Sucking Dick At My First Job 02: The New Guy (Patreon)

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Chapter 2: The New Guy

The next afternoon, I was back at work, on the makeline portioning cheese into the little paper cups we used for the lunch specials, standing with my back three-quarters to the office, when the owner came out of it with his clipboard and started talking, as usual, without even calling people over.

"I'm bringing on a third for closes," he said, his hefty, ball-belly body apparent in his voice. I looked up at his thick, grey-black mustache as he continued to talk. "Summer numbers are going wild this year. Two guys on a Friday is how you get a huge ticket time and a one-star Yelp review. We've been lucky so far, but I won't take any chances."

Dominic was at the oven with the peel in his hand, facing the mouth of it, and he didn't turn around. He said "Cool" at the bricks and slid a pie a quarter turn.

"Kid's name is Taylor. Taylor? Tyler." The owner checked the clipboard and didn't find it there either. "Anyway, he starts this week. Register, boxing, dishes, whatever you need."

"Cool," Dominic said again.

The owner looked over at me, then back at Dom. "Good job with him so far," he said as he pointed a thumb at me. "Stay on his ass."

"Will do, cap'n."

The owner tapped the clipboard against the doorframe and went back in for his keys and his sunglasses, and then he was out the front, and his car pulled out past the window, and it was the two of us again, in the lobby, with one dude sitting at a small table by the window, eating a slice.

I kept portioning cheese. Four ounces a cup, packed loosely, and I was doing it by hand as I didn't need the scale anymore, after doing it probably a thousand times.

It had been a day since he fucked my mouth in the walk-in. Not one word about it. When I had arrived, he was breaking down boxes, and I got right next to him and broke down boxes too. He told me the middle rack was running hot and to pull the second pie early and I pulled the second pie early. I kept waiting for him to say something sideways about it, some little thing I could hold onto, and he cooked pizza and drank a Mountain Dew and talked about his car needing a new belt.

"So," I said to Dom when he was next to me doing something with the toppings, "A third body on closing shifts."

"Yup," he said, "Should be interesting."

I looked up across the kitchen. Dominic had the peel under a pie and was looking right at me over the top of the oven, and he held it for a second, and then he slid the pie onto the cut table and reached for the wheel. Nothing was said.

He ran the rest of that shift exactly how he had run every shift before it. He wrote the prep list on the whiteboard in his terrible handwriting, tapped it with the marker, said "Sauce, dough, mushrooms, in that order," and posted up at the oven. He made me laugh about a guy who called in and pronounced "calzone" wrong. He was friendly. He was completely unchanged, and it was making me insane.

I worked the makeline and watched him, hoping for one crumb of acknowledgment of his dick having been in my mouth. When he handed me a pan, I looked at his face. When he squeezed past me in the aisle with his hand on my back, which he had always done, because that aisle was narrow, I looked at his face. Nothing. Same face. Same "behind you, bro."

By late afternoon I had decided that the whole thing had just been a one-off. He had just gotten bored, on a  slow night, with an obvious gay kid standing in front of him looking thirsty and easy, and he had gotten his rocks off, and it was over. He had said as much explicitly, he was just "helping a buddy out." By the time the sun set, I was already forgiving him in my head, ready to move on and return to our normal dynamic.

Then the last couple guys eating in the dining area cleared out, and the lobby sat empty. Dominic came around the end of the line drying his hands on a towel.

"Come here for a minute," he said.

I followed him to the counter by the register, thinking he was about to show me the next thing he needed from me, and I was right, in a way.

His hand closed around the back of my neck, and he looked into my eyes for a second, and pressed down, and I sank onto the floor with my apron still tied, back exactly where I wanted to be before I even let myself believe it was happening again.

Except this time, we were out in the front, with huge glass windows revealing everything we were doing to anyone who happened to pass by.

He backed up against the counter behind him, only slightly concealing us via the big drink machine, giving us just the faintest amount of privacy from the outside world, and pushed his pants and briefs down to his thighs, half hard already, his thick meat filling out fast.

"You've been staring at me all day," he said.

"You didn't say anything about it," I said. It came out hoarse. I cleared my throat.

"I'm saying something now."

I opened up and took him in, and I already knew I was better at it this time. I breathed through my nose before he pushed in, being able to predict it now, and I took him deeper on the first stroke than I'd managed the whole first night.

"Oh, you've been thinking about it," he said. "Practicing on something? ... Or someone?"

I hummed around him instead of answering, and felt him twitch against my tongue.

"Nasty," he said, and pushed my head down.

He was just as rough as the first time, if not more so. Both his hands gripped my hair, his hips driving off the countertop behind him, my eyes running and spit stringing down my chin onto my shirt, and I was hard against my zipper the whole time. I gagged once, and stayed down through it, and his grip tightened.

"There it is," he said. "Good boy."

His body was in more of a hurry this time, and I sensed an impending orgasm within a couple minutes. His thighs hardened under my palms and he pulled me flush to his body.

"Swallow it," he said as his dick pumped the love juice down my throat in long pulses. I swallowed every shot without losing a drop this time.

He held me on him for a second after before he let me go.

"Even better than last time," he said as he stuffed his slimy dick back into his pants. 

"You need to, uh... break down the cheese order, by the way," he added, slipping back into the kitchen, grabbing the clipboard on his way.

I washed my hands, and broke down the cheese order.

····[]····

Then it happened in the kitchen the next time we closed together. And then in the bathroom the one after that.

The first few were all pretty quick, shoving into my mouth, talking dirty, squirting it out, then pretending like nothing happened, and I had never been happier in my life. I didn't have to come out as anything, and I got free flowing sexual thrills on a regular basis.

The ritual of it never changed, me on my knees with the apron still on and the strings still tied. Him standing, one hand on my head, pushing me down when he felt like it, holding me there when he felt like it. Always later in the shift, before lock-up. Always with the door unlocked, and the phone able to ring.

And every time, when he finished, he'd pull his pants up and buckle his belt and say something like "Can you get the mushrooms going" and walk off, and I'd stand up and wash my hands and do what he said. I think he was subtly training me to be even more obedient.

Part of me wanted it to be a thing between us, but what actually got me so hard I could barely stand up afterward was that it wasn't. It was just a quickie item on the task list that Dom finished before he closed up shop. It was somewhere between rotating stock and prepping crusts, and he'd cross it off and move to the next item, and I'd be on the rubber mat with my jaw aching, dazed and dick-drunk and waiting for my next instruction.

····[]····

Then Tyler started working.

He was a year behind me at school, skinny, with a stylish haircut, blonde and curly and short at the sides. He walked in with a big smile, a couple inches shorter than me. 

The first thing I noticed was that he talked constantly. It wasn't really a bad thing, at first, and he was actually funny sometimes. But the volume of words coming out of him per hour was staggering.

His job was the easier part, just learn the stuff going on at the front half of the store. Register, phones, boxing, filling the soda cooler, cleaning the lobby tables. That was where he was supposed to stand. There was an actual physical line in that building, where the counter ended and the kitchen began, and he never really had to come behind the line, but he ignored that constantly and followed me back to keep talking to me every few minutes.

I'd be on the makeline facing the pass with a pie half-built, and I'd hear the end of a sentence at my shoulder that had started somewhere out in the lobby.

"...so he tells me the car is fine, right, and then the next day the whole thing smells like syrup."

"Uh huh," I'd say.

"Like maple syrup. That's what coolant smells like. Did you know coolant smells like syrup?"

"I did not."

And he'd stand there. With nothing in his hands. Watching me sauce a pizza.

"Here, do this for me," I said once, and he stepped into my place quickly. 

I moved on to the next job and let him take over, only for him to stare at it for a second, then say, "I have no idea what I'm doing here."

For some reason, once Tyler showed up, Dom seemed to disappear. It was like I was the boss now, even though I still felt new. He would take a break and come back an hour later. And worst of all, I didn't get my random mouth fuckings anymore, let alone the other fun stuff we did alone, like inventing new forms of special calzones.

And Tyler's break was the real problem. It was written on the board in the office, in the owner's handwriting, in a box: Tyler, 7:00. That was a fixed thing, I guess. And every shift, Tyler would either blow straight past it and be boxing pies at half past, or he'd take it at like 7:25, or, the worst one, he'd clock out for it and then get his food and come stand in the kitchen doorway and eat it there, talking, for the entire half hour, which defeated the whole point of taking a break outside.

Dominic, when he was around, handled him great. He was warm with the kid, even through all his silly habits. It made me realize how good of a hire I had been. I didn't do things wrong and mess everyone else up, at least. 

Over time, Dom showed him tips and tricks of the oven, let him launch a pie on his second day, called him "Ty," laughed at the coolant story as if it were actually interesting. He stood there between the oven and the cut table with a towel over his shoulder and gave the guy his whole attention.

And about the third time Dom made a nice gesture to Tyler that I wouldn't have made myself, something in my chest twisted, sour, the same as it did when the blonde girl leaned over the counter at him. 

And it shouldn't have really bothered me. Dom was friendly with everyone, the delivery guy from the produce company, the old man who came in every Wednesday for a small pepperoni and sat by the window. And I had spent two months letting myself think the friendliness was aimed at me specifically, like a thing I'd earned by being the one who got the low fridge when he reached up to the high shelf.

"Hey," I said to Tyler around seven one day, wiping my hands. "You should take your break."

"I'm good," Tyler said.

"It's seven."

"I'm not hungry yet."

"It's on the board, dude."

"I'll go at like seven thirty." He pulled a pepperoni off the line and ate it and leaned his hip against the reach-in, and then he said, "Yo, did you ever notice the sign out front is missing the apostrophe?"

"You just said you weren't hungry," I said, my face dropping.

"Oh, good point, I guess I will take it now," he said. 

I forced myself not to roll my eyes as I went back to the makeline. Unfortunately, he followed me there, while eating his pizza, and finished his thoughts about the sign out front.

The dinner rush ended around eight. Tyler got sent out front with a rag and a spray bottle, and through the pass I could see him going at the tables one at a time, talking to himself or to the tables, hard to say. Dominic was at the sink with a sheet pan and a green scrubber, water running over his wrists.

He shut the water off and didn't dry his hands.

"Walk-in," he said, tilting his head toward the back hallway once.