noncon, gun mention, piss kink, pussy job, ‘little bitch’, humiliation, public setting, mention of security cameras, crying and screaming for help. | wc. 450
closing the store you work at by yourself because your coworker called in sick and there was no one to cover. pulling the tray out of the cash drawer to take to the back to count, not thinking about anything other than how badly you want to go home.
you thought you’d locked the front door behind you, swear you turned the lock but it mustn’t have been all the way. the jingle of the bell alerts you to someone entering. you roll your eyes because of course this would be the night a customer would try to start something with you even though the sign had been flipped and the lights are off.
when you turn around, you see him. standing there with a surgical mask over half his face, broad shoulders, his silhouette almost blocking the door completely. your gaze zeroes in on the gun in his hand, not quite pointed at you but its there, filling the silence between you.
you don’t even realize you’ve pissed yourself, the warmth filling your groin area and soaking through the fabric of your pants. you’re too scared, ears ringing and heart pounding out of your chest. before you can think, he’s got your hands wrenched behind your back, front bent over the cash counter. you let out a sob, hearing him mutter something along the lines of ‘little bitch’, the sound muffled as he secures your arms tighter.
you cry out in pain, louder as he yanks your pants down just enough. the scent of urine hits both of you, a low, dangerous laugh escaping him and it makes your gut churn, a little more pee leaking out of you. his cock slides through your soaked folds with ease, not penetrating but teasing your entrance, making you think he’s going to push into you before he draws back again. he keeps the gun pressed into the small of your back while he ruts himself against you, using his grip on your arms to steady himself.
you beg him to stop, shrieking, but its futile. you try to kick him but he keeps you pinned down with his strength, unable to do much other than squirm and pant. your clit thrums from the sensation of his tip nudging against it, fear blending with a strange sense of submission. an understanding that it’s not going to be over until he decides it is.
when he finally pulls back, you miss the weight of him for an instant. the heaviness of his presence had been shielding you from soaking in the fact that you’re covered in your own piss with your ass out for the security cameras to clearly see. before you can even tug your clothes back on, he’s gone. the front door jingles again. the cash remains untouched under the counter.
