Cottontails is one of 20 stories collected in my e-book Serving Girls – Stories of Maids, Waitresses, Cashiers and Babysitters, available for only $3.99 USD at AllTheseRoadworks.com! Purchases fund the creation of new, free content. (Click here to view.)
Elegant, pretty, and raven-haired, Susan was the fantasy of all of her students in her college history class. But teaching didn’t pay well, so Susan supplemented her income by working nights as a waitress at the La Scala Italian restaurant. Unlike most jobs in the hospitality industry, they offered a long-term employee contract, guaranteeing Susan security of work.
But La Scala simply wasn’t popular enough to survive in the vicious restaurant market, and a month after she had started her job, Susan was told by the manager that La Scala was being bought out.
“But don’t worry,” he told her. “Your contract transfers to the new operator, and your job will continue with them.”
That seemed like good news – until Susan turned up for work the next week and saw the new sign above the door and the garish new pink paint job. The restaurant was no longer La Scala – it was now a Cottontails.
Cottontails was a national chain of seedy adult venues. The waitresses were uniformly attracted big-titted bimbos, and they wore revealing bunnygirl outfits on the job.
Upon entering, Susan headed straight to the back office. “I’m sorry,” she said to the new manager, a large man with a thick beard, “I know I can continue my contract here, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I’m not interested in working at a Cottontails.”
The man looked Susan up and down. A sign on his desk identified him as “Jerome King”. His gaze rested on her breasts.
“No, I’m sorry, not accepted,” he said finally. “You signed a one year contract, and you can only get out of it by mutual agreement, or if I fire you for bad behaviour.”
“That’s ridiculous,” scoffed Susan. “Then I’ll just not show up, and you can fire me. This franchise is demeaning to women, and I won’t work here.”
“That’s fine,” said Jerome. “Then I’ll just call up your other employer and let them know you no longer have a job at Cottontails. Where was it – St Lucien’s Boys College?”
Susan paled. She couldn’t have St Lucien’s thinking she’d ever worked at a Cottontails. It was one step away from being a stripper – she’d be fired in an instant, and the reason would be communicated to all the parents. The humiliation was unthinkable, let alone the financial problems.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “What do I do?”
Jerome showed her her outfit, which consisted of ridiculously high heels, fishnet stockings, bunny ears, and a black bunny leotard.
“Where’s the cotton tail?” she asked. It wasn’t attached to the back of the leotard as she had assumed.
He passed her a silver butt plug with a rabbit-tail handle.
“You’re joking,” she said, horrified, realising immediately that he was not.
“The leotard has a hole over your anus and a slit over your pussy,” said Jerome, with a sleazy grin. ”Just push this into your ass through the rear hole. We found the ones attached to the costume are always getting pulled off and damaged. This one will be much more sturdy.”
Susan had never had anal sex, much less used a butt plug before. After several painful tries to insert the tail, she eventually had to ask Jerome for some lubricant to get it in place. Once it was in, she felt weird – uncomfortably full, and deeply slutty. The plug pushed against her bladder and her vagina in strange, distracting ways.
She wondered what the slit in front of her pussy was for, but she soon discovered. As she seated each table, she would bring them a hollow plastic carrot, thick and orange, along with a notepad. Diners would write their orders on a piece of paper, put it in the carrot, and then when she returned to take their order they would push the carrot up into her pussy.
The first time this happened she had no warning it was coming, the system not having been explained to her. She squealed as a laughing construction worker shoved the carrot into her unprepared twat, and ran back to the kitchen in tears.
When Jerome found her sobbing, he slapped her. “Get it together,” he said. “When they give you the carrot, you act like you like it. You fuck it in and out of your pussy a bit, then you take it out and lick it clean – like you’re eating the carrot, see – and then you open it and read them back their order to confirm.”
“No…” she protested.
“Yes, or I fire you,” Jerome insisted. “And start with something like, ‘I need to check your order because I’m a dumb little bunny. Can you tell me if this is right?” And giggle.”
It took another two slaps across her face, but eventually Susan did as she was told, going back to the table that had ordered, apologising for her behaviour, fucking her cunt with the carrot before licking it clean and opening it. It was the most humiliating thing she had ever done – and she was forced to repeat it nearly 30 more times over the course of the night. By the end of the night, the repeated process of having carrots shoved in and out of her cunt had left her quite dizzy. Her pussy was wet and she wasn’t thinking very clearly. She had trouble getting the tail plug out of her anus, and in the end she had to ask Jerome for help. When he pulled it free, she found, to her horror, that she was suddenly unexpectedly orgasming. Jerome laughed as she shook and squeaked.
“Here’s your tips, slut,” he said, and shoved a wad of bills up her pussy. Humiliated, Susan returned home.
She thought about not coming back the next night. But then she thought about Jerome ringing the school, and telling them what her duties were, and how she had acted last night, before adding that she had been fired. She couldn’t stand the idea, so back to Cottontails she went.
There was a sign on the wall at Cottontails that read, “Drink wastage: $100 surcharge. Food wastage: $200.” Susan didn’t understand it. It seemed ridiculously high. She asked Jessica, a fellow waitress whose big tits and pretty blonde hair seemed popular with the patrons.
“It’s not really for the food or drink,” Jessica said. “It’s for if they get the food on *you*. If a customer spills a drink on you – deliberately or otherwise – one of the waitresses will bring you a replacement costume, and you’re supposed to get changed right there by the guy’s table. They’re paying for the show.”
“And the food?” asked Susan.
“If they get food on your or something sticky, first you undress, then one of the other bunnygirls will come and lick you clean,” said Jessica. “*Then* you dress again.” She looked Susan up and down. “Frankly, I won’t mind at all if someone spills some food on you tonight, honey. I’m tempted to pay to do it myself.”
Of course, it happened that very same night. First a drunk customer spilled beer on Susan, and she blushingly stripped in front of him, showing off her bare tits and pussy, before dressing in a new outfit. Patrons throughout the restaurant hooted and cheered as she performed.
Then, later, a customer very deliberately picked up a bottle of tomato sauce and squirted it over her face and cleavage. Dying of shame, Susan stripped, and held still as sexy blonde Jessica approached and began to sensuously lick the sauce off her face, before moving down to lick the upper slopes of her tits and then suckle at her nipples. Susan felt like a whore. She *was* a whore. And she was just beginning to thank her stars that she was clean, and the experience was about to end, when the customer aimed the sauce bottle and squirted a further red explosion directly onto Susan’s cunt.
Before Susan knew it, Jessica was kneeling in front of her and licking her pussy. Susan wailed in horror – and then orgasmed, right into her fellow waitress’ face. The shame was overpowering. Why had she cum? What was wrong with her? What kind of whore was she?
The patrons laughed and called her names. Jessica just smiled and finished licking up the sauce, saving a last lingering lick of her tongue for Susan’s clitoris. Susan wasn’t able to meet Jessica’s eyes as she stood, instead concentrating merely on dressing.
But because she wasn’t looking at Jessica, she saw a patron she hadn’t noticed before – a teenaged boy. It was a student from her class at school – Derek Renly. 18 years old, bright, handsome – and the kind of grade-A asshole who was going to get away with being an asshole his entire life. He was *not* Jessica’s favourite student.
When she saw him, she instantly went pale, and hurried over to where Derek was sitting. He was staring at her, grinning broadly, and she could see an erection tenting his pants.
“Hi, Derek,” she said. “Um… this is my second job. Ah, listen, you can’t tell anyone I work here, okay?”
“Are you asking me for a favour?” asked Derek. “Isn’t that inappropriate for a teacher?”
“Please, Derek,” she said, blushing. “I could lose my job. Then I wouldn’t be your teacher. You don’t want that, do you?”
“I don’t think you really respect the power I hold here, miss,” Derek said, staring at her with a challenging confidence she had never seen in class. “For instance, when you said, ‘Please, Derek,’ I think you meant, ‘Please, sir’.”
She coloured prettily. In a night of humiliations, having to call a student “sir” still felt fresh and painful.
She swallowed her pride. “Please, sir,” she said, eyes downcast. “Don’t tell anyone I work here.”
“Do you get toilet breaks?” he asked her.
“Yes – five minutes every hour,” she said. “Why?”
“That’s a bit fast, but I think you can manage it,” he said. “Take your toilet break, but sit here next to me and give me a handjob. You’ve got until the end of your break to make me cum.”
“I can’t…” she said. “You’re a student, I….”
“You’re a student, *sir*,” Derek corrected her. “And I don’t care. You make me cum, or I go to the principal tomorrow.”
Susan looked around in desperation, but she could see no escape. Whimpering, she quickly ran up to Jessica and said, “I’m taking my toilet break time to, um, talk to a friend.”
“What if you actually need your break?” asked Jessica.
“I’ll hold it in,” said Susan, unhappy with the idea.
Jessica shrugged. “Whatever.”
Susan ran back to Derek and sat next to him. Looking around to make sure no one was paying too much attention, she reached into his pants, took out his erect cock, and began to slowly pump it.
“You only have five minutes,” said Derek. “Is that really how you want to do this?”
“Sorry, sir,” Susan apologised, and began pumping him more vigorously.
“Good slut,” said Derek. “And this ‘sir’ business applies at school, too. What people think of you calling a student sir is up to you to manage.”
“Yes, sir,” said Susan.
Derek groaned, enjoying the handjob. “Oh, yes,” he said. “This will do for tonight.”
“For tonight?” Susan asked with dismay.
“Absolutely,” said Derek. “You don’t think I’m going to get a taste of this and then think it’s enough, do you? Every school day from now on I’m going to walk into the first cubicle in the boys’ toilets behind the gym at 1.10 pm. I expect to find you waiting there naked and masturbating. You’ll give me a blowjob, and I’ll keep my silence.”
“Please, sir…” begged Susan desperately, but then Derek groaned and orgasmed. His cock twitched, and a thick sticky glob of cum splattered across Susan’s face. It twitched again, and more semen landed on her tits.
Susan wanted to cry. “Is that all, sir?” she asked.
Derek looked at her, grinning cruelly.
“Sir?” she asked, desperately.
“Excuse me, waitress!” said Derek loudly, taking Susan by surprise. He was waving to Jessica, who was a couple of tables away. “Waitress!”
Jessica turned to look, and Derek pointed at Susan, who visibly had cum on her face and tits.
“This bunny who was serving me has something sticky on her,” said Derek to Jessica. “Do you think you could clean her off?”
Susan moaned in shame and despair as Jessica approached, smiling. Slowly, she stripped back out of her uniform until she was nude in the middle of the restaurant, and Jessica moved in to lick her student’s cum off her face and breasts…