The interview was barely a formality.
Pat walked up to the open garage that flanked the small house in the old suburb. A white van was parked in front of it, the doors opened in order to receive a steady stream of catering equipment. The caterers carrying the equipment, Pat noticed, were all young women.
The garage itself had been converted into an office/storage shed for the catering company Amanda had referred her to. Rows of shelving filled the space, loaded with pots and pans and linens. Behind all of that was the office space, and behind a small old desk in the back of the garage was Ted, the owner of the catering company.
As Pat approached, a nervous tension rose in her belly. Ted was in his mid-thirties, handsome if a little disheveled, a mop of brown hair crowning the tanned face of an ex-surfer. An ill-fitting suit hid his frame, but it was easy to see he was in fairly good shape. He would be her boss, the man giving her orders. Was he The One? Was he to be the man to take charge of her sexual life, her sexual being? Was he going to be her Master?
This was the one moment of choice she gave herself. If he qualified, she would obey him completely, whether or not he knew he had this power over her. But if he didn't, she gave herself the right, this one time, to say no and reject his authority. He would only be her boss.
"You must be Pat" he said, half rising to shake her hand.
"Yes. Ted?" she replied.
"Yup. So, Amanda told you about the gig. It's simple; basic catering, apparently you have the experience?" he said, looking at Pat.
She nodded yes. So far, she liked the energy he gave off. The aura of control. Her mouth felt dry with a secret anticipation.
"Pay is pretty much standard for the industry," he continued, "but, uh, tips are where it's at. We do parties, private parties, mostly guys looking for a good time, and they're willing to tip well for that. How much they tip might depend on how much you do, or show, if you get my drift...But, that's up to you, I'm not requiring or encouraging anything that would be illegal, just, like, sexy sells, it's kinda job requirement to, you know, not be shy, show a little skin, maybe, if you're cool with that.."
The more he spoke the more Pat was certain that he was not, indeed, the One. He was exactly what he looked like, an aging surfer who needed some way to make money, and settled on throwing parties with sexy girls. This was probably his mom's garage.
Pat tried to hide her disappointment. It was still a good gig, and she needed the money. College was not going to pay itself.
"So..." continued Ted,"if you're ready, Sarah can give you the lowdown on tonight. The theme is Hawaian, so it's going to be grass skirts for everybody."
"Tonight? Like right now?" stammered Pat.
"Well, yeah." said Ted.
He got up and went to a rack filled with boxes of decorations. He pulled out a fake grass skirt and tossed it to Pat.
"That's it? Do I get to wear anything else?" asked Pat, suddenly panicking.
"I think most of the girls are wearing their bikinis. Didn't Amanda tell you to bring yours?" said Ted.
"She...forgot."
"I mean, you could just wear your underwear" said Ted matter-of-factly.
Pat stood there, clutching the grass skirt, mentally reviewing her morning. What underwear did she put on? In the back of her head she could hear Amanda laughing.
Pat followed in her car as the white van made its way through the broad streets of a wealthy suburb. Her hands were damp with nervous excitement. The job itself seemed simple enough. But she was about to step out dressed only in a grass skirt and her underwear in front of a group of people. Thankfully she had worn a nice lacy black bra and a matching thong, though it meant she would be barely covered under the swaying skirt. Her exhibition at the fashion show still made her pussy throb. She had masturbated feverishly for days afterwards, tortured by the memories. The same reluctant desire was now swelling in her.
Should this evening be one of her Slave Day? Did she dare? Without making a conscious decision, she felt that loosening in the back of her brain, that release that meant that she had let go of her will. She was no longer responsible for what she would do tonight. She was at the mercy of any man, and the thought sent a thrill across her body.
The van pulled up a long driveway flanked by a sweeping lawn. A large building, all fake Tudor windows and mixed Greek columns, announced itself by means of a large plaque as the local golf course and country club. The van curved towards the rear of the building, and Pat followed.
Several other girls who had also driven there were standing around, waiting for the van. One of the women was Amanda. She waved when she saw Pat, a big grin on her face.
"I'm glad you could make it tonight!" the tall girl exclaimed as she gave Pat a fierce hug. "It's gonna be a ton of fun!"
The first hour was actually no fun at all. Like all catering jobs, the set-up was fast and brutal. The girls, all young and pretty, were also tasked with hauling the folding tables, dishes and serving wares up the broad flights of stairs that led to the back terrace.
A banquet was being set-up, with little help from the few members of the country club staff. The place was actually surprisingly empty. This was to be a private affair. Two dozen men getting together to celebrate the birthday of one of the club members.
By the time the place was set up, most of the girls were happy to change into their serving outfits as the summer night was still hot and muggy. For most it simply meant stripping off their pants and T-shirts, revealing skimpy bikinis. The grass skirts went on, and they were ready.
Pat and Amanda were standing by their cars as they stripped. Pat couldn't help but admire Amanda's incredible figure. Her toned legs and tight ass only enhanced the curves of her waist and large breasts. She wore a tight flowered bikini, pushing her breasts together to create a gravity defying cleavage. She shook her honey brown hair loose, tucking a flower behind her ear. As she tied on her grass skirt, she looked up at Pat.
"Aren't you getting dressed?" she asked.
"I don't have a bikini. Apparently somebody forgot to tell me to bring one" Pat said, mock accusatorially.
"Oops" said Amanda, grinning.
Pat pulled down her pants, and stepped out of them, trying to be quick. She took of her shirt, standing in the parking lot in her black bra and thong, enjoying the thrill of being near naked in this unusual place. She noticed that her bra was fairly see through. She could clearly see the outline of her nipples through the lacy fabric. Nipples that were becoming harder by the second.
She quickly wrapped the grass skirt around her waist, glad for the cover of her naked bum.
The men were in their late forties, dressed in needlessly expensive jeans and soft-collared shirts. They were mostly well-behaved as they sat around the banquet table, laughing and toasting the birthday boy. They smiled appreciatively at the girls, shamelessly looking them up and down as they moved around, filling glasses and switching plates. But they kept their hands to themselves and refrained from making rude comments.
Pat caught the eye of one of them, a handsome bearded man who stared at her when she was near. He had a slight smile on his face as he looked at her, his eyes drifting from her almost bare breasts to the her grass skirt. Pat wondered about how much he could see through it. Did he know that her ass was basically bare? She almost accidentally brushed against his arm as she refilled his glass of water, his skin making contact with the soft skin of her thigh through the parted grass. He looked up at her, but she feigned innocence and walked away, feeling his eyes on her ass as she sashayed further down the table.
And then someone brought out an expensive bottle of tequila and the party went a bit sideways.
One of the men tucked a fifty dollar bill in the waistband of one of the girls, which triggered a general cheer from the rest of them. She appreciatively shook her hips and jiggled her bikini-clad breasts in his face. He leered and stuck another fifty in the waistband of her grass skirt. She smiled and undid her bikini top. Her breasts shook loose, heavy and swaying in their sudden freedom. She pushed them together, offering a thick brown nipple to his mouth. He dove in, slurping at her nipple and joyfully burying his face in her cleavage, making happy yum-yum noises.
The rest of the men cheered and generally lost their minds. A line had been crossed. Dollar bills suddenly appeared in every hand, and bikini tops were dropping to the ground. Pat had a sudden bout of rising panic. She was not used to this; her exhibitions were always oblique, sly, deniable. She had never looked a strange man in the eye and taken off her top for him to gaze at her. She felt very self conscious and uncomfortable, strangely afraid that she would chicken out when all she really wanted was to be seen.
And now a man was there, looking up at her, a folded bill in his hand, a sloppy drunken smile on his face. All she could do was hang her head down to hide her blushing cheeks.
And then Amanda was there, behind Pat. The tall girl wrapped her arms around Pat, her large naked breasts pressed against the back of Pat's head. Amanda led Pat in a shimmy, her hands on her hips.
"Put the money in the skirt!" Amanda told the man.
He did, sliding the folded bill into the front of Pat's grass skirt. Amanda unhooked Pat's bra, and before Pat could do anything about it, yanked it off. The man hooted as her pert breasts were finally exposed, her nipples already hard and tight.
