Busty waitress is punished for being late and makes it up by unconditionally serving each customer.
I didn't initially like the restaurant I work at too much. It's located a bit outside of town with a stuffy, lame vibe. The clientele is working class and overwhelmingly male, the decor concept seems to be "grandpa's farm". It's not a place I would have normally hung out -- but pay was all right, it was relatively convenient to reach and most importantly, the schedule fit quite neatly around my lectures.
Once I'd started waiting tables, I surprised myself by actually increasingly liking the place. I was treated respectfully by the guests, most of which I was familiar with after a few shifts; and Mark, the manager was a nice guy. Officially, there was no uniform I had to wear -- but I pretty much created my own. I started off dressing quite casually for the job, not usually bothering to change when I came in before or after lectures. But as I grew more confident, my outfits started becoming more provoking by the day.
With my slim waist and naturally firm, melon-sized, always attention-grabbing breasts, that was not really a challenge. Any tight or lowcut shirt and short skirt would increase my take in tips. But what I craved more than the extra money was the guys' attention. Every now and then, I'd catch one of the guest ogling me, and I'd just know (and love to imagine), how they were undressing me and touching me in their minds.
Once such imagery popped up, I would usually carry it around with me for the rest of the shift, as a phantasy in my mind; and as a familiar sweaty, swollen, wet and sometimes even pulsing feeling between my legs. I enjoyed small-talking with the guests without them knowing how wet and swollen my pussy was. After such shifts, I loved to come home to my vibrator, fantasizing about pleasuring the guest my outfit had impressed. All the better if he happened to be one of the less attractive, perhaps older guests. Somehow, that seemed to give me an extra kick.
After three weeks or so of more cleavage and shorter skirts, my wardrobe started running out of even more extreme options. One of the days I came home from an evening shift with a throbbing pussy and nice, hard nipples, I decided to give the vibrator a break, poured myself a drink instead and went online shopping for a new work outfit.
When it arrived a few days later, I immediately tried on my new topless corest, which acted as a presentation platter for my big tits. I wore it with a sheer white blouse, through which my nipples and even the skin of my breasts were visible if one looked closely. And you really didn't have to look that hard to see the nipples protruding, once I got horny. In case that was not enough, I made sure the blouse only barely covered my nipples. The resulting cleavage was just mouthwatering. I combined that with the shortest, skimpiest plaid skirt I had found online. It was airy and fell playfully around my ass. Fishnet stockings ended a few fingers below the skirt, and I wore those with the usual rather low heals -- I still had to get through a full shift of serving guests in those, after all.
Once dressed, I admired myself in the mirror. I loved the cleavage, the tantalizing chance to
almost
discover my compact ass and my shaved pussy and just the overall femininity of it all. The soft, elastic blouse felt awesome on my tits, but also to the touch of my hands. I could imagine the guests' reaction to this bombshell look -- the vibrator's breaktime was very much over now.
As I got ready to get dressed for work the next day, I considered for a brief moment to actually wear the slutty outfit, then laughed about myself and slipped into a tight shirt (as was normal by now without a bra) and a somewhat less revealing skirt. As I did my hair and make-up, I realized that if I wouldn't wear the new outfit to work today, I would lose courage, and no one would ever get to picture peeling me out of it. I considered that there was no chance I would ever meet anyone I knew in my workplace. What was the risk? To aid my decision, I lifted my shirt to give my nipples a nice little rub -- and finally decided I'd definitely like the extra excitement of the new outfit!
I changed into it, putting the alternative, more modest clothes into a bag to take with me, and threw a light trench coat on to catch my bus. I got in a little earlier and, as usual, entered the kitchen through the back door. Mark looked at me a bit skeptical -- why would I wear a trench coat in summer?
"Mark, I have a suggestion to make to you. I came up with a new uniform concept for the waitresses here."
"So, for yourself?" he replied.
"Uhm, well yes. It's just a suggestion, I don't want to take the restaurant to a place you're not comfortable with. I'll show you, and if you don't like it, I'll get changed real quick".
"Ok, let's see how creative you got," he said.
I took off the jacket, and saw his jaw drop right away. He stared at my cleavage, and I could feel my nipples hardening under his gaze. I stood for a while for him to admire my body, then slowly turned. He'd made a step to the side, probably to hide the bulge in his pants behind the counter. I walked up and down the kitchen for him. When he still didn't respond, I bent over, pretending to pick something up from the floor so he could see under my skirt, then walked the two steps toward him very slowly, and bent over the counter, pretending to hand him a menu, so he could get a closer look at those inviting, heavy tits of mine. Still nothing.
"Well? Too much? Should I get changed?"
"Hm.." he said finally. "I believe this will work. The more prude guests have stopped coming anyway, since your outfits started changing. So we might as well do a bit more to entice the more open-minded ones. I think your outfit will increase my revenue. It'll increase your tips, and there will be some quality entertainment for the gentlemen. Plus, you'll get the attention you seem to crave. I approve the new uniform," he said conspiratorially.
"I'm very glad to hear that," I responded in as seductive a voice as I could and bit my lower lip, still leaning against the counter. "And how do
you
like what you see?" I had tried to flirt with Mark a few times in my first days at the restaurant, but he never responded. I figured he must have a personal policy against workplace involvements, or perhaps I just wasn't his type. Anyway, I had given up my attempts after a short while.
"Turn around," Mark said suddenly and with a commanding voice.
Wow, ok, here we go finally, I thought to myself. Mark stood very, very closely behind me, breathing into the back of my neck, placed his hand on my way to short skirt, and with a brisk move, shoved me towards the door to the guest room, opened the doored and gently pushed me threw. "Go use your talents on these guys," he said quietly and leaned against the door to watch the show.
No one noticed me entering at first, so I had time to pour myself a small whisky shot for courage behind the bar. It was the Saturday evening shift, and there were about 25 men in the guestroom (as well as 3 women). I finally stepped out from behind the bar, into the middle of the room, and started my shift as usual, trying hard to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. Some of the guys played along, others stared in disbelieve. Initially, nobody made any direct comments. But as the hour got later and the men more drunk, I had received several offers along the lines of "extra tips for extra service," which I laughed off politely. I had also been groped multiple times, but each time looking the guy directly in the eyes and telling him off sternly in front of his friends was enough to get out of the situation, and mostly to get an apology on top.
What really got into my head however were the occasions like the one, where I was taking orders from a crowded table, and the guy I was standing next to, unnoticed and very discreetly, lightly, slowly, carefully worked his elbow up my thigh towards my pussy. Or when I leaned over a table to serve drinks and a guest repositioned himself so that my breasts would brush his shoulder and arm. These forbidden, discreet but repeated touches made my pussy swell and my nipples stand. I enjoyed the general hornyness I was obviously provoking among the guests and started picturing myself giving secret blowjobs in the washroom all night.
No such thing happened, but when I got home that night, I closed the door behind me and my hands immediately wandered into my blouse. I played with my tits, caressed and licked them, rubbing and pinching my nipples, moaning with pleasure for a while, before turning to my pussy and working myself into one of the most intense orgasms I'd had in months. I was a bit sad that I was not able to share this lust with anyone, but smiled to myself at the thought that I'd probably shared just about enough of myself with the horny restaurant guests for the night.
The outfit became my uniform that I wore to each shift, only the lacy underwear changing. I liked those in bright colors, and sometimes wondered if the guests ever caught a glimpse of them as I turned or bent or leaned over at work. Unexpectedly, and out of character, Mark one day answered that question when he asked to talk.
He and the guests, he told me on that occasion, liked guessing which color of the rainbow my lacy, revealing panties would be the next day. Apparently, there was even a free beer for the correct guess.
"Oh." I blushed. "Sorry, boss, I was not aware that I was so -".
"That's not the point," Mark replied. "I just wanted to ask... well, don't get me wrong, I like the panties. They're real sexy. But couldn't you switch to strings? So that we can enjoy more of your tight little round butt?".
I was embarrassed, but explained that I didn't like waring strings and didn't have any. Mark said that was no problem at all and that he was very happy with my work as it was. The subject never came up again, but I did keep wondering about the strange request.
During the period leading up to my university exams, everything was going pretty well. It was exhausting to work and study, but I got into a rhythm of lectures, studying, working at the restaurant, masturbating eagerly to all the phantasies that came up during those shifts, sleeping, and not much else. Once the exams were over, I suddenly had a lot of free time. I started hanging around, sleeping in and generally enjoying being lazy. I started coming in to work late repeatedly. Mark was understandably upset about this development and had told me off multiple times, even warning that I was risking to get fired. Each time I promised myself to be better, arriving on time a few days, but somehow, I didn't manage to regain my normal reliability.
One day, I completely confused the dates and forgot to go to my shift at all. Mark called, furious, and by the time I finally arrived at work, I was over an hour late.
"Ok, that's it," Mark said as I came in in my trench coat, head hanging. "We can't continue like this. I'm giving you three more strikes. Next time you're late, I am confiscating your panties and you will work your shift presenting that tight little pussy to all my horny guests. The embarrassment of that will teach you a lesson. If it doesn't, and you are late again the next day, I'll take your panties
