her pans with spring water from a five-gallon bottle, the kind that were normally hooked up to independent water coolers in office buildings.

The cart now stripped of all external features, Fran did the same to herself. She sat on the ground, removed her shoes and socks, and whipped her sun dress off, hanging it on a command hook in the storage unit.

While slinging dogs, some would make a comment on the 'completely naked' woman. Of course, Fran had a visor on, and her shoes. This was really the only time that their description would be accurate.

The purpose of her nudity here was different. It wasn't to titillate or to facilitate constant masturbation. Even as she filled her bucket with water and a dash of car wash soap, and her firm body would soon be flecked with suds like she was in a photo shoot, buffing an expensive car... she just didn't want to get her shoes or dress wet.

Fran soaked her sponge in the soapy bucket and gently rubbed it along every metal surface of the cart. She didn't have to use the scour side of the sponge, because she cleaned this thing very well every single afternoon. She had seen a video of some mad scientist cleaning dingy stainless steel with Coca-Cola, but she was trying to just keep it clean the normal way. If she was ever tempted, she had plenty of cans of Coke to try it with, but she could sell those for a few bucks each. Maybe it would work just as well with a store-brand soda... or maybe some RC Cola.

In the distance, she heard a car rolling by. She turned her head around towards the sound, but didn't see anything. She was still alone in this parking lot, buffing her stainless steel cart in her birthday suit...

And yet, there was something about that sound that made her heart pound. That sound of other people, the notion that someone could drop on her at any moment... her cock quickly got hard, despite her trying to ignore it and focus on the scrubbing.

Why now? Hadn't she had enough orgasms today? How was she so excited by the thought of a single car driving by and possibly finding her nude, vulnerable... and now obviously aroused? Maybe the relative seclusion of her 'home base' was somehow a little scarier than blatant nudity in front of hundreds. She never once felt unsafe slinging dogs unless she was crossing the street. Here, it would be just her and whatever mysterious interloper caught her. She should speed up, get this over with and get back home before someone pulled into this parking lot to dig out an old sofa, or whatever it was normal people stored in these units.

Instead, Fran squatted behind the cart and took hold of her cock with her soapy hand. She just came two miles ago... not that miles were much use as a measure of time. Her cart wasn't big enough for her to hide behind completely. Her head stood atop it like a curious groundhog. But anyone watching her head rock rhythmically back and forth as she tugged herself... might have some idea what she was doing.

Why did she keep getting hard long after the implant was gone? She could not blame her lust on that. Normally, thoughts of masturbation were left far behind once the implant was removed. Only if she had a slow final hour would she find it necessary to jerk it "after hours." Even then, once the pipes ran clean and her ejaculate was no longer yellow, she was normally good to go.

She rang the sponge out onto her cock, the cold water and suds decorating the top of her cock like so many hot dogs she had prepared. Car wash soap probably wasn't the best for this purpose, but it left her hand a little slippery as she tugged at herself. She was no longer washing the cart while aroused. She was just masturbating while the suds sat unbuffed on the stainless steel facade of the cart.

Fran stood up over her cart, looking out to the narrow paved path leading to this little corner of the storage facility. Her cock was visible above the shelf of her cart. Now anyone who turned the corner would see her, nude and whacking her cock off in public. Maybe this was why her cock kept getting hard. It was tired of the duality she lived: one half lived in glorious nudity, one half tucked away as if it didn't exist.

She stepped out from behind the cart, leaving behind the shield of stainless steel the cart provided. Nobody was asking for a hot dog here. There was only one footlong Fran was attending to, and that was the one throbbing between her legs. She sat down on the ground and splayed her legs apart. Please let someone come through that gate and catch this spectacle. Let them watch her balls bounce softly against the blacktop as she jerked herself as fast as she could. Maybe she'd be arrested, maybe they'd confiscate her cart...

Maybe it was that confrontation with Patty earlier today that made her horny. Fran couldn't stand Patty, but she was undeniably hung. Attractive, too, or at least she supposed so. All the negative interactions they had colored how Fran looked at her.

But seeing Patty outside with her cock out, just like her... maybe it reminded her of how it felt the first time she whipped it out at the cart. All those eyes falling on her nude form... Fran had a near-permanent erection for the first month of operating her cart. She would not have needed the implant to stay hard. But maybe it would help her come before someone spotted her.

In the distance, she heard a car's brakes screeching. Maybe someone had tried to avoid running over a squirrel. Maybe someone was daydreaming while driving...

Or maybe someone had seen her.

The sound of the brakes made Fran's heart leap into her throat... but nothing would stop her hand. She squealed and had her most intense orgasm in quite a while, spurting white stuff in an arc out in front of her, splattering in long streaks a few feet in front of her.

After that one, she felt completely empty, like that would be the last hot dog she would ever decorate. She wanted to fall over like a deflated parade float, to stare at the sky and drift off to sleep...

But she had to clean up. She wiped her cock with a fresh handful of napkins and threw them into her trash bag.

Once the cart was fully clean and dried, Fran rolled it inside the storage unit. She set the propane tank just outside her unit, protected from the elements by an upside-down milk crate and a small blue tarp. Storing the propane tank inside the storage unit was not allowed, but so was taking it into her home. She had no other place to leave it. She was trying her hardest to avoid doing anything illegal and getting her little operation shut down... but it was very difficult without a commissary.

She closed the door to her storage unit, locking the cart inside, knowing that it wouldn't be that long before she did this all over again.

--

If Fran walked from the park to her apartment, she could be home in a reasonable amount of time. In fact, she could easily take rapid transport. But going to the storage unit was essentially an unavoidable three mile detour. But at least she was no longer pushing a giant stainless steel cart filled with meat-saturated water. All she had was a bag of the day's trash, which she would drop off in her building's dumpster.

Fran walked up the three flights of stairs to her little 280 square-foot apartment. As much as she wanted to fall down onto her couch, where she most often slept rather than her lofted bed, she dragged herself to the bathroom and to her shower. In her first four months here, she kept slamming her elbow against the wall as she learned how to bathe in what was essentially a phone booth with a water feature. She turned the water up as hot as it would go, which was still more 'warm' than hot. Fran scrubbed herself with her loofah, wiping off the sweat and scent of hot dogs from her form.

Once the loofah had done its job and was safely hung back up... Fran succumbed again to the soft, warm soapy grip of herself. She leaned against the tile with her other arm, tugging herself as the shower head rained down on her head. She was used to her foot-long friend being a little 'high-maintenance.' It was one of the reasons she started a business where she could do it constantly.

Something was causing lust to continually stir inside her, long after the work day was over. It wasn't as intense as wearing the implant. This felt like standing on a rising shoreline, something that would subside for a bit, and then hit her in waves.

Sure, she didn't normally get hard or jerk it while washing her cart, but she never really did it in her shower, either. If she had to 'work off the clock,' so to speak, she did it at her old laptop while watching pornography like a normal person. But her cock throbbed and demanded release... again.

Once the soap had all rinsed away, Fran turned off the shower and stepped out. But she did not grab a towel. She left her small bathroom and walked out to her small living space. She opened her solitary window...

And slipped out.

Fran stretched out onto the metal grating of the fire escape and jerked off straight into the air. The breeze chilled her body as the water droplets evaporated from her body. Her hand slapped against her hips as she stared into the partly cloudy sky.

She was right outside her apartment window. It wouldn't take much detective work to figure out where she lived. Furthermore, what if the window fell shut? What if she got stuck out here? What would everyone say? She never saw or talked to her neighbors. Being introduced to them while naked and whacking off in public would be embarrassing, but Fran couldn't deny that it would be an accurate first impression.

Fran clapped her other hand over her mouth and squealed into it. She sprayed her come into the air... where most of it came down onto her, splattering hotly onto her flesh and face.

Releasing herself, Fran panted and relaxed as the cool breeze continued to chill her damp body, contrasted by the hot jizz dotting her flesh.

Of course, nobody could really see her from street level, and the building across the way was two floors shorter than her building. There was really no danger of being seen... Maybe she'd have to do this again sometime.

Fran slipped back in her window and took a quick shower to wash the seed off her body. This thankfully didn't result in an endless feedback loop of soapy masturbation, as she stayed calm... for now.

Emerging clean from her shower, Fran then came to rest on her couch and took a rather unwise nap. Nothing was on TV at this point, since it would soon be five o'clock and there'd be nothing to watch but bad news. When she awoke around seven, she rolled off the couch and prepared some less-than-halfway-decent microwave hamburgers. She probably wouldn't buy these again, as there were tastier options that came right out of the freezer, but they were fine when jazzed up with a little hot sauce.

Fran really did love to cook. Running a hot dog stand wasn't a very complete expression of 'cooking,' but at least she was feeding the hungry... and the thirsty. When she still lived at home, she enjoyed cooking for her parents. After all, it meant they would do the dishes. But when she lived alone... she saw no reason to make a fuss when she was the only one who would enjoy it.

Especially because, around eight o'clock, Fran had the debate she had every night. Do I do the prep tonight and put it in the fridge... or set the alarm even earlier to wake up in time to do it in the morning?

This night, she successfully dragged her aching bones off the couch and did it. It mostly involved chopping a lot of onions, which always made her tear up because the vent in her kitchen didn't work. There were some chopped peppers thrown in there, too, but even with a pair of gloves on... her hands always stank of onions afterwards.

Setting the prepared vegetables into individual stacking plastic containers and stowing them in her fridge, Fran set her alarm to the generous time of 6AM, which somehow counted as 'sleeping in.' She slumped back onto the couch, barely paying attention to whatever show was on the TV.

For a job where she talked to and served hundreds of people, and one where even more gawked at her nudity... outside of her job, it was a bit lonely. She was almost always too tired or too busy to hang out with friends after work. As far as romantic partners... well, once she got into this business, nobody could claim to be taken by surprise by her extension. But that probably just served to drive more away. One of the only people who might have understood her plight... was someone she couldn't stand. She wondered what she got up to... this late at night...

There she was again. Her cock swelled, trying to work its way out of the tunnel of flexible spandex that was her right pajama leg.

This time... Fran just ignored it. She was not about to touch it and make it smell like onions, too.

--

A week ago, the national news reported a widespread recall of ground beef from one national provider. The recall only affected pre-ground meat distributed at certain grocery stores in certain states on the east coast. Nevertheless, slightly myopic and sensationalized news programming caused beef purchases throughout the United States to plummet.

A side effect of this was that burger consumption dropped for possibly the first time in the nation's history. This was the worst thing to happen to fast food since a lifelong vexatious litigant and con artist dropped a surreptitiously obtained severed fingertip into her own bowl of chili.

National chains felt the sting, but would be able to absorb the loss and continue when burger-munching would undoubtedly resume at its normal pace. They might close a few under-performing locations, or some VP would target a location for shutdown if it was run by someone who embarrassed them at a Christmas party... but the high-ranking corporate dimwits in charge would be insulated from any financial consequences.

For smaller burger chains, even those that proudly ground their own cuts of meat... traffic dwindled. For those specialty chains that involved turning semen into condiments through unclear means... the world's sudden concern with food-borne illnesses made their customers even more nervous.