Scenes from a Restaurant

This story contains elements of nonconsent and reluctance. If this isn't your thing, you may want to enjoy the other awesome stories on Literotica.

This is the first of a few chapters. More to come soon!

*****

I.

"Melody Barnes?" The young blond jumped in her seat at the sound of her name. The man standing by her table smiled down at her. He was good-looking, far handsomer than she had expected, and his toned physique filled out the crisp white shirt-and-tie ensemble. A far cry from the ubiquitous blue button-down and khakis that seemed to be the unofficial uniform of male restaurant management.

"It-it's Mel, actually." She shook the hand he offered and tensed as he sat across from her, glancing down at the sheaf of paperwork in front of him.

"I'm Jim Marsh. Nice to meet you. So," prompted with ease in his voice, "tell me about yourself."

"Well, ah," she cleared her throat and silently kicked herself. Why am I so nervous? she thought. "Sorry. I'm a freshman at Keppler. Just moved here from Toledo."

"What are you studying?"

"Sociology, I think. It sounded interesting."

Well, no harm in not being sure just yet," he encouraged her. "Plenty of time for that. It says here you were a server at your last job."

"Yes, sir. At Hathaway's. It was an Italian restaurant. I started as a hostess, but they moved me over to waitress after a while."

"That's good. We are a busy place, and our customers expect a lot," he replied. Let me tell you a bit more about our restaurant. Morelli's started sixty years ago..." Mel shifted a bit in her seat as he went on. Mr. Marsh's eyes never left hers as he described the history of the restaurant and what a typical day was like. Morelli's was an institution in the small town of Hawkins, where Keppler College dominated most of the scenery. The restaurant building was an old manor house left over from the great logging days of Hawkins and the Morelli family had converted the first floor parlors into one wide space, turning it into the only fine dining restaurant for miles. The staff was a mix of townies – who mostly worked in the back of the house – and college kids who filled out the wait staff.

"And that's the long and short of it." Mel nodded as he finished. "It's good to have you on board," he said formally, offering his hand. "Tina will show you around and introduce you to the rest of the folks." Mel shook his smooth hand and rose.

"Thank you, Mr. Marsh."

"It's Jim, Mel. Unless you get in trouble, then it's Mr. Marsh," he smiled.

"Ok...Jim," she smiled back. They left the small office and walked through the kitchen, past the shining stainless steel rack in front of the ovens, out the swinging door, and along the wooden bar to the end, where a small group of employees sat talking. The only female in the group, threw her head back and laughed loudly at a joke.

"Must be pretty funny if you all have the time to laugh," Mr. Marsh barked at them. "Matt, Kyle, go in back and start prepping. Joe, shouldn't you be doing inventory for the bar right now?" Two dark-haired, slim boys rose from the stools with their smiles fading quickly. They looked so much alike they could have been brothers, and both loped slowly toward the kitchen. Their white shirts, soon to be covered in the spots and stains of a night spent manning a grill and stirring sauces were unbuttoned, revealing a far-too-casual amount of hairless chest. About the only thing convincing Mel that they were old enough to vote was Morelli's strict rule against hiring anyone under 18, on account of the alcohol they served.

The boys shuffled past her, the first (slightly taller than the other) smiled weakly and kept his eyes down. The other, close behind, nodded to Mel in greeting. His eyes flitted down to her chest before he looked away – a short peek, but enough to make Mel self-conscious. Behind the bar, Joe rose to his full height, and Mel was reminded of Alcide in True Blood, if Alcide ever shaved. Joe had the same shaggy hair and dark eyes but kept his goatee trimmed close. He was wearing a sharp black shirt that would've been wasted on a werewolf. He quickly gathered the glasses off the bar and swept a towel across the mahogany.

"Ah, ah," the redhead said musically as she lifted her cordial glass out of his reach and to her lips. "I'm finishing this. Need my energy for tonight." She winked at Joe, who turned to the bottles behind him with a clipboard in his hand.

"When you're finished, Tina," Mr. Marsh said darkly.

"Sorry, Jim," she replied, the joking over and the glass empty. She stood up from the stool and smoothed her short black skirt over her pale thighs. It ended well above her knees, showcasing her long legs. Her full hair was immaculate and hung in dark crimson waves over her neck and shoulders. Her lipstick made her full lips shine dark red, and Mel was intimated by the tall, alluring figure in front of her.

"This is Melody Barnes – Mel – and she is our new server," Mr. Marsh told her. "She's going to shadow you tonight, so show her the ropes and introduce her to the rest of the crew."

"No problem, boss," she said perkily. "Welcome to Morelli's, Mel!" she said with enthusiasm, hugging the shorter blond. Mel couldn't help but return her friendly smile. She liked Tina already.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Mr. Marsh said as he went back to the office. Tina watched him go, and Mel turned and did the same.

"Hmph," Tina murmured. "So gorgeous, but such a dick," she said under her breath, shaking her head. The door to the kitchen swung shut, and Tina patted Mel on the back. "Well, let's get started." She took the trainee around the restaurant, introducing Mel to the rest of the staff.

"Are they brothers?" Mel asked as they left the kitchen after meeting Kyle and Matt.

"The Bobbsey twins back there?" Tina joked. "No, but damned if they couldn't be, right?"

"Yeah, they look almost identical – same hair, same face, same build –"

"Same awkward schoolboy perviness," Tina responded with a laugh. "Those two spend more time sneaking peeks at my tits than they do watching the grill."

"Oh! Matt totally did that to me when you all were by the bar!" Mel said.

Tina laughed. "Get used to that from them. Wandering eyes, alright, but they wouldn't know what to do if a girl was literally sitting on their faces." The two women giggled together.

"So, are you going to Keppler? I know you're not from here, and God knows no one moves to this town just for a change," Tina asked.

"Yeah, I'm a freshman. Do you go there?"

Tina nodded. "Senior. One more year and then I have to actually grow up. What's your major?"

"Sociology for now. But I want to take classes in other things, too. What about you?"

"Psychology. I know all about what people are thinking," she joked as they returned to the bar. "Except this one," she said, nodding to Joe. She batted her lashes at him. "Any secret thoughts you care to share with me, barkeep?" she pressed, seductively.

"The only think I'm thinking is that you just got your first table, waitress." Joe smirked and went back to pouring a drink.

"Maybe next time," Tina sighed. "Let's go, Mel. So it begins."

The night flew by. Morelli's was always busy on Thursdays, and Mel had her hands full running plates, refilling glasses, and watching Tina key in orders like she was playing a video game. By the end of the night, her feet were sore, and she could feel the back of her shirt drip with sweat.

"You'll get used to it," Tina said as Mel massaged her tired foot. The table between them was covered with crumpled bills. Tina deftly piled them together and offered Mel a small stack. "Here. Thanks for the help tonight. We made out pretty good."

"Thanks!" Mel pocketed the cash and glanced around, watching the other staff sweeping their sections, re-arranging chairs, and stocking clean glasses. She saw Mr. Marsh standing by the bar, talking with Joe but gazing in her direction. He nodded to the bartender and headed her way.

"How did she do, Tina?" he asked when he neared their table.

"I think our little bird is ready to fly all on her own," Tina sniffed, brushing away a fake tear.

"Good," he said, smiling down at her. "Come back tomorrow at 4. We'll start you off with a small section on your own. I'm sure you'll do great."

She looked up at him with a smile. "Will do. See you, Jim. And thanks, Tina."

II.

The first weeks of classes flew by. Most were core (boring by any standard), but a Human Sexuality course in Mel's major made up for it. Dr. Tamachi, a smartly-dressed Asian-American woman, was hilarious and brilliant. The topic focused on sexual subcultures, and Dr. Tamachi fairly covered both the pros and cons of each. It was definitely more interesting than watching Coach Jenkins stumble over "urethra" and "vagina" in sex ed at Lakemont High.

Work was going great, too. Mel had hit it off with the other servers, joined in Tina's tormenting of the "Bobbsey twins" (as she now called them to herself), and swooned over her good-looking boss and Joe the bartender. The customers during the week were usually business men or college faculty drinking off the day. On weekends, the "golden oldies" came in, retired couples ordering the same Delmonico or Charleston Chicken they'd had every Saturday since the '70s. They told the same jokes, too, and following Tina's lead, Mel laughed uproariously like each time was the first.

Fridays were the busiest, with tables turning faster than Mel could count. And this Friday was especially slammed. The swinging door to the kitchen barely closed for three hours, servers and runners keeping it moving so quickly it might as well have been taken off its hinges. The kitchen itself was a cacophony of slams, bangs, and barked orders. "Cal, take this to 22, now!" "I need this baked switched for mashed!" "Kyle, where's that whitefish?!" "Tina, get these salads out of here!" 'I'm doing it, dick!" "Fuck you!" "Both of you shut the hell up!"

The front of the house was no better. Mr. Marsh was behind the bar with Joe and Maggie. The waitresses were cruising from table to table, and Vicky, the young hostess, was doing her best to pacify the long line of guests at the door. Mel was lucky that her customers were forgiving. She tucked a wet lock of hair behind her ear as she took another order and rushed to the computer to put it in. Her apron was stacked with bills and receipts, jutting out like a kangaroo pouch at her waist. She breathed an exhausted sigh of relief at the most welcome sight that night – an empty table in her section. She glanced around the dining room. The line at the door was gone. Mr. Marsh had left the bar to Joe and Maggie, and Cindy, another new server, was cashing out. Finally, she thought.

The last few customers trickled out as Mel finished her sidework. Her tables cleared, the floor swept, and silverware rolled, she sat down to count the money that had made it worth it.

"What the hell?!" she shouted out loud, bounding up and diving under tables in her section. Her hands searched every corner of her apron as her eyes scanned the floor. She tore through the pile of bill folders, looking for stray cash. Nothing.

"What's wrong?" Tina asked, pulling up a chair. "Bad tippers?"

"Not even," Mel choked out. "I'm short!"

"How is that even possible?" Tina gaped. "There's no way your tips alone couldn't make up for one lost check."

"I don't fucking know!" Mel buried her head in her hands, crying. "Tina, what am I going to do? I'm like $50 short. I can't afford that." She didn't even try to hide the tears, sobs now racking her body. Tina looked on with pity. She reached out and rubbed Mel's arm, consoling her.

"I'm sorry, honey." Tina sighed. "Look, I'll help you tonight. It doesn't make up for the tips, but at least you can pay what you owe. Jim's gonna be super-fucking-pissed if you walk back there without it." She pulled a $50 bill from her pocket and held it out to Mel. Mel wanted to refuse but knew she was in no position to argue.

"Thanks," Mel sniffed. "I'll pay you back, I swear." She wiped her mascara-streaked cheeks as Tina stood to leave.

"Mel! My office," Mr. Marsh's voice echoed across the quiet dining room.

"Good luck," Tina whispered as Mel's eyes went wide. He must have heard her outburst, she thought. Oh shit! She had the money, thanks to Tina, but if he heard her say she came up short, she'd still be in trouble. Her mind scrambled for excuses as her body slowly followed Mr. Marsh to the back. He was sitting at his desk, his fingers steepled, gazing right through her.

"Jim, I – " she started.

"It's Mr. Marsh for now, Mel. Remember?" Mel recalled what he had said when she started: "unless you get in trouble," which is definitely where she happened to be now.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Marsh," she sobbed. "I don't know how it happened. We were so slammed, and everything was going so fast, and I've never, ever been short before." She droned on and on, trying to say anything that would break his steely gaze. After what felt like an hour (to him and to her), he silently held up a hand and inclined his chin, silencing her.

"This business depends on staff being honest and careful," he said slowly. "Whether money is stolen or just lost doesn't matter. You fucked up." There was no anger in his voice, just tangible displeasure. The words weren't sharp like daggers but no less hurtful, like blunt instruments to her emotions and psyche. "And you know you fucked up, yes?"

"Yes, sir," she squeaked.

"And you feel pretty worthless right now," he stated, not asking. Mel hung her head, her assent barely audible. "Good," he said. "You ought to. You're a good server most days. But you're worthless to me if you cost Morelli's money. You don't want to be worthless to me, do you?" Again, the bare content of the sentence seemed to make a question, but as the words spilled out, there could only be a declarative period at the end.

Mel vigorously shook her head, realizing it was true. She wanted to be liked like everyone does, but she only came to see as he chastised her how much she needed his praise. Her old boss had been so friendly. Every server was the "best he'd ever seen," every bartender a "magnificent mixologist." But Mr. Marsh's praise had to be earned, and it was reserved for few. It meant something when he smiled at her and offered a subdued "good job" or "you're doing fine" the past few weeks. She was desperate now, to hear it again.

"Good," he said simply. She watched as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a bill presenter, the small black folder clearly full. He laid it in front of her and sat back, his fingers again steepled under his chin. She looked at him confused.

"Open it." Mel opened the presenter and found a stack of bills and receipts with her name on them. "Matt pulled this out of a bus bin earlier. Lucky he did. Lucky, too, that he's honest." Mel's heart swelled, a giant weight leaving her chest. "Honesty and care, Mel," Mr. Marsh repeated. "You should go thank Matt for having both."

"Oh! I will, I will," she said brightly. "Thank you, Mr. Marsh. Thank you! It won't happen again, I swear."

"See that it doesn't, Mel. I don't want to have this conversation again." She bounded from the office and ran straight into Matt. Mel threw her arms around his neck, pressing her lithe body against him tightly as he stood rigidly in place.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" she squealed, kissing his cheek. She could feel that his posture wasn't the only thing rigid about him, but in the moment, she didn't care. Her gratitude was so genuine, her relief so palpable, that she pressed her pelvis against him, rewarding him in a subtle, strange way. She pulled back, giggled at his stunned expression, kissed his sweaty forehead, and practically swept her way out of the kitchen and the restaurant.

She laid in bed that night, a thick wad of tips on her nightstand. She thought about Matt and laughed to herself. He had to know that her pressing against his bulge was intentional. Just keeping him honest, she laughed to herself. She thought about his awkward manner whenever Tina teased him. He's probably at home jacking off to that hug right now, she thought, smiling. Her mind wandered, and an image of his pale, skinny body naked, stroking a long, thin, inexperienced hard-on floated in her mind's-eye.

Her smile faded, girlish glee giving way to a wholly different, womanly sensation. She closed her eyes, focusing on the mental image of Matt. Her right hand trailed down her body, reaching and then passing the elastic waistband of her shorts. She dipped her finger into the well between her lips, her wetness coating it from tip to knuckle. She found the tiny button at the top of her cleft and rubbed it vigorously. Moans escaped her lips, and she struggled not to wake her roommate, Elise. Her left hand found her breast, and she caressed the supple flesh.

Her mind flitted more quickly now, and the image of Matt quickly gave way to one of Mr. Marsh, his manly body on display before her, a hand cupping his balls. Mel bit her lip as her finger rubbed her clit. Within seconds, she was coming, her head buried in the pillow to stifle her cries. Her body relaxed as the orgasm passed, and she drifted off to a deep sleep, her hand still in her shorts.

III.

"Would you like to go to a movie?" Trent, the quiet boy who sat behind her in Human Sexuality had caught up with her after class. He was cute, with short brown hair and friendly blue eyes. They'd chatted a few times before, as the rest of the class filed in. Mel and Trent were always the first ones there. He hardly ever spoke during class, and when he did, Dr. Tamachi almost always had to ask him to speak up. But what he said was usually pretty perceptive. Clearly, he was smart, even if he was too shy to share his opinion often.

"Yeah, that would be nice," she said sweetly. "There's a new Transformers movie out," she offered, assuming guys liked that sort of thing.

"Um...sure. If that's what you like," he said meekly.

"If you want to see something else, we totally can," she replied quickly.

"Well, there's this revival of Amelie at the Main Art. It's, uh, it's a French movie.

"Ok, it's a date." She smiled, and so did he.

"Ok, cool. I'll, um, see you tomorrow, then. Bye!" He walked off, and Mel headed to her dorm to get ready for work.

Her smile quickly disappeared as the night wore on. Wednesdays weren't usually hectic, but Lauren had gotten sick just as the dinner rush started, leaving Mel stranded with Chloe, a sophomore who started at Morelli's only a week before. Both waitresses struggled to keep up with the extra tables. At one, a pair of younger guys in suits were guffawing at their own jokes as they slammed back martinis one after the other. The drunker they got, the more they openly ogled Mel.

"Hey, beautiful, why don't you join us for a while?" said the shorter one with greasy, slicked-back hair.

"Not while I'm working, doll," she fake-flirted back. He held up two $100 bills.

"Well, then just keep us good and lubed up and this is all yours," he said, winking and laughing at his own joke.

"Anything for you, babe," she smiled, wondering if he was being honest. She hated the jokes, but if he really left that much cash, it would make her night. Even with the alcohol, their bill wasn't over $80. A huge tip like that would be quite a coup. She raced back to the kitchen, hoping the man's drunkenness kept him generous. She took her food from Matt and smiled at him seductively, thinking of the night weeks ago. True to form, Matt quickly turned back to the grill. Her interactions with him had been brief since, but she couldn't help thinking of this as a new, more psychological and secretive kind of teasing. There was no way she'd actually want him, but it was fun to watch him squirm.