I was bored. I had left school that summer with no qualifications and the stern warning from my teachers that, if I carried on like this, I would amount to nothing. Unemployed and living with my Mum and her latest boyfriend in a small flat on a run-down inner-city housing estate, life wasn’t that great.
Whilst the boys of my age constantly told me I was, “fit as fuck”, with my brunette hair and bleached blond highlights, and a taste for clothes that showed it off my tight little body, most of them were on drugs, selling drugs, or nicking cars; I could well do without some bloke who would be inside for the next few years, or spending his days wasted on the settee. And in any case, boys of my own age did little for me; older men were my thing. But that did mean I hadn’t been getting any for ages.
The other problem was money. Mum and her boyfriend demanded most of my benefits as board and lodging, which I suppose was fair enough. But it meant I was skint. And that meant nights out up west with the girls, where there might be some decent and more mature blokes, were few and far between. So not only was I bored and skint, I was horny. Really horny. And there is only so much a girl can do with her fingers and a hairbrush handle.
Salvation came when I saw an advert in the corner shop for a part-time barmaid in the local pub. It was a dive, with shuttered windows and a clientele made up of out-of-work middle-aged men. But it was a job.
The interview with the landlords was more of a chat. Mal and Jane were a married couple in their late 40s. With jet black hair, and dressed in tight blue denim jeans and a black spaghetti strap lace tank top that clung to her full figure, Jane was very much in charge, and, after years of running a pub in a run-down area, hard-faced and shrewd. Mal had a ready wit and a cheeky grin. Despite having gone to seed, he was still quite good-looking.
To my relief, they gave me a job, working five days a week. They both covered the busier evenings; hiring me allowed one of them at a time to take time during the day to do the accounts and order stock, or just take some time off. In confirming my hours and pay, Jane suggested it would help sales if I wore clothes that kept the mainly male clientele interested; “short skirts and tight tops sell pints, luv,” she smiled encouragingly.
The work was easy, although Jane was a demanding boss and made sure I pulled my weight. Mal was great at the front of house. He also had a roaming eye, which, when he thought I wasn’t looking, was fixed on me. It was quite a turn-on; pretending I hadn’t noticed, I made a point of bending over to pick up glasses, or leaning against the bar and pushing out my firm little arse, so that he could letch at me.
A few days after I started working there, Jane had announced she was taking a day off to see some of her mates.
“Just be you and me holding the fort, Tiff,” Mal grinned, with a twinkle in his eye. I responded with a wink, before walking away slowly, knowing his eyes were boring holes in my skin-tight jeans.
The next day, I turned up with butterflies in my stomach. With my hair in a loose ponytail and wearing large hooped earrings, I was dressed in a blue and white cotton crop top, which hugged my firm boobs and made it obvious I wasn’t wearing a bra. Separated from the crop top by a bare midriff and dangling crystal belly button ring, was an old pair of cream jeans, which I had cut off to make into shorts that barely covered my peachy little buttocks.
It was a cold day, so I arrived at the pub wearing a short black puffa-style coat with a fake fur-lined hood. Greeting Mal, I slipped it off and placed it and my handbag down on a chair in the corner of the bar, deliberately bending over as I did so, to offer him a prolonged view of my arse. Straightening slowly and turning to face him with an innocent look, it was obvious I had achieved the desired effect.
Business was slow, with only a few of the die-hard regulars nursing pints in silence as they watched sport on the big screen. Mal and I chatted in a flirty way, whilst we restocked and organised ready for the evening. This meant passing each other frequently in the narrow serving area. Without making it obvious, I made sure to brush past him each time: sometimes with my bum; sometimes with my boobs. In addition, I made sure to bend over slowly whenever restocking the fridges, and push my boobs out when reaching up to stack the glasses. After an hour or so of this, Mal was looking increasingly flustered.
The pub slowly emptied of its remaining punters. By the time we had finished, the last one had wandered off home. Mal followed him and locked the entrance door, before re-joining me behind the bar.
“Not bad,” Mal grinned, leaning against the counter, and admiring our handiwork.
“Yeah, I reckon we deserve a reward,” I replied with a wink, leaning back against the counter opposite him, arching my back slightly.
“And what sort of reward do we deserve then, Tiff,” he asked in a tense voice.
“Well, the best sort of reward is something you aren’t normally allowed,” I responded in a low sultry tone, my eyes locked on his, and my stomach turning with nervous excitement and anticipation. I could feel my nipples hardening slightly, and pressing against the tight cotton crop top.