The Long Pull: Spread Your Wings

A long time ago, Carol had to choose between two job offers with comparable starting wages. One was a coffee shop, which opened early but also closed early. The other was a waitressing job, which started later in the day, but could keep her out until ten o'clock, eleven... sometimes past midnight. Carol had never been much of a morning person, and she didn't personally drink coffee. So she took the waitressing job.

That was a long time ago. She wondered how things would be different if she had taken the coffee shop job. Maybe she would have been surrounded by liberal pseudo-intellectuals rather than men in cowboy boots who endeavored to make their cars less fuel efficient, for whatever reason. Maybe she wouldn't still be in this line of work if she had to keep getting up early, calling on the brown brew to drag herself out of her bed. Driving out here could be a drag... but she at least had enough time to have a nice breakfast before getting here.

Carol parked behind the building and entered through the back entrance into the kitchen. She passed some of the staff getting some ingredients ready for opening as she went through the kitchen, out past the many empty tables and to the employee-only section beyond the lavatories. She cut through the tiny break room and into the locker room.

It seemed like a waste of a padlock to lock up her waitressing belt pouch, but Carol certainly never needed this device at home. She had a few extras she could switch through if it got stained or otherwise besmirched. She also had spare pens and some ibuprofen hidden in here, though the latter was technically against the rules. She'd have to take it home before her bosses did a locker check. Generally, her direct supervisors didn't care, but the area manager was always hungry to find any perceived infraction to ding them on.

Carol hung her coat on a hanger, already wearing her white tank-top with the restaurant's logo emblazoned on it. She slipped off her shoes and dropped her pants, rolling them up and putting them in her locker. She slipped off her panties and rested them on top of the rolled pants in a neat little pile.

Then the door to the locker room opened.

Her coworker, Anne, had barged in without knocking, leaving Carol in a bit of a compromised position. She had no pants on, which left her large cock hanging freely between her legs.

Anne gasped. "Oh! Oh my goodness!" She said, staring with goggle-eyed shock. "You're... you're a..."

"Anne..." Carol said, not moving her hands to cover herself.

"No, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" Anne insisted. "In fact... I... I should show you something. You might... even like it."

"Anne." Carol repeated with a hint of annoyance, one hand folded shut and falling onto her hip.

Anne reached into the waistband of her pants and pulled something out: her own large cock and balls. "See? You're not the only one. Nothing to be ashamed of... but my God, yours is nice and big. Can I..."

Carol moved over to Anne, put one hand behind her head and pulled her in for a long kiss. "Why do you do this every time you walk in on me when I'm changing?"

"Because it's hot." She cooed, taking another kiss from her as she advanced, pushing Carol into the lockers.

"If you're already this horny, you're going to be out of control today once you wear the implant." Carol grinned.

"I can't help it. We haven't done it in like two months."

"We can't do it while we're here." Carol said. "And we're both almost always here. We might find more time if you moved in with me."

"Nah. Making it official takes all the fun out of it." Anne said. "It's only fun if we're not supposed to be doing it."

"It'd still be fun either way."

They shared one last kiss before they separated. Anne found her own locker and started to change.

"How was your week?" Anne asked. Weekends were invariably filled with work in the restaurant business, so Anne always asked what people got up to on whatever weekday they had away from here.

"Fine." Carol said. "I cleaned up my place, so it wasn't very relaxing. I only did it because I lost something and tore the place apart looking for it. How about you?"

"My only day off was Sunday, because I had a pedicure scheduled. There's lots of open appointments if you can get up early on Sunday mornings around here, because everyone else is still in church."

Carol had heard from other waitresses in less-niche restaurants that the worst tippers of the entire week appeared right after church services ended. Once they leave the church filled with self-satisfied virtue, they would come visit all the unfortunates who had to work on the Sabbath and refuse to compensate them with an appropriate tip. Thank goodness the wage here was generous enough so that they didn't rely on tips here.

Even if her job hadn't needed her on Sundays... Carol hadn't found herself in a church in quite a while. She didn't want to have to repent for working on the Sabbath... or the self-gratification... or all that homosexual sex out of wedlock. That was a big one.

Carol pulled out the required booty shorts from her bag and slipped them on. Some restaurants with attractive waitresses had orange shorts, but this place had a dull green spotted with uneven beige diamonds. There was also a button fly in the front that was almost always worn open to comfortably rest the scrotum upon. The back of the shorts had a hole that thankfully did not facilitate the obvious function. She slipped back on her comfortable sneakers and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror.

At some point, Carol had stopped taking many selfies when she discovered the 'beauty' button in the corner of her phone's photo app. There were options to smooth out skin tone... but also ones to gently increase eye size and narrow the chin. (This wasn't a special beauty app on the phone. This was the phone's native camera app offering these suggestions! It was like a tax preparation program that suggested ways to launder money.)

Carol avoided selfies since that date, so the only time she really checked her full appearance was in this mirror... in uniform.

Her hair was thick and attractively cut at the shoulder, but her dark roots were showing again past the dusty blonde. She used to wear a belly shirt, but her gently expanding waist led her to switching out to a full-length tank top. None of the regular customers seemed to care about her rear getting bigger, but she had gone up a size a few years ago.

The only part of her that had stayed a consistent size... was her cock. Her weight gain had not yet robbed her of any of that. That could maybe get her back to the gym... if she could summon any energy after over forty hours perpetually on her feet. She even resented having to spend the effort to go to the grocery store on her day off. Maybe she'd try dieting... but she was at the restaurant so often, she quite often found herself eating mozzarella sticks or whatever fried treat she could muster. (All for free, which was amazingly generous of the management... but was sometimes too tempting.)

Carol still knew she was attractive, maybe even more than the average thirty-three year old. And even if she had let her looks slip a bit, who cared? She was much better looking than almost all those dudes who made their money based on their large dicks. And she was bigger than almost all of them, rocking eleven and a half inches. Maybe she had lost a quarter-inch from her encroaching muffin-top.

Anne slid into frame, wrapping one arm around Carol's shoulder and leaning into her. Anne was still about the same weight she was when she started, but she was a naturally petite woman with a slightly less impressive erection. Her hair was a little messier, dark straight hair that frizzed out a bit as the day went on. Her nose was a little bigger, and she had some crowding in her lower teeth that she wished she could fix without having to wear braces into adulthood.

But she knew she looked good, and so did her friend. She quickly kissed Carol on her cheek and returned her gaze to the mirror, and their twin erections.

The logo on their tank-tops were reversed, but they knew what the said: Pythons. The S was even a cartoon snake that didn't really resemble any extant species of Pythonidae, but it did look like an S. (In the old logo, there used to be a rattle on the snake's tail, which makes no sense, because rattlesnakes are vipers, not pythons. Who would want to compare their cock to a spitting cobra? That wasn't appetizing at all.)

"You're looking especially good today." Anne said, running the tip of her nose on Carol's neck.

"Stop. You always say that. It's not special if it's every day." Carol slipped out of Anne's grip and left the locker room. She looked at the printed schedule for this week. Her specific instructions for this shift said, 'training Belle.'

"Who's Belle?" She asked.

A woman entered the break room. Not immediately after Carol said this; it was maybe forty seconds later, thus squandering what would have been perfect sitcom timing. This woman was really something, with perfect wavy brown hair, shocking blue eyes perfectly accented with a bit of eyeshadow and mascara, strong cheekbones, beautiful pouty lips... she looked like a model. She was wrapped up in a dark brown coat, so the bystanders couldn't appraise any other part of her.

The woman looked around and saw Carol, and her name tag. "You're Carol! Hello, I'm Belle! It's nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand for a shake.

Carol accepted it, still shocked at what she was seeing. "You're the new waitress?" She asked.

"Yeah, and I'm really excited to be here!" She bubbled, putting her hands together in front of her. "This is such a cool opportunity!"

Carol wondered if she had ever faced front-facing food service with such unrestrained optimism, even in her youth. "Well, we're happy to have you on board. Let's get ready you and I'll show you the ropes."

"That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!" Belle opened her coat and moved into the locker room.

Anne's mouth fell open, as it often did when she saw something that both surprised and delighted her. She silently mouthed "oh my god" to Carol.

The pair stood in the doorway of the locker room, where Belle had found the strongest-looking hangar to hold up her coat. Belle had the standard issue crop-top, but the logo was somewhat distorted from being stretched over Belle's enormous breasts. At least double-Ds or Fs, packed into a bra that must have been designed by NASA, floating over a perfectly flat and narrow waist. The combination didn't seem possible. There may have been surgical intervention somewhere.

Belle saw the pair staring. She chuckled. "I guess you've met the girls." She pulled her upper arms in to deepen the already large line of cleavage peeking over the V-neck of the crop-top.

"I'd love to do more than that." Anne smirked.

Carol cleared her throat. "You know that... Pythons isn't like that other wing place. We don't have to have humongous breasts to work here."

Belle's hands went over her breasts, as if they had heard that and she was covering their ears. "But it's still fine if I... DO have big breasts, right?"

Carol felt embarrassed for even bringing it up. "Yes, of course. Everyone loves breasts, but at Pythons, you'll need..."

She didn't finish her sentence. Belle had dropped her skirt. Her legs and ass were just as excellent as everything else she had shown so far, though her bum wasn't the equal of her chest. But between her legs, Belle had unveiled a cock that hung well past her knee, a flaccid length of at least ten inches if not more. It was the biggest cock that had ever entered this establishment.

Carol stared at it. She rubbed her eyes and looked closer. Belle neatly folded her skirt and put it in an unused locker, hoping she wasn't taking a number that anyone else was attached to. She pulled the shorts out of her purse and stepped into them, wrapping them tightly around her hips. She looked ready for a photo shoot for a calendar, not just a random day at work.

Only now did Carol notice that Anne was no longer behind her. Carol stepped out of the doorway to find Anne just around the corner, slumped against the wall, face red and scrunched, burying uncontrollable laughter in her hand. She took a few breaths to get control of herself.

"Holy cow..." She whispered. "WHAT is she doing in Fort Worth? Why isn't she in California doing porn?"

"You'll have to ask her." Carol whispered back. "I thought the boobs might be fake, but there's no faking that."

Anne stared up at Carol. "I want her."

"Well, of course." Carol said. "It'd be weird if you didn't."

Belle walked out of the locker room, as 'fully dressed' as Python's uniform allowed. "Do I look OK?" She asked.

Carol helped Anne back up from the floor. "You look stunning." She said.

Anne chuckled. "Yeah, you really knocked me off my feet."

Belle grinned widely, as if nobody had told her how lovely she was in a long time.

"I will say..." Carol said. "You'll have to find the right socks at some point." She pointed to her own long socks, bunched up against her sneakers. "The slouch socks are technically part of the uniform. It's one of the things that was shamelessly stolen from... you know, the orange place."

"Is that what they call 'em? Slouch socks?" She looked down to her shoes. "I couldn't figure out what they were called, so I couldn't find 'em online. But I'll buy some as soon as I can."

"Yeah, it's the one thing the company doesn't pay for." Anne said. "You figure they might, since they require it, and we've all probably can fit into the same socks. It ain't like shoes."

"I'm not going to worry about it." Belle said. "I'm just thrilled for this opportunity."

Carol glanced at Belle from over her shoulder. Beautiful as she was... that optimism and positivity was a little much this early in the morning.

Even if it was already ten-thirty.

---

Pythons' interior would be familiar to anyone who had visited a wing bar or sports bar. All the walls were wood paneling dotted with dozens of televisions invariably tuned to every imaginable sports program... except what Americans stubbornly persisted in calling 'soccer.' One side of the building had the bar, where less nude workers would serve up various alcohol beverages. The wall behind that hid the kitchen, where prepared food would be set out to be shepherded to the tables by the servers. An area off to the right of the bar had a small 'stage' that was really just a small risen part of floor less than one foot off the ground. It was where live musicians might play on a Friday night, or where the karaoke machine might be put up, if there were enough drunk people to support its enlistment.

Servers had to make large one-way 'loops' around the entire footprint of the building to serve people. It was tiring, but all the customers appreciated the unending parade of mostly-nude waitresses bouncing past. This may have even been a deliberate design decision. Carol had never visited the other Pythons locations to find out for sure.

"I don't know if they still have you watch the orientation video, but I'll explain the stuff it doesn't cover." She said to Belle, who was dutifully following her around like she was on a leash.

In the back storage room, just beyond the kitchen, Carol pulled a heat-sealed plastic bag from a high cabinet and ripped it open. Inside was a device about the size of a jalapeno pepper, with a plastic taper on the end where the stem would be. It was red-orange and partially covered with semitransparent plastic.

"This is the standard wing sauce implant." Carol held it up by the end. "There's this little dial on the end that lets you set the intensity." She turned the little dial clockwise. The plastic sheath covering three-quarters of the implant rolled back and slid away until all the plastic shutters were stacked on top of each other, leaving three-fourths of the implant exposed. She turned it back and the sheath returned to its original place.

"Wow" Belle looked at the device with wonder. "The engineering on this is impressive. Do we take it out to change the flavor?"

"The video says that we're supposed to, but... you know how corporations are. I've used this thing for years and have never once been hurt by the shutters. I think that's a million-to-one thing. I always just turn it while I'm wearing it." She turned it again. "There are little grooves that the implant will settle into, like the dial on the stove. But all it boils down to is mild, which is a quarter open, medium, which is half, and hot, which is three-fourths open, which is as high as this one goes."

"We don't have a wing hotter than hot?" Belle asked.

"Of course we do, but we don't make anyone wear those implants all the time." Carol explained. "Those implants are especially intense, and we'll go weeks without anyone ordering anything that hot."

Belle tipped her head, bringing a finger to her chin. Her forearm pressed into her huge breast like a rolling pin left sitting on a mound of dough. "I'm surprised that all the tough guys 'round here aren't getting the hottest wings."

"Well, think about it." Carol said. "Why do some men insist on eating the hottest wings?"

"To prove how tough they are?"

"And why do men care about that?"

Belle looked down, unable to see the connection.

"To prove how big their dicks are." Carol answered her own question. "And they're not going to bother trying that here. It's not like they're bringing a date. Or if they are... they're quite secure in their manhood."

Belle nodded at the wisdom of that observation. She would not have looked amiss holding a clipboard and writing down the knowledge for future referral.

"For your training shifts, you'll be assigned the variety pack." Carol found another implant in a similar sealed plastic package. "That's not what it's called, but that's what we call it because we call something else 'rainbow' so that nickname is taken. And as you might know, not everything called 'rainbow' is always accepted 'round these parts."

Carol held the implant by the base. The implant was the same shape, but this one had a plastic shroud that always covered three-fourths of the implant. Carol would have compared it to the function of a He-Man Man E. Faces action figure, where you turn the knob and the inside spins around, but... there was no way Belle would get that reference. That show was before even Carol's time, much less Belle's.

The slot in the implant's shroud exposed a portion of the implant the color of margarine. "If you're all the way to the left, then you're set to Garlic Parmesan, the mildest wing other than... plain." She turned the dial on the implant's flange, the plastic pieces making a loud snap. The exposed part of the implant was now a deep yellow, like expensive imported butter. "Second is lemon pepper..." She turned it again. The section of the implant was a glossy maroon. "Spicy teriyaki..." She turned it to the last setting, which was a warm yellow-orange.

"And finally... mango habanero."

Belle's lips came together and her eyebrows jumped. "Oooh." Belle said. "I always wanted to try that. I've heard it's good."

"It's very popular." She turned the device back to the leftmost position. "Keep it set on garlic Parmesan while you're not making something else. Trust me on that. You'll know you're on it if you can't go any more to the left."

She handed off the multicolored implant to Belle. She stared at it.

"Do I... put it in myself?" Belle asked.

"You are expected to handle this part of the job yourself." Carol said. She pointed to a spot of molding with a crescent-shaped bare spot and a few empty drill holes. "We used to have a bracket here that held this little U-shaped hook that you could... sort of hook the implant on to get it off or on if you didn't want to touch it. OSHA told us to get rid of it."