Paul Gable - Raped waitress

Linda Watson leaned wearily against the edge of the counter and looked up at the clock over the entrance to the diner. Three a.m. Only four more hours to go before her shift was over and she could go home. The firm-assed blonde inhaled deeply then sighed as she raised her right hand and brushed away a few strands of her long hair from her face. She hated working this night shift. She hated working in the diner. But how else could she support herself and her daughter, Judy?

"Hey angel tits, some more coffee!" a tall, unshaven, pot-bellied truck driver growled from the other end of the counter.

"Coming, coming," Linda sighed, pushing herself away from the counter and turning around to the coffee warmer. Linda hated the customers using that nickname. She cringed at the way they stared at her, mentally ripping off her short, clinging white cotton uniform and fucking her. The blonde hated everything about her present situation. But there was nothing she could do.

"Hey baby," the fat trucker moaned as Linda poured more of the dark black coffee into the chipped and cracked cup. "I've got my rig parked out behind, you know, out of the light. There's nobody in here," he said, looking nervously around his shoulder.

"Just what are you after?" Linda asked, putting the glass pot down on the counter and staring steadily into the big man's sparkling black eyes.

"Come on, babe," he said, moving his hand over the counter until it crawled over Linda's arm. She felt her skin goose-flesh with revulsion as the driver started stroking her wrist with his fat, stubby fingers. "You can give me a quick fuck and be back here before the boss knows it."

Linda's eyes opened wide, then narrowed as she moved the hot coffee pot quickly to the driver's hand and pressed its bottom down hard on his wrist.

"Ow!" the driver cried, jerking his hand back and shaking it wildly in the air.

"You filthy pig! You get out of here and never come back!" Linda snarled as she backed up and pressed her ass against the wall.

"You little bitch!" the drive wailed, sliding off the stool and backing toward the door as he still stared angrily at her. "You think you can get away with that? I'll get your for this!" ht growled menacingly as he spun around and stalked out of the diner.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" Max Greiger, the night cook called from the kitchen.

"Nothin', Max. Just another one of those pigs trying to make a pass," Linda said, still fixing her eyes on the dosed door, waiting for the driver to come stomping back in to rape her. She'd been threatened before by drivers who she'd put down. A few tried to get at her either in the parking lot when she got off the night shift or at her home three miles away. But Linda had always managed to avoid her attackers.

"That was Chris Orozco, honey," Max said, pushing the white wooden swinging door open and walking out into the counter area. "I wouldn't call him a pig. He's mighty important."

Linda put the coffeepot back down on the warmer and turned around, smiling at Max. The sweat on his face from the hot kitchen made his skin glisten. His forehead wrinkled and the skin around his dark eyes tightened as the big man smiled playfully at Linda. Max was about the only man around there who treated the full-titted blonde as something more than a piece of meat. He was a large-framed man with thick, muscular arms and long, powerful legs.

Max played tackle for the Gilroy amateur football team during the weekends, working out in between work shifts and football practice at the local gym. He was big, broad and rough around the social edges. But Max meant well, and that's what counted for Linda.

"So what? He's the President or something?" Linda quipped as she bent down and picked up an old, torn dishrag to wipe down the counter top.

"Close. He's a big labor organizer here in Gilroy, hon. You don't cross Chris and get away with it," Max said, wiping his greasy hands on his stained white apron.

"Well, he hasn't come up against Linda yet," the blonde said under her breath, realizing that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. Her heart began to beat faster as she thought of that big man and the look of hatred he flashed at her just before he walked out of the diner.

"I don't care," Linda shrugged. "I'm sick and tired of these guys thinking that they can throw me into the back seat of their rigs any time they want to. I'm not some cheap slut!"

"Hey, take it easy, babe," Max said, walking up behind her and putting his big hands lightly on her arms. Linda knew that he meant that move just to be a comforting one. But now for some reason, the blonde was responding to Max in a way she'd never done before. Linda kept wiping the counter. But now her mind was on a sharp tingle that toyed with her gradually swelling clit.

"I-I can't help it. I'm so sick and tired of all of this, Max. I could die," Linda confessed, stopping her wiping and hanging her head down.

"Hey, don't cry on me," Max said, obviously bothered by the blonde's sudden confession.

"You don't know what it is to live like this," Linda kept on, feeling that tingle turn into an itch that started triggering the oozing of her love juices. "I've tried to keep going after Jack's death. But, Jesus Christ, how much more of this can I take?"

Linda said, pulling away from Max's gentle grip and covering her flushed face with both bands.

As the blonde started to walk to the other end of the counter, she could feel her thick pink panties clinging to her crotch. They were damp and sticky, soaked through by the cunt juice that trickled through her blonde pussy hairs. Linda wiped away her tears and tried to regain her composure. Could Max smell it? If the truckers were in here, they'd be baying like wolves in heat. They could smell a hot, swampy box ten miles away.

"You all together now?" Max asked behind her. "I-I think so," Linda stammered, panicking as she felt something trickle down her thigh. It soaked into her nylons before it shot into view below the hem of her uniform. Linda wondered how long it would be before Max smelled the sharp odor.

"You know, you spend too much time alone. If you got out a little more, the job here wouldn't be so bad," Max said hesitatingly, lowering his eyes and shifting his feet nervously back and forth on the floor. Linda smiled gently as she stared at the big, blushing man. In his own clumsy way, Max was asking her for a date.

The blonde hesitated for a second. It had been over eight months since her husband's car accident eight months since she'd gone out with a man, let alone hopped into the sack with one. Maybe Max was right. Maybe what she needed was a little male company. Certainly, her rumbling pussy was trying to tell her something.

"Maybe you're right, Max. Would you like to take me out some night? I'd like that," Linda said suddenly.

"How about tomorrow? We're both off. I've got practice on the field for a couple of hours. You could come down and watch and then we'd go out," Max suggested, his words falling over one another as his eyes sparkled with excitement.

Linda felt her skin crawling with sexual excitement as she stared at the big man. God! All he had to do was ask her now and she'd flop down on the floor for him. Her heart pounded in rhythm with her throbbing cunt as her nipples stiffened and scratched against her D-cup bra. Linda's slender fingers trembled with sexual tension as she smoothed down her wrinkled uniform with the palms of her hands.

"Well, that's that," she said in a low voice, a little surprised at how husky it sounded. "The guys should be here in half an hour from the San Francisco run," Linda sighed as she glanced up at the clock.

"Yeah," Max said absently as he watched the blonde move gracefully around the back counter area, setting up the places for the expected arrivals.