Night shift at the supermarket

My name is Seryoga. My partner, Dimon, and I work at a 24-hour supermarket on the outskirts. I'm a security guard, he's a loader. It's a night shift, from ten to eight. The job isn't particularly grim: you only get a couple of drunks a night, but you can grab something from the shelves in peace while no one's watching and spend some time on your phone. The only downside is the cameras, but we know the blind spots by heart. Our administrator's name is Vika. She's about twenty-five, and has a stunning figure. She always wears a tight skirt that falls just below her butt, a blouse a couple of buttons unbuttoned, and underneath, she wears obviously expensive lace lingerie, which Dimon and I noticed a couple of times when she bent over. She has slender legs in heels, and plump lips painted scarlet. Her hair is dark, shoulder-length. We called her "Star" among ourselves. Because for us, ordinary working people, such a woman would never be in our future. And then one Friday night, the store was completely empty. Dimon rolled out a pallet of beer, and I was sitting at my post, picking my teeth. Suddenly, we heard sobs coming from the back room. We exchanged glances. We went to have a look. We opened the door—and there was Vika. She was sitting on boxes of chips, her mascara was running, her face was tear-stained. She was holding a phone in one hand, and an open bottle of cognac from the high-end section in the other. "What's wrong, Vic?" I ask cautiously. It turns out her husband—some dandy manager—was stuck at the office party again. She calls him, and some woman answers and says, "He's busy, he'll call back later." And it's not the first time. Vika is on edge, her fingers are shaking. "To hell with him," she says, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "He cheats on me with all sorts of sluts. And I'm stuck at home, like a fool, waiting. Thanks for keeping me company, boys." We sat down next to each other. I took the bottle from her and took a swig for courage. Dimon took a swig too. One thing led to another, and she started smiling, her face flushed. We started talking. She told me she hadn't slept with her husband for a month. A month! Looking at her figure, it was hard to believe. It's warm in the utility room, the refrigerator is rattling. Vika takes off her jacket, revealing herself in just a silk blouse. I can see the outline of her breasts visible beneath the thin fabric, her nipples hardened—whether from the chill or something else. My groin ached. Dimon shifted on the box and cleared his throat. "You guys look strong," Vika said, giving us an appraising look. "Not like me—all belly and flabby muscles." She licked her lips. "You've got some biceps, Seryozha... Let me touch them." I tensed my hand. She squeezed it with her fingers, and goosebumps ran down my spine. Her hand lingered a little too long and slid onto my shoulder. Dimon decided to return the favor. He reached for the bottle, pretending to accidentally brush against her knee. Vika didn't move away. On the contrary, she parted her legs slightly. We both saw—black stockings with a lace band, and the edge of white, almost transparent panties. "And you, Dimon," she purrs, "why are you so quiet? Or do you only keep your mouth shut at work?" “Yes, Vik, I hold my tongue well in other matters,” Dimon blurted out, blushing himself. She laughed deep and deep, her head tilted back slightly. Then she looked at us both with a long, wet gaze. — Boys, have you ever tried... a truly passionate woman? The kind that makes sparks come out of her eyes? “I’d like to,” I say, feeling my throat go dry. "Then what are you waiting for?" she whispered and slowly unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. Then the second. I couldn't resist first. I pulled her by the waist and sank my teeth into those plump, red lips. The cognac, the warm tongue—I was completely blown away. While I was kissing her, Dimon was already pulling her blouse off. Her breasts appeared in a white lace bra—pretty, firm, with pink nipples. I pulled down the strap and ran my tongue along her collarbone. Vika moaned and leaned back against the boxes. “I want you both to…” she breathed out, “just don’t be too affectionate.” Dimon unbuckled his belt. He was already hard—his bulge was sticking out through the fabric of his jeans. Vika, noticing this, licked her lips and reached for his fly. "Let me try," she whispered, and before Dimon could react, her fingers were already wrapped around his cock. She leaned over and took him in her mouth. Dimon groaned and grabbed the shelf. I wasted no time. I lifted her skirt and spread her slender, stockinged legs. Her panties were already soaking wet. I pulled the fabric back with my fingers—hot, wet, tight. “Come on, Seryozha, fuck me,” she moaned, pulling away from Dimon’s cock for a second. I unbuttoned my uniform pants, positioned myself behind her, and entered. Sharply, all the way. Vika cried out through clenched teeth, but immediately thrust her hips forward. — More! Harder! I pounded into her, holding her hips. Her body shook, she continued to suck Dimon, but now incoherently, with moans that vibrated on his cock. Dimon, poor thing, even rolled his eyes. “Holy shit, Vika...” was all he could breathe out. Then I picked her up and sat her down on the edge of the receiving table. Dimon stood next to her. She looked drunkenly and lustfully from one to the other. “Fuck me together like a whore... I want you to use me,” she whispered, squeezing her breasts with her hands. I lay down on the table, positioned her on top, and impaled her. She moaned, moving her hips, sliding over my cock. Everything inside her pulsated with her wet heat. Dimon approached from the front. She opened her mouth and bukvoeb.run accepted his cock. Now she was filled from both sides, and this apparently drove her crazy—she writhed, moaned, her hips bucking. I grabbed her by the waist and began pounding her from below, fast and hard. Dimon growled, grabbing her hair. “Suck it, bitch,” he croaked, “yes, like this, with your tongue...” Vika could only obey. Tears of pleasure streamed from the corners of her eyes. Her vagina spasmed against me—I felt her approaching orgasm. "I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" she screamed, spitting out Dimon's cock. And then all three of us were overcome. Vika began convulsing, clawing at my chest. I couldn't hold back any longer—I exploded inside her, growling through my teeth. Dimon pulled out at the last moment and came all over her chest, all over the white lace of her bra, splattering her collarbones and neck with jets of sperm. The three of us lay on the table, exhausted and drenched in sweat. Somewhere behind the wall, the refrigerator hummed. Vika opened her eyes and smiled a wild, empty smile. "What a jerk my husband is," she whispered. "He let such a pussy go." I kissed her on the forehead. - His loss, Vic. He's a loser. That's how I fucked the receptionist on the night shift. Right on the reception desk, under the hum of the refrigerators and the glow of the emergency lights. And Dimon grinned for a long time afterward, delivering pallets around the hall. That's the kind of job it is.