Priscilla's Parlor

by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons
Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In
jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United
States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to
Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are
explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission
note must remain attached.

Abstract: Greg tries a new restaurant for lunch. It's a bit girly for his
taste, but tastes can change

Greg was hungry. He'd slept late and skipped breakfast, so even though it was
only 11:00 he was ready for lunch. Some of the women around his office had been
talking up a new place called Priscilla's Parlor. It was supposed to be good --
Southern cooking like Mom used to make. Not Greg's mother, of course. The
Hefferdale matrons never handled things like butter and flour; servants did
that sort of thing. Greg had been raised with similar values, that was why he
was management. He didn't really want to try some new place, especially since
it was only the secretaries who seemed most thrilled with it, but his hunger
left him without the desire to look for something farther away.

The restaurant was definitely female oriented, from the knick-knacks and lacy
curtains to the almost suffocating shades of pink and rose everywhere. Greg was
seated by a rather buxom hostess and told that his waitress Susan would be with
him momentarily. He looked over the menu, and was pleasantly surprised – while
there were many salad bar items, there were plenty of choices for dishes he was
willing to eat and the prices were better than at the cafeterias in town. His
waitress arrived, a petite woman in rather impractical high heeled sandals. She
took his order pleasantly and quietly, and while he waited he took the
opportunity to look around the place.

Most of the customers and all of the waitstaff were women. Many of the
customers were dressed expensively enough that he was puzzled why they would
eat here. About half of the waitstaff looked like anonymous waitress types, but
the other half! They looked like slumming society women, and their outfits were
much more tight and clinging. Several of them kept glancing back toward the
kitchen nervously, as if this was their first job. Greg shrugged and decided to
read the rest of the menu and look around some more; the problems of a bunch of
waitresses weren't exactly any of his concern. He did notice there was only one
other customer who wasn't a woman, a man two tables over from Greg who was
blonde and blue-eyed, maybe 5 foot 8, the kind of guy the women at the office
would be twittering over.

Susan brought his lunch and he dug in with relish. The food was indeed quite
tasty. The other guy passed Greg's table on the way to the restroom about the
same time that Greg decided he'd ask his waitress for dessert. They had
cheesecake on the menu, a favorite of his. It took longer than he thought
necessary for the dessert to show up, but it was as good as the rest of his
lunch. Greg was so pleased that when he paid his bill he added a whole ten
percent tip to it. He noticed as he passed the other guy's table that the food
was still there but the guy hadn't come back. That seemed odd, but maybe he had
a sensitive stomach.

It was a few weeks later that Greg's schedule and appetite combined to suggest
the Parlor to him for lunch. There wasn't anything terribly pressing at the
office, so it wouldn't matter if their waitresses were a little on the slow
side. Nothing had changed when he got there, not the décor, not the hostess
with the great rack; he even had the same waitress – what was her name, oh
yeah, Susan.

He ordered and looked around while he waited for his meal. A young blonde woman
entered and was seated at the table next to him. She was quite a looker, about
five foot nine and stacked, in an expensive-looking outfit that if anything
accentuated her breasts. The woman seemed very nervous; he watched her stutter
as she looked up to her waitress and gave her order. Strange, that. There was
something familiar about her blandly pretty face, but nothing he could put his
finger on. She certainly wasn't one of the secretaries from his office.

His meal arrived and he made short shrift of it. He was hungrier than he had
thought and was halfway through his second glass of tea when he cleaned the
last of his plate. His stomach grumbled at him, and he decided he'd better hit
the restroom or he wouldn't have room for dessert. He headed for the back, his
stomach complaining with more emphasis at each step, and passed his waitress on
the way. When she smiled and asked how he enjoyed his meal he told her
brusquely that it was fine and he needed cheesecake.

As Greg stepped through the door to the john he took one look and stepped back
out. He checked the door; it said "Men" on it. But this was like no men's room
he had ever been in. The walls were blue, not pink, but the mirrors had gold
gilt frames and the light fixtures were mini-chandeliers. The floor was lushly
carpeted, which seemed wildly useless to him. All of the stalls had doors and
there wasn't a standalone urinal to be seen. A cramp inside reminded him that
he didn't care about urinals anyway, and he rushed to the farthest stall and
entered, locking the swinging door behind him.

Something must have really disagreed with him, because his body blew out a loud
and messy expulsion not once but twice, leaving Greg shaky and shivering. It
took three flushes before he felt clean and steady enough to get back on his
feet. When he got his pants pulled up and zipped, he went to open the door but
it wouldn't move. The bolt slid back, but the door wouldn't swing open. He
couldn't decide whether he should call for help, which would have been terribly
embarrassing, or try climbing under the bottom of the door which didn't look
like a lot of room. He heard the bathroom door open, but the carpet muffled any
footsteps. He only knew the other person was there from the sound of the soap
dispenser and running water in the sink. By the time Greg decided to go ahead
and call for help, the other person had gone.

This was really stupid, he thought. Angrily he slapped the door, and to his
surprise it swung open as if nothing had ever been a problem. Well, at least he
could pay his bill and get out of here now. He walked out of the stall,
glancing down to check his zipper, and stopped at the realization that he
wasn't alone. His view pointed downward, he saw a pair of nyloned feet in very
high-heeled ankle-strap sandals. As he lifted his eyes higher, he saw
stockinged legs, skirt hem, blouse, full breasts, broad shoulders, and a very
stern female face. He mumbled something about this being the men's room and
took a step backward, only to be grabbed from behind and his upper arms held
painfully by someone with a very strong grip. The woman in front of him pulled
out a cloth and held it over his nose and mouth, and Greg was surrounded with
an overpowering sweet smell before everything went black.

*** *** ***

Greg woke fuzzily, the sweet smell still in his nose. His lips felt parched,
and there was a bad taste in the back of his throat. He reflexively licked his
lips as he opened his eyes.

*FLASH* A strong light made him blink, and when he could see again he started
to take stock of where he was. Naked on his back, for one thing. He yelped and
tried to get up but his arms and ankles were fastened down. Worse, when he
moved he felt some kind of stiff lump lodged in his bottom. He squirmed and
tried squeezing his muscles, but it wouldn't come out. Worse yet, he could feel
that he was sporting a very large erection that pulsed with every muscle
clench.

"Oh good, we're awake now!" The voice came from a woman entering the room to
one side. He strained to turn his head enough to see her. It was his
nondescript waitress, but she wasn't nondescript any more. Her uniform was
gone, and she was wearing only the high heeled sandals, a pair of
almost-translucent panties that outlined the slice of her sex, and a pair of
matching jeweled dangles bobbing from her dusky thick nipples. The dangles
twinkled with her breathing, and they made it hard for Greg to move his
attention from her breasts to her face. She looked pointedly at Greg's crotch,
and he felt himself blush all over as his cock throbbed.

"I'm glad to see you're enjoying your little friend," she commented with a
wicked grin. Greg was confused, then as his groin throbbed and he felt the
presence of the thing in his ass he understood what she meant. Susan continued,
"That's good, Pearl, it will make things so much easier for you."

He protested weakly, "What is this? And my name's Greg, not Pearl!"

"No, dear," she corrected him, stroking his balls teasingly and dangling her
breasts in his face. "You're our sweet Pearl now." Her teasing made him squirm
all the more, the plug an insistent presence in his bottom. Susan cupped her
hand over his cockhead and smeared his precum over the knob, drawing a moan
from him. Greg fought to keep from exploding then and there. "What's this all
about anyway? You can't do this!" Naked and bound or not, his confidence was
coming back to him. These people didn't know who they were dealing with.

That confidence didn't survive the three photographs that Susan showed him.

In the first photograph Greg was shown entering the restroom. Obviously they
had hidden cameras there. The second photograph showed him lying on his side on
the carpet, his hand curled around his cock and semen splattered on his
stomach. His eyes were lidded and his lips were wrapped around a thick cock.
That picture might easily have been faked, although Greg had the sinking
suspicion it had been real. The third picture was the killer. Greg was
definitely awake in this one, his eyes flared open and what might have been a
half-smile on his lips. His tongue was clearly licking whitish smears from his
lips. Cum was also splattered on his bare chest and stomach, his cockhead was
visibly engorged, and the end of the butt plug could be seen between his
thighs. Tellingly, the straps holding his elbows and ankles were out of the
frame of the picture.

Susan spoke again, her voice sultry but sharp and threatening. "I hope you
realize that you don't get to make the rules here. You're one of Priscilla's
girls now, Pearl, and the sooner you adjust to that the better." The door of
the room opened and closed and another woman approached Greg. She was a
big-breasted redhead wearing a low-cut sweater, high heels and a short black
skirt. Susan's voice cut through the room like a knife. "You're late, Candy.
We'll deal with that later. Right now I need you to help Pearl here with her
training." Susan smiled at Greg, and that smile chilled him as much as the rest
of her instructions. "Break her in, Candy, gently if you can, but break her."

The redhead pouted and sidled up to the table near Greg's head, stroking his
face with her broad soft fingers. "She's so cute, Susan, I don't know how you
find them!" Her other hand replaced Susan's in stroking and teasing Greg's
erection. "Oh, and she's so excited, this is going to be fun!" She looked down
into Greg's face and smiled happily. "Hi there, Pearl. My name's Candy, and
you're going to be my new best friend. I hope you like Candy, because I'm going
to give you a big fat candy cane!

She flipped up the front of her skirt and tucked it into her waistband,
revealing to Greg's shocked eyes a fat, throbbing cock, the more obscene for
being shaven of any hair. It glistened in his face in all its pink splendor and
he watched it in horrified fascination. Candy's fingers stroked his hair as she
grabbed his shoulder, rolling him onto his side facing her. "Come on over,
sweetie, I've got what you need right here." The cockhead bumped into Greg's
lips, spongy and warm. A flash of anger made him clamp his mouth shut, but the
feeling of someone's fingernails digging into his testicles changed his mind.

For all of that, Candy was basically gentle. She let him get accustomed to the
feeling of the flesh filling his mouth, and moved back and forth in slow, easy
strokes. Greg was overwhelmed, by the loss of control, by the unwanted and
unavoidable rape of his mouth, the tang at the back of his tongue that he knew
must be pre-cum, the contrast of the very feminine perfume scenting the base of
Candy's cock. Her hips moved faster, and Greg moaned in protest as he felt
someone twist the butt plug in his bottom. No matter how he squirmed, he was
still held tight as Candy erupted, thick musky streams filling his mouth oozing
out of the corners, hands on his balls commanding him to explode at the same
time. He had to swallow or choke, his nose now filled with the funk of semen
mingled with her perfume.

Someone lifted his hand to cup Candy's ballsac, and he felt the flash of the
camera near his face. He cringed; it was only getting worse. Dazed from the
all-out assault, he put up no resistance as his body was cleaned up and shaved,
the large butt plug replaced with a smaller one with a strap harness, and his
cock threaded down between his thighs and tucked into a gaff. The restraining
straps removed, Greg was lifted to a sitting position and quickly fitted with a
well padded bra then led through dressing in a blouse, skirt and stockings.

He took a closer look at one of Candy's assistants; she was the blonde he had
thought familiar earlier. He looked down at her panties with the masculine
bulge, and something clicked in his head -- this must be, must have been the
guy he had noticed on his first visit! There was something important about that
thought, but he was kept too busy to follow it as Candy and her helpers pushed
his feet into heels and held him for practice walking from one end of the room
to the other. Finally they sat him at a small vanity and made up his face. When
they finished he looked at his reflection and writhed in mental agony. The
woman blinking back at him was the kind of hot looker Greg would have been glad
to make a pass at.

While he was staring at himself, Susan came back into the room. "Is she ready
yet? I've got customers out there." She turned Greg around to face her and
inspected him critically. "Not too bad, Pearl, I think you might work out here.
In case you were wondering, we used your business card to call your secretary.
You got ill during lunch and were taken to see a doctor; you're not expected in
your office until tomorrow. That gives you this afternoon and evening for what
I like to call employee orientation." She leaned down and kissed him roughly,
her tongue sliding into his mouth. Greg couldn't help himself, his body
responded as much as the gaff allowed. Susan pulled back and smirked. "I
thought so. Clean up that lipstick and get out on the floor. We've got a lunch
crowd to serve. Later," and with this her eyes flared and made Greg's breath
catch in his throat, "you can start learning how to really serve. Welcome to
your new part-time job, Pearl."

Susan left abruptly, and Candy and the others helped Greg look presentable
again. Candy escorted him out of the back room, pinned a badge above his breast
and pointed him to the hostess. He walked gingerly on the heels, which made his
calves hurt. As he went to the front of the restaurant he looked around at all
of the twittering women inside. He realized with a sinking feeling that a large
number of them were surreptitiously watching him. Inspecting him. Knowing him.

The hostess put a hand out to steady Greg and looked at him with what might
have been empathy as she told the waiting party of four, "Pearl will be your
waitress. Enjoy your lunch at Priscilla's Parlor!"

Taking the menus, trying hard not to break down and cry, Pearl started her
first shift.

/END/