The Mammoth Book of Uniform Erotica

The Catering Trade

Sarah Veitch

Do something every day that scares you. Darren reread the mantra on his calendar and sighed: the problem was that almost everything scared him. Like Horace Wimp in the ELO song he had yet to find himself a life. A young-looking thirty-year-old, he spent his days walking along the coastline and his nights producing pizza and pasta at a large Italian restaurant. Now he arrived for his usual evening shift to find the manager shouting Anglo-Saxon into the phone.

“He’s only gone and cancelled,” Maximo said when he hung up.

“Who?” Darren asked.

“The buff butler – he’s supposed to start tonight.”

Darren was already a pale man but he blanched. This was a major disaster. The restaurant had put on a special 9 p.m. setting at fifty pounds a head with the draw being that drinks would be served by the buff butler. They’d had lots of bookings from hen parties and girls’ nights out.

“Can’t we find a replacement?” he asked.

“At such short notice? If I didn’t have such a gut on me I’d do it myself.”

Do something every day that scares you . . . The message he’d read that morning began to reverberate through Darren’s underutilized mind. Didn’t he owe Maximo this much? The man had taken him on straight from university, trained him thoroughly and always given him a generous Christmas bonus. Hell, they were practically family.

“Max, I’ll do it tonight if you’ll take over the kitchen.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Really?” the manager asked weakly.

“Just get me the uniform,” Darren said before he could change his mind.

Leaving the under-manager in charge, Maximo left and soon returned with a black posing pouch and a backless black apron: you could get anything in Brighton. Darren put them on and they were very small and tight. The pouch accentuated his bulge and the tiny scrap of material at the back showed off most of his small oval buttocks. He was glad that he’d never had a particularly hirsute crack.

“You’ve been like a son to me. Let me get you a drink,” Maximo said mournfully and they shared half a bottle of an especially good red.

The first all-female party to arrive all winked and grinned when he brought them their drinks. (White wine served in medium-sized glasses.) The second girly group, who favoured Scotch on the rocks, wolf-whistled like construction workers on a building site. But the diners who had booked the trestle table for a dozen hospital staff were the ones who asked him to twirl around and show himself from every angle. They were on Jägerbombs. Enough said.

For the next three hours Darren brought seafood and liquid sustenance (“They see food and eat it!” Maximo quipped) to the assembled women then sadly announced that this was the last round, that it was closing time.

“My friends and I really like you. We’re wondering if you’d like to organize a lock-in?” the thirty-something woman in charge of the Jägerbombs party said.

Darren hesitated until she lightly brushed his posing pouch with her palm. The touch sent sensations racing through his cock and it immediately stood to attention. She and the other hospital workers whooped approvingly and Darren hobbled, a menu shielding his growing manhood, into the kitchen before the other hens could see.

He hurried up to Maximo. “The hospital group wants a lock-in.”

“And I want to get home to my bed at a decent hour,” his boss said. This was standard practice as Max’s wife did the late shift on the switchboard at the taxi rank and he had to get back so someone was there for their teenage sons.

“I know, Max, but they’re offering me more than tips. It’s been a couple of years since . . . you know . . . so I’d like to take them up on their offer.”

“Only two years? Hell, you should try being in a long-term marriage,” Maximo said, then grinned. “I’ll leave you the keys. Go for it. If I were your age I’d do the same.”

All of the other diners and the staff left. Darren and the girls from the hospital stayed. He locked the door, put on the closed sign and further dimmed the lights then, taking a deep breath, walked over to the dirty dozen to meet his fate.

“You’re never going to remember all of our names but I’m Michelle,” the leader of the pack said.

Michelle-and-Darren. In his head, Darren tried it out for size. He liked it. He liked her too: she had been funny and friendly throughout the evening without being loud.

“It’s a pretty name.”

“And that’s a pretty pouch,” Michelle said admiringly. “though I suppose you get told that all the time.”

Darren hesitated. “I’m the chef here so I’ve never actually done this before, but when our buff butler let us down . . .”

“Why buff butler rather than buff waiter?” she queried.

“Because people like alliteration,” Darren explained.

“So what made you step into the breach?”

“Oh, I just wanted to help out my boss.”

“So you’re kind as well as cute,” Michelle murmured.

Darren took a deep breath, emboldened by the fact that she liked him. “We aim to please.”

“And what exactly will you do to please me? To please all of us?” the thirty-something asked.

Darren took an even deeper breath and felt slightly dizzy. He quickly exhaled again. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Your wish is my command.”

The words so excited him that his manhood immediately sprang to attention for the second time that night and he moaned softly as Michelle began to caress it through the constraints of the tight black cloth.

“For starters, we’d like you to lie on the table on your stomach so that we can all have a feel of your arse.”

Do something every day which scares you . . . The dishes had been cleared away but the tablecloth had smears of jelly, cream and raspberry sauce all over it. Nevertheless, Darren obediently clambered on-board and lay flat. Seconds later, he felt slim female fingers following the curve of his buttocks again and again before briefly delving into the crevice between them and rimming his oh-so-sensitive anus. He heard another voice say “My turn,” before slightly longer fingers took over the task. For an untold length of time he writhed in ecstasy as the laughingly enthusiastic nurses took turns to explore his backside.

At last he heard Michelle telling him to turn over, so he flipped onto his back, proud of his thrusting hardness.

“Please,” he whispered to no one in particular, “I need to come.”

“Not until we tell you too,” Michelle said, sounding thrillingly offhand.

His desire deepened and he put his hand on himself but she slapped it away.

“I’m going to tease you for a very long time but you must not orgasm without my permission. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, Miss,” he murmured, feeling as if he was in the midst of a beautiful wet dream.

He cried out as she dragged the posing pouch over his cock and threw it to one of her colleagues as if it was the bouquet at a wedding and cried out again as she took him in her mouth. Her lips were soft yet her tongue was probing, forceful. He stared down at her through half-closed eyes. The sensations brought on by being firmly lapped were almost overwhelming and his cock twitched and swelled.

“Do you want me to come?” he whispered, sensing that he was getting close.

“Not yet.” The second after she uttered the command, she returned her mouth to his manhood. He could hear his increasingly harsh breathing echoing around the room.

“Now?” he asked a moment later.

“No.” She teased her tongue around the hole in his shaft.

‘I can’t . . .” he eventually gasped.

She momentarily lifted her head. “Come immediately then or I may get bored and stop tonguing you.”

She returned to licking and sucking and Darren felt the almost signal go off in his balls and his brain. Last night he’d gone home to his lonely bedsit and tonight he was being mouthed by an attractive and lively woman whilst eleven other young women watched and made encouraging sounds. He began to lift his hips more insistently, felt the pleasure rush through him and the spurting begin. He normally orgasmed silently (bedsit walls not being known for their robustness) but this time he let out an uninhibited groan.

“I’m getting strawberries and a hint of lime and furniture polish,” Michelle said mischievously, licking her lips and doing a parody of a wine buff.

“And I’m getting dehydrated,” Darren said, climbing shakily off the table and fetching himself a sparkling water and organic cordial drink.

Returning from the bar area, he brought over a spare seat and sat down next to Michelle, briefly kissing the top of her nearest arm.

“That was awesome.”

“It’s my thirtieth birthday so I promised myself I’d do something daring,” she said.

He’d just had a pint of Guinness and a DVD for his. He looked around the table. “And the others are just here for backup?”

“Oh, most of them have hit the Big Three O as well in the past year or two and tonight they’re living vicariously.”

He loved a woman who used words like “vicariously”. Being shut away in the kitchen, he rarely had the opportunity to talk to the female of the species and the few he’d met at clubs had been obsessed with big hair, small shoes and impossible-to-sustain-life low calorie diets. Some dieters had a salad in the restaurant for lunch (three hundred calories) every single day.

“Give me a few minutes to recover and I’ll be happy to serve everyone,” he said bashfully.

“Hear that, Carla? It’s your lucky night,” Michelle called out. She turned back to him. “Carla’s decree nisi came through last week – she found the bastard was sleeping with her younger sister – so she really deserves a treat.”

“Shall I use my tongue?” Darren murmured.

“She’d love that. All women do.”

Darren filed that remark away in his brain for later contemplation. He’d always thought that women loved men with exciting jobs, classic cars and designer wardrobes but if what they really liked was being licked out . . .

“Are you all nurses?” he asked curiously.

“No, only half of us. I’m a clinical psychologist and Carla’s my assistant. The others are in administrative roles.”

Darren did a double take. “So, have you analysed me yet?”

“Hardly – it’s my night off!”

“But you must have made some basic assumptions.”

The wine that he’d enjoyed earlier made him less self-conscious, helped him to return Michelle’s frank gaze.

“I think you’re unusually well educated for this job.”

“True – I have a degree in English literature.”

“But you were too shy to teach.”

“Right again.”

“Cooking is a way for you to be creative yet still keep your distance from the world.”

“Until tonight,” Darren said softly.

“Tonight you’ve made contact with your submissive side.”

She was right, he admitted to himself. The moment that these women had started to order him about he’d felt excited, and the more they had used him, the more aroused he had become.

“I’d love it if you’d help me keep in touch with that side of myself,” he said, emboldened.

“That depends how much you please us for the next couple of hours,” Michelle replied.

Brilliant – so the best night of his life wasn’t over yet.

“I’ll be the perfect sex slave,” he promised.

“Then get on your knees before Carla,” Michelle said.

After a moment’s discussion with the group, everyone agreed that Carla should take off her panties and lie on the table on her back with her knees raised. Darren also clambered onto the table and crouched between her spread thighs. He was momentarily aware that everyone was leaning forward and staring at them both.

“Remember your only purpose is to please us,” Michelle called and he turned his attention to the task at hand.

Well, the task at tongue to be precise. Carla had a nice set of pinkish-brown labial lips and a cute pink clit, which was already peaking from its hood in anticipation. He licked it and she shuddered and said, “Too much.”

“Tell me exactly what you want,” he murmured.

“Lick to one side and keep the pressure measured but constant until I come.”

He could do that. He’d always wanted the opportunity to bring a woman to orgasm but his two long-term relationships, admittedly when he was younger, hadn’t allowed him the opportunity as his equally young partners refused to tell him what turned them on. After being ditched for the second time, he’d lost confidence and had subsequently subsisted on the occasional one-night stand.

Now he licked away as if his life depended on it, enjoying the slightly sweet lubricant that Carla was producing. Her scent was equally pleasant and he had a first-class view of her neatly trimmed brunette bush. He preferred pubic hair to the waxed hairlessness that younger women favoured. He liked the natural look. He wondered what Michelle looked like in that department and hoped that he’d have the chance to find out.

Suddenly, Carla cried out and ground her pubis into his mouth. He kept lapping and lapping. His tongue felt bionic, as if it could go on all night. Just as suddenly, she moved away from him and rolled onto her side, drawing her knees up to her chest and cupping her pubis with both hands.

“Wow!” she said. “It’s been a while!”

“For me too,” he admitted, wriggling over to her and putting his arms around her waist so that they spooned.

They lay there for a moment then self-consciously sat up, only to receive a round of applause.

“Oh look, he’s erect again,” one of the nurses said happily.

“Me next,” the woman seated next to her said.

Michelle held up her right hand. “Ladies, enthusiastic as Darren is, we can’t expect him to make love to the remaining eleven of us in one session. I vote we choose one more person to benefit tonight then we make this a regular monthly event.”

There was a general murmur of agreement then everyone wrote their name on a piece of paper and they stuffed them into Darren’s posing pouch, which one of the women had reluctantly removed from her shoulder bag.

Let it be Michelle, let it be Michelle, let it be . . . At the ladies’ insistence, he pulled out one of the erotic lottery tickets and found it said “Jeanette”. He called her name and found himself locking gazes with a small, elfin-faced girl.

‘You can’t be over thirty,” he said, thinking out loud.

‘No, I’m the baby of the group. I’m only twenty-two.”

“Hopefully too young for a decree nisi?”

“Definitely. I’ve only had two boyfriends to date.”

For the first time she looked slightly nervous – the Jägerbombs had run out – and Darren warmed to her.

“I’ll do exactly what you want, Jeanette.”

He belatedly – and foolishly – felt as if he was being unfaithful to Michelle, but cast a quick look at her and was reassured when she gave him the thumbs-up.

“Well.” She was handed the carafe from further up the table and took several gulps of red wine. “I’ve only ever done it missionary style so I’d like to try something else.” She looked around the room. “Any suggestions, girls?”

“A sixty-niner,” someone shouted.

Darren blanched. His tongue felt numb after pleasuring Carla and if he used it again so soon he’d probably end up with lockjaw. He was pleased when someone else suggested woman-on-top.

“I’ve never wanted to go on top,” Jeanette admitted. “I always think my breasts would look too small and I don’t think I have a good enough sense of rhythm to bring a man to orgasm that way.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Darren promised, looking deep into her eyes.

Jeanette hesitated. “I saw this film once where the man took her from behind . . . Not anal,” she added hastily, taking another swig of her wine.

“Do you want to lie down on your tummy or get up on your hands and knees?” Michelle prompted.

Everyone immediately began calling “Hands and knees” and, blushing, Jeanette stood up and peeled off her dress, bra and pants.

Naked, she clambered awkwardly onto the table and embraced Darren who was also completely nude.

She was lovely, he thought, gazing down at her. Her breasts were indeed small but suited the rest of her petite frame. He cupped them gently and they were gloriously silky. He kissed each nipple in turn and said, “I’m yours to command.”

“Do it hard,” Jeanette whispered directly into his ear.

“Shall I play with you first to get you wet?” he asked softly, wanting to give her as much pleasure as was humanly possible.

“No need. I got horny just watching you with the other girls.”

“Less chat and more action. We’ve come here to see the show!” one of the other nurses whooped and, laughing, Jeanette got into position on her hands and knees. Darren gently touched her labia and she was indeed well oiled. Looking closer, he could see the arousal glistening on her flesh.

“Has anyone got a condom?” he asked sheepishly and one of the nurses obliged. She took the time to roll it sensuously over his shaft and they both stared down at the black-ribbed sheath of flesh.

Positioning his manhood – he was so hard that he hurt – at Jeanette’s entrance, he stared over her back at Michelle, who nodded encouragingly at him.

“Don’t come until we tell you to,” she ordered for the second time that night.

The thought that he was merely their sexual plaything, a living dildo, filled him so full of sensation that he almost came on the spot.

He pushed all the way in and was gratified when Jeanette moaned. Doggy position, he knew, offered the deepest penetration.

“God, I can feel you right up at my cervix,” she whispered excitedly.

“Fast thrusting or slow?” he asked

“Fast, like you have to have me.”

Darren obediently increased his rhythm so that he was shafting her high-speed and hard. He gripped her waist to increase his purchase, aware that everyone was watching his small muscular arse move forward and back.

He looked down at himself as he entered her, pulled partway out, thrust forward. They fitted together perfectly. It looked and felt absolutely right. In, out, in, out . . . He felt as if he could go on indefinitely but all that changed as Jeanette’s vagina closed in on his cock. She gripped him in rhythmic waves as she climaxed and he was even more aroused when she cried out.

He kept thrusting, thrusting.

“Don’t come,” Michelle reminded, staring at him intently.

The word don’t echoed around amongst his scattered thoughts but, despite his best intentions, he came.

Moments later, his manhood shrank out of Jeanette and he carefully removed the sheath, tied a knot on the end and tossed it to one of the women.

“Has it been a while?” she asked, pretending to weigh the contents, and the other nurses cheered.

“Sadly, yes. I don’t usually serve women of your calibre,” he said and they cheered again.

“Ladies, don’t encourage him – he disobeyed us,” Michelle broke in, smiling broadly. “He has to be punished immediately if he’s to learn how to behave.”

“We should definitely give him a good spanking,” Carla said.

The biggest woman of the group volunteered to go first. Darren gulped as she pushed back her chair, indicating that he should go over her knee. He obeyed and she was soon beating a tattoo on his muscular oval buttocks. He had small cheeks and she had surprisingly large hands. He wondered briefly if she could be a transsexual but didn’t dare attempt to look up and check for an Adam’s apple. Instead, he stared at the carpet and occasionally squealed as she slapped down at his vulnerable orbs.

The next woman had smaller palms, but she made up for that by using a wooden spoon which one of the nurses fetched from the kitchen.

“Complain too much and we’ll use a spatula instead,” she warned when he gasped and writhed.

By the time the fourth woman was spanking him, he was both loving and hating it as his backside felt as if it was on fire.

“Ladies, that’s enough for tonight. We’ll finish punishing him next month,” Michelle said matter-of-factly.

“Might be busy,” Darren muttered in a vain attempt to play hard to get.

“Busy over my lap having your backside pummelled until you realize who’s in charge,” Michelle replied.

Darren crawled wearily over to her and put his head in her lap and she caressed his hair.

“Book us all in for the same time a month today. That gives you ample time to launder your apron and posing pouch.”

“Can I see you before that?”

“Only in your buff butler uniform. I love the power that it gives me, having you semi-naked and completely at my beck and call.”

Darren took a deep breath, praying for an affirmative answer. “I could wear my uniform and serve you in the comfort of your own home whenever you desire.”

Ten minutes later, he locked up and walked sleepily home. He was sorted. He’d cook for Michelle next Friday night and please her with his eager shaft, fingers and tongue. Then, at the end of every month, he’d service some of her colleagues in the restaurant while she watched – and potentially disapproved of – his every move. He was already guaranteed a prolonged spanking, Darren thought with a rush of pleasure, and would doubtless find many ways to ignite their collective wrath.

---

Tips

Steve Gee

“But I’m not a boy. I’m a girl,” said Kaitlyn Saunders to the middle-aged woman in the job agency. The 22-year-old stared at the big woman sat opposite her and blinked in disbelief at what she had heard. “A female,” the younger woman reiterated.

“Really?” The older woman raised her eyebrows and peered over her glasses at the slender thing before her. “You don’t look much like a woman. Makes you perfect for the job as far as I can see.”

Kaitlyn felt her cheeks redden. She was all too aware of how her slender frame appeared. Combined with her mop of pale straw hair and a freckled face, she looked more like a teenage boy. She was aware too that the older woman was staring at her chest. Without making it too obvious, Kaitlyn tried to push out her small bust as if to make her gender more plain.

“What size are you?” asked the older woman, frowning now as she stared at what little shape there was remained well hidden under the baggy pop-art T-shirt the girl was wearing. “Tell me, Miss Saunders, are you any bigger than, say, 30A?”

Kaitlyn felt more blood rise to her face. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she snapped.

“Thirty AA then,” said the woman, whose name badge announced she was Mrs Lloyd and she was here to help. The woman said it with an air of finality that would brook no argument. “You have the body of a boy and I don’t suppose you’ll get any bigger up there. Not now.” With that Mrs Lloyd hefted her own rather large bust with a well-practised shrug as if to make a point.

“I don’t want a job where I dress up as a boy,” said Kaitlyn.

“But you’d like a job.”

“Of course, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Allow me to share with you my impression. You wear jeans, have hair like a boy would comb it and, as we have discussed, you have no bust. Therefore I am sure the Majestic would welcome you as a bellboy.”

“Bellboy,” the young woman repeated, the incredulity still in her voice, with the stress firmly on the last word.