Author's note: this story contains RAPE WATERSPORTS (PISS) SLASH HET VAGINAL ORAL CHOKING MINOR CHARACTER DEATH FOOD CONTAMINATION.
P.S. there's a couple of obscure references, bits of dialogue I snatched but I'm tired so I'm not gunna list 'em. One of 'em's a "Coffee Talk" reference from SNL, the others, u can figure out yourself... now, without further adue...
It was late, but there was so much left to do before she could go home. The fry bin had to be wiped down and restocked, the dressing queu had to be cleaned. The drink stations and the N'Ice Cream machine also had to be cleaned before she could polish the visible metal apparati . Then all she had to do was wash all the dirty dishes left there over the past six hours,and she could go home. Buffy leaned over her cutting board at the dressing qeue, taking short respite in one of the small breaks that would pepper the heavy drive thru traffic on a Friday night that just happened to be a full-moon eclipse as well as the opening night of "Scooby-Doo The Movie". Damn that fucking dog and that stupid anorexic bitch Sarah Michelle Gel-LAR, Buffy thought to herself cattily.
She stopped herself from voicing her annoyance aloud however. It wasn't like her to be this snarky, and with half-hearted curiosity she wondered if a malignent spell hadn't been cast upon her. Unfortunately, that was an unlikely hope and she knew it. More likely it was the long hours she had been forced to put in over the past months in order to support herself and Dawn. She was used to patrolling all night, and though she complained about the risks and retributions that came with her sacred duty, she knew what she fought for and why she did it. She could not grant her job at the Doublemeat Palace the same respect, and the long hours were beginning to take their toll on a twenty-one year old Slayer who felt as if she was a willing inmate in a horribly accessorized prison that was sucking the life from her one mustard squirt at a time.
The high point of the day had been when she'd gotten some quality time with Mistress earlier that day. Buffy had met "Mistress" early on in her training, and had quickly learned to heed her wishes. For Isadora, the 5"6 vision of a dirty blonde Russian Goddess was as tough as nails. Everything had to be done to her specifications, and she left no room for error. Mistress was constantly reminding her underlings of procedure even when unnecessary. At first, Buffy had enjoyed working under the authority of a strong woman like herself. However, she soon began to understand the cruelty that her manager was capable of.
It had been just two weeks after she'd begun her forray into the world of fast food, and Buffy had been working late. The clock read quarter to three and she'd been punched out illegally by Mistress at two.
While the Slayer often felt she was too qualified for the work she did, she did it for Dawn. There were very few times Buffy had ever wanted to throw in the towel and quit when it came to making sure the littlest Summers had nothing but the best she could afford to give her. This was one of them.
Buffy walked into the manager's station covered in grease stains, her shirt soaked from the large stainless steele vat she had been washing dishes in for the past half hour. The circulation to her left baby toe ebbed and flowed with her movement in the uncomfortable regulation shoes, and yet the five second the walk from the sink to Isadora's cubby had done her foot good despite the pain that made her hobble. She still wasn't finished.
"Yes, Mis - I, uh - yes, Isadora?", Buffy said, too worn to care whether the bitch looked hot today or just how many neurotic tendencies Isadora had picked up trying to get respect as a woman in the cold Russian market.
"Buffih," Mistress said frowning, "your time is not good, you have to make the better time for tomorrow."
Good to know, Buffy thought dryly. It wasn't as she's been standing on her feet in a hot overcrowded kitchen for seven hours being yelled at by everyone who'd worked there a day longer than her.
"Aulso, the managers are concerned about your... ah, your ah-ti-tude. You are willful und insaulent."
Buffy sighed inwardly. She knew she talked back too often, but she was unable to keep her mouth shut when dealing with rude coworkers, and she had never been one to bend to authority.
"Mis - uh, Isadora, " Buffy began, only to be cut off by her boss as if her words had no value.
"Buffih, this is what I em tau-king e-bout. You need to learn who is ze boss. It's naut you", Mistress said, and for the first time Buffy noticed Isadora's eyes taking in the sight of her own body just as she had admired Mistress's classic form so many times. "Please knil", Isadora said.
Buffy just looked at Isadora with a flushing confusion sweeping up her cheeks. Suddenly, a thought occured to her - she wasn't going to be forced to - no, it couldn't be. And she damn well hated this boss; there was no way she ever bend over for Mistress, no matter how sexy she was! 'Besides, I'm straight', she thought to herself with a less than reassuring amount of conviction; in her head it sounded more like a question than a statement.
"Um, well, Mis - uh - Isadora, " Buffy began, stalling for time so that she wouldn't have to kneel down at her boss's fet.
It was the only thing she could think of to contest Isadora's demand, and the most lame out of all the pointed questions she would ask Isadora when told to do something without further explanation. The manager was new and trying to impress her own boss Ronnie; as well, she didn't like to answer questions or explain herself to her subordinates. This was what made the matter so unusual for Buffy. Mistress could easily be talking about an unknown work-related task that Buffy needed to kneel in order to perform. Or, she could be set up to be forced to fulfill the sexual tension that had charged the air between the two since Buffy and Mistress had begun working at The Doublemeat Palace weeks ago. She wouldn't know until she did what Isadora asked.
Isadora simply glowered at her inferior, and Buffy, tired of fighting and standing on her feet for the past seven hours, fell to her knees - at least she was more comfortable than she'd been standing. Buffy never took her eyes away from Mistress as she sank to the floor, kneeling, and waiting for further instruction.
What happened next was something Buffy both understood would happen and yet was no less shocked by the occurence of. Isadora lifted her amply breasted, shapely frame. As she stood, one hand slide to her standard manager's issue beige skirt as the other reached behind her head and undid the Victorian-style bun that had been holding her hair back all day. A soon as this task was accomplished, Isadora tossed the standard issue orange Doublemeat clasp (complete with two plastic clasp halves that were molded in the form of an orange hamburger bun) onto her plywood desk. In that toss, her entire demeanour changed - Isadora wasn't just letting her hair down, she was letting it all hang out. The Russian Goddess shook her golden tresses, encouraging her generous dirty blonde hair to tumble free. Then she used both hands to hike her ugly, kneelength regulation beige skirt past her hips - revealing her trimmed pussy.
Mistress preferred not to wear undergarments, as they were too confining and uncomfortable. Besides, back in Russia when she'd grown up in the ghetto before wealthy relatives had taken her in - upon the untimely death of her parents - her family hadn't been able to afford underwear. She would never understand these western customs that dictated people wear confining cloth strips that did nothing except make one's crotch smell unsavory by the day's end. Right now, however, she was more concerned with the pretty, twenty one year old employee kneelingat her feet with eyes wide at her revealed cunt.
Mistress simply sat back into the brown swivel chair her office was provided with and spread her legs generously over each pleather-padded arm of the chair.
The spicy smell of Mistress's cunt permeated the room, and Buffy was not unaffected. Simultaneously aroused and revolted, she wondered if the scene could get any more bizarre. She looked up into Mistress's eyes for a moment, then settled her face on the dirty blonde, lubricated pussy in front of her face. No words were needed. Buffy couldn't be indignant, enraged or even unpleasant. Even if her report of Isadora's behaviour was taken seriously, she would more than likely be transferred to the outlet in Saint Corzon's. It was a two hour drive and she couldn't make it along with patrolling and taking care of Dawn. She had to be a good pussylicker. Mistress liked things done perfectly.
Gathering an inner strength which she knew not whether to use for enduring or denying her pleasure at the impending ordeal, Buffy braced herself by holding onto the stainless steel front hoops of the pleather swivel chair. Then she leaned in, powerless to stop herself from breathing in the scent of Mistress's juicy slit. Suddenly, a tear formed at the corner of her eye. Buffy wanted nothing more than to break down in tears, but she knew she had to remained focused and complete the task at hand.
For a moment, Buffy tongue was suspended pointed and partway out of her mouth between her own lips and Mistress's. Then she crossed the centimeter needed to make contact with the burgeoning nub above the entrance to Mistress' womb. Upon contact, Mistress gasped at the pleasure that abounded from dominating one of her employees. The merest whisper of a lick on her swollen clit made her shiver in anticipation.
Slightly afraid and shocked by her manager's reaction, Buffy paused for a short moment before continuing to let her tongue slide down the round center of Mistress's clit before licking past the sensitive ridges between her nub and hole. Once at the entrance to Mistress's cunt, Buffy swirled her tongue around the edges, making the dominating manager above her squirm with arousal. With trepidation, the submissive Doublemeat employee then allowed her tongue to give long swishing licks to each of Mistress's swollen pussy lips, paying special attention to the tender edges between cunt and thigh that Buffy was always secretly fascinated with when she looked at summer collections in women's magazines. Then she lapped along the valleys between Mistress' outer and inner lips, giving her tongue more of the flavour she was oddly curious to savour. A strange heat was rapidly spreading through her own pussy, and somewhere between suckling Mistress's pussy lips and delivering long swelling licks from the sensitive skin between ass and cunt all the way up to the underside of Mistress's engorged clit, Buffy realized that she herself was aroused. A slight flush coloured her cheeks, but the fact of the matter was that she was too far in. By now, the Slayer was revelling in the top-notch cunt sucking which she was giving her boss; using both hands to spread Mistress's thighs and lips, Buffy was dining on the lubricated feminine flesh like she was a professional pussy-licking lesbian. And if Isadora hadn't been lost in the sheer pleasure that her submissive employee was providing her with, she would have wondered why on earth the blonde woman had chosen to work in the kitchen. Clearly, Buffy was better suited as a food critic - she sure knew how to savour her food!
Buffy was oblivious to the loud moans Mistress gave, and concentrated only on how she could better lick and worship this delicious cunt in front of her. She was therefore unprepared for her boss's orgasm. Buffy suddenly felt her head being viciously gripped by creamy thighs that held her like a vice, strangling her as she fought to remain conscious with her air supply cut off. Unfortunately, Buffy's shock resulted in her lack of stimulation to Mistress's cunt, which caused the dominant woman in turn to gring her cunt into Buffy's face, further denying her employee oxygen as she rubbed her dripping, spasming pussy over Buffy's nose, mouth and cheeks.
When it was over and Mistress had stopped bucking, she released Buffy's face from her heavenly prison. The Slayer gulped down air as greedily as she had Mistress's pussy nectar moments eariler. When she had regained her breath, Buffy closed her eyes and tried to shut out the horror of what had just taken place. She had just been horribly raped by someone she could never stand up to; all her strength in the world wouldn't change that. What's more, she'd liked it. Buffy hated to think that she could possibly be even more unnatural than before, but her arousal told her she had to be sick like Willow, a dyke. She could handle her friend's illness because she knew it wasn't her fault, but she didn't want to be afflicted like her.
Suddenly, warmth interrupted the bigoted Slayer's train of thoughts. She could smell it before she tasted it. Pee. Mistress held her own pussy lips open and let out a gushing stream over her subordinate's face, drenching her in warm golden liquid as a final act of dominance.
Buffy sputtered as the warm liquid assaulted her face, getting into her nose and mouth despite her efforts to keep it out.The urine mingled with her own tears that were now falling freely from her. Buffy finally had the presence of mind to turn her head away, but only after Mistress had finished pissing on her pretty face. The Slayer's horror was interrupted by the first words Mistress had spoken since Buffy had proved to herself how much of a dyke-slut she was.
"Now, Buffih, I hop you will understund your plehss in this est-hablishment. I daun't want more insaulence from you, is this understood?"
Buffy wanted to kill her. But she knew she would never forgive herself. And even if she did, the cops would eventually track her down. And Buffy wasn't going to able to support her sister on the thirty bucks a month she'd earn making licence plates in the state pen. So instead, she refused to answer Russian bitch.
"Em I meh-king myself clir, Buffih?", Mistress reiterated.
Humiliated and defeated, Buffy answered with a quiet, but permanent, "yes"
"Good," Mistress said before reaching over and grabbing Buffy by the hair. She then wiped her pussy clean with the Slayer's blonde tresses before standing and readjusting her skirt. As she stepped over the kneeling body of a a defeated employee and into the hallway, she turned back before beginning her inspection of the nightly closing work Buffy had done.
"One more ting, " Mistress said, standing just outside the orange and white striped office before pointing to the copious drying liquid of mingled saliva, urine and pussy juice on Buffy and the surrounding and ordering, "clean this."
And with that, she turned and walked through the pre-fab kitchen to conduct her inspection. She had made Buffy polish the metal covers again that night; she'd said they were streaked.