rdodger
Posts: 21
Joined: 1/1/2004
Status: offline
|
Priscilla's Parlor
by Rajah Dodger {[email protected]} (c) 2006, 2009
Greg was hungry. He'd slept late and skipped breakfast, so even though it was only 11:00 he was ready for lunch. Some of the women around his office had been talking up a new place called Priscilla's Parlor. It was supposed to be good -- Southern cooking like Mom used to make. Not Greg's mother, of course. The Hefferdale matrons never handled things like butter and flour; servants did that sort of thing. Greg had been raised with similar values, that was why he was management. He didn't really want to try some new place, especially since it was only the secretaries who seemed most thrilled with it, but his hunger left him without the desire to look for something farther away.
The restaurant was definitely female oriented, from the knick-knacks and lacy curtains to the almost suffocating shades of pink and rose everywhere. Greg was seated by a rather buxom hostess and told that his waitress Susan would be with him momentarily. He looked over the menu, and was pleasantly surprised – while there were many salad bar items, there were plenty of choices for dishes he was willing to eat and the prices were better than at the cafeterias in town. His waitress arrived, a petite woman in rather impractical high heeled sandals. She took his order pleasantly and quietly, and while he waited he took the opportunity to look around the place.
Most of the customers and all of the waitstaff were women. Many of the customers were dressed expensively enough that he was puzzled why they would eat here. About half of the waitstaff looked like anonymous waitress types, but the other half! They looked like slumming society women, and their outfits were much more tight and clinging. Several of them kept glancing back toward the kitchen nervously, as if this was their first job. Greg shrugged and decided to read the rest of the menu and look around some more; the problems of a bunch of waitresses weren't exactly any of his concern. He did notice there was only one other customer who wasn't a woman, a man two tables over from Greg who was blonde and blue-eyed, maybe 5 foot 8, the kind of guy the women at the office would be twittering over.
Susan brought his lunch and he dug in with relish. The food was indeed quite tasty. The other guy passed Greg's table on the way to the restroom about the same time that Greg decided he'd ask his waitress for dessert. They had cheesecake on the menu, a favorite of his. It took longer than he thought necessary for the dessert to show up, but it was as good as the rest of his lunch. Greg was so pleased that when he paid his bill he added a whole ten percent tip to it. He noticed as he passed the other guy's table that the food was still there but the guy hadn't come back. That seemed odd, but maybe he had a sensitive stomach.
It was a few weeks later that Greg's schedule and appetite combined to suggest the Parlor to him for lunch. There wasn't anything terribly pressing at the office, so it wouldn't matter if their waitresses were a little on the slow side. Nothing had changed when he got there, not the décor, not the hostess with the great rack; he even had the same waitress – what was her name, oh yeah, Susan.
He ordered and looked around while he waited for his meal. A young blonde woman entered and was seated at the table next to him. She was quite a looker, about five foot nine and stacked, in an expensive-looking outfit that if anything accentuated her breasts. The woman seemed very nervous; he watched her stutter as she looked up to her waitress and gave her order. Strange, that. There was something familiar about her blandly pretty face, but nothing he could put his finger on. She certainly wasn't one of the secretaries from his office.
His meal arrived and he made short shrift of it. He was hungrier than he had thought and was halfway through his second glass of tea when he cleaned the last of his plate. His stomach grumbled at him, and he decided he'd better hit the restroom or he wouldn't have room for dessert. He headed for the back, his stomach complaining with more emphasis at each step, and passed his waitress on the way. When she smiled and asked how he enjoyed his meal he told her brusquely that it was fine and he needed cheesecake.
As Greg stepped through the door to the john he took one look and stepped back out. He checked the door; it said "Men" on it. But this was like no men's room he had ever been in. The walls were blue, not pink, but the mirrors had gold gilt frames and the light fixtures were mini-chandeliers. The floor was lushly carpeted, which seemed wildly useless to him. All of the stalls had doors and there wasn't a standalone urinal to be seen. A cramp inside reminded him that he didn't care about urinals anyway, and he rushed to the farthest stall and entered, locking the swinging door behind him.
Something must have really disagreed with him, because his body blew out a loud and messy expulsion not once but twice, leaving Greg shaky and shivering. It took three flushes before he felt clean and steady enough to get back on his feet. When he got his pants pulled up and zipped, he went to open the door but it wouldn't move. The bolt slid back, but the door wouldn't swing open. He couldn't decide whether he should call for help, which would have been terribly embarrassing, or try climbing under the bottom of the door which didn't look like a lot of room. He heard the bathroom door open, but the carpet muffled any footsteps. He only knew the other person was there from the sound of the soap dispenser and running water in the sink. By the time Greg decided to go ahead and call for help, the other person had gone.
This was really stupid, he thought. Angrily he slapped the door, and to his surprise it swung open as if nothing had ever been a problem. Well, at least he could pay his bill and get out of here now. He walked out of the stall, glancing down to check his zipper, and stopped at the realization that he wasn't alone. His view pointed downward, he saw a pair of nyloned feet in very high-heeled ankle-strap sandals. As he lifted his eyes higher, he saw stockinged legs, skirt hem, blouse, full breasts, broad shoulders, and a very stern female face. He mumbled something about this being the men's room and took a step backward, only to be grabbed from behind and his upper arms held painfully by someone with a very strong grip. The woman in front of him pulled out a cloth and held it over his nose and mouth, and Greg was surrounded with an overpowering sweet smell before everything went black.
*** *** ***
Greg woke fuzzily, the sweet smell still in his nose. His lips felt parched, and there was a bad taste in the back of his throat. He reflexively licked his lips as he opened his eyes.
*FLASH* A strong light made him blink, and when he could see again he started to take stock of where he was. Naked on his back, for one thing. He yelped and tried to get up but his arms and ankles were fastened down. Worse, when he moved he felt some kind of stiff lump lodged in his bottom. He squirmed and tried squeezing his muscles, but it wouldn't come out. Worse yet, he could feel that he was sporting a very large erection that pulsed with every muscle clench.
"Oh good, we're awake now!" The voice came from a woman entering the room to one side. He strained to turn his head enough to see her. It was his nondescript waitress, but she wasn't nondescript any more. Her uniform was gone, and she was wearing only the high heeled sandals, a pair of almost-translucent panties that outlined the slice of her sex, and a pair of matching jeweled dangles bobbing from her dusky thick nipples. The dangles twinkled with her breathing, and they made it hard for Greg to move his attention from her breasts to her face. She looked pointedly at Greg's crotch, and he felt himself blush all over as his cock throbbed.
"I'm glad to see you're enjoying your little friend," she commented with a wicked grin. Greg was confused, then as his groin throbbed and he felt the presence of the thing in his ass he understood what she meant. Susan continued, "That's good, Pearl, it will make things so much easier for you."
He protested weakly, "What is this? And my name's Greg, not Pearl!"
"No, dear," she corrected him, stroking his balls teasingly and dangling her breasts in his face. "You're our sweet Pearl now." Her teasing made him squirm all the more, the plug an insistent presence in his bottom. Susan cupped her hand over his cockhead and smeared his precum over the knob, drawing a moan from him. Greg fought to keep from exploding then and there. "What's this all about anyway? You can't do this!" Naked and bound or not, his confidence was coming back to him. These people didn't know who they were dealing with.
That confidence didn't survive the three photographs that Susan showed him.
In the first photograph Greg was shown entering the restroom. Obviously they had hidden cameras there. The second photograph showed him lying on his side on the carpet, his hand curled around his cock and semen splattered on his stomach. His eyes were lidded and his lips were wrapped around a thick cock. That picture might easily have been faked, although Greg had the sinking suspicion it had been real. The third picture was the killer. Greg was definitely awake in this one, his eyes flared open and what might have been a half-smile on his lips. His tongue was clearly licking whitish smears from his lips. Cum was also splattered on his bare chest and stomach, his cockhead was visibly engorged, and the end of the butt plug could be seen between his thighs. Tellingly, the straps holding his elbows and ankles were out of the frame of the picture.
Susan spoke again, her voice sultry but sharp and threatening. "I hope you realize that you don't get to make the rules here. You're one of Priscilla's girls now, Pearl, and the sooner you adjust to that the better." The door of the room opened and closed and another woman approached Greg. She was a big-breasted redhead wearing a low-cut sweater, high heels and a short black skirt. Susan's voice cut through the room like a knife. "You're late, Candy. We'll deal with that later. Right now I need you to help Pearl here with her training." Susan smiled at Greg, and that smile chilled him as much as the rest of her instructions. "Break her in, Candy, gently if you can, but break her."
The redhead pouted and sidled up to the table near Greg's head, stroking his face with her broad soft fingers. "She's so cute, Susan, I don't know how you find them!" Her other hand replaced Susan's in stroking and teasing Greg's erection. "Oh, and she's so excited, this is going to be fun!" She looked down into Greg's face and smiled happily. "Hi there, Pearl. My name's Candy, and you're going to be my new best friend. I hope you like Candy, because I'm going to give you a big fat candy cane!
She flipped up the front of her skirt and tucked it into her waistband, revealing to Greg's shocked eyes a fat, throbbing cock, the more obscene for being shaven of any hair. It glistened in his face in all its pink splendor and he watched it in horrified fascination. Candy's fingers stroked his hair as she grabbed his shoulder, rolling him onto his side facing her. "Come on over, sweetie, I've got what you need right here." The cockhead bumped into Greg's lips, spongy and warm. A flash of anger made him clamp his mouth shut, but the feeling of someone's fingernails digging into his testicles changed his mind.
For all of that, Candy was basically gentle. She let him get accustomed to the feeling of the flesh filling his mouth, and moved back and forth in slow, easy strokes. Greg was overwhelmed, by the loss of control, by the unwanted and unavoidable rape of his mouth, the tang at the back of his tongue that he knew must be pre-cum, the contrast of the very feminine perfume scenting the base of Candy's cock. Her hips moved faster, and Greg moaned in protest as he felt someone twist the butt plug in his bottom. No matter how he squirmed, he was still held tight as Candy erupted, thick musky streams filling his mouth oozing out of the corners, hands on his balls commanding him to explode at the same time. He had to swallow or choke, his nose now filled with the funk of semen mingled with her perfume.
Someone lifted his hand to cup Candy's ballsac, and he felt the flash of the camera near his face. He cringed; it was only getting worse. Dazed from the all-out assault, he put up no resistance as his body was cleaned up and shaved, the large butt plug replaced with a smaller one with a strap harness, and his cock threaded down between his thighs and tucked into a gaff. The restraining straps removed, Greg was lifted to a sitting position and quickly fitted with a well padded bra then led through dressing in a blouse, skirt and stockings.
He took a closer look at one of Candy's assistants; she was the blonde he had thought familiar earlier. He looked down at her panties with the masculine bulge, and something clicked in his head -- this must be, must have been the guy he had noticed on his first visit! There was something important about that thought, but he was kept too busy to follow it as Candy and her helpers pushed his feet into heels and held him for practice walking from one end of the room to the other. Finally they sat him at a small vanity and made up his face. When they finished he looked at his reflection and writhed in mental agony. The woman blinking back at him was the kind of hot looker Greg would have been glad to make a pass at.
While he was staring at himself, Susan came back into the room. "Is she ready yet? I've got customers out there." She turned Greg around to face her and inspected him critically. "Not too bad, Pearl, I think you might work out here. In case you were wondering, we used your business card to call your secretary. You got ill during lunch and were taken to see a doctor; you're not expected in your office until tomorrow. That gives you this afternoon and evening for what I like to call employee orientation." She leaned down and kissed him roughly, her tongue sliding into his mouth. Greg couldn't help himself, his body responded as much as the gaff allowed. Susan pulled back and smirked. "I thought so. Clean up that lipstick and get out on the floor. We've got a lunch crowd to serve. Later," and with this her eyes flared and made Greg's breath catch in his throat, "you can start learning how to really serve. Welcome to your new part-time job, Pearl."
Susan left abruptly, and Candy and the others helped Greg look presentable again. Candy escorted him out of the back room, pinned a badge above his breast and pointed him to the hostess. He walked gingerly on the heels, which made his calves hurt. As he went to the front of the restaurant he looked around at all of the twittering women inside. He realized with a sinking feeling that a large number of them were surreptitiously watching him. Inspecting him. Knowing him.
The hostess put a hand out to steady Greg and looked at him with what might have been empathy as she told the waiting party of four, "Pearl will be your waitress. Enjoy your lunch at Priscilla's Parlor!"
Taking the menus, trying hard not to break down and cry, Pearl started her first shift.
/END/
_____________________________
Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent
|
Priscilla's Parlor - 
Profile
New Messages
No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages
Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages
Locked w/o New Messages
Post New Thread