Free Fiction Friday: The Man at Table Six

Here's a totally new short story about a man with reality-bending powers, playing with a young waitress during lunch hour.

Just some basic bimbofication / mind control here. I didn't really have a plan when I started, and I just sort of let the story find an ending on its own. I was aiming for something akin to the famous chaotic "Bad Man" stories by MC_Fan and Burke Rakers, respectively, but I don't feel I really did those stories justice.

Oh well, I can always try again, I suppose. Please enjoy, everyone. :-)

- Tabitha Kohls

The Man At Table Six

by Tabitha Kohls

Copyright 2014

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Sandra Hart jerked alert as her butt plug erupted to life, nearly spilling her serving tray. She looked around the small cafe quickly, her eyes seeking the blinking light.

She soon found it; a small light in the center of table six was flashing red and yellow, in perfect time with the shuddering pulses coming from her plug. She sighed with annoyance, and quickly finished delivering table twelve's order.

As the young couple eagerly tore into their greasy burgers and fries, Sandra hazarded a quick glance across the cafe at table six. What she saw gave her pause, despite the urgent buzzing in her bottom.

There was only one man sitting at the table, busily banging away on a keyboard. Of course, that wasn't unusual; many of the cafe's customers took advantage of the free WiFi access to search the internet from their laptops or tablets.

What was unusual was that the man was using an extremely old-looking manual typewriter, the sort with heavy metal hammers, and a ribbon. It looked even older than the electric plastic typewriter her mother had always kept buried in the closet back home when she was growing up.

"Why do I always get the weirdos?" Sandra mumbled to herself, before pasting a smile across her face, and hurrying toward table six.

"Hello sir, what can I get for you? The lunch special today is--" Sandra started to say, but the man cut her off without looking up from his typewriter.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you, Miss..." He said, phrasing the last word as a question. He tapped on his keyboard, then looked up at her expectantly.

Sandra did her best not to roll her eyes, wondering why she even bothered to wear a name badge at all. Her long, bright pink nail clacked loudly against the plastic badge pinned to her chest.

"My name is Sandra," She said. Or at least, she tried to say. Instead, she was surprised to hear her voice say, "Sandi , with an 'I'! Pleased to meet you, sir!"

She blinked in confusion at her unexpected words; why had she said that? She hated being called Sandy, regardless of how it was spelled!

"Um," She began again, "Actually, I meant to say--"

-DING!-

Sandi blinked as the man slammed his palm against the carriage return, and tapped another few keys. What had she been talking about?

"What was that dear?" The man said, finally resting his hands. An oddly irritating smile slid over his face.

"Um...I was asking what you wanted? The lunch specials today include--" Sandi began again, but once more the man interrupted her.

"Actually, I'm not really interested in ordering anything today. Thanks though." He said, still grinning. Before him, the table light continued to blink, on and off, in perfect synchronization with the pulsating plug in Sandi's rear-end.

Sandi stared down at the man, feeling even more annoyed than before. He was taking up one of her tables, and he wasn't even going to buy anything?!

"Sir, these tables are reserved for paying customers; if you aren't going to order something, I'll have to ask you to leave." She put as much authority into her voice as she could muster, but as she spoke, she realized the persistent buzzing coming from her bottom rather killed the effect.

She reached out to turn the stupid light off, only to have the man tap on his typewriter again.

Sandi blinked, as she felt one of her breasts pop free of her uniform top. She pulled her hand back with a gasp, and covered her chest. Dammit! I hate when that happens!!

The cafe's regulation uniform was designed for looks, not functionality. Even the slightest stretching of her arms seemed to pull the tube top down, freeing her amble bosom.

"Um, sorry about that, sir." Sandi said, racking her mind to remember what she was doing before the sudden interruption, while fighting to put her rack back in place.

"No problem at all, dear." The man said, shooting her a lewd look. Sandi shivered involuntarily under his slimy gaze. She really didn't like this man, not one bit.

The persistent buzzing of her butt plug made her look at the light, but she forced herself to ignore it. Her uniform would never allow her to stretch across the table to turn it off, so why worry?

"As I was saying, I'm not really interested in ordering anything, just now." The man said. He tapped on his keyboard some more. "But I did want to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Sandi nodded slowly, one hand still resting on her breasts to keep them from jostling free again. Her three-inch wide, neon pink tube top barely covered her nipples, and offered no real support at all. "Oh, um... that would be okay, I guess. Are you a reporter, or something?"

"Or something." The man said cryptically.

Sandi slipped into the seat across from him, wincing slightly as her vibrating plug was jammed even deeper into her bottom.

"So, tell me a little about yourself, Sandi." The man said, fingers poised over the antique typewriter's keys.

"Well, I'm studying advertising at BHU; I'm working here to help pay--" Sandi started, as the man began typing.

-DING!-

The man snapped the cartridge return back in place. Sandi blinked. "Uh, wha--what was I saying, again?"

"You were telling me about your studies, " He said, smiling. He tapped his keyboard again.

"Oh, right. Sooo... like I was saying, I'm taking night classes at the community center, just a basic clerical--" -DING!- "--pole dancing class, nothing complicated." Sandi said, sighing. The gentle wind from the overhead fan made her bright pink tassels wave before her, as she leaned back in her chair, purposely shoving her tits toward the man.

"I see. So, I take it you're planning on becoming a stripper someday?" The man asked.

Sandi rolled her eyes. "God no, I just take the class for the exercise. It really works the whole body. I'm just working here to save up money to go back to school."

He nodded, typing away. Sandi listened to the clitter-clatter of keys, and several more dings from the return snapping out. She sighed, rotating her ankles. The mandatory seven-inch heels were murder on her feet, but god did they make her legs look great.

"So, how do you like working here?"

The man's sudden question caught her by surprise. "Um... it's not too bad, I guess." She clenched her butt around the plug, and sighed.

"What's wrong?" The man asked, a little too urgently. Sandi blinked, and looked over her shoulder.

"See the bimbo back there; the one with the huge tits?" She asked. The man looked past her, at the bubbly blond waitress working the back of the cafe; sure enough, her breasts dwarfed Sandi's own plump pair. He nodded. "Yeah, that's Amber; bitch is always shoving those things around, getting extra tips."

Sandi didn't bother mentioning her real reason for hating the other waitress. The uber-buxom blond always started her shift earlier, taking the small plug, and leaving Sandi with the super-sized butt plug currently stretching her asshole wide open.

-DING!-

Syndi blinked, and shook her head. Involuntarily she clenched her buttcheeks, and winced. Her ass felt sooo empty! She glared at Amber, as the bimbo walked past; the bitch was always stealing the big plug!

"Well, if you don't like your fellow workers, why not get a job somewhere else?" The man asked.

Syndi sighed, and rolled her eyes. Reaching under her jugs, she hefted the pair up. "Baby, how do you think I paid for these puppies? This place has shit pay, but the tips are to die for."

"But surely you could try something else." He insisted. "Hooking, perhaps?"

Syndi glared at him. "Hey, I might have ridiculously fake tits, but I've got fucking standards, dude! I wouldn't be seen dead working the street--" -DING!- "--again. I mean, I make way, way more money here than I ever did walking the corners, dude."

She lifted a long cigarette from between her cleavage, and lit it. The man watched her take a few quick drags, before dropping it on the travertine floor, and grinding it under foot.

She stared across the table at the man. "So, buddy, you going to pay for a dance, or what?"

The man grinned, and slipped a few bucks from his wallet. She looked at the tiny pile, and rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. It's fucking daylight; I guess I can dance for five bucks."

Syndi stepped up on the table, sliding her huge rack up and down in the air inches from the guys face. Across the dimly lit room, Amberlynn was grinding her own tits into some guy's face, trying to eek out a few extra bucks from the cheap daytime customer.

"Hey, you mind if I ask ya a question, mister?" Syndi asked, dropping to her stomach, arching her back, and drawing two circles in the air with her tassel-covered nipples. One was starting to slip off, but she pretended not to notice. A little nip-slip never hurt to get a few extra bucks.

The man grinned, his face a bare inch from her expensive, and expansive cleavage. "Sure, baby. Ask away."

"Well," Syndi started, suddenly smashing her jugs into the guy's face. The bouncer normally enforced the club's strict hands-off policy, but she'd blown him in the parking lot before starting her shift, and knew he'd pretend not to see her touching the customer. Pulling the man's grinning face from her tits, she continued, "I was just wondering, what's with the typewriter?"

She rolled over, tits sloshing about, as he said, "Oh, it's just an old machine I found. Basically, it rewrites reality, enlarges tits, turns pretty little coed's into raging bimbosluts. That sort of thing."

"Uh, huh," Syndi nodded, hardly hearing. She kept up her slinky dance moves for a few more minutes, finally turning around to face the man again.

He grinned at her, tossed a few more bucks at her cleavage, and then finally left, taking his typewriter with him. Syndi sighed, and tapped the light at the table center. The plug in her ass finally stopped buzzing, but then started right back up again.

She slipped off the table, and looked around. Sure enough, another table's light was blinking. 

Syndi pasted a grin on her face, put her loose tassel back in place, and headed across the room for her next table.

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The End