The Satisfied Customer

I have one of the most demanding, thankless jobs there is … I’m a waiter. Actually, I am the headwaiter for my shift, which means I get a dollar more per hour and get the privilege of serving the more hard-to-please customers. In a restaurant that serves up to 140 people per sitting, we get our fair share of complainers, nitpickers and people who seem to think watching Gordon Ramsay Kitchen Nightmares qualifies them as savvy diners.

About 6 months ago, we were packed to the rafters with convention attendees – mostly people who were in the business of making their money off of motivating others to make money. These make for some of the worst customers as they attempt to use their newly-discovered powers of positive attraction on us like Jedi mind tricks. The worst type of customers during these conventions are the ones who set a stack of dollar bills on the table and announce to us, “This is your tip. I’ll take $1 away from it every time you don’t jump through my hoops like a trained chimpanzee.” Well, they don’t say that last part, but they may as well.

On this particular night, however, we had a large table of convention organizers in one of our private dining areas. The restaurant was making a bid to be the official dining spot for their events, so everything had to be completely perfect. The shift host, a fussy man in his 50s with a John Waters style mustache, assigned me and three of our best waitresses to oversee the private room with the strict order to do whatever it took to make them happy.

The evening was going perfectly; every order on time, every glass refilled promptly, every ridiculous request taken care of with charm and perfection. That is … until one of the waitresses was refilling a water glass at the head of the main table when the man sitting to her right reached under her skirt to cop a feel of her ass. Though I hadn’t seen him do this, I heard her surprised yelp and turned just in time to see the stream from the pitcher of water go from the half-filled glass into the main organizer’s lap.

Those immediately around the scene gave a symphony of gasps and shocked reactions, followed by the now wet customer loudly calling her a “clumsy idiot.” I made my way to the table within seconds, dismissing the waitress and telling another to take care of the cleanup immediately. I checked on the other guests to make certain no one else was wet, or had spilled anything, then smiled understandingly as the customer vented his outrage to me. I calmly acknowledged each of his ludicrous statements from the incompetency of service workers to several disparaging remarks on the young women of today. Once he ran out of bluster, I assured him his meal would be comped for the inconvenience.
“And what about my suit?” he sniped.

“If you’d care to send us your dry-cleaning bill, I’ll see it is taken care of,” I said reassuringly, my smile never wavering.

At this point, he fixed me with a stare that almost made me uncomfortable. With nothing left to complain about, he said, “I have a change of clothes in my car. Do you think you could provide me with a private place to change?”

“Of course, sir,” I answered, motioning toward the front of the restaurant.

I followed him to the reservations desk and as he retrieved his clothing, I explained the situation to our host. A new waitress was assigned to the private dining room as I retrieved the key to the private storage room above the restaurant. Before the customer came back inside, the host leaned into me almost menacingly telling me to do everything I could to right this situation.

“We cannot afford to have these people badmouthing us,” he whined.

At that moment the customer entered the waiting area with a suit wrapped in clear plastic in tow. I led him down a side hallway and up a long staircase in the back of the building leading to the upper floor. I unlocked the storage room door, turned on the light and held the door open for him. Once he was inside I started to back out of the room to give him some privacy.

“Stay,” he said quickly as if commanding a dog. He tossed his suit onto a nearby box and began loosening his tie as I shut the door and stood with my arms behind my back and a pleasant smile plastered on my face.

“You work here long?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Two years, sir.”

“Two years and already headwaiter – impressive.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Means you’re either very ambitious or fucking the right person.”

Seriously? What goes through someone’s head to think they have the right to talk to others like that? It may seem funny in the movies, but in real life it just shows people you’re a douchebag.

He tossed his wet shirt onto a nearby wine crate, undid his pants and let them drop to the floor. He ran a hand over his underwear, grimaced at their dampness and dropped them to the floor as well. He kicked both of them aside and stood there wearing nothing but black cashmere socks and a watch that cost more than my car. I kept my gaze politely averted until I realized he was making no attempt to put on the other suit. Finally, I glanced at him only to find his eyes glued to me and his hard cock bouncing up and down like in a cheesy porn movie.

For the first time, I truly looked at him. He was an attractive man in his early 40s, dark hair, piercing green eyes. Obviously someone who worked out, as his pecs were full and hard, covered in a light brown fur. His nipples were bright pink and fully erect. His stomach, not as tight as his pecs, had a line of thick light brown hair trailing down to perfectly trimmed pubes that rested atop a thick five-inch cut cock and what had to be the largest set of balls I had ever seen. His fur-covered legs were strong and muscular. He may behave like an asshole, but he had an amazing body!

“Like what you see?” he asked.

I didn’t answer, I was at a loss for what to say – not even sure this was really happening. Though my voice was silent, my eyes must have done the talking as I found myself staring at his still bouncing cock. He began walking over to me, slumped slightly as if his cock was pulling him towards me. He stood so close to me I could smell the wine he had been drinking still on his breath. His eyes bored into me, searching hungrily for some sort of reaction – my mind was spinning too quickly, trying to grasp too many things to give him any. We were at work and hundreds of people were downstairs. What if someone came looking for me, or needed something in the room, or what if this was some sort of joke or test or –

He took my hand, placed it on his dick and squeezed, guiding my hand back and forth very slowly. He released my hand, which kept stroking him, and began guiding me backwards until I was pressed against the wall next to the door. He moved his lips so gently over my cheek I wasn’t sure if he was even touching me – the heat of his breath burning my skin. He moved to my ear, my shoulder, and finally his lips found my throat. I quivered, hearing myself whimper as he started with several gentle kisses. Then I felt his tongue licking my neck, tracing small circles in the same spot until his lips connected and begin to suck my tender flesh into his mouth. Several moments later I felt his teeth as he bit hard into my flesh – so hard my hand slipped from his cock and both hands pushed against him, trying to push him off of me. But his large, much stronger hands grabbed my wrists and pushed them flat against the storage room wall. The pain of his bite was both frightening and exciting and seemed to last forever. When he finally pulled away I half expected to see a set of blood covered vampire fangs, but instead there were only his almost unnaturally white teeth lurking inside a lustful, sinister smirk.

He raised both his hands to my shoulders and pushed me to my knees in front of him. His wide, perfectly shaped cockhead was now only an inch from my face. The musty scent of his gigantic, round balls mixed with expensive cologne traveled through my nostrils straight to my cock, which now grew to full size in my pants. I started to lean forward, my lips parting, desiring to taste the fat dick in front of me, but he pulled it from my reach. He put his hand to my head and pushed it against the wall, restraining me from leaning forward. Only then did his dick come back to my face. Still merely an inch away, he began stroking it – first fast, then slow – moving it in each direction so I could see it from every angle. My eyes stayed glued to it as tightly as my lips now longed to be.

He alternated between stroking his prick and pulling on his massive testicles. My mouth began to water, wanting to pull his crotch into my face to lick and suck every part of it in a frenzy. As he pulled his balls away from his body, he pushed them to my nose, rubbing his soft nutskin against my flaring nostrils. Rapidly breathing in his heady scent, along with my growing desire to swallow this man’s throbbing 5-incher was making me feel light-headed. I started to open my mouth again, determined to taste his flesh, but he pulled his balls away just as quickly and went back to working his rod.

His fist now flew up and down his shaft so quickly it was almost a blur. The only thing I could fully focus on was the head of his massive member, which was swelling and causing his piss slit to open wider. His breath was ragged and quick as his body tensed and flexed. I wanted so badly to taste his cock, but he kept his free hand firmly planted on my head.

He began grunting, his fist moving over his meat even faster. He suddenly moved his hand from my forehead to my jaw, forcing me to open my mouth. “Take it!” he hissed just as the first glob of his cum flew into my open, waiting mouth. My eyes were transfixed on his dick, watching each jet of his seed spray out a split second before I felt it on my tongue. His grunting quieted as his hand slowed and he ran his fingers up his shaft, pulling out the last of his juice to wipe on my already cum-covered lips.

He let go of my jaw, allowing me to swallow the ample amount of fluid he had shot into my mouth. Stepping back, he looked down at me, still smirking, and began putting on his dry clothes. I rose from the floor, my rock-hard dick filling out the front of my pants. I adjusted it to a more discrete position, as well as checked my clothing for any wet spots – none. I had disposed of it all in one swallow. If only Monica Lewinsky had been as talented …

He finished dressing without a word, then gathering his wet clothes, he handed them to me. “Toss ‘em,” he said dismissively, opening the storage room door and starting down the stairs.

I locked the door, carrying the bundle with me and leaving it behind the reservation desk as I followed him into the dining room, pulled out his chair for him and asked him if he would like to see the dessert menu. Just then the host appeared on the other side of him.

“Everything all right now, sir?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. And may I commend you on your customer service.” He looked directly at me. “It’s definitely worth coming back for.”

The host gave me an odd look, then eyes wide, motioned to his collar. I touched my neck, realizing his lingering bite must have left a large, noticeable mark. I quickly buttoned the top buttons of my shirt as I retrieved the dessert menu and finished serving a very satisfied customer.