• $2.99

Publisher Description

Emily is a hardworking waitress at a popular sports bar who just had the luck of serving one of the most popular Christian rock acts in America. When they don’t tip her for her excellent service, she gets miffed and chases after them. Her enthusiasm to get the gratuity she’s entitled to her leads her into a situation she couldn’t have predicted...

This is a 3800 word story for mature readers only featuring foot fetishism, tickling, bukkake and frottage.


“Bet you’re real flexible, Emily,” he taunts, squeezing her sides. He lets the supple flesh spring back, marveling how taut she is. Every man at every table she serves wishes he could do just this, take her somewhere quiet and just appreciate how awesome her body feels.
Her head swims with contagious laughter and the confusion of hands demanding more than she can handle. Staring into those grey eyes, she finds that one thing that helps her stay in control, even though that’s not what it looks like. Her body heaves as she feels the hands in her hair, on her neck, her thighs, her thin torso, her nipples, jumping like she’s riding a raging bronco.
“Just like that, boys,” says the singer, the oldest of the three. “Look at her, she can’t get enough!” He was loosening his chain belt and tugging at his bulging crotch.
“N-no...” she moans, shaking her head.
“Oh, come on...it’s a party!”
He nods his head and loops the chain around her neck, holding onto it with both hands. Her eyes go wide, like a cat’s. She can see he isn’t wearing any underwear and his crotch is closely shaven. In his tight, shiny pants, she can see a long, thick curve to the left. It fills out the thigh of his pants but he’s working it free, watching her silently shake her head no.
“Oh yeah, babe.”
The bassist unlatches her bra from behind so he can bring her breasts together in his calloused hands. Her skin is so delicate his hands practically scour her nipples.
“You want that tip, do you?” he taunts.
She doesn’t care anymore. She can hardly stand up to one of them, much less all three of them. She knows what it must look like for her to be laughing her head off even as she squirms violently.
“OK, OK!” she says, seeing that he wants her to unzip his pants. “Make them stop!”
She tosses her hair, now freely swishing side to side, while she tries to recover from the relentless tickling.
“I’ll touch it if they just stop tickling.”
The bargain sounds childish but he doesn’t let on.
“That’s a good little tart.”

Fiction & Literature
May 14
Layla Laguna
Draft2Digital, LLC

More Books by Layla Laguna