Hooter's Waitress Humiliation	Back to T	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
updated june 24 - 2009

WARNING: This story contains strong themes of coercion and forced
sexual behavior. It is intended as a work of fiction for ADULTS only,
and the writer does not in any way suggest or condone similar
behavior.

1 | 2 | 3

Hooter's Waitress Humiliation
by exhootersgirl©

The cab ride home was degrading. I was obviously disheveled and looked like I had been treated the way I had. Plus, I was a young woman, holding a wad of cash, staggering out of a luxury home where she had been in the company of a bunch of older men. I felt sure the cab driver, a small Middle Eastern man, knew exactly what I had just done.

The rational part of my brain, almost incapacitated by alcohol, still processed that there was no way he could know. Yet, he continued to look at me in the rearview. We drove on for a while until, unable to contain himself, he spoke.

"What club do you work at?"

"What?" I said.

"What club? Where do you dance? Men's Club, HeartBreakers....XTC?"

He asked the last one hopefully.

He thought I was a topless dancer or worse. That last club he mentioned was totally nude.

"I don't work at a club," I said.

"Oh, you an independent?"

I did not answer as he added, "I like the clubs."

I looked out the window at the lights of passing stores and houses.

"I'm far worse than that," I thought.

He got me to my apartment and I climbed out of the cab.

"That will be seven, twenty-five,' he said.

I was almost oblivious. I was so drunk and tired. I started to peal off a bill, when the driver said, "Give me a little lapdance and I will not charge you."

I handed him a ten and walked toward my front door. I stepped inside and in the cool darkness felt an instant relief. I started across my living room not even bothering to turn on a light and undressed as I went. There were only the two items and in a second I was naked, walking through my apartment. I entered the bedroom and sat on the bed, already feeling a slight soreness from the encounter of the evening, and untied my white tennis shoes. I pulled off my socks and crawled up on the bed. A part of me wanted a shower, but I was so tired, almost numb from fatigue. Before I had time to reconsider I was asleep. The sunlight awakened me. My head was throbbing monstrously and I only moved it because a completely inconsiderate ray of light was shining right into my bloodshot eyes. I felt horrible. As I moved, an achy sensation in my thighs, butt, and between my legs, like I had done about an hours worth of intense aerobics, brought me back to reality. I had done aerobics, and the action of riding on Mike in bed had been work out of a different sort. That simple movement brought back a whole avalanche of recollection and a sense of the most profound embarrassment and regret. Alone in my room it was bad enough. There was still something very abstract about it. I had not considered it yet, but if I had I might have been ill with the potential of seeing physical representation in the form of smiling faces when we ran into each other again.

"At least I won't see Mike again," I thought and as I moved my body sideways on the bed and felt the soreness, was reminded of just how big and vigorous a guy he had been. The sunshine and the recollection of the night before on top of the pounding headache made me slowly sit up. As I did I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked awful.

My eyes were puffy, and my hair was a wild tangle. From the neck down I was the same girl, from a singular appraisal, though every shift was a reminder that some things had changed for me. I ran my hand through my blonde hair and smoothed it a little.

"What have you done, you fool?" I thought to myself.

Almost as soon as the thought cleared my head, I answered myself with, "You stripped butt naked, and let a bunch of middle-aged assholes get you to put on a sex show."

If I knew I would never see them again it would have haunted me forever, but the prospect of running into them at work, knowing that they had seen what they had, knowing that I had done what I did, was almost too much to bear. They would be insufferable, just from the grinning and looks, and god-help-me the comments. I needed them to keep there mouths shut about what I had done, so I knew I would have to be diplomatic.

"Yeah," I thought, "how has that worked so far?"

My needing them to keep quiet and communicating that without establishing openly how much influence they would now have would be tricky. The last thing I wanted was for them to know how desperate I was to keep my actions a secret.

I stood up and walked into the bathroom. I started the shower and let the bathroom get steamy. I had to work that day after class and I knew there was a good chance they would be at the restaurant. I put that out of my mind and stepped into the warm spray of water indulging in the cleansing pleasure. When I was done I took my time getting ready for school. I blowdried my hair and pulled it back in a ponytail. Looking at my face, I decided not to put on any makeup until I reported for work. I walked out of the bathroom and the shock of the air conditioning on my naked body reminded me of my own anatomy which momentarily brought back a flurry of the last night's exhibition and shame. I stepped over the dresser and grabbed a bra and a pair of panties. It was amazing the effect of simply putting on my underwear had. I was not in the mood to attract attention and I slipped on an oversized grey sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. My sunglasses were sitting on the counter and I put them on. The immediate relief from the light was a lovely and a real deliverance. I was ready to head out.

It was humid morning and already kind of warm in the way only the gulf coast can be and I crossed the street to the campus. The effects of the shower were no match for the weather and I was almost sweating by the time I made class. I was early for once and walked into the back of the room where I slumped in a seat and pretended to be invisible. I did not have a lot of time to myself as Dr. Renfro walked in and looking surprised said, "Kim? Are you here early?"

"Uhm, yes sir," I answered.

"Well, I am surprised."

He looked around and since we were alone said, "I reviewed your paper. It was very rough. I will be deciding on a final grade soon, but with the penalty for the other one, I am afraid it will be a D."

"Whatever," I said.

After what I had been through, I couldn't have cared less. Dr. Renfro, however, had no way of knowing and he took my response for one of complete apathy. The class was filing in and I kept on my sunglasses ignoring the looks from some of my classmates. I felt so embarrassed and yet I knew they could not possibly know what I had done. Deep down, I had a suspicion that it would be last real conversation I would ever have with the man and so it really did not matter.

The hour passed and I was time to get back to my apartment to get my belongings together to head over to Hooters. I tossed my items in the gym bag, slipped on a pair of sunglasses and walked outside to the car. I really did not want to go to work. I had twenty five hundred dollars and the thought of calling in sick crossed my mind several times as I drove to the restaurant.

I pulled up to the restaurant and to my disgust saw that the lot was already fairly full.

"How many guys could really like wings?" I thought, knowing the answer was maybe two.

The rest were there for the very thing that had taken me to such a low last night. I got out of the car and walked straight through the doors to the back. Even dressed and looking "not my best" the eyes were all over me. I did not look around, but a subtle glance showed, to my relief, no sign of the party guys. I walked on back to the dressing room and opened my locker. No one was there and I started undressing. In just a few minutes I was completely naked and it dawned on me that this had become my routine. Somehow that fact combined with what I had done the night before made me feel so terribly cheap.

I pulled on my pantyhose and the uniform. Once dressed, I looked in the mirror and realized this would have to be a heavier makeup day. I hated that look, but seeing no choice, I put it on.

I walked out on the floor and immediately felt the attention that had been there when I walked in magnified a hundred fold. I tried to blank it out and immediately took orders. The routine was a help. It put me into a sort of dull state. I could avoid thinking. I smiled, leaned over tables and did the surreptitious bending that elevated tips and basically tuned out.

It would have worked had not the doors opened and the three men who had less than twelve hours before been witness to my most depraved moment, entered. They saw me before I saw them and made a huge point of sitting in my area. When I turned around from taking an order and saw their open brazen grins, my heart stopped. I felt like I was working stark naked and the way they stared, I might as well have been. It was too much.

I barely made it to the bar.

"Cover for me will you?" I said to a new girl and escaped to the back.

I was shaking. I knew even as I was thinking about it, that I could not go back out there. Not even changing I grabbed my bag and slipped out the back door of the restaurant. It was the first time that I had been out in the daylight in my full Hooter regalia and I caught a reflection of myself in a car's windshield. The image was terribly disturbing and made me even more self conscious.

I slipped into my car and drove home. Twice on the ride I realized how I bad the things I had done would be if anyone I knew ever found out. I also found myself struggling with the haunting thought of running into any of those guys out in real life with family or friends. The idea of those smirking, too knowing smiles would be soul crushing.

I arrived at the apartment and literally ran from the car to the front door. It must have been some sight as a young man did a double take as he saw my dash from a distance. Once inside, I stripped off the ridiculous uniform. It was a liberating almost cleansing act and feverishly I pulled down the pantyhose and did not stop until I was completely nude. I paused, feeling completely ashamed.

"What had I done?" I was a nice young woman from a good background and I had allowed myself to degrade for the entertainment of such pigs. I sat down on the couch and allowed the heavy salty tears to fall.

6 months later:

I was walking down the aisle of the Walmart superstore in my workout clothing. I had on a pink pair of sweat pants and a zip up top over a sports bra. I was just doing some basic shopping. I was a poor student again, involved in work study. The fancy apartment and the cool car had been replaced with a micro-efficiency and a beat up sedan. I was hunting for generic macaroni and cheese pre-mix. It was on the bottom shelf and I squatted down to get two boxes.

I had just grabbed one when I felt something press firmly through the fabric of my sweat pants in between my spread buns. It was right against my ass and I startled and stood up immediately. To my shock...to my anger....and worse, to my emotional disabling stood George. I hadn't seen him in a long time, but the emotional debilitation was as bad as if I were still there in the house naked after being so used. He was wearing a pink golf shirt and a pair of shorts and was looking me over with that same smug mocking smile. He had nudged me down there with the toe of his shoe. The affront and audacity of that, that he even thought he could do such a thing was so offensive that I wanted to claw his face. Instead I just stood there mute.

"Hey, babe," he said and leaned forward to hug me like we were old friends.

It was terribly confusing. I hated this man and yet the vulnerability and shame of what I had done, and what I knew he knew I had done, made me want me in some way to have his approval. It was as if having it would lessen the self loathing I experienced when I thought about my actions.

He circled an arm around my waist and kind of rested his hand under my breast. I shifted uncomfortably. He was looking me over and remembering, I was sure. It made me feel even smaller. He could tell that finances were an issue based on the way I was dressed. In a way, it was like a snake assessing a baby bird.

"You know I was just remembering what a great sport you were and how much fun that party was."

My smile wavered, but I looked at him helplessly. He smiled.

"You know, I am scheduling a birthday party next week. I could really use an entertainer."

I almost threw up. I looked at him, my mind screaming "NO, no, no!"

He was smiling so benignly. I still don't understand the power that the shame of what I had done before had on me. It was that overwhelming need for my victimizers to forgive me, I guess. Regardless of what it was it was very overpowering and psychologically destructive.

"I don't do that," was all I said.

George was unwavering. The same smile. The same gentle pressure. He went for the one other vulnerability.

"Baby, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use the money. How about the same arte as last time? Twenty-five hundred, right?"

I stood there stunned then pushed away from him.

"I am not having se with anyone," I said.

"No problem," he said, not missing a beat. "You can just dance like last time."

I kind of wanted to scream, to refuse, but he was right. I needed the money desperately. And I felt that strange stupid need for verification. I nodded almost like an out of body experience.

He flipped out his cell phone and dialed. Within seconds he was chatting.

"Hey Tom, you will never guess who I just ran into. And guess what, she is up for doing the party!"

I stood there dumb, unable to say a thing.

"Yeah, and guess what, she is available for the party. Yeah, I know..."

He looked me over as he paused.

"...Oh yeah, she looks as good as ever. What? Oh yeah, right. I'll tell her."

He flipped the phone closed and turned to me.

"Hey, listen if you could, make sure that...you know..." He pointed at my lower body generally, but stared right at my crotch. "do that little shave thing like last time okay?"

I said nothing. It was too humiliating.

For the next week, I felt almost powerless. Almost, dirty. A hundred times I wanted to call and cancel. A couple of times I really was about too. To this day I don't understand the approval thing, the deep disabling acceptance requirement that actually made me get in the tub with a razor and shaving cream and comply with their salacious instruction. Maybe it was something like a Helsinki Syndrome, needing to identify with my torturers. Regardless the result was that on the night of the party, with a little black landing strip of hair all that was left over my very denuded labia, I slipped on my pink sweat suit without anything under, and I was wearing the white tennis shoes and thick white bunch socks. Right before I left, I took half of a valium that had been a present from a friend.

George's house was not quite as palatial as Mike's had been, but it was in the same neighborhood. George, I would learn was paying alimony and while he made even more than Mike, he had a little less to put into the place. The other difference was that his home was almost exclusively dedicated to the design and furnishings of a slightly post-adolescent bachelor's party house. He had Nagel artwork and more sports memorabilia than I would have ever imagined possible.

I pulled up in front of the house and noticed the substantial number of cars. The valium was having its effect, and even though I was already slightly dulled, the potential numbers that would be witnessing this got through the fog. I felt a slightly sick tightening in my tummy as I switched off the engine and got out of the car. I walked up the driveway to the front door. From inside I could hear a throbbing beat of music being played way too loud and the occasional sound of male laughter. I paused on the porch and then rang the bell.

It opened almost instantly and a guy in his late thirties, obviously well on the way to being drunk looked at me with a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Hey, George," he yelled, "the 'talent' is here."

George appeared behind him, smiling.

"Oh, hey come on in," he said, pushing the guy out of the way. "Good to see you!"

He led me down the hallway to a the kitchen bypassing the main living room. In one corner a huge cardboard replica of a cake was sitting with the top layer open like a hatch. It was suddenly apparent what was expected. I looked at it and my expression must have given away my immediate reluctance.

"Oh no," said George, "It is just a joke. We thought it would be kinda fun and add to the surprise for the groom, if you popped out."

Without asking, he was pouring a large shot of tequila.

"If I remember, this is your drink, right.?"

He handed it to me and turned to a blender that was full of margarita mix. He cranked the blender to remix and then poured me a glass. I held the shot a moment and then realizing that being foggier might be better, I downed it. As I set the glass down, he was handing me another, this time the frozen margarita.

I had not eaten anything since lunch and the effect of the alcohol on top of the valium was potent. Within a few minutes I was in a mental place that made even the next request seem reasonable.

"Okay well, hey, let's get started. Why don't you get undressed and climb into the cake. You just stay inside until you hear me say 'ta da' and then you up on the front right here and pop out."

He paused waiting, and I almost reflexively went with the unspoken order and unzipped the sweat top. Immediately I realized how cranked up the air conditioner was as my nipples crinkled. I set the sweat top on the counter, swaying and jiggling as I did, and the pulled the pants down over my shoes. I stood up and saw his gaze fixed on what was left of my pubic hair. I tried to ignore the blatant nature of it, but it was difficult as I set the sweat pants on top of my other garment. Then I got in.

To get inside, I had to squat down and kind of bend forward, I hated that he was standing behind me, because I knew what he was seeing. The only thing that minimized it at all was that he had seen everything there before. Still, that did not give me a lot of comfort.

He closed the cake and inside I found the effect of the alcohol and sedative, really disorienting. It worsened when I felt the cake begin to move as it was carried into the living room. I could tell because the music was so much louder. The pounding percussion set off a vibration that had I stayed in there much longer would have likely made me ill. As it happened the music dimmed and I could hear George talking.

"And now we have a real treat. You've all missed her, I know I have. Everybody's favorite Hooters girl, herrrrrrre's Kimmy!"

I pushed hard on the front and top of the cake. I popped open and I stood up suddenly. As always a sudden move caused parts of my body to take on some aggravated movements of their own. I was completely exposed, facing the audience with my arms over my head, when I realized that there were at least twenty men in the room. A few I did not recognize including the groom, but most were men who had been customers at the restaurant. Immediately I wanted to cover myself, but it was too late. George was masterful in cutting off any retreat and gently grasped my arm assisting me out of the fake cake. The music had started again and he was indicating that I dance. Almost in spite of myself, half numb and ashamed, I started to move with the rhythm. I could see the faces of all those men, on whom I had waited, staring at my bush, at my breasts, and the expressions told me that no matter what they might have been reserved in the most socially restrained form of respect was now completely gone. They were seeing it all and deep inside it was killing me.

That would have been bad enough, but then I heard someone say...."turn around, Hooters." over.

Like a puppet I complied. Then came the worst thing I could have heard.

"Bend over, Kimmy."

I shot a bleary-eyed look at George. He indicated with a gesture of his hands that I do it and automatically I leaned forward.

I knew what they were seeing. I knew that I was completely meticulously shaved back there and that every square centimeter of what a decent girl keeps hidden at all costs was on display for twenty men who knew me. I also knew that now they would think they knew me even better. The sense of shame was devastating. I was ruined.

They wanted me then to do squats, to mimic a pistoning of my bottom up and down simulating standing sex.

I did it.

The wanted me to face them and shake my breasts obscenely. On man actually yelled "get them higher", ordering me into an even more exaggerated and outrageous gyration of my torso so that my boobs actually collided together in a heavy, meaty sounding smack.

I did.

They wanted me to lapdance the groom.

I did it.

With my hands on his thighs I tried to keep my bare pussy off his lap, but he grabbed me around the waist and lunged up making contact between my bare, hairless area and his cloth covered erection that insinuated between my labia. Then he moved me indicating I grind like that.

I did.

I felt his hands on my breasts and then the mauling that ended in a stretch and pull on my thick nipples. It was, in short, a public disgrace with an ending that left me, humiliated and completely reduced to the status of slut in the eyes off all of them. I looked around several times and saw the changes in expression. Some looked embarrassed, but transfixed. Some were staring like they were memorizing for all time. I felt my heart sink when I looked over at a gentleman that had always been so shy and decent. The tenting in his slacks was so evident. I knew that if ten years from then I was President of the United Sattes, I would never be anything but some bimbo to them all.

When it was over George told me to follow him to the bedroom to get the money. I walked in drunk, fuzzy, almost out of it. He stopped then and closed the door before opening a drawer to take out a thick wad of bills.

"Okay," he said holding it out. "Twenty-five hundred. Just one last bit of business and it is all yours."

I had started to reach for it and as he finished talking he pulled the money back. I stood still confused.

"What do you mean?"

He grinned. "Look after seeing you and Mike that time all I have thought about is how I had to get some of that myself. You do me and you'll get all the cash and we can part friends"

There was that word again. "Friends." It had an almost enchanting, debilitating effect, and with me being so drunk, it was even more disorienting.

"You said...I wouldn't have to...I was just going to dance."

"Yeah," he said, "Just dance for the show. But you and I are going to party a little privately. Just us."

At that he put the money away. There was nothing I could do. As he turned back he reached between my legs and ran a finger along my hairless slit.

"Oh Kimmy, that is like silk!" he said.

He then grasped me around the waist and kissed me. It was quick move, aggressive and assured. His tongue pried through my lips into my mouth invading and exploring. When he was done he said, "If you want to get paid, you had better return the favor."

And he pressed his mouth to mine again. I swirled my tongue over his and worked the kiss. It was, in a way, more intimate than any sexual act could have been. He broke the kiss off and looked me up and down openly. Staring straight into my eyes he reached down and unzipped his pants. He fumbled with the button and his shorts dropped to the floor. He was commando and his penis jutted out, intensely hard. It was not like any I had seen. It formed a perfect arch that ended with the head almost point aback toward his abdomen. It looked like almost like a reverse "J" from the side.

He grinned and pointed down. I lowered to my knees and grasped the rock hard appendage with my hand. I turned my head to the side and began wetting the shaft with my mouth.

"Oh my God, Kimmy," he groaned and grasped my head positioning my mouth directly over the head. I opened wide and took it enclosing the large bulb at the end inside my lips.

He was a talker.

"You are such a talented little cocksucker"

I wished he would keep quiet , but that was not happening. He let me go on for a while. It was clear that this was a particular indulgence that he loved. The sharp angle of his organ struck the back of my throat. I gagged a little especially as he pushed down on my head. It made my control a little less reliable and the sucking became very wet and audible. I also drooled slightly as the gag overpowered again and again.

He reached down a lifted my face from his cock then and grasped it masturbating. At the same time he pushed me lower and with his other hand cupped his balls. The look of revulsion on my face must have been priceless, because he smiled. I lowered my face and began mouthing his sac.

"Oh yeah, babe. No a little farther back, behind my balls."

I paused. It seemed so perverted. So bad. Numbly though, I extended my tongues and licked. After a few strokes of my tongue, I felt the tip touch the crinkled flesh. I recoiled.

George laughed and pointed his cock at me again so that I could gratefully resume giving head.

After a while he lifted me off of his penis and kissed me again. I was feeling a little dizzy from the drugs and alcohol and in his hands I was almost compliant. He turned me suddenly around and pushed me forward onto the bed. My face and knees were on the bedspread and my buns were up in the air. George then reached down and started rubbing my clit. I hated the man, but in my numbed state my body reacted. I felt him repositioning behind me and then the pressure of his cock against the entrance to my pussy. With a grunt he was in. I had not had a lot of sex in my life, but the sensation was unlike anything I had experienced. The arch of his cock was so intense and he was so hard. He began a furious almost overly aggressive in-and-out motion. He spread my buttocks. I could tell he was getting off to the visual. Just like before, my cloudy thought process rendered the realization that I was having sex with a man who was over twice my age. I could feel the slap of his heavy testicles against my clitoris as he thrusted.

He turned me over then and began a face-to-face coupling. While not romantic at all, it was different from what I had experienced with Mike. For one thing there was not a hooting gallery watching me have sex. George leaned down and kissed me, expecting me to respond.

I did.

Another thing that was different was the strange angle of his penis and where it struck me inside. It was shocking and like a direct rub on the underside of my bladder. George must have known. He arched his back and the feeling became even more intense. Then he did something that was affronting and forward and so intimate. He reached down and took my nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and began pulling and stretching them. It was too much...the angle of his penis was striking right against what I would learn was my "G" spot and the perfect manipulation of my sensitive nipples. In less than a minute I felt a strange explosion and a shuddering wave of pleasure go through me. He knew what it was doing and he also knew how to play me off it. He began slowly thrusting and arching, maximizing the time and contact against the spot and he milked my nipples softly and firmly. I felt one wave crash into the next and erupted in a convulsing orgasm.

I have no idea how long it went on. Time was fairly irrelevant. I know he came. And he collapsed on me. After some time he slipped out of me and rolled over. I felt like a slow energetic liquid that had almost ignited before subsiding into the darkness of sleep.

I woke the next morning, nude, in bed with George. At first I startled at my unfamiliar surroundings. I felt him move and I looked over in horror at the sight of the slightly pudgy, hairy, balding middle-aged man that I had just slept with, in every sense of the word. What was worse, I remembered how I had responded to him during sex. That more than anything was disturbing. Back then I was of the impression that you could only orgasm with someone you loved. As I looked at the loathsome playboy, I found myself struggling with my revulsion for him, my despair at what I had done the night before, and now the relationship I was fated to since I had climaxed with him. As I lay there propped up on one elbow, it dawned on me that I had no idea where my clothes were and, I realized that I did not want to be up and walking around his house stark naked in case he awakened. I lifted the sheet and looked at him. His penis was lolling against his thigh, soft and inoffensive, but I knew what it had done to me and what this could likely mean. I looked up and to my shame found him awake looking at me.

"Can't get enough of it can you, babe?" he said grinning.

"I....was just...looking ...I...."

"It's okay, we will be doing it a lot more," he said. "You might not know it, but your body knows it..."

It was like he was reading my mind and though it disgusted me, I could not think of anyway to deny his argument.

He turned slightly toward me and with a grin reached under the covers and ran his hand over my torso. He gave my nipple a tweak and then rubbed softly over my little hairy muff.

"Your body knows. We are meant to be together."

I was young and a fool, and those words sealed my misconception.

He leaned in and kissed me as my mind screamed, no.

But buying into the pronouncement he had made, I returned the kiss as my heart sank.

It was the beginning of what would be the most conflicting and degrading year of my life and would see me go from innocent college student to a middle aged sugar daddy's private play pet....but that is another story.

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