There was a period of time when I needed a little bit of extra cash. As a second job I picked up working in our town's small independent movie theater. I could do my regular day-job and then work the evenings there. It was neither difficult nor strenuous. Mostly boring. It would have been even more boring if it wasn’t for J. The only other person close in age to me. The lead supervisor. I had a massive crush on him.
He was artsy– wanted to make his own films. Just barely scraped by working at the theater and a second-hand movie store. Often tired. A heavy smoker, a non-drinker like myself and an inveterate drinker of soda. And just my type. Mean, biting humor, smart. Way too smart to do any of the things he did. Quick and even quicker to cut. Kind to younger employees but internally quite impatient. I was obsessed with his dirty lifestyle and slacker ways. He seemed so low-down and bright. Like a rainbow in oil.
Even after I got my promotion at work and was making more than enough money I still didn’t quit. I cut my hours a little bit. But I made sure I worked the three evenings a week I knew J would be there. Mostly just as an excuse to spend time with him. I suppose I could have just asked him out on a date. But I wasn’t interested in a date. I just wanted him. Besides, I was pretty sure that if I had him the once I’d grow bored. It was more fun to just have the crush. To just play our nearly dangerous work-flirtation games behind the concessions counter. Tossing filthy jokes up and down the steps and over the seats of the theater at the end of the day while cleaning up other people’s wrappers and dropped sodas.
One evening he sent our one other coworker home early, saying we could finish the final walk through, grab the garbage and walk it to the dumpster. I was privately thrilled to be alone with him. Thinking we could push our usual repartee further without other ears present.
I was bending over to pick something up in the last theater and he whapped me gently across the backside with the broom handle he had. Retaliation for when I’d snapped him hard with one of the industrial rubber bands around our snack boxes earlier in the evening.
“Well, I’ve been duly punished,” I said, wiggling my hips.
“I would have rather hit you in the outfit you came in with today,” he said, pushing our garbage pail forward.
I usually came straight from the office. Generally in a pencil skirt, pumps, button-ups. I’d change into jeans and the theater tee shirt in the bathroom before my shift. Stomping into boots instead of heels.
“Oh, do you like it better when I’m more girly-girl?” I asked, frisking away from him and flicking off the theater lights.
“You look spectacular no matter what you’re in… I bet you look spectacular when you’re in nothing at all,” he said.
“So inappropriate, boss,” I said.
“I’ll get more inappropriate. I especially liked those little fuck-me shoes you were wearing,” he said.
“Well thank you, they’re new,” I answered.
Which was true. I liked a sexy shoe in general. I didn’t have a pair of purple stilettos yet. And since my pay from the theater was now pretty much like a little extra allowance I’d bought myself a new pair. Further delighted that he noticed. And that he was flirting as hard as I was hoping he would when I knew we’d be left alone.
“What do you actually do to afford those?” he asked.
I blushed. He knew I had a day job. He’d been the one who interviewed me and offered me the job. I’d been pretty up-front throughout that this was in the way of a bill-gap job. And I knew he was just sort of waiting for me to put in my two weeks notice. I told him where I worked. What I did. Even what my stupid title was. He whistled.
“So what the fuck are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “Are you paying alimony to someone? You owe child support or back taxes?”
“No-o,” I said. “I only just got promoted a few months ago…”
“Still. If you were in any kind of financial need, you’d probably be fine by now,” he said.
“I like working with you,” I finally huffed.
Heading toward the glowing exit door. He grabbed me by the elbow, spinning me back to face him. Looking especially threatening and attractive in the red light and deep shadows of the empty theater.
“Just working?” he asked.
“Well-ll,” I said, unsure. Using his hips against mine and his forearms against the wall he pinned me back against it. Invading my space, the lengths of our bodies almost touching.
“Just working?” he repeated.
“I’d like more than just working,” I panted.
Reaching between us he unsnapped my jeans. Tugging them roughly down to my knees. Dropping into a kneel at my feet and pushing my underwear to one side.
“Let me give you more,” he said, smiling up at me from the floor.
I nodded, too breathless to speak. He started licking me gently. When I bucked too hard against his chin he reached up. One palm flat over my belly button, the other at my hip, keeping me pressed into the wall. Reaching down I tangled my fingers into his hair. He groaned when he felt me tugging him deeper into me. Which felt wonderful.
“I think I’m going to–” I gasped.
“What?” he said quietly, almost right against me.
“Um–” I said and then moaned.
“Tell me,” he said, voice low. “Go on and tell me what you’re going to do right now, woman.”
“I’m going to come!” I cried.
“Good girl,” he moaned against me.
I came viciously, likely crushing his skull in my palms, legs shivering weakly against the wall. He stood up, keeping his body against mine. I tipped my face into him, expecting a kiss. Instead he grabbed me by the throat, the other going into my hair. Fisting his hand around the root of my ponytail. I moaned again and thrust my hips toward him. Nothing about him had seemed like he’d be rough. And while we’d joked about kinks we always did it in a nonspecific way. With a carefully banter-only tone. I’d certainly said things to the effect of “choke me” when he had jokingly said he was going to punish me or write me up for stupid things. But I didn’t think that he thought I was serious. He began dragging me back toward the chairs. I followed, stupefied with excitement. Wondering if he’d ask for his next. Tossing me forward into a chair. I was stumbling and clumsy, jeans still tangled around my knees.
“And now you’re going to do it again,” he said.
I was up on my knees on the seat. Facing the back of the theater, my back to him. He reached between my legs. I gasped, arching further into him. Resting my breastbone on the back of the chair. He moved slowly but purposefully, almost milking the orgasm out of me.
“Come on,” he coaxed tauntingly. “Be my little slut. Get my hand all filthy. I’ve already licked it straight out of you. Give it to me all over my hand too.”
“Fuck,” I panted. Giving in, spreading my knees as wide as they could go across the seat. Finally propping one calf up on an arm rest. Bending forward and giving him full access.
“More,” I panted.
“Oh, do you want my cock?” he asked, still teasing.
“Yes!” I said over my shoulder.
“Come on my hand and maybe then we can discuss something further,” he said, chuckling.
I groaned. Giving up, letting my face drop over the back of the chair. Coming and almost crying when I did. Grabbing me by the ponytail once more, pulling me out of the chair. I was still trying to catch my breath, legs still shaking. Still riding the afterwave of the second one.
“Take your pants off,” he said.
I kicked my boots off, fighting with the laces and struggling with shaking hands to do it. Getting my jeans and underwear off and letting them fall to the floor. He sat back in the chair. I was puzzled and disappointed that he hadn’t undone his jeans at all.
“Kneel in my lap, back to me,” he said.
I did, thighs still shivering violently. Reaching between my legs again, fingers locked around my clit. I felt that it was more swollen than it had ever been, practically puffing over his fingers.
“Oh wait,” I said. “Please I–”
“I’m getting another out of you,” he said.
“No please I–” I began saying.
“It’s going to happen. You can complain or just let it happen,” he said. “Put your head down if you need to. Relax, but I’m taking it from you.”
I groaned, falling forward, resting my elbows and forearms on the concrete floor in front of me. Ass up, head down and taking it.
“Please,” I begged once more. “I haven’t had three before and I don’t know–”
“You’re having three tonight,” he said.
“Can’t I just–?” I began to ask.
“What? You just want to bounce on my dick or suck me off?” he asked.
“Yes,” I groaned.
“No,” he said. “You’re going to come for me and then you’re going to say thank you.”
I started cursing in a low, grunting loop. Collapsing onto his thighs. Unable to move or escape from his massaging fingers. I came, sobbing tearlessly. Helpless, fingers digging into the floor. But he didn’t stop touching me. I scrambled away from him, until my knees hit the floor punishingly hard. I started crawling toward the stage. I heard him stand up, his boots heavily behind me.
“Oh, are you done?” he said, in a mock-poor-baby tone. “Can’t take any more?”
“No, please,” I said over my shoulder.
“Do you not want my cock any more?” he asked.
I stopped, looking over my shoulder, still on my hands and knees.
“No,” I said. “I’d like your cock. I’d like to make you come.”
“Relax then,” he said.
He got right up behind me and knelt again. I dropped back down onto my arms, forehead a few inches from the floor. I could take penetration, just not more clitoral stimulation. And I could see in the emergency lights that lined the base of the stage he was hard– straining the zipper of his jeans.
But I didn’t hear his zipper or his belt. Sliding his ring and middle finger into me I startled forward, crying out. Then easing back into it. Being entered like this felt good– the only thing that would feel better was the rest of him. But then his forefinger flickered out and swiped across my still very-full and slick clit.
“You forgot to thank me,” he said.
“No!” I cried.
He pulled his hand away from me and I started crawling toward the stage again.
“Is it time to stop, darlin’?” he asked. This wasn’t a tease, this was serious.
“Will you promise me this is the last one?” I asked.
“The last one can be the last one,” he said.
“But you want to force me to have the fourth, don’t you?” I asked. I at least stopped crawling away from him.
“I would be so happy if you gave me the fourth. But yes, I promise it’s the last… For tonight,” he said.
“I have to lay down,” I whined.
“Then lay down,” he said. I fell to my side and then to my back. He slid in beside me. Hand between my legs again.
“Cry if you want to,” he said into my ear. “And say ‘stop J’ if you really need it to stop. But I want number four. And I’ll keep you here all night.”
“Fuck,” I said again, arching into his hand. But four wouldn’t break. I was just constantly on the edge of it. Heart hammering, sweat pouring from me. Overstimulated and soaking the floor beneath us.
“I was going to lick up your mess afterward,” he whispered in my ear. “But at this rate I’m going to have to mop up all this girl honey, you’re a mess. And you’re making a mess.”
“Fuck,” I growled. Low, deep, a noise I’d never heard from myself and hadn’t known I’d been able to make.
I gave him four, almost screaming. Finally he rested his free hand over my mouth so I could let loose and make the noise I needed to make.
“There it is,” he said, soothing me, even as I screamed my lungs flat. “Good work, good girl, you’re doing so good… Almost done, almost there.”
I lay, feeling flatter and smaller and terribly drained. Throat strained, trying to catch my breath. Breasts rising and falling rapidly.
“Good girl,” he said, finally kissing me. First on the cheek, then the forehead. His lips felt almost cool on my face. I bet my skin was as red as the exit light. “You’re okay.”
He got up after a few minutes. Fishing my jeans up off the floor and tossing them at me.
“What about you?” I asked, sitting up.
“Not tonight,” he said.
“Are you serious?” I asked, astounded.
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. Finding one of my boots. Spinning around in a circle looking for the second one.
“Well when–?” I asked.
“You want more?” he said, playfully shocked. “You said you couldn’t take any more!’
“I can’t come again. Not tonight,” I said, instantly covering myself with my hands as though that would stop another onslaught from him. “But I could do more another time… And I certainly like to… repay the favor.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said, shrugging.
I wasn’t working tomorrow but it was the employee screening. As a perk of working here you got to see the first screening of new releases. After the last showing we’d all troop into one theater to watch a movie. More in the way of an employee hang-out than an actual movie watch. I didn’t go to them, mostly. If I knew J would be there, sometimes I would. Mostly, I didn’t. It just tended to exhaust me, or inevitably they would be before a work day so it didn’t seem worthwhile.
“Come back here?” I asked. “For the employee screening?”
“Right!” he said, like I’d recited a hard lesson. “And we’ll see how it goes after the fact.”
“Okay,” I said. Somewhat hesitant but mostly glad we’d have a second round.
“Good girl,” he said once more. Flicking the lights back on and blinding me. We retrieved our supplies and left the theater. Tossing garbage. Locking the doors. Rattling the lock. Leaving separately.
I’d never been so exhausted.