Violet's was one of those little sandwich shops downtown that cultivated its image just enough to distract you from how terribly overpriced the sandwiches were. There was no Violet, just a poorly defined brand image some entrepreneur came up with years ago. He'd hoped to turn the store into a national franchise, but had yet to make it more than a minor success.
Still, the location was good and a few things kept people coming back. Food and coffee were just tickets to take advantage of the restaurant's wi-fi, an addition which saved the business a few years ago and now made it a popular study spot for the local college students. It was also a convenient place to get a part-time job. Many freshmen girls had put in time as a Violet's waitress. They never lasted long, though, the combination of general boredom and late cram-study hours usually convinced them to find a job somewhere else their next year.
The bland atmosphere usually managed to make even the waitresses equally forgettable, usually a hard task when it comes to college girls. They all wore bland, wrinkly white button-up shirts with little purple flowers all over them, a carry-over from the owner's attempt at creating "brand awareness." The comfortable atmosphere, with booths and a counter-top coffee bar putting it somewhere between a diner and an actual restaurant at least helped them look appropriately disheveled as opposed to badly upholstered.
Evan sat over in a side booth, facing away from the window in an attempt to avoid distraction. Monday nights just a couple weeks into the semester weren't usually time for last minute research papers, but this hadn't been an ordinary semester. His second year, he'd spent the past weekend moving off campus. It turned out the seemingly level-headed roommate he'd been paired with at the beginning of this year was really one of the "never leave the room" types. Evan sympathized at first. Evan had grown up the embodiment of the shy, skinny and bookish stereotype and tried to take an interest in his ever present roommate.
No matter what he said or did, all he got were one word replies and reasons why Mr. Personality had to study. From the time Evan woke up, went to bed or came to the room throughout the day there was a light on and the constant sound of turning pages. He couldn't even begin to wonder what went on while he slept.
Evan had claimed a booth earlier in the evening, covering it with books and research material. He had barely managed to get an extension on the economics paper he was supposed to write this weekend, a task which had seemed far less important than apartment hunting. He'd convinced the professor that, honestly, most of the paper was already written, but the moving made it difficult to finalize and print out. Quite a stretch, especially given the number of computer labs on the campus, but apparently it was too early in the semester to be exceedingly strict and he got the "next day by 8 AM" he needed.
It seemed funny that after all the work to get his own place that he was now the one hunched over a laptop late at night, typing a paper from the scraps of outline scattered among the books. There were barely any customers left, and only one waitress still kept watch over an otherwise empty business. Pretending to sip coffee from a long empty cup, he wondered how long it was since he ordered something and when he'd politely be asked to leave.
Luckily the waitress didn't seem to mind. She was sitting in another booth across the room from him, and smiled at him while she folded napkins around silverware and piled them neatly to the side. She looked like one of the ever-present college freshmen that usually staffed the place, and had one of those always cheerful expressions, her short and curly brown hair making her look almost playful.
Evan smiled back and tried to reign in his imagination while he turned back to his paper. He'd been staring at her off and on since she came in awhile ago, his sex drive ready to re-assert itself now that creepy roommate was out of the picture. No chance at all tonight, he thought, no chance at all. His dark hair was a wreck, he'd been too busy for contacts and had to fall back on the "please take my lunch money" glasses, and there was still that paper to write.
Rationalizing this, he stole another glance at the girl's chest before looking back down at his work. She was wearing one of those Violet's shirts, which apparently only came in two sizes. She was too short for a larger one, it would have looked like she was wearing a bag, so she was stuck with the smaller, though it was too tight in the middle and loose everywhere else.
The little purple flowers seemed to crowd around the exact spot that didn't need any help getting attention. They clung to her curves, each little speck, being the same distance from every other little speck, showed off exactly how big her tits were. She would reach to grab another napkin and the flowers would shift and move, outlining again each and every shift of her body. Falling back in her seat created an effect that Evan, much to his amusement, thought of as a breeze across a meadow.
A slight tingly feeling jolted him out of his daydream, and he stared at the laptop while imagining her. He shuffled his papers, quickly glancing over to see if she noticed. She glanced up as he turned his head. He quickly smiled before looking back, embarrassed, at his notes.
She got up, walking over towards him. Worry, fear, she must know he thought. I can't believe I can't even get through one paper without creeping out a waitress. Maybe she just thought I wanted something? No, she must have seen me staring. I'll never be able to work in here again!
"Do you need something, sugar?"
"Um, no..., I'm fine," he said. Sugar? Sugar is something fifty year old truck stop waitresses in the South call you, he thought. Who says that?
"Oh, well, Julie left, so I thought you might need something."
"...Julie?" Don't look, he thought. It's like Medusa. If you don't look at them she can't get you.
"Your first server? I'm Cheryl by the way."
"Oh, right... hi Cheryl." She bent down and leaned over towards him, the fields of flowers rushing at him briefly, paralyzing him with the lustful fear of the shy before, thankfully, giving him a chance to recover. She had just taken his plate and cup.
"You seem awfully jumpy tonight! Too much coffee?"
"Oh, um, actually I need to finish a paper, so maybe."
"Well," she said, "I'll get you some more if you want." She touched his shoulder, "Cream, Sugar?"
"...OK?" Even her perfume smelled a bit flowery. She smiled as she turned and walked away, and Evan couldn't help but stare at how her slacks held tight around her thighs and clung to her ass while it wiggled back and forth on her way to the counter. He looked down at his work, trying to remember what he was even doing there in the first place, and realized he had a very visible erection.
Wrong day to wear khaki, he thought, his cheeks getting red as he tried to shift his legs around while keeping everything under the table. Luckily nobody else was sitting where they could see him, because he couldn't stop thinking about Cheryl. He kept trying to get her out of his head and calm down before she got back, but he couldn't get the thought of those little purple flowers clinging to her chest out of his head. He tried to think about the paper, but he couldn't concentrate, couldn't stop thinking about how her tits would bounce, up and down and side to side while he held her down and fucked her, how her face would look with pleasure and lust and need staring up at him. It took him a moment to notice when she came back.
Something about her looked different, but he couldn't tell. "Sorry I was so slow, we didn't have anything fresh, and some things aren't good unless they're nice and hot."
She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were pointing, staring at him, her nipples pushing against the fabric of her shirt, the little flowers around them clinging to the small hard buds. He stammered, trying to think of something to say, unable to stop staring. She just smiled, crossing her arms in front of her, leaning over and putting her hands on the table. Her breasts jutted out towards his face as she leaned in and whispered. "Anything else nice and hot you'd like?"
Again, he tried to think of something to say, but just looked around to see if anyone noticed them. She stood up slowly, her breasts falling back together as the shirt pulled them tight, the space between the buttons raised open slightly and still offering a peek at what was inside. "I'm being too difficult," she said, "you must be so busy with all your work."
"Really," he said, finally able to speak, "it's, um, quite alright... I like the, the..."
She smiled like nothing had happened. "Let me know if you need anything" she said, turning and walking back towards the booth where she was folded the napkins.
Evan once again stared at her while she walked. What was he supposed to do? He was never very good at flirting. She sat down and began to fold napkins again, her nipples still pulling against the flowers. Evan tried shifting around, but had to eventually spread his legs out just to keep from feeling crushed, his erection pushing against the loose fabric of the front of his pants, up towards the top of the table. He waited a couple of minutes until she seemed engrossed in napkin folding before taking a sip of coffee. It was good, but wasn't going to get his cock to calm down, not after that.
A little while later, after alternating between staring at her and staring at his papers thinking about her, Evan looked over and saw her looking right at him, one hand under her chin, the other one playing with her nipple, squeezing it with her fingers and rolling it around with her thumb.
Evan smiled a horny, confused, embarrassed smile.
Cheryl looked at his cock and licked her lips, slowly, flitting her tongue from one end of her mouth to the other, still playing with her nipple.
