Time to leave

James sat opposite Nadia, who he'd earlier dressed in his favourite long, black dress as she became agitated in front of him. He wondered for a second if he was having more fun than she is (whether she knows it yet is another question).

He's hot, but a creep, and I'm proud of myself for finding a distinction. I stand: "Thank you, but no thank you."

"Suit yourself!" He smiled smugly. What an asshole.

I turn to leave, but bump straight into the waitress from before, sending her tray of cutlery she was carrying cascading onto the tile floor. "I'm so sorry!" we both say in unison, as we bend down to pick up the knives and forks that fell,

I pick up the tray and gather myself so that I can ask, "Would either of you like another drink?"

"Another two of the same please." He said. We both glance at her for confirmation as she sits down.

The elegant girl nodded.

I take a second to admire her dress. I'd look good in that if I weren't stuck working here in this frumpy waitress uniform. Wait, I work here?

He clicks his fingers and I snap out of my pondering. "Of course, sir." I head indoors to the bar counter to organise drinks for them.

I hear her ask in the background, as if I weren't in audible range: "Where were we?"

As soon as I place the order at the bar I feel my brain unfogging. I was leaving! How did I end up in this uniform delivering drinks?! I storm back to the couple sitting outside, but when I get to the doorway, my manager calls me.

"Hey! Focus, table 12 needs their food."

I turn on my heel and head back to the kitchen window and collect their food, serving them to the best of my ability. As soon as I find myself freed to pursue the strange man, someone else summons me to their table to take their order. I put on a smile, take out my notebook and do my job.

This cycle of being called to duty repeats until finally I see the mystery couple's drinks ready at the bar. My body compels me to collect their drinks and make my way to their table outside, raging.

As I approach the table, I hear: "I like someone who knows what they want; someone who takes control." Gross.

I put the drinks down, prompting a "thank you" from her, which somehow feels tainted by whatever it was she was just saying to him.

This situation is absurd - whatever he's done to me, he has to undo. I open my mouth to point this out, but before I can speak, I close it again and turn to walk away. I almost make it back to the indoor part of the restaurant, but hear him call me back.

The asshole is unhappy with his drink, but this feels like a victory at this point. I'd have spat in it if I'd thought of the idea in time.

She seems about as trapped as I am. She pleads: "It's okay. It's not so bad, I'll drink it - I don't want it to go to waste." Bless her for trying.

"No, no," he says, "it won't go to waste at all." He turns to me, "you drink it." I watch waved his hand at the glass.

Hell no. "I don't-- but I can't-- I didn't even make it!" I tried to protest despite my treacherous hand already picking up the glass. I don't even try to talk while my body drinks the ice-cold cocktail in three large gulps.

"I've shown you just the surface of what I can do. I can do anything you can imagine - watch this."

My nipples were hard all night, but they just reached another level of tightness. I've never felt them this hard and sensitive. I clutch at my breasts, through my uniform and bra, and try to massage them to calm them down. I would never admit it to him, but it feels so good. The tingling building up in my chest is magical.

I try to ask him to stop but get two words in before my mouth closes tightly.

I see him move his hand again, which I've come to recognise as a bad omen. The tingling sensation starts to move throughout my chest, and gradually down my body, as his hand moves. I feel goosebumps all over my body as his gesture guides it down through my core to exactly where it belongs: between my legs.

Oh fuck. I feel a craving inside me for satisfaction, far more powerful than even my most lustful days.

The girl looks at him and asks, "Are you..?"

He nods, and turns to look at me. "Off to your customers, now!"

"Y-yesssir." Oh fuck, ...fuck. It feels so good, I can barely walk. My whole body wants me to put my hand between my legs and start working at the tension but some combination of my setting and his magic is preventing me from moving my hands anywhere near there.

The manager greets me as I get back inside, "table 12 and then 19, quickly."

I hobble to table 12 with my legs pressed together and resume my ... work.

The family on table 12 have to repeat their order three times before I get it right, and the woman from table 19 pulls me to ask if I'm alright. I tell her, unconvincingly, that I have a migraine.

Finally, the bar calls out the order for the table outside. An idea spawns as I stand by the bar; I'm not sure if I'm motivated to help the woman sitting with him or to sabotage the night, but either way I set to work scrawling a message for her on the napkin.

Once again, as I approach, they fall silent and watch me carefully as I put their drinks down.

I try to reason with him, "Please, what have you done to me? I can't do my job like this." Wait.. "This isn't even my jo--"

Bluntly, he replies, "Isn't it obvious? You messed with my night, so I mess with you. Your arousal won't fall until your next orgasm, and I will decide when that is."

Are you serious? I bend and squeeze my thighs in a fruitless attempt to calm my body.

"Don't you have other customers?" He chided.

My body walks me back to the main restaurant before I can tear his head off. Back to the frustrating job.

As I take plates from the bar, I get another chance to watch them through the window. Just as I do, I see her grabs the napkin from the table. Very subtle, darling. Let's hope he hasn't seen -- my optimism fades as I watch the napkin rip itself out of her hands and float over to him. They both turn to face me, leaving me with one option: to gulp.

The girl he's with starts walking toward me. "We would like to have a word at our table."

I gulp again, and follow.