All Characters In This Story Are 18 + Years Old.
*****
When John Taylor was pulling his Jeep over to the freeway shoulder and his 19-year old daughter, Megan, was preparing to inform him she was pregnant with his child, his first-born, 21-year old Wally, was convening a staff meeting, ten miles away at the Taylors' family owned pizza parlor, Li'l Sicily.
Wally surveyed the four women seated around the largest table in the center of the restaurant. 19-year old Tammy, the newest, still part-time, waitress; 20-year old Rhonda, the regular full-time first-shift waitress; 25-year old Janet, an eight year veteran and the regular closer; and Wally's mother, 41-year old Francesca Taylor, who had not actually worked at L'il Sicily for over ten years and was a virtual stranger to the three employees beside her.
"Thanks everyone," Wally began, "And especially you, Janet. I know this is early for you." Janet nodded approval at the recognition of the short-notice effort required by her to get a babysitter for her 6-year old son, Jack. "Dad and Megan are off the board for the weekend and some hours need to be shifted. I wanted everyone to know the plan. I'll be here to open instead of Dad and I'll stay until about 6 p.m." He pointed to Francesca, the only person at the table with a green polo shirt and no embroidered name. "This is Fran. She is my mother and the co-owner of the business, but, for the weekend, she's going to be a waitress, the same as everyone else. She'll be pulling the short lunch shift, opening with me and leaving at two." He looked at Rhonda and said, "Rhonda, instead of your usual first shift, I'd like you to work four to midnight with Janet. Janet, you're still closing, so come back in at five like normal." Turning last to Tammy, Wally concluded, "Instead of the short night shift with Janet, Tammy, I want you to do a split-shift with extra hours. You'll work from noon until three and then back at six, staying until eleven." He smiled as he made eye contact around the table. "We can't predict this holiday weekend... we've been bored to tears some years, and worked our tails off on other years. I'm hoping everyone can stay flexible, work the shifts and be ready to stay for overtime as needed. Any questions?"
There were yawns and looks, but, no questions. "OK, then," Wally said, looking at his watch. "It's noon. Let's open the doors." He clapped his hands and shouted the restaurant slogan, "Ittsa Nice Place!" and strode to unlock the front doors. Rhonda and Janet followed Wally and continued through to their cars in the parking lot, waving 'so long' to each other and to Wally. Francesca and Tammy walked to the office off the kitchen where Tammy punched in on the time clock to start her first half-shift.
Wally returned to the office, walking quickly, and stepped through into the door just in time to collide awkwardly with the exiting Tammy. He saw her too late, although he did try to stop. His hands went up in his surprise at the same time that she crossed the threshold. His palms flattened against her small, but noticeably firm, breasts. Tammy blushed. Wally coughed, lowering his hands immediately, but, inadvertently pulling the knit fabric of her polo shirt down across her braless molehills. He heard her suck in her breath and he felt her chest rise under his fingers as they finished raking her tented titties.
"Excuse me, Tammy!" Wally burst, flustered by the encounter. "I'm sorry, I should have been watching more carefully!"
"Umm, uh, OK, Wally," Tammy said, sliding by him into the kitchen. "Me too." She hurried off to set up the salad bar, confused by the sudden pounding of her heart and temples, her tingling nipples and the distinct twinge she felt in her cunny when Wally scraped her boobies with his nails.
Inside the office, Francesca watched the entire interaction with a bemused half-smile. When Wally was fully inside the small room, she pushed the door shut, crowding her son as she stepped forward. She quickly seized his wrists and lifted them, pushing her fulsome breasts under his upraised open hands, positioning him on her identically to his accidental run-in with Tammy. Her eyes crinkled with silent laughter as she shimmied slightly against Wally's palms. "Pigeon eggs, or mama's melons?" She asked, continuing to step forward, while Wally retreated, until his back was flat against the big San Marzano Tomatoes wall calendar between his father's desk and the file cabinet. "I think we should have cannelloni, tonight," she continued, musing in a low whisper as her right hand grabbed Wally's crotch and prodded him until she felt his dick stir and thicken in her probing fingers. "You want to eat Mama's cannelloni in a thick cream sauce, Wally?"
Wally groaned and closed his fists around the crowns of his mother's 39DD tits. "Unnnn-huhhhh," he managed to grunt before Francesca abruptly released him, pulled away and opened the office door.
"Good!" She said, over her shoulder with a self-satisfied grin, as she walked through to the kitchen.
For the next two hours L'il Sicily was serving pizzas, salad and drinks to a moderate lunch crowd and Wally had plenty on his mind keeping up with the orders. At 2:15 Francesca slipped up behind him at the bar, looked out over the empty tables at Tammy bussing the left-overs, and patted her son's ass affectionately. "Looks like the rush is over. I'm leaving. See you at home right after work... for cannelloni." Wally looked forward to an afternoon of sheer slow torture, anticipating the mother fucking evening and night ahead.
Tammy, meanwhile, was still distracted by her amzing response to Wally. She knew she was not a classic beauty with a knock out body, but she was a young woman with needs, all the same. At 5'5" and 112 pounds, her old-school model's figure was more banana than hourglass. She knew her 32B bumps were prominent enough, and perky, when she was naked in the shower, but somehow they pretty much disappeared under most clothes. She was at her best in the summer under a T-shirt or tank top, and maybe that was the ultimate deciding factor when she was hired one month ago. Tammy loaded a bucket of dishes into the dishwasher. Her mind raced back to that early August morning interview.
John Taylor had opened the backdoor almost before Tammy stopped knocking. She remembered he had beamed at her as she stood with her fresh freckled face framed by her neck-length dirty blonde hair pulled back into a small knot at her nape. "Good morning, Tammy!" He had boomed. "Right on time. Come on through to the office."
"Hi, Mr. Taylor," she replied.
"No, no," John quickly corrected, "Call me 'Johnny.' All of us ar on a first name basis at Gianni's L'il Sicily." He winked. "One big happy Italian family." He ushered Tammy into the small office, admiring her thin bare legs disappearing into faded and distressed Levi cut-off short-shorts which were practically painted onto her little heart-shaped ass. "Are you Italian?" He asked.
"Uh, no... Irish and German, I think," Tammy answered, wondering if she should have fibbed. "Man, I hope I didn't just screw this interview. I need this job!" She had confessed to John, silently kicking herself.
"Hah!" John laughed. "It doesn't really matter. Everyone's Irish on March 17th and everyone's Italian at L'il Sicily! Sit down at the desk there," he directed, pointing to his own chair and some papers in front of the PC. He lounged against the closed door and spoke to Tammy's back as he continued to inspect her. "Slim. No bra. Well, no tits to put in one, really," he thought, even as he said, aloud, "I read your app there. You worked six months at Burger King. How did you like that?"
Tammy turned the chair around and faced John. "It was alright," she said. "I was living at home, so minimum wage with no tips was OK while I finished high school." She frowned. "I'm on my own now and I have to make more."
"Waitressing is all about tips, Tammy," John said, nodding. He appreciated her tips as they poked against her aqua tank top. "And, to tell you the truth, cute girls, like yourself, get more... PLUS you have a bright smile."
"Um, thanks... uh, Johnny," Tammy said hesitantly. She was used to boys either complimenting her or simply staring, but she had always chalked that up to immaturity or curiosity. She was a little uncomfortable about this man who was practically undressing her with his eyes. "Well, if an eyeful gets me this job, then I'm HIRED!" She silently encouraged herself, shifting in the chair and leaning forward to scratch her right knee.
When Tammy bent at the waist and crossed her lithe bare legs below her cut-off denim shorts, John noticed her breasts were slightly larger and fuller than they had appeared straight on. The swelling side of her right titty, seen through the tank top armhole, made his cock pulse. Then he noticed something else. "Is that a tattoo on your ankle? Looks like a little red heart," he commented, "Just about the same shape as your sweet patoot," he continued in his mind.
"Oh! Yeah..." Tammy said, wiggling her sockless foot dangling in her red canvas Sperry slip-on. "A friend and I got crazy last year. Do you like it? I'm still a little worried I made a mistake I'll regret when I'm older... but it's too late now, I guess." She shrugged philosophically and her little hills lifted and lowered provocatively under her top.
"No, it's cute," John said, with a warm smile. "Lots of kids are getting them nowadays. I don't like a lot of them, but... THIS one is very nice." He licked his lips and moved to the corner of the desk and perched his butt beside Tammy. He casually dropped his right arm behind her neck and put his hand on her bare right shoulder. She shuddered and shrugged slightly at the light touch but did not object or move away from him. John's vantage gave him a direct view down her neckline. Her proudly puffed creamy little breasts had small brown nipples, which sat on large mushroom shaped areolae, that seemed to almost double the size of her actual boobs. "Is she excited or always like that?" He wondered. Forcing his mind back to the interview, he said aloud, "But about the money... I think a girl like you will do very well on the dinner shift, but I can't give you full-time hours..."
"But, I really NEED..." Tammy started to protest.
"...However," John continued over her, "if you wanted to help me open on Wednesdays, when I'm alone, I'd pay you an extra buck an hour as a bonus. Maybe, if everything goes well, in September when school starts again, I can give you a full schedule." He squeezed her shoulder. "Do you think you would like to do that?"
Tammy turned the chair 90 degrees toward John and looked into his face. She had seen that glazed wolf-eye on boys. "Holy shit!" She suddenly realized, "He wants to fuck me! For a buck an hour? I don't think so!" Maintaining a sweet poker face, Tammy put her right hand on John's left knee and applied slight pressure, feeling his body heat through his chinos. "Maybe..." she smiled. "Could I eat here for free, and..." she ran her hand down to his calf and gently closed her cupped palm around the firm muscle before sliding back to rest behind his knee. "Be paid cash for any, you know... extra work?" Tammy's expressive watery-blue eyes pierced John.
"Eat here?" John repeated. "Sure. What's your favorite pizza?"
Tammy was certain she had him. She stood and wrapped her right arm behind John's back, scratching his shoulder blades with her nails, while she pushed her left hand hard into his lap. "There it is!" She cried to herself, discovering his thickening, bent over dick. "I like Italian sausage..." she whispered, squishing his spongy bulb with her fingertips. "And lots and lots of sauce." She unbuckled John's belt and popped his waist button. He groaned while Tammy continued, "I'm hungry now. Can you... FEED me?"
