Yes, you work a test shift

“Let me page the manager,” he told me with a small smile.

I waited for a minute until the manager came over. To my slight surprise, it was a middle-aged, slightly heavyset woman—although I couldn’t say why that would surprise me, when I thought about it. There was no reason a place that used a nude male wait-staff as its gimmick should need to have a man as its manager.

“You’re here for the waiter position?” she asked me, giving me a smile and a friendly handshake.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

“Well, you’re certainly more than qualified,” she remarked with a teasing lilt in her voice, giving my hanging dick a pointed smirk. “Do you have any waiting experience?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” I admitted. “I worked a counter at a fast food place in high school, so I’m not a total neophyte in the food-service business, but no experience waiting tables.”

“Well, that’s a shame, but not a deal-breaker,” she said. “Around here, the patrons are likely to forgive you if you mix up a drink order, as long as you work the table right. Experience would come with time. How does this sound: you work a shift today, and if it seems like a good fit, you’re hired?”

“Sounds great, ma’am,” I said with a smile.

“Okay. Come along to the back with me, and we’ll get you a uniform. That’s not an issue, is it? I like a nude-boy as much as the next girl, but if you’re against clothing on principle or anything, then I’m afraid this won’t work out. The uniform’s a requirement.”

“No, not a problem at all,” I assured her.

The manager gave me my uniform—such as it was—from a stock of them, and informed me that it would be mine: they weren’t shared or rotated; it would be my responsibility to keep it clean, and replacements would come out of my pay. I put it on in the small locker room area in the back, then got introduced to the head cook (a pretty, zaftig girl in her twenties with really huge boobs who seemed a little shy and blushed when I shook her hand), the assistant chefs (a pair of older guys who seemed bored and a little impatient at having their work interrupted by a new waiter’s introduction), and two of the other waiters who happened to be back there collecting plates (nice guys, one of whom had a hard-on leaking precum, and the other of whose dicks was limp but slick with saliva, and multiple lipstick stains in at least three different shades).

“Okay, so: the rules,” the manager told me after the introductions. “Patrons can touch, suck, and if they ask—but only if they ask—you can cum on their food or in their drinks. Don’t cum on or in anything they don’t ask for. If you’re going to pop at a table and they didn’t ask you to, politely warn them. If they don’t offer you someplace to do it, cum in your hand.

“No fucking, unless we make a manager’s exception for somebody for a special occasion, like a birthday. And it should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: ‘manager’s exception’ means I make that call, not you. So unless I tell you to otherwise, don’t put your dick in anybody’s pussy or ass, no matter how much they ask, or how much you want to. Just tell them you’ll bring your manager to talk to them if they get really upset about it—but that almost never happens.

“If you do get a table with a special occasion, tell me as soon as you know; don’t wait for them to ask you to fuck somebody. That way, I can okay it in advance—if I make that call—and you don’t have to make them wait around for my decision when it’s time. And if I say ‘no’ when you talk to me, and then they ask you about it later, don’t tell them you’ll ask your manager, as if it’s still a possibility. I’ll just tell you ‘no’ again, which will only piss them off to get turned down. You just say ‘no, it’s against policy,’ when they ask. People are much less likely to get upset if they don’t think it was ever a possibility. If they argue, just come get me.

“Also, if you’re not up for fucking the special somebody, that’s not a reason not to ask me, or to say ‘no’ to them. If I say ‘yes’ when you tell me about the event, you can switch tables with another server at that point. If you wait to switch when they ask, most people will get insulted, but if you switch right at the start of the event, before you’ve even started to serve them, they won’t even notice. If no other server wants to switch with you, come directly back to me and we’ll discuss it.”

After the manager went over the policies, I was assigned a single table and sent out to work. For the first quarter-hour of my trial shift, nobody was actually sitting at my table, so I just walked around, took drink refresh orders and requests for checks from other waiters’ tables whenever they were busy and I was nearby. One middle-aged lady giggled and gave my dick a brief fondle when I brought her a refill on her iced tea, which brought a grin to my face and made Elizabeth laugh lightly in my ear.

Then a group of three women were seated at my table. They were in their lower forties, I would guess. Two were relatively plain, and one was fairly attractive. I introduced myself, and all three ladies gave my abs an appreciative rub as I did; one of the plainer ones ran her hand down to fondle my dick, too. I took their drink orders, and when I brought them back, I lingered while I waited for them to peruse the menu so that the attractive one could give me a slow hand-job, which slowly got me hard.

After they made their decisions and I took their orders back to the kitchen, I kept my distance, bringing a drink refill to another table while I waited for my own table’s food to be ready, not wanting to overstay my welcome. When I brought their food, one of the plainer ones made a pun about being hungry for something else, and her friends laughed and pretended to be mildly shocked when she sucked my turgid cock for a minute before she stopped, laughing, and thanked me before turning her attention to her lunch.

The attractive one asked me to linger, however, and while she munched on her salad, she resumed giving me a hand-job, eventually ramping up until she got me close to cumming, then asked me to cum on her salad, which I did with a grin. I then watched and made a couple of salacious comments while she ate it and masturbated under the table through her panties. I got a pretty nice tip when they left.

The next group seated at my table was another trio, this time of men in their thirties. They all took turns giving me blowjobs after they ordered drinks, before their food came. I hadn’t really expected to put my latent bisexual interests to the test so soon, with total strangers, but I knew that the possibility came with the job. I was a bit nervous, but found the three men to be very good cocksuckers. By the time the third one took his turn, I was ready to shoot, and I politely warned him, as the manager had told me. To my relief, the guy just made an ‘um-hmm’ noise while he kept right on sucking, and let me cum right into his mouth. He even showed off my load to his friends, like a trophy, and they congratulated him. I got a big tip from him.

The next two groups at my table were both sets of middle-aged women. The first group of four liked to rub my abs and fondle my hanging cock a bit, but didn’t do any more. The second group, a pair of good-looking women, both gave me unfinished blowjobs before giving me their drink orders, and then one of the pair gave me another after she finished her meal, while her friend was still eating. That second time around she kept it going until I came, and had me cum on her boobs after pulling her blouse open. She then had me lick my cum back off of her chest, which her friend found delightful. Both gave me a really big tip.

I had one more person seated at my table before the end of my shift: a single guy who liked to look at me appreciatively but never touched. He had me masturbate leisurely at the table while he ate, although I didn’t go so far as to make myself cum, nor did he request it.

At the end of the day the manager congratulated me on a good shift, and offered me the job. I accepted gladly, then left to hurried back to the potter’s house to share the good news with Liz.