Revenge against my boss is more important to me than the well-being of my guests
My unwashed acorn is my perverse tool of power
I admit it, I’m a pervert. A real pervert pig who delights in other people’s disgust. I hate my boss. He made me the way I am. Actually I study economics, but to finance my life I wait in a beer garden from time to time. Especially on holidays, because there is always a lot going on and I can use my unwashed glans very often. My colleagues are all quite nice, we have a good team. Only the boss who owns the popular outing place is an asshole.
And precisely because of my boss, Manfred Reuter, it is not a dream job after all. Although I do make a pretty good living. Most of the time I get about 20 Euro per hour including tips. Mr. Reuter is a choleric man before the Lord. He yells and screams all the time, his mood can change suddenly from one moment to the next. He’s usually very nice and sociable.
But if he ticked out because a beer glass was filled over Eich or something was accidentally spilled, you hardly recognize Mr. Reuter anymore. Even if many guests are present in the Biergarte, he verbally kills his employees. Of course, the fluctuation of employees is high. Some of his colleagues have already had a crying fit because of him. Many are even afraid of the boss, hiding when he turns his control round in the restaurant. He leaves me mostly in peace, but with his way this ass violin really goes on my nuts. I can’t stand it when innocent third parties are turned on like that for vain reasons. Mr. Reuter should not behave like this, even as a boss. I’m getting quite frustrated!
I had been wondering for a long time how I could wipe one out of Mr. Reuter. But really. Something that had washed itself properly, something that I would remember for a long time to come! And since we also offer freshly prepared food in the beer garden in addition to all kinds of drinks, this should be exactly the right opportunity for me to show the boss my perverse side.
My colleague didn’t want to see my unwashed acorn
Once, when the staff in the kitchen were totally overloaded because one order after another came in and the crowds in the garden restaurant crowded together, I showed a young colleague a picture of an unwashed acorn and claimed that this was our boss. But this plan didn’t work out at all, she just looked away and said she didn’t want to see anything like it. Actually, I thought I could wipe Mr Reuter out with this action, but well, it shouldn’t be. So we had to come up with another idea. A much more perfidious one, perhaps.
When our boss once again had one of his fits of raving madness and shouted at a young employee, my pulse shot up to 180 in a flash and my nerves fluttered. The girl he was yelling at for nothingness had only recently started here and was still quite insecure anyway. When I was in the camp, the plan matured in me how I could take revenge on Mr. Reuter. I went into the cold store, unpacked my tail and pulled it several times through the red fruit jelly, which was waiting in buckets here to be served to the guests. A genital revenge, so to speak. I felt an unbelievable satisfaction rising inside me. I quickly closed my pants again and left the cold store.
Every time the boss went berserk
At first I left it with dipping my penis into any desserts or sauces. But when Mr. Reuter yelled at the assembled team in front of the guests again, it was enough for me. I stomped the string straight into the cold store. I hadn’t washed my limb for several days, it smelled pretty bad already. Smegma had formed under the foreskin, a real glans cheese. Dome cheese, tail cheese, acorn cheese or as one may call it otherwise. Absolutely disgusting and sticky. Smegma consists of sperm, rancid piss and sticky glandular secretions.
I prefer rubbing my unwashed acorn on the meat, preferably schnitzel that is already breaded or is still breaded. The main thing is that something of my disgusting body excrements gets stuck in the food that I contaminate so badly. If the boss was in a particularly bad mood, I even crumble my smegma into the soup. Yummy, if the guests knew that! Maybe I was lucky and the health department investigated Mr. Reuter because of the inedible food. Now I have already considered whether I should piss perhaps once in a sauce or whether I pull the salad by the notch.
It goes without saying that I punish the guests in the first place and not my boss, I am aware of. None of those who go out to eat in the beer garden know about it. Even I myself find my actions disgusting and somehow already sick. I’m afraid of getting caught someday. At any time someone could enter the camp and catch me red-handed. Only the anger against the boss is greater than all fear. And now I need the thrill of revenge to contaminate food. I know that I am quite a pig – but so is Mr Reuter!