I sit in the dressing room on the padded bench with one leg crossed over the other and my arms folded over my bare breasts. I’ve been sitting here for five minutes trying to work up the courage to put on the condiment tray and step out of the locker room.
So far, all I’ve managed to do is to take my clothes off and put the slinky black thong on. I looked at myself in the mirror for all of three seconds before my butt slammed down onto the bench, and I covered myself.
I cannot do this.
I cannot go out and look Jerico in the eye while I have silk running up the crack of my ass and my boobs squished by the straps of the tray. It is completely odd and a little humiliating that I’m more worried about Jerico seeing me in this getup than I am the hundreds of other people in this club.
But there is no way Jerico is going to let me hang out in here all night, so I take a deep breath and resolve to get this over with. I stand up on the exhale and jolt when I hear Jerico call out, “Trista… are you okay in there?”
My ass slams back down to the bench as my arms cover my chest protectively. My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“Trista?” Jerico says, his voice practically on the other side of the dressing room door.
I’m still not able to answer him, and frankly, I’m barely able to breathe. I just saw this man get a blow job… watched his face morph into pleasure so intense I wondered what it would be like to be that woman, and…
I have no words for him.
There’s a gentle tapping on the louvered door that separates me from Jerico, and he asks again, “Trista… is there a problem?”
I swallow hard, and my voice practically squeaks, “No, I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound okay,” Jerico says, and it pisses me off that I hear humor in his voice.
Pisses me off so much I can’t help but snap at him, “I’m a little embarrassed to be wearing this.”
Jerico doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he cautiously points out, “You had no objections to this when I told you about it a few days ago.”
“I know,” I snap at him again. “Just give me a minute.”
“Sure,” he says congenially, as if he has all the time in the world to wait for me.
I hear him take a few steps back and then what sounds like his body leaning against the wall opposite the dressing room door. I can imagine him looking all sinfully sophisticated, replete with male satisfaction, while he waits for the scared little girl to get over herself.
“Surely you know you have a beautiful body,” Jerico says, and the shock of his words cause me to jolt even as I tighten my arms over my breasts.
I don’t even know what to say. In a million years, I would never think a man as gorgeous as Jerico Jameson would consider me to be beautiful.
Apparently, Jerico doesn’t expect a response from me because he continues. “You truly have nothing to be embarrassed about, Trista. No one in this club will think twice about you wearing that uniform. Besides that, I’ll stick with you tonight to ensure that everything goes okay.”
I still don’t know what to say.
The silence continues, but then it becomes awkward.
Finally, Jerico commands in a low, firm voice. “Trista… open the door and step out here.”
I hesitate only a second. This is my job, and I need the money Jerico is going to give me. I’ve got to suck this up, put on my big-girl panties—or thong—and get this over with. It’s only twenty-seven more days of my life, and then I can move on.
Standing up from the bench, I pick up the condiment tray and set the hooked harness over my shoulders, pull my hair out from under it, and situate the straps to come down over the middle of each breast. When I look in the mirror, my face flushes red as I take myself in. My boobs, which are a hefty C cup, are smashed in a way that doesn’t hurt but causes them to round outward. Even though the underside of the strap has a soft, velvety feel, it chafes a little against my nipples. This, of course, makes my nipples hard, and I grit my teeth over the realization that I’m not sure if it’s the sensation of the straps rubbing against them or the knowledge Jerico will be seeing me like this in a matter of seconds.
Just below my breast, the strap on each side splits in two and the four ends anchor to the corners of the tray so I don’t have to support its weight. In addition to being able to see almost all my boobs except my areolas and nipples, my entire abdomen is exposed as the edge of the tray sits right below my navel. I give a slight turn in the same strappy black heels I’ve been wearing the last three nights, and then look at my ass in the mirror. The thong is a dark black satin that is thankfully not see-through—not that it matters when my entire ass is exposed. At least I’ve always thought I had a good butt. It’s not too flat but not too bubbly. I also have good legs, which are long and tanned, and I have to admit there is a small part of me—way deep down inside—that admits I look sexy.
“Trista?” Jerico calls out to me.
I give a slight cough to clear the nervousness from my throat and say, “I’m coming.”
I take a deep breath, turn, and open the door to the dressing room, coming face to face with Jerico.
If I thought there might be some measure of a gentleman within him, I would be wrong because his gaze slowly runs down my body in an appreciative, slightly leering manner. He takes his time, letting his eyes wander back up, but they make it no higher than my breasts.
“I’m going to show you a trick that will make this more comfortable,” he says softly before raising his eyes to meet mine. He steps closer to me and slips his fingers under the strap covering my right breast, but about three inches below it so he’s not touching my skin. The breath I suck in involuntarily is embarrassing, and my body locks solid.
Jerico gives me a wicked smile, and then he murmurs, “I’m just going to make a slight adjustment on you.”
Before I can think to object to him touching me, he pulls the strap away from my breast and with his other hand, he places his palm on the underswell. He lifts it up, and his fingers feel like fire upon my skin. My heart thumps so hard I’m sure it might burst out of my chest. He then lays the strap back over my breast, and I have to admit it feels more comfortable as his hands fall away. My breast doesn’t feel as smashed, but the nipple is harder. Damn it.
My head lifts, and Jerico grins at me. There is no doubt there is wicked intent there. “Want me to adjust the other one?”