Inside the Attendant

From One Heat to Another

ALL characters in this story are 18+.
My dearest foxes. We all know what happens when I put on pants and go out. I meet people and create stories. I shouldn’t have walked into that gas station late last night.

The lane on the opposite side of the road was dark, empty and quiet. In the rearview mirror I saw nothing but blackness. Ahead, my lights illuminated more of it.

02:23 A.M. I had one hour to go.

But I was tired, hungry, and as empty as my fuel tank. If I didn’t find a gas station soon, both my car and I would run dry.

Then lights appeared ahead. Pink and yellow, cutting through the dark, and I caught myself leaning forward like that might get me there quicker.

I pulled into the gas station and lined up with the pump and killed the engine.

As soon as I stepped out, the air shifted, the change from cold air to warm air hit me, the ground still holding heat through the soles of my shoes, while the strong smell of fuel overwhelmed me. I scanned beyond the glass and spotted the attendant reading a book.

I paid at the pump, shoved the nozzle in with a dull clang, then stepped back and leaned against the beat up grey Civic, the metal warm against my back.

The attendant looked up once, saw me and the car, then decided his book was more interesting.

It took a couple of minutes to fill up, the pump clicking and whining in the quiet, but by then I’d already clocked the hot dogs, the burgers and something else that looked old but would hopefully turn out to be an additional edible option.

I finished up, rinsed the side of the car from the spent fuel, then headed inside to find something to put in my mouth, the door thudding shut behind me. The air inside felt off straight away, like I’d broken something just by coming inside. The brightness hit me first. After the dark outside, it felt exposing, the light catching on the glass and chrome around me.

The dark-blonde clerk put the book down reluctantly, and forced a half-smile. I noticed that small button nose, the slightly rosy cheeks like he’d been running, blue eyes that pierced the distance and full lips. Lips that appeared ready to say something, but never quite did.

All of the food looked even sadder up close, but my stomach grumbled as the smell of warmed hotdogs reached me, thick and sweet. I grabbed a hotdog, some fries, a couple of sachets of tomato ketchup, and headed to get some water.

The fridges hummed, and above me a fluorescent light flickered, buzzing faintly.

He returned to his book, though his stance was stiff. Overhead some country singer softly followed me to the counter as I brought my items and dumped them in front of him.

Those eyes were piercing, and that smile faltered for a second as he squared his shoulders, set the book aside and picked up the hotdog. When he looked back at me, it wasn’t the same look. I almost said something, then just pulled my phone out and tapped to pay.

Seventeen fucking dollars for four items.

“Will that be all, Mister?”

I nodded, then saw a chocolate bar I definitely didn’t need. I added that to the counter and held up my phone.

His expression shifted. “Oh, love them! Trying to pretend they’re not within reach,” he said, his voice, accent stirring something in me.

I smiled. “Been a long time since I had one. Yeah, like… they’re too good.”

He smiled at the hotdog, then held up a paper bag. “Need one?”

I nodded. “Please.”

As he put the hotdog and fries into the bag, the paper crinkling between his fingers, he looked up, and I could tell he was hesitant about what he was about to say.

The new amount flashed on the register. Twenty fucking dollars.

“Kinda feels like they’re polar opposites.”

I smiled again. “You’re right, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Need to put something in my mouth, been a long drive.”

His smile widened and our eyes locked for half a second, then he slid the chocolate bar across the counter. “No point putting this next to the hot food.”

I picked up the bar and nodded. “You’re right, thanks. Not sure which I’ll eat first yet. It’s fifty-fifty.”

I saw his badge. Bradley. Early twenties, maybe, with a face that hadn’t learned how to hide anything yet. I noticed the book, either borrowed or read many times, going by the worn spine.

The two men on the front kissing gave away the contents.

“Any good?” I said, nodding at the book.

He looked down, then back to me and his smile faltered briefly. “Oh, er… yeah, it is. Read it before. Good story.”

When he scratched the back of his neck, and his shoulders tightened, I nodded like I knew it.

“Looks good, haven’t seen that one. Might pick it up when I get home. Assume you’d recommend it if you’re reading it again?”

The smile was in his eyes this time, like blue flames in the early hours.

“Absolutely, if you’re into that kind of thing. Well written, great characters. Highly recommend it. Kind of book you hope gets turned into a movie, but also hope they don’t, in case they ruin the story for you.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that happens too often. Surprising how many good books make shit movies.”

“Like Call Me By Your Name,” he said, “excellent book, mediocre movie. Could have been done so much better.”

“Never read the book, but liked the movie. I should read the book then,” I added, staring at the bag of hot food on the counter.

He launched into the differences between both mediums, while I reached into the bag and pulled the fries out. I didn’t interrupt him, but held up the fries as a question. He nodded mid-sentence, and continued with his review of both. I threw fries into my mouth as he spoke, enjoying the passion he threw behind his analysis while the salty potatoes melted in my mouth.

“You’re a big fan,” I noted, realizing I had already demolished half the fries, “I will definitely read the book then. What was your favorite part of the story?” I said, being careful not to highlight the book or the movie, in case it set him off again.

“Fucking the peach! Definitely. Was written well in the book, but in the movie…” he continued, and I finished the fries faster than I’d intended. Hunger does that.

When he paused, I put my hands on the counter and said, “Did you want to be the peach or him?”

He seemed confused by the question for a fraction of a second, but then smiled. “Definitely the peach!”

I laughed.

“You?” He asked me, leaning in, close enough that I could feel the shift in energy between us.

“Him. I like peaches.”

We both laughed, though I noticed how he shifted, leaned in, and faced me fully.

“Where are you off to at this time?” He asked me, appearing to see me for the first time.

“Home. Been at a conference. I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep during it, to be honest. But glad it’s over. Just opted for a long drive home over a soulless hotel in a town I don’t know.”

He nodded. “Yeah, also explains the suit at this time of the morning. Most people come in wearing shorts, t-shirts. Sometimes even barefoot.” His face screwed up at the last part.

“Rather be naked,” I added, then snapped my eyes shut, and shook my head. “...errr, sorry. That’s not what I meant to say.”

He smiled, but his eyes locked onto me. “Don’t be, that’s kinda hot. Especially after what I was just readin’.”

Unfortunately, the suit was tight, and the material failed to hide what had quickly protested in my pants.

His eyes shifted down, not quite subtly, then back up at me. “Still pretty hard to hide that.”

I looked down, immediately drew back, and shifted to the side. With my salt-crusted fingers, chocolate slowly going soft in my fist, I readjusted what could not be adjusted.

When I turned to him, his attention was below my waistline. Pretty sure he wasn’t studying my shoes.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to hide my face. My mouth was dryer than before, and the tie around my neck felt tighter, my collar sticking slightly to my skin.

“That’s hot. Never get to see boners sitting here, and I’ve been here, reading these books a few months.”

I was still not over the embarrassment, but turned back and stared at the bag on the counter. The chocolate bar slowly melting in my hand.

He looked down, then back at me, with a cheeky grin that confused me. But then I saw the tent in his grey shorts. His shorts were tight, so he was in a worse position than I was.

“Damn! That looks big,” I said, feeling my face flush, my pulse race.

Three in the morning, hard on, fries on my breath, grease still on my fingers, not my finest hour.

It was his turn to flush a little, one hand going to the back of his neck and scratching, while the other tried to hide the unhideable.

I stared, my cock throbbing in my pants, my feet stuck to the ground, my mind reeling.

For what felt like an eternity, we both looked anywhere but each other, frequently watching each other’s bulge.

He swallowed, and tried to speak, but paused to clear his throat. “That’s kind of… made me, errr, a little…”

I nodded. “...yeah. But…” I looked around, shaking my head, trying to regain control of myself.

I spotted the cameras, one above him facing me, another by the door. I assumed there were many others.

His eyes followed where mine went. “Oh, none of them are working. Line went down a few days ago, they’re a bit slow to fix things around here.”

I looked up and realized red lights were off on the cameras. “Are you sure? I can’t…”

He nodded, then a half-smile formed. “They’re so tight, they’ve never said anything to me about all the chocolates I never paid for. Cameras working would have shown them that.”

I nodded slowly. “Have you ever…” I began, indicating the space behind the counter with my eyes.

I put my hand on the bulge in my pants, this time I held it an extra moment.

He did the same, watching how I grabbed it and shifted it.

I looked out, and everything beyond the stations’ lights was just darkness.

When I turned back, his hand was inside his shorts, and moved slowly. A small wet patch appeared in front of his grey shorts.

He looked to his right, at where the entry door was to his cage, then back at me.

“You could…” he said, looking down, trying to hide what his eyes had already confirmed.

I looked back outside, but still it was clear, so I walked around to the side, and waited.

The door opened, and I saw him standing there, in front of me, one hand still shoved down his shorts, the other unsteadily holding the door open. Even as he held it open, I could see he was trembling.

My throat was still dry, and I wished I’d drunk some of the water. I stepped forward, my own hand going back to my bulge.

When he stepped back, the door closed behind me with a whoosh. Inside that space, the shelves were packed with tiny items, closing the walls even further. Beyond the window, my Civic sat alone under bright lights, oblivious to what I was doing.

I inhaled and tried to stop my thoughts, which kept reminding me that this was stupid, dangerous and risky.

Bradley’s fingers fumbled with the drawstring on his shorts, fingers missing it twice, but eventually pulling at it and loosening it. His hands pushed his shorts down, his eyes avoiding eye contact with mine, but staying on my bulge.

I unbuckled my belt, realizing my own fingers were just as unpredictable, forcing them to steady as I undid my top button, pulled the zipper down and let the weight of my phone and wallet pull them down around my waist. My white briefs were exposed just as his shorts revealed he was commando.

His cock sprang forward, the tip wet.

My hands let mine out, dropping the briefs and exposing my balls and my cock. I stared beyond him, to make sure there were no surprises.

He saw me look, then turned, and then back to me, slowly jerking himself off.

“What do you want to do?” he asked me, briefly looking up at me.

I smiled. “Cock and peach,” my voice sounding even thinner than his.

He smiled, jerking faster. “Yeah, I’m down. That cock looks thick, long. Love your foreskin.”

I jerked off too, then stepped forward and wrapped my fingers around his shaft. He closed his eyes and exhaled, slow and uneven, like he’d been holding that breath since I walked in.

His hand reached out to grab mine, and I let his shaft go. He gripped it, studied it the way he’d studied that book spine, and his eyes widened.

Bradley looked behind him once, then turned and dropped to his knees. As soon as he opened his mouth and let my cock enter his mouth, I threw my head back and gripped something on both sides, not caring what I knocked over.

His mouth was hot, and his tongue under my cock, while the tip of my cock reached the back of his throat, was almost too much. I felt my toes curl, my knuckles whiten.

I was surprised when my cock reached the depth of his throat, and he held it there, reaching behind me to pull me in and hold me there. His chin pressed into my balls as the tip of my cock pressed into the back of his throat.

One hand stroked my cock, while another cupped my balls, as he moved back, licking the tip of my cock, then swallowing it all.

I sucked in breath, gripped his hair each time, trying not to pull it too hard.

After a while, he stood, watching me as he spat in his hand and reached behind him.

We were doing this.

My cock throbbed, precum leaking freely as he turned, moved to the counter facing outside, and bent over.

His hole faced me, waiting, glistening with his spit. His ass was smooth and firm.

I spat on my fingers, put some more into his hole, massaging it gently, slipping a finger inside and watching the way his back arched, the way his head tilted to one side, then lifted slightly.

I moved forward, pushing my cock into his ass, looking beyond him, but saw his reflection in the glass.

He watched me in the reflection, those blue eyes tracking every move, his lip caught between his teeth, like he was still deciding if he was still in his book.

He’d probably been reading about it all night, fantasizing.

His ass was tight, so I gently pushed the tip in and watched him suck in a breath and hold it. When he exhaled loudly, I gave him an extra inch, reading him, and feeling my way.

I pushed in, he breathed, nodded, then I pushed in further.

I reached the end of him, my thighs pressing into his smooth butt, the front of my legs pushing against the back of his, and my balls gently knocking his balls once, then resting against them. I stayed inside him for a moment, just feeling him breathe around me, watching his knuckles whiten.

My cock throbbed deep inside him, stretching him open, watching the way he arched back, breathing in, gripping the printer by the register, almost lifting it up as my hands gripped his waist and I pushed myself deep into him.

The first few times I eased in slowly, reached the depth of him, pulling all the way out, then moving back in, enjoying the way the flesh of my cock slid easily through his ass. Enjoying the way his butt cheeks gently smacked my thighs each time.

Then, as I could feel he’d loosened, I grabbed fistfuls of flesh on either side of him and built some momentum, my cock throbbing with each thrust.

He gasped, and then moaned, each time the printer lifted in his hands, then hit the counter. As I sped up, he stopped grabbing the printer, and grabbed the register instead.

I fucked him harder each time, wanting to see how much he could take. He moaned with pleasure, pushed back into me, eyes closing for longer stretches.

He fell forward a little and lost his balance when I thrust harder, his head briefly hitting the glass, but one hand went to the window and held it, while the other reached to the edge of the counter to steady himself.

Bradley had long stopped caring about the counter.

“Oh, God! Yes!” he said, his voice both husky and begging.

When I fucked him harder, the entire counter rattled, the printer jolting in his hands as packets of cigarettes slipped loose, pens and lighters scattering before I could track any of it, everything shifting at once around us.

I tried to slow, but one hand reached back and pulled me into him again.

I rammed harder, keeping an eye beyond the window, and another on his face in the reflection. I fucked him repeatedly, this time scratch cards flew loose, along with cigarettes and a roll of receipt paper, plastic cups hitting him and dropping away. By the time a wad of sugar packets fell onto us, I was close to blowing my load into him.

Once more, I thrust into him, gripping his waist, his head hitting the window, more items flying loose all around us as the sensation erupted inside me. I couldn’t stop, I was so close. I thrust harder, that feeling hit me like a truck.

It exploded through my shaft and deep into Bradley’s ass, as a plastic bundle landed on my head.

I kept going,

“Oh, fuck…yeah, like that,” he said, like he’d just found the passage he was looking for.

I gripped him one final time, slowed down but rammed deep.

His hand slammed the glass hard, it rattled heavily, something big and black dropped from a top shelf, landing beside us as all of it left me and I watched as he blew across the floor hands-free.

I leaned forward, and put a hand on his back, gasping to regain my breath, realizing my shirt was soaked with my sweat. Looking down, his ass was also covered in sweat. I leaned into him for a few moments, my forehead almost touching his back, both of us just breathing. The counter had stopped rattling. The fluorescent light was still flickering. Everything else was very, very quiet. Outside, my car still waited for me.

I slowly pulled out, and back away from him, the reality of what we’d done hitting me.

I stood like that for a moment, watching him stand up, looking at the chaos all around us. Neither of us looked at each other. The receipt paper had unrolled halfway across the floor. A lighter had landed in the hotdog bag.

He was already pulling his shorts up, eyes on the floor, back to being the kid behind the counter while I caught my breath.

“Want help cleaning up…” I began.

He was too quick to respond. “No, it’s fine. Thanks.”

I quickly put myself back together, and backed to the door.

As I opened it, the phone rang.

We both exchanged a look.

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up as he stared at the phone for a few moments, before he finally reached over and picked it up.

I opened the door, and began to step out, realizing I was still hungry and needing to get out of there.

Bradley answered the phone telling the caller who he was and the name of the station.

As I walked around the counter and moved to pick up the bag with my food in it, I saw Bradley’s face.

The color drained out of it as he looked up at the cameras.

I fled.

Thank you for the 10 restacks. The sequel is now live here.