Greggs Gravy
"A sausage roll and a cheeky smile lead to a hot encounter with a curvy Greggs worker on her break"
There's something about a woman in a Greggs uniform that just does it for me. Maybe it's the apron. Maybe it's the little hat. Or maybe it's just the way Jade looked at me every morning when I came in for my steak bake.
"Same again, darlin'?" she'd ask, already reaching for the paper bag.
"You know me too well."
She'd been working there three months, and I'd been eating more pastry than any man should since day one. Worth every calorie for that smile—wide and genuine, gap-toothed and gorgeous, framed by dark curly hair that escaped her hat no matter how many times she tucked it back.
Jade was built like comfort food made human. Soft and warm and inviting, with hips that didn't quit and tits that made her apron work overtime. Every time she bent to grab something from the bottom shelf, I had to look away or embarrass myself.
Today was different, though. Today she handed me my steak bake with a note tucked in the bag.
Break at 11. Meet me round back if you fancy it. J x
It was 10:47. I ate my steak bake in record time.
Round back of Greggs was glamorous as you'd expect—wheelie bins, crates of frozen sausage rolls, and the persistent smell of baking pastry mixed with diesel from the delivery trucks.
Jade was leaning against the wall, still in her uniform minus the hat, smoking a cigarette like a fifties film star.
"Wasn't sure you'd come," she said.
"Are you joking? Been thinking about you since you handed me that Belgian bun last week."
She laughed, dropped the cigarette, ground it out with her sensible work shoe. "Belgian bun? That's what did it?"
"The way you said 'extra icing' should be illegal."
She stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell her—warm pastry, cheap perfume, something that was just her.
"Got fifteen minutes," she said. "Maybe twenty if Daz covers the till. What do you reckon?"
"I reckon I can work with fifteen."
She grabbed my shirt, pulled me into the shadows between the wheelie bins. Not romantic. Not even slightly. But when she kissed me, tasting of her own smoke and those little pink wafer things they sell, I stopped caring about the setting.
"Been wanting to do this for weeks," she admitted between kisses. "Every morning you come in with your little smile and your tight jeans. Proper tease."
"Says the woman who bends over in front of me to get the sausage rolls."
"Maybe that was on purpose."
Her hands were working at my belt while I fumbled with her apron strings. The uniform underneath was simple—black polo, black trousers—but on her it was devastating. I got my hands under the polo, found warm skin and a practical bra that I unhooked with more skill than I usually possessed.
"Quick learner," she murmured.
"Motivated."
Her tits filled my hands perfectly—heavy and soft, nipples already hard against my palms. She sighed, arched into my touch.
"Lower. Come on, we haven't got all day."
I slid a hand down, into her work trousers, found her already wet through her knickers.
"Fuck, you're soaked."
"Told you. Been wanting this." She bit her lip as my fingers found their target. "Right there—yeah—don't stop—"
I worked her with one hand while the other played with her tits, her back against the brick wall, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Need more," she said. "Need you."
"Turn around."
She did, bracing herself against the wall, looking back over her shoulder with an expression of pure need. I tugged her trousers down just enough, my own following, and then I was pressing against her.
"Do it—come on—"
I pushed in and she groaned, loud enough that I worried someone inside might hear. But she didn't seem to care, pushing back against me, taking me deeper.
"Fuck yes—that's it—"
The rhythm was fast, urgent. No time for finesse. Just raw need and the obscene sound of skin meeting skin in the shadow of the bins.
"Harder—need it harder—"
I gave her everything, one hand on her hip, the other reaching around to find her clit. She was close—I could feel it in the way she tightened around me, hear it in her ragged breathing.
"Gonna—shit—right there—"
She came with a muffled shriek, biting her arm to stay quiet. The way she clenched around me was too much—I followed seconds later, burying myself deep.
We stayed there, panting, connected, while somewhere inside someone called for a stottie.
"Shit," she laughed breathlessly. "Gotta go. Daz'll murder me."
She was tucking herself back in, fixing her hair, grabbing her hat from where it had fallen, all in about thirty seconds flat.
"Same time tomorrow?" I asked, still catching my breath.
She grinned, pressed a quick kiss to my lips. "You'll have to come in for your steak bake to find out."
Then she was gone, back through the door, leaving me alone with the bins and the smell of baking bread.
The next morning, I walked into Greggs and found Jade behind the counter, hat perfectly in place, smile ready.
"Morning, darlin'. Same again?"
"Always."
She handed me the bag, our fingers brushing. Inside, wrapped around the steak bake, another note.
Break at 2. Storage room. Bring the sausage roll. ;) J x
I grinned and tucked the note in my pocket.
Best breakfast spot in town.