Summary:
A woman begins her first shift as a waitress at a sex club wearing a minimal costume. She navigates the floor, interacts with customers through lap dances and conversation, and earns several hundred dollars in tips. After the night ends, she reflects on her physical reactions and the three-month commitment she has made, then speaks with her husband by phone before returning to her apartment.
Here is your Story: My First Night as a Waitress in a Sex Club
Friday, August 13, 2021. Once again I stood in front of a door, petrified. This time it was real. My skin prickled under the tiny strings and pearls that barely covered anything. I felt closer to naked than naked itself, pussy already slick from nerves and something hotter. On the other side of that door waited a hundred people who would see every inch, every curve, every wet secret if I let them.
Sarah led me through the club floor toward Mike, the head bartender and announcer. Ten people or a hundred, it didn’t matter. The heavy beat of the music thumped between my legs. I knew the answer already. They wouldn’t just see me. I’d be out there among them, seducing, flaunting, getting them to tuck money under my garter and put their hands on me, fingers brushing my ass, maybe slipping lower if I leaned in just right.
Jessica would back away from that door the way she had on New Year’s. That was exactly how I felt, heart slamming, thighs trembling. Brittany stayed scared but hid it. She would do what Lauren said and walk through the door anyway, tits out, ass swaying, ready to earn every dollar.
More than a hundred people filled the room. Three other waitresses wore the same tiny costume. A three-by-five-inch pink triangle hardly counted as clothing. Add two pasties and the total came to eight and a half square inches of fabric, plus the string around my waist and the pearls that rubbed between my lips, sliding over my clit with every step, making me wetter, making me ache.
Jessica would have tripped in those heels and broken something. Brittany glided, soaking up the stares and the feel of the pearls pressing into her soaked cunt. Every part of her felt alive, nipples tight under the pasties, ass cheeks flexing, the heat in her belly spreading fast.
First Night on the Floor
Sarah left me with Mike and gave me a quick kiss. “Watch me. I’m on in ten minutes,” she said, then headed back to the dressing room, her own ass barely covered, the scent of her perfume mixing with sweat and lust in the air.
“New girl?” Mike asked. His eyes moved over me, lingering on my tits, my waist, the way the pearls disappeared between my thighs. I could have died right there. Jessica wanted to run. I just nodded. “Yeah. Need the money.”
“Lauren tell you the drill?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
He laid out the basics. Push the Singapore Sling when they asked for a suggestion. Get them to buy one for me too. I’d keep half and it would look and smell like the real thing. Four girls, four sections. No poaching. He pointed out section two and told me to go make money, his gaze dropping to my ass as I turned.
I sat in the dressing room at three in the morning counting tips. Three hundred eighteen dollars. I had sat in eight guys’ laps and three girls’ laps, shaking my tits in their faces for twenty each. One guy and both girls slipped fifties under the strap. I had no idea how many hands had grabbed my ass. Several tried to steer me toward the private rooms. I told them only dancers used those. My pussy throbbed from all the grinding, from the way Brandon’s hard cock had pressed against my soaked panties through his jeans, from the way the girls had moaned when my nipples brushed their lips.
After I paid the club its fifty, I still had two hundred sixty-eight. Enough for clothes and food. Maybe even sheets. My feet hurt, and I had never connected sore feet with being turned on before. Tonight proved they went together. Every step sent sparks up my legs straight to my dripping cunt.
My biggest regret was the no-touching rule. I ached for someone’s hands on me, for a thick cock sliding into my pussy instead of just teasing. That first lap sit with Brandon nearly finished me off. I was so embarrassed and so turned on I could hardly breathe. I wanted to pull his mouth to my breast, to grind down until I came right there. Every time after that felt the same. The heavy flirting with strangers while wearing almost nothing was more exciting than I had expected, my clit swollen, my thighs slick.
Three months of this. What would the private rooms be like? Would I finally get fucked the way my body begged for it?
I needed to get home. I opened my locker and found a skirt, blouse, and panties Lauren had left. No bra, but it would do. I changed, packed the costume, and sat back down and cried. I had no way to get home. Twenty-four blocks, no buses at three a.m., no idea how to call a cab. My cunt still pulsed from the night, empty and wanting.
Sarah sat beside me. “You okay?”
I laughed. The whole thing suddenly seemed ridiculous. Me, a math teacher, working in a sex club in eight and a half square inches of silk. I told her I didn’t know how to get home, voice shaking from exhaustion and leftover lust.
She offered a ride. I gave her the address and climbed in. On the way I told her I had watched her dance and she looked great. She said she would give me pointers when it was my turn, her hand resting on my thigh a little too long, making my pussy clench again.
Late Night Call Home
She dropped me off and I went inside. I rubbed my feet in the stuffed chair, then stared at the phone. It was almost four. One in the morning back home. He would still be awake. I dialed, legs spread a little, still feeling the pearls that had teased me all night.
“Got the job,” I told him. “I’m a waitress.”
We talked. I told him about the flirting and the laps. I let him know the costume was tiny. He tried to get details. I wouldn’t give them. Then I told him the three-month promise. He went quiet. I said I was keeping my word. Mid-November at the soonest. My fingers drifted between my legs as I spoke, circling my swollen clit, the memory of Brandon’s cock against me making me wetter.
He sounded scared. I told him not to be. I would still be his wife when it was over. I was tired and needed sleep. He asked about the key again. I reminded him what he had said when he put the cage on. No key until I came home. My fingers moved faster, two sliding into my soaked pussy, the orgasm building hard and fast in the final third of this long night.
I hung up, went to bed, and slept hard, body still humming.
I woke at nine, ate cereal, bathed, and put on the clothes Lauren had given me. At Walmart I bought halter tops, short skirts, lacy panties, and a couple of bras. I found comfortable sandals too. I still had thirty-two dollars left. My mind kept flashing back to the club, to the way my cunt had dripped for every stranger.
Back at the apartment I changed into the new things. Each piece felt good against my skin. I thought about the last morning with David before I left. We had no idea the month would turn into three. I had given my word, though. The girls who might be helped by the movie made the trade worth it. My hand slipped under the new skirt anyway, rubbing my pussy until I came hard, shuddering, gasping his name mixed with the memory of the club, the money, the aching need that three months would only make stronger.
