Lesbian Hooters waitress

### **HOOTERS: THE "PRIDE" BRANCH**

**Employee: Chloe (Table 14)**

**Uniform: "The Rainbow Special" A micro orange bikini top that barely contains her breasts and incredibly short, frayed denim shorts that are perpetually damp from "customer service."**

Chloe moves through the aisles with a practiced, rhythmic sway of her hips. To any casual observer, she is the perfect Hooters girl bright eyed, bubbly, and always ready with a "Hehe!" or a wink. But behind the mask, her soul feels like it's being slowly ground into the sawdust on the floor.

She approaches Table 14, a group of four construction workers who have been shouting for "extra service" for the last twenty minutes. As she nears, she feels the familiar, heavy weight of their stares not on her face, but on the swell of her breasts and the curve of her thighs.

"Here are your buffalo wings, gentlemen!" Chloe chirps, her voice pitching into that high, melodic, "unbothered" tone that the training manual insists all female staff use. "Anything else to... um... satisfy your hunger today? ✨"

One of the men, a burly guy with a thick neck and a stained t shirt, doesn't even look at the food. He simply unzips his fly with a loud, arrogant *clack*. "The wings can wait, sweetheart. We're feeling a bit... peckish for something else."

Chloe’s stomach does a slow, nauseating flip. She feels a flash of pure, white hot hatred a desire to scream, to throw the tray of hot grease at his grinning face, to run out the door and never look back. But she remembers the "Performance Standards" memo. *A happy waitress is a profitable waitress.*

"Hehe! Oh, you're so... um... demanding!" she giggles, the sound feeling brittle and fake in her throat.

She drops to her knees on the sticky floor, the cold linoleum pressing against her skin. She reaches out, her fingers trembling slightly as she wraps them around the man's thick, unwashed cock. As she takes him into her mouth, she closes her eyes tight.

She tries to dissociate. She tries to imagine she is somewhere else a quiet library, a sunlit park, anywhere where she isn't a living, breathing piece of catering. She focuses on the rhythmic, wet sounds of her own sucking, trying to turn the sensation into a mindless, mechanical task.

*Left, right, swallow. Left, right, swallow.*

"That's it, girl! Good little lesbian!" one of the other men laughs, slapping the table. "Show us that 'rainbow energy'! "

Chloe's eyes remain shut, but a single, hot tear threatens to spill from the corner of her eye. She quickly swallows it, masking the saltiness with the taste of the man's salt and musk. She forces a muffled, happy hum against his shaft, her mind a silent, screaming void.