The Brash Hen

Well, I was shit out of luck. Fuck, but I had a bad week.

First, I got laid off from my crap job. It wasn't much, but it was close enough to walk to and it paid enough to keep me under a roof while I took online classes with every penny I saved.

Second, someone broke into my shitty apartment and stole my laptop, television, and even the fold up chairs for my card table. I mean, what the fuck, right?

And to cap it all off, the screen on my phone broke when a bike messenger hit me earlier and I dropped it. I still had a bruise on my right cheek from where the wheel dug in. He wasn't going very fast or anything, but still, what an asshole. I didn't have the money to get it fixed - not when I needed a laptop for the online courses. I didn't even have the money to go buy a secondhand one from a shop. I needed cash in hand and I needed it today.

It's okay, I told myself as I left my apartment and took a deep breath. You can do this. There's lots of local places - restaurants, bars, clothing stores. Surely somebody within walking distance will have a Help Wanted sign out front.

Nothing was easy. I even went into a lot of the places and asked directly, sometimes waiting up to half an hour for a manager to come tell me no. Dejected, I was heading home, but on an unfamiliar street, when I finally saw a spark of hope.

I noticed the sign outside of one of the many three- or four-story brick buildings along the street. A hundred years ago, they would have been industrial warehouses or factories, but now they were converted into shops, hotels, bars with apartments above, that sort of stuff. It wasn't particularly busy being only mid-afternoon. There were a few cars, but most of the places looked half-full at best. Probably more of a nightlife area, judging from the signs, including the one above the door I stood in front of. It was called The Brash Hen, which sounded like a throwback to how they used to name pubs in England or something, but whatever - a job was a job, and the small orange "Help Wanted" font on the black and white store-bought poster was more than enough for me.

I opened the door and quickly went inside. A large bar spread out in front of me. There was a large, long bar across the back wall which, instead of going straight, bulged outwards at the center. There was a dance floor, a DJ booth, and, on the far side of the open space, rows of tables and booths, about two dozen in all, most with seating for at least four. The original warehouse origins of the space were obvious - the walls were barely finished, mostly just bare brick and concrete patching, with a flat beam ceiling covered in lights and projectors.

The Brash Hen was currently empty, but as I took another step inside, I saw someone step through a door at one end of the bulging bar.

"Hey, we're not open yet," she called out. She wasn't too tall, and she had fairly skinny shoulders. Long blonde hair, smooth skin, a naturally stern expression - a real looker. Really my type. I liked a woman who took charge of things, sometimes. And underneath her tight white polo shirt featuring the Brash Hen's logo were a promisingly large pair of breasts.

"I'm here about the help wanted sign outside," I said. I forced a smile despite the ache in my feet from walking all day.

The lady - whether employee, manager, or other I had no clue - leaned over, peering across at me as I tried not to react to the sight of her impressive chest flattening across the wooden bar. Her eyes seemed to light up after a moment as they adjusted to the darkness, and then she nodded.

"Great! We've been short a server for a few weeks after one of ours got hitched. You ever work in a bar before?" she asked.

Before I could answer, she shrugged and kept going.

"Eh, it doesn't matter. Listen, you'll just take the drink order, walk around behind the bar and tell me or another bartender what they want, then carry them back," she said. She licked her lips and leaned further forward, causing her polo shirt to pull down. The buttons, already undone, spread further apart as her cleavage aimed itself at my crotch, aimed, and fired. "I'll help you work out your tips, but the menu's not too complicated. And you look like you'll do pretty well here."

I was half-listening and focusing the rest of my energy on willing my erection to subside, but it was okay because she kept talking anyways.

"I'll give you a uniform shirt when you show up for your shift tonight. Wear black pants, but if you want more tips, wear black shorts. Black shoes, heels optional. We don't mix triples and we don't serve anyone who looks too hammered. No drugs or drinking immediately before or during your shift, but otherwise, if we like you and keep you around, you'll drink free. If anyone asks about the rooms, they're talking about the apartments upstairs. We rent 'em out like a hotel for people who get too drunk to drive. There's only gonna be one other server tonight, so I don't know if he'll have time to help you much, so you're gonna have to learn as you go, alright? Busiest hours are from nine to eleven, with another rush right before closing at two a.m. We close earlier on the weekdays. Be here by 7 and expect to go home around 2:30. You'll get a 30-minute lunch break. We have some benefits plans and I'll get you the literature later. For now, what's your phone number?"

I snapped back to reality. I could almost feel my eyes dilating as I stopped shamelessly staring down her fabulous tits and lifted my gaze to her face. Well, to the side of her face. As much as I was paying attention to only a bit of her, she wasn't paying any attention at all to me. Instead, she was snapping her gum and checking her phone. I don't think she even noticed, or possibly didn't care, about how hard I peeped her.

"Uh, my phone's broken right now, but I'll be able to get a new one in a few days."

For a brief second, her eyes shifted, she took me in for a second evaluation, and the corners of her lips twitched.

"Let me guess... rent's due, you just lost whatever job you had, and you're on the ropes? Yeah, yeah, I've heard it before. I don't give a shit about anything other than can you carry four drinks on a tray from point A to point B without spilling too much, so if your answer to that is, 'Yes, I can do that,' then you're hired, if not, get the fuck out and quit wasting my time. Sound good?"

I nodded mutely.

"Good. Here, take this. It's a prepaid left behind, you can use it until you get a new one."

She tossed a phone towards me suddenly and I struggled to catch it. As she leaned back upright, I couldn't help the ogle-beams shooting from my eyes towards her bouncing breasts. They were fucking tight and I couldn't help myself despite my desperate financial situation. I mean, she was going to be my boss, right?

As if reading my thoughts, she got to my next question before I could ask it.

"Oh, and I'm Vanessa. I'm the owner, manager, and bartender of this dump, and you're not going to do anything to make it worse, got it? The campground rule is in full force: leave the place nicer than you found it and we'll be all good."

With that, she spun around and headed through the same door she appeared through. I really enjoyed watching her go; slender shoulders, lean and smooth backside, a narrow belly and wide, flaring hips. Her polo hugged her figure, outlining how her heavy tits were wide enough to stretch past her ribs on either side. There was nowhere to hide my boner and I was glad she'd already turned around. I could hardly believe I lucked into a job with such a smoking hot, no-nonsense boss in just one day! She disappeared into the other room, unfortunately, leaving me alone with the mental replay and my boner. The doorway was covered with wooden beads, providing a bit of a privacy curtain for the area behind the bar, presumably where all the storage and kitchen equipment was.

It was only mid-afternoon, but I had nothing to do for the next few hours until my shift started. After rearranging myself so as not to show bulge, I headed back onto the street and walked home, waited around in my ransacked apartment reading books and charging the burner, and then dug a pair of black shorts out of the closet, ignoring the black pants I came across first. I needed the money, and if that meant showing my legs or something, well... shame wouldn't pay the rent. Plus, I wasn't ugly or anything. A bit thin, a bit short, maybe, but cute enough to earn some tips, hopefully, if it came to that.

I didn't know what kind of clientele the Brash Hen attracted where a guy like me wearing shorts would help me earn tips, but I pushed any worries to the back of my head as I instead wondered about all the missing assignments piling up in my online courses, and then it was time to leave.

* * *

The Brash Hen was as empty when I arrived as the first time. Vanessa appeared from the same door as before holding folded clothes under her massive rack. My eyes danced greedily up and down as I watched her immense melons wobble and bounce with every step. Was she wearing heels? I couldn't tell because she was behind the bar, but from her strut, I imagined she was.

I discreetly arranged myself in my shorts as I approached and took the shirt she offered me.

Unlike her polo with the Brash Hen logo - stretched out quite far upon the huge expanse of flesh beneath - the "shirt" she gave me was really more like a sports bra. The logo of the Brash Hen was larger and repeated all the way around the stretchy tube-like garment.

"Uh... is this it?" I asked.

"Yup," was her only reply. She was already leaning on the counter, bored of me and scrolling her phone. I tried not to swallow my tongue as her huge tits swallowed her arm, wrapping entirely around her wrist and hand and spreading further yet across the wood. Jesus, those were some tits.

Shame wouldn't pay the rent, I repeated to myself, and I quickly pulled off my shirt and then awkwardly tugged the sports bra thing down around my chest. It was tight and squeezed in around my pecs. It wrapped under my arms and around my back, narrowing a bit as it did. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it did leave my skinny stomach and shoulders completely bare.

I stood awkwardly in silence, my original shirt in my hand at my side, waiting for her to tell me what to do next. I shifted a little uncomfortably - I'd been hoping to use a shirt to hide any boners Vanessa's awe-inspiring rack was going to cause me throughout the night.

After a couple of minutes, her eyes flicked my way. The smooth lipstick around her mouth spread in a slight smile, more of a smirk, as she ran her gaze up and down me. I shivered, but I figured fair was fair considering how much time I spent ogling her tits.

"Good boy. I like it when my employees don't put up a fuss about the uniform," she said as she leaned upright and stood. "Shows lots of... hmm... promise."

I wasn't exactly sure what she meant - maybe a raise? It didn't really matter. I just wanted to make some tips. Cash in hand, pay the rent, get a new laptop - anything cheap, maybe something from the thrift store. Catch up in the day and work at night. Perfect.

Vanessa gestured towards the menu.

"Make sure you know the specials. Most people are just gonna order beer or simple mixed drinks. Don't serve anyone who looks like they're gonna pass out, start a fight, or hump in public. Bring every penny you're given to me - you'll get your tips once I balance my books at close. The customer is always right otherwise, and you'll behave yourself around them no matter what."

Her rapid-fire cadence paused as she eyed me again, licked her lips, and resumed. As she spoke, she slid her palms up the sides of her chest, spreading her arms around the massive milkers, before sliding her fingers across the top and fixing the collar of the polo around her neck - the hottest pretext I could ever imagine, and there was no hiding the bulge in my shorts now.

"If you have any questions, let me know. Figure out who the regulars are before you open any tabs - ask me or another bartender. Jenni's working tonight. Do what she says. Any questions, Max?"

I shook my head. I think if I spoke at that moment I would have blurted out something about her tits. Fuck, I wanted to bury my face in them.

"Good. Oh, and if anyone asks about the rooms upstairs, that's up to you. I got shit to do, so pick up a rag and clean something if you're not doing anything."

She was in the back before I knew it, and the last part - about the rooms upstairs - struck me as odd. Well, it made sense - a lot of these places had apartments or something. But why would anyone ask me about them?

I found a bucket under the bar and a somewhat clean-ish towel and set to work scrubbing tables like my life depended on it. A little early effort went a long way in case Vanessa decided to check in on me.

"Oh, hi! Are you Max? Vanessa said I should help you out tonight since you're new! I'm Ericka! Nice to meet you!"

A chirpy, high-pitched, but male voice sounded behind me and I turned around. My eyes widened. He was a he, sure, but only just. Like me, he wore the sports bra uniform, but unlike me, he was filling it out, at least a little. His pudgy pecs matched his smooth, flat stomach, all on display above the black shorts around his wide hips. Well, calling them shorts was generous. They were a few inches wide at most, more like a belt with a tiny pouch hanging from the middle that squeezed around a small but prominent dick and balls. Like a jockstrap, bands wrapped diagonally up his pudgy, thick thighs and joined up at the waistband, hefting up his considerable backside.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "Vanessa just told me to clean for now until customers start arriving."

"Oh, yeah! They'll be here soon. We get lots of regulars. It's such a fun job!"

Ericka, he said his name was? He beamed at me, and I got the distinct impression of a moth fluttering around a lightbulb.

"How busy do you think it'll be tonight?"

"Oh, it's the weekend, so busy for sure! That's the best though. Times goes quick, and they'll keep you on your toes!"

Ericka glanced side to side, then leaned in close and grinned.

"Did Vanessa tell you about upstairs?" he whispered in the same tone of voice one might use to discuss a terrible conspiracy.

"Just that it was up to me, or something. I didn't really understand what she meant."

Ericka's grin spread.

"Oh, it's fun! But don't do it if it's too busy, and we can't both do it at the same time, okay? Let me know if you go and vice versus, okay?"

Ericka grinned at me, then rubbed his thumb against three of his other fingers.

"You wanna make money, right? Best tips are for the upstairs service."

"Is it like a bottle service or something fancy like that?"

Ericka nodded enthusiastically.

"I don't know what a bottle service is, but yeah! It's fun! Oh, I think some customers are here!"

There was a little digital clock on the back wall of the bar under the utility sink where I put the bucket and towel for later. It read five o'clock exactly. When I turned around, a shaft of bright light from outside stabbed in through the doorway, momentarily blinding me.

"Ericka! My favorite barslut! Get us a round of vodka tonics - and a beer for Monica - and be quick about it, yeah?"

A loud slapping noise and an excited, high-pitched squeal followed.

"Yes, ma'am!" Ericka gasped.

My eyes refocused as the door closed. Ericka jogged around me and started making drinks, presumably since Vanessa wasn't around yet. His entire right cheek, the whole massive ass, had a red handprint etched into it from the powerful slap I heard earlier. I looked back over the bar.

Four tall women headed away from me towards a table in the back. To a one, they carried themselves ferociously, like tigers stalking the jungle. Short shorts, tight tops, high heels, and jewelry, they were decked out for the night, not they needed much to show off. They were all stacked, massively endowed in the chest, as big or bigger than Vanessa. Impossibly large tits swayed side to side, well past the edges of their owner's comparatively slender chests and bellies. One of them from behind looked like a sculpted popsicle stick with some water balloons hanging off the far side, save for her tremendously curvy, round backside. The tight jean shorts rode up her crack, all but disappearing in the ass cleavage, and my hardon suddenly returned in full force. Fortunately, I was behind the bar, so my shorts, which were practically chaste in comparison to Ericka's dick-hugging, ass-freeing jock strap, didn't betray me.

I watched as the four women sat at a booth. It was hard to see details in the darkness once they were sat, but Ericka rolled up with a tray loaded with drinks - three vodka tonics and a beer in a large glass mug. He bent over the table as he set them down, leaning over. I watched as a woman on the end of the booth lifted her arm and swung, smacking her hand across the other fat femboy cheek. Ericka's high-pitched gasp turned into a moan as the women erupted in laughter. I couldn't tell for sure, but as Ericka leaned over the table, I thought the woman's hand remained on his ass, kneading and digging into his backside.

Ericka was nodding his head, shaking his head, stammering out some answers, and turning bright red as the women teased him. I could hear the gales of laughter but no specific words despite straining to hear from my place back at the bar. Eventually, Ericka came staggering back with his empty tray, a huge grin on his face and both fat ass cheeks burning bright red.

"They wanna meet the new guy," he said, gasping out the words as he breathed hard, causing the Brash Hen logo on his chest to expand and contract. "The regulars are so much fun!"

His hand dug around in his shorts, then reappeared holding some crumpled money. Just how deep did they stuff the tips into the shorts here, I wondered?

"I wouldn't make them wait, if I were you," Ericka said, his voice high but suddenly serious. "They don't like to wait. I always serve their drinks first. It's fun!"

His beaming, vacant smile returned as he counted out the money and put it into the till.

Regulars at a bar, I understood, but I was probably visibly flustered and nervous as I approached the booth.

"Good evening, ladies," I said, smiling brightly as I could. "Are you having a good time so far?"

I could feel my shorts tenting. There was nowhere to hide it. Four massive pairs of tits stared right back, each set bigger than the last, all crowded into the booth so close they were rubbing together at the front and sides. Their drinks remained in hand as there was little table space left. I tried not to stare, I really did, but I probably looked like a sparrow as I darted my gaze around between them.

That stopped suddenly when I felt something squeeze around my cock. Hard.

I yipped and looked down, tried to step back but couldn't as my shorts stretched but my dick didn't.

"What have we here?" the woman closest to me barked. "Showing off your little pecker like that isn't gonna impress us, slut. Ha ha ha!"

She dragged me forward by the balls. I yipped again as I fell forward. Her shoulders pushed back, lifting her chest up, and as I fell, between her hard, smooth, toned belly and equally muscular, powerful thighs, I saw the largest, thickest, clearest outline of a huge fat dick I'd ever seen in my life.

Gravity pulled me down across her lap in slow motion. The side of my face scraped over the bulge of her nipple as I passed back, then her hand released my aching cock and slapped across my ass instead, digging in and pulling me facefirst into her crotch. Her enormous bulge smooshed over my face. The zipper was hard and warm as I felt the entire length flex warningly. It was alarmingly flaccid, in the sense that I couldn't imagine it getting any bigger than it already was. Easily thicker than my wrist, the fat monster ground into my face and lips and nose as her huge tits settled around the back of my head.