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Wow.
It didn’t feelbad.
He slipped a hand around her to tap her gently just above her clitoris, not rubbing her, just a gentle, rhythmic tap, in time to the rhythm he was finding within her.
His snake tail was wrapping itself around one of her ankles.
He was panting.
She was panting.
“Good girl,” he managed again, his voice mangled. “So,sogood. Fuck.”
That affected her, his being affected. She felt a twinge go through her, a pleasureful twinge. She gasped again.
Oh, she was not going to have an orgasm from this. Not from this degrading thing that she was doing for his pleasure, some sex act she’d traded for time off work. It was…no.
One of his hands was on her hip, fingers digging into her skin, holding her in place. The other was still doing that tapping thing on her mound, and the little taps were radiating down into her clitoris, and his cocks—his big, thick, slippery cocks—were rubbing into her from two different angles, both of which seemed to be somehow also stimulating her clitoris.
Suddenly she was groaning, eyes closed, mouth wide open, cheek against the stainless steel counter, falling the fuck apart.
That was really, reallygood.
ii.
THIS ALL STARTEDbecause of the skirt.
Well, no.
She thought it started before the skirt, because she bought the skirt two days ago at Hot Topic. (She wasn’t sure what kind of self-respecting person bought things at Hot Topic, anyway. Clearly, if she’d never walked into Hot Topic, none of this would have happened.)
So, she thought it started months and months ago, when Niles and her were the only two people left working in the evening at The Daily Bread. It was a sandwich and juice shop. They made fresh squeezed juices and special fruit tinctures and herbal teas. The sandwiches were ready made the morning of, wrapped up in cellophane and put out in the glass containers to be purchased during the day.
By that time of the evening, they’d run out of everything except vegan egg salad. Which you’d think was typical, but this was Shepherdstown, and there was usually a run on vegan egg salad. Besides, it was delicious. It was made with chickpeas and featured curry powder, little sliced up pickles, red onions, and celery.
Anyway, Niles.
He was her boss, technically.
She said technically because he was one of those bosses who didn’t really act like a boss. He was, like, in his thirties and had made a career out of restaurant work (near as she could tell, anyway). He came here from working as waiter at the Yellow Brick Bank, but that had closed down, after decades, and so he was here now. This wasn’t really a restaurant—okay, itwas—but it was just an order-at-the-counter place, not a sit-down thing. However, Niles had prep-cook-work experience and he’d bartended and been a barista and all that kind of jazz.
She knew this about him because he talked about himself constantly. Not in an annoying way necessarily, just in a vibey-get-to-know-you, we’re-on-the-same-wavelength kind of way.
Almost everyone else who worked here was in their twenties.
She was twenty-five. She was a graduate student at Shepherd University. She was getting her masters in social work.
But Niles didn’t act as if he were older than the younger employees and he didn’t give orders and he didn’t act “boss-like.” He just hung out with everyone and shot the shit and when they closed down, he’d always go out to the bar with everyone else.
She knew Niles was her boss and that he was older than her, but he seemed sort of like an annoying older brother who was stuck at the age of twenty-three and had decided never to grow up or something.
He was a naga.
The bottom half of him was a snake, all coils and scales. It definitely slithered.
It was unsettling the first time you met him, but you got used to it.
Also unsettling was the fact that he ran around essentially naked all the time. His genitalia was tucked away in the scales somewhere, so he didn’t need to wear pants, and his humanoid upper torso he never bothered covering except for the fact he would wear scarves wrapped around his neck. In the summer, sometimes it was bandannas.
