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Hooter's Waitress Humiliation

By: exhootersgirl



If the story of a young woman's manipulation and, dare I say it, exploitation in a humbling and humiliating way is something you find entertaining, then you will love what happened to me.

First, I have to say this is completely true. As I think back on what happened, what I did, from the perspective of my 33 years it is all I can do not to cringe. The second impulse that hits me when I think about it, is the question of how could I have been so stupid as to put myself in such a position in the first place. I suppose it was because I was young and naïve. I had grown up in a small town and had gone off to college in the big city (Houston). I was freshman in college and having a hard time financially. My parents were far from rich, and were what most anywhere else would call blue collar middle class. Even so, because of my looks, in our small town, I had been in the popular set, the equivalent of high school's upper class. The transition to the huge University campus had been a shocking change.

One day I was in the student bookstore, holding up the cashier's line, struggling to pay for a used textbook, when I heard a voice behind me. 

"How short are you?"

I turned and saw a pretty, slender brunette with an obviously enhanced pair of breasts straining her sweatshirt. Breast augmentations on college girls in Texas weren't exactly an uncommon phenomenon, but she had the super tanned, pink lipstick, and cheerleader-borderline- maybe could have been an exotic dancer- look that seemed to heavily populate the campus. She smiled and there was a genuine sympathy in her expression. 

"Uh...about 5 dollars, I think," I said.

"Here," she said digging into her purse to offer a bill.

I took it with an embarrassed smile and paid the cashier. I wlked outside and was still getting my belongings together when she walked out. I looked at my benefactor and said, "I can't thank you enough. I...I really am embarrassed. I promise I will pay you back. I had no idea that a used book would cost so much."

She grinned at me and said, "Everything in this city is expensive, I'm Gena by the way."

"I'm Kim," I said.

There seemed a real sympathetic quality to her interest and within a few minutes I was telling her all about myself, my background, small town, about school, everything.

She shook her head.

"Oh hon, with your looks there is no reason why someone like you should be struggling for cash. Where do you work?" I told her I was looking for a part time job that could work around my class schedule. As soon as I said it she broke out in a huge smile.

"I know just the place," she said and hooked an arm in mine, "In fact I am heading to work now."

She walked me to her car, a brand new Miatta and got in. There was an ease, an assurance that I envied immediately and wanted to share. She was just so confident. College was not intimidating to her. She was "in control" of her situation. Almost unconsciously, I began to follow her lead. It had always been something of a flaw in my personality that I liked, almost needed, to be one of the "in crowd" no matter how that was defined in my brain. In my small town it had been no problem, but at the "U" things were so different. Everyone else seemed to be in on a big secret to being cool and I was not. In Gena I had found an elder (sophomore), an adviser, and a route to being back in control of my own life. It was almost a relief. Conversely in the short time that I had known her I was also, quickly, very susceptible to her suggestion. 

We drove down the street off campus and across the highway, chatting all the way. We talked about music, school (she was going to be a nurse), shopping, clothes, boys, movies, just everything. In my estimation she was nothing short of glamorous. I was completely caught up in the conversation as we pulled into a huge strip mall parking lot. My distraction ceased though when I realized that we were slowing to park in front of a Hooters restaurant.

"You work...here?"

She grinned, a little at my surprise I think, and climbed out of the car, grabbing a small gym bag.

"Yep. Great money too. Come on!"

I looked from her to the restaurant with its big orange and wood façade. I had always been pretty modest and conservative growing up. In part it was the way I was raised. In part it was also because Hooters was the sort of place I knew my family would not appreciate or find acceptable for their daughter. Finally it was because for the last year of high school, I had experienced a "development", as my mom called it, that had made my body of sudden curiosity, speculation, and attention by every guy in school. I had become as my dad kidded, a "bombshell". It had made me more self conscious and modest than anything else. I sat there a second, almost intimidated, but the self-assurance of Gena and the promise of some financial independence overcame my intense basic objection.

"Come on, it's no big deal," she laughed.

Her laugh was the tipping point for me, and I manufactured a carefree laugh myself and climbed out of the car. I had always had a near weakness for a challenge or the perception of one. Too often I had reacted too quickly to a question of my courage or affront with poor judgment and a justification that "everyone is doing it" or worse, "You don't want to be chicken". So I closed my gaping mouth, got out of the car, and walked with her through the big glass doors into the restaurant. 

It was early and the restaurant was not yet ready to open to customers. Two guys were setting up in the kitchen and a couple of waitresses were standing around talking and putting paper towel rolls on tables. They looked at Gena ad smiled and at me with a quick and critical appraisal. If anything, it struck me as a challenge, and that served to overwhelm the nagging doubt about being there in the first place. The external features were affecting my decisions and behavior again. I tried to act as if being there was no big deal and casually followed Gena.

"Don't worry about them. They just can tell you are going to be awesome here and they will not make half what you will. Let's go see the manager."

She led me by the arm to the back of the restaurant to the manager's office. Behind the desk was a guy in his early thirties. He was very Italian looking and I could not help but think that he might have been mildly attractive had it not been for his very bushy, pronounced mono-brow.

"Joey, I think I found you a new waitress!" said Gena.

He looked up at me. I found an instant offense at the fact that his gaze never got to my face. He was looking at my body, specifically my chest in such a bold and assessing way. There was no pretense at all that I was being judged on the most chauvinistic scale.

"You ever work at Hooters before?"

"N..n..no sir," I stammered.

He laughed and Gena smiled. I felt like an idiot, betraying my discomfort, and immediately I forced a smile as though I was completely in on the joke and at ease.

"You think you can handle it?"

"Sure," I said, "no big deal." 

I looked at Gena.

"Right!" she said.

"Whatever," said Joey and reaching into the desk handed me an application. "What is your name?"

"Uh, Kim," I said.

He looked at Gena. "Perfect! Get her into a uniform so we can see if she looks alright." 

I had no idea what that meant, but I was about to find out. Gena led me around through the back area to a large door that opened onto a little locker room. It was obviously a changing area for the waitresses. I don't know why I hadn't thought about that. I guess I did not expect that got "Hootered up" and drove to work like that, and since Gena had grabbed that gym bag I should have anticipated, but I found myself taking it all in. On one wall was a small shelf with the dreaded white t shirts and the even more notorious orange shorts. 

"That locker is empty," said Gena and eyeing my shoes added, "Good thing you have on white tennis. I have some socks you can borrow."

She paused a moment then and looked me over, before putting her hands on her hips.

"Okay," she said and turned to the shelf to grab a uniform.

I was just standing there at first until she gestured with the folded shorts and t and gave me a classic "duh" look. 

"You can't wear them over you clothes, you know!"

That jolted me to act. Almost stupidly, I answered. "Oh yeah, sure," and I laughed nervously. I felt like a prize cow being judged, but I tried to smile and act casual as she stood there watching me undress. I slipped off my jeans first, revealing a pair of pink, inexpensive, cotton, string-bikini panties. I wished I had worn something a little more elegant or sophisticated as these were the kind of underwear that you'd buy at Walmart. In front of the confident Gena, I felt like the simple, dumb, country girl I was pretending I wasn't. I tossed the jeans into the locker and then pulled my t shirt up and over my head, taking it off, so that I was just standing there in my bra and panties only.

"Good grief," said Gena.

"What?" I said alarmed.

"Are those real?"

The t shirt I had been wearing had been extremely loose and without it the real prominence, size, and weight of my bust was apparent. I realized she was referencing her shock at seeing my boobs. I was only 5-2, and have been blessed or cursed depending how you look at it since I was a junior in high school with a naturally disproportionate bustline. For the record, I was 110 pounds, and measured 32 double D cup, had a 23 inch waist, and 34 inch hips. I had been really sensitive about my body as it was often the target of outrageous commentary and looks by men, and jokes and catty derision by women.

I swallowed hard and said, "Uh yeah."

"Jesus," said Gena with a mix of being genuinely impressed and a slight tone of something I thought sounded a little jealous.

At that point I started to pull on the orange shorts.

"Oh no, hon," said Gena suddenly slightly condescending, "You can't wear those panties under those shorts. You'll have monster pantylines. And you'll need pantyhose. There is only one style and one brand worn around here, Peavy, sheer-to-the-waist." She said it like it was a mantra.

"I...don't...uh...have pantyhose with me," I said stupidly.

"That's okay," she said and stepping back, mimicked some game show model. "Ta da," she said as she pointed at a dispenser on the wall.

It was a real dispenser, like a vending machine. Gena put three dollars in the machine and turned the knob. A small cellophane packet with tan hose dropped out. I opened it and saw that it was really sheer to the waist. Turning about 3 shades of red, I pulled off my panties. I was sporting the leftover grooming habits of bikini season and had just a moderately trimmed, barely three-inch wide, "landing strip" of starkly black hair. I was just stepping out on my underwear when the door opened behind me and one of the waitresses walked in. Stunned, I stood bolt upright. She opened her locker, paying little attention to me and as she turned to leave casually glanced at my "muff" and said, "True blondes. You girls. You don't want that little secret getting out." 

I just stood there for a second, embarrassed and seething a little, my darker secret shared and worse, the hint of exactly how shaved things were below. Then I began pulling on the pantyhose. They were tight and supported my legs, but did nothing to visually hide anything at all. I reached for the shorts at that point and as I started to step in, realized that the size on the back tag was XS. I looked at Gena.

"Uh....I am not an extra small!" 

The truth was that I had hips, and buns, and was only in certain brands wore a true size small bottom. Gena read my mind and laughed.

"Here, sweetheart, everyone is an XS no matter what God says."

At that I pulled them on and with the hose underneath did not feel so exposed. It wasn't until I looked over my shoulder at the wall mirror that I realized how much cheek was really showing. It was a lot, and I was standing up straight. I made a mental not to never bend over. I looked back at Gena.

"You are going to make a fortune," she said reassuringly.

I assumed a smile, though my heart was going a mile a minute and reached back to unhook my bra.

"Oh no, no no," said Gena suddenly. "Uh, we wear bras. Put on the top and you will see why."

I did not question her and indeed felt some relief that I would at least not be without a bra. As I have said, I have been pretty self conscious enough about the proportion of my breasts, the nipples are thick and tend to stand out even when I am warm and relaxed, so I was ultra relieved about the bra. The t shirt stretched over my head and as I pulled it down, it strained against my upper torso. I looked in the mirror. The shape, outline, and hue of my bra was evident. Braless, and it would have been like a personal anatomy lesson for the customers.

I paused a second taking in my reflected image. With my blonde hair in a ponytail and the uniform snuggly in place, I looked like some adolescent boy's ideal of the Hooter's poster child. My chest stood out and the shorts rode up showing a lot of pantyhose covered backside. Gena handed me a pair of white bunch socks, which I slipped on and then wadded from mid calf to the tops of my white tennis shoes. Standing up I saw my reflection again and swallowed hard.

"Okay," said Gena, "let's go give Joey a look."

We walked out of the dressing room and fought an impulse to slouch. I felt like my body was completely on display, though technically I had on a lot of material. Despite the bra and the snugness of my top, my breasts moving surprisingly a lot.

We walked to the doorway of Joey's office and he looked up. Immediately his eyes widened. He genuinely looked at me, or my body, with surprise. 

"I told you," said Gena.

"Turn around," he said.

I did, realizing the view he was getting. At the same time it dawned on me the many similar views that customers would be getting too. For the first time I wondered if the money would be worth it. I was on the verge of declining the job, when Gena seemed to read my mind again, and said, "Doesn't she look great?"

I looked at her.

"You are going to be a complete hit and fit in great!"

It was the best and worst thing she could have said. Joey took my application and slipped it into a folder without looking at it. For all he knew I could have been a multiple felon. Just like that, in the span of an hour, I had gone from being a struggling, financially strapped, college student to a fully transformed Hooters waitress. Deep down a nagging consideration for what I gotten into was working on my mind in a slightly doubtful way. 

That naggy little voice dwindled as I started to see the amount of tips I was getting. After only an hour and a half into the lunch rush I was up 150 dollars. I found that if I avoided looking at my reflection in the windows, I could convince myself that I was just doing ordinary waitressing. Had the customers that day been any different I might not have been so self convincing. 

As I would come to know Hooters customers could be categorized into three basic groups. The first were the nice guys. Generally they were nerdy or awed types that just liked interacting with minimally dressed, good looking women. The second type was we called the "rude guys". They were the types that frequented strip clubs and liked that they had money and we needed it. They understood the dynamic of give and take, and were intent on pushing how far they could go, and how far they could get one of us to go, and they were good at getting a lot more for what they paid. They were generally rich, older, and were open with their stares, comments, and more. The really pretty girls often blew them off so they gravitated to the heavier or more needy waitresses that were willing to put up with more or "do" more for the money. The third type was the sort that came in and pretended that they were there for the food. They would seem to ignore the waitress when she was around, but when you turned around quickly would catch them staring.

Gena specialized in all of them, but had a huge following in group three. She would play along making sure that she did a bit of "accidental" stretching or bending over when she knew they were looking. Luckily, on my first day, I had only the first group types.

By the end of the day I had made three hundred dollars in tips alone. I quickly did the math. In a month I would be looking at 3600 dollars, working just three days a week. Whatever doubts I had had earlier disappeared as I considered being able to get a great apartment and maybe a cute little Miata of my own.

For two months, I was in my Hooters honeymoon. All I seemed to wait on were nice guys. I completely forgot how I was dressed. I was sold on the rewards of the job and oblivious to the looks. I had put money down on an apartment, and had signed for a nice little convertible based on what I expected to earn. Things were perfect.

The next month a change took place, for one thing there was a bit of an economic downturn. Guys started having to think about the holiday expenses and were spending more time with families away from the restaurant. The local football team was not doing well and the sports crowd was not as motivated to come out and with no shot at the playoffs, the numbers were even less. I started to find that the big payoff I was expecting was not happening and I started looking at my bank account with less and less enthusiasm. I was doing okay, but the week to week earnings were a source of some slight anxiety. I did not realize it at the time, but I was ripe for being vulnerable to the right combination of the moment and some rude guys. That combination occurred the night the golf buddies came in.

I was working an evening shift to closing. It was painfully slow and had been like that for over a week. I was actually a little over an hour from the end of the shift and only had 22 dollars to show for the night. I knew that I had a car payment due and the way things were going, I was going to be short. Added to that the Christmas Season was starting to ramp up and there were no signs of things getting to much better soon. That evening there was only one other waitress still on, shutting down her station, and in the kitchen the cooks had all but one half of the grill turned off. 

The gold buddies, in their early forties, were all sunburned (it was Houston after all) and had obviously had a beer or two. They might have been engaging in a sport, but they were obviously not super athletic. The truth was that they had received too much money and too easy a time in life. As I walked up, they looked at me like Christmas had come early.

I flashed a practiced smile and said, "Sit wherever you like, guys."

"Which station is yours, honey?" asked one in an Izod shirt.

"Over there," I indicated the far wall facing some darkened windows.

They moved that way andI turned to go and get their silverware set-ups. As I did I overheard the comment, "I know where I'd like her to sit." It was followed by too loud a burst of laughter.

When I returned with the silverware, I noticed that they seemed to be looking at one another in a kind of overtly secretive way. I had dealt with that sort of approach before. It simply meant faking the pleasantries. I smiled. Before I could say a word though, one of them, a fairly heavy guy with a receding hairline said, "Where you going to school?"

I guess I should have guessed that they would figure I was in college.

"Uh, U of H at Clearlake," I answered.

"All right," said another.

"What's your major?"

"Marketing and business, " I said.

They laughed, infuriating me, and the first guy said, "You ought to be great at that."

The big guy told me that they all owned businesses and they thought I should look them up when I graduated.


Hooter's Waitress Humiliation Ch. 02



They did not stay too long after that. They had gotten way more than what they came for, and I, like a ditz had played into the foolish trap set by my own pride. I had been so certain there was no way I would have to admit my true hair color. As they left the restaurant, I realized that soon they would be seeing the glaring proof with their own eyes. I was already so embarrassed, I couldn't imagine how I would soon feel when I had to, God-help-me, waitress for them in my birthday suit. The fact that they were making me wear my white socks and shoes only seemed, in my mind to accentuate how exposed the rest of me would really be. 

I went home to my small apartment that had been such a luxurious upgrade from the dorm room and sat down on my futon. As I had said earlier, I came from a small town and had been the prettiest girl in my high school. I was also the bustiest. The fact that my development had sort of been explosive my junior year had led to a very typical self consciousness about my own body. Just working at Hooters had been a huge, and frankly, unbelievable step that had come about because of an almost pathological need to please and fit in and that had manifested in the person of Gena the sophomore that seemed to have all the answers and the world by the tail. 

"Gena," I thought she will know what to do. I picked up the phone, but just as I was dialing, I realized that I wanted as few people to know about this as possible and I set the princess receiver back in the cradle. Absently I twisted the coiled phone line, thinking.

"Maybe, I could just do it and no one would ever know," I thought. I looked at the small coffee table and saw the overdue notice for the car payment. They were going to pay a thousand dollars, and they had said the guy the party was for was sick. Oddly the fact that it was for a sick friend was the most convincing part. I had always been especially susceptible to peer pressure and a group mentality, and some might even say gullible. More though, I had always been very emotionally sympathetic and if I could not be convinced by other methods, playing on the "Awwwww" factor had never failed with me. I sat there struggling. They had challenged me...and the guy was sick and could not go out anymore. 

"But nude?" I thought, my tummy almost turning with a sort of sick cringing embarrassment. "Nude! In front of a bunch of middle aged guys, and not just a quick look either...waitressing." 

I went through the potential of that. I thought of having the stares and the looks at areas that were bad enough when covered in orange satin or white cotton and how it would just kill me when there was nothing obstructing their view of every detail. I swallowed hard at the thought of these customers seeing my bare breasts and worse...my..."bush". Sitting there all alone in my apartment, I turned red at the thought. Based on their behavior at the restaurant, they would not exactly be gentlemanly. The truth was that they were a lot more like over-aged high-schoolers. I doubted they would do anything that would amount to an assault, but the comments, and how they would be grinning would be hard to take. I went into the bathroom, undressed, and turned on the shower. That helped. The warm water was like a steamy, cascading cocoon and for a bit I forgot that I had been prancing around the restaurant just an hour ago, sporting an aggravated camel toe and giving a near see through t shirt show of my boobs. I turned off the water and stepped out. The bathroom was steamy, but the mirror had not fogged up and as I dried off I saw my reflection. That body was soon going to be seen, just like that. I looked at my breasts and the moderately narrow rectangle of trimmed black hair over the really bare lips below and cringed again. In a microsecond all the nervous dread returned. 

I went into the kitchen and opened a bottle of White Zinfandel and drank a glass quickly. I was not much of an alcohol drinker and being small it had a quick effect. I turned on the TV. I will never forget, there was a movie about a stripper on one of the cable channels. (The money I thought would keep rolling in from that job based on that first month had led me to overspend on a lot of stuff). I knew that like the car note, the cable bill was overdue. I watched about ten seconds of the show and switched the channel over to something else. I had a second glass and already pretty blotto, I went into the bedroom, pulled on my old soft high school t shirt and a pair of panties and climbed into bed.

"Maybe," I thought slightly drunkenly it won't be as bad as you think. 

Ah, alcohol.

The next day was the day before the party. I awakened to the phone ringing. Even though I had not had a huge amount to drink, my head hurt a little and I looked around with a sort of desperate thought of "what time is it?" I looked at the clock. It was eight forty and I had a nine o'clock class. I jumped out of bed and ran to the living room of the apartment and picked up the phone. Despite my intense panic about class, the voice on the other end stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Hey sleepy head, did I wake you?" The voice was distinctly male and recognizable. Suddenly it all came flooding back. I had given them my number. 

"Idiot!" I thought to myself.

"Uh, yeah. I was just getting up," I said.

"Yeah, guess it was a long night. We all had fun though. You are a great sport ," he said.

"Oh...uh...thanks," was all I could come back with.

"Yeah, hey listen. I had a chance to talk with our sick friend and he is really looking forward to this. This will really lift his spirits and I just wanted you to know we are all just going to have a really great time and you are great for honoring the bet."

He was smooth. In retrospect I have to give him that. Had he taken a different approach I might have backed out despite the money. But suddenly he was acting like such a nice guy, and it was a good cause for his sick friend. I was being played and did not even catch on.

"Yeah. He has really not been doing too well, but when we told him about the party and you, it was amazing. I think it is really sweet of you to help out like this. Really sweet."

"Oh.....uh...yeah...you're welcome," I said.

"Yeah? Don't forget now, just the white socks and the shoes ok?"

"Uh yeah, I remember," said

"That's super. 

"Hey," I said, "look, I don't...I haven't done anything like this before...I want to make sure....none of you guys will tell anyone, right?"

Thinking back I realize I might as well have asked them if they loved me.

"Oh no," he said emphatically, "no way. This stays between us. I mean, God imagine if the word got out that you did this? You'd have every guy at Hooters trying to get you to do it at their party. No, Kim, we won't say anything. We like you. You seem like a nice decent girl. And I know this is a big deal for you. We just want to have some fun and help our sick friend feel better. You are doing that for him. We respect that. You're kind of like a nurse in way, if you think about it."

I should have hung up. I should have called bullshit. I should have seen that the word respect being directed my way as we talked about me waitressing stark naked in front of a bunch of guys that were old enough to be...well my older uncles anyway...was completely ridiculous. But I wanted to not feel like a bimbo. I wanted to be liked and I was a fool. 

"Oh my God," I said, "I am almost late for class!"

"Oh yeah? You better go. We don't want to slow you from becoming the next big female executive. Business and Marketing major, right?"

"Uh huh," I said.

"Okay, well we will see you tomorrow at 6. Here is the address."

Quickly I scribbled it down and realized that it was in the ritzy section of big homes that overlooked the bay. I hung and ran into the bedroom and grabbing a pair of jeans and a bra and t shirt, I dressed quickly. There was no time for makeup and since I could not do anything with my hair, I pulled it up in a scrunchy. I slipped on my Nikes and ran out of the door. I looked like crap, I knew that. I got to class late and slunk into a chair as the professor handed out the last round of graded papers for the Market Analysis assignment. We were supposed to do an analysis of the local market for a restaurant chain. I had NOT wanted to do Hooters, but I had been pulling more shifts to make up for the customers and money that had dwindled and the manager had offered to give me the official analysis of the Clear Lake area. Pressed for time I had altered it so that the company identifiers were off as attributing and had submitted it. Unfortunately, I had done it while tired and I had not eliminated one line which indicated that it was a business estimate by the company. The graded papers were handed out. I noticed I did not receive one. Puzzled, I listened as the Professor talked about the shortcomings and successes of the other presentations. At the end of the class he said, Miss Keller (Not my name) can I see you for a moment? 

I walked down to the podium and waited as people filed out. Dr. Renfro was a nice guy, but he looked really serious as he spoke. "Look, It's Kim, right?"

"Yes sir," I twanged. When I get nervous my very, very Southern accent becomes more pronounced.

"Kim," you did not do this work. I know. The company address and market contact is on here still. If you are going to plagiarize, do a much better job. I should report you. I should. It would mean a suspension and an F on your transcript and the honors violation would be added to your record for the duration."

"Dr. Renfro, I am so sorry. I am so embarrassed," I said bursting into tears." I work and go to school and I did not mean to cheat. I realize it was not my work. I...please...if there is anyway you can let me redo it."

The tears were legitimate. But they had an effect. Dr. Renfro looked uncomfortable and slightly sympathetic. 

"Please don't cry," he said. "I will let you make it up...but I need a whole new...original paper by tomorrow afternoon. And even if it is perfect, which is impossible, the best I will give you is a C. Is that understood?" 

"Yes sir," I said, turning red and wanting to crawl under the linoleum floor. 

"Okay, then so we are clear. Tomorrow by 5 pm, close of office hours. Or you fail."

"Yes sir."

I left. I had another class, but I would have to skip it. I had to work that afternoon until seven at the restaurant so I would have almost no time to work on the paper. That meant a severe all-nighter and skipping classes the next day. I raced back home, looking like hell. It had been a rough couple of days and things were not looking up

I had some notes on a concept for a floral distribution business and I started going through them. By the time I had to get ready for work, I was bleary-eyed. I changed, grabbed some makeup, and dropped it into a gym bag along with my uniform and ran out the door. I walked into the dressing room as Gena was pulling on her pantyhose. In just a short time the image of a woman naked from the wait down pulling on her hose with a Hooters t shirt on had become barely worth noticing. She looked at my, and even though I knew, the magnitude of how bad I looked did not hit until I saw her expression. 

"I know. I know," I said. "I was up late and overslept." I looked at the mirror. My eyes were kind of puffy and I looked...not my best.

Gena came to my rescue. She dragged out the makeup case and went to work. It was going to be a matter of putting on more than I normally wore. I was not delighted with the look, but I had to admit it hid what it was supposed to. 

I found that the heavier make up actually affected they way the male customers interacted with me. They seemed, maybe it was just me, a little more smart-alecky and a little freer with comments and flirtation. Given what I had endured and what I knew was coming up, it was not hugely affecting, but it was noted. Eventually I got through the shift and went home exhausted, facing a long, long night.

I made coffee and began writing. By midnight I had an outline, but could barely keep my eyes open. I pushed on and by noon of the next day, I had a near final draft. It was riddled with some typos and errors, but it was getting there. I was in the homestretch, but mentally I was not processing very well. I was feeling emotional like I would almost never make it. I was dying to get a nap and two hours later when I put the final cap on the text and headed across campus to drop it off I was like a zombie. I left the paper with Dr. Renfro's secretary who looked at me like a criminal and went home to catch a couple of hours before I had to get ready for the party. 

I woke up to the sound of the alarm and dragged myself into the bathroom to shower. The water did a little to help wake me and the cold coffee that had been in pot in my bedroom added to getting my eyes open as I sipped it before climbing into the water. The fact that I would be completely exposed meant that I had to especially attend to certain matters of grooming. Trying not to think about that, I took my razor and edged the little black hair pattern and over my labia and even father back. I had a small hand mirror and after hesitating for a second, I mean who wants to look closely at that part of yourself, I lowered it to make sure I was doing a complete job. It meant that I had to contort in the shower, a ludicrous position...the undignified aspect of which was not lost on me... and I made sure that there were no strays that I had missed. I finished up and got out. Turning the water off, again I saw my reflection. As I have said, I am 5-2, I weighed 110 pounds and I had a slightly pendulous but perky bust with medium, slightly darker areola and thick nipples. I had a slightly curved tummy and downstairs the little landing strip of hair. I am naturally built with what many would call a slight bubble butt and every time I moved, my breasts would jiggle and sway slightly. 

I dried my hair and looking at my face realized I looked so tired. I put on a minimal amount of makeup and fluffed out my blonde hair so that I looked like I normally did going in to Hooters. The fact that I was not going in to Hooters weighed heavily on my mind.

"It's for a sick guy....and a thousand dollars. Just get through it," I said to myself. I walked into the bedroom and slipped on a bra....then realizing that it was pretty stupid to be getting dressed up to go take everything off I reconsidered. I truly felt stupid. 

"How did you get dressed to go somewhere and take off your clothes?" I thought. I was still so tired and was not thinking super clearly. I did not even know if I would have a place to change. "Best to not have as much to put back on so I could get out of there faster," I thought.

Taking off the bra, and foregoing panties, I put on the track suit. It felt weird wearing it without any underwear at all. I sat on the bed and pulled on the thick scrunch socks that were part of my "uniform" for the night. Then I slipped on my white tennis and tied them. I stood up taking one last look in the mirror I started out. That last look was a bad idea. My nipples were irritated by the inside of the track suit top and were standing out. Also when I walked, my breasts juggled and wobbled under the top in a massively evident way. I walked out to the car feeling like anyone who looked would know what a shameful thing I was about to do. 

I had a slight drive of twenty minutes to get to the house. I passed the college, went beyond the lower class housing editions, and into the wealthy section. The houses were huge and luxurious. On one side were golf courses and the other beautifully manicured lawns descending to the water's edge. Behind some I could make out really nice boats and a few yachts. I knew these guys had money, but coming from my background and situation, it was intimidating. I looked at the address and pulled along Pompano drive into a cul-de-sac and saw the place. 

It was Spanish style with a tiled roof and a huge palatial layout. I also saw that out front were 5 cars. There was a Mercedes, a Hummer a tricked out pick up, and a Jaguar. Pulling my Miata up, I got out. I could hear music coming from inside. The houses next door each sat on huge lots and so were not really close at all. I sighed and walked up to the front door.

I paused a second, thinking, "Are you sure about this?" and realizing nothing in my life had changed since the drive over I thought, "It is a sick guy...you are doing a nice thing for him," and knocked.

I had to knock twice and even rang the bell before I heard the music dim and the sound of male voices. Then a single set of footsteps came to the door.

The guy, Tim, opened the door and smiled like it was no big deal that I was there. 

"Hey, Kim, great. Come on in."

I walked inside and the opulence of the place took my breath away. Tim owned some big company and there were pictures of him golfing with the mayor, and some celebrities on the walls. I also saw that he had really expensive if kind of eighties style furnishings. 

He put a hand on the small of my back and guided me into the house. I thought at first we would be saying hello before I "changed", but instead he ushered me into the big workout room and office at the front of the house. 

"You look great," he said, glancing me over very quickly. It was so fast I did not register offense. In fact he was so casual, so non-threatening, that I almost relaxed and forgot what I was there to do.

He stepped to the desk and indicated that I sit in a chair in front of it. I did and he opened a drawer and pulled out a huge stack of money. He counted out a thousand dollars. I had never seen a thousand dollars in cash. I must have betrayed that. It was pretty big wad of bills and I did not have a purse. He looked at me.

"I could keep it in here until you are done, if you like?"

Realizing I had just a small pocket in the track suit and that my driver's license was almost completely occupying it, I said, "Yeah sure. That would be fine, I guess." 

That...the transaction... brought me back to what I was doing there. I kind of reddened, but Tim was smooth. 

"Hey, would you like a glass of wine?"

"Uh, yeah, I think I would. Do you have any White Zinfandel?"

He looked at me like I had just fallen off the turnip truck, but smiled widely and said, "You bet, honey. Be right back Tell you what while I am gone, you can go ahead and get ready...change for the party...in here."

I looked at him kind of dumbly and nodded. He was smiling and I smiled back like everything was casual. 

"Oh, uh...yeah...sure."

He left and I stood up and given what I had on...did not have much to do. I unzipped the top and slipped it off. Politely, I sat it on the edge of his desk. I pulled the pants down to my knees and sitting on the chair, removed them over my shoes. I set the pants next to the top. Just like that I was completely naked in a strange guy's office. I sat on the chair looking at the memorabilia on the office wall. Tim was an ex jock, it seemed, from the U of H. He apparently owned a car dealership and there were pictures of him with women and stylish friends on his boat and at dinner parties. There was an award from the city council and a big framed certificate. The more I looked around, the more I realized I was in foreign territory. I was still considering it when he walked back in with the glass of wine.

"Wow," he said looking at me, "Uh...I...uh had to hunt for it...not many drink this, some friends I guess. I like reds and whites. Here you go."

I took the wine and embarrassed at the way he was looking at the top of my LZ between my closely closed thighs, I downed it too fast.

"Oh hey, could I get you another?"

"Uh no," I said, "I don't think I should."




Hooter's Waitress Humiliation Ch. 02



"Look," he said, "I am sure you are a little nervous and embarrassed, but this is just some fun and you are doing a wonderful thing for a very sick man. We really appreciate it."

Losing my composure a little I slumped forward and said, "Please Tim, you guys can't tell anyone I did this, Okay."

"Oh, honey," he said gently, "We wouldn't. Never."

"'Cause if it got out...."

"I understand," he said, "a nice girl like you? It could cause her all kinds of problems. We all understand. Shoot, a friend doesn't snitch on a friend. And you are our friend...right?"

I nodded hoping they would think of me like that and it would be less embarrassing if it was just good humored fun. 

"Good deal, well tell you what, we'll just all have fun with tonight and, as good friends, it will be our secret. What happens at Tim's...stays at Tim's okay?"

I had no idea what he was saying, but me being tired and the wine, made me suggestible. 

"Okay, well...how about you get up and follow me into the hallway. I'll go in and announce you and you can come in, take some drink orders, and we'll get started."

I got up and walked behind him. I tried to be as smooth and elegant with each stride as possible, but my breasts were swaying and slightly bobbling as I walked. I felt more nude, with the socks and shoes on, than ever as I stopped. Tim walked into the room and said, "Okay guys, the moment I know you have been waiting for, our favorite Hooters girl, Kimmy!"

I almost turned and ran, but instead I walked into the room. They were all seated around a curved couch with a big table in the center. The table was stacked with cards and poker chips. Beyond them was a huge TV set and window, facing the water. At first they said nothing. They just stared. Then the guy that had called me camel toe at the restaurant said. "Holy Shit!"

They all laughed and I turned red. 

Tim intervened by saying, "Hey Kim, this is our friend Mike. Our sick friend Mike. He is so glad you are here."

I was no doctor, but the guy did not look sick to me. He was short and kind of funny looking, but not pale or anything. Still you never know. He could have had something and I wasn't going to be rude. 

"Hi, Mike," I said.

"Hi....Kim," he said, "I feel better already."

I walked over swinging and moving outrageously and said, "Okay what would you like to drink?"

The guy named George who had made the camel toe comment said, "Suddenly I want a glass of milk."

I did not get it as the other guy named Steve snickered.

"I'll have a beer," said Mike.

"Beer," said Tim.

The rest wanted beer too. I walked away to the sound of laughter and palms slapping each other in high fives and celebration. I was redfaced and as I went in to the kitchen it occurred to me that, had I not already just stood in front of them naked and had shown them all I had, I would have gotten out of there. 

"Hey, if you like, I left that wine in the fridge. Feel free to help yourself too," yelled Tim.

I was burning with embarrassment at the laughter and swiftly poured myself a glass before draining it.

I walked back into the room and handed out the beers. The first glass of wine was having some slight effect especially combined with my lack of sleep from the day and night before. I set the beers down carefully. As I was doing so, Mike knocked a poker chip onto the floor. He looked at me expectantly. 

"Uh, could you get that Kim?" he said.

Without thinking I instantly bent over to pick it up. It was almost a waitress-reflex. Even before I had stood back up, I realized what a terrible move that was. I had given, of all people, George a complete "moonshot".

"Oh my....fucking...Godddddddddddd," he said laughing. "Oh MYYYYY GODDDDDD, what a gorgeous little shaved clam you have there Kim! And I have to compliment the shave job you did around that cute little rose bud of yours."

I stood up so fast that it made my breasts bounce. The effect of the jiggle was over the top. My boobs banged against each other. It was all reaction, again like a reflex and a huge mistake. I looked ridiculous, and the betrayal of the involuntary pendulous movement of my chest brought back all of the embarrassment in an even more intense fashion. Add to that, George's comment about my most intimate area and the grooming I had done, and I just wanted to disappear. Disappearing, however, was about as far from what I could accomplish as you could get. The guys were all staring between my legs and at my breasts, and the look on their faces was one of juvenile amusement and delight. I felt like a fool. 

"Jesus," George," said Mike, "is it really all shaved back there?"

"Oh yes! Smooth even! Come on, Blondie....oops...I guess that is not accurate," he said to a gale of laughter that made me want to cover my bush with both hands, "Why don't you turn around and give our guest of honor a look. It is his party after all."

I shot Tim a look. My face was a deep red and my eyes were huge. He had been the most sympathetic and I hoped he would rescue me by telling them that such a request was too much. The wine had started to affect my balance and I felt almost light-headed with shame. He simply smiled and gave a shrug that said I had no choice. 

I looked around at all of them. I could not believe it. They were expecting me to do....that. George seemed to know what I was thinking and said, "Come on now, you are getting paid a lot of money..."

"Yeah," said Steve, "and you did lose that bet and promise to do this."

I looked at Tim again. My eyes were welling up with deep shame. I just couldn't...couldn't be expected to do this.

"Well we do want make Mike feel better, Kim," was all he said. . Inside something like complete helplessness seized me. I felt a tightening in my stomach and strange sense of powerlessness seized me. I stood stone still for a second before a sharp smack applied to my buns sparked me to movement. It was so shocking that I actually hopped and a slight little squeal of alarm escaped me. Again my breasts were sent into motion. I looked over my shoulder. George, the pig, had given me a little spank. It wasn't hard. It just startled and offended me. I turned facing him as he picked up a chip and holding it out in front of me grinned and dropped it.

Knowing what Mike would see, and actually hating myself, I bent over. I heard a gasp as my breasts swung down almost hitting me in the face.

"Oh Christ that is awesome. Oh baby."

I stood up as Tim came to my rescue and said, "Okay guys, I for one could use another beer."

I could not bring myself to look any of them in the face. I simply said, "anyone else want a beer?" The answer that came back was unanimous. As I walked away a sense of resignation to my fate began to settle in. 

"Hey, Kim, make sure and bring back that bottle of Cuervo, okay?" came Mike's voice. 

I went into the kitchen and started getting the beers together. It wasn't like I was all that far away, but they talked like I couldn't overhear them, or worse like it didn't matter.

"Oh this is too good," said Steve. "I never thought you would get her to do it. This is priceless."

"Actually it is a thousand bucks," said George, "and I think the bimbo is going to have to earn it...we need a floor show!"

This brought raucous affirmation. I walked back in breasts moving as my hands were full and I set the tequila bottle on the table. I then proceeded to move around setting beers in font of each guy. I was in front of George, kind of leaning forward when I felt a hand kind of heft my right breast. I turned away from him and batted his hand away.

"Hey stop that," I said.

Even as the words were coming out of my mouth I felt another hand behind me grab a butt cheek and squeeze.

I spun sharply making, again, a ridiculous motion of my body. Suddenly I was outnumbered by mischievous hands. On the other side of the table Steve knocked four chips onto the floor.

"Oh come on," I pleaded as George reached over and rubbed his fingers on my landing strip.

"Oh yeah...love the carpet, even if...."

"They don't match the drapes," chorused the rest. 

I looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Hey," I spilled chips," said Steve. "Of course if you don't want to come get them I have another option."

"What is that?" I asked almost willing to do anything other than that.

'Well," he said, grinning, "you agree to do a shot to get out of a task and I'll let you off."

"Whatever," I said.

"No seriously." He poured into a large shot glass.

"Bottoms up or....bottom up," he laughed.

I picked up the glass and poured the burning liquor down my throat.

"Atta girl," he said.

That was how it went. They would do something and offer me an option out. I realized after the third glass of the pungent liquor that I was in trouble. An hour had gone by and I was making stupid mistakes. I dropped things myself, and as I grew more unsteady I had to kneel down to get things. It made my breasts touch and rest on my thighs and provided an obscene view. Unfortunately the drunker I was, the easier it was to make sport of me. This was what they had been after all along. 

The groping became bolder, and I started feeling hands on my nipples giving a little pinch and fingers slipping to touch my pussy. I would try and confront, but it only became a bigger game for them. I did not like George at all and I tried to stay away from him, but in the end it was Tim that turned out to be the more dangerous one. I was in the kitchen getting taco chips when he walked up behind me and said, "You are such a good sport playing the bimbo like that."

"I'm not a bimbo," I said angrily.

"No of course you aren't. You are just playing a part. I know that. I have to say, I overheard Mike say you are making him feel so much better."

"He doesn't look sick," I said.

"Oh he is. Seriously ill. The doctors say he is dying. I tell you he said what would make him feel really good would be if you would go out there and maybe do a little dance or a show."

"A show?"

'Yeah you know, maybe do some jumping jacks or some aerobics or something. We would pay you an extra 200."

He poured another tequila. "Let's toast to 200 more, okay?"

I don't know," I said.

"Hey we are almost to the end of the party. What do you say. You go out and just do a few things he asks...maybe he'll want you to dance or pose a little. Just fun among some friends."

I took the tequila and downed it. It did not sound like a terrible idea. He was sick, or so my drunken brain rationalized. 

"500," I slurred.

"Hmmm," said Tim, "I don't know. For 500 you would have to do whatever he said in the show..."

"Not having sex with him," I said.

"No, of course not," I wouldn't ask. "Maybe you could do some dancing, no touching, but what he says you have to do, agreed?"

"Fine," I said.

We walked back out and Tim said, "Now guys our favorite Hooters girl, Kim is going to give us a little show."

They all started clapping and cheering.

"Now Mike, since you feel so bad Kim is going to let you "direct" her show. Right Kim?" 

His arm was around me and his hand rested on my bottom. As he talked I felt a firm squeeze and one finger was touching my lips.

"Yeah," I said.

"Great. Okay, Mike," let the show begin!"

Mike turned his chair and said.

"Okay Kim, I like aerobics. Do you do aerobics?"

He was talking to me like I was an idiot. I almost said something back, but instead simply replied, "Yeah, I do sometimes."

"Great well you know what is important?"

"What?"

"Stretching."

The other guys clapped and laughed.

"How about some hamstring stretches?"

Like I fool I leaned forward unsteadily, my breasts hanging.

"Oh wait no...uh face the other way and do them.

So like an idiot, numbly I turned and faced away as I bent way over. After making me do ten like that he said, "Ever do berry picking?"

"Oh no way," I said

"Hey, you agreed to and for 500 you have to," said Tim.

I nodded yes and widened my stance realizing they were getting a spread shot. I was so ashamed. As I bent over mimicking grabbing invisible berries away, near, and between my legs on the carpet."

"Well now, from what I see that looks more like cherry picking," I heard George say. 

I was burning with embarrassment.

"Okay...how about jumping jacks? Facing us please."

I turned to face them. This was going to be bad. I started to do them and realized that my breasts were flopping around almost dangerously. One actually almost hit my chin.

"Jesus, she is going to give herself black eyes," said Steve.

The laughter was insulting.

"Okay okay that is enough....," said Mike...now how about you face away and do kick backs?"

Obediently I got on all fours so that my breasts were hanging. They wanted me facing away so I was. I then start to kick back straight out alternating each leg. I realized they were seeing exactly how my pussy and ass looked under my outfit if I were in an aerobics class. I was dying, but I had done so much and it was almost over.

"Now, Kim. Were you ever a cheerleader?"

I looked at him foggily.

"Why?"

"Cause I want you to do 'two bits' and end in the splits for us."

The guys were beside themselves as I started in doing the cheer. It got no better when I finished and slid into a full split on the carpet.

After that he said, "Well, I wasn't sure that you were a cheerleader, but I know you area Hooters girl." He indicated a hula hoop against the wall. I knew what he wanted. If you have ever been to Hooters you know that the waitresses sometimes have to pour a beer while hula-ing or do a hula hoop for the customers. Doing it naked was something else. By that point I did not argue. I walked over and dropping it over my head began rotating my pelvis. It made my breasts sway and the look was exactly what they wanted. They made me do it a while.

"Okay," said Mike 5 minutes later as he was almost falling out of his chair with laughter. "Do you want to stop?"

"Yes," I said.

"Okay...if you will do one more thing for the next five minutes, we will call it all done."

"Okay," I said, waiting.

I should have known better, but I was pretty messed up. Mike looked at the others and smiled. 

"For the next five minutes, either you get up on the table and let George play with your pussy in front of us or you play with your own pussy in front of us."

I looked at him like he was crazy.

"Hey...you want it to stop. Is it George or you do it yourself?"

I was on the verge of crying but I did not want to give them the satisfaction. The idea that these jerks would be able to say that they had seen me masturbate for them would be too humiliating. Yet, I wanted it to be done.

"Well?" said Mike.

"I....I...I'll do it."

Everyone, but George looked delighted.

I crawled up on the table and lay down on my back. I closed my eyes. It was just too humiliating to look any of them in the face. I was so buzzed. I reached down between my legs and started to rub. 

The effect on them was instantaneous. They were saying things.

"Oh yeah, you little bimbo."

"Pet that little pussy."

"Pinch those big udders."

I was so ashamed.

"Talk about an exotic flower...."

"I think Hooters will have a new daily special. The blue plate bimbo"

I continued to rub. I was so drunk and the even though the comments were so offensive, I started to get aroused. Fortunately after 5 minutes of nipple pulling and clit stimulation, I was close, but had not orgasmed. I started to sit up.

"Hey, Kim," said Tim, "Look, you have old Mike there pretty turned on. How about you two get it on while we watch?"

"It will make me feel better," said Mike and the others all laughed.

"No way," said sitting up woozily. I am getting my money and my clothes and I'm going home.

I climbed off the table and stumbled across the room not caring how I looked. I then walked out the room totally humiliated and went up the hall to the office. I went in unsteadily and looked at the desk. For a second, I thought I had made a mistake that I had gone into the wrong room. I was buzzed and it was a big house, but I saw the certificate from the mayor. It was the right room. There was only one problem. My track suit was nowhere to be found. I turned around and looked to see if I had set it somewhere else. I looked under the desk, on the chairs, and I realized, they had hidden my clothes. I also realized that the stack of money was not there either. I walked back down to the living room where they all sat smiling.

"Welcome back, Kim," said George.

I put my hands on my hips and tried to look serious. I immediately realized that at 19, naked, having done what all I had, that these guys were not going to be intimidated. For a moment I thought about threatening them with a call to the police, but I remembered the certificate, the civic stuff, the pictures, and I knew I wasn't in a position to win.

"Please give me my clothes," I said.

"Hey Kim," said Tim, "look we all just want to see you give Mike the ultimate good time. I mean you have already shared with us so much of your talents..."

At that, George giggled. I so hated that guy.

Tim pressed on soothingly.

"If you just do this one last thing, we will give you an extra thousand dollars and your clothes back. That's 2500 all together and you leave and no one will ever know. You'll help a sick man enjoy himself and we just want to see. What do you say?"

I already felt like what my grandmother called trailer trash for what I had already done. Tim's words "you shared so much" reverberated in my head. I was drunk and had masturbated for them. If I just did it with Mike, I thought, it would be over. I would have my money and I would be out of there. I looked at Mike and thought in a blurry way that he really did not look that sick. I tried to think, but the alcohol and the fatigue combined made my mind a blur. 

"And you won't say anything to anybody? Nobody will know."

It was the stupidest thing I could say. The guys looked delighted, especially Mike.

"Nooooo," they said in unison.

We went down the hall to a big bedroom and Mike started grinning and said, "been with a lot of guys, Kim? I mean at Hooters I'll bet you get a lot of offers."

I looked offended and said, "No."

"How many boyfriends have you had?"

"Two," I said.

He grinned even wider and started undressing. It was a complete set up, but in my wildest dreams I could not have anticipated what he had as far as endowment. I stood there for a second as he dropped his boxer shorts and stared at his huge penis. It was easily 9 inches long, lazily semi-erect and very, very thick.

"Oh shit," I said.

"Come here, Kim," he said and he actually pointed at the floor in front of him.

"You can't say anything to anybody. You promised," I said.

"Do a good job and we won't."

I walked over feeling like I was out of control and feeling his hand on my head, kneeled in front of Mike. He reached down and hefted his cock and lightly slapped it softly on my face. 

"Lick it all over, Kim."

I opened my mouth and extended my tongue running it all over the soft veiny skin. The guys were laughing and going nuts as he dragged it across my open mouth and the wiry black pubic hair at the base scratched under my nose.

"Oh yeah, honey. Now say, welcome to Hooters, what would you like?"

I looked up at him with his big hardening penis across my lips. I hated him, but I heard myself saying, "Welcome to Hooters...."

The other guys laughed and I heard Tim say, "No suck that big old cock, Hooters girl Kimmy."

I opened my mouth wider and Mike put the head in. closing my eyes and started to suck. Gently I massaged the underside with my tongue as my head bobbed gently and rhythmically. I worked on it awhile softly making wet slurping noises as the sound of occasional comments and laughter mingled with Mike's groans of pleasure. I felt his hands on my head as he pushed it deeper. I do not have a sensitive gag reflex, but he had the biggest penis I had ever seen. I gagged as it plunged into my throat.




Hooter's Waitress Humiliation Ch. 02



"That's okay, babe. Just suck my balls for a while."

That was a new one for me, but I obediently lowered my face and looking up at a spot on a man that I had never seen, began to mouth his hairy sac. I felt so dirty. Above my face, he was stroking his cock as I licked and sucked on his balls. After I had gotten them all wet, he reached down grasping under my arms and raised me up and said, "Get on the bed on all fours, honey. Time to join Mike's trophy club."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I climbed up, my shaved pussy exposed, my breasts hanging. Mike got up behind me as the other guys said, "Oh yeah. Mike 5, Bimbos 0."

He rubbed his penis along my slit and reached around to grasp a nipple. 

"Okay Kimmy," now repeat after me, "Welcum to Hooters."

"Welcome to Hooters," I said as he slipped the thick head in. It was really stretching me.

"Oh my God," I said involuntarily.

He started pushing a little more each time. I was wet from masturbating on the table and still I felt like a little sausage skin being filled. Mike was loving it.

"God she is sooooooo tight," he said to the approval of his buddies.

Soon he was all the way in and I was so overwhelmed by the mass of it that my mouth hung open from shock, mild discomfort and embarrassment. That was when he really began to fuck me. It started as long slow strokes in and out of me. Then he sped up. My breasts were flopping and the guys were saying, "Oh yeah she is made for a big fat one, Mikey. Give her the meat treatment."

He started hammering after that. I was getting the fucking of my life and it was so degrading. At one point he paused deep inside me and rocked his hips from side to side. The sensation was so intense. I felt like all of me had been completely touched inside by him. After the doggy position for what seemed a long time he pulled out and said. "Okay." I looked over and he was lying on his back his cock pointed straight up. 

"Hop on, Cowgirl. Ride the big pony. He was such a jerk, but I had gone this far so I straddled it facing him and started to lower myself on it. I started riding up and down, but he wanted me to more vigorous. Soon I was sliding up and slamming down. My breasts were banging against each other and I knew looked obscene. He did not let that go on for very long as he indicated that I turn and face his feet. I started to rise off his cock, but he said, "Oh no. Stay on it and turn." 

They all laughed as I "spun" on his penis and faced his feet. I was about to do a reverse cowgirl for the first time in my life and in front of a group of older guys. I also realized the view it was giving Mike. Even as I though about what he was looking at, I felt his finger on my anus. It totally freaked me, but I felt him pressing. His finger even went in a little as I worked my bottom up and down on his cock.

I felt a spank and heard laughter as he did it. I closed my eyes in shame.

It ended up after doing that to the point that I had broken a sweat, that he wanted me in the missionary position. He grabbed my ankles and put them on the front of his shoulders. I remember looking up and seeing all the guys watching. Once we were like that he did not last long. He grunted and pulled his cock out of my pussy. With a snap he pulled off the condom he was wearing and began stroking his penis. 

"Sit up, Kim," he said.

I rose up on my elbows 

It was a bad idea. With a high groan he spurted the first jet of semen, hitting me right on the lips. The next jet hit me in the nose and a third long rope went right between my lips into my mouth. I sputtered in disgust and mild protest, but it had been done. He rubbed his cock in my direction a little longer, but he was really done. I leaned over and wiped my face on the bedspread. It was my first facial, and I was so disgusted.

They had gotten what they wanted. As Mike stood there with that monster dangling, he said, "I'm healed! Hallelujah. It's a miracle."

I looked around at the jerks as they laughed at the joke. On a chest of drawers, next to the bedroom door, was my tracksuit, and the 2500. Tim grinned at me and said, "All yours, Kim. You earned it."

This brought another round of laughs as I grabbed my clothing and the money. As I got dressed, they watched me and said, "Well Kimmy, you can waitress here anytime."

I pulled on the suit and walked out of the bedroom, the wad of money in my hands. I was still pretty foggy, and I realized I couldn't drive. I looked at Tim. Could you call me a cab?

He smiled like the nicest guy. 

"Sure. No problem."

He dialed a number and I went to his office to be away from them. As I waited, I could hear occasional bursts of laughter. I looked at the big wad of money in my hand, knowing that they had come out ahead on the deal. I looked out at the night and the big moon.

"What have I done?" I thought.

The clock read midnight. In one evening, I had violated so many of my personal rules and now I was relying on the kindness of a bunch of strange men to keep my dirty secret. As I saw the cab pull up, a sad worrisome impression settled in that I had been a terrific fool and that the impact of my actions might not be anywhere near over.



Hooter's Waitress Humiliation Ch. 03



The cab ride home was degrading. I was obviously disheveled and looked like I had been treated the way I had. Plus, I was a young woman, holding a wad of cash, staggering out of a luxury home where she had been in the company of a bunch of older men. I felt sure the cab driver, a small Middle Eastern man, knew exactly what I had just done. 

The rational part of my brain, almost incapacitated by alcohol, still processed that there was no way he could know. Yet, he continued to look at me in the rearview. We drove on for a while until, unable to contain himself, he spoke.

"What club do you work at?"

"What?" I said.

"What club? Where do you dance? Men's Club, HeartBreakers....XTC?" 

He asked the last one hopefully.

He thought I was a topless dancer or worse. That last club he mentioned was totally nude.

"I don't work at a club," I said.

"Oh, you an independent?"

I did not answer as he added, "I like the clubs."

I looked out the window at the lights of passing stores and houses. 

"I'm far worse than that," I thought.

He got me to my apartment and I climbed out of the cab.

"That will be seven, twenty-five,' he said. 

I was almost oblivious. I was so drunk and tired. I started to peal off a bill, when the driver said, "Give me a little lapdance and I will not charge you."

I handed him a ten and walked toward my front door. I stepped inside and in the cool darkness felt an instant relief. I started across my living room not even bothering to turn on a light and undressed as I went. There were only the two items and in a second I was naked, walking through my apartment. I entered the bedroom and sat on the bed, already feeling a slight soreness from the encounter of the evening, and untied my white tennis shoes. I pulled off my socks and crawled up on the bed. A part of me wanted a shower, but I was so tired, almost numb from fatigue. Before I had time to reconsider I was asleep. The sunlight awakened me. My head was throbbing monstrously and I only moved it because a completely inconsiderate ray of light was shining right into my bloodshot eyes. I felt horrible. As I moved, an achy sensation in my thighs, butt, and between my legs, like I had done about an hours worth of intense aerobics, brought me back to reality. I had done aerobics, and the action of riding on Mike in bed had been work out of a different sort. That simple movement brought back a whole avalanche of recollection and a sense of the most profound embarrassment and regret. Alone in my room it was bad enough. There was still something very abstract about it. I had not considered it yet, but if I had I might have been ill with the potential of seeing physical representation in the form of smiling faces when we ran into each other again.

"At least I won't see Mike again," I thought and as I moved my body sideways on the bed and felt the soreness, was reminded of just how big and vigorous a guy he had been. The sunshine and the recollection of the night before on top of the pounding headache made me slowly sit up. As I did I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked awful.

My eyes were puffy, and my hair was a wild tangle. From the neck down I was the same girl, from a singular appraisal, though every shift was a reminder that some things had changed for me. I ran my hand through my blonde hair and smoothed it a little.

"What have you done, you fool?" I thought to myself.

Almost as soon as the thought cleared my head, I answered myself with, "You stripped butt naked, and let a bunch of middle-aged assholes get you to put on a sex show."

If I knew I would never see them again it would have haunted me forever, but the prospect of running into them at work, knowing that they had seen what they had, knowing that I had done what I did, was almost too much to bear. They would be insufferable, just from the grinning and looks, and god-help-me the comments. I needed them to keep there mouths shut about what I had done, so I knew I would have to be diplomatic.

"Yeah," I thought, "how has that worked so far?"

My needing them to keep quiet and communicating that without establishing openly how much influence they would now have would be tricky. The last thing I wanted was for them to know how desperate I was to keep my actions a secret. 

I stood up and walked into the bathroom. I started the shower and let the bathroom get steamy. I had to work that day after class and I knew there was a good chance they would be at the restaurant. I put that out of my mind and stepped into the warm spray of water indulging in the cleansing pleasure. When I was done I took my time getting ready for school. I blowdried my hair and pulled it back in a ponytail. Looking at my face, I decided not to put on any makeup until I reported for work. I walked out of the bathroom and the shock of the air conditioning on my naked body reminded me of my own anatomy which momentarily brought back a flurry of the last night's exhibition and shame. I stepped over the dresser and grabbed a bra and a pair of panties. It was amazing the effect of simply putting on my underwear had. I was not in the mood to attract attention and I slipped on an oversized grey sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. My sunglasses were sitting on the counter and I put them on. The immediate relief from the light was a lovely and a real deliverance. I was ready to head out.

It was humid morning and already kind of warm in the way only the gulf coast can be and I crossed the street to the campus. The effects of the shower were no match for the weather and I was almost sweating by the time I made class. I was early for once and walked into the back of the room where I slumped in a seat and pretended to be invisible. I did not have a lot of time to myself as Dr. Renfro walked in and looking surprised said, "Kim? Are you here early?"

"Uhm, yes sir," I answered.

"Well, I am surprised." 

He looked around and since we were alone said, "I reviewed your paper. It was very rough. I will be deciding on a final grade soon, but with the penalty for the other one, I am afraid it will be a D."

"Whatever," I said. 

After what I had been through, I couldn't have cared less. Dr. Renfro, however, had no way of knowing and he took my response for one of complete apathy. The class was filing in and I kept on my sunglasses ignoring the looks from some of my classmates. I felt so embarrassed and yet I knew they could not possibly know what I had done. Deep down, I had a suspicion that it would be last real conversation I would ever have with the man and so it really did not matter.

The hour passed and I was time to get back to my apartment to get my belongings together to head over to Hooters. I tossed my items in the gym bag, slipped on a pair of sunglasses and walked outside to the car. I really did not want to go to work. I had twenty five hundred dollars and the thought of calling in sick crossed my mind several times as I drove to the restaurant.

I pulled up to the restaurant and to my disgust saw that the lot was already fairly full. 

"How many guys could really like wings?" I thought, knowing the answer was maybe two. 

The rest were there for the very thing that had taken me to such a low last night. I got out of the car and walked straight through the doors to the back. Even dressed and looking "not my best" the eyes were all over me. I did not look around, but a subtle glance showed, to my relief, no sign of the party guys. I walked on back to the dressing room and opened my locker. No one was there and I started undressing. In just a few minutes I was completely naked and it dawned on me that this had become my routine. Somehow that fact combined with what I had done the night before made me feel so terribly cheap.

I pulled on my pantyhose and the uniform. Once dressed, I looked in the mirror and realized this would have to be a heavier makeup day. I hated that look, but seeing no choice, I put it on.

I walked out on the floor and immediately felt the attention that had been there when I walked in magnified a hundred fold. I tried to blank it out and immediately took orders. The routine was a help. It put me into a sort of dull state. I could avoid thinking. I smiled, leaned over tables and did the surreptitious bending that elevated tips and basically tuned out.

It would have worked had not the doors opened and the three men who had less than twelve hours before been witness to my most depraved moment, entered. They saw me before I saw them and made a huge point of sitting in my area. When I turned around from taking an order and saw their open brazen grins, my heart stopped. I felt like I was working stark naked and the way they stared, I might as well have been. It was too much.

I barely made it to the bar.

"Cover for me will you?" I said to a new girl and escaped to the back. 

I was shaking. I knew even as I was thinking about it, that I could not go back out there. Not even changing I grabbed my bag and slipped out the back door of the restaurant. It was the first time that I had been out in the daylight in my full Hooter regalia and I caught a reflection of myself in a car's windshield. The image was terribly disturbing and made me even more self conscious. 

I slipped into my car and drove home. Twice on the ride I realized how I bad the things I had done would be if anyone I knew ever found out. I also found myself struggling with the haunting thought of running into any of those guys out in real life with family or friends. The idea of those smirking, too knowing smiles would be soul crushing.

I arrived at the apartment and literally ran from the car to the front door. It must have been some sight as a young man did a double take as he saw my dash from a distance. Once inside, I stripped off the ridiculous uniform. It was a liberating almost cleansing act and feverishly I pulled down the pantyhose and did not stop until I was completely nude. I paused, feeling completely ashamed. 

"What had I done?" I was a nice young woman from a good background and I had allowed myself to degrade for the entertainment of such pigs. I sat down on the couch and allowed the heavy salty tears to fall.

6 months later:

I was walking down the aisle of the Walmart superstore in my workout clothing. I had on a pink pair of sweat pants and a zip up top over a sports bra. I was just doing some basic shopping. I was a poor student again, involved in work study. The fancy apartment and the cool car had been replaced with a micro-efficiency and a beat up sedan. I was hunting for generic macaroni and cheese pre-mix. It was on the bottom shelf and I squatted down to get two boxes. 

I had just grabbed one when I felt something press firmly through the fabric of my sweat pants in between my spread buns. It was right against my ass and I startled and stood up immediately. To my shock...to my anger....and worse, to my emotional disabling stood George. I hadn't seen him in a long time, but the emotional debilitation was as bad as if I were still there in the house naked after being so used. He was wearing a pink golf shirt and a pair of shorts and was looking me over with that same smug mocking smile. He had nudged me down there with the toe of his shoe. The affront and audacity of that, that he even thought he could do such a thing was so offensive that I wanted to claw his face. Instead I just stood there mute.

"Hey, babe," he said and leaned forward to hug me like we were old friends. 

It was terribly confusing. I hated this man and yet the vulnerability and shame of what I had done, and what I knew he knew I had done, made me want me in some way to have his approval. It was as if having it would lessen the self loathing I experienced when I thought about my actions. 

He circled an arm around my waist and kind of rested his hand under my breast. I shifted uncomfortably. He was looking me over and remembering, I was sure. It made me feel even smaller. He could tell that finances were an issue based on the way I was dressed. In a way, it was like a snake assessing a baby bird.

"You know I was just remembering what a great sport you were and how much fun that party was."

My smile wavered, but I looked at him helplessly. He smiled.

"You know, I am scheduling a birthday party next week. I could really use an entertainer." 

I almost threw up. I looked at him, my mind screaming "NO, no, no!"

He was smiling so benignly. I still don't understand the power that the shame of what I had done before had on me. It was that overwhelming need for my victimizers to forgive me, I guess. Regardless of what it was it was very overpowering and psychologically destructive.

"I don't do that," was all I said.

George was unwavering. The same smile. The same gentle pressure. He went for the one other vulnerability.

"Baby, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use the money. How about the same arte as last time? Twenty-five hundred, right?"

I stood there stunned then pushed away from him.

"I am not having se with anyone," I said.

"No problem," he said, not missing a beat. "You can just dance like last time."

I kind of wanted to scream, to refuse, but he was right. I needed the money desperately. And I felt that strange stupid need for verification. I nodded almost like an out of body experience.

He flipped out his cell phone and dialed. Within seconds he was chatting.

"Hey Tom, you will never guess who I just ran into. And guess what, she is up for doing the party!"

I stood there dumb, unable to say a thing.

"Yeah, and guess what, she is available for the party. Yeah, I know..."

He looked me over as he paused.

"...Oh yeah, she looks as good as ever. What? Oh yeah, right. I'll tell her."

He flipped the phone closed and turned to me.

"Hey, listen if you could, make sure that...you know..." He pointed at my lower body generally, but stared right at my crotch. "do that little shave thing like last time okay?"

I said nothing. It was too humiliating.

For the next week, I felt almost powerless. Almost, dirty. A hundred times I wanted to call and cancel. A couple of times I really was about too. To this day I don't understand the approval thing, the deep disabling acceptance requirement that actually made me get in the tub with a razor and shaving cream and comply with their salacious instruction. Maybe it was something like a Helsinki Syndrome, needing to identify with my torturers. Regardless the result was that on the night of the party, with a little black landing strip of hair all that was left over my very denuded labia, I slipped on my pink sweat suit without anything under, and I was wearing the white tennis shoes and thick white bunch socks. Right before I left, I took half of a valium that had been a present from a friend.

George's house was not quite as palatial as Mike's had been, but it was in the same neighborhood. George, I would learn was paying alimony and while he made even more than Mike, he had a little less to put into the place. The other difference was that his home was almost exclusively dedicated to the design and furnishings of a slightly post-adolescent bachelor's party house. He had Nagel artwork and more sports memorabilia than I would have ever imagined possible. 

I pulled up in front of the house and noticed the substantial number of cars. The valium was having its effect, and even though I was already slightly dulled, the potential numbers that would be witnessing this got through the fog. I felt a slightly sick tightening in my tummy as I switched off the engine and got out of the car. I walked up the driveway to the front door. From inside I could hear a throbbing beat of music being played way too loud and the occasional sound of male laughter. I paused on the porch and then rang the bell.

It opened almost instantly and a guy in his late thirties, obviously well on the way to being drunk looked at me with a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Hey, George," he yelled, "the 'talent' is here."

George appeared behind him, smiling.

"Oh, hey come on in," he said, pushing the guy out of the way. "Good to see you!"

He led me down the hallway to a the kitchen bypassing the main living room. In one corner a huge cardboard replica of a cake was sitting with the top layer open like a hatch. It was suddenly apparent what was expected. I looked at it and my expression must have given away my immediate reluctance.

"Oh no," said George, "It is just a joke. We thought it would be kinda fun and add to the surprise for the groom, if you popped out."

Without asking, he was pouring a large shot of tequila. 

"If I remember, this is your drink, right.?"

He handed it to me and turned to a blender that was full of margarita mix. He cranked the blender to remix and then poured me a glass. I held the shot a moment and then realizing that being foggier might be better, I downed it. As I set the glass down, he was handing me another, this time the frozen margarita.

I had not eaten anything since lunch and the effect of the alcohol on top of the valium was potent. Within a few minutes I was in a mental place that made even the next request seem reasonable.

"Okay well, hey, let's get started. Why don't you get undressed and climb into the cake. You just stay inside until you hear me say 'ta da' and then you up on the front right here and pop out."

He paused waiting, and I almost reflexively went with the unspoken order and unzipped the sweat top. Immediately I realized how cranked up the air conditioner was as my nipples crinkled. I set the sweat top on the counter, swaying and jiggling as I did, and the pulled the pants down over my shoes. I stood up and saw his gaze fixed on what was left of my pubic hair. I tried to ignore the blatant nature of it, but it was difficult as I set the sweat pants on top of my other garment. Then I got in.

To get inside, I had to squat down and kind of bend forward, I hated that he was standing behind me, because I knew what he was seeing. The only thing that minimized it at all was that he had seen everything there before. Still, that did not give me a lot of comfort.

He closed the cake and inside I found the effect of the alcohol and sedative, really disorienting. It worsened when I felt the cake begin to move as it was carried into the living room. I could tell because the music was so much louder. The pounding percussion set off a vibration that had I stayed in there much longer would have likely made me ill. As it happened the music dimmed and I could hear George talking.

"And now we have a real treat. You've all missed her, I know I have. Everybody's favorite Hooters girl, herrrrrrre's Kimmy!"

I pushed hard on the front and top of the cake. I popped open and I stood up suddenly. As always a sudden move caused parts of my body to take on some aggravated movements of their own. I was completely exposed, facing the audience with my arms over my head, when I realized that there were at least twenty men in the room. A few I did not recognize including the groom, but most were men who had been customers at the restaurant. Immediately I wanted to cover myself, but it was too late. George was masterful in cutting off any retreat and gently grasped my arm assisting me out of the fake cake. The music had started again and he was indicating that I dance. Almost in spite of myself, half numb and ashamed, I started to move with the rhythm. I could see the faces of all those men, on whom I had waited, staring at my bush, at my breasts, and the expressions told me that no matter what they might have been reserved in the most socially restrained form of respect was now completely gone. They were seeing it all and deep inside it was killing me.

That would have been bad enough, but then I heard someone say...."turn around, Hooters."




Hooter's Waitress Humiliation Ch. 03



Like a puppet I complied. Then came the worst thing I could have heard.

"Bend over, Kimmy."

I shot a bleary-eyed look at George. He indicated with a gesture of his hands that I do it and automatically I leaned forward. 

I knew what they were seeing. I knew that I was completely meticulously shaved back there and that every square centimeter of what a decent girl keeps hidden at all costs was on display for twenty men who knew me. I also knew that now they would think they knew me even better. The sense of shame was devastating. I was ruined.

They wanted me then to do squats, to mimic a pistoning of my bottom up and down simulating standing sex. 

I did it.

The wanted me to face them and shake my breasts obscenely. On man actually yelled "get them higher", ordering me into an even more exaggerated and outrageous gyration of my torso so that my boobs actually collided together in a heavy, meaty sounding smack. 

I did. 

They wanted me to lapdance the groom.

I did it.

With my hands on his thighs I tried to keep my bare pussy off his lap, but he grabbed me around the waist and lunged up making contact between my bare, hairless area and his cloth covered erection that insinuated between my labia. Then he moved me indicating I grind like that.

I did.

I felt his hands on my breasts and then the mauling that ended in a stretch and pull on my thick nipples. It was, in short, a public disgrace with an ending that left me, humiliated and completely reduced to the status of slut in the eyes off all of them. I looked around several times and saw the changes in expression. Some looked embarrassed, but transfixed. Some were staring like they were memorizing for all time. I felt my heart sink when I looked over at a gentleman that had always been so shy and decent. The tenting in his slacks was so evident. I knew that if ten years from then I was President of the United Sattes, I would never be anything but some bimbo to them all.

When it was over George told me to follow him to the bedroom to get the money. I walked in drunk, fuzzy, almost out of it. He stopped then and closed the door before opening a drawer to take out a thick wad of bills.

"Okay," he said holding it out. "Twenty-five hundred. Just one last bit of business and it is all yours."

I had started to reach for it and as he finished talking he pulled the money back. I stood still confused. 

"What do you mean?"

He grinned. "Look after seeing you and Mike that time all I have thought about is how I had to get some of that myself. You do me and you'll get all the cash and we can part friends"

There was that word again. "Friends." It had an almost enchanting, debilitating effect, and with me being so drunk, it was even more disorienting.

"You said...I wouldn't have to...I was just going to dance."

"Yeah," he said, "Just dance for the show. But you and I are going to party a little privately. Just us."

At that he put the money away. There was nothing I could do. As he turned back he reached between my legs and ran a finger along my hairless slit. 

"Oh Kimmy, that is like silk!" he said.

He then grasped me around the waist and kissed me. It was quick move, aggressive and assured. His tongue pried through my lips into my mouth invading and exploring. When he was done he said, "If you want to get paid, you had better return the favor." 

And he pressed his mouth to mine again. I swirled my tongue over his and worked the kiss. It was, in a way, more intimate than any sexual act could have been. He broke the kiss off and looked me up and down openly. Staring straight into my eyes he reached down and unzipped his pants. He fumbled with the button and his shorts dropped to the floor. He was commando and his penis jutted out, intensely hard. It was not like any I had seen. It formed a perfect arch that ended with the head almost point aback toward his abdomen. It looked like almost like a reverse "J" from the side. 

He grinned and pointed down. I lowered to my knees and grasped the rock hard appendage with my hand. I turned my head to the side and began wetting the shaft with my mouth.

"Oh my God, Kimmy," he groaned and grasped my head positioning my mouth directly over the head. I opened wide and took it enclosing the large bulb at the end inside my lips.

He was a talker.

"You are such a talented little cocksucker"

I wished he would keep quiet , but that was not happening. He let me go on for a while. It was clear that this was a particular indulgence that he loved. The sharp angle of his organ struck the back of my throat. I gagged a little especially as he pushed down on my head. It made my control a little less reliable and the sucking became very wet and audible. I also drooled slightly as the gag overpowered again and again.

He reached down a lifted my face from his cock then and grasped it masturbating. At the same time he pushed me lower and with his other hand cupped his balls. The look of revulsion on my face must have been priceless, because he smiled. I lowered my face and began mouthing his sac.

"Oh yeah, babe. No a little farther back, behind my balls."

I paused. It seemed so perverted. So bad. Numbly though, I extended my tongues and licked. After a few strokes of my tongue, I felt the tip touch the crinkled flesh. I recoiled.

George laughed and pointed his cock at me again so that I could gratefully resume giving head.

After a while he lifted me off of his penis and kissed me again. I was feeling a little dizzy from the drugs and alcohol and in his hands I was almost compliant. He turned me suddenly around and pushed me forward onto the bed. My face and knees were on the bedspread and my buns were up in the air. George then reached down and started rubbing my clit. I hated the man, but in my numbed state my body reacted. I felt him repositioning behind me and then the pressure of his cock against the entrance to my pussy. With a grunt he was in. I had not had a lot of sex in my life, but the sensation was unlike anything I had experienced. The arch of his cock was so intense and he was so hard. He began a furious almost overly aggressive in-and-out motion. He spread my buttocks. I could tell he was getting off to the visual. Just like before, my cloudy thought process rendered the realization that I was having sex with a man who was over twice my age. I could feel the slap of his heavy testicles against my clitoris as he thrusted.

He turned me over then and began a face-to-face coupling. While not romantic at all, it was different from what I had experienced with Mike. For one thing there was not a hooting gallery watching me have sex. George leaned down and kissed me, expecting me  to respond. 

I did. 

Another thing that was different was the strange angle of his penis and where it struck me inside. It was shocking and like a direct rub on the underside of my bladder. George must have known. He arched his back and the feeling became even more intense. Then he did something that was affronting and forward and so intimate. He reached down and took my nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and began pulling and stretching them. It was too much...the angle of his penis was striking right against what I would learn was my "G" spot and the perfect manipulation of my sensitive nipples. In less than a minute I felt a strange explosion and a shuddering wave of pleasure go through me. He knew what it was doing and he also knew how to play me off it. He began slowly thrusting and arching, maximizing the time and contact against the spot and he milked my nipples softly and firmly. I felt one wave crash into the next and erupted in a convulsing orgasm. 

I have no idea how long it went on. Time was fairly irrelevant. I know he came. And he collapsed on me. After some time he slipped out of me and rolled over. I felt like a slow energetic liquid that had almost ignited before subsiding into the darkness of sleep.

I woke the next morning, nude, in bed with George. At first I startled at my unfamiliar surroundings. I felt him move and I looked over in horror at the sight of the slightly pudgy, hairy, balding middle-aged man that I had just slept with, in every sense of the word. What was worse, I remembered how I had responded to him during sex. That more than anything was disturbing. Back then I was of the impression that you could only orgasm with someone you loved. As I looked at the loathsome playboy, I found myself struggling with my revulsion for him, my despair at what I had done the night before, and now the relationship I was fated to since I had climaxed with him. As I lay there propped up on one elbow, it dawned on me that I had no idea where my clothes were and, I realized that I did not want to be up and walking around his house stark naked in case he awakened. I lifted the sheet and looked at him. His penis was lolling against his thigh, soft and inoffensive, but I knew what it had done to me and what this could likely mean. I looked up and to my shame found him awake looking at me.

"Can't get enough of it can you, babe?" he said grinning. 

"I....was just...looking ...I...."

"It's okay, we will be doing it a lot more," he said. "You might not know it, but your body knows it..."

It was like he was reading my mind and though it disgusted me, I could not think of anyway to deny his argument.

He turned slightly toward me and with a grin reached under the covers and ran his hand over my torso. He gave my nipple a tweak and then rubbed softly over my little hairy muff. 

"Your body knows. We are meant to be together."

I was young and a fool, and those words sealed my misconception. 

He leaned in and kissed me as my mind screamed, no. 

But buying into the pronouncement he had made, I returned the kiss as my heart sank.

It was the beginning of what would be the most conflicting and degrading year of my life and would see me go from innocent college student to a middle aged sugar daddy's private play pet....but that is another story.



Hooter's Waitress Humiliation



I could not help but catch the innuendo in "looking up" as their eyes were on mine.

"So, what would you like to drink?"

They ordered beer. And as I turned to go get their pitcher, for the first time in months, I thought about how much of my butt was exposed. 

"Just get through it, Kim," I thought, "Big spenders, big tip, and forget them."

I walked back with the pitcher and set it on the table. 

"Okay," I said, "Have you decided what you would like?"

If I had spent a hundred years guessing, I would never have been ready for what they said next.

"Actually," said the big guy leaning forward, "We have a business proposal for you. Hooters has a handbook right?"

"Yes," I said, wrinkling my brow.

"Well if you are in compliance with the dresscode, we want to buy part of your uniform."

"Uh, no!" I said dismissively. I really wanted to slap them, but instead I just smiled.

"Not the whole thing," he pressed. "Just your Peavy pantyhose and your bra. We will pay you and you wait on us otherwise still in uniform. How does a hundred dollars sound?"

"Sounds like you don't need anymore beer," I said "I'll let you think about the menu and I'll be back."

I was so angry I could barely stand it. Just the arrogance of them was too much. I stifled my outrage though, and walked back after ten minutes.

As I stepped up to the table, they smiled. "Tell you what," said the spokesman, "We'll make it five hundred."

I was stunned. I should have told them off. I should have called the manager. Instead I was too shocked. It was all the opening they needed. The third member of the group counted out five hundred dollars and set the money on the table.

"Come on," he said, "We know you have expenses. We are just having a little fun. Besides, we aren't going to see anything. We are just buying some old hose and a bra. You just take this five hundred dollars, go back in the dressing room and change. It's not like anyone else is here and nobody we would be telling."

I stared at the money. I had gotten used to the inflow of cash and with the sudden downturn in tips, I was in some trouble. It was late. Nobody was around. Still hating that in a way they were "winning" over my objections I said, "you are not serious!"

The fat guy pushed the stack of money to the edge of the table and said, "All we want is your bra and hose and you wait on us without them."

I could not look at them as I reached out and took the bunch of bills. To there credit they knew better than to celebrate. I think had any of them said anything, I would have balked. Instead I turned with the money and walked toward the dressing area. Inside something was screaming that it was a bad idea, but something else was sensing relief that I would be able to cover my expenses.

"Just give them this, Kim and forget you ever met them," I said to myself.

In the dressing room I slipped off my shoes and socks and took off my shorts and t shirt. I unclasped my bra and slipped it off to set it on the bench. Then I peeled down the pantyhose and dropped it into one of the cups of my bra. I pulled my shorts and t shirt back on quickly and sat down on the bench to get my shoes and socks. As my bottom hit the cool wood, I realized how much of my buns were outside my shorts. I felt a cold sensation both down there and in the pit of my tummy. I pulled on the socks and the tennis shoes and stood up. 

I had not meant to look, but there in the mirror was me, in my uniform, sort of. You could see the outline of my areola and the knobby nipples in the center. I did not dare glance downstairs out of some protective sense of denial.

If I were really going to do this, I thought, I would have to make like pulling off a bandaid and just go. Grabbing the bra and hose, I marched out. If I had felt anatomically loose and jiggly before, I was all over the place now. Everything I had was bouncing and jiggling with each step. With a deep breath, like just before going off the high dive, I walked out into the serving area. I could not have been prepared for the response. They took one look at me walking toward them and exploded with laughter and salacious delight. It caused me to glance at my reflection in the dark windows, which given that it was night out were almost like mirrors. I saw immediately why they were acting the way they did. It was such an emotional shock to see myself in motion like that. The indirect light and the reflection made the outline, shape, detail and emphasis of even the most minor movements of my chest stand out ridiculously. It was also outrageously evident from the downward shift of the weight and heft of my breasts in the top, that I was ridiculously top-heavy. The rest of the walk to their table was the longest of my life. Their expressions were just emotionally crippling and they were looking me over like I was almost as naked as I felt. I took their order and turned to walk away, realizing the view they would undoubtedly get. 

"Oh my God," I heard, "Check that out. I think I am going to change my order from wings to a little ham sandwich."

I didn't need to turn to know that they were staring at the expanse of buttock below the lower limits of my orange shorts. I was literally hanging out and the awareness of that and their delight just killed me. I tried to stay away from their table but they were having none of it. They called me back and they had me constantly coming and going for condiments, refills, silverware replacement, and finally when they had asked for about every item you could imagine, they started knocking stuff onto the floor "accidentally" so I would have to bend over and retrieve them. It went on and on. I was so embarrassed, but I just decided to grin and bear it. There was nothing else I could do.

At one point, the guy that had counted out the money said, "So, Miss Kim, are you a real blonde?"

I was shocked and infuriated. They were talking to me like I was some brainless bimbo. The sensitivity about "matching" hair color was not something I wanted to have to discuss with these guys, especially dressed like that. I decided to lie. Looking directly at them I said, "Of course." 

There was a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Oh really? Well tell you what, I am willing to bet you aren't my little Kim, or should I call you CT?"

This brought an outburst of laughter and a kind of outraged groan from the guys. I inadvertently turned red. 

"I am not taking any bet."

"Oh, come on. How about this, you don't have to do anything. If I can't prove it, I'll pay you a thousand dollars. It will be to your satisfaction, if I can't prove it so that you agree, you win. If I can prove it....you have to..."

He looked at his friends, who laughed.

"...you will agree to do a little entertaining at party for a very sick friend of ours. He loves Hooters, but he hasn't been able to get out much, and we think if you waitressed in your slightly modified uniform, that would be part of it, we would get to determine how modified, it would really cheer him up."

"What do you mean modified?" I asked.

Well, CT," he chuckled," I was thinking maybe you would wear...you white tennis shoes...."

The rest nodded and agreed.

"And definitely the white sox," he said.

"And?" I said crossing my arms.

"Well," he said grinning... "That would be it!"

They burst out laughing.

"Naked?" I said shocked.

"Uh huh...I mean what are you afraid of? You are telling the truth. There is no way I can prove it huh, CT?"

"What is with the CT thing," I asked.

He did not answer, just kept smiling.

I was not happy. They were such jerks and the thought of waitressing in my birthday suit was to humiliating to imagine. I knew there was no way I would admit that he would be able to prove anything. And I needed the money, but more attractive was the prospect of taking his money and restoring some of my dignity. I reaffirmed to myself that even though I knew he was right, there was no way he would have any proof that I could not deny.

"Well?" he said.

"Fine," I answered, cocking my hip.

At that, he held up the pantyhose and as felt my heart sink he plucked a black clipped pubic hair caught in the nylon. My jaw dropped and I turned scarlet as the group began howling and high-fiving each other. 

"Well, CT, " he said when his laughter subsided, "care to deny that , cause we will have to have proof or...are we going to be getting to know you better soon?"

I couldn't say anything at first.

"Hey, look," he added, "it is for a great cause a sick guy and you did lose, and you will be still making a thousand dollars! Besides....either this little black hair is yours or...someone else's. So, which is it?"

I was trapped. I couldn't lie or the insinuation would be that I had sex and that was how the hair had gotten there."

"I..i...it is mine," I said almost sadly.

They laughed and said as if to be kind, "Well, CT, you are a woman of honor."

And then he added as he pointed at my shorts, "And the CT is for your little...camel toe there."

I could have died right there. I looked at my reflection and sure enough, without the pantyhose to smooth underneath, there was a very profound wedge in front and what was worse, the outline of the stubbly landing strip could be made out in the indirect light. I started to walk away, but it occurred to me that there was no real point. Soon enough they would be seeing it all anyway.