BHM From B*tch to Boss

Dimensions Magazine

Help Support Dimensions Magazine:


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
A/N: This is a story I wrote a few years ago but never posted anywhere. I hope you enjoy!

From B*tch to Boss
by stevita

Another late night.

12 midnight found Nick stuck at the restaurant as closing manager, and he was just about to lock the back kitchen door when he heard out on the floor, his closing server receiving one last table.

“Hi there, welcome to April and Andy’s, c’mon, have a seat! My name’s Dolly, I’ll be your waitress...can I offer you anything from the bar?”

He had to raise a skeptical eyebrow to her thick southern drawl. Mah nayme’s Dawlly, ah’ll be yer waytress… She didn’t sound that way in the break room upstairs, and she sure didn’t sound that way in the kitchen with the immigrant cooks. ¿El jefe esta muy guapo anoche, ja? ¿No, no pienses? Pues...a mi me gustan los gorditos. Now, Nick didn’t know what any of that meant, but Dolly didn’t have any Hispanic heritage whatsoever, so she must have learned her Spanish in a classroom. She was a smart girl--his guess was, she dumbed down on the floor so she’d seem friendlier to her guests. Charles, the bar manager, had once suggested she introduce herself to her tables as Dolores, so as to seem more sophisticated, but she hadn’t listened, and Dolly stuck. Nick could stand by her decision; April and Andy’s wasn’t exactly a sophisticated bar. Charles was just pretentious.

Nick was doing some paperwork in the office when Dolly poked in her head. It was one in the morning now, an hour to close. “Hey, Nick,” she said, “I just wanted to let you know, I just served my gentleman at table 22 his fourth drink. I think he’s fine and Josue,” Josue being the bartender, “thinks he’s fine. He’s eaten and everything. But I still like having the managerial green light to keep serving. So will you go say hi to him?”

Nick already knew the guy was going to be fine. If Dolly really believed a guest needed to be cut off, she’d say so. Hell, she’d shut down her station, alert all the staff, and call the damn Navy. Somehow, this table waiting gig meant the world to her. Frankly, he was surprised she was still offering drinks at this hour: most servers would just want to go home. He could never understand how she managed to keep going and going and going.

Just for her peace of mind, he nodded his assent and went downstairs to talk to the table.

There was only one guy sitting at table 22. Big fellow, working on a beer and still picking at several plates from what looked to be a multiple-course meal. An empty glass sat at the edge of the table; Nick removed it and held it behind his back. “How has everything been tonight, Sir?”

“Oh, it’s all been great! Good food, good beer...the waitress is doing a great job, too.”

He didn’t seem drunk. “Good, good, I’m glad to hear it,” said Nick, and caught up with Dolly on the patio to give her the thumbs up. “Pre-bus your table, Dolly, but otherwise, good job.”

“He told me he was still eating, Boss.”

For the rest of the night Dolly held the gentleman hostage. She swung by every fifteen minutes, “Are you still okay on beer, Sir?” as if they both might die if his glass ran dry. He was out by last call, but not before Dolly sold him dessert--”You have to try the chocolate mousse cake!” From the office, Nick heard her musical voice as she saw her guest off. “Well, I’ve had a wonderful time with you tonight, Mr. Smith, and I hope you have as well! Have a great night, mmkay?” Nick next found her sitting on the counter by the expo line, scrubbing the wall with a dish rag while he was doing his final walk through.

“It’s chili. The cooks made a damn mess,” she said. “Is Josue still here?”

“He left, why?”

“He helped me get up here…”

She flushed scarlet, and as he understood what she was asking him to do, so did he.

See, Nick was a big guy, and he knew it. The other managers made sure he knew it with their cutting remarks. He didn’t have much practice approaching women, much less touching them.

And he’d always been particularly fond of Dolly Parker. Any man would be: blonde and beautiful, with full, perky breasts, that little waist, and curvy hips to drive a man mad. Tonight, her long hair was tied up with a crimson cheerleader bow to match the dining room decor and her pouty lips were painted red-red to match her bow--had she reapplied her lipstick after her last table left?

She was sitting on the counter with her legs spread in her short shorts and logo tank top, and the look on her face was pleading as she said, “I need you to help me down.”

“Alright, come here…” It took all of his self control not to pop a boner as he let her wrap her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist. It would just be inappropriate. She was scandalously young to him, at twenty to his twenty-eight.

She’d never been shy about touching, though. The other week, she’d made a bet with him: “What do you think I CAN’T sell tonight? I bet I can sell three bottles of Caymus. If I sell three bottles of Caymus, you owe me a hug.”

For the record, she had sold five bottles of Caymus that night.

He lowered her to the ground and she smiled a little nervously. For a moment, they stood in awkward silence. Then, she flitted out the door with, “I left my checkout on the well. See you tomorrow!”

See ya tuhmorrah.


The kitchen wasn’t quite closed yet, and he hadn’t eaten dinner, so he made himself a salad, no croutons, undressed. He really wanted to ask Paco on the fry station to make him a chicken fried steak, but he had his figure to think about. Maybe if he lost a little weight, Dolly would want him to do more to her than help her get down from on top of the counter.
Last edited by a moderator:


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Thursday morning. Nick hated Thursday mornings. Thursday mornings meant getting up early for an all-staff meeting, and having to deal with Craig.

Dolly was already there when he arrived. Despite looking a little worn after three consecutive doubles, she greeted him with gusto and insisted she was super stoked to wait some tables after this meeting!

He tried not to make it obvious that he was watching her as she talked to the cooks while tying a shoe that had come undone. “¿Estas cansada, Princesa?” one of the salad preps asked.

“Muy cansada. Hoy se me olvido´ mis calcetines.” Once again, Nick didn’t know what that meant, but the kitchen exploded with laughter. “Tambien se me olvido´ mi ropa interior.” Again, all the cooks cracked up. “Dame un cafe´, para la cruda, ¿por favor?”

One by one, the other waiters, hosts, and bartenders arrived, then Charles, and finally, Craig, the general manager. “Alright, everybody put the 50s together into one long table, and let’s sit down,” said Craig, and the staff quickly did as they were told. Dolly sat down right next to Nick and sipped her black coffee, leaving a rim of lipstick on the lip of her mug. Nick thought hard about naked grannies and puking babies.

Once everyone was seated, Craig commenced the meeting. “Hi, everybody, thanks for being here. I know we’re still missing one or two people, but let’s go ahead and start without them. Now, I know we’ve been experiencing a dip in morale lately. And I’ve been thinking, how can you all respect us in management if you don’t feel respected in turn? So I’d like to open up this meeting as a suggestion box--” He stopped abruptly, and looked right at Nick. “Why aren’t you writing any of this down, Tubbo?”

Oh, come on!

Nobody else was taking any notes.

A few of the girls on the staff laughed. Of course they did; they were enamored with Craig. He was the sort of blond-haired, blue-eyed, cut and lean, all-American douchebag women all fawned over. When Nick was first hired on, he really had wanted to like Craig, since everyone else seemed to. But the guy had a habit of wearing him down. Nick tried to fight back, he really did...

“My notes are up here, Sir,” said Nick, tapping his temple with two fingers.

“Oh, really? Then what did I just say?”

“You want to improve morale by getting feedback from the staff.”

Despite his correct answer, Craig’s stern glare never wavered. “Take out a pad and paper, fatass, and take notes!”

Nick was digging in his bag for said pen and paper when Craig came for his blood again: “Jesus Christ, are you already sweating? It’s nine in the morning and about fifty degrees outside!”

“You’re making me nervous!”

“And it’s nine thirty, Craig; you were late to the meeting,” Dolly interjected.

“Go and change shirts or something, you tub of lard.”

“And leave the meeting? Then how in the Hell am I supposed to take notes?”

Sadly, he was used to this kind of behavior from Craig. The fat-shaming started early in the shift and went on until the general manager decided to go home. Another server, Jessica, had once speculated in the rumor mill that Craig used to be a fat kid, lost a bunch of weight, and that nowadays his now-trim physique gave him a sort of sick superiority complex over people of size. A week later, Jessica was fired over a pocket ticket.

Suddenly, Dolly raised her hand and spoke up. “I have a suggestion, for your box.” Fer yer bawks. “Quit bullying Nick all the time. It ain’t professional workplace behavior.”

Craig gave her a pointed look. “Why do you kiss his ass so much? I’m the one who controls your life, seeing as I’m in charge and you practically live here.”

It was true--Dolly picked up so many shifts, it was almost impossible to call her in, because on any given day, she was usually already working. Other waiters made jokes saying she slept in the storage shed and bathed in the three-compartment sink. Regulars asked for her out of convenience, seeing as she was there so often, she knew the menu and the kitchen like her bedtime prayers. Co-workers saw her bloodshot eyes and begged her to take a break, and the cooks called her la machina-- “the machine.”

“It’s just real shitty, is all I’m saying,” she said.

“Moving right along,” Charles cut in. He went on for a solid five minutes about how he wanted to class up the bar specials. He wanted to make mule flights a thing. It was never going to happen, but alright, Charles, you tried. None of the other waiters dared add a suggestion to the box; Craig had either charmed them or beaten them well enough into submission.

After the meeting, Nick was left drained. He wanted something that was more than coffee but less than cocaine. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. He walked up to Dolly and asked, “Can I buy a cigarette from you?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You smoke now?” Slowly, she took a pack of Traffic greens out of her apron pocket. “Wait a’re not taking up smoking to lose weight, are you?”

What? Was that a thing?

“Smoking makes you lose weight?”

Before he’d come to this restaurant, he had never minded his size, but he’d been watching his intake lately, hoping it might get Craig off his back. And hey, if smoking helped…

She glared him down for several seconds. “Don’t do it, Nick…”

“I’ll give you a whole dollar.”

“Fine.” She handed over one of her cancer sticks and said, “But just so you know, I took up smoking at fourteen because I was mad at my dad, and my dad is out of the picture now, and I’m still coughing all the time. I hope you don’t make this a habit.”

For the next few weeks, he bought cigarettes off of her, and she always coughed them up reluctantly, with a smoking kills or you’re breaking my heart, but eventually he stopped because he couldn’t stand the taste.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
The Thursday morning meeting would leave Nick on edge until Monday, the day Craig always took off. As unsatisfied as he might be with his job, it was nice to come in on Monday and feel like work had gone from being a battleground to a safe haven.

Nick’s lenient managerial style, in comparison with Craig’s, also afforded Dolly the opportunity to slip into the bar across the street between shifts and get absolutely trashed, because apparently, nobody carded anymore. She usually brought along Colette, the only other Monday double--boy, were they a weird pair of drinking buddies. Colette was as melancholy as Dolly was cheerful, and her nose was always buried in her phone screen. She came back after drinks grumpy, bemoaning everything from her slow section to her unworkable schedule to the lack of clean forks. Dolly, on the other hand, got a few drinks in her and got unreasonably pumped for…


He was on the phone, finalizing a 30-top reservation, when he heard her come in.

“Steak NIGHT! Steak NIGHT! Steak NIGHT!”

Mondays, he more or less let her run the pre-shift. Up until about a month ago, he’d gather everyone around table 47 and say, take it away, Dolly, but these days she tended to run pre-shift on her own, and who was he to complain about her doing his job for him for free?

“Alright, guys, it’s steak night. Jay, Reba, y’all are new, so let me give you the run-down. For 19.95 you can get a 10-ounce ribeye with a loaded baked potato and a side salad to start…”

As she was finishing up her spiel, he finished his phone call and headed to the line to order himself some dinner--stuffed shrimp today, no grits, sub fries, Cajun gravy on the side, extra Cajun gravy on the side. He’d been sticking to his diet lately and deserved a cheat day, and what better day, with Craig out of the building and unable to pass judgment?

He was happily eating away on the line and had just paused to check his notifications on his cell phone when Dolly stepped into the kitchen. “Want a box?” she asked.

“No, I’m...uuh...probably going to finish this after I’m done answering this text. Thanks, though,” he admitted, a little embarrassed.

“Will it help if I stand here and root for you, or is that too weird?”


“Oh, hang on, I think it’s my turn to be sat,” she said, and just like that, she disappeared.

Steak night went off with only one hitch: Dolly might have been a slender girl, but that glorious ass of hers took up some space. Now, she was the kind of waitress who was always eager to help others: when her own section wasn’t being frequently sat, she installed herself on the line as a food runner, pushing her teammates’ food out of the kitchen without ever asking for thanks.

And the line was a narrow space.

Cue said glorious ass brushing Nick’s belly or the backs of his thighs whenever he passed her whilst checking up on the line cooks.

After the rush broke, he gathered everybody in the kitchen. “Good job, you guys. The floor got pretty busy, but we all held our own, and I’m proud of every single one of you.”

The waiters applauded, and he beamed with pride. If Craig was here, he would have surely said something to shoot him down, but that wasn’t happening today.

“I want to give a special thanks to Dolly, who really carried the floor tonight. All night long, she jumped in the kitchen to play food runner, even though she doesn’t have that job code. So if you feel like she helped you tonight, I encourage you to thank her.”

The impromptu meeting broke, and he watched with satisfaction as Dolly sat down at a corner table to roll her silver and each waiter stopped by to tip her out a few bucks before going to do their own rolls. It was almost like she was being paid for the lap-dance she had unintentionally given him in bits and pieces throughout the shift.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Thanks! Sorry updates are coming in slowly, I've been trying to edit as I go and work has been busy with the holidays. I'll try and get more posted today!


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
At the start of the dinner shift one night in July, Dolly walked in, looked at the floor map, and came up to Nick where he was polishing silver in the server station. “Why are you doing that?” she asked. “And why are you on the floor map?”

He sighed. “Cesar Conway didn’t show up for his shift tonight, and since I was his reference when we hired him, Craig decided I could take his place on the floor.”


“Yeah, he said next time it happened he would, and these are his words, put my fat ass in the dish pit.”

“Can he do that?”

“I guess we’ll find out the next time Cesar skips work.”

Though he tried to appear calm, he was nervous as all Hell about this shift. He was a few years and about thirty pounds removed from waiting tables and tending bar. Nowadays, he was used to checking up on tables and making sure the servers were doing their jobs, but between greeting tables, remembering to check the line, and running around the restaurant to deliver food, he was sure he’d fumble and trip over his own feet, and in front of Dolly, no less.

She seemed to read his mind, and offered the perfect solution: “Hey, we’re section neighbors. Do you wanna just pool our sections together and banquet? You can start all the tables and check up on them, and I’ll drop off all our stuff. We can split the money fifty-fifty. What do you say?”

It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders for the night. “I say, you’re a life saver, Dolly Parker.”

Soon, the rush arrived, and they put their plan into action. Nick greeted all their tables, rung in orders, and dropped checks. Meanwhile, Dolly moved between the bar, the kitchen, the tables, and the dish pit with impeccable efficiency, running drinks, running food, and bussing. Nick watched her with awe--he was surprised anybody could go that fast while hauling around forty-pound dinner trays and such an impressive rack. Somehow, she did it, but seriously, didn’t her back hurt?

Even when their combined section got full to the last table, he never felt weeded, and knowing Dolly had his ass covered on the line and the well made him feel freer to upsell. How about another beer? You have to try the loaded queso. What are we having for dessert? Yes, right away, absolutely. Tables were being turned at record speed and tips were crazy high.

He did feel a little like Dolly was the shark and he the remora in their symbiotic relationship, but she insisted it was fine. “I love bringing people food!” she said at one point, and boy, did it show. Meanwhile, he was starting to remember how much he’d loved watching his sales go up and up and up as a waiter back in the day. By the middle of the rush, he was actually having a good deal of fun.

After close, they sat outside on a bench while waiting for the last of the silver to be washed so they could roll it up. Dolly was smoking; Nick wasn’t. “We make quite the team, Nick Dillon,” she said. “If only we could banquet every night.”

“You’d better not get too good at this, or Craig might get it in his mind to demote you to food runner.”

At the end of the night, he decided to send Dolly off with all the money, because he was salaried, and also, he had a big ol’ stinking crush on her.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
It had been a busy Sunday at the bar, and the brunch shift had been beautiful. The sun had been shining, and bottomless mimosas had been flowing like a waterfall. Then, halfway through dinner, it had begun to rain, and now, at closing time, it was still pouring. Nick knew Dolly’s apartment was a fifteen minute walk from work. He also knew she had no car.

He found her sitting at one of the tables on the covered patio, clearly exhausted after yet another double, but refusing to let her shoulders slump. She opened the Uber app, then sighed and closed it again. “What’s matter? You made good money today, right?” he said.

“Yeah...problem is, none of it is in my bank account. I might as well walk home, since I’d have to walk to the ATM machine anyway.”

“That’s ridiculous, you’ll catch a cold. I’ll drive you,” he insisted.

The look she gave him with those big, baby blue eyes, you’d have thought he had cured her of cancer. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Yeah, no problem, I parked in the back, come on.”

As soon as Dolly got in the car, Nick realized what a dilemma he’d created for himself.

Dolly’s perfume was intoxicating. It smelled like cotton candy, or maybe cake frosting? Great, now he was aroused and getting kind of hungry. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped dinner. One unsatisfied craving was quite enough, thank you. She shivered in her seat from the cold as he started the car. The other week, Josue had finally told him what ropa interior was, and it was becoming abundantly clear she had forgotten it again. “Do you want your seat heated, Dolly?”

“Yes Sir.”

He quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing, just turned on the seat warmer.

He drove down the block for about a minute before she said, “Turn here, please, Sir.”

This time, he spoke up. “You know, you don’t have to call me Sir…”

“Okay. Sorry. It’s’re being so nice to me.”

Soon, they arrived at Dolly’s complex. “This is me, second floor on the right.”

Nick reached into his backseat and grabbed his umbrella. “I’ll walk you up.”

Once they were at her threshold, shy Dolly from the car disappeared, giving way to Dolly in her natural habitat. Every muscle in her body seemed to relax. Rather than see him off at the door, she left it open as she walked inside and took her hair down. It reached the middle of her back, and for a moment, all he could do was stare.

She turned around in the middle of the living room and said, “Shut that behind you, please? Water’s gettin’ on the carpet.”

Panic bells went off in his mind. He was nowhere close to within her league and had no business in her apartment…

But had she not just invited him in?

He did as he was told and followed her into the kitchen, his mind in a trance-like haze. Her apartment was sparsely furnished, he noticed: a table in the kitchen, exactly four folding chairs that looked like they belonged at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Over in the next room, the bedroom, there was a mattress on a box spring, no frame. Behind him, in the living room, there was only a beanbag chair. “Man, I need a drink,” she muttered, and pulled a bottle of Taaka vodka out of her freezer. She manifested two glasses, seemingly out of nowhere, and asked, “Do you want a shot?”

“Do I--who’s buying you vodka?”

“Well, I am now...I been working with you for two years and I was nineteen when I started, so what does that make me? I may not be good at math, but even I can count up by two. But I used to give Sonia from work some money to go to the store for me.”

For a while all he could do was stare at her. Innocent little Dolly, now legal to drink. He could scarcely believe it. He watched her sit down at the kitchen table and pour. “Are you really going to make me drink alone?”

With a shaky hand, he reached out and took the glass intended for him.

“Well, sit down, dummy!”

Still entranced, he sat down on one of her folding chairs and met her one for one.

And then two for two.

She poured them a third round and he swallowed that, too. “You’re quiet,” she said, and he got up and began to pace. “What?”

“I just…” He was a little dizzy. The alcohol was loosening his tongue. “I just like you, okay?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I know I don’t stand a chance--”

“Nick, no, wait!” In an instant, she was out of her seat. She met him square on the floor and gently took his hand. “I...I like you too.”



“What’s going on?” he murmured.

This was surreal.

“You mean you haven’t seen the signs?”


“I pick up every shift at the restaurant because I want to see you. I picked up the double today knowing it was gonna rain, and knowing you and your bleeding heart would take my ass home. I’m always trying to talk to you--”

“I thought you were just talkative.”

“All the cooks know I’m head over heels for you.”


He took a step back. She took a step forward, hand still clenched around his fingers. His back was almost to the wall now. Subconsciously, he sucked in his belly a little, and she took her free hand and brushed his side with a little, “Don’t.”

Said, “I like your size. I think it’s sexy.” She rested her hand on his side and he stood still, as if one tiny movement would get him shot. “You have no idea, do you?” she went on. “I daydream about you for hours on end. Every time I’d see you put together a pathetic undressed salad for yourself at work, or whenever I’d hear Craig tear you down, it’d break my heart a little. Because the thing is, I’ve always liked my men on the heavier side. I just love having all this to feel up on…” She gave his side a squeeze and a pleasant shiver ran up his spine. “And from the first time I saw you, all I wanted to do was be your devoted little bimbo, not thinking about work or bills, or how I’m going to put myself back in school, or anything other than pleasing my big, handsome man, bringing him all the delicious food he wants, worshipping his hot body, and letting him fuck my little zombie brains out.”

Wow. This...was definitely something to take in. But for the longest time, Nick couldn’t speak, lulled into a sort of trance by her words.

“What do you think of that?” Dolly said, snapping him out of it.

He swallowed.

“You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into this.”

She giggled and moved closer, pushing her body flush against his. “Oh, just kiss me already! You know you want to.” With that, she placed his hand on her waist, cupped hers at the back of his neck, and rose up on tiptoe to meet his lips with hers.

She was obviously an experienced kisser. She parted his lips with ease, and as she gently teased his tongue with hers, that boner he’d been suppressing for months finally sprung in his slacks.

When the kiss broke, she was smirking. Turning back to the kitchen table, she said, “I’m going to have a few more shots, but wait for me on the bed if you want me to take care of that,” with a nod of acknowledgement to Nick Jr. downstairs.


Well-Known Member
Mar 28, 2006
This is very nice. My mind skips forward a few years to imagine Dolly’s effect on Nick’s waistline. No doubt Dolly will fatten him up to her liking.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Thank God he was off work the next morning. He awoke in Dolly’s bed, alone, to the smell of something delicious, and felt a sharp pang of hunger--yeah, he really shouldn’t have skipped last night’s dinner, especially in light of last night’s hard cardio session. He made to get dressed, but couldn’t seem to find his shirt. Ah well. Not like she hasn’t already seen and approved of it all, he thought, and wandered into the kitchen to investigate.

Sure enough, there was Dolly, slaving away over the stove, and of course she was wearing his fucking shirt. It hung on her like...well, not a dress, exactly. More like a shower curtain. And yet, she still looked as sexy as ever. “Morning!” she said as she plated heaping servings of pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs and set them on the table. He could feel her eyes wandering his body and suddenly an arousal started building within him. “I went ahead and made us breakfast...feel free to have as much as you like, and afterwards...maybe we can go back to bed?”

“This all looks amazing, Dolly...but don’t you work today?”

“Umm, actually, I called in sick.”

He could’ve looked at the smirk on her face for days.


They had become an item, but neither Nick nor Dolly let on about it at work. Craig was still a pain in the ass on the clock, but Nick found his days more bearable knowing that after he got off, he would get to play house with Dolly. At first, he didn’t understand it--the whole sex zombie thing, her urge to serve and obey him. The idea of any woman, or anyone in general, wanting to be a designated bimbo was a foreign concept. But he definitely enjoyed her attention.

Sometimes, they’d retire to her apartment after work, sometimes his, but they never left together from the premises: she’d walk to the end of the block and wait for him to pick her up, lest Craig catch on. Last thing before he went to bed, she’d cook him a delicious meal, soothe his full belly with her hands and/or mouth, and suck or fuck him to sweet release. Then, in the morning, she would make him breakfast, catch a ride with him until the stoplight, see him off to work with a kiss, get out of the car, and arrive moments after he did, just in time to catch the latest gossip from the cooks in Spanish. When they were both off, he took her out to fancy restaurants and delighted in watching her gape in awe at wine lists and cocktail menus that were, in her words, so pretty I could cry. She liked to let him pick her outfits and show her off, and when she walked into dining rooms on his arm, everyone in the room could tell how proud she was to be his. Once or twice, Craig made a comment about how she hadn’t picked up as many shifts lately as she usually did; she muttered something about feeling under the weather.

In time, Nick learned to appreciate Dolly making herself his personal plaything. Her body, her mind, and all her talents were his to explore and enjoy. He never had any unreasonable orders for her, but it sure was nice, having the adoration of the sexiest woman on Earth. He took care of her, too--seeing as she had given herself over to him, he figured he ought to treat her like a most prized possession. When she was with him, she was never without her alcoholic beverage of choice in hand, her favorite station playing on the radio, and his reminders that she was beautiful, awe-inspiring, brilliant. She liked to get drunk late at night and dance, a hobby he soon took a liking to. He started laying out her uniform for her before work so that she had one less thing to worry about. He brushed her hair, he cleaned after she cooked. And if she ever woke up clearly still tired, he’d offer to put on a server uniform and come in in her place. At first, he handed her the money when he came home, but eventually, they got to a point where they agreed to just pool their money.

And after a few months of Dolly waiting on him hand and foot, Nick had to replace his whole uniform, belt included.

The day he noticed his belt wasn’t quite cutting it anymore, Dolly had slept over at his place. She was still in bed, shaking off the sleep, and while she slowly woke up, he decided to step on the bathroom scale.

He was 20 pounds up from when they had started dating.

The flashing red number that would have brought him dismay in the past now excited him. Wouldn’t Dolly be pleased?

He returned to the bedroom, where he found her checking the time on her phone, shaking her head, and curling back up into bed. He joined her there, gently rolled her onto her back, and eased his way on top of her--she’d told him before how she liked to be smushed a little.

Her eyes popped open and she smiled, manicured fingernails digging into his love handles. “Well, good morning,” she said, voice raspy from sleep. “I wasn’t going anywhere anyway, but now that I can’t, what are you gonna do with me?”

Later that day, he clocked in as the closing manager and immediately went to the line to order dinner: chicken fried steak, no veg, sub elote with extra paprika, extra mash. Craig, who was on his way out for the night, watched him with a condescending glare. “Are you sure you should be eating that? You’ve put on a little weight lately.”

Nick shrugged, a little fazed, but refusing to show it. “Well, I was torn between this and the chicken loaded baked potato, but I can always have that tomorrow. It’s not like this job is going anywhere.”

Not as long as Craig was in the dark about him fucking a server.


DM Supporter
Dec 7, 2011
Came across this story this morning and am enjoying it very much! Can't wait for more! Keep up the good work girl! :)


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
He was staying over at Dolly’s one night, awake past four in the morning--so late, in fact, that Dolly had begun to sober up in her sleep. Her head stirred on his shoulder as she came to, reaching over the edge of the bed for the bottle by the bedside. She filled the shot glass on the end table and downed the vodka warm and straight, no chaser.

Seeing that Nick was awake, she laughed at herself. “You know, people at the restaurant always trust your food recommendations. I guess they take one look at you and figure you know a good deal about food. I probably give the best drink recommendations out of everyone at work, and yet no one ever suspects that the reason I know so much about drinks is I’m a ridiculous, raging drunk.”

“You’re too functional at work for anybody to question you.”

She put the shot glass back and snuggled up against his side, her head on his shoulder once more. “Have you been up all this time?”

“It was a long, rough shift. I think I chugged seven espressos just to get through paperwork.”

She didn’t get up, but her eyes did widen and she gave his belly a playful little spank. “Babyyyy!” she whined. “If you’re going to keep the pounds piling on, you need to stay away from the three C’s!”

“The...what now?”

“Three things that make you lose weight. Caffeine, capcaesin, and cocaine.”

He laughed. “Do I want to know how you know this?”

“Caffeine and capcaesin I learned from a nutrition class in high school I had to take. Cocaine should just be obvious.”

“No college?”

“Every second I ever spent in a classroom, I felt like I was dead. The exception was Spanish class. I liked that one.” Ah, so he was right. “I actually got my GED and dropped out halfway through my junior year. My parents didn’t support my decision, so I started working to pay my own bills.”

“You mentioned once you wanted to go back to school…”

“Yeah. Culinary,” she said. “I took this job out of desperation, but it turns out, I really like working with food. Must be a side effect of having a watching-guys-eat fetish.”

“You know, to finish culinary school, you have to get a bachelor’s degree.”

“I know, Chef Joseph told me. I think I’d like to major in Latin American studies, if they have it. If not, then gender and sexuality.”

“That sounds like a fine plan.”

“Now I just need the money.” She yawned. “You’re so good to me, Nick. I know you don’t have to listen to me yak. After all, your little bimbo’s mouth is for fucking.”

“We can hold off on that until later. You’ve drank a lot tonight, I don’t want to make you sick.

“Can I at least give you a handie?”

“God, be my guest.”

She slipped a hand into his boxers and around his cock, her free hand starting to grope and palm his belly and thighs. “Okay, I don’t think the caffeine did too much damage.” As she worked him up and down, he let the sensations overcome him...both the physical pleasure and the warm, reassuring knowledge in his heart that this woman, who was beautiful inside and out, admired his body, admired him for things he’d been wrongfully taught to be ashamed of, admired all of him…

“I love you, Dolly Parker.”

For a moment, he was nervous. It was the first time he’d said it, and he didn’t want her to get spooked and withdraw, but she didn’t.

She gave his cock a gentle squeeze. “I should hope so. I belong to you, after all.”

He reached up and stroked her hair, pulling on it a little as the pleasure began to become intense. “I think saying you belong to me is just another way to say I love you. And hearing it makes me happy. I know you like all this dirty girl stuff, but I’m going to be real for a second and say you’re important, Dolly. You’re smart, compassionate, and--OH, HOLY FUCK.”

He came all over her hand, pressing her other hand into his belly as the ecstasy took him. He rolled over, breathing hard, and she cuddled up, one thigh draped around his waist.

He’d clean up in the morning.

“Good girl, Dolly.”

They fell asleep spooning.


DM Supporter
Dec 7, 2011
Love it! I probably should have waited until after work to read this part instead of sitting here all hot and bothered lol!


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
After she’d served April and Andy’s faithfully for two and a half years, it came as a tragedy to the rest of the staff when Dolly Parker put in her two weeks notice.

She gave it to Nick to give to Craig one Thursday morning all-staff meeting. “You’re leaving already?” he said regretfully. She had told him she would be leaving; their relationship could get him in trouble if she didn’t get out of there soon, and she didn’t want to cost him his job. But he was surprised she found another job so soon.

“Even if I wasn’t quitting, I’d get fired today, anyway.”


She made a hand gesture so as to convey, I’m drunk.

“Today?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Dolly, it’s nine thirty in the morning!

Her letter read:

Dear Craig, Charles, and Nick:

What a pleasure it has been to work with you all. Regretfully, another opportunity is calling me, so as of April 12, 2019, two weeks from today, I will no longer be able to work at A & A. Thank you for all you’ve taught me, and I hope that if I ever have an opportunity to return, you will welcome me with an open door.

Respectfully yours,

Dolores Parker.

The letter weighed heavy in his pocket as the meeting wore on, as Craig droned on about restaurant business and threw him the occasional snide remark. Dolly spent the meeting in silence; even though she was admittedly drunk, you couldn’t tell. Eventually, the meeting broke, and he delivered the news to Craig.

Craig read the letter with narrowed eyes. He walked up to Dolly, put the letter back in her hands, and said. “Nope. I refuse to accept this.” He bolted out the back door and was gone for about three minutes, the approximate time it took him to smoke one cigarette.

When he came back, he grabbed Dolly from the floor and said, “Walk with me. Let’s have a smoke out back.”

Nick lingered in the hallway as Craig led Dolly down towards the service exit, his presence undetected by Craig. That man was a mystery--for someone who called him fat so often, he sure had a way with making Nick feel invisible. As they walked to the door, Dolly said in the monotone voice Nick had come to know meant she was trying to play sober, “I want you to know that this doesn’t come from a place of animosity, and that you’ll still see me, just as a guest instead of an employee.”

“Come outside.”

She followed him out, and Nick, still unnoticed, propped open the door.

Craig handed Dolly a cigarette and they both lit up.

“Dolly, you carry the floor when you’re here...which is all the time--”

“And I know. But a new restaurant just opened right next door to my apartment, and I think it would be beneficial for me to see a restaurant open and witness the development of a brand new kitchen. You know I want to be a restaurateur, I have ambitions in culinary--”

“You know, we’re opening up a new store--”

“I know, but we’re corporate. We’re formulaic. If I stay here, I’m never going to be a part of building something from the ground up, and I’m always going to be a waiter. I don’t want to be a waiter forever.”

There was a long silence. Craig lit up another cigarette. At last, he said, “I don’t want to lose you completely, and I’m really hurting for waiters right now. I don’t normally do this...Hell, when someone hands me a notice I usually dismiss them on the spot so they can’t spend their two weeks being lazy and fucking around, but I don’t think you’re gonna do that.”

“Why would I fuck with my own money?” Still flat, still monotone, still both adorably and worryingly drunk under the radar.

“Listen, Dolly. I’ll take you off the schedule, but if you’re ever free and want to pick up a shift, just come in and I can give somebody the day off. Deal?”

She reached out for his hand and they shook.

Craig went back inside. Dolly pulled out her phone. She was scheduled off this morning, so after the meeting, she was free to go home, but given the circumstances, Nick was worried about her getting there. He met her by the dumpsters and asked, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I walked here, I’m calling an Uber for the way back.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll drive you.

As he led her to his car, she gave a little laugh. “I have a new job! I’m free!”

He didn’t say it at the time, but he was really going to miss her, and he was totally jealous.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Nick could scarcely believe it one day when he realized there were servers on the floor who’d never even heard of Dolly. In fact, he didn’t hear her name at work for months...until Victor Aguilar dug it out of the ground.

Victor was one of the newer servers. He was young, he was goofy, and he liked to stir up trouble on the clock. The other week, he had stuck no fewer than seventeen straws into Nick’s back pocket, which had gone undetected until he sat down in the office at the end of the night. No wonder all the tables had laughed when he walked away after table visits.

It started with nothing, really--just a little notebook in which Nick jotted notes about work--inventory, to-do lists, notes on the servers and their availabilities. He had a few personal thoughts written in there as well, but he figured it was fine to have them if nobody else saw them.

But one day at the start of dinner service, the notebook fell into Victor’s hands, and Nick caught him reading aloud out of it to the other servers by the line.

“He has these notes on all of us! ‘Sonia: remind her to keep the dish pit organized. Caroline: can only work weekends and Mondays. Victor: cocky pain in the ass.’ Okay, that’s fair. Ooh, look what he wrote about this girl, I guess she doesn’t work here anymore? ‘Dolly: Open availability. Always eager to help others. Great rack.’”

“I’ll take that back, thanks,” said Nick, sneaking up behind Victor to swipe his book back. He tried to hide how embarrassed he was, but it didn’t help that Cesar Conway had started laughing his head off.

“You liked Dolly Parker?” he blurted between bouts of sniggering.

“So? Big deal, I liked Dolly Parker,” said Sonia, the openly lesbian bartender.

“But a girl like that would never give him the time of day! I mean, fat chance!”

In that moment, something snapped in Nick. He turned to Cesar, looked at him for a moment, and said, calmly, “You can go home.”

Cesar had been Nick’s friend when he first helped him get hired, but in the last few months, their friendship had gone to shit. He was constantly damaging Nick’s credibility by missing his shifts, and when he did show up, he was late and stoned. On top of that, lately he had started joining Craig in fat-shaming Nick during pre-shift meetings, presumably to make the GM think he was cool.

Well, Nick wasn’t taking it anymore. If Cesar was going to act like that, then fuck him, and fuck his light bill.

After a few seconds, Cesar was still in the building, looking stunned. “Did you hear me? You’re cut.” Nick’s tone was still cool and collected, pleasant even. “There’s no silver to roll, so you can leave. I’ll take your section. Victor, follow me to the host stand, we’re gonna doctor the floor chart a little.” Cesar didn’t say anything, just slunk out the service entrance, while Nick led the way to the front of the restaurant. “You’re fast, right, Vic?”

“Except in bed, boss.”

Aww, wasn’t that cute. He was joking around...he thought he wasn’t in trouble.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Nick crossed Cesar’s name off the floor map, wrote his own name down in his section, and moved Victor into the adjacent section. “We’re gonna pool our sections together into one big section and banquet. I’ll start the tables and ring stuff in, and you can be food runner and back waiter.”

“Banquet partners with the boss...sweet!”

“Yeah, and if you can go all shift without fucking up, I’ll think about not writing you up for going through my stuff.”

That shut Victor up right quick.

Dolly got a kick out of that story when he told her that night. “Tell you the truth, I never liked Conway.”


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
Dolly took up Craig’s offer to pick up shifts, but she was in rarely. She showed up about once a month, always on Nick’s shift. She’d hug all the cooks, kiss them on the cheeks, and then the fun would begin.

On a typical second Wednesday, she came in through the service entrance, kicking the door open in her wake. “Whaddup, bitches? The circus is back in town!” After being attack-hugged and interrogated on her recent whereabouts by four or five servers, she met Nick in the server station while tying her apron strings. “Banquet buddies?” she suggested.

“You know it! We’re gonna make a killing tonight, Dolly.”

“Woohoo! Let’s do it! Premeditated homicide, all night!”

“...Just to be clear, let’s not commit an actual murder.”

“Oh, I agree, totally. That was just an expression.”

“And let’s send Cesar Conway the fuck home.”


Dolly had more or less moved into Nick’s apartment--all her stuff was there, and her lease was up in a couple of months, but she did not plan to renew. It was one of those rare nights when Nick and Dolly were both off. He wanted to take her somewhere she liked, but every time he’d tried in the past to ask her where she wanted to eat, she asked, where do YOU want to go?

So, tonight, he’d asked, “Guess where we're going to dinner, pet?”

Her eyes lit up and she guessed, “Dolce Paradiso?” So that was where he took her.

The restaurant was Italian, with a number of craft cocktails on the menu, and boasted homemade desserts made from scratch. Nick ordered a glass of house red wine and Dolly asked the waitress, “Can Meli behind the bar make me my raspberry drink? Tell her Dolly’s here!”

A few minutes later, Meli had not only poured Nick’s wine and fixed Dolly’s raspberry drink, but swung by the table to hand-deliver them. “Dolly, how’s it going? It’s been too long!”

Meli was a large woman, probably clocking in at around 280, with square glasses on and a red rose in her long, black hair, which was pulled back as per food handler regulations. She had on dark lipstick, shimmery eyeshadow, and a kind smile on her face. Several months ago, Nick would have looked at Meli and felt sorry for her, knowing all the abuse she must have to face daily from strangers and acquaintances alike. Now, he looked at her and thought she was quite beautiful--not that that mattered; he already had a beautiful woman on his arm.

“I’m good, I’m good!” Dolly took a sip of her drink and said, “And you never disappoint. But how are you?”

“Great! I’m the bar manager now.”


“Anyway, do you want to go drinking after I get off?”

“Actually…” Dolly squeezed Nick’s arm with both her hands. “I’m going home with this tall drink of water. Oh, but where’s my manners? Meli, this is my boyfriend, Nick. Nick, Meli here is the best bartender in town. Mel, I’ll text you later and let you know when I’m free!”

“Old drinking buddy?” asked Nick, once Meli left the table.

“She used to work at A&A,” Dolly explained. “Before you came onboard. She was my best friend at work.”

“What happened to her?”

“Craig said a lot of mean things to her until finally she cracked and started starving herself.” She raised one menu to shield their conversation from the rest of the patrons and staff and lowered her voice to say, “She fainted on the job. Tableside.”

He might have guessed, but it still wasn’t nice news to hear.


“After that, she was too embarrassed to come to work again. She got herself into rehab, though. I even helped her pay for it. I just wanted her to be okay.”

“You’re always so eager to help others.”

“I have the whole rest of my life to save money for the stuff I want, but I only had one chance to help my friend, so I took it. Anyway, looks like she’s doing good now. She’s a bar manager.”

After a few more drinks, Nick still didn’t know what he wanted for dinner. Everything looked so good...and loaded with carbs, to boot. He tossed his menu to Dolly and said, “You know what? I’m tired of thinking after a long shift. I want my precious pet to order for me.”

He could see the shudder of delight that ran through her.

When the waitress returned to the table, Dolly said, “I think we’re ready! I’m going to have the chicken pesto flatbread, no tomato, tomato allergy.” She spoke like she was reading off a ticket in the kitchen. “And then my date’s going to have the Italian hanger steak surf and turf, no grilled veg, sub fried Brussels, and an extra side of mash, because I’m gonna want some, and if we don’t finish all of that we’ll take the rest home.”

“And how will the gentleman take his steak?” asked the waitress, glancing between the two of them. Nick yielded the floor to Dolly; she was the one who had been here before.

“Oh, as rare as you can legally serve it. If possible, just bring him the cow.”

Nick stared at her, impressed. “Wow, you do know me.”

“You know I read all your tickets whenever you’d ring up food for yourself at the restaurant.”

While they were waiting for their meal, who should stride into the restaurant, a couple paces after the hostess, but Craig, in a business suit, flanked by two older, also suited men. “Go on, gentlemen, I’ll catch up in a minute,” he said, and parked himself right at their table.

He fixed Dolly with a wicked smirk. “Well, well. I always wondered why you left a job you seemed to love so much. Tell me, was it really to go work in some no-name, start-up scratch kitchen, or did you do it specifically so you could date Lardass here?”

Dolly squared her shoulders. Took Nick’s hand and gripped it firmly. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak asshole. Mind translating all of that into decent-people-ese?”

Craig brushed her off. “So, how long has this been going on?”

Nick was a little nervous, but egged on by Dolly’s flippancy, he found the courage to say something. “What does it matter? Even if you found me in violation of my contact’s non-fraternization clause, you’ll never fire me.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“You’d miss torturing me too much.”

For a second, Craig just stood there, stunned. The hostess returned, said, “May I show you to your table, Sir?” and gently removed him.

Soon dinner arrived and everything was gorgeous. Once, on her way back from the restroom, Dolly reported, “I passed Craig at his table and he’s still white as a sheet. I think you broke him.”

“Yeah? I think you gave me the nerve to do it.”

Obviously, Dolly had to stop picking up shifts after that, but she texted Nick constantly, so it was almost like she had never left.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
What started out as a normal Tuesday morning at the bar suddenly got intense when the owner of all the locations walked in out of the blue.

He came in looking harmless enough. Standing at five and a half feet and pushing 300, Alan Morgan looked like somebody’s jolly, generous uncle. (Incidentally, he was the only heavy-set person he had ever seen Craig respect--probably because he signed his paycheck.) At first, all he did was a leisurely walk-through of the restaurant, humming to himself as he went. Nick was standing behind the bar, helping Sonia organize the inventory, when Alan walked up to her. “Young lady, can you tell me what comes on the appetizer sampler?” he asked her.

“Oh, that’s an easy one! Four jumbo cheese sticks, four wings, and a small order of calamari.”


“Ranch, marinara, and garlic aioli.”

“What is your name, sweetheart?”

“Sonia, Sir.”

He pulled a crisp hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her across the bar. “There you go, Sonia. You go and buy yourself some candy!”

He might have made Sonia’s day, but Alan never showed up to any of the restaurants unannounced unless something big was going down: either someone was getting promoted, or someone was getting axed.

Soon, Craig returned from talking to a table on the patio, and as soon as he saw Alan, he was all simpering and fake smiles. “Afternoon, Boss! What can I do for you?” By the look in his eyes, Nick could tell he was hating every second of his life right now. He looked like the spine had been ripped out of him. How did Alan not see it?

“I need to step into your office for a minute.”

“Right away, let’s go--”

“Not with you.”


“Send up Nick Dillon, and shut the door before you go back downstairs.”

He turned and went upstairs, and Craig’s predatory demeanor returned. He looked at Nick and said, “Well, you heard the man. Get your fat ass upstairs. And just so you know, I never said a word about Dolly, but if he found out through some other means…”

He drew his thumb across his neck and made a noise like a throat being cut.

Oh, fuck, thought Nick. This was it, wasn’t it? Despite his and Dolly’s best efforts, word had gotten around that he’d fucked an employee, and now he was about to be out of a job. Numb in the extremities, he dragged himself upstairs.

The ‘office' was a spacious room with a desk and a computer that doubled as a storage room for liquor inventory, attached to a break room for the servers with a microwave and a restroom. Alan was sitting at the round table in the break room when Nick walked in. “Sit down, my boy, sit.”

Nick sat. He still couldn’t feel his face. He thought he might vomit.

“I’ve been watching you, Nick Dillon.”

Oh fucking shit. Here it came.

“Looking at the numbers, the sales on your shifts are skyrocketing compared to every other manager with this company,” said Alan, wearing a wide grin with a gleam in his eye.


He wasn’t in trouble?

“Oh, don’t be so modest! Results like that come from high morale among the staff. You’re inspiring these waiters, and that’s the kind of man I need running my new store that’s opening downtown. Tell me, how does General Manager Nick Dillon sound to you?”


“Out with it, boy, come on now…”

“I just don’t know what to say.”

“Then say yes!” Alan implored him.

“Yes! I’ll do it!” he said. In his heart, he knew it was what he wanted to do. He only hesitated because he walked up here expecting to be fired.

“Great! Thank you, Mr. Dillon, you were my first choice for the position.” He shook Nick’s hand vigorously across the table. “Oh, and if you were worried this meeting was going to be about one Miss Parker, all I have to say to you is this: be good to her.”

Holy shit.

How had he known?

“Now, I think I’m going to go downstairs and inform Mr. Krause of your new employment status myself. He hates to lose staff members, and I feel he might better receive the news from me than you. In the seems one of your teammates recently celebrated a birthday. Well, now, you have a cause to celebrate, too, so why don’t you help yourself and stay up here until Craig composes himself?” Alan popped his head backward towards the microwave, on top of which sat an unfinished box of cupcakes. They were Sonia’s cupcakes; her birthday had been yesterday. She’d eaten one cupcake last night but insisted that she shouldn’t overdo it on the sugar and offered the rest to the staff, so Nick figured she wouldn’t mind if he got into her leftovers. As he peeled the wrapper off a cupcake, a wave of triumph washed over him.

No more Craig. He was fucking free.


like the pancake
Dec 7, 2019
He could tell Dolly was already home when he walked in because swing music was playing and the whole house smelled like Italian food. He closed the door behind him, lost the suspenders, and announced, “Guess who just got a promotion, babe?”

Dolly came out of the kitchen sipping on a juice box. Well, a grown-up juice box.

It was wine.

“I know! Alan told me on the phone.”

“...Did he now?”

“Don’t worry, despite what you know about me and my predilections, I never fucked him. I respect his wife too much.” She plopped down on the couch and took another pull from her wine box. “We’re actually all three real good friends. Every year, Alessandra holds the company Christmas party at her and Alan’s mansion. The first year I went, I stayed up until two talking to Alessandra--she’s so interesting! She’s a city councilwoman and she wants to publicly fund housing for homeless youth and lighten the crackdown on underage drinking.”

“That’s an...interesting platform,” said Nick.

“The way she figures it, troubled kids are going to drink regardless of the laws in place. As long as they’re not wrecking stuff, why ruin their lives more than they’re already ruined? She was thrown out of the house like I was.”

It figured that Dolly would know things Nick didn’t about the CEO. She liked parties. He never went to company functions; he liked to spend as little time around Craig as possible. “How well do you know these people?”

“Well enough.”

“Did you tell Alan about us?”

“No, why, does he know?”


“He must have taken a lucky guess.” Still sipping on her box wine, she crossed the room to meet him. “Anyway, I bought us a little something to celebrate your promotion…” She reached over the couch and pulled out an unlabeled paper bag, out of which she pulled a length of braided red rope. “I thought we could have a little fun after dinner.”

Nick could feel himself breaking a little sweat. “You...want use that...on you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes. Geddit?”

Dinner was baked gnocchi alla rustica--alla rustica, Dolly explained, meaning ‘with spinach, sausage, and tomato cream sauce.’ She’d made it from scratch. Dessert was gelato, which she’d bought at Randall’s on her way home from the sex shop. Everything was delicious, and he left the table good and satisfied. After Dolly finished her third juice box and Nick finished loading the dishwasher, she led the way stumbling into the bedroom, removing pieces of clothing as she went and discarding them on the floor in the hall. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the mesmerizing sight of her body...or the reverence with which she undressed him. As she tossed his shirt on the end-table, she admired his body, all the softness and rolls he’d thought for years were something to be ashamed of, with a look in her eye like a child unwrapping a brand new pogo stick on Christmas morning, or a mob boss opening a briefcase containing thirty million dollars.

His pants were the next to go, and then, she broke out the rope. “Now, drinking before rope play is typically considered bad practice, because I might not know how much something hurts, but I know you. You’re gentle. Sometimes too gentle, but you’re catching on. Now, do you want to take me from the front or from behind?”

He thought for a minute before deciding, “The front. I want to see your pretty face.”

She lay down face-up on the bed and stuck her hands through the bars of the headboard. Under her instruction, he wound the rope a few times around one of her wrists, threaded it through the bars, around her other wrist, and finally secured the whole thing with a knot that would hold, but that he could untie easily enough. “Do you want to pick the safe word?” he asked, figuring it might help her remember what it was.

“How about we just use ‘stop'? I mean, I know we’re weird, but I don’t think we have to resort to secret codes.”

Fair point.

She had left on her bra and panties; he liked her to save them for him to remove. He straddled her on the bed, reached around her, and unhooked her bra clasp easily, but as he worked it up over her head, he realized there’d be no getting it past her wrists with her hands bound. “Leave it,” she said.

So he slid off her panties, threw them to the side, and hooked her legs behind his shoulders to start teasing her with his mouth.

He ate her like she was a rare delicacy, gently licking and sucking her clit and waiting, every time, for just the right moment to really dive in, before he would go back to slowly enjoying her. “You taste nice,” he said as he was coming up for air.

“It was my day off, I started with Malibu and pineapple at, I think, eight thirty in the morning?”

“Jesus, you incorrigible, drunk little cock whore.”

“Your little cock whore.”

“That’s right, Dolly.”

He was still no seasoned expert, but he was getting good at the kind of dirty talk Dolly liked.

He went back to eating her out, and when she was good and wet, he lost the boxers, put on a condom, and brushed her snatch with the tip of his erection. “Are you ready?” he asked her.

“Oh, I’m desperate.”

He drove inside her, reveling in her little gasp, and began to fuck her.

“Oh, that’s so good,” she drawled. “I didn’t count on how much I’d miss touching you though.”

“Ain’t you ever been tied up before?”

“Once, to a pipe, by a coworker in a supply closet at my first job. He didn’t do a very good job. He also got fired for double-dropping his happy hour checks. I think he’s serving hard time.” She squeezed his sides with her thighs. “Tell me I’m your dirty little cum slut.”

He smirked. “You like that, don’t you? You like being my subservient slave.”


“And you like this, too, don’t you?” He pressed his belly against her and watched her grip at the ropes. “You just live to wait on me hand and foot, making me fatter and fatter and you love seeing and feeling the evidence of what you’ve done.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Yeah, he’d say he was getting the hang of the kind of dirty talk that did it for her.

He could tell she was getting close. His heart beat fast as her moans gave away her pleasure. She was almost there...almost there…

Abruptly, he decided to stop.

He was enjoying this power-play thing.

“Huh?” Dolly whimpered.

“Don’t worry, pet. You’ll get your big finish. I just want to make you wait for it. I want to make you beg for it.” She squirmed. “Now, does my cute little bimbo want a shot of vodka?” She nodded vigorously. “Do you want a chaser, “Dolly?”

“There’s some cranberry juice in the fridge.”

He went to the kitchen to prepare her drink and returned promptly to the bedside. He held the shot to her lips and she drank, and when she was done, he served her her juice with a straw.

“Do you want a smoke?”

“Yes please.”

He took a cigarette from her pack on the desk, held it to her lips, and lit it. She inched forward to take drags at her leisure until the whole stick was spent. He was really seeing the appeal of this willing sex-slave thing: it was exhilarating, knowing that with her hands tied, he was her sole purveyor of pleasure. “Now, where were we?”

She whimpered with bliss as he mounted her again, sheathing himself inside her slowly and gradually picking up the pace. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper, her breath quickening until, finally…

“Oh, holy shit!” she gasped, legs tightening around him, fingers yanking at the ropes for purchase. After a few seconds, her grip loosened and her feet landed against the mattress. He thrust into her a few more times before the world went white and everything was ecstasy and his load exploded into the condom.

He rolled over to catch his breath. “I’ll untie you in a second, Dolly,”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Actually…” He dug for his phone in the pocket of his pants on the floor. “Do you mind if I take a picture? For those long, lonely closing shifts.”

“I’m not exactly posed for a picture; I bet my makeup is running. And my bra is still around my elbows.”

“You’re still the prettiest damn thing I ever saw.”