A Food Truck Foible

In this story, a mentally-challenged person is taken advantage of. This is completely a work of fiction and means no disrespect to anybody with any kind of disability. I strongly advocate that no person, healthy or otherwise, should ever be taken advantage of.

*****

In the 19th century, Mark Baker might have been flogged out of New York as the village idiot, if one would call New York a village. Medical advances of the 20th and 21st centuries allowed doctors to diagnose his autism, and movies like Rainman had encouraged people to accept him into society.

His middle-class parents had tried to protect him for the last 24 years. However, even they realized they wouldn't be around to help him forever. They had spent the better part of the last year (and most of their savings) in intense therapeutic workshops with him and just a couple of months earlier his psychiatrist had cleared him for basic jobs like of a janitor, loading and unloading, maintaining official records, etc.

Mark was hired by a warehouse where he spent his weekdays transferring crates of T-shirts to and from trucks under the close supervision of a floor manager. Every evening he continued therapy and on weekends he liked to cuddle up on the couch at home. Like every other day, the lunch horn sounded through the warehouse and Mark located a safe place for the crate he was shipping. His manager helped him punch out and he walked a block down the street where he would get lunch from a food truck every day.

He walked to the Street Kitchen truck parked by the curb and joined a queue of hungry office-goers. As he stepped up to the window, a soft, kind voice floated out, "Hey Mark! The usual?"

"Hi Abigail. Yes, please," he replied, handing her a $10 bill. He hung around for a couple of minutes and soon stuff started appearing in the window - a large grilled cheese sandwich, a fresh salad, some fries and a thick chocolate milkshake. It would have been difficult for anyone to carry it all out at once and Abigail didn't mind if he would come back to pick up some of it later, but Mark preferred to take his meal and sit by a fountain a block away from the warehouse in the opposite direction.

He stepped aside so that the next person could place their order, then stuffed the paper bag of fries into the already bursting box that held the sandwich. He picked up a bottle of tartare sauce and squeezed some of it into the box. He placed the salad box on top of the sandwich box, and picked them both up so that his first two fingers and thumb were holding the salad box, and the last two fingers supported the lower one. With his left hand, he picked up the milkshake and took a swig through the straw.

"See you tomorrow, Abigail," he shouted into the window as he quickly turned around.

Unfortunately for him, a young and very tense-looking 20-something woman was standing directly behind him. Apparently she was reaching for a bottle of sauce when Mark pivoted on his feet. If they were a pair of cymbals, one would have been deafened by the clang. Instead, she shrieked as their shoulders collided and most of the milkshake floated straight out of the cup and poured down her chest and waist. Some of it even got into her hair.

Mark saw that she had curly blonde hair wrapped under a colorful scarf, and a pair of dark glasses on her face. Ruby red lips contrasted the blackness of the glasses. A survey of the damage revealed that she had a very sexy (an emotion Mark didn't know of yet) stiff red dress with a deep plunging neckline. It went down to just above her knees. Brown stains were growing larger as the milk was dripping down her clothes, some of it collecting under the black belt that cinched her small waist. A black leather handbag adorned her left shoulder. One wouldn't need to look too closely to similar rivers forming down the very deep cleavage and the exposed mounds of her large white breasts.

"Holy fuck! Look what you've done!" she screamed fiercely. "How am I supposed to make it to my audition now?" Her elbows were raised by her side in helplessness, as though she was avoiding getting them soiled!

Mark hurried turned around, emptied his hands on the little platform of the truck and snatched a handful of paper towels from next to the window. Abigail had seen what had happened. If this woman got very aggressive, she would step in, but right now things hadn't got too bad.

For the third time, Mark swung around (he really has to stop doing that), separated one paper towel from the stack and, without warning or apology, started rubbing the milk off the woman's dress. He braced her by the shoulder with his left hand and rubbed hard with his right. She was so shocked that before she knew what was happening, he had already made four long strokes from shoulder to belt, even reaching under the belt to soak up the fluid. She had gasped when he had roughly pressed each boob. Every couple of strokes he pulled out a fresh napkin.

The third napkin started from under her clavicle and went straight past her sternum to her navel, below which the left and right halves of her dress met. He stuffed the towel (and his fingers) under the belt past her navel, then returned up. Once again the woman let out a gasp. If Mark could have looked through her glasses, he would have seen that her eyes were wide open with shock and horror, staring at nothingness.

He got a fresh napkin and rubbed the exposed blob of her left breast, then reached under the dress to rub all of it properly. He repeated the action with the right breast. The tingling sensations from her nipples brought the woman back to her senses. She forced herself out of his grip and took a step back. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

In an extremely mild and matter-of-fact manner Mark replied, "I'm sorry your clothes got spoilt. You were standing in my way. I'm helping you clean it up."

She didn't know what to say. Something about his mannerisms indicated his innocence. Also, having already been put so publicly on display, she no longer wanted to create a scene here. "Look here, I wasn't standing in your way. You bumped into me. Anyway, what's happened has happened. This is not the way to clean up this mess though."

She turned around and walked towards an apartment building. Mark, having received no instructions, and having left the clean-up mission only halfway, picked up his remaining lunch and followed. Maybe she meant to show him how the cleaning was supposed to be done? Her parting sentence could be interpreted in any number of ways.

Mark saw the woman ring through all the buzzers next to the apartment door. Someone rang her in. He quickly followed before the door closed. He was three steps behind her when she looked behind. She stopped and took off her glasses. "It's you again! Why are you following me?"

"I wanted to help clean up your dress," he said, holding up a few more paper towels like a trophy. "Then I can eat lunch and get back to work."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "What's your name?"

"Mark."

"Look Mark -"

"What's yours?"

"Emily. Look Mark -"

"Pleased to meet you Ms. Emily," recited Mark as he had been taught, proud of having said it correctly.

"Okay. That's nice. Now I can clean this up by myself. I'm sure this building, like many others around here, will have a laundry room somewhere in the basement. I don't think I will need your help. Thanks."

"Oh, no. My boss says, if I make a mess, I must clean it up, or he won't let me go for lunch. I have to help you clean this up, or today I will go hungry."

Emily looked at him for a few moments, threw her hands up helplessly, then started searching for the laundry room. She found it, flopped her handbag down, and started looking through the shelves to see if anyone had left behind any detergents. As she had expected, she found some. Mark was just observing her from the doorway.

"Turn around and wait outside, Mark."

"But I must help you clean."

"Listen carefully Mark. I am going to take off my dress. I will throw it in the washing machine with this powder and it will do all the cleaning. There's nothing for you to do."

"Okay," he stepped very close to her, "Give me the dress. I'll load it into the washing machine."

Again, without warning, he put his hands under her dress around her shoulders and slipped them off. The shoulders of the dress were now resting on Emily's elbows and raised forearms. The dress somehow managed to just hide her nipples, but the slightest tremble would have shaken it off.

This time Emily recovered faster from her shock. She pulled her dress straight back up, walked past Mark and closed the door. She returned to her spot, exhaled an exasperated sigh, stood straight, shook her head and conceded, "Okay. Go ahead and take it."

Once more, Mark stuffed his hands under the dress and popped the shoulders off. This time, it was hung by her belt. He fumbled under the folds, found her belt and after a lot of struggling, managed to undo it. The dress slipped off with the belt down to her black heels. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. She had a very small completely shaved slit.

Mark hadn't noticed, but the freedom from the dress had caused Emily's nipples to stiffen a little. He also hadn't noticed that his dick was having similar reactions. It had happened to him several times in the last many years, but it was of no consequence to him. It rose and shrank, and he even felt pain sometimes. He could never tell why.

He bent and held the dress down so Emily could step out of it. She was now enjoying this princess treatment a little. The situation made her a little wet too. She sat on top of a top-loading washing machine, carefully balancing herself so that the flimsy lid would't cave in. Mark stuffed the dress into another machine and poured in some detergent.

"You want to set it on warm water and a gentle cycle," she instructed. He didn't know how to do this. Emily hopped off her perch, stood behind him, and leaned in to squish her boobs against his back. She held his right hand and helped him turn the knobs and hit start. Water started gushing in and Emily guided his hand to close the lid. She went and hopped back on to her washing machine. "Now we wait. It will take at least 40 minutes for the clothes to wash and dry."

"Oh, okay. My lunch break gets over in another 30 minutes."

"Like I said, you don't need to be here."

"Oh, it's okay. I'll wait. My boss won't let me have lunch if he finds out I made a mess."

"Why don't you have your lunch now? My clothes are getting washed, aren't they? Once the machine finishes, I'll just wear them and walk out of here."

Mark looked at her. It was a good plan. He could eat and leave once the spin cycle was over, and he'd be no more than 15 minutes late. But that was not what he was thinking. He reached out to her head. Emily jerked a little, but then held steady as Mark gently pulled her scarf off her. He opened the lid of the washing machine and threw it in. "It had some stains on it."

Much to Emily's surprise, he then started looking through the shelves for something. She watched him curiously as he retrieved a hand towel from somewhere. Once more, he opened the lid. This time, he only soaked the hand towel in the warm water streaming in. "There's some in your hair. I'll get it," he explained, turning to Emily.

She sat at attention, like a pupil in front of a school principal. Mark wrapped one end of the towel around two fingers and very gently rubbed it through her hair wherever he noticed spots of chocolate milk. Emily could feel his warm breath on her and she was getting worked up. She held his waist while he scrubbed her hair. When he indicated that he had finished, she pointed to her torso and reminded him, "Your milkshake had poured all over me. I think you need to clean this too."

"Oh, yes. I'll clean it right away."

Mark now lay the hand towel across his entire palm and started slowly massaging Emily's shoulders, then neck and then chest. He had to hold her back with his left hand and press hard, otherwise he would have had no leverage. Apart from the fact that there was more surface area to cover, he didn't really linger on her boobs, but by the time he reached her stomach, her breathing had accelerated a little and her nipples were very hard.

Mark reached her closed groin and she immediately spread her legs wide. There was a small puddle on the washing machine. Mark cleaned this off after rubbing her cunt. He turned the cloth over and continued rubbing down one leg first, then the other. Emily was feeling ecstatic. She loved this virtual sponge bath. Mark even got the cloth between her feet and shoes to clean the soles of her feet.

When he was done, he replaced the hand towel where he had found it (without bothering to clean it) and leaned against a washing machine next to Emily's. All of a sudden Emily said, "Are you sure none of that milkshake spilled on you? We were standing right next to each other." Mark looked at himself in doubt.

"You know, sometimes just a small splatter can cause a big stain. I think you should wash your clothes just to be sure."

Saying this, she reached out for his shirt and began unbuttoning it. It came off in no time. She stood up and did the same with his pants. She forced them past his shoes, emptied the pockets, then threw them both into the still filling tub. She didn't care about the fabrics and washing instructions any more. She found the same hand towel and gave Mark a rub down. She even stuffed it into his tented boxers to rub his testicles and cock. She spent a lot of time there, "making sure they were absolutely clean".

When she was doing this, her other hand was rolling her right nipple between two fingers. Her neck craned upwards, tilting her head to the ceiling. Mark was just leaning against the washing machine, feeling funny new feelings tingling through his body. Emily pulled the towel out and threw it in one corner, then bent at the waist to blow a cold gust into his boxers. She let go of the elastic waistband with a snap, then sat back down on her washing machine, crossing her legs to put some pressure on her crotch.

"You can eat now," she said.

Mark picked up his boxes and took a large bite out of his sandwich. He offered the salad to Emily. She used the fork to poke a cherry tomato and balanced long strands of cabbage against it. She pulled off the tomato with her lips and spilled the rest of it on to herself. This happened many times. Sometimes the fork would perfectly deliver its cargo, sometimes it would drop them halfway. Note that none of it missed her person on to the floor or the washing machine. By the time Mark finished his sandwich, half the salad was layered on top of Emily's breasts and crossed lap.

He ate half the fries. The rest of them suffered the same fate as the salad. Either in the mouth or on her body. Emily sat in such a way that her boobs were gathered together. Some cabbage and a sliver of potato was wedged into her cleavage. When Mark finished eating, Emily called upon him, "I'm dirty all over again. Could you help me with this?"

Though Mark had noticed Emily's lack of precision, he hadn't complained. In his life, he had come across lots of people who spilled food and this was just a natural occurrence to him. He grunted his agreement and moved his hands towards a piece of food, but Emily stopped him. "No, no. Your hands are soiled from the sandwich. You can't use them. You'll have to clean this up with your mouth."

"Oh, okay."

Mark bent down and picked up a strand of cabbage off her waist with his lips. "Make sure you get it wet to clean it properly," she instructed, holding his scalp so that she could guide him (and so that he couldn't go anywhere). His hair felt rough. He opened his mouth wide so that he was sucking on her skin and licking her waist. She held him there for several seconds before moving him to the next piece of food.

His mouth journeyed from Emily's stomach in to her navel up to her left breast. Patches of saliva reflected off her smooth tanned skin. She guided his head in such a way that it pushed her boob up as far as it would go. When it fell back into place, she pressed his head into the soft flesh and instructed him to clean. Even though the food was supported only on the top of the mound, Emily held Mark over her nipple. Mark sucked a large volume of her breast in and licked. He licked and licked and licked and Emily moaned, but held him in place.

Finally, she allowed him to roam around the rest of the breast to actually pick up some food articles. Her left breast was shining like a diamond by the time he was done and she moved him to her right breast for the same treatment. Again, she held his face tight against her body and Mark suckled on her nipple as though he would drain her dry. She had a very shiny torso within a few minutes. Mark was breathing very heavily now, but she didn't know whether he was getting excited or if it was because he was forced to breathe only through his nose.

Though a fry and some cabbage were still wedged into her cleavage, Emily guided Mark to her lap. He licked her thighs from knee to hip. Once all the food was gone, she uncrossed her legs and continued cleaning her inner thighs. She spread her legs as much as she could, then used her fingers to roll more skin up. Mark licked as much as he could reach and Emily stuck his face right into her prize. He continued his work on her pubic hair and her lips. She used her fingers to part the lips and his tongue was in.

Juices started gushing out of her in a steady stream and Mark had to continuously clean it up. Problem was, the more he cleaned, the more wet it got. Emily was gasping in delight. The working washing machine gave a loud beep to signal the start of the wash cycle. This brought her back to Earth and she lifted Mark's face out of her crotch.

She brought him up to eye level and pointed to the tightness of her cleavage (somehow, through all of this she had managed to keep her globes tightly stuck together). "You can't get your face in here. It's too tight," she explained. "Do you have something that can fit in here?"

Mark held up his fingers. "No, not those. Remember the sandwich? Oh, I know how we can clean this up." She released his head and yanked down Mark's boxers. She was glad to see that he was fully erect and a little wet. "I am going to lie down on the floor. Please use that to clean this up."

Emily lay down flat on the floor, now using her fingers to hold her boobs in. Mark got out of his boxers and tried a few different positions by which he could get his member between her knockers. They were all very awkward. Finally, he straddled her and pushed his dick in from below so that the food would be pushed out. Emily helped him with this and very subtly released the pressure on her boobs when he entered. Once he was all the way in, she squeezed them tight and started juggling them up and down, giving him a very hard boob hump.

The food fell off her on to the floor, but she didn't stop. She even raised her head so that every now and then she could kiss the head of his dick and taste his juices. She kept rubbing his dick vigorously with her boobs until Mark was forced to let out a moan in agony. Pulses of electricity were ripping through his body. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he was sort of enjoying it.

Emily slowed a little bit, then stopped, but held Mark's rod in place. She looked at his dick and pointed out to Mark, "Oh, look. You got a little something here. I'll clean it up for you."

Without waiting for a reply, she shifted under him so that his cock was pointing accusingly at her face. She licked the head, then the balls, then the shaft and took all of it into her mouth. She held on to Mark's back as she bobbed up and down. Mark really liked what was happening to him. Her mouth was warm and the electricity streaking through his body was no longer in pulses. He was trembling and suddenly ejaculated a huge volume of semen.