Vanesa's Submissive Waitress at the Party

Sunday fell on Bruno like a slab of stone. After the entire morning under Vanesa's orders, he was still stretched out on the mattress in the back room, with rope marks on his wrists and skin glued to the sheet with dried sweat. He was fifty-eight years old and had the sensation of no longer recognizing his own body: heavy, aching, foreign to him. His head spun in that uncomfortable place between shame and a desire he didn't know how to extinguish. His cock, soft between his thighs, still bore the red marks of the leather ring Vanesa had tightened around it hours earlier, and his ass burned deep inside with that familiar sting he no longer knew if was pain or memory.

They weren't going to let him rest. The three of them had decided that early on, laughing in the kitchen. Marina, the brunette with the sharp gaze, was the one with the idea. Ariadna and Lucía had celebrated it as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

The door flew open and the three of them came in carrying bags. Marina dropped one onto the bed.

—Up —she said—. Today you work.

They freed his hands. Bruno sat up slowly, rubbing his wrists, waiting for the next humiliation with that mixture of fear and surrender that was already beginning to feel familiar. Ariadna pulled a cheap waitress uniform out of the bag: a black skirt far too short, a frayed white apron, and a blouse that would never fully close over his belly.

—Put it on —ordered Lucía, the shortest of them, folding her arms.

I don't have a choice. I never do.

He dressed himself, awkwardly, while they watched him like someone observing a fairground animal. The blouse tightened until a button popped. The skirt barely covered his thighs and rode up with every movement, leaving his ass bare every time he bent over. They hadn't given him any panties. Marina settled a tangled blonde wig on his head and painted his mouth red with a rough hand, smearing the corners.

—There —she said, stepping back to admire her work—. Now you're our waitress. Tonight you serve, and you'd better not make a mistake.

They put a tray in his hands, two beers, and a couple of glasses. Bruno glanced at himself in the hallway mirror and wished he hadn't.

***

The house started filling up around nine. The girls' guests arrived: three big men, broad-shouldered, the kind who spend hours in the gym and show it off with shirts two sizes too small. They laughed loudly, shouted over one another, filled the living room with their presence. One of them, with a thick beard and tattooed arms, was the first to point at him.

—And what’s this? —he asked, half amused, half contemptuous.

—Our personal waitress —Ariadna replied, winking at him—. She serves drinks. She's very obedient, you'll see. And she's trained her mouth, if you're interested.

She slapped his hip and sent him toward the center of the room. Bruno moved forward with the tray, his legs trembling under the skirt, feeling every gaze nailed to his body. The men took the beers without thanking him, tapped his belly, tugged at his apron. One of them emptied half a can down his neck just to see him shiver. The three women, sprawled on the sofa, directed him like a puppet.

—Faster! —Lucía shouted.

—You're dropping everything, idiot —Marina mocked, filming him with her phone—. Show them your ass, waitress. Lift your skirt when you pass.

One of the girls ordered him to serve on his knees, and he did it, crawling with the tray amid everyone's laughter. They made him repeat the route even when they didn't need anything, just for the pleasure of watching him go back and forth, watching him bend down and pick up what they deliberately knocked over. Every time he passed close, some hand pinched him, lifted his skirt, or shoved him so hard he almost fell. One of the guys, the blond one with pale eyes, shoved two dry fingers into his ass while he was serving and pulled them out with a laugh when he saw Bruno fold over the tray. Bruno learned quickly to anticipate, to dodge, to smile when they demanded it, to swallow his tears so as not to anger them.

Bruno served and stumbled, served and sweated, with the crooked wig falling over his eyes. The humiliation burned on his face, but there was something underneath that shame he didn't dare name, something that grew with every order. Beneath the skirt, his cock was traitorously beginning to harden against his thigh, and he prayed no one noticed.

When did I stop fighting this? When did I start waiting for it?

***

The bearded one got tired of the game first. He emptied his beer in one swallow, grabbed Bruno's arm, and yanked him down onto his knees in the middle of the room. With his other hand he opened his belt, pulled his pants down to his thighs, and pulled out a thick, dark cock, already half hard, which he thrust in Bruno's face.

—This waitress is good for more than carrying trays —he said, and the three women burst out laughing—. Open your mouth, faggot. Let's see if you can suck it like you say.

—Make him work for real —Marina urged, leaning forward with her phone pressed to her face—. Take it all the way in. To the back.

Bruno tried to back away, but the second man, the bald one, grabbed him by the nape and held him in place. The bearded one dug his fingers into Bruno's cheeks until he forced his mouth open and shoved his cock in in one go. Bruno felt the blow in his throat, the hot flesh choking him, the taste of sweat and beer. Tears filled his eyes at once. The man grabbed his wig with both hands and started fucking his mouth at a brutal pace, not letting him breathe, driving his whole cock against the roof of Bruno's mouth until Bruno's nose hit the black hair of his pubic mound.

—Look at him drooling —the bald one laughed, pulling out his own cock and shaking it beside Bruno's face—. He loves it. Look at those eyes.

He gagged on it, saliva hanging in thick strings from his chin to the exposed tits of the blouse bursting open, and still they didn't let him go. The bearded one came first, inside, without warning, with a long growl that jolted his hips against Bruno's mouth. The hot load filled Bruno's throat and Bruno swallowed because he had no choice, coughing, with semen spilling from the corners of his mouth.

—Good waitress —the man panted, pulling out with a wet sound and wiping the remains on the blonde wig—. Now the next one.

The bald one grabbed him by the hair and shoved it in without mercy. It was even thicker, curved, and Bruno felt it opening his jaw until the joint cracked. He fucked Bruno's mouth with the same savagery, spitting in Bruno's face between thrusts, calling him slut, old faggot, dirty old woman. Bruno cried and sucked, sucked and cried, with his cock hard beneath the skirt despite everything.

The third man, the blond one, didn't wait his turn. He got behind Bruno while the bald one was still pounding his mouth, yanked up his skirt, and spat between his ass cheeks. Bruno felt the head of the cock pressing against his hole, still stretched from the morning with Vanesa, and then the penetration, dry, hard, all the way in with one thrust. He screamed against the cock in his mouth and the scream drowned in a gurgle.

They had him impaled from both ends. The blond one fucked his ass with his hands dug into Bruno's hips, driving himself all the way in each time, and the bald one worked his throat at the same rhythm, the two of them coordinating their thrusts as if Bruno were a toy passed from hand to hand. Every time one shoved forward, the other pulled back, and Bruno's body jolted in the middle like a rag doll. His own cock bounced against his belly, so hard it hurt, dripping onto the wrinkled skirt.

—Look how he opens up —the blond one panted, giving his ass a sharp slap that left a red mark—. This ass has been begging for cock for a while. You can tell.

The girls didn't miss a thing. Ariadna and Lucía were rubbing themselves on the sofa, moaning softly, their hands tucked under their dresses. Marina still held the phone aloft, changing angles so she wouldn't miss anything.

—Look at him —Ariadna said, almost with cruel tenderness, with two fingers sunk into her own cunt—. He loves it. Look at how hard he gets.

And it was true. Beneath the skirt, Bruno's cock betrayed him as always, hard and drooling despite the tears, despite the shame, despite everything. That contradiction sank him deeper than any insult. He whined and obeyed, obeyed and got turned on, trapped in a circle he didn't know how to escape.

The bald one came on Bruno's tongue, forcing him to keep his mouth open so the girls could see the puddle of semen on the roof of his mouth before making him swallow it with a slap under the chin. The blond one held on a little longer, pulling out of his ass and shoving it back in with a measured slowness that made him moan. He finished unloading inside too, squeezing Bruno's cheeks until his fingers left marks, and when he came out he did it with an obscene, wet sound, leaving Bruno's hole open and dripping with cum.

—Marina, look at this —he laughed—. It comes out on its own.

Marina stood up with her phone and aimed it at Bruno's open ass. Bruno, still on his knees, let his head fall to the floor, his cheek against the rug, mouth open and full of spit and someone else's semen. His legs were shaking.

***

The front door slammed open and the laughter cut off abruptly. Vanesa came in with that presence that filled any room: tall, long-legged, hair tied back, and a gaze that admitted no argument. She was Bruno's owner, the one who had broken him and remade him over the course of months, and everyone in that house knew it.

—What is going on here? —she asked, slowly, taking in the scene.

She saw Bruno sprawled on the floor, dressed as a waitress, disheveled and wrecked, with cum running down his thighs. She saw the three men, with their cocks still out, glistening with saliva and semen. She saw the three girls, their hands between their legs. No one moved.

—We were just playing with your pet, Vanesa —Marina dared to say, recovering her smile—. Relax.

Vanesa did not relax. She walked up to Bruno with slow steps, took his chin, and lifted his face to look at him straight on. She ran her thumb over the corner of his mouth, collecting a thread of semen, and slipped it into Bruno's mouth calmly.

—He's already had enough of your boyfriends —she said, not letting go—. Now it's my turn. And he's going to take care of me properly.

The three men understood that the night had changed hands. They put away their still-wet cocks, grabbed their beers, and drifted back toward the kitchen in murmurs. The girls, on the other hand, sat up, alert, waiting for instructions.

—You lot —Vanesa said without looking at them, while she hiked her dress up to the waist and pulled off her black lace panties with a sharp motion—, on your knees. Take care of the waitress while I take care of her mouth. I want her to come without anyone touching her cock. I want to see her come apart just from having my cunt in her face.

***

The three obeyed without a word. There was something in Vanesa's tone that left no room for doubt. Vanesa sat on the sofa with her legs open, showing all of them her shaved, already gleaming cunt, and she made a gesture to Bruno with two fingers.

—Come here. On your knees. Like you know how.

Bruno crawled to her, the wig falling over one eye, semen still dripping down his chin. Marina was the first to crouch behind him, with a look of disgust that turned to focus when she saw his open, dripping ass; she shoved three fingers in at once and moved them cruelly, pulling out what the men had left and cleaning them on his cheeks. Ariadna moved to one side and grabbed his sagging tits through the torn blouse, squeezing and twisting them until he moaned against Vanesa's sex. Lucía settled on the other side, licking and biting the skin of his neck, whispering obscenities in his ear.

—Open —Vanesa ordered from above, grabbing him by the wig and guiding his face between her legs—. Suck. Like you know how to do it. No hands.

Bruno buried his mouth in Vanesa's cunt. He ran his whole tongue from bottom to top, tasting her, finding her clit with the tip and working it in slow circles the way she had taught him. Vanesa pressed his head against her with both hands, shoving his nose against her pubis, closing her thighs around his ears.

—Deeper. Put your tongue in me. All of it.

He obeyed. He penetrated her with his tongue, fucking her with it, rising now and then to suck her swollen clit, alternating the rhythm until Vanesa began to moan softly and move his face with her hips. Below, Marina kept working his ass, having moved on to four fingers and making the hole creak each time she pushed, while Ariadna and Lucía pinched his nipples until they turned purple. Bruno's cock hung between his legs, so hard it pulsed, untouched by anyone.

—Good boy —Vanesa panted, riding his face—. Suck harder. Make your breathing cut off.

Bruno lost himself completely. What followed dragged him into that place he feared so much and needed so much: the feeling of being nothing more than an instrument, a body at others' disposal. Vanesa set the pace from above, steady, unhurried, calling him every name she knew would bring him down: old slut, faggot, shitty waitress, my toy, my thing. Below, the three of them worked him with laughing cruelty, shoving fingers in to the knuckle, yanking his hair, giving him light slaps on the ass every time he let out a moan that was too loud.

He came the first time without warning, with no one touching his cock, just with his mouth full of Vanesa's cunt and Marina's fingers sunk to the wrist in his ass. He shot in streams across the rug, his whole body shaking, with a muffled cry against Vanesa's sex that only made her press his face harder.

—Don't you dare stop —she growled, tugging his wig—. Keep sucking.

And he kept going. With his cock still hard and throbbing after the orgasm, with his whole body trembling, he kept eating Vanesa's cunt while Marina pulled her fingers out and in their place inserted a black dildo that had appeared from somewhere, thick, long, and opened his ass with a new burn. He came a second time when Vanesa finally cried out and squeezed his thighs against his ears, soaking his face with hot slick. Bruno swallowed, licked, kept licking even though his jaw hurt, even though he had no air left.

—One more —Vanesa ordered, still convulsing, not letting him go—. I want to see you do it one more time. Come on, girls, switch.

Ariadna sat beside Vanesa and opened her legs too, showing Bruno her pink, glossy cunt. They made him move from one to the other, from Vanesa to Ariadna and to Lucía, sucking and licking until his tongue ached, while Marina, behind him, kept pushing the dildo into him with sadistic slowness, looking for the spot that would make him lose his mind. He came a third time, almost dry, without strength, shaken like a marionette whose strings are being cut one by one. The girls reacted with laughs and grimaces, mocking him, pointing at the cock that was now only spitting a transparent thread, showing him on the phone the three loads staining the rug.

Vanesa, seeing him collapse like that, tightened her grip on the wig and gave herself up one last time over his mouth, holding his head through the final shudder, smothering him between her thighs.

—Good boy —she murmured, and in his mouth it sounded more humiliating than any insult.

***

When it was all over, they let him go and Bruno fell onto his side on the floor, curled into a ball of trembling flesh, with the skirt torn, the wig half falling off, and his ass still open around the dildo no one bothered to pull out. He could barely breathe. He could barely think. The living room smelled of beer, sweat, and sex, and the music kept playing as if nothing had happened.

Vanesa nudged him gently with the tip of her shoe.

—Enough for today.

The three of them stood up, straightening their clothes, catching their breath. Marina crouched beside him, yanked the dildo out with a pull that tore a hoarse moan from him, ran it over his lips, and then tossed it against his chest.

—Don't get confused, waitress. You're ours. We'll call you when we feel like it, and you'll come. To serve, to obey, to let yourself be used, to open your mouth and your ass when we ask you to. Understood?

Bruno barely nodded, too weak for anything more. Ariadna gave him one last laugh and Lucía a pinch in the side, almost affectionate, almost cruel. Vanesa was the last to speak, already at the door, buttoning her jacket.

—And I’ll always be there to remind you what you are —she said—. You don't get rid of me.

They left one by one, leaving the house in silence and Bruno sprawled among the remains of the party, with someone else's semen still drying on his thighs and face. His body was wrecked and his mind still trapped in what had just happened, in the promise that it would happen again. He closed his eyes. There was no relief in it, but neither was there any turning back. He was Vanesa's waitress, and deep down, where he didn't dare look, he was already waiting for the next call.