NaNoWriMo WINNER: TASTE THE RUST

Excerpts of chapters for the 2005 NaNoWriMo Challenge. (Yes, I won!) Please be warned that chapters/excerpts may include adult content that is not for everyone's tastes. (Chapters heavy with adult content are marked "adult.") This is still a rough, unedited work in progress. This is fiction and is not about any real people (living or deceased), places or events (i.e., please insert the usual disclaimer). Thanks for reading and don't hesitate to comment.

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Location: New York, United States

Saturday, November 19, 2005

CHAPTER 4: A BITE TO EAT

Warning: Adult content

Peyton’s cell phone discharged a few days after she was taken into custody so she did not have any of her phone numbers handy. She was annoyed and inconvenienced, but not really concerned. She zipped her waist length black Harley jacket up against the chill that was blowing off the river behind the jail, took another deep drag off the cigarette, savoring it, and began a leisurely walk up town. By the time she reached the business section, it would almost be noon. Then there would be many more people to choose from. The restaurants would be crowded and even the bars would have clientele. She would grab a little bite to eat, so to speak, and then work her way back to The House. It was way out in the suburbs. But between the bus system and the train, she would make it back in good time. But no, she was not concerned. Not for one moment. She had plenty of choices.

Peyton walked several blocks. She hated walking. She almost always had a car at hand to drive her or her little blue sportster, and she never took public transportation. That was just a little too common for the likes of her. She eyed the storefronts and sidewalks as the city sprang to life beyond the morning crowd hustling to their office jobs.

She had never liked that kind of work, even before. She remembered a few jobs she had had in the corporate world: Rushing to the office in the morning. Rushing back from lunch. A nine to five drudgery under someone else’s thumb: Yes Sir. No Sir. Right away Sir. I’ll have that right for you. Anything you want, Sir. She laughed to herself. She would never go back to that. She no longer had to. She was not one of them anymore. She was Sir now. No: she was God. She gave the orders and they jumped. They obeyed. She had the power and they feared it. This was the way it was meant to be. It would only get better from this point. She was young and new to this world. She would learn how to work it.

This will do, she thought. Peyton leaned into the chrome and glass door and slipped into the warm bustling diner bursting with aromas of fresh brewed coffee and eggs and basic human comfort. She pushed past the crowd at the door waiting for booths and helped herself to a seat at the counter, unzipped her jacket and drowned her cigarette in the half empty coffee cup in front of the empty stool to her left. She assumed they were done with it. Peyton eyed the waitresses in their snug tan and white collared uniforms and their flat little support less white sneakers. A young woman, maybe 20, with kinky blond red hair self-knotted at the nape of her long neck flipped through her receipt book, tore out two pages and pressed them to the counter before two restless customers, and eyed the remaining counter patrons.

Young, but clearly on the ball, thought Peyton. In three steps with long strong legs the red haired waitress was at the counter in front of her, pen in hand.

“Hi. What can I get you?” she asked, looking straight at Peyton with huge green eyes, copper eyebrows raised. Her name was Becca per her little name plate pinned just above her left breast. Her flesh was freckled and rosy, infused with life. She spun around on her heels revealing long firm thighs beneath the rather short skirt of her uniform and returned with an empty cup. She slid the institutional cup, saucer and spoon toward Peyton and in one smooth move filled it with coffee.

“Regular, right?” Becca asked rhetorically, not looking up but smiling. “The sugar and creamers are right here.” She motioned with long fingers that sparkled with silver marcasite jewelry. She caught Peyton's glance and slid the lucite container of sweeteners towards her.

“So what can I get you?” she asked again, glancing discreetly at her watch. Joe was supposed to phone on her break in 15 minutes. They were supposed to get together for dinner when she got off. She hoped he wouldn’t avoid her after last night’s misunderstanding. She hoped he wouldn’t run, because this time Becca thought she was in love. He felt like he was the one. She could actually imagine a future with him. If he would just make use of that art scholarship.

“Hmmmm, good question” Peyton answered. “Now what am I in the mood for?” she mused, scratching her chin, looking straight back at Becca with big liquid brown gold eyes, then lowering them to the v of the white collar and the rise of her freckled breasts. Peyton pictured her young waitress naked except for a white lacy push up bra and underwear, bent at the waist over the counter, her red hair falling over her face, her waitress uniform hiked high above her full hips, her white garter belt and stockings visible to everyone dining here, the flesh of her thighs warm and pink and soft between the buckles and straps of her garter, her legs spread forcibly wide braced apart at the ankles with a metal bar, the counter stool planted directly behind her...

The waitress waited, lowered her eyes, and began to fidget.

It seems she got my message, laughed Peyton to herself.

In spite of herself, Becca felt herself pressing her breasts against the inside of the uniform through her thin, sheer bra. She felt her nipples begin to harden. She wanted to take them between her fingers and twist them, hard. What is my problem? she asked herself. Oh Joe, where are you? she thought to herself. She suddenly felt so in need. She wanted to touch herself. Rub herself fragrant against the counter corner. Dive into the restroom and masturbate against the corner of the sink. She remembered a cylindrical hand lotion bottle in the restroom and suddenly felt a deep spasm. She had customers waiting. What am I doing? She needed to get focused again. But she was suddenly feeling so warm and so very distracted.

Peyton detected a temperature change in the young waitresses’ skin, and Becca was certainly looking distracted.

Lovely Becca, I will have you, thought Peyton. Look at me. I beckon Becca, Peyton laughed to herself.

And the lovely Becca did look back at Peyton, pupils dilating, green eyes flashing. The hard nubs of her nipples were visible now through the tan synthetic uniform. The waitress caught herself, smoothed her dress down across her belly like she was trying to cover herself and looked away, remembering all she had to do. Remembering where she was. Remembering Joe was supposed to call. But her head began to swim again. She felt a little light headed. Maybe I need to sit down, she thought.

I will have you, Peyton projected and smiled as Becca strode away, a little unsteady.

Out of habit, automatically, Becca grabbed the coffee pot off the console and refilled all of the empty cups from far right to left across the counter all the way up to the window where the cold winter light filtered in. She paused for a moment at the end of the counter, looking beyond the window. Then she returned to Peyton. Her lips were parted, petulant.

“Ok.” Said Becca. “Ummm, need more time?” She leaned both hands on the counter before Peyton. Becca was visibly flushed.

I’ve got you, don’t I? Need time? Yes, time with you, thought Peyton. Just a little more time and you’ll be mine, she rhymed. You want to be mine, don’t you?

Becca’s eyes were locked on hers. Becca wanted. Becca needed.

“This coffee is delicious,” said Peyton. “I just can’t get enough of it. I’ll have a little more.” Becca swung around with the pot and topped it off. “A busy woman like you must get a few decent breaks. I bet you’re due one. Maybe a lunch break?”

“Soon,” breathed Becca, clearing her throat. “Let me know if I can get you anything else,” she said, walking away. A few steps away, she turned back.

“Hey, what is your name?” she asked.

“Hunter,” said Peyton. Which was more true than not. Peyton smiled.

A few words with her coworker and Becca headed for the women’s room at the rear of the diner. Peyton remained seated and watched.

Becca swung the bathroom door shut and stood before the mirror. What is wrong with me? She bent over and splashed cold water on her face. As she bent, she felt her skirt raise slightly from behind. She imagined a warm hand slipping between the cheeks of her ass then down between the wetness that was now moistening her thighs...

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

The are your fantasys right?

1:32 AM  

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