I shiver slightly as I check myself in the mirror. I didn't really want to do this. But things are tight, and the pay for a naked waitress is better than pretty much any other job I could take. Hopefully the tips will be decent too.
My first client is a stag party - it looks pretty small, pretty tame, cocktails, gaming; nothing I need to worry about too much. I examine my appearance again - the tiny apron doesn't really preserve any of my dignity. Hopefully they won't be too handsy, and I'll get through the night without much more than a slapped arse and some lewd comments. My research tells me to expect hands, I can cope with that, but fingers crossed it won't be anything more.
Taking a deep breath, and looking myself up and down one last time, I leave the toilets, put my bag away, and head for the private room they've booked. I've been there before and it's nothing special. Tables, chairs, sofas, a small bar where I've been told I'm mixing drinks. Let's do this. My high heels click on the floor as I ready myself and walk in.
At first glance, it's calm enough. The men look relaxed, wine glasses and half-empty bottles on the tables, board games scattered everywhere. Their eyes light up as I walk in, and my heart beats a little faster between my breasts. I'm introduced to the stag, twirl for him, knowing his eyes are on my ass as I do, then get to work. I clear the tables and take orders. I mix martinis, knowing the men are watching my body move as I shake the drinks. They down their drinks, I make another round. I'm conscious, as they drink, that their eyes follow me more and more. That their conversations change. They're talking about me. About my body, my face, the shape of my arse, the curve of my breasts peeping out from my apron. The way my hands are starting to shake as I pour more cocktails. The way I'm afraid.
Then it happens. As I fetch drinks, my ankle turns and I stumble onto my knees. I've never been able to manage high heels well. The drinks spill over someone's lap, and I gasp in horror.
He's angry. He's a big man and I've drenched him. He jumps to his feet and looks me in the face. I drop my eyes to the floor.
I stutter out an apology before he grabs my shoulder. "Look what you've done, you clumsy little bitch," he growls. He points to his wet lap.
"I'm so sorry!" I squeak. My hands are shaking harder, my eyes wide.
He takes hold of my chin, lifts my face. "Look at me," he repeats. "See the mess you've made." I apologise, again and again, but there's no placating him.
"I'm soaked. Feel how wet I am." And he grasps me by my hair and pushes my face down into his crotch. He's a lot bigger than me and the force brings me to my knees. My carefully made-up face presses hard against him. I can smell the drink on his clothes, and feel his dick through his trousers. He's hard.
I hear the rest of the party gather behind me. I'm on the floor, his hand firm on the back of my head. I know that from behind, I look naked. This isn't going to go well for me, I can feel it in the air. My breath catches in my throat.
"Maybe you should teach her a lesson," someone suggests, and I shudder. He grunts, pushes my wet face hard against him one more time, then reaches down to unzip his fly. I try and pull back, but he pushes his dick into my mouth anyway. Behind me, someone's pulling me upwards so I'm bent over, untying my apron so it falls to the floor. Someone slaps my arse, hard, and my gasp enables him to push his cock hard into my face. I imagine the red handprint outlined on my buttocks. He has a tight hold on my hair and he moves my head back and forth, fucking my face. I gag as he rams his cock deep into my mouth. I'm aware of the men behind me, watching me suck this man, looking at my arse and the mark on me. I'm aware they can see everything now I'm bent over. I'm aware I can't even begin to protect myself like this.
Someone slaps me again, and again. I sob, tears rolling down my cheeks, as his cock hits the back of my throat. I'm naked now, bent forwards, my breasts dangling underneath me, and someone starts to touch them. A hand is on my arse, feeling its shape, running a finger over my crack, over my asshole. My tits are held tightly, being squeezed, as another hand runs over my stomach and down towards my mound. I'm bare.
Then someone says, "You know, it's the stag's big night. He should have some of this," and I hear agreement. Though not from the man whose cock I'm still sucking. I'm pulled to my feet and turned around. Now I can see the look in the men's eyes. And it's a look of hunger, like predators circling me.
Someone pulls me to a table, lifts me, puts me onto my back. Glasses fall. The stag is in front of me, a gleam of lust in his eyes, as I tremble. His hands push my legs open and his eyes devour me. I'm aware the men behind me have their phones out, taking pictures of me, filming me with my legs spread open and my cunt laid bare. And my heart begins to beat a little faster, and I realise I'm wet. How has that happened? I'm terrified, but there's something about this situation that's speaking to me.
The stag touches me, almost gently, with his finger, and I shudder again at his touch. He laughs, as the blood rushes to my face and I blush, because I know he can feel how wet I am. He parts my lips, again with something like tenderness, and his friends laugh. "She wants you!" someone shouts, and he pushes his finger into me, then a second finger, hard, and to the knuckle. Then a third. Despite myself, I moan, and the men laugh harder. He pulls his fingers out, and everyone can see them shining with my wetness. I sob again, feeling the humiliation wash over me, feeling my face burn, as he thrusts his slick fingers hard into my mouth, and I taste my own juices on my tongue.
Now the attacks come faster and harder. There are hands on me, squeezing my breasts, bruising them, my nipples pointing to the sky as they are crushed between rough fingers. My legs are pushed wider and wider, my cunt splayed open, as the men film my shame, my gasps and sobs, my utter assault. Someone slaps my face, hard, and my tears slide down the red weals on my cheek. Someone picks up a bottle from the floor and jams it hard into my pussy. I feel myself stretch open, hear myself whimper in pain and something like lust. A hand takes each of my ankles and brings my legs back towards my chest, leaving me trapped, helpless, on my back, with my cunt and asshole just there for everyone to see and touch. I struggle but there are too many hands on me.
The stag now stands over me. His cock is hard and huge and in his hand. His friends jeer, holding my legs up and back, as he pushes his dick hard against my wet pussy. The head of his cock parts my lips, and he groans as he feels how wet I am. Why am I this wet? Why aren't I fighting harder? He pushes into me, grunting, and I gasp. He's stretching me, tearing into me, taking me. I writhe and wriggle under his weight. As he fucks me, harder, deeper, faster, I open my mouth to scream but find it full of cock too. It's the man I spilt the drink on. I open as wide as I can, cunt and mouth both, and take both dicks into me as deep as I can. I'm vaguely aware that I'm still being filmed, that someone is recording the stag's dick thrust in and out of me, the sound of my ragged breathing, the gagging noises I make when the cock in my mouth hits hard into the back of my throat. Someone is saying they want to fuck me too. Someone slaps my tits. Someone pushes my legs back further. I moan, hard, as I'm fucked deeper.
Then I become aware, quite suddenly, of a stillness in the room. The dick is pulled out of my mouth, and the stag slides, slippery, out of my pussy. He's staring at something behind me. The hands holding me down loosen, and I struggle to my hands and knees, turning around to see what's happened.
