Little Mick's
With Alexandra Daddario
By Harbinger96
Tags: M/F, footjob, blowjob, roleplay, fingering, oral, rough fuck, facial.
Disclaimer: This story is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.
I was minding my own business, running the bar at my family restaurant and bar, Little Mick's, when the door slowly pushed open. It was the only time I had ever seen someone shy about coming into my place.
A girl with messy, tangled brunette hair and a black knit beanie crept in and stalked towards the bar. There were plenty of open tables given that we were in the slow season, but I didn't mind some friendly conversation, least of all from this humble creature with a black sweatshirt and torn jeans.
"What can I do for you?" I asked the poor girl as she eased onto the bar stool like she was in physical pain. She might have been. I didn't know her story yet.
"Do you guys do anything super easy, like chicken strips?" she asked, her sweet voice just above a whisper.
"Of course we do. Any dipping sauce?" I asked as I turned my back on her and keyed the POS back from it's nap.
"Dry is fine," she answered, and I could almost hear the diminutive shake of her head.
"Anything to drink?" I asked.
I watched sharp, intelligent crystal blue eyes quickly race across the bottles of liquor on my shelves before she shook her head. "Just coffee, if any is made. It's getting cold out there," she said, and that last bit almost got by me.
I got her the cup of coffee before I even rang it in. I paid close attention to the way she tried to wrap both hands as tightly to the little cup as much as she could. I wish it was a proper mug and less of a teacup size.
"Slow night?" the girl asked as the steam rose up and washed over her rounded chin.
"Yeah. We're in between seasons at the moment, actually. We're happy to do $1.7k in sales. Meeting labor is almost impossible, but the kitchen has never looked cleaner," I said.
"You sound like the owner," the girl remarked with a giggle and the flash of a beautiful smile.
"I am," I said as I poured a cup of coffee for me as well. "I don't mind sending some of the waitstaff and bartenders home early if I can just do the job and they're not making any tips." I saw a flash of guilt pass over her face, and then it was gone.
"Well you sound like a good boss," she said and held up her cup in a toast. She meant it jestingly, but I clicked my glass to hers all the same.
"I'm Simon, by the way."
"HI, Simon. I'm Alexandra, but you can call me Alex." She offered a small, dirty hand, but I didn't shy away from shaking it. I had spent my fair share of time in dish pits, and I wasn't afraid of touching anything.
"If you have ID with you, I can make your next cup of coffee Irish. You did say it was getting cold out," I said with a poker face. I saw another flash of something across her face.
"I don't really have drinking money," she said quietly, scratching the top of her wrist.
"It's on the house," I said, and held out my hand for her ID. She pulled out a beaten-up denim wallet that I'm sure was quite designer back when it was new.
Alex pulled out her ID and I scanned the vitals. Alexandra Daddario was 36 years old and had a far expired ID. She looked gorgeous then, as she did presently, but had way less tension, way less... troubles on her face.
I handed it back and she tucked the wallet back into her hoody pocket. I took a bigger cup that I reserved for spiked coffees and ciders and poured in two oz. of Jameson and made it special with another two oz. of Bailey's Irish Creme before pouring in the hot black stuff.
"Here you are, Alex. Those chicken strips should be done by now, too. They don't take too long," I said and disappeared for a short time.
I came back with a basket of strips and fries and placed them in front of the woman.
Her eyes grew wide, and I could see the ravenous hunger she was fighting. I watched as she tried to eat gracefully and not demolish the simple dish.
I leaned on the bar and watched the TV to give her some privacy to eat.
Once she was done, I could feel her eyes lingering on me, and then drifting towards the bathroom.
"You don't have to think about running, Alex," I said. "I covered your meal."
"I... I wasn't planning on...." She stammered, and we both knew she was stuck.
"It's fine. I know it's hard out there, okay? I'm not saying you are homeless, but I've known a lot of homeless vets. I know the way some things work."
"Simon, I'm sorry," she said, and I could hear the sincerity, see the shame in her eyes.
"It's all right. I'm glad you came in here and not somewhere that would make you wash dishes or actually call the cops," I told her. "I've never denied a basket of strips to anyone in need. It's not like you ordered a steak."
"You won't call the police?" Alex questioned, and her face fell.
"You were betting on that, weren't you? That was your place to crash for the night?"
Alex cast her eyes down to the bar top. "Fuck you," she mumbled. "Fuck you," she said again, choking up.
"You've got two options, Alex," I said, crossing my arms. "I'm going to give you a job application and money for a hotel room for one night. You fill that out for me and come back tomorrow. Option two is you sleep outside."
She slowly raised her head and stared at me for a long while. "Are you fucking serious?" she asked, and her big blue eyes began to well up.
"I'm fucking serious," I told her. "I don't know what your first chance was, or if you had one, but you deserve a second chance. There's a Quality Inn right across the street."