(All persons engaged in sexual activity are over 18 years old and any similarities to real life are purely coincidental.)
*****
"Fuck me harder. Fuck my pussy," she screamed.
"You like this, baby. You want me to cum in you?"
"Wait. Oh shit. My mom's home," Kathy said.
"Are you fucking kidding me? How do you know," I replied while I pulled out of her tight pussy?
"I just heard the garage door open. Holy fuck. Here. Hurry. Hide in my closet," Kathy said as she scrambled under her covers.
Without saying a word, I pulled my shorts on, grabbed my shoes, and took up my hiding place in the closet. I sat on the floor, motionless, with my knees pulled up to my chest and hanging clothes partially hiding me. I tried to slow down my breathing and heart rate, but it had already been racing due to the sex we were having, add in the terror I'd just experienced of almost being caught, and there was no use. I felt like I was about to have a heart attack.
"Hey Kathy. Are you in there," I heard Sharon say as she tapped lightly on her daughter's door?
"Yeah mom. I came home from school. I feel sick," Kathy replied.
The next sound made me stop my breathing completely. The door to her bedroom opened and Sharon walked in to check on her daughter. She was literally only a few steps away from my hiding place.
"Let's see. Well, you don't have a fever. What's bothering you, honey," she asked Kathy?
"Just my stomach. I'll be okay. I just want to rest," Kathy played it off perfectly.
"Okay. Why didn't you text me?"
"I didn't want to bug you at work. I figured I'd just come here where I could rest. The dorms are noisy."
"Well, I'm glad work was slow then. They let me go early."
"Oh okay," Kathy said.
"If you need anything, let me know," her mom said as she left the room.
Before I tell you about my escape from this predicament, let me first tell you how I ended up here.
I was working as a bartender at a very nice Italian restaurant in the Little Italy neighborhood of San Diego. I had graduated college 2 years earlier, completing my degree in world history, quickly putting it to good use making alcohol-based drinks for people to enjoy.
One Friday afternoon as I was setting up my bar for a busy evening of bar patrons, Gino, the general manager of our fine establishment, walked up and introduced me to Sharon; a new waitress.
"Bill," Gino said, "This is Sharon."
"Hi Sharon. Nice to meet you," I said.
"Nice to meet you, too," she said with a pretty smile.
Sharon looked to be in her early 40's and hot as fuck. She was about 5' 3" tall, a bit plump, but made up for that with her fabulous rack and nicely rounded ass. She was obviously an experienced waitress (you don't get assigned to work a busy Friday night your first day without years of experience) and she knew how to dress to get tips. Her black, button-up blouse was as tight as it could be and unbuttoned as far as she could have it without being considered topless. When you weren't looking at her ample cleavage, you could easily see her lacy bra through the space between buttons.
She came off a bit shy. Probably self-conscious about being the new girl and having all the cooks, male waitstaff, and even a few of the female waitstaff, take long gazes at her body. We were all used to each other, so having someone new around to peek at was a nice change of pace.
I walked her through how orders were placed on the computer system and how they were filled, with odd numbered areas to bar #1, my bar, and even numbered areas to bar #2. "Which area do they have you tonight," I asked her?
"The front area and sidewalk patio," she said.
"That's area #3. You've got me tonight," I said.
"Oh great. You seem easy to work with."
As she walked away to review the menu specials and wine list I dropped a fully intended sexual innuendo, "I'm easy in general." I got no response.
Amy, a fucking hot lesbian that was working bar #2 that night, heard my comment and said, "Strike One, Mr. Bill."
"Whatever," I replied.
"Maybe she'd respond better to me," she laughed.
"Well, she's working one of my areas tonight, so you can have her another night," I replied.
As the orders started to pile in, Sharon did very well, handling all her tables with professional ease. I piled on the flirtatious comments and glances and slowly she loosened up a little bit. As the restaurant started to clear out, Sharon came up to me and asked, "Do you know how to make a Ramos Fizz?"
"I can make anything," I replied with a wink.
"Oh really. What do you make best," she asked?
She really shouldn't make it so easy on me. "I'm best at making hot women burst."
"Excuse me," she said blushing.
"I'll explain it later," I said as she walked away smiling.
"Strike two," Amy said from behind me.
"I'll make her orgasm by morning," I said.
"Fuck off you pig," Amy said. "You're so full of yourself."
"How about a little wager?"
"Sure! $100 says you can't bring in proof that you make her orgasm by the start of our shift tomorrow."
"Deal," I said, shaking Amy's hand.
About an hour later, Sharon came up to the computer nearest bar #1 and started through the process of closing out the night. I grabbed a bottle of French champagne from the cooler and poured her a glass.
"Here you go, Sharon," I said setting the full champagne flute near her.
"What's this for," she asked?
"It's to say you did a really amazing job tonight. You're better than most of the people that have been here for years."
"Thank you. That's very sweet," Sharon said taking a sip from the glass.
As she sat at the bar sipping her drink she asked me, "So, what's the deal with getting food after a shift around here?"
"Well, you can scrape together whatever the kitchen will give you at this time of night, or you can do what I do."
"What do you do," she asked curiously?
"I head down the street to the wine bar where I know the chef and bartender and let them serve me."
"So, if I wanted to do that, would I have to go with you," she asked?
"You say that like it's a bad thing. And, the answer is yes, you do. But there's an upside."
"What's that?"
"I'll treat."
"What's the catch," she asked?
"Damn girl. You're on to my game, aren't you?"
"Well, what's the catch," she insisted?
"You have to sleep with me, get pregnant and then stay home barefoot in the kitchen."
"Sounds good. When are you off work," she asked laughing?
"Hey Amy," I said turning to the person who might soon owe me $100, "Can you close up?"
"Sure. Take off. See you tomorrow," Amy replied from bar #2.