Work Text
Is there anything worse than working at 3am? You were already on your third cup of coffee of the night, it didn’t wake you up anymore, it just gave you heartburn. Being a waitress at a 24/7 diner is not for the weak. Putting up with long hours at the counter, cleaning toilets after the partygoers puked all over them, and serving truck drivers with a smile even though they catcalled your ass every time you walk by. This was supposed to be a temporary job to save up for college, but you’ve been here for 5 years now.Tonight didn’t seem any different from the rest until you saw him arrive. Full beard, confident walk, know-it-all eyes, lumberjack shirt. “A damn soldier,” you thought annoyed. You already knew how to identify them since they were the worst type of customer. Besides the catcalling, they’re the ones who try to sleep with the waitresses on their nights off before returning to base. Luckily, he arrived alone so he wouldn't be much a problem. You offered him the menu and coffee from the pot with a well-trained smile. He told you he just wanted a coffee. Strange that someone would leave their house at three in the morning for a $3 cup of coffee. Even stranger that he would add whiskey from a canteen to it. He seemed to notice your confused look."It's for texture." He said, mixing the coffee with his spoon."A bad night?" You asked."That's putting it mildly." He scoffed. "There's nothing a cinnamon roll can't fix." You offered in your best saleswoman voice, looking to earn your tip.He had a rich laugh, maybe it was the British accent, or maybe it was that he was a gentleman who invited you to chat while he drank his coffee with the cinnamon roll. You learned that his name was John, but everyone calls him Price. He was a soldier (you already knew that), but one of those soldiers who were excellent at their job. He was forty years old, he liked to gamble at the racetrack, and he was divorcing his wife.You felt bad for him, really. Ending a marriage after 15 years had to be complicated. Especially if that marriage was filled with fights, conception issues, and long months of not seeing each other. Price told you that his wife had kicked him out of their house after another huge fight and drove aimlessly until she found the only restaurant open in the wee hours of the morning. Poor thing. You just wanted to make him feel better.Fucking him in his car wasn't the way you were going to help him, but you weren't complaining. His hands, calloused from experience, held your waist tightly to keep you in place as he slammed his cock into your wet pussy. Your face was hidden in his neck, his beard tickling your cheeks. You moaned his name as he spread your ass to slam his dick deeper.Price grunted incoherently at how good you felt. He hadn't had satisfying sex since his poor wife had her second miscarriage. He shouldn't be doing this, you were too young for him. But all morals escaped his reach as he felt your wet pussy, hugging his cock so warmly.Before he could stop himself, he came inside you. It felt so good that you couldn't even get mad at the moment. You hugged him around the neck, sitting on his throbbing cock as the gentleman caught his breath. Price adjusted the skirt of your pink uniform. He gave you a couple of pats and a tickling kiss on the cheek before he got you off his lap.The last you heard from him was that he left you a nice tip the next day to buy a morning after pill like a gentleman. To your terrible luck, it didn't seem to work out. Looks like the Shark Week premiere got postponed.