National Nude Daisy: Part 3
Nude Daisy Saves The Day For her boss.
Based on a post by CupidStuntDotEXE. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.
The Desperate Plea. T Plus 4:50
"Tell me."
"Why go through all the hassle of coming out here naked, to just hide away in a park?" I ask, meeting Eliza's gaze. "Was that the whole plan? Or am I the only one who is; was enjoying herself?"
"The only thing I've really enjoyed was watching you," Bella says. "I'm quite ready to throw my dress back on and go home."
"Really? You feel nothing? Nothing today excited you at all?"
Bella sighs. "I suppose, if I'm being honest, there was a brief twinge. Not enough to risk my career over."
Frankie puts her hand up. "Still wet. Still bored."
"So let's do something," I say, sitting up. "We could have a few drinks? A pub lunch? That's gotta be better than; well;"
I wave my hands at the empty park. "This."
"I get what you're saying, but I have a shoot tomorrow," Frankie says, patting her flat stomach. "I'm contractually obliged to fast for 48 hours. I already cheated with that ice-cream. I can't risk the bloat."
I groan and fall back onto the grass. "There's always next year, I suppose."
A gust of wind sends a shimmer of recollection over my skin. I close my eyes and let my body talk. The grass tickles one side of me as it flutters in the breeze. I miss the heat. The tension.
I want the ache back.
Picking up my phone again, I scroll to the selfie I took. So happy. I smile, but I'm envious of my past self. So wet. I chuckle and zoom in on my thighs. Sweat, my cute ass. I can actually see my clit poking out a little if I really zoom in. I flick the image around.
I can't imagine ever being that happy again. Do I really have to wait a whole year?
My phone buzzes to life, making me jump. John's calling me?
Laying back on the grass, feeling the tall fesque turf tickling my wide-set moist open cunt, I put my phone to my ear. "I'm on holiday," I say, before he has chance to say anything.
"Daisy, thank fuck you answered," he blurts, sounding more stressed than usual. "I'm so sorry, but are you still in the city? Shit. Fan. I need cover. Please, Daisy."
"I am in the city, but," I glance at my sun-warmed body. "I'm not really dressed; appropriately."
"Daisy, don't worry about that. Just come in. Samantha is on the way, but it'll be two hours minimum. Jess isn't answering. Tara quit via text message, and Mary just scalded herself."
I sit upright. "Oh, fuck. Is Mary okay?"
"She'll live, but we sent her to the Urgent care clinic. Can you make it here before the lunch rush?"
"Uh, let me check and I'll confirm via text asap."
I hang up the phone and stand up. Everyone is looking at me. I glance at the phone in my hand, then Eliza, and finally at my filthy feet. Wriggling my toes in the grass. Bella would lend me the dress in her bag if I asked for it. I pull up my phone and type out a message.
Daisy: Can I just get a written confirmation? I'm really not dressed, I'd have to travel home first, and that will delay me an extra hour.
Daisy: I'm definitely a code violation.
BossyBoss: Just come in whatever you're wearing or not. I'm not going to give you shit for bailing me out, Daisy.
That's permission from my boss to go into work naked. I doubt he meant that, but; am I really considering this? That's work. I'll have to go back in there tomorrow, and every day after. Unless John fires me. Which he won't do today. He can't run the place solo, and we all know it. Two hours at work, completely nude, during the lunch rush. The absolute busiest part of the day. Saturday lunch rush is the best time for tips, It would really be nice to have some extra cash, I thought. But not if it gets me fired by the corporate stiffs.
"Are you going to tell us, or just stare pensively at your phone?" Eliza asks.
I look at each of the staring, expectant faces. Settling on Eliza. "There was an emergency at work," I say, watching Eliza realise what I'm i'm thinking in real time.
"No," she says, shaking her head. "Absolutely not."
I smile and shrug. "I'm leaning towards yes," I say. "You guys were basically done with nude day. I was the only one who wanted more." I wave my phone at her. "The universe just provided more."
"Daisy, that's real life," Bella says, sliding her backpack off. "I brought spare clothes for a reason. Take them."
I don't want the clothes. I want to be naked. I love being naked. If I was able to, I think I'd spend the rest of my life in the buff. Just throw all my clothes away. I don't care if I get fired, or about my co-workers seeing me. I want them to see me. I want to see Kenny's jaw drop. I want Sammie to gossip. I want pictures of me hung up on the wall. To bend over the tables knowing my lips are spread and leaking.
I want them to fantasize about taking me.
"I'll get way more tips if I don't," I say, winking. "Besides, John said to come in whatever I was wearing, or not wearing. I'm obligated to follow his instructions."
Frankie smiles and nods. "Um hmm. Malicious compliance. I love it."
"Don't encourage her," Bella snaps. "Eliza, do something."
"Do you plan on walking there?" Eliza asks, flicking her gaze down. "Like that? All wet thighs with a wide on?"
I turn to face her, taking a step forward. "Thought I'd take the bus, actually. The lunch rush will be kicking off soon. I need to get there asap."
"Daisy, stop thinking with your snatch for a minute," Bella says, dropping her bag on the floor. "You're going to have to go back there tomorrow, and have everyone talking about the time you turned up to work naked."
Shifting my weight, I grit my teeth to fight the quiver that sentence caused.
Eliza narrows her gaze. "That's the point, isn't it?" she asks, cutting right through me. "You want them to talk. They wouldn't dream of a world where adorable, shy Daisy Hart would strut around the city naked."
"It might be bad to have them talk, it might not," I say, shifting my glance between them all. "I think it would be much worse to go back and have none of them know who I am now."
Bella falls back onto the table and holds her head. "She's lost to us. Our adorable Daisy is now for the streets."
"You know that people don't notice me. Look at me," I say, thrusting my arms out wide and looking down. "I'm tiny, and constantly compared to all of you. That's not your fault, and you know I don't blame you, but it's the truth."
I point toward the supermarket.
"No one bumped into me. They certainly didn't ignore me. For the first time since we were kids, I was noticed. Fuck, I was ogled. Me. The girl hidden from the world by genetics and the average height of people's eyes."
I shrug and let my shoulders fall. "Maybe it is in my head, and I was never invisible," I say, glancing at Eliza. "All I know is, the moment I stopped being afraid of being seen, I found the change I have been yearning for."
Frankie hops off the table and gives me a hug. "We've always seen you, tiny-slimmy."
I chuckle. "Is that seriously going to become a new nickname?"
"Only all the time," Frankie says, kissing my head. "If you want to do this, I think you should do it."
Bella rolls her eyes. "Frankie, you are a terrible enabler."
Frankie chuckles and flicks Bella's nipple. "Not true. I'm very good at it. It's her body, her life, her choice."
Eliza takes a sharp inhale through her nose. "What about Kenny?" she asks. "He might see you and run a mile. This might ruin your chances."
"That would suck," I say, nodding. "It's been a year, sis. Something needs to change, or nothing ever will."
"You're absolutely sure?" Eliza asks. "I'm telling you not to do it."
"I'm going anyway," I say. "And you can post that selfie if you want. I look fucking fabulous."
"Yes, you do." Eliza shrugs and turns to Bella. "She's determined."
"I am. I have now graduated early, moving on to slay bigger giants. And I will do it alone, traveling solo on crowded public transit; then risking my economic security and workplace social circle. All because I refuse to go back to being yesterday's Daisy."
I give Frankie a squeeze before walking to Bella and wrapping my arms around her. "Thank you, and I love you," I whisper. "I'm sorry."
Bella squeezes me. "You know we're coming with you, right?"
I step back. "Actually, I'd prefer it if you three incomparably beautiful women didn't steal my naked thunder. You three goddesses will enjoy the group security of each other's presence. I will slay this personal giant alone."
I give Eliza a massive, very firm hug. "You've got my keys, remember? Would you mind waiting for me?"
She pulls me in and rests her cheek on my head. "If your life implodes, you can live with me as my naked house cat. I'll feed you all the best nibbles."
"Better not get cheap with the damn nibbles," I say, nuzzling into her. "Thank you for pushing me."
Eliza breaks the hug and stares at her phone again. "Go on, fuck off," she says, glancing up with a smirk."
I flick her nipple. "I want a fancy collar too," I say, walking backwards and waving. "Love you guys. See ya."
Liberation of Daisy-2.O” T plus 5 hours.
Then, I find myself walking out of the park again. It's a surreal feeling. Like my feet are moving on their own. My hands sway without thought, or input from me at all. I'm carried forward by automatic movements, as if my subconscious is driving. I'm floating through the streets toward the bus stop. My focus is on my body, and everything that's happening to it. My face, though; resumes the surreal bliss and confident friendly grin. The way my hand raises to wave at every honking car, or how I smile at every glance or stare. The phantom warmth of brushing past someone. When a hand or arm brushes against my skin.
I wonder if they can feel my heat.
When I reach the bus stop, the L E D sign tells me the bus will be five minutes, so I pull my phone out and text John an update. Partial update. I don't want to mention the nudity. He agreed to it, but I still don't think he knows exactly what he agreed to. I can't wait to see the look on his face. On Kenny's face. The customers, too.
Oh fuck, the customers. Those awkward, flirty comments. My heart flutters as I think about it. I chew my smile thinking about Kenny. I wonder if cute suit guy is still thinking about me? Will Kenny have the same reaction? Fully hard with furtive glances. If he doesn't make a move now, at least I'll know.
My nipples stiffen. Sammie will be there soon. Little miss blabber-mouth. She'll tell everyone. The whole city will know. It's funny. Last night I was adamant she shouldn't find out about it for the exact reason I can't wait to happen.
The bus turns the corner, and I put my hand up to signal, enjoying the firmness of my tit as it moves with me. The driver gapes at me while I pay, and the bus full of people stare. The seats are all taken so I grab the pole next to 3 young college girl's seats. I smile at them, then fish my phone out and pretend I'm reading. Not reading. Watching. The texting app is mostly a black screen, and gives a reasonable good reflection of my surroundings. All the looks, the sneers, the licked lips. The hidden expressions they think they're doing behind my back.
I relish them all. I lean against the baggage rack as the bus jerks underway; the metal bar shudders and shakes with the engine. Stealing glances at my audience, I notice there are phones pointed at me. I turn to the bloke behind my right shoulder and inhale a full chestful of air, then flash a big grin and throw up a peace sign with my hand. Yes, I've seen you. No, I don't mind at all. I don't care that I'm being filmed. I don't care that I have no control at all over that footage. My engine revs, and I feel my stomach tensing.
Shifting my weight, I press my thighs together. Slick. Sensitive.
I'm open and I know it.
After 20 minutes, the bus gets me to the stop closest to the cafe, and I take pause. What am I doing? What am I about to do?
This is it.
The point of no return.
I can't ever go back if I do this.
That's not true. I couldn't go back the moment I stepped onto my front street this morning. So, I walk toward the cafe. Head high. Every inch of me revealed, heart and skin laid bare. Every escalation has led me here. I would have been disappointed if the day didn't end this way. This giant still looming over me. If I wasn't completely and irrevocably exposed to my contemporaries. Approaching my workplace, pass the various tables out on the street, still empty. The tables inside are full, and the people sitting by the windows gawk at me, mouths falling open as I walk through the door.
Nude Day At Work: T plus 5:30.
All the conversations end. A dozen people staring in silence. A chair squeaks on the tile. I smile and weave through the tables toward the back. John stands behind the register. He turns, locks his eyes on me, and they widen as the realization hits. His face turns red, and he grabs my wrist and drags me into the back.
"Why are you naked?" he asks, whisper-shouting at me.
"You said to come in whatever I was wearing," I say, gesturing to myself. " Or not wearing!This is what I was wearing, pointing to my thigh satchel."
"Okay, but why are you naked?" he repeats, rubbing his forehead.
"It's national nude day?" I shrug. "I told you that I wasn't dressed."
"You; did say that," he says, looking out at the customers. "I thought you were wearing exercise apparel, short skirt or; or; flip-flops. I didn't think you meant literally."
"Well, I'm here now," I say. "And I'm all you've got, but if you'd prefer, I can just go home and change? But I'll demand lost wages for the hour it takes"
"No; no. I can't deal with the rush on my own. We're going to be talking about this at length. You can bet on that," he says, shaking his head as he scans my body. I smirk as he lingers on my tits. "I mean, where do we even put your name badge?"
A fair point. It's sounding a lot like this will be my last day, after all. So, why not go out with a bang? Push my own boundaries for a change, instead of relying on Eliza to know what I'm comfortable with.
I hold up a finger to John and walk out to the reception desk. "Sorry, we'll be with you in a second," I say to the growing line of customers. I fish out the marker pen from the pot beneath the counter and take it back to John.
"Right about here should do it," I say, pointing to my left tit. "It'll be neater if you write it."
He takes the marker and stares at it for a moment. "Daisy; what's going on?" he asks, shifting his gaze from the pen to my eyes. "Did somebody give you something? Do you know where you are? What's happening?"
I widen my eyes and move my head closer. "I'm not on drugs, boss. It's really just comedic timing, that's all," I say. "The festival in the city? Was a nude one. I went with some friends, and we left our clothes at home. That's the whole story."
I nod toward the marker. "People are waiting, so grab a tit and start writing."
I rise on my toes and puff my chest out.
"This is sexual harassment," he says, pulling the cap off the marker. "But who would believe me?"
Holding the marker like a scalpel, and doing everything he can to avoid brushing against me, John scrawls my name above my tit. I flush as the marker scratches slightly, to inscribe D, and leaves a tingle as it passes.
The marker is grabbing your skin, sorry for the bad penmanship.” John shyly admits.
“Here,” I grab his free hand and firmly pressed it to cup my tit. “Squeeze and it will firm up. I want classy penmanship because it will not soon wear off, damn it!” I ordered my timid boss.
Each letter of my name throbs and pulses, but it's John's breath on my chest that fuels my need more than anything. My skin prickles with each warm, damp wave of pressure against me.
“I dot my I with a heart, not a dot. Please comply, boss.”
Gods, keep touching me. Feel the heat. I fight against my shuddering breaths as he steps back & inspects his handiwork.
Or is he just looking at my tits? My nipples pinch themselves under his scrutiny.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, putting the cap on the marker and looking out at the cafe. "It's going to get very busy, and I can't man the til and keep their hands off you."
I have way too many tables to do my own bussing, John. You'll need to cover the clean up and reset, so that I get the hot food and cold drinks served. Also, If it gets too long of a wait line, have the hostess pass out menus and take their orders ahead of time.”
“That's smart!” John said with a surprised look.
“And I get to keep 100% of my tips!” was my final demand, Corporate doesn't know I'm here, so lets try to keep it that way. Don't put me on the staff ledger and don't log any base pay. The customers will determine my worth and I'll keep that sum to myself.”
He just nodded his affirmation. He was now treating me as a business equal, but also as a valued person. I admire his compassion. Consideration. It's the excuse I needed to escalate. I don't give him the chance to complain, or even turn his head. I skip forward and wrap my arms around him.
Pressing my heat against him, I squeeze him and feel his cock stir against my belly.
“You're good?” he says.
"I'm sure," I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for looking out for me, boss."
I am powerful.
I am desirable.
Grabbing an order pad and pen from behind the counter, I stride back into the room full of waiting tables.
Serving In The Nude: T plus 11:40.
"Sorry about the wait, everyone," I announce, feeling everyone's attention shift onto me. They were already looking, but now they had permission. "If we could obey the honour system and let me know who's been waiting the longest, I'll get to everyone as soon as I can."
I follow the chain of hands and comments, writing a list of table numbers to work through. The length of the list excites me. More than just a list of numbers, it's a checklist of exposure. I'm going to interact with every number, speak to them, joke with them, and they're going to look at me. All of me.
Every part of me is flushed, and I know why. I know I'm horny. So do they. Every polite stammer, or lingering gaze. I watch the eyes as they drink me in, drawn to the parts of me they know they shouldn't be looking at, but can't help themselves. Those are the parts I need them to see. I shift my weight as I focus on my pad, scribbling away as though I weren't naked. As though I wasn't wearing a bag that framed my spreading cunt lips.
As though I hadn't split my legs just enough to give a better view.
I approach the first number on my list. "Hi, there," I say to the middle-aged couple at the table, tapping my 'name badge' with my pen, and flashing the biggest grin I can. "My name's Daisy, and I'll be the server for today. What can I get you?"
The couple politely ordered their coffees and food, which I dutifully note on my pad. I smirk as the husband buries his head in the menu. Making a show of not looking. Though his wife made no such attempt, scanning me fully and nodding.
"I was wild like you," she says, matching my smile. "Never went to work starkers, mind you, but I streaked on my first day of uni with all the other freshers. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"
I nod emphatically. "I was terrified until I wasn't," I say, lowering my hands to my side. "I feel like I'm connecting with my body more than I ever have."
She taps her husband. "She's very pretty, isn't she?"
He clears his throat. "I'm not stupid enough to answer that question," he says, with a chuckle. "What I will say is that I wish I had even half her courage."
"Aw, he's bashful," I say, with a little giggle. "I'll get your order sorted as soon as I can." I raised my foot to the support bar under his chair seat, to slide my order pad into the thigh satchel. The raised leg gave a brief tour of my wide-set glossy cunt lips, in all their just-waxed glory.
With a curtsy, I weave my way through the tables toward the counter, passing the order to John. The take away line is filling the middle row, and I have to squeeze through it to navigate. I feel clothes, even errant hands brushing against me. Always with just enough ambiguity to call it an accident, no one dares touch me deliberately. I would tell them it's okay, but I enjoy watching them struggle with it.
The next is a table of four, three guys and one girl. All wearing the burgundy branded shirts of Camford University. Their orders come with a request for a selfie. I quickly glance around at the tables. With so many people here, how many of them would see this as an invitation? That's another escalation, and my core tightens with anticipation. It pulses when I say yes, and that aching itch drives me deeper into my lust.
“When I arrive with your food, have a volunteer from another table assigned, and have a test pic already done, so they confirm doing it correctly. Then have them take one high shot with me holing the food tray off my hip and your group framed behind me; okay?”
They nodded.
“Also, this will become a demand from every other patron, so explain to them how to comply, okay?”
”Sure, thanks!” the girl in the group said.
When I arrived with the food, a woman stood across from the party of four and I got into position. I took a moment to get my slick thighs pressed together to get into the pose. Eat your heart out, Hooter Girls!
More pictures of me. I have no control over what they do with them, and I have no idea why that excites me so much. They huddle together, and I stand just in front of them. Big smile. I think I've smiled more today than I have in years. When the giggling and laughter spreads over their table, I realize that my body can bring joy to more than just myself. That's another power I would have never known about.
I pass through the takeout line again, pausing for another selfie on the way through.
"I'm happy to pose for pictures, but could you let me serve the customers first?" I ask the room. "As soon as I get on top of it, I'm all yours. I promise."
"I'll hold you to that," someone says, a voice from the corner of the room.
"You'll keep your hands to yourself," another adds.
I bite my lip and deliver the order, collecting a tray of items from the kitchen. The steam from the coffee heats and wets my tit, or is the heat mine? I'm not sure. The first table is grateful to finally have their food. I'm grateful to have another excuse to pass through the growing line of people in the aisle. I know their phones are pointed at me. Videos? Pictures? Live-stream?
It doesn't matter. Every time I push through, I brush against someone new. Every step I take presses my slickened thighs and rubs my cresting clit. My cunt lips and eyes are open. The tension in my stomach grows with each glance, each touch, and it all feels just perfect.
I work down my list, while John tries to usher the take-away line to the side. The cafe is filling up. No one wants to leave.
I grab the tray and weave my way back to the students. Bending to lower the tray to the table, the door opens and a gust of my old friend teases me. Reminds me of what I'm showing. A quiet moan slips out of me, heard by no one except the students. I pick my tray up and wiggle my brow before moving back through the crowd again. A surge of the ache jolts through me and my knees give way.
The empty tray clatters to the ground.
The applause starts. A British custom. My already flushed features burn a shade brighter as I crouch to pick the tray up, making eye contact with a seated customer. Watching his gaze flick between my over-stimulated thighs. My heart stalls for a beat, and I turn my face away. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear before standing up with my reclaimed tray.
I give a curtsy to the applauding masses and return the tray to the counter. Taking a moment to steady myself, to calm the yearning ache in my core. My folds are open, soaked in sensation. My pulse throbs in my ears and between my legs.
Deep, steady breaths. I almost have it under control until I step out into the cafe and the eyes lock onto me. My pulse spikes. Everything is a haze of note taking and smiles. Pretending I can't feel every movement, every glance, every brushed hand against my searing skin, and the way they all tighten the coil in my gut. The itch in my core. The ache in my heart.
I gasp every time I press my legs together to squeeze through the crowd. Moan a little when I weave around tables. Bending over the tables to place the entrees in front of each diner.
"Who knew my outfits were so bad for business?" I quip to John as I deliver another food order to the kitchen. John trained us to write the time on each order as we lay it in the cook's slot. The cooks list the time they have the order done. That allowed John to keep tabs of loitering patrons who should have finished eating within 30 minutes of being served.
John had the hostess keep a ledger of the times each table was served. It also became the hostess's duty to inform diners of the 30 minute issue. They loved it because they would get their table sooner, as a result.
He only had to evict one lesbian trio. After that the word got around that this was not a free strip show. Bit the waiting list got longer. Funny thing is they weren't more impatient. Everyone seemed content to wait all afternoon, so long as they had a set on the benches near the front entry.
Very few diners wanted a sidewalk table, but once I served the older golfing buddies outside, their were plenty more sidewalk diners.
I know what I'm showing. I can't help myself. I arch my back to show more.
I don't care if they film me. My little wet cunt lips posted who knows where, shown to who knows how many.
My stomach spasms as my nipples graze the table. I moan. I twitch.
Standing up, everyone is smirking at me. That was not a quiet moan. I purse my lips and scamper back to collect another order. I wait by the ice machine, not for the customer's order. That's there, and ready to be carried away. I need to give myself time to cool off. A quiet gasp or whimper is one thing, but moaning out loud? The friction between my legs is too much. I hadn't anticipated this, how could I? As excited as I've been all day. As wet as I've been. I didn't think it meant this.
I asked John if there was any Gatorade. He didn't think so, but a cook told me he can whip up something even better. I would drink big gulps every time I had a chance to be at the food counter.
If this keeps going, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop it.
Lunch Rush Doesn't End: T plus 7:30.
I grab the tray and take a few deep breaths to control myself. Don't think about how good it feels. Don't think about them watching. Don't think about the incredible pressure on your overstimulated clit.
I whimper and walk back out into the cafe, thinking about all of those things. The sliding. That beautiful pulsing ache spreading through my core. The soft tap of every bare-footed step on the cold floor, the increasingly brazen hands that brush against my overwhelmingly hot skin. The glimmer of sweat that clings and glistens to every inch of my naked skin. The way Kenny is gaping at me as I serve the customers.
Shit.
I put the tray down and turn toward the entrance. Kenny is staring at me. Wide eyed, jaw slack. I glance down.
His Cock is stiffening as we don't speak.
I bite my lip and turn back to the customers. "Sorry about the wait," I say, stealing glances at Kenny.
Still frozen. Still gawking. Oh, fuck yes.
Picking up the tray, I waddle over to him. I have to stop him staring. He has to leave. I can't. Not in front of him. Them, maybe. But him? Kenny?
The year long ache.
My crush.
"Are you going to say anything, or just stand in the way?" I ask, struggling to keep my excitement under control.
His mouth opens, then closes. He breathes. "Daisy," he whispers. "You're; naked."
I step closer to him. "Kenny," I whisper. "Oh gosh! I didn't know."
I slap him playfully on the arm. "Get to work, we're slammed."
He nods slowly. I turn to head back to the kitchen, looking over my shoulder to see if he's still checking me out. My pulse skyrockets.
He is. Kenny's roommate sent him some viral posts; “Isn't this where you work?”
Kenny left the disc golf course immediately and had to see this for himself.
Walking to the kitchen, John met him; “Oh great! Can you clock in now and bail us out?”
“Yeah, sure. I would want to miss this. What the hell happened to Daisy?”
With nothing in the kitchen to deliver just yet, I head back out to check on everyone. Brushing past Kenny on his way into the kitchen. Looking up at him as he passes, I press myself closer. I let the moment linger. I savor it. My eyes close and I whimper as a pulse erupts. I grasp his shirt to steady myself.
Oh shit.
That was close.
"Are you okay?" he asks, helping me to my feet.
His hand is on my hip, and I want to answer. I have so many things I want to say to him.
I think you're gorgeous and very kind.
Please put your dick in me.
None of the words form in my mouth. Thoughts don't form in my head. All I can think about is the incredible ache in my loins, and his fucking hand on my hip. Does he know?
Is it on purpose?
I grip his shirt tighter and pull myself closer. My tits press into him. On my toes, my lips are close to his. I look at his lips and lick mine. Every breath I take is laced with my arousal. A quiver. A moan.
"I've; fuck; I think you're so fucking gorgeous, looking at me like you are." I sigh. "But I'm going to make a gushing mess if you don't take your hand off my hip."
He glances at his hand, then back at me. Slowly peeling his fingers free.
I miss his touch. Why did I say that?
"Sorry," he says, pulling away from me. Pointing toward the kitchen, he just walks away. "Uh, To be continued?"
I fold over and rest my hands on my knees. "It fucking better be."
I step to the food counter to grab a new tray of hot food
"Hey daisy," he calls from the kitchen, on the other side. "Can I walk you home later?"
I don't look up, I can't look up. If I move I'm going to flood the cafe. I'm sure of it. I just nod my head and breathe.
Like I'm about to give birth. Get it together.
Keep it together.
I stand up and take one last deep breath before stepping back out to the tables. The polite service portion of the job.
"Is everything to your liking?"
"Do you need anything else?"
The crowd in the center has grown. Moving from one side to the other is like getting to the bar in a busy nightclub. I push through, but there are more dangling hands, and none of them seem keen to move them. If they touched me, that would be wrong, but passively letting me graze against them? That's acceptable in their minds.
I free up some space and wave my hands to get their attention. "If you're not waiting to buy something, could you please take your take-out food; you know; away?"
"Do you have time for those selfies now?" A man in the line asks, waving his phone at me.
I glance at the pass to make sure there's no food waiting. There isn't, so I smile at the man.
"Absolutely," I say, stepping next to him. "I can spare five minutes for paying customers to take a selfie. Remember,” I grab an empty pitcher and write 'Daisy' on it; “I'm working for tips."
The man turns his phone around and points it at us. His arm is around me, but not touching me. I glance at it, then up at him.
"Are you going to show this picture to anyone?" I ask.
"Yes, if that's okay?"
"It's fine, but my dear fellow," I say, nodding toward his hand. "People are going to rip into you for that hover-hand."
I grab his hand and pull it onto my waist. The tingle fills my awareness as I smile for the picture. That was the catalyst, and soon everyone waiting in line is waving their phone at me. I go one at a time, letting each of them get their picture.
Letting each of them hold my waist.
Every new hand on my waist is a new wave of excitement. Some test the limits, stretching fingers up around to the side of my tit. I feel my core clench and twitch.
Why am I like this?
It's taking everything I have to keep from sounding out. The crowd does disperse a little after they get their pictures, but more just pile through the door.
"Holy shit, it's real," one says, staring right at me.
"I didn't believe it, but there she is." Another says, turning around to point his phone at himself, with me in the background. "Check it out guys, I'm here at a Borough Blend. The naked waitress is real, and she's hot."
"And wet," another voice chimes in.
I purse my lips and waddle to the kitchen. Has word spread? I pull my phone from my bag and check my messages. The group chat is blowing up. It's full of links to posts about me. Pictures of me. The cafe. Everything.
Oh gods.
I wander back to the counter and the flustered John. "I'm sorry," I say, showing him my phone. "I think I'm going viral."
He looks at the posts. "So, you're telling me that hundreds of thousands of people have seen pictures of you and the name of my restaurant?"
I nod. "It seems that way."
"We've made more money in the last hour than we did last week. Total," He says, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. "Daisy, I could fucking kiss you."
Hundreds of thousands of people.
Hundreds. Of. Thousands.
What the fuck, Daisy?
I put my phone away and add it to the list of things I'm trying not to think about.
This is a whole new level of exposed. I'm trapped. I can't even think about if I want it. If I need it. Just the thought of it makes my eager cunt throb. I push out past the new wave of customers. My new audience, all here for the memes and throwing more clips of me into the void.
More and more will see me. I place menus in front of freshly seated patrons, scampering through the new age paparazzi. My stomach coils tighter as I move back to serve their drinks at the table. The cold steel serving tray pressed on my burning tits. My ass jiggling with every sway of my gait. My engorged folds spread and pulsing.
"Oh; gods; No; no no no."
Gripping the table, I hold my breath. Fight it. Fight. It.
Even with my eyes closed, I can see the flashes. I hear them muttering, streaming. I can feel their gaze on my saturation. It quakes with my attention. I can't focus on anything else.
It's too late.
I bite into my arm in a futile attempt to silence myself, but when the room goes black, I know it's too late. My legs buckle and I'm held only by my fingers clenching in ecstasy around the rim of the table. The coil in my gut bursts and all the tension ripples through me. Electric. I can feel nothing but my muscles spasming in the cold air, and the metal table warming beneath my fever.
Am I still moaning?
Are they still watching?
Filming?
I slowly remember where my feet are and shakily place them on the floor. Swallowing. Gasping. Sweat dripping onto the table as I stand, checking the floor to make sure I didn't just gush all over everything. I sigh contentedly before turning around to see everyone watching me in silence. Phones recording. Mouths open.
I blush, not that anyone could tell. The sex-flush was already in full bloom. "Sorry about that," I say, finding the cloth and wiping the table again. Scampering out to the kitchen again, shooting a very apologetic glance at John. To my relief, he's laughing with the customers about it.
"What can I say," he says. "She really loves her job."
Dinner Shift. T plus 9 hours. Sammie sat me at John's desk with a plate of food and another big glass of water. “Eat up slowly, girl. I'm here now. I got you covered.”
With that she stripped off her blouse and skirt. The bra and panties dropped next. Her curly brunette hair now dangled like a grass skirt upon her brown nipples. Sammie is a fit 26 year old yoga enthusiast with a full C cup and very firm full ass. Her muff is well groomed with a trimmed V shaped tuft of pubes.
She took on all the duties I had been fulfilling. When my strength revived about 30 minutes later, Sammie was relieved to see me. We split the dining room in half and both took turns doing selfies with the take-out order line, Sammie had her own tip jar set out.
Sammie's euphoria was amazing to witness. At first John got really irritable, But Sammie pulled him aside and whispered in his ear. She concluded her words with a slap on his ass and a kiss on his cheek. He grinned, nodded, and was just fine with the new game plan.
The rest of the day flows in a blissful haze. I'm so euphoric, I even work the entire shift. Not just the rush John asked me to cover. Of course, when Sammie turns up, she already knows everything. She'd seen every post. So had everyone. Eliza, Frankie, Bella.
Kenny and John had a front-row seat.
The menu became rather limited later in the day, as our food stocks dwindled. The supply house stopped by with a delivery truck at 4:40, stocked with our commonly-ordered items. The driver said he volunteered to do the late run, and John was shocked to know our restaurant was now the talk of the local industry.
At 8:20pm, When John had finally kicked the last customer out, I flopped into a chair and stared at the ceiling.
Kenny handed me a raincoat he kept at the back entry. “Let's leave out the back, Daisy. There are TV news crews setting up for live remotes.”
“So, why the raincoat?” I asked, a bit offended.
“Daisy, this is beyond a the freedom and liberation stage. It's reached a lunatic predator concern. Until you know the full impact, you're going to need all the privacy you can retain.
This was out of control. Beyond anything I could even fathom.
"So, how fired am I?" I asked John, when the door was locked.
John tosses the keys in his hand a couple of times. Staring at them, then at Sammie. His gaze finally settles on me.
"You wanna do this again next year?"
"Fuck yes." I giggled in delight.
“Fuck, yes!” Sammie echoed my commitment with her own, as she took her purse from her locker.
“Great, John added, but we keep this under wraps until next June. We don't want to attract more competition, protesters, or more government suppression. Let's not talk to media, either. Keep them guessing, It'll keep the buzz going longer.
“John,” Sammie added. “We can always book the restaurant for private parties after-hours?”
“Hmm” John's mind started going down another trail of thoughts.
“But take me home, John”, Sammie insisted. “I gave you my word, and you have no idea what this exhibitionism does to a sexy woman's libido.”
“I have a feeling;” Kenny finally spoke up; “Johnny will soon find out.”