Sailor Mouth

As the day wound down at the Krusty Krab, Mrs. Krab's gruff voice bellowed from her office, "SpongeBab! Take out the garbage before you clock out." SpongeBab perked up, her bright blue eyes shining with naive enthusiasm as always.

"Aye aye, Mrs. K!" she chirped, sashaying her curvaceous figure over to the refuse bins. SpongeBab's yellow shirt clung tightly to her ample D-cup breasts, the fabric stretched taut over her protruding nipples. Her red tie hung between the succulent swells of her cleavage, drawing the eye down to her flat tummy partially exposed by her high-waisted shorts. The denim hugged the flare of her wide hips and heart-shaped rear, accentuating every luscious curve of her seaside bombshell body.

"Chk." Her unblessed workmate, Squidame, who was putting away the art magazine she occasionally pretended to read, seemed less appreciate this delightful view, "Enough of these fumes and unpaid overtime. I'm going home now!"

"Aye, take-the-garbage-out, Squidame!" Her heartless boss arrogantly replied.

I'm ready! Ignored the aggressive conversation, SpongeBab thought giddily, utterly oblivious to how seductive her every movement appeared. Grabbing the bulging trash bags, she wiggled and bounced her way out the back door, her pillowy cheeks jiggling hypnotically with each step.

The pungent aroma of the dumpster out back assaulted her senses as SpongeBab hauled the garbage over. As she struggled to hoist the heavy bags up and over the rim, her firm breasts mashed together, straining the buttons of her shirt. Her back arched, thrusting her shapely rear out enticingly. Little did she know, a leering garbage worker was watching her strain and sweat, entranced by the incredible figure she sported.

As SpongeBab tossed the bag into the dumpster, something caught her eye – a small collection of graffiti scrawled across the side of a nearby trash can. Curiosity piqued, SpongeBab cocked her head and leaned in closer, her plump rear sticking out invitingly as she bent over to inspect the crude words and drawings. She mouthed the unfamiliar phrases, trying to decipher their meaning.

"Eat this pha...phatty? Hot...piece of ass?" she mumbled, her brow furrowing in confusion. The worker's eyes bugged out at the delicious view of SpongeBab's thong-clad cheeks and those lewd words she said with that innocent voice. He gave into temptation while delivering a hard smack right to SpongeBab's exposed backside: "Well, well, looks like we got ourselves a hot little sailor mouth out here!"

"Eeek!" SpongeBab yelped in surprise, whirling around with reddened cheeks to see the cackling man hurry away. She stared after him in bewilderment, one hand rubbing her stinging rear. What in tarnation was that all about?

Just then, her best friend Patricia sauntered up in her typical vapid haze. The buxom pink bimbo wore a skimpy crop top that bared her pierced navel and considerable underboob. Skintight short-shorts clung to her bodacious curves, the fabric riding so high it was nearly a thong leaving her dimpled cheeks on full display. Her plastic heels clacked on the pavement in rhythm with the exaggerated sway of her childbearing hips.

"Heyyyy skank!" Patricia greeted in her distinctive vacant drawl, sidling up next to SpongeBab. She started tossing a hacky-sack with her overly made-up face, lip-gloss smeared across her plump pout.

SpongeBab blinked at her friend's typical crudeness but decided to seek her advice. "Hey Patty...some weirdo just smacked my behind and look at those phrases! Sit on my face and rearrange my genetics... What does that even mean?"

"Ohhhh that?" Patricia rolled her amber eyes as if it should be obvious. "Those're just some #spicygirl phrases all the basic hoes are sayin' nowadays..." Without missing a beat, she started idiotically rapping out these slangs.

Utterly clueless, SpongeBab's mouth dropped open at the barrage of atrocious profanity spewing from her friend's stretched lips. "P-Patty! I can't believe you'd say things like that! Where'd ya even hear those nasty words?"

"I dunno, just online I guess." Patricia shrugged vapidly. "Anywho, you wanna go cruisin' for fuckboys after your lamesauce shift? "