One morning, I was still half-asleep when Đức Công called, practically begging: “Hưng, save me! Customers have been hounding me all morning—I haven’t even had a chance to piss. Get over here quick!”
Hoàng Tuấn, lying beside me, snatched the phone and answered: “It’s our day off, man. My wife’s busy staying home with me today. You gonna fire him if he doesn’t come? Fine—then I’ll just support him myself.”
I burst out laughing beside him while Đức Công wailed on the other end: “I’m begging you two! I’m drowning here—no one to help. If the customers burn the place down in a minute, you guys are paying for it!”
I leaned over and yelled into the phone: “Hold on—I’ll be right there.”
Đức Công, frantic: “Hurry! I’m about to piss my pants…” Then he shouted to someone else: “Drink’s ready—coming right up!”
I sat up; Hoàng Tuấn immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back down, pouting: “You haven’t even kissed me yet and you’re leaving the bed?”
I laughed and leaned down to kiss him. Grown man acting like a kid. He’d teased Đức Công, but both of us were truly grateful to him—if not for Đức Công back then, there probably wouldn’t be an “us” now.
Calling it a day off was mostly to mess with Đức Công—Hoàng Tuấn actually had overtime today. His job didn’t follow normal schedules. We dragged ourselves to the bathroom together—one brushing teeth while the other used the toilet. The toilet was separate but behind clear glass. I was shy, not knowing where to look; Hoàng Tuấn kept peeking over while brushing, grinning shamelessly when I shooed him.
Finished, Hoàng Tuấn turned on the shower and adjusted it to the perfect cool temperature. The moment I stepped out of the toilet area, he pulled me under the water. Except when leaving the apartment, we were never apart. He shampooed my hair; I grabbed the sponge and reached around to scrub his back. Back done, chest, stomach, then the sensitive spot below.
My hand barely reached it before his cock was rock-hard, pointing at me like a loaded gun. When I scrubbed there, he deliberately made it twitch teasingly. I pretended to ask: “What’s wrong with it?”
He answered: “It’s cold—shivering! Needs somewhere warm to hide.”
Once the soap rinsed off, I dropped down and took his hot, hard cock into my mouth. He leaned back against the wall, enjoying it fully. I tightened my lips around the shaft, pulling back and pushing forward, making him hiss with pleasure. His hand rested on my head—not gripping hair to control, just gently stroking my wet locks, occasionally sliding down to caress my cheeks and the mouth stretching around his thrusts.
After a while, he pulled me up for a tender kiss. I laughed: “Brother Công’s probably dying by now!”
Hoàng Tuấn gave that dominant look: “Screw him—I can’t wait anymore either!”
In the end, it was inevitable. Poor Đức Công—just bad timing.
Hoàng Tuấn knelt behind me, wanting to rim me deep. I stopped him—partly because we were rushed, partly because I’d just used the bathroom.
But honestly, we didn’t need much prep anymore. My body had adjusted to his cock perfectly. The moment it got hard and ready, my hole practically opened the gates for the “enemy” to invade. Total traitor!
He spat for lube, but fresh from brushing teeth it wasn’t slick enough—he reached for the gel on the shelf. I pushed my ass back; he eased in slowly. As it started moving, he wrapped both arms around my stomach, hugging me tight. His head on my shoulder, he licked my earlobe, driving me wild with moans.
I glanced at the mirror—it reflected us perfectly. His firm, round ass flexing with every thrust. He wasn’t some massive bodybuilder type, but right now his legs and arms were pumped, veins popping.
Lately during sex, neither of us dirty-talked much anymore. Instead, just long, drawn-out moans. We didn’t need words—we both knew how completely satisfied we felt being this close. Kisses lasted longer, passion flowing steadily through our veins.
Sometimes I hated Duy Tân—thanks to his monthly cum-control sessions, Hoàng Tuấn, already a stamina beast, had become even more unstoppable. He could come instantly if he wanted—or last forever. I knew it was him “advertising the product,” but I wasn’t brave enough to test his limits. Thirty minutes of nonstop pounding and I was already seeing stars!
Every time we made love, Hoàng Tuấn was as passionate as the first. I worried he’d wear himself out, but my fears were pointless. Once a day was rare now—at least three times on weekends.
After a while, he suddenly stopped thrusting. His hand reached down to stroke my cock. In this position I never lasted long—especially with him knowing my body best. I teased: “Stopping early? Bored already?”
He nibbled my earlobe and whispered slyly: “I’m so bored of you—but the little guy won’t let me. Can’t get hard for anyone else!”
I’d asked jokingly, knowing we had to go or we’d be late.
He stroked me a dozen more times; I clenched my legs, bracing as I came. Cum splattered the wall with wet slaps—something we’d gotten used to hearing. When I shot, my hole tightened around him; he took the chance to give a few gentle thrusts, then hugged me tight and unloaded deep inside.
We’d just showered—now we had to soap up and rinse again. We didn’t say much, just looked at each other and grinned like idiots. I quickly dressed and rushed out—if Đức Công actually pissed himself, the shop would go bankrupt. Headlines would read: “Shock: Café Owner Pisses Pants from Holding It Too Long During Rush.”
I hurried ahead; when I arrived, the inside was packed but the outside line gone. Surprised, I asked Đức Công: “Where’s the crowd?”
He grimaced: “Guess they were waiting for you? I gave you thirty minutes—that wasn’t enough for you two? I haven’t eaten all morning, and you guys just woke up and devoured each other! Watch the shop—I’m going to the bathroom!”
I watched him shuffle off, legs pressed together, and felt bad. Tough life—back when the shop had just two staff, exam season hit and both quit to study. Đức Công and I had bad luck hiring; no one applied.
He ended up running the counter himself. People thought owners just pointed fingers—wrong. One Đức Công could handle three of us old staff. Taking orders, mixing drinks, serving—he nailed everything. But during exam rushes, even he got overwhelmed alone.
I stood behind the counter, unsure what to do, and reached for my phone to tease Hoàng Tuấn. Then realized—it wasn’t in my pocket. Must’ve left it at his place in the rush.
I was sulking when a familiar figure appeared outside. I thought Hoàng Tuấn had brought it—but no. Closer, I saw it was Duy Long.
I asked immediately: “You’re up early for coffee instead of sleeping in?”
Duy Long, hands on hips, grumbled: “Coffee my ass! Your boyfriend made me play delivery boy—bring your phone. Everything always falls on me—unbelievable!”
I looked confused: “You could’ve just said no. Wait—did Hoàng Tuấn knock on your door?”
Saying “your door” felt off. Technically I still lived with Duy Long and Ngọc Lễ—I paid my share. But since that day, had I ever gone back?
Duy Long sat on the customer bench: “This morning I went out for breakfast, planning to eat and nap more. Tuấn zoomed past, saw me, and rapped: ‘Long Long Long, send this phone to Hưng via Grab—urgent! I’m going the wrong way and late, can’t drop it off. Thanks Long!’ Then he was gone. Didn’t give me a chance to speak!”
I laughed: “Why not just Grab it?”
Duy Long: “Hell no—if it got lost I’d never sleep. Losing a phone? Tuấn can buy you ten. But losing your ‘low-budget alphabet-learning videos’? How could I replace those?”
I knew Duy Long was meticulous and worried a lot—but that made him incredibly thoughtful. I said: “Thanks a ton! Sit and relax—I’ll make you something to wake up. What do you want?”
Duy Long: “Peach orange lemongrass tea—full toppings!”
He didn’t really care about the free drink; we hadn’t hung out in a week despite living next door. He stayed to chat. Watching me work, he said: “That looks fun! Wait—why’s it just you here?”
I: “Công’s here too—he’s in the bathroom.” Seeing Đức Công emerge, I added: “There he is!”
Đức Công shot me a look: “Couldn’t say I was busy in the kitchen? I’m begging you! Every customer asks for the owner and you say I’m shitting—they’ll never buy again! Oh, Long’s visiting?”
Duy Long: “Yeah. Hoàng Tuấn asked me to drop off Hưng’s phone.”
Đức Công: “Cruel people live easy lives, huh kid?”
Duy Long laughed. I finished the drink, sealed it, and teased: “Keep spoiling me—I’ll share the boyfriend luck!”
Đức Công smirked: “I think your brother needs it!”
I huffed: “Fine—next time you complain, I’m ignoring you!”
Đức Công: “Yeah, I know. Now that you’ve got a boyfriend, this big brother’s nothing!”
Duy Long joined in: “I’ve known him since freshman year—now he has a boyfriend and tosses me aside. What are you to him?”
I cried: “God! You’re sassy today, Long—even teaming up with a stranger to diss me!”
Đức Công turned to Duy Long: “You think I’m a stranger, Long?”
Duy Long shook his head: “I’ve known you since introducing Hưng here for the job—hardly a stranger.”
Đức Công: “Aha! So you’re calling me a stranger, Hưng? Makes sense—now you only know two people!”
Duy Long: “Hoàng Tuấn and who else?”
Đức Công, deadpan: “Mini Hoàng Tuấn.”
They burst out laughing. Before I could protest, the familiar “Grab machine” on the counter dinged twice—new orders.
I swiped the screen: “Two orders, 15 each—30 drinks total!”
Đức Công glanced: “I know who it is! You handle it alone, kid!”
I grinned—it had to be Hoàng Tuấn. I teased: “You sure? I’ll call him to cancel and switch shops!”
Đức Công growled: “Damn, so stubborn!”
Duy Long called from outside: “Hey, another driver’s here!”
We scrambled—two people flailing wasn’t fast enough. Duy Long jumped in to help. He didn’t know mixing, but could bag and add straws—though clumsily. Even Đức Công and I, veterans, got chaotic under pressure.
Đức Công grabbed brown sugar for a milk tea; I yelled: “That’s milk tea! The fresh milk brown sugar pearl is this one, dad!”
Đức Công: “Shit—I saw this cup but grabbed that one. Hey—how much sugar for large peach tea?”
Me: “You’re the owner—how should I know?”
Duy Long bagged a Vietnamese iced coffee, adding a small straw. I shouted: “That needs a big straw and spoon—white pearls inside; small straw won’t suck them up!”
Duy Long grumbled: “Who the hell orders iced coffee with white pearls?”
Me, laughing: “The director’s assistant at Hoàng Tuấn’s company!”
Đức Công: “She single?”
Me: “No idea—probably!” Seeing Duy Long bag a peach orange lemongrass for the wrong order, I yelled: “Wrong—that’s the next batch!”
Duy Long: “Wait—aren’t they all going to the same place?”
Me: “Oh yeah! Sorry—too rushed, I forgot!”
Halfway done, the second driver arrived. Large orders got split—30 drinks meant two deliveries. One pair of watching eyes was pressure enough; now it doubled.
Mid-chaos, a customer came down: “Can I get more ice?”
Đức Công: “Head back up—I’ll bring it!”
Customer gone, I called: “We’re out of ice out here—grab more from the machine!”
Duy Long volunteered: “I’ll get it.”
Đức Công: “Fill the bucket and call me.”
Duy Long: “Yes, sir!” Ice clattered loudly into the metal bucket, echoing outside. After a dozen scoops, Đức Công rushed in. I heard Duy Long: “I’ll carry it!”
Đức Công: “Watch the rim—it’s sharp; you’ll cut yourself. Fill that other bucket—I’ll take this one.”
First time I’d seen Đức Công so caring. When he returned, I teased: “I’ve carried ice till my hands are calloused—you never help me!”
Đức Công: “Tell Tuấn to order less, then!”
Duy Long carried the second bucket out himself—heavy, he hunched over pitifully. Đức Công spotted it, turned, grabbed it, accidentally spilling a half-made drink into the sink—didn’t care.
He took the bucket: “Why didn’t you call me?”
Duy Long: “It wasn’t that heavy—I could manage!”
He said it, but was panting and wiping sweat. Đức Công scooped ice into cups, glanced upstairs: “Asking for ice when we’re slammed. I’ll dump it on their head next time.”
I laughed inwardly: Customers are gods, but people still curse the heavens sometimes.
We three hustled nearly half an hour to finish 30 drinks. Without a word, we all collapsed onto chairs, gasping like war survivors. Still, we were happy—who complains about money?
I nudged Đức Công: “Hire someone new already—holidays are coming! With promos too, you and I will run ourselves ragged!”
Đức Công, still catching breath: “I’m trying—they won’t apply!”
Duy Long, first time experiencing this chaos, panted: “I’m heading home, Hưng. You two take care!”
Đức Công answered for me: “Yeah, rest up, kid! Thanks a ton!”
Suddenly Duy Long’s face flushed—maybe from all the running? I added: “Yeah, go rest. Thanks!”
Just then a group of students finished upstairs and headed out. Đức Công pulled Duy Long closer, both squeezing behind the counter to avoid the rush. Once clear, I grabbed the plastic bucket, tucked a rag into my apron pocket: “I’ll clean upstairs.”
Đức Công hummed agreement; I headed up. I took stairs two at a time, happily wiping tables. But before finishing, another group came up—exam season, totally normal.
I figured Đức Công was handling orders below and hurried to help. Instead, Duy Long brought drinks upstairs. I asked: “You didn’t leave?”
He served the customers, then answered: “I stepped out and another group came in. Figured I’d help finish. Might as well do it properly. Clean slowly—Công says he can manage alone.”
I mumbled okay and kept cleaning, checking the upstairs bathroom too. Ten-plus customers—Đức Công could handle double alone. Duy Long ran up and down three or four times; I heard ice clattering below.
Finished cleaning, I carried the bucket down. At the stairs I heard Đức Công loud: “I told you not to listen! Cut your hand—see? Sit and wait—I’ll run to the pharmacy next door for supplies!”
I carried the bucket into the kitchen, muttering to myself: “My bad luck is fucking insane!”
When I came back out, Đức Công had just returned. Duy Long sat on the bench; Đức Công sat beside him, one hand gently lifting Duy Long’s injured one, the other ready to pour antiseptic.
The alcohol hit the cut—Duy Long flinched and hissed softly from the sting. Đức Công scolded: “I told you to fill it and call me—why so stubborn? You know it hurts!”
Duy Long pointed with his other hand at Đức Công’s finger: “You cut yourself too. If it gets infected from holding mine, you’ll suffer even more.”
Đức Công checked—sure enough, a small cut on his own finger. Probably too rushed earlier to notice the pain. That bucket had nicked him countless times; I kept telling him to throw it away, but he’d always say: “Nah—this was the first bucket I bought when I opened the shop! It’s sentimental—how could I toss it?”
Yet that very evening, after Duy Long left, I spotted the bucket abandoned next to the roadside trash bin.
In the blink of an eye, the holiday arrived—but the nightmare was that Đức Công still hadn’t hired any new staff. No problem—I already had a solution!
What’s the point of having a boyfriend if you can’t make him work for free? Right?
So that day, Hoàng Tuấn officially became the café’s unpaid employee. But no matter how much I calculated, I never expected that by afternoon all three of us would still be running ourselves ragged. In the middle of the chaos, my phone buzzed—I was too busy working to check it.
Only after the “capitalist torture session” ended did I finally look. It was a message from Duy Long: “Busy today?”
I texted back: “Three people here are literally showering in sweat! Got time to come save your boyfriend?”
I was only joking—never thought Duy Long would actually show up!