The First Customer

As Amy walked into the bar, the cool evening air gave way to the dim glow of neon signs and the hum of muted conversations. She was greeted by her manager, a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression, who handed her a name tag and pointed her toward the bar counter. Amy entered behind the bar counter and noticed that there was a metal table that came up to Amy's waist and it was attached to the bar. Right under neath the counter on top of the table were all the different types and sizes of glasses she would need for the customers drinks. The problem for Amy was that she would have to learn in to the point she was practically laying her stomach on the table just to serve the drinks. first few hours were a blur of taking orders and mixing drinks, the magnetic buttons on her uniform occasionally catching on metal objects, which she tried to brush off as mere coincidence.

As the night wore on, Amy found herself growing more accustomed to the rhythm of the bar, the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversations blending into a familiar symphony. But it wasn't until a regular customer, a middle-aged man with a curious gaze, leaned in close that she realized the true peculiarity of her uniform. His eyes lingered on the buttons of her blouse, and with a knowing smirk, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small magnet. To Amy's horror, the buttons began to shift, the fabric straining as the magnet drew near.

As the magnet drew closer, the buttons of Amy's blouse shifted uncomfortably, the fabric straining against her skin. She tried to step back, but her feet felt rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the small, innocuous-looking magnet in the man's hand. The cool metal of the bar counter pressed against her palms as she gripped it tightly, her knuckles whitening with tension. The customer's smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "You know, this isn't the only magnet in the bar," he whispered, his voice low and menacing.

Amy's breath caught in her throat as the magnet inched closer, the buttons of her blouse shifting like obedient soldiers under its invisible command. The fabric strained against her skin, the seams creaking softly as if protesting the unnatural **** pulling at them. The customer's hot breath lingered on her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, and his smirk grew wider, clearly enjoying her discomfort. She tried to pull away, but her feet felt anchored to the spot, her hands gripping the counter so tightly they ached.

Just as the magnet was about to make contact with one of the buttons of her blouse, the man suddenly froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. The smirk on his face faded, replaced by a look of confusion. He glanced around the bar, seemingly unaware of the tension he had just created. Amy, still gripping the counter tightly, watched as he pocketed the magnet and turned away, disappearing into the crowd. The buttons of her blouse, still strained from the magnet's pull, slowly returned to their normal position. The encounter left her shaken, but she tried to brush it off as a prankn

Amy looked down to see her uniform was still intact, the buttons back in place as if nothing had happened. But the fabric felt tight, the seams pressing against her skin uncomfortably. She could still feel the pull of the magnet, even though it was gone, a lingering sensation like pins and needles. The bar seemed quieter now, the hum of conversations muted as if everyone was watching her. She glanced around, but no one met her eye, their faces blurred in the dim light. The manager was polishing a glass, his expression unreadable. Amy took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease.

As the night progressed, Amy couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The magnetic buttons on her uniform seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy, and every time a customer approached, she tensed, expecting another unsettling interaction. The bar, once a place of mundane routine, now felt like a stage for some unseen **** at play. She noticed that the manager watched her with an intensity that made her skin crawl, his eyes lingering on the buttons of her blouse. When she finally gathered the courage to ask him about the uniform, he smiled cryptically and said, "It's all part of the service, Amy. You'll get used to it."

Amy's curiosity turned to concern as she approached the manager, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean by 'service'?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she watched him polish another glass with an unsettling intensity. The manager looked up, his gaze piercing through her, and smiled faintly. "The uniform isn't just for appearance, Amy. It's a part of who we are here. You'll understand soon enough." His words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken meaning that made her skin prickle. As he turned away, the buttons on her blouse shifted slightly, as if in agreement with his cryptic statement