Date: Thu, 23 Jan 2020 02:19:13 +0000 (UTC)
From: ambrosechillingworth@yahoo.com
Subject: The New Dishwasher

This story is completely fiction. Any similarity to real life is completely
accidental and unintentional. This is a first time writing attempt about
things that turn me on and complete fantasy.

The New Dishwasher
By AEC

I knew taking a week long vacation was a bad idea. It meant my best friend,
and owner of the restaurant I managed, was going to be in charge while I
was away. He was rich, and he was smart, but running a restaurant was never
going to be one of his strong suits. That why he had me. To make sure the
restaurant was running smoothly and making him more money. Usually if he
was left alone in the restaurant he fucked something up.

I started getting messages from my employees three days into my vacation
asking when I was going to be back. All of which I ignored. I mean I was on
vacation. I wasn't dealing with that shit while I was off. Then on my
second to last day of vacation my assistant manager and night time chef
sent a message saying she couldn't wait for me to get back that
Baxter--best friend/boss--had fired the night time dishwasher and it had
taken two hours longer than normal to close up and leave.

Dread was what was settling into me as I drove to work on the Monday of my
return. I didn't know what to expect after Baxter had been in charge of the
restaurant for a week. Other than not having a night time dishwasher. What
else would he have done while I was away?

Everyone cheered when I walked through the door. At least my employees
liked me. I started feeling better after about fifteen minutes. It seemed
the only thing that Baxter had done--other than be a general nuisance--was
fire the dishwasher. And all of the office paper work was in pretty good
order. He is smart, I'll give Baxter that, he just doesn't know shit about
restaurants. I still haven't figured out why he wanted to open one, or how
I got roped into it, but it paid well and I liked it. The post-it note on
my computer monitored was a little worrying. 'Don't worry about the
dishwasher. I hired a new one. The old one was an idiot.' I mean really, a
dishwasher is a dishwasher. They don't have to be smart they just have to
clean the dishes.

The day shift went great. Like it normally does, I have a great crew.
Shelia, the night Chef and assistant manager, came in early during the
afternoon lull to give me a complete rundown on the previous week. I was
actually surprised by how well Baxter had managed. The only thing she was
really pissed about was him firing her dishwasher.

"Baxter just didn't like her. I'm surprised she didn't quit before he fired
her. He started being a dick the first day and just didn't let up. I don't
know what the deal was. Now he's probably gone and hired some fuckwit that
breaks half the fucking glasses tonight."

I just laughed and told her if it didn't work out we'd get her one she
approved of.

It three days later that I finally met the new dishwasher--surprisingly
Shelia approved of him--as I only stayed until close on the four busiest
nights of the week. I don't know what I was expecting of the new kid--and
he was a kid, just sixteen, and in high-school--but the stunningly
beautiful, dark haired God, was not it. He wasn't all that tall about five
foot eight. Pale white skin without a trace of a blemish. High sharp cheek
bones that accentuated his slightly pointed face. He was thin but had good
muscle definition showing through his shirt and jeans. And his eyes where
the brightest green I had ever seen before.

"Hi boss," he said in a deep teenage rumble that made my dick chub up, "I'm
Trevor." And he held out his hand for a handshake. I didn't do anything
just sat there dumbly staring at him. I had never been attracted to someone
so intensely, so immediately, before and I was overwhelmed. It was like
every wet dream I had ever had come to life and stood before me like a God.

A smirk worked its way onto his lips. It was cocky and arrogant, in a way
only a teenage boy can manage, and caused my dick to go painfully hard. He
dropped his hand, "I don't shake hands with faggots anyways. Well I'm gonna
get to work," his eyes dropped to my lap where my erection was clearly
visible and is smirk got even smirkier. "You probably need to go to the
bathroom and take care of your 'little' problem anyways."

My face turned red with humiliation, "Th-that's..." I stammered out but
couldn't get any coherent statement to form. He flipped me off, spun
around, and walked out of my office. I couldn't take my eyes off of his
perfect ass as he walked away and that only added to my humiliation. How
could I let the cocky little bastard get away with that? But he was right I
had to take care of my 'little' problem. In the bathroom it only took about
two strokes after I freed my erection to spray cum all over the toilet.

What had I done? I had let a teenage boy, a high-schooler, not only
disrespect and humiliate me. But I had enjoyed it. He was just so
beautiful. And so assured of himself. He deserved to say and do whatever he
wanted. I don't know how to explain that but it was true.

I cleaned up the mess I had made of the toilet washed my hands and waiting
on the other side of the bathroom door stood Trevor. His smirk firmly in
place.

"You are such a sick faggot," he laughed, "jerking off in the bathroom to a
high-school boy." He pushed me back into the bathroom and locked the door
behind us. "I'm all caught up on the dishes and Sheila is busy. I figure we
have about ten minutes faggot."

My eyes must have gone wide with pleasure, I just knew he was going to let
me suck him off. He started laughing again.

"Nah, you don't get my dick faggot." He sat down on the toilet and kicked
off his shoes. Rancid teen foot fuck immediately filled the small toilet
room. The once white ankle socks where stained a dirty grayish color. "On
your knees." I dropped to my knees in front of him. He smashed one of his
reeking sock covered feet into my face. I'm not sure if I had ever smelled
such horrible foot stench before. He started rubbing his sweaty stinky foot
all over my face and pressed the other against my rock hard cock. "You like
that fag?"

I just kind of moaned. He slapped me with his foot, "Answer me faggot!"

"I like it," I said as well as I could with that reeking teen foot smashed
my face.

"You like it, what, faggot?"

It took me a second to catch his meaning. He wanted me to call him 'Sir.'
He wanted me to degrade myself even more than just admitting I like his
foot funk. He wanted me, a thirty-three year old man, to admit I was less
than him.  Could this get more humiliating? And then he gave my crotch a
firmer rub than the light stroking he had been giving it.

"I like it, Sir," I moaned out.

"Good boy," he gave me another, much gentler, foot slap to the face. "Now
describe it to me. Tell me why you like it."

He was now continuously rubbing on my cock. I would last much longer.

"It smells so good Sir. It's rich and funky Sir. It smells like you haven't
washed your feet in a month Sir," he was rubbing faster and with more force
on my crotch. I couldn't hold out any longer. With his foot funk
overwhelming my senses and his manipulation of my jeans covered cock I was
a gunner. But added to that he was making me degrade myself for his
pleasure. It was all to much and I started shaking, full body tremors, as I
shot my second load in thirty minutes into my underwear.

He dropped his foot and took the other off my crotch. He slipped them back
into his shoes as I kneeled their with my head hung in shame.

He finally grabbed my chin and forced me to look into his beautiful green
eyes.

"You know you belong to me now? Right, faggot?"

Looking into the face. A face of a God I knew he was right. I would do
anything to please him. Anything to keep him happy and in my life.

"Yes Sir."

He spit in my face. I kneeled there, his spit slowly sliding down my face,
and was more satisfied and content than I could ever remember being. He
patted my head like he would a dog, stood, and walked out of the bathroom.

End part one.

Please reach out with comments about the story it's the first that I have
written. Email ambrosechillingworth@yahoo.com