The Friendly Waitress

Being a waitress at a local pizzeria entails being well versed in the social matrix of a small town. There are regulars and tourists, all of them offer a slice of humanity, as I offer them a slice of “New York style” pizza. I like my job, no matter how menial it seems to anyone else.

The emotional involvement with the people of my town, as inspired by my position as waitress, has begat a dirty story based on my curiosity. It really started with Christine Hartman, the town beauty-pageant winner. I went to high school with her. She had long, wavy, dirty blond hair, and her eyes were soft and benign. She had delicate features and pouty lips that seemed dusted with rose petals even when she wore no make-up. Her soft beauty was but a lie, for she had a zombie heart. She pleased men with all of her being, but women seemed to be burnt into her mind as enemies.

She often came to the restaurant and taunted me with her superiority, her handsome husband, and her ever-growing wealth.

“Sweetie, could you get me some more water? I know you need the money, so I’ll tip you extra for that,” she said one busy Saturday.

“Oh, honey, hand me some more towelettes, I know a hard working girl like you doesn’t need to be worried about messes, but I must keep my beauty guarded,” she ever so gently spat at me.

I abhorred her visits with great energy, but sinfully, I lusted for her gorgeous husband, Tom. I noticed him stealing looks at me; my low cut uniform seemed to pull his attention toward my breasts. I’d be busy taking orders, or wiping a table, and by accident, I would catch his dark eyes probing my flesh.

Christine and Tom’s visits became quite welcomed. I found myself being extra nice to Tom when Christine would leave to powder her nose.

“Don’t let Christine’s comments get to you. She’s that way to everyone. Thinks she’s got something to prove,” he said on one occasion.

My hand touched his well-muscled arm in friendly gesture.

“Tom, thank you for your kind words,” I said. “But Christine doesn’t offend me. It’s always a pleasure serving the two of you.”

Deep inside, I knew that my coy smile, and blushing cheeks were offered in more than friendly disposal. I wondered if my deeply seeded disregard for Christine inspired in me an innate desire to win her husband’s spoils.

One slow Friday night, just as I was getting off my shift, Tom came in to order take-out. I helped him with his order. I brushed my hands against his as we exchanged currency for receipt. His breath felt warm and hung just above my forehead. I felt my desire.

“I’m not keeping you here longer than your shift, am I?” He asked.

“Oh, no. My shift ends now, and what do you know, we’re done. Hope you and Christine enjoy your dinner.” I said, making sure to look deep into him.

“Feel me,” I thought, as I looked at him.

“Well, Christine went to a spa with some of her friends. I’m all alone, and just stopped by to pick up some food to tie me over,” he said, cocking his head in a James Dean demeanor.

I felt him. Is it possible he was trying to burn into me, as I wanted to burn into him? “You know, I hope I don’t give you the wrong idea, but would you care to join me for some calzones? I got two sausage and pepper, and the marinara on the side? I’ve got some movies, and I’d be grateful if you kept me company for a little while.” He said.

Tom, oh, you lovely man, Tom!

“Wouldn’t Christine be a little upset if she knew you spent an evening with another woman?”

“She would, but she has a harem of young men that she calls friends too. If she can have male friends, I suppose I can have one female friend. By the way, what was your name again?” I smiled at this comment.

“Jolaine, like my name tag,” I chuckled and pointed at my name tag.

The enormity and splendor of his house overwhelmed me, but just as I turned to offer my compliments, he twirled me around, slid his hands under my shirt and cupped my breasts.

He said, “Is this all right?”

I panted, “Yes.”

His hands spread warmth through my breasts, he fondled my nipples under my bra with one hand, and then with his other, he traveled the length of my leg slowly to my panties. His second hand discovered my thighs and then caressed the meeting of my legs. I felt myself clinging to him, grabbing his body greedily. I felt his skin ride under my hands, every possible molecule aroused my hands to curiosity. My hands journeyed to his penis. I held it, soaked in the soft plump feeling it offered my senses. Tom’s fingers peeked into my panties, and began to penetrate the moistness of my femininity, deeper and deeper, until the swelling urge of the situation demanded his penis to enter me.

Pulses of joy flushed from my chest to my stomach, then trough my groin. The swelling of elation pulsated through me in such a way I never thought possible. Tom took my hands and pinned them over my head. He licked my neck as though I was a sweet. He satisfied himself with the flavor of my breasts, and continued in quickening rhythm to enter my forsaken skin with his enlarged and eager self. I spread my legs wide open, as though to welcome the entire universe. He let go of my hands, and savagely felt the terrain of my body, making sure to cover every surface.

Our sweaty escapade was nearly ended when a foreign sound entered our breathing from the neighboring room. We heard panting. With passion still creeping along my legs, and my heartbeat still hastening, I turned my head to see just beyond the opened door. There I saw Christine, naked but for a black bra and garter belt. Her eyes were quick on me; her legs bent and spread apart. She paused still like a trapped animal, then as though involuntarily, she continued pleasuring herself, groping her breasts, penetrating her vagina. In this, I felt more aroused, and Tom as well.

Tom spent himself on my breasts, and I continued to masturbate.

<p><strong>Author:</strong> Korrin Paris</p>