angusardor
onlyfans
Story Sunday! Part one of an ongoing coffee shop feedism fic..
🕑 Added 2023-06-12 03:59:51 +0000 UTC Story Sunday! Part one of an ongoing coffee shop feedism fic, with a gender neutral self-insert main character. Hope you like it!The Regular
Part 1/?
You have one eye on the clock, and the other on the macchiato you’re making. It’s almost nine, which means Mike will be coming in any minute now. Mike is your favorite customer, and you’ll be damned if the new barista is going to take his order again -you know she’s training on the register, but she can train with the others!
You plunk the macchiato down and call the name just as the bell at the front door rings, and in comes Mike. Or rather, in comes Mike’s stomach, followed by Mike himself. Luckily, the new barista has just picked up the broom to sweep up some loose beans, so you jump on the register with the biggest grin.
“Morning, Mike!” you say as he comes up. You’re very good at not staring directly at his shirt where it’s riding up and showing a small sliver of his midriff, even though you know it’s there (Mike pulls his shirt down when he gets to the counter automatically - he must feel the draft).
“Morning!” he smiles back, and you melt a little inside to notice that his double chin jiggles a little bit now.
“Want your usual drink?” you ask warmly.
“Uh, let’s make it iced today.”
“And breakfast? There’s a really good seasonal jelly donut that we’re trying out, or I can make you a breakfast sandwich if you’re not feeling the donuts today. A full dozen donuts are on sale again, though, if you want to grab some to take home before they’re all picked over.”
This was a lie, in fact - the donuts weren’t on sale, but you know from experience that if Mike buys a full dozen (ostensibly to take home later), he’ll end up eating them all here while he’s working, and you’ll get to watch. Mike doesn’t ask for a receipt, and you’ve taken to bringing extra cash to balance the register out, so no one is any the wiser and there’s no harm done.
So today Mike has a breakfast sandwich to eat with his half-liter of sugary, caffeinated goodness, and he gets a dozen assorted donuts “to take home.” You, meanwhile, are on cloud nine. He tells you to “surprise him” when you ask what donuts he wants, so you of course add the seasonal jelly, a few of Mike’s standby favorites, and a couple others with flavors that you think will complement the batch. You prep everything for him yourself, letting the new girl take over the register again so you can make a sandwich (with extra butter and cheese) and an iced coffee drink (with an extra pump of syrup – miscounts happen sometimes, you know).
Mike thanks you with a smile when you hand his order off and goes over to his usual corner table, just a few feet away from the coffee prep area, where you’ll happily be stationed for the rest of the workday. He takes out his laptop, plugs it into the outlet just behind his chair - twisting around so his shirt rides up again, and this time you do stare at his belly hanging over his belt, because he’s not looking - then begins working, typing away one-handed while he eats his sandwich with the other hand.
For the rest of the morning rush you make drinks more or less on auto-pilot, only really paying attention to what’s going on when the new girl calls over to ask questions. When things slow down, you take your time cleaning the coffee station and refilling everything that could possibly be refilled. Mike’s sandwich disappears quickly, and then he tries one of the jellies. He calls over to you and holds it up in appreciation, nodding, and you beam back with a double thumbs up. Then, now that he’s opened the box, he continues typing with one hand and munching on donuts with the other. When he finished his drink, after only three donuts, you bring him a big cup of water too and then go back about your business.
Mike’s shirt is already a little too small for his gut, riding up like it did when he came in, but as he continues eating donuts you watch it get tighter until you can see the outline of his belly button pressed right up against the fabric. Just a few weeks ago this shirt fit - you remember the first time you saw it, and the feeling of equal disappointment that his clothes weren’t as tight and excitement that he was outgrowing them. With only a little help on your part, it looked like in another week or two he’d be changing his wardrobe again.
He polishes off the rest of the donuts and even reaches into the box and feels around like he’s looking for another, then looks up with surprise and a little embarrassment when he realizes there’s nothing left but crumbs. You watch in the chrome side of the espresso machine as he looks around to make sure no one is paying any attention - you feel a little bad about spying, but don’t want to make him feel self-conscious. After a second he calls your name, so you’re relieved of the warped view and feeling of being a creep and lean over the coffee station to ask what’s up.
“Would you mind watching my computer real quick?” he asks tentatively, pulling his shirt down over his belly.
You tell him of course not with a smile, and he grunts a little as he hauls himself to his feet and heads to the restroom across the dining area. His shirt’s even riding up in the back, and you can see the stretch marks on his hips where his muffin top bulges over his waistband. You idly think about hand-feeding him muffins until he’s moaning about how full he is and rubbing his stuffed gut, and then having him wash them down with the sweetest drink you could concoct. Then some water, because he was bound to be thirsty after all that, and you aren’t a monster, after all.
Mike works for a couple more hours, until around lunch time, and then he packs his things up and cleans off his table, brushing crumbs into his hand and throwing them away so that you’d only have to do a quick wipe with the sanitizer. Then he bids you goodbye, smiling somewhat more nervously than usual, and you send him off with a happy wave and a “see you later!” You are admittedly a little sad, though, knowing that the rest of the shift is going to drag on forever.
You finish the drink you’re making and call the customer’s name before grabbing your bottle of sanitizer and rag to go clean the dining area. You do some of the messier tables first, where assholes have left their trash and their half-finished drinks - what a waste of coffee - then make your way over to Mike’s. Surprisingly, he actually left a napkin laying on the table today. You guess he must have just been in a hurry to get somewhere - but as you pick it up, you see that there’s writing on the other side.
It’s your name, then the words “Breakfast on Saturday?”
