Miss Piggy Ch 01

In an attempt to save her family's diner, amber makes a deal with the devils of her childhood.

Chapter 1

"Another round of coffee, hon?" Amber's voice was a warm invitation amidst the clatter of silverware and the murmur of hungry patrons. She balanced the tray with practiced ease, her eyes scanning the crowded booths of the diner. The neon sign outside, flickering in the rain, cast a soft glow through the windows, painting the chrome counters and red leather seats with an otherworldly light.

The rain outside had transformed Greenwood into a soggy wonderland. The cobblestone streets shimmered with puddles, and the trees lining the sidewalks stretched their glistening leaves towards the heavens as if in supplication. The scent of wet earth and the distant rumble of thunder were the backdrop to the pattern of conversations and clinking dishes that filled the diner. It was a sanctuary from the dreary world, a place where the town's residents gathered to share stories, laughter, and hot meals.

Amber had worked at the diner for half her life. It had been her grandpa's place, and she had inherited it after he passed. The walls were adorned with vintage posters and photographs, a testament to the decades of life that had been lived within these four walls. The floor had seen countless feet, the scuff marks and peeling linoleum telling tales of a thousand dance steps and hasty exits. The jukebox in the corner, though updated with the latest hits, had been the same model for nearly fifty years. It played a mix of tunes, the classics of her youth blending with the modern rhythms that made the young ones bob their heads.

But the diner had seen better days. The economy had taken a nosedive, and the once-thriving business had dwindled to a trickle. The rent had skyrocketed, and the repairs were never-ending. With a heavy heart, Amber had made the difficult decision to sell. The new owners had promised to keep the spirit of the place alive, but she couldn't help but feel a pang of loss every time she stepped through the doors. Now she was just another employee, her legacy a memory in a town that was slowly forgetting.

Despite the weight on her shoulders, Amber's smile never faltered. The diner was her sanctuary, a place where she could leave her troubles behind and serve up comfort food with a side of cheer. She knew the regulars by name and knew exactly how they liked their eggs. The smell of frying bacon and sizzling burgers was more comforting than any incense could ever be, and the laughter that filled the place was music to her ears. Her home, the small trailer on the outskirts of town, was more of a storage space for her life than a place to live. It was cold, cramped, and lonely, a stark contrast to the warm embrace of the diner.

Amber had wide hips and large, heavy breasts. Growing into them had been a trial and a source of insecurity, but she had learned to navigate the tight spaces between the tables with surprising grace in her 36 years of life. The apron she wore had been her grandma's, stitched with love and patched with memories. It billowed around her like a sail, catching the eyes of the patrons who watched her weave through the aisles. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swished against her neck with every movement. She had always been a bit of a tomboy, playing football with the boys, wrestling in the mud, and swimming in the pond. People here knew her and appreciated her.

As she approached the new table, a group of men her age began to laugh at the sight of her. Their eyes were drawn to her voluptuous figure, the tightness of her uniform straining the buttons on her dress, the way her cheeks flushed pink from the exertion of carrying the heavy tray. She knew what they were thinking, the same old jokes that had been told a hundred times before. But Amber saw something different in these men. They looked familiar.

"Hello, piggy," said one of the men, the one who looked to be the ringleader. Amber's heart dropped and her blood ran cold.

"Jarod?" She asked, memories rushing back. "Allen, Tommy, TJ...whatre y'all doing back in town?"

The men looked at each other, their leering smirks turning into grins. "Oh, you remember us, do ya?" said Jarod, the ringleader, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's our ten-year high school reunion," chimed in Allen, openly looking Amber up and down, as if she were an item on the desert menu. "We're just passing through for the weekend, thought we'd stop by and see if the ol' town had changed."

Amber's heart sank. These were the same boys who had bullied her mercilessly in school, the ones who had dubbed her "Piggy" because of her weight. They had never missed an opportunity to make her feel fat and insignificant, their cruel taunts echoing through the hallways and leaving her in tears more often than she cared to remember. Their final prank in senior year had almost destroyed her, and at the same time it had changed her in ways no one knew or could understand.

"After the class reunion we're going on a little hunting trip," said TJ.

"Oh yeah, what're ya huntin?" Asked Amber, taking out her notepad. She didn't need it, she knew everything on the menu and could easily remember their orders, but she didn't know what to do with her hands. Last time she'd seen these four boys, after all, her hands had been tied behind her back.

"Deer, maybe some...piggy," said Jarod. His eyes never left hers, staring at her with a hunger that made Amber want to crawl under the table and hide.

"Sounds fun," she said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So, what'll it be for you boys?"

The four men took their time perusing the menu, their eyes lingering more on Amber than the food options. They ordered a smorgasbord of dishes: pancakes, eggs, steaks, and hash browns. As they placed their orders, they couldn't resist throwing in a few snide comments about her size, their laughter echoing through the diner like it had in the hallways of their high school.

But Amber had grown a thick skin over the years, one that had been forged in the fires of their torment and the hard realities of life. She took their jibes with a practiced ease, scribbling down their selections without missing a beat. As she worked, though, she couldn't help but notice that Jarod's gaze was on her more than it was on his menu. His eyes followed her as she moved, a mix of amusement and something else--something darker--flickering in their depths.

Amber turned in their orders to Cookie and got back to work. As she bustled around, however, she couldn't help but notice that Jarod was watching her, following her with his eyes and smiling wickedly.

Finally, the four men pushed back their chairs, patting their bellies and leaving their empty plates behind. They tossed a few bills on the table, their laughter trailing them as they disappeared into the rain-soaked night. Amber took a deep breath, willing herself not to react to the painful reminder of her past. She approached the table with her usual cheerful demeanor, ready to clean up and move on to the next customer.

Her eyes widened as she picked up the bill. The tip they'd left was absurdly large, almost double the cost of their meal. It was the kind of tip that could make her night, her whole week, but the sight of it brought no joy. The crumpled bills were sticky with something, and as she unfolded them, she realized with a sinking feeling that they were covered in a thick, clear substance that was not syrup, but something more vile.

Beneath the sticky mess, she found a piece of paper with Jarod's phone number scrawled in hasty, jagged handwriting. It was accompanied by a message: "For when you miss the attention, Piggy." The note was a grim reminder of the power they had once held over her. A power she had thought she had left behind in the dust of time. Her hand clenched into a fist, the paper crumpling in her grip...but she did not throw it away. Instead, Amber slipped the sticky bills and crumpled receipt in her apron pocket and got back to work.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of faces and orders, the stain of the clear, sticky substance on her fingertips a constant reminder of the encounter. The diner's warmth seemed to have turned cold, and the laughter that usually comforted her now sounded hollow and distant. She moved mechanically through her tasks, serving with a smile that was a little too tight, a little too bright. The rain outside had become a downpour, the sound of it on the roof a relentless drumbeat that matched the rhythm of her racing thoughts.

When the final customer left, the bell above the door chimed a mournful farewell. Amber sighed and began the ritual of closing up, the familiar motions of wiping down tables and counting the till a small comfort in the face of the storm outside. The neon lights flickered once before dying, leaving the diner bathed in the soft glow of the streetlamp that seeped through the foggy windows.

With her oversized umbrella in hand, Amber stepped out into the rain. It had become a torrent, the kind that soaked you to the bone in seconds if you weren't prepared. She had walked home in worse, but tonight the cold drops stung a bit more, a cruel reminder of the humiliation she had endured. The cobblestone streets had turned into a river, and she stepped gingerly, her sneakers splashing in the puddles. The rain pattered against the fabric of her umbrella, a rhythmic beat that seemed to echo the thunder of her thoughts.

Every shadow on the street was a potential threat, every car that drove by a set of headlights that might belong to the four men from her past. Her heart raced beneath her heavy breasts, her breath coming in short gasps as she turned the corner towards her trailer. The darkness felt oppressive, the streetlights flickering and casting eerie shadows that danced and twisted with the wind. Her eyes darted around, searching for any sign of them. Her hands grew clammy, her knuckles white as she tightened her grip on the handle of the umbrella, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary.

Finally, she saw the beacon of light that was her trailer, a small, sad-looking thing that looked like it had been picked up by the storm and tossed onto the lot without care. She hurried across the soggy grass, the rain plastering her uniform to her body. The cold water had seeped through to her skin, making her shiver and her teeth chatter. She hustled the door open, the flimsy lock protesting with a squeak. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill outside, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.

Amber tossed her apron onto the chair by the door, the sticky wad of bills landing with a wet smack. She peeled off her soaked dress, revealing the sports bra that struggled to contain her ample chest. Rainwater dripped from her hair, leaving dark streaks down her flushed face. With trembling hands, she pulled out the crumpled note from her apron pocket. Jarod's number glared up at her, taunting her like a scar from a long-forgotten battle. The four boys-men now-had left her more money in tips than she made in two weeks at the diner. She peeled apart the sticky bills and looked down at them, resigned. With a review she dropped them on the table and went back to her room.

Her bedroom was a stark contrast to the cheery diner. It was small and cluttered, the walls adorned with a few pictures of her grandparents and her high school diploma. The bed was unmade, the covers a tangled mess from a night of restless sleep. She crossed the room to the dresser, her eyes falling on the small bag she had tucked away in the corner. It was filled with memories she had buried long ago, memories she had hoped to keep entombed in the dust of time. Picking up the bag she carried it out to the dining room table.

Her heart racing, she pulled out the rubber pig snout and the school boy's tie. The snout was a grim reminder of the final humiliation they had subjected her to--a prank that had gone too far. It had been the culmination of their cruelty, the moment that had broken something inside of her. The tie was stiff and starched, the school colors a stark blue and yellow that brought back a flood of painful memories.

With trembling hands, she laid them out on the kitchen table, the sticky money creating a macabre frame around her past. She sat down in front of the collection of bills, her eyes never leaving the items that had once been instruments of her torment. The rain outside had become a crescendo, the thunder a mournful serenade that seemed to understand her pain.

Slowly, with a sense of detachment, Amber picked up the rubber pig snout. With the piece of string attached to the snout, amber placed it over her nose and tied it behind her head. The sensation was oddly familiar, a twisted echo of the night she had never talked about, the night she had sworn to forget. She wrapped the tie around her neck, tying it into a knot that was a bit too tight for comfort. She looked at herself in the mirror, the reflection of a woman dressed in her underwear with a pig snout on her face and a tie that didn't belong there.

Her eyes fell to the sticky bills on the table. With a sense of revulsion, she picked one up and brought it to her mouth. Slowly she slid her tongue across the dirty money. The substance was thick and sickly sweet, clinging to her tongue like a lover's kiss she hadn't asked for. She licked at it, the sugar mingling with the metallic taste of anger and fear. It was a dance she had performed before, a dance she had hoped she would never do again. Yet, here she was, reliving a nightmare she thought she had buried.

The tie was cold and unforgiving around her neck, the knot biting into her skin as she pulled it tighter. The room grew darker, the air thick with the scent of rain and the echoes of the past. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing the memories to stay buried. But her breath was filled with the scent of her dirty trailer, the dirty money, the clear sticky substance mixed with syrup on the money she was licking clean. The snorts of the men's laughter, the feel of the snout on her face, the humiliation that had seeped into her very soul--it was all there, demanding her attention.

Tears leaked from her eyes, tracing a sad path down her cheeks, pooling at the edges of the rubber snout. Her eyes watered, not just from the pain of the tie but from the overwhelming emotions that were bubbling to the surface. She choked on a sob, her throat tightening around the material that constricted her airway. The taste of syrup and despair filled her mouth as she choked, her eyes bulging in the mirror.

With a strength born of desperation, Amber yanked the tie tighter, cutting off her airway. Her chest heaved, her breasts straining against the damp fabric of her bra. As she gasped for air, Amber's free hand roamed over her breasts and down her belly. Her fingers slide beneath the band over her panties and found the warm space between her legs. She was soaking wet, and not from the rain.

The humiliation of the pig snout, the fear of their laughter--it all mixed into a perverse cocktail of arousal that had been a part of her for so long, she didn't know if she could ever escape it. Her mind flashed back to the night of the prank, the way they had held her down, the snout shoved onto her face as they had their way with her. The fear had turned to something else, something she had never understood, something she had never wanted to admit.

With the snout still in place, Amber slid one finger into her pussy, the wetness of her arousal a stark contrast to the sticky mess on the money. She gasped, the sound muffled by the rubber. It was a silent scream of both anger and pleasure, a scream that had been bottled up inside of her. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she could almost feel their hands on her again, the way they had touched her, the way they had made her feel both used and desired.

Her other hand found its way to her clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles as she worked her fingers in and out of herself. First one. Then two. Then three. Her hand worked in and out of her flesh until she could slide it all the way in, up over the knuckle of her thumb. The rain outside was a symphony of sadness, a backdrop to her personal hell. The tie around her neck pinched her skin, the fabric biting into her skin as she pulled on it, her breaths growing shorter and more ragged. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating, a heady mix of pain and pleasure that she hadn't felt in years.

Without warning, her legs gave out and she toppled to the floor, chair clattering against the linoleum. The snort of the snout was muffled by her cries, the plastic digging into her nose as she writhed in a delirium of emotion. Her climax hit her like a freight train, her body arching and spasming as she came harder than she ever in months. The release was a crescendo of agony and ecstasy, the culmination of a decade of repressed desire and anger.

As the waves of pleasure receded, Amber's mind was left to grapple with the horror of what she had just done. "Oink," she whimpered, the sound a pitiful echo in the silence of the trailer. Her body was sticky with sweat, the taste of their disrespect still thick on her tongue. Yet, she couldn't deny the way her body had responded, the way the memory of their cruel touch had brought her to the brink of pleasure. It was a twisted reality she had never expected, a part of her she had never wanted to acknowledge.

"Oink," she said again. "Oink, oink."