"You need to pay the bill, we were supposed to be back at work ten minutes ago."
You glance at your watch. "Shit." Quickly you order the bill and pile a few notes onto the tray. A waitress wiggles into view in your periphery, wafting past the table with a wiff of sweet perfume, a manicured hand plucking away the money. She sashays away, her wiggling bottom sending ripples through the short, sky blue skirt of the waitressing uniform, flashing a glimpse of pure white cotton panties hugging a small but pert behind to the restaurant. "Keep the change," you call after her.
"Cheers," replies a jarringly deep voice.
Your head snaps up and you grab a handful of the back of the waiter's skirt, tugging him back to the table. The waiter turns, his thick dark eyebrows set in an furrow of annoyance, his skirt swirling and settling back into place over the conspicuous bulge in the front of his panties. The name badge reads: 'Your waitresses' name today is: Eric.'
"On second thoughts, I want my change," you state firmly. "I don't give tips to crossdressers."
"You can't do that!" he cries angrily. "I didn't want to dress like this, y'know! This is the only uniform they give me. Management says customers prefer being served by women. Come on, man, I need the tips, don't be a douche."
"Yeah, Michael, don't be a douche," Nathan choruses, pulling another crumpled note from his wallet and sliding it into the pouch in the front of the waiter's apron, his fingers lingering over the bulge, rubbing, teasing. Nathan is shameless. The waiter blushes beetroot red. "Treat yourself to something nice," Nathan says with a smile that could only be described as predatory. As the waiter scurries away, Nathan delivers a ringing slap to his pantied ass cheeks. "I like this place. Let's come her again," he crows.
You hurry back to work, hoping your extended dinner break hasn't been noticed.