Vessels: Candy Store (Jake 1)

I never would have thought of working at a candy store. Generally speaking, candy shops are operated by sixteen year old girls with baby-like faces and cute hairstyles. Being eighteen and male, it didn’t seem like an appropriate place for me to work. However, as July wore on and I still didn’t have a job, I decided I’d just have to take what I could get; I really didn’t want to start my freshman year of college penniless.

I'm Jake, by the way. Jake Ramone.

I hadn’t been to that store since I was in elementary school; as I approached, I couldn’t help but notice how much smaller it seemed. I remembered the last time I had been in there in fifth grade, when my friends had dared me to steal a handful of candy canes. I thought I had gotten away with it, but when I got home-hands and face covered with stickiness-it turned out the cashier had seen and recognized me, and called my mom. I sure got thrashed for that one.

Snapping myself back to the present, I stood on the sidewalk and looked in through the windows. Man, I had forgotten how much stuff they had in there! Just through one window, I could see saltwater toffee, fresh caramel, boxes of mint fudge. Breathing in, I could pick up the faint smell of chocolate even from outside. I don’t eat much junk food (being on the high school swimming team means you need to keep in shape), but I have always had a sweet tooth that I frequently have to repress. Right now, it was practically begging to come out. I sighed, looking wistfully at the boxes of fudge. Maybe working here would be more complicated than I thought.

I tore my eyes away from the window and entered. As soon as I was inside, the smell of a thousand types of candy hit me like a sugarcoated meteorite. The fudge smelled so rich and thick, and the cinnamon drops so hot. The shop was packed with jumbled heaps of cases and jars full of bright, colorful merchandise that was almost dizzying to the eye. Damn, this place made me feel like a little kid again. I reminded myself that I was here to work, not shop; I didn’t have the spare change to waste on junk food. All the same, as I made my way toward the register, I hoped that they offered freebies to their employees. Even a state swimming champ needs to cave in once in a while.

I walked to the back of the shop, and immediately my eyes were seized by something else.

Behind the register was the kind of woman I only thought existed in gossip magazines and on TV. She was wearing a bright red top of some kind, cut just low enough to let the world know what it was missing. Coral-red hair spilled down to her shoulders, framing her bright green eyes. She wasn't sixteen years old, or baby-like. If I had to guess, I'd say late twenties to early thirties, and in full womanly bloom.

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. She looked at me inquiringly, one fiery red eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

Her voice was sharp, but extremely feminine. I thought I heard some kind of accent.

Embarrassed, I managed to say “Oh…um, sorry, I was coming here to see if I could pick up a job application?”

She smirked a little as I stumbled at the beginning of the sentence. She must have known why I was distracted.

“Okay,” she said.

Damn, there was just something in that woman’s voice.

She pushed some crimson bangs out of her face. She looked vaguely condescending, as if she was privy to some embarrassing secret of mine.

“I’ll take it you’re looking for a summer job?”

Scottish or Irish, I decided.

“Yeah,” I said, “just until the end of August.”

She smirked a little wider, letting a hint of her ivory-white teeth see the light.

“Wait here, lad,” she said, “I’ll see if I can find them. Don’t touch the sweets while I’m away.”

I was a little indignant at being called “lad," but my annoyance dissipated as soon as she turned around. However thin and elflike her face was, her ass was anything but. She wore a short, tight skirt, the back of which bulged out behind her, making her heart shaped butt apparent with each step. I felt the moisture drain from my mouth as I watched her walk into the door marked “employees only.”

She turned the corner, abruptly ending the display. I scolded myself for gawking at her like an idiot; what was I, a seventh grader?

I tapped my toes, checking my watch every few moments. My mouth, which had gone dry at the sight of her bouncing skirt, was already full of saliva again from the candy smells.

Two minutes, and still no sign of her. The store was utterly silent. The vibrant colors were like laser beams now, shooting into my eyes. My thoughts were spiraling around. Every tick of my watch seemed to take longer than the one before. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, but it was like being drugged. I don’t think I’ve ever craved anything as much as I wanted to grab a candy at that moment.

Four minutes. The jellybeans mounted in clear tubes on the wall were swimming, like fish packed into an aquarium, little nodes of dazzling color squirming all over the walls. Was the room actually spinning? My mind was not doing what it was supposed to do, but I couldn’t snap out of it. Five minutes. My muscles were starting to tense. The smell of candy was burning in my nose and mouth.

My eyes settled on a jar of caramel toffees that sat on the counter, right by the register. The jar stood there, taunting me like the cashier’s ass. I clenched my teeth against the impulse.

Six minutes. My mind was wailing for her to come back and fix reality. It was such a perfect, smooth, rounded jar, almost oval shaped. I just wanted to run my finger over it, even if I knew I couldn’t eat anything. I told myself not to; if I extended my hand, I might be tempted to grab one.

Eight minutes. Where the hell was she?

This was complete torture. The watch was banging in my ears like an extra heart. Finally, I decided that I had waited long enough. She couldn’t blame me for taking a small piece after leaving me waiting for this long. Hell, they probably gave out free samples all the time. Reaching out, I grabbed a handful of caramels (even though I only meant to take one), and started unwrapping them.

The smell became even stronger when I opened it. Squeezing the little candy between my finger, delighting in its squishy, yielding texture, I brought it toward my watering mouth…

“What did I tell you?”

Gasping in surprise, I dropped the toffees, which scattered across the tile floor. Blood pounding in my face, I looked up. She was standing in the doorway behind the counter, hands on her hips. Her eyes were narrowed.

“Oh…sorry…I…”

She was grinning now, the way a cat grins before it jumps on a mouse (cats don‘t have lips, but you know they would if they had them), and her green eyes were smug.

“…its just…I was waiting for so long…I was going to pay for them as soon as you got back.”

She shook her head, unappeased. I remembered what happened last time I stole from this store. I was much too old to be spanked now, but my mind still made the connection.

She stepped out from behind the counter, walking past me toward the front door. She locked the door and flipped the sign that said “closed.” Then she turned back to me, disapprovingly, but with a hint of that impish grin lingering at the corners of her mouth.

“Do you ever want to work in this neighborhood again?”

I nodded.

“If I tell the owner what I just saw, you won’t be able to. He knows all the other shopkeepers. They tell each other things.”

My heart raced. Could I really get in that much trouble just over a couple of toffees? Normally, I’d know that was ridiculous, but the scents and colors had put me in a slow, suggestible state of mind. I found myself believing her, and growing proportionately anxious.

“Why shouldn’t I do just that?”

“I…please, it won’t happen again. You don’t have to give me an application, just please don’t tell him.”

“Alright, then,” she said, marching past me back behind the counter, “this way.”

I paused for a moment, but then decided to follow her. Whatever she had in mind, it couldn’t possibly be as severe as what she had threatened. Groggily, still mysteriously stoned, I followed her through the door into the back room.

This room was darker than the main part of the store, and cluttered with cooking equipment. Vats of molten fudge and sugar were stacked by the walls, with saucepans of the same simmering over a stove. From beside the sink, she pulled up an armless, wooden chair and sat down on it.

“Take off your pants.”

For the first time in nearly ten minutes, I had a rational thought.

“What?”

“I know you heard me,” she taunted, patting her thigh, “take ‘em off or I’ll phone the owner right now.”

My willpower dissolved again, consumed by the fog that was clouding my brain. To my surprise, I found myself unbuckling my belt and letting my jeans drop to the floor. I realized that my underpants were bulging in front, and hastily tried to cover it with my hands.

She chuckled. Her laugh was musical, but menacing. Like a heartless nymph’s.

“Don’t think I didn‘t see that. Let’s have a closer look. Take your drawers down.”

My jaw dropped. I became briefly lucid again.

“What the? You’re fucking insane! You can’t actually think-”

“Drop them!”

She glared at me in a way that made me obey. Confounded by her power over me, I reluctantly slid my fingers under my briefs and pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor on top of my jeans. My boner bounced upward, pointing almost directly at her.

“Beautiful," I couldn't tell if that was sarcastic or not, "Now, step out of them and come here.”

She slapped her thigh, sending the smack of flesh against flesh through the kitchen. Gritting my teeth, I stepped out of my pants and underwear (my sandals being pulled off in the process) and walked up to her, stomach writhing. My dick was still rock hard and sticking straight out; I tried to put my hands in front of it, but it wasn't a very effective cover.

"Did I say you could cover yourself?"

What the hell was going on? I reluctantly brought my hands back to my sides, blushing in embarrasment as my manhood was left pointed straight at her. She pointed at it accusingly.

"That's very rude."

I blushed even hotter.

“Sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’re about to be. Bend over.”

I bent my knees and placed my body over her thighs. Her skirt only covered about eight inches of her legs; I could feel her warm flesh on my right hip. My penis was pressed against her, only a thin layer of cloth separating it from her skin. I could smell her; it mixed with the chocolate to wreak havoc on my nerves.

“Good.”

I felt her hand push the back of my head, forcing it downward. I was now lying across her lap, legs hanging down on one side, head and arms hanging from the other. I felt her eyes rove over me, outside of my sight.

One of her arms went around my torso, holding me in place; I could feel her breasts rub against my back as she leaned forward to get a better hold. I then felt a warm hand slide across my rear. A lock of red hair fell in front of my eyes.

“Such a pretty arse, you’ve got,” she tickled it a little, making me grimace, “a shame what’s going to happen to it.”

She patted my left butt cheek. I felt an involuntary throb in my manhood. My face flushed even redder.

The first smack came before I realized she had started.

She wasn’t an especially big girl, but her hand was stronger than I would have thought. The slap echoed around the room, and her palm left a burning sting behind.

Another smack landed, hitting the same spot on the opposite cheek. This one was a little louder, and stung more as well. I think I might have yelped a little.

“Look ma’am, it was just a candy, I-”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! She slapped my ass five times in quick succession, hitting both cheeks with each smack. I gasped, legs kicking reflexively. A red, tingling burn rode the wake of the impacts.

Realizing that talking would only make things worse, I let my head fall limp again and lay still, exposed before her emerald eyes. I was thoroughly humiliated, being made to lie there without being able to protect my stinging butt, but that just made my dick press harder and stronger against my belly.

After a few seconds, she started again, letting out another smack at least once per second, each building on the sting left by the others. Sometimes she alternated cheeks. Sometimes she tortured one until I could have sworn it was splitting open, before suddenly attacking the other when I wasn‘t expecting it. Whenever she made a sudden change like that, I gasped.

I was approaching the limits of my pain tolerance; my hips began squirming, trying to avoid the onslaught. She just laughed, and moved her other arm further down my body, holding my waist in place. The smacks kept getting harder.

After fifty slaps, I was gasping with each impact. At one hundred, I was on the brink of tears. I tried to remind myself why I was allowing this to happen, but the hellfire that was roaring in my ass was the only thing I could concentrate on. As she smacked, my dick was chafed a little against her thighs, making it harder and harder.

She smacked me another thirty or forty times before, finally, the spanking stopped. Fire ants were swarming across my posterior. My cheeks were damp with sweat and a couple of tears. My breathing was heavy.

“Get up.”

Wincing, I climbed off of her and straightened up. My rump was covered in acid. Gingerly, I put my hands on it, gasping as they made contact. I couldn’t believe how hot it felt!

“Stop rubbing!” she commanded, “we’re far from over yet.”

I looked back at her. She was smiling serenely, rubbing her tired right hand. Her skirt had been pushed back a bit by my body, and I could see the beginnings of her white cotton panties. Groaning, tortured by both pain and desire, I pulled my hands away from my cheeks.

She pointed across the kitchen. “Fetch that.”

My eyes grew wide as I looked where she was pointing. A heavy, Teflon spatula hung from a rack beside a collection of other kitchen utensils. It gleamed dully in the dim light, as if impatient to taste my flesh.

“Go on!”

She slapped my butt hard.

“Ow!”

Quickly, I strode to the rack and, hesitating only for a second, retrieved the spatula and brought it back. She turned it over in her hands, examining it with her green eyes.

“This should do. Back across my knees.”

I was much more hesitant this time, but another slap got me moving. I was soon in the exact same position I was in before. The only difference was that her skirt was pushed mostly away, and my hips and penis were lying directly on her thighs. Her skin was smooth and delicate, and the flesh beneath it was soft.

With a crack like a whip, the spatula bounced off my ass.

“AAH!”

I immediately tried to straighten up, but she pushed her full weight against my back, pinning me
to her lap. I should have been stronger than her, but my muscles weren’t obeying. As I grunted and struggled, I heard the spatula whoosh through the air again.

“GAAH!”

The tears were coming. I lay back down, quivering, across her legs. The pleasurable jolts in my penis were no longer enough to protect me from the pain.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Three more firecrackers exploded on my cheeks. She was doing it faster now, not as fast as her hand had been, but she was putting a big arc into each swing. She picked up the same pattern she had used with her hand, only with more force and less speed. Every time that spatula bit me, I squirmed to get away from it. Whenever my wriggling became too much, she pushed her elbow into my back and gave me a volley of blisteringly hard ones, all in the same spot, which made me howl. My erection, which had been winding down, pumped itself back to full hardness, grinding itself against her thighbones. I barely noticed it through the agony.

I got at least fifty with the spatula before she put it down. I was breathing frantically, tears running down my face. To this day, I am proud that I avoided sobbing out loud. She pushed me off of her lap, letting me stand up beside the chair. Immediately, I began to feverishly rub my bright, crimson ass.

I turned around, still sniffling. She was smiling as impishly as ever.

“Scrub your face,” she said, pointing to a clean washcloth that lay on the counter.

Muttering an incoherent thanks (why the hell was I thanking her?), I took one hand off my swollen, tortured ass and used it to wipe my face. I looked down at my throbbing penis, and saw a droplet of precum at the tip.

“Your bum’s a brilliant red,” she commented, standing a few feet behind me. “Like rose petals. Well, you’ve been standing there long enough. Go on, before your belt starts giving me ideas.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I picked up my underwear and pulled it gingerly over my flaming backside, hissing in pain as the tight briefs squeezed my ravaged cheeks. She giggled as she watched me struggle with my clothes. I made extra sure to get my belt back on as soon as possible.

“Here,” she said as I managed to get my sandals back on, “don’t forget this.”

She handed me a blank application.

“Bring that back soon, and I’m sure we’ll hire you…so long as you keep your hands out of the merchandise. Off you go.”

She slapped me across the butt one last time, grinding my rough jeans into the enflamed skin. I ran home as fast as my blazing ass and rigid dick would allow me to move. Stumbling, still coughing on tears, perfume, and chocolate fumes, I barreled my way home.

The first thing I did when I got there was dash to my room and knead my manhood until I came. As I sprayed my seed across the bed sheets, I felt the fumes and drowsiness leeching out of me. Lying in the aftermath of the orgasm, buttocks still full of red hot needles, I found that I could think normally again. It was like waking up from a dream.

That night, I laid down on my bed (stomach down, of course) and filled out the application. I wasn’t quite able to believe what had happened that day, but my smoldering, angry red butt was more than proof enough. I wondered if I had the courage to show myself in that store after that. How would I be able to work alongside that sadistic, beautiful redheaded bitch after this?

Before I went to sleep (still on my stomach) I found myself thinking about the exposed thighs and hidden breasts of the Scottish girl, and heard her sultry giggle in my ears. I had to masturbate again before I could sleep.

…

Two days later, I walked-slowly and timidly-back to the candy store. My butt was still smarting a little, but I couldn’t afford to put everything off for this long. I went in, both dreading and hoping to see the girl again, but she wasn’t there. Instead, a portly man in his fifties was standing behind the counter.

“Hey there,” he said, “is that an application you‘ve got?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, handing him the completed form.

“Alright,” he said, “we always need a new cashier at this time of the year. I’ll be calling you back within a week or so.”

He folded up the application and put it away somewhere.

“Um, excuse me,” I said, “but I have a question. About one of your employees.”

“Go on.”

“When I was here to pick up the application, there was a woman working here. Tall, red hair, Scottish or maybe Irish. What’s her name?”

He looked confused.

“Scottish girl? Red hair? I don’t think I’ve ever hired anyone like that. Are you sure you’re not thinking of a different store?”

“Yeah,” I said, eyeing the jar of caramels sitting by the register, “I’m pretty positive it was this store.”

“Huh,” he seemed genuinely perplexed, “well that’s pretty darned strange.”

He noticed me eyeing the caramel toffees. I quickly looked away, blood starting to rush to my face.

“Here,” he said, “try a couple of these.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Those?”

“Sure, its not like we sell them. Those are just for whoever’s on duty to snack on. We give them out as free samples every once in a while; helps business a lot.”

“Uh, thanks but no thanks,” I said, “I was just curious.”

He shrugged. I could tell he thought I was a little weird.

“Alright,” he said, “you’ll hear from me soon.”

…

I got the job, as it turned out, and made a decent amount of money before school started. I asked all my coworkers about the redhead. No one had the faintest idea of who I was talking about.