"Rick," a voice called from the front of the restaurant. I glared up from my tickets for the night towards the podium before the entrance. "Rick!" The voice repeated itself.

"Tracy?" I called back.

"I need you up here for a second." Tracy was the hostess, beautiful of course and in her late twenties, the owners daughter, an Black Irish with lazy dark brunette curls and large doe eyes. There was something about her that was different than most women, not something beyond her years, but something hard, intimidating, cocksure with the inner resources to back it up rather than the blind arrogance of youth. As I approached the front podium, she crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it into to the entrance foyer. She merely inclined her head toward it and I walked over and bent over at the waist to pick it up, too shaken and excited and too easily falling into the obedient role to protest. "Nice ass," she said. I turned and frowned, unsure whether she was just jerking my chain. "Let's get a drink. I'm buying," she told me and turned to lead me back to the bar.

I was in my early twenties, with a face that was pretty rather than handsome. I was often mistaken for homosexual with my hair, long enough to be tied back into a yuppie-style pony tail. There was something about the way Tracy was staring at me, a smile that lent a shark like cast of sharpness to her teeth. I was frozen inside, not at all sure what I wanted to do with her, what I wanted her to do with me. Keeping my mouth shut and flowing with the moment seemed the best bet. If she wasn't amusing herself, it would become apparent soon enough.

"What do you folks do after close?"

I raised my eyebrows with a faint, innocent smile on my lips. "Party, or something like it. A bar, someone's apartment, a drunken sex orgy."

Tracy raised her eyebrows this time.

"I'm kidding. Well, there was that time Nicole sat on the couch and blew everyone in turn."

Tracy chuckled. "You're not supposed to tell me these things."

"You can't fire her for being a slut, I don't think."

"No, but I can set her up with my dad."

I laughed. "Are you going to hand me that glass?" I asked, gesturing at the brandy snifter she held.

"No," she said and downed it. "What I want to know is if you can fit into a waitress uniform."

"For a drink?" I don't think so.

"Let your hair down. I'll be right back."

I did as she asked and waited for Tracy to return. She reappeared a few minutes later with a white blouse, short black skirt . . . black fishnet stockings, a deep blue bustier with garter straps, G-string panties, elbow length black gloves with bows on the wrists, and black four inch heels. I noticed a large bulge in her skirt. Only a bit chagrined, I pulled off my clothes and put on the bustier, stockings, and gloves. Tracy nodded at the shoes. Reluctantly, I slipped them on and bent over and grabbed the bar at the rail. I turned her head to see her hike her skirt up, revealing the seven or eight inch cock harnessed to her waist. Tilting my head down, I shook slightly with anticipation, wiggling my ass for her. She slid in with one long thrust, eliciting a loud groan from my mouth. Hard and fast, she fucked my pussy through minutes of silence until I cried out, an initial cry that was followed by moans and gasps as I began to push back against her. The only word that could issue forth from my mouth was "Bitch," but it came out with a keen of ecstasy. I felt my fuck tunnel momentarily relax then grip her cock hard, milking it in a vice grip that she slammed her cock through until I whimpered loudly and sagged. Loosened at last, I whipped my hair and held my head aloft.

"Ooh, God, I looove that cock. You fuck me so, so good. Make my pussy happy, make it nice and sore and ever so well fucked." I ground my ass back into her as best I could. "Or do you think you can do more? Do you think you can make it yours?" Her hand slipped under me to my dick and I began shrieking and whimpering. "You want your slut to cum? You want me, your slut? You want my . . ."

"You'll cum if you need to," she told me and found a tempo with me, making love to my ass until I began to sag, my feet unable to keep their balance, my arms too limp to maintain their grip on the bar. "Are you going to spill anymore cum for me?" she asked.

I looked down at the small puddle on the floor and shook my head.

She thrust deep, completely impaling me, and held still. "Do you care if you cum?"

"No."

"No?" Tracy slid all the way out of me, then pressed her entire cock all the way back into my pleasure-aching pussy.

"No, mistress."

"Then get dressed. We're going out."

I nearly collapsed when she withdrew from me but, not wanting to make her impatient, I slid into the skirt and blouse as quickly as I could. "Where to?"

"If I wanted to go easy on you, and I don't, we'd start out with an all-night grocery store to get you used to your new self, Rachel. But we don't have that kind of time. Don't worry, though. I know just the place." She smiled and winked. "You'll get that drink after all. As many as you want."

When we arrived in her car at an upscale bar, I stared at the entrance with wide-eyed panic.

"Getting in will be the worst part. Just hold my hand," she said and led me through the doors and past the host, saying words I didn't hear. We found a table near the back. The room was dimly lit, with a blues duo at the center, not visible to most of the bar. A waiter arrived to take our orders, giving me an odd glance but not commenting. When our vodka martinis came, Tracy began pointing out men. By the end of the third drink, we agreed on one, a man in his late thirties at the bar wearing a wedding ring who made intermittent, lackluster attempts to flirt with the female bartender. Tracy walked over to him and, moments later, he was following her back to our booth.

He slid in between us and Tracy began whispering in his ear, both of us watching him grow hard. Not caring anymore, just following instincts, I sank down beneath the table and took out his dick. I could see Tracy whispering to him as I took him in my mouth. My amateurish efforts to felate him we bolstered by Tracy's words. When he began to breath in large gasps that caught in his throat, I pulled my mouth back and stroked his dick with my hand till he shot on my face.

"How did you like my boyfriend?" she asked. We both stared at her in astonishment. She looked down to me and licked her lip. Obediently, I licked the semen from my face while she watched, smiling. "See, he's mine. He just needs some time for it to sink in. And you?"

"William."

"You, William, are going."