I (male, then 18) used to be a cashier at a small market and this one manager (F40s, Carol) was all the time giving me hell. I didn’t know why she singled me out but other employees noticed, including her daughter, who also worked there and was around my age and friendly with me. Perhaps that was why.
So this one night it’s just me and Carol, the mother, working. I’m on register and she was doing manager stuff like helping customers and stocking. It was a quiet night and I was in a pissy mood (angsty teenager), so I decide to ask her why she’s all the time treating only me like shit and no one else. She claims she hasn’t been and we argue–I give her examples and whatnot–then I finally relent, sigh, and say whatever, go on with the night.
My mood doesn’t improve.
When we close the store she sends me off to “zero” my drawer while she finishes cleaning up, so I head to the backroom where this is usually done and await approval from her to leave.
Before I get there she calls my name and I stop walking and turn to face her.
She tells me she has to leave early, right away, and tosses me the keys. “You know what to do,” she smiles.
It was the friendliest look she had ever given me. Sexy, even, and I never found her to be attractive. At all. But since I was still a virgin then and very curious, some naughty images flash through my mind. I don’t think about why she would have to leave so urgently.
In the backroom there is a connected adjacent office where the manager’s conduct their company. Since I’m alone I use that room to count my drawer because there is a radio in there and it’s more comfortable.
As I’m counting quarters I put on some music and smile thinking about our argument, feeling bad now that she has given me the responsibility of closing up shop—a clear path to becoming a manager myself. I’m in my own world at this point, no filter, loud, ruthless, singing, cursing, whatever.
When I finish my work I lean back in the cozy chair and admire the literal writing on the wall other managers have written to distribute with each other, notes and photos of employees hanging out together drinking and whatnot. The “cool kids” I hope to one day be myself.
My eyes stop when I see a picture of a younger Carol that I never noticed before. Sort of a fox, I admit, and remember the smile she gave me when she left.
“Hello?” I say loud enough to clear the store. “CAROL!” I yell just in case. Nothing. Crickets.
(belt buckle sounds, zipper sounds) My pants are now around my ankles and my cock is pointing straight up at the ceiling, precum pooling at the tip and a thin string of it connected to the opening of my boxer shorts that I swipe with my palm and use to get started with.
I notice I’m incredibly sensitive then realize I haven’t jerked off in a few days, which explains my edgy mood. I slow down and take my time because why not, I’m alone, nothing to do but homework when I get home.
Suddenly I’m very attracted to this women who I wondered hated my guts and could be my mother but, my adolescent self realizes, maybe she’s got a crush on me and our little argument was what she had been waiting for all along to spark some sexual tension. Maybe her daughter has a crush on me too? She’s a manager, I’m thinking, where is her picture on the wall?
Nope, I’d rather think of the mother Carol, who just left me with the essential responsibilities of a small company. I should be a good boy and show her how well of a job I can do.
(fap fap fap)
This was before I knew what edging was but I was edging and it was feeling wonderful. From previous jerk sessions that felt like this I knew the load was gonna be monstrous, so I think about aiming at that picture on the wall and busting all over it, see if anyone notices.
I decide against it and spin myself around on the swivel chair to face the closed door (instead of the desk) leading out into the adjacent room. I’m leaning back, getting closer and closer, then wonder where I should splooge, not wanting to waste the distance into my hand or towel or tissue or shirt. The wooden floor is covered with stains anyway, I think, what difference would it make for a few more to appear? None–let’s see how far I can shoot!
I’m nearing the chilly point of no return and have forgotten about the music still on, not thinking if someone were to walk in on me I wouldn’t be able to hear them coming. Or them hear me cumming. At this point, I don’t give a fuck.
With my free hand at the base of my stiff fat cock I angle it for full trajectory and prepare for blastoff.
Then my name is called and at the same instant the door opens in front of me.
“I almost forgot…” It’s Carol, her voice a step above the music. She stands frozen and aghast a foot shorter than her ordinary height because of the single step leading up into the small office where I am presently sitting, my throbbing cock winking at her, fingers pinching the base of the head, kinking it.
She doesn’t move—eyes wide staring at my face, my cock, my face—and still hasn’t finished her sentence, just continues studying me, so I slowly resume jerking it as though I’m waiting for her. I’m sorry…? I think to say, but don’t.
I could have muffled it or aimed elsewhere, but after our exchange earlier I was eager to face any negative consequences and released as fully as I possibly could. Directly at her.
Baffled, she doesn’t budge.
The first stream was just that: a stream, long and thick and ropey, almost as if I was pissing. It broke one half on one thigh of her jeans and the other half on my original target the floor, now changed to her, anywhere on her, please god release the demons within me and soak this woman!
Her bewildered face corrects into a half-smile and she chuckles and welcomes the second spurt onto her bare chest after quickly kneeling down closer onto the step, both hands pulling down the stretched collar of her t-shirt, mouth open and tongue out.
If it wasn’t for the loud music, the sounds of my jizz splattering onto her face spurt after heavy spurt would have inspired me to discover the motivation deep inside to never quit cumming on her, ever.
Her face gleaming she licks her lips and giggles slightly embarrassed, says we can go again if I want. With her help. I say yes, please.
Her hands are lightly callused from hauling bails of straw earlier in the shift, which helps my numbed teenage cock recharge faster.
“Don’t tell my daughter,” she smiles.