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."
