It was her first day. Well, it was three hours till her first day. Two hours and fifteen minutes until she had to leave for her first day. But three hours before it started.
Katie stood in the bathroom staring at the instructions printed on the embossed paper she had lain next to the sink: exfoliate, shave, moisturize, and spray enclosed scent lightly, but enough to be noticeable. It was the preparation routine for her new job as a décolletage server, which started in three hours. Well, two hours and fifty-five minutes.
She had known about this restaurant for years -- everyone had. It was in the next city over and had a great reputation as being a little pricey, but well worth it for the taste and the service. Mainly older adults or younger married couples splurging on a great steak, and during Spring, a few special teenagers whose parents paid for the infamous prom dinner. She'd been twice -- college ended almost two years ago, the dream job her degree prepared her for was long gone, and a retail salary was not conducive to $40 bottles of wine, much less pretentious cuisine.
But that changed when Jessica had come into the store, looking for a new bra and wanting to get fitted to make sure she was wearing the right size (Oprah says most women aren't, she quoted). While pulling the measuring tape around Jessica's perky breasts, Katie's own triple d breasts kept bumping into Jessica's waist.
"Your boobs are huge!" remarked Jessica.
Katie shrugged and nodded, very used to this flow of conversation. Her breasts had gone from nonexistent to a C cup overnight in seventh grade, garnering much attention from her classmates. By senior year, they had graduated to a double D, and during college, had finally topped out into the triples. Matched with a large backside and a size 16 waist, and Katie was an absolute dish for curve loving guys.
"Oh yes, I know," said Katie while doing the math in her head. "You're wearing a 36B right now, and I'd say that's definitely the right size for you. What kind of bra are you looking for?"
"Something that makes them look huge -- like yours!" exclaimed Jessica while reaching her hands out to shake Katie's breasts. While very familiar with the questions about her bust, this was the first time Katie had dealt with a customer trying to touch them, and it took her a second to react, during which Jessica shimmied her breasts together.
"Aaaaah, thanks for the compliment, but you really shouldn't do that," said Katie, taking Jessica's hands off and placing them back at their sides.
"You should let people play with them," said Jessica unperturbed, "You could make a lot of money with those. That's what I do."
Katie stared just slightly open mouthed -- had this girl just admitted to stripping? Or was it actually prostitution when you let guys touch you? Is there an in-between word? "I'm not a hooker, silly! Don't look so startled! I'm a décolletage server."
Fast forward forty-five minutes to Katie's lunch break where Jessica had explained the entire world of décolletage serving. "See, everyone knows about the upstairs, where you go for Christmas parties or celebration dinners, but only the members know about the downstairs. For a special fee, members can dine downstairs with girls who serve the same food, but topless. And not just topless, if they want to touch you, they can. They can grab nipples or just stroke them, and sometimes there are guys who even want to suck on them."
"So you just stand there at the table and let them suck on your tits while everyone is watching?" asked Katie incredulously.
"Well, I don't. I might reach my hand down into my skirt and get off while he's doing it. Free orgasm right? Actually, paid orgasm, cause when I do that my tips are normally higher. And it's not weird people watching -- they all paid the fee to be a VIP, and they can't bring guests, so everyone is there for the same thing."
"How much money are you bringing in a night?"
"Well there's the yearly fee that's paid to the restaurant, and then each night they dine there's a $50 tip automatically put on each table. Some girls just stand there while they touch you, so they only get the $50. With a good show..." she gave a naughty grin, "I've pulled in $700 off six tables in one night." Katie thought for a second. "There's an interview session tonight if you're interested," prompted Jessica.
After work, Katie did a quick freshening up and headed over to the restaurant, meeting Jessica in the parking lot. She flirted with everyone as she made her way into the restaurant, through the kitchen, into the office, into the hallway beyond the office, and finally arrived at a grand staircase. "They have a separate entrance, but we come in this way," she explained. Down the staircase, through a stunningly rich dining room that echoed of English pubs and screamed of masculinity (and tastefully decorated with corners and angles that allotted some privacy), Katie and Jessica arrived at an office. "Katie, this is Duke -- I told him all about you."
Duke, the manager of the private dining portion of the restaurant, was an older, well built gentleman. Katie guessed mid to late forties, based on the slight flecks of grey in his facial hair. His ebony skin looked smooth and soft, and rippled over his arms that she could just slightly see under his t-shirt. He was wearing dress pants, and looked like he was preparing to begin his night of debauchery... or managing debauchery maybe. His eyes met Katie's as he extended his hand, and surprisingly stayed there, despite the low cut top she was intentionally wearing. She was surprised.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said. "Jessica, thank you for bringing her. You can step outside, and please shut the door." Jessica patted Katie's shoulder in a friendly and reassuring manner, then sashayed out, closing the door behind her. "I prefer to conduct interviews privately, even though the nature of the job is anything but private," said Duke smiling kindly. "It tends to make women a little more comfortable. Is that alright?" Katie nodded, not trusting her voice. It had been one thing to be brave while talking about it, but now that she was actually going to tell someone she could do it, she wasn't sure her nerves were up to it. "Have you ever done anything exhibitionist-like before?" he asked.
Again she nodded. "Could you tell me about them?" he prompted.
"Um, yes. There are, um. There have been times that," she said quickly, still stumbling to find her train of thought.
"Let me help," said Duke. "I'll ask if you've done something and you can tell me about it. Sound fair?" Katie nodded. "Alright, have you ever had sex in a public place?"
Swallowing bravely, Katie found her voice. "Yes. I've had sex on a car in my college parking lot, and a few times outdoors."
"Good. Have you ever flashed someone?"
"Not intentionally," she said laughing. "But there have been slip ups and boobs falling out or just a lot of cleavage, sometimes intentional."
"Alright. Have you every masturbated in public?"
She blushed. "Yes, first year of college, in between classes, I was in my car and reading and needed to take care of myself, so I started fingering myself. I didn't realize it but there was another student in the car in front of me and I didn't know until I had finished and he got out of his car and smiled at me."
"How did you feel doing that?" Duke asked.
"Embarrassed at first, but kinda hot afterwards."
"Do you like the idea of men getting aroused looking at you?"
"Sure. I like knowing that men think I'm attractive."
"What about the idea of men getting obviously aroused looking at you, and then asking to touch you while they, to use your words, take care of themselves?"
"They actually jack off at the table?"
