Kebab Van Karma
"The late-night kebab van serves up more than meat when the fit owner takes a shine"
2 AM outside the club, queue for the kebab van stretching forever. But Yasmin fast-tracked me.
"You again." She was slicing meat, gorgeous despite the late hour. Thick, curvy, with dark eyes and a smile that made waiting worthwhile. "Same as always?"
"You know it."
"Extra garlic?"
"Obviously."
She handed over the kebab, fingers brushing mine. "Last customer. I'm closing up. Want to help?"
Helping meant climbing into the van after the shutters went down. Small space, warm from the grill, smelling like spices and possibility.
"Owned this van for five years," she said. "First time I've done this."
"Done what?"
"This." She kissed me, tasting like chilli sauce and determination. "Been watching you order for months. Tonight I decided to stop watching."
"Glad you did."
Her apron came off, then her t-shirt. Underneath, curves that the uniform had been hiding. Full tits, wide hips, skin that smelled like spices.
"Like what you see?"
"Want to devour you."
I pushed her against the counter, dropped to my knees. Her jeans came down, revealing a thong that was already damp.
"Been wet since you walked up," she admitted.
I buried my tongue in her. She came fast, shaking, gripping the counter for support.
"Inside me—on this counter—where I serve food—"
I lifted her onto the prep surface, pushed in. She was tight, hot, and moaned like she'd been waiting years.
"Harder—yes—"
We fucked in that kebab van, the smell of meat and spice surrounding us. She came twice more.
"Close—inside—"
I came deep, holding her against me.
We lay there on the counter, catching breath.
"Free kebabs for life," she said. "And my number."
"Can't say no to that."
Started seeing her every weekend. Always got extra garlic.
Best late-night decision ever.