The Long Pull: Spread Your Wings

Carol had watched the spectacle from a respectable distance, partially to assist if Belle had fallen off the bar... and partially because she could feel her appreciation of autofellatio increasing dramatically. Add one more fetish to the very long list.

At the end of the lunch rush, one customer asked why Carol had 'put' so much sauce on their wings this time. Carol claimed it was because they were just so dang handsome. The thoroughly average customer with the adult braces and unibrow bristled at this obvious nonsense, she rolled it back and confessed that she'd just watched one of the staff suck their own dick.

When the customer asked for his own show... Carol sadly had to decline. Her old back just would not allow her to do it. It had been back ever since she dared to twist her back reaching for something from her couch a few months back.

Thirty-three kept feeling older and older.

---

Carol was sitting at one of the break tables, leaning against her chair, lost in thought. She sat with her feet turned to their side so the soles were facing each other, and more importantly, not against the ground. (Even in a work environment with a liberal attitude towards dress as Pythons, it was considered rude to take one's shoes off unless you had to.)

There was no speaker for the music in the break room, thank goodness. This was the only place in the building one could escape the ever-present country music. Carol liked country... or she did, before it started to remind her of working. Even as country evolved over the last few years, embracing drunken partying, and then reflexively turning sensitive and romantic... it was all nothing but twangs and drawls, nothing to distinct one song from another unless the vocalist was a woman for an interval.

"You OK?" Anne asked from the other table. She was about to engage in her favorite break time pastime: squeezing in a few minutes of fun on her expensive gaming laptop. But noticing Carol there, looking so lost, she turned her chair towards Carol.

Carol had almost forgotten someone else was even in here with her. Most of the time, there was just enough waitresses to serve every customer in a reasonable amount of time, so breaks had to be taken one at a time to keep everything moving. But recently, there had been an upswing in traffic, and not just one that represented the end of the slow season between the Super Bowl and the start of Major League Baseball.

"I'm fine." She said. "Just tired."

"Yeah, aren't we all?" Anne brought her chair over to Carol's table. "Why didn't you take the implant out?"

"Maybe I did, but you're just too sexy to not make me hard all by yourself."

"I'll reach back there and find out for sure. You know I will."

Anne leaned against the small table and in towards Carol. She blinked, fluttering those long lashes of hers.

A moment later, they were kissing, Anne climbing up into Carol's lap as they rubbed their erections together.

"The managers don't approve of doing this in the break room." Carol somehow said as Anne kept kissing.

"Why?" Anne whispered into Carol's ear before nuzzling her earlobe. "If we lez out in front of customers, they're thrilled that we're making the workplace more fun. If we do it in here because we mean it... who cares?" Another long smooch. "Besides, while we're on break, they're all stuck out there. Nobody will bother us."

"Is it still called 'lezzing out' if we're already lesbians?"

"I don't know."

The kisses slowed to a stop, until both were just holding each other in the quiet break room.

"There's something I need to tell you." Carol said.

"Oh, God, you're pregnant, aren't you?"

Carol tipped her head. "Is that a fat joke?"

Anne looked scared for a second. "No, no, no, no. I'd never--I'd--I'd..." She stammered before realizing Carol herself was joking. Anne sighed. "Golly, I can't even make jokes about pregnant futa anymore."

"Just say 'chicken teeth,' like any other good southerner."

Anne dismounted from Carol's lap and returned to her chair. "So what do you need to tell me?"

With a deep breath, Carol confessed, "I've occasionally been looking for different work."

"Well, nowhere's going to pay as good as here." Anne said. "I don't see why I'd spend the same amount of hours making less."

"I know that, but... I've GOT the money now. I've saved up a lot. Not enough to retire, but definitely enough in case this place suddenly closed. Maybe it's enough for me to leave and find something else where I don't have to do... all the stuff this job asks of me."

"But why would you want to leave here?" Anne said. "This job's the closest thing to paradise on Earth."

"When you started here, I was about as old as you are now. And that's about how I thought of the job back then. But in that time... I've gotten older and more tired. I really dread to think that I might still be doing this at forty years old. So I know my time is limited, the same way a stripper probably knows she can't do that forever. I need to figure out something else."

Carol let out a long sigh. "But the only thing I've ever done is this. Every time I try to get a regular office job or something... they must look at my resume like I'm from outer space. Why don't I have any office experience, and why wouldn't they hire the hundreds of other people who already DO have it? Especially since they can't work at a place like this..."

Anne slid her chair closer and put her arms around Carol. "Obviously, I'd rather have you here than not... but if you need to leave for your own mental well-being, I understand."

"I knew you'd support me, whatever decision I made. Thank you, Anne."

"Any time."

Carol checked the time on her phone. She was struck with sudden inspiration.

"Do you play games on your phone?" Carol asked.

Anne looked back over her shoulder, at her huge plastic, metal and RGB monstrosity that could play any game ever invented. The question felt parallel to asking a person with a convertible if they made it to work on a unicycle. "I feel like my whole Friends list on Steam would excommunicate me if I admitted to it, but... I just play crosswords and stuff like that. None of those games you need to pay to win, no way."

"I think I just missed the boat on video games as a whole. Couldn't afford games as a kid, so I never felt like playing on my phone. But now... you hear about games you can play and earn money. Not like raffles or tournaments, just games where the act of playing the game earns you money. Play-to-earn, they call it."

Anne's brow scrunched a bit. "Couldn't possibly be worth the time, based on what we make here."

"No, but that's what evidently makes them popular in impoverished countries in southeast Asia, like the Philippines. People grind these games all day to eke out something close to a living. But surely, it'll dry up eventually and... what then? Move on to another game, or re-enter the traditional work force. But what skills did they learn in those few years where they were forced to run these stupid games? Those skills might not even transfer TO A DIFFERENT GAME. It's not like these are shooters or fighting games where it's about building reflexes or learning timing. Those years are just robbed from these poor souls because there isn't an opportunity to do something where you could learn a skill that's useful for anything real.

"That's how I feel about this job lately. I've been here for almost fifteen years... if this all evaporated tomorrow, what would I even do? Start back at the bottom? Be the weird middle-aged woman trying to make her way among the eighteen-year-old people who had just entered the work force? Working for TIPS? At my age? And in a place where cocks aren't appreciated? I don't think I've got the patience for that anymore. I think we're lucky in that it really IS apparently hard to find a futa to replace us, so management has to tolerate most of our... eccentricities."

"Then why quit? The grass is always greener..."

Carol sighed. "You ever see Office Space?" Carol asked.

"No."

"Very quotable, but one of the quotes that doesn't get thrown around a lot is Jennifer Aniston's character just flat-out saying that most people don't like their jobs. That's not something people like to talk about, especially in the mega-manly South. You just deal with your job to bring home the bacon and that's it. Doesn't matter if you hate it. It's called 'work' for a reason."

"Yeah, but back then, there was almost like an honor about working. The people who ran the business gave pensions and treated them like they weren't replaceable. And even then, they probably went home and got drunk and smacked up their wife. Nowadays, people are still expected to just put up with any abuse from their jobs AND not complain about it. The only people who are reasonably secure in their jobs are people who aren't so easily replaced."

Anne reached out and touched Carol's hand. "Like us."

"I don't know... in some way, I feel like we just trained our replacement."

"Did you think that when you trained me?"

"No, back then I thought I was untouchable. I don't quite feel so invulnerable anymore. Looking back on it, all I can think about is... I trained my best friend."

Anne's laptop sat idle as they made out for the rest of the break period.

---

That was how things stood for a while. Belle continued her understandable rise in popularity. Carol's frustrations with the job grew... but she stayed... for now. Partially because she was still very well compensated for her work, and partially because looking for work was deeply soul-crushing.

Carol preferred not to work Friday nights. It was always the most consistently busy time for Pythons. Even if there were no interesting sports on the TV, Fridays could be an hours-long gauntlet of hungry customers.

They were also very profitable; more customers meant more tips. But unlike other unfortunates who were stuck in waitressing jobs... Carol's wage was generous either way. All this really meant was more work, more rushing, more potential for a rude interaction or an unprovoked drunken grab... all for not that much more money.

Driving in tonight... she found no empty spaces in the parking lot! Even the spots at the back of the building were all occupied. Carol had never once seen Pythons so full. She'd never thought the little restaurant could handle so many customers.

With no other choice, Carol parked across the street at the 24-hour grocery store. She parked in a far off corner, hopefully out of range of any security cameras. She found some receipts in her purse and tucked them into something she'd held onto for just such an occasion: an authentic traffic violation envelope. (Not hers. Her driving and parking record was spotless... and hopefully this forgery would keep anyone from calling about her illegally parked car. Maybe she could come out and move her car if things settled down by ten...)

Carol dashed across the street and ran in the back entrance. The sound of human activity from within was intense, like a pub in Europe during the World Cup. Everyone was shouting and working as fast as they could to keep up with the sudden demand. Nobody had even noticed that she had come in.

She went to the break room. More locks and coats were present than she had ever seen in the locker room. She hung her coat on one of the last remaining hangers and undid her lock.

And she stopped.

Carol turned to her side, seeing her reflection in the mirror. Without her cock out, she didn't look much different from the garden-variety women from which her gender had inexplicably branched. Without all the silly costuming, she just looked like any early-thirties woman.

Tired. Even with her makeup done and her hair freshly dyed to hide her roots, she could barely help feeling like an empty bag hung up on a hook. And this was before she would scramble around for the next seven hours or so.

And she just. Didn't. Want to.

Sure, the time would be full of lovely teeth-gnashing orgasms. And putting in the implant would make that sound more appealing. But she would give up all those orgasms and all this money if she could just walk out that door.

Carol rested her forehead on her arm pressed against her locker. She stared at the tile floor below her, stained with the thousands of slip-resistant soles that had walked this exact path so many times for so many years. There was a darkened path of sneaker marks from the entrance to the locker room, and from the entrance to the punch clock. Maybe someone needed to buff the tile in here. The night janitor might not be coming back here to clean the floor... and this path could take her right out of here, back to her car, back to her home, to her bed, to her computer filled with porn...

Carol had fantasized about quitting more in this year than any other year she'd been here. And each year that passed, she really wondered if she should walk away from all this. Maybe walk away on the eve of some incredibly busy night just to rub some dirt into it and make it painful. But of course, the only people she'd really hurt were her fellow waitresses, those who would have to toil in her absence. Everyone she'd ever worked with had been thoughtful and hardworking, always willing to help when the time came.

Some protested the very existence of Pythons because of the sexual exploitation of the employees. The response from the staff was always something like 'shut the hell up, I got a good thing going on here.' Exploitation, objectification, humiliation... she'd never thought of the job as any of those things. She would make good money tonight; that hardly felt exploitative.

And yet... Belle was going to vacuum up enormous tips tonight... just because she had her huge doughy tits AND her impossibly big cock. AND a personality that hadn't yet turned coarse and self-defensively sardonic from a decade and a half of thankless customer service. Her tips wouldn't suffer, but it would be up to the customer's own generosity if they would be the equal of their efforts tonight. (Pythons had a rule about automatic 15% gratuity for parties over twelve... which meant that large groups just came in two halves to avoid a charge that they would almost always be tipping anyway! What silliness.)

What could she do to bring in more tips, to add some real excitement to this night... maybe something to take a little attention away from the impossible Belle?

---

Abba was leaned over the lectern, looking at the seating chart as though it contained the world's mysteries. She had an old shopping list pad that she was writing the waiting parties on, trying to see when she could fit certain people where, all while being as fair as she could as far as how long each party would have to wait. But this really felt like a roach motel situation. It was like people were checking in... but not checking out. The wait time was way over an hour, so most people would just turn away at the door... but not everyone. Some would stubbornly wait... maybe she should check to make sure they're not violating the fire code...

These weren't things that she was normally concerned about when she was running the door. But today was abnormally busy. She also didn't normally wear a normal 'hot' implant when at the door, usually allowed the relative comfort of the variety pack. But so many orders for hot were coming in, she had to set that one aside.

And somehow... nobody needed her to make any wings. She just had the hot little thing behind her, making her hotter and hornier... it was getting bad. But at least everyone was here, doing their jobs.

"What tables can I take?" Carol asked Abba.

Abba didn't look up from her seating chart. This thing was so smudgy and old... she dreaded that Pythons would replace all the waitresses with those standing tablet things at chain restaurants, but surely there was an electronic solution that could make this more organized. "Hey, Carol. You can either split Jeanette and Anne's space or you can stand by with the variety pack."

Even with her head turned down, she noticed that Carol hadn't run off to start assisting. She finally looked up.

Abba gasped.

Carol had taken a new interpretation of of the uniform policy. The handy waitress pouch on the adjustable belt could be worn on the right or the left, based on handedness. But it could also be strapped directly to the thigh of the waitress' choice, as Carol had done. Also, she was completely naked, except for her sneakers and those stylishly rumpled socks.

That face Abba had just pulled already made this worth it. "I guess I'll get that variety pack and help where I can." Carol grinned.

"What are you doing?!" Abba shouted, staring at whatever parts of Carol she hadn't yet seen.

"I'm making some dang wings." Carol chuckled. "And maybe some money." She walked past Abba and found the multi-flavor implant resting in a clean ashtray. Long as Carol had worked here, they had never allowed smoking. She retrieved the implant and slid it into place.

Carol moaned and bit her lower lip, leaning towards Abba. "Mmmm... you were wearing it earlier, weren't you? It's still warm..."

"That was an hour ago! There's no way--"

Carol walked past her, delivering a firm slap to Abba's right butt cheek. "Come on! Get me some hungry people to sauce!"

Abba shuddered and clutched the edge of her lectern, her arms shaking. She was one second away from obliterating all her dry-erase marks with a splattering of her own special hot sauce. Her whole body tensed, inadvertently squeezing the implant tighter and feeling even more heat enter her system, like biting a hard candy rather than sucking it. Abba had put the 'spank me' pictogram on her name tag as a joke, so she had nobody to blame but herself.

With great effort, she lifted her head to find maybe fifteen or so people waiting patiently for a table.

"Trust me." She said over the crowd noise. "I'd make you ALL some wings right now if I had anywhere to seat you."

Maybe she could drag out the outdoor chairs and tables to seat them... anything to get this heat out of her.

---

Carol walked past table after table, hearing the general volume go up around as she passed. Tables burst out into laughter, cheers, hoots, and two-fingered whistling from those who could do that. Even the few regular customers Carol could pick out of the crowd looked shocked. They could have asked to see her tits whenever they wanted, but none of them ever did. But here they were, along with everything else she had wiggling free for all to see.

She turned a short corner and locked eyes with Belle. She was carrying a tray of beer mugs and sides on a tray with one hand, and a large bowl of soon-to-be-sauce wings in the other. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped open.

"What..." was all she could say before Carol got close.

"Feel free to join me if you're not... chicken." She smirked as she slid past her.

Carol might not have had the biggest dick in the building, but at this moment, she definitely felt like she had the biggest balls. She proudly sauntered off for a few more steps.

Around another corner, a trio appeared. A cameraman, microphone operator, and a man behind them who didn't seem to serve any purpose. The cameraman instinctively pointed his camera at Carol.

Carol nearly jumped, freezing in place in the aisle. They couldn't get past her, so the cameraman panned and got all of Carol's nude body in television-quality picture.

Suddenly, the surprising amount of traffic made perfect sense. There was that memo that went up a few weeks ago about a competitive eating show that wanted to film at their location. This must have attracted some local attention, thus all the other customers...

Carol had mixed up the dates. She had taken the following Friday off to avoid having to participate. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered, as management would surely have called her in to assist. She could have just refused to sign the release and had her face blurred or something.