When she left my side, Andrea went to the nearby poolside bistro. She took a table where she could still see the Hotwife, but was less focused on her than I was. Instead of paying close attention to one person, Andrea's eyes went everywhere, taking in all of the available opportunities for sex and stimulation.
There were dozens of collared people around her, mostly waiters or other workers in white. She evaluated each one with her eyes. She also evaluated the guests, asking herself which ones she wanted to see in collars. The reclining bikini-clad women, the boisterous younger men, each of them was a hook on which she could hang an imaginary adventure.
A waiter in a collar arrived at her table. He was middle-aged and a tad paunchy, bald except around the sides of his head. His face, though, had a sort of square-jawed masculinity to it. He seemed like the sort of guy who had been a football player in high school. Andrea looked him up and down, noticing that he was worth $7, and that he had several hours left in a collar.
"A glass of sangria and some guacamole to start," she said to him. "But before you go, I want to see your dick."
The waiter had on the same sort of white denim shorts as all the other waiters, including the one who was then licking my toes. They also wore starched white collarless shirts, leaving the electronic collar visible. The middle-aged man said "of course," and promptly unbuttoned and unzipped the shorts. No underwear, predictably. He pulled his soft cock out and let it dangle out for Andrea's inspection.
She beamed with pleasure at his obedience and lack of hesitation. She was nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. "Balls too, please. And I want to see what it looks like when it's hard."
The waiter fished into his shorts again, and rested his balls on the outside of his shorts, then wrapped his palm around the head of his cock and began slowly stroking himself.
Andrea stared as if hypnotized. She unconsciously licked her lips as the waiter's dick began to harden, growing longer and thicker in front of her. As it did, his grip grew firmer and he began jerking off in earnest. She looked up at his face, and saw that he had his eyes tightly shut, and had a look of effort or concentration.
The waiter took his hand off of his dick, and it stood straight out from his body. It was quite thick, Andrea saw, and somewhat blunted, with the shaft nearly thicker than the head. It looked like an old-fashioned rocketship toy, but veiny and purple. Andrea looked at it with a look of consideration.
"Pardon me," a man said, from the next table, as she pondered. "But I was wondering if you were planning to suck on that. If not, my friend here will."
Andrea, who had not been looking around to the other patrons, was startled to see that people at several tables were watching her and her waiter. The man who had just spoken was part of a group of three young guys, all three were Black. They were in their twenties and were uniformly skinny and bookish. Two of the three wore rather thick glasses, including the one who had just spoken up.
"Oh, sorry. Yes. Go ahead. But do you mind if he brings me my food first?"
"Oh honey," another of the trio, the one without glasses, said. "There's absolutely tons of waiters." He waved his hand and another collared man in white approached. Meanwhile, the waiter with his cock still sticking out stepped gingerly around her table while holding his undone shorts so that they did not fall down. He positioned himself by the third young guy, the one who hadn't yet spoken.
Andrea requested the guacamole and sangria from the new waiter, who nodded and stepped away.
The man in glasses from the nearby table leaned over to talk to her. "Thank you," he said. "My name's Dwayne, by the way. This is Charles, and that's Patrice." Patrice was the other one with glasses and was, as he spoke, tapping a slut card against the waiter's collar, which flashed green. The waiter's thick hog was about at shoulder-level for Patrice as he sat down. He re-positioned his chair so that he was face to face with the throbbing meaty shaft.
"Nice to meet you," Andrea said, "and no worries about the dick, I wasn't going to do anything with it. I was just window-shopping."
Patrice wrapped his hand around the waiter's cock and pumped it a couple times before opening his mouth and devouring nearly the entire five- or six-inch long member in one swift motion. Then he slowly drew back so that only the small blunt cock head was between his lips.
"Patrice was in a collar for most of Wednesday, but barely got any dick in his mouth at all." Dwayne said. "As soon you told that waiter to pull his dick out, I could see Patrice start drooling."
"Greedy little Patrice," Charles said in a drawling, high-femme voice. He was the darkest-skinned of the three men and was wearing a subtle green eye shadow, and possibly lipstick as well. "The curse of this place is that when you're black, everyone's a bottom." Charles' laugh was a musical bubbling giggle.
Andrea watched raptly as Patrice worked over the head of the waiter's dick with his lips and tongue. The enthusiasm and artistry he demonstrated were inspiring to her. "You guys are a riot," she said. "I should get lessons on cock-sucking from him, seriously. He's fucking going for it. Look at that."
Dwayne was watching as well, though Charles was leaning back in the sun with a look of dramatic tedium. "Oh, sweetie, I've seen it all before." Charles said.
"But he is good, you're right." Dwayne said. "I mean, not as good as
me
" this last word was drawn out in order not to seem like it was a sincere boast. "But I'm not into middle-aged white guys, anyway. I'm more of a connoisseur than that. Nothing but $10 and up cock for this mouth."
"Oh, oh! I know who you should get! We had this hot French dude who brought our bags to the room. Michel. If you can find him, you should totally suck his dick."
