WARNING: The following story is made for fans of natural or modular body magic / detachment/ disassembling people non-lethally / etc. If you are not a member of that community, I strongly advise that you turn back now. Things will get freaky.
-
He lifted his designer shades, eyes bulging as they took everything in. "What in the..." he muttered, unable to articulate his amazement.
"What'd'ja think, I was just fucking with you guys? I told you this place had topless waitresses!" Said the smug man in the hoodie.
"And I still would've thought you were full of shit if you said this was a titty breakfast bar." Said the third of the trio, sporting low sideburns and a pierced nose. "But this, I never would've believed!"
Sunglasses and sideburns ducked behind hoodie as a waitress approached and politely curtsied. From the waist down, the slim and freckled woman wore a tight red skirt and matching slip-on shoes that wouldn't have looked too out of place in a 1950's diner, accompanied by crisp white socks that rose all the way up to mid-thigh. The only thing spoiling the motif was a big round belt buckle that doubled as her name tag, labeling her "Fran". From the waist up, there was nothing but a silver tray with a notepad and pen on it. No shirt, no bra, no tits, no arms, no head; Fran was a walking pair of legs with a tray balanced atop her truncated hips, just like every other waitress at Sherry's Shortstack Shack. Lacking a mouth, Fran's notepad did the talking with a printed message, "Please write your party's name, group size, and if you're expecting late arrivals."
"Devin, party of 3, all here." The man in the hoodie said aloud as he wrote, setting the notepad back on the tray and firmly tapping twice.
The waitress turned sharply on her heels and marched towards an open door frame veiled with a bead curtain and marked with a 'staff only' sign.
"How can they see where they're going?" Asked shades, stepping out from behind Devin to get a better look at the departing gams, marveling in equal measure at their beauty and coordination.
"Same way they get by with their hearts, lungs, and brains tucked back in the kitchen. Magic." Devin said with a shrug. "To tell you the truth, Johnny, I'm not certain on the specifics. The waitresses are pretty tight lipped."
"Wait, you're telling me their tops cook the food?" Sideburns asked, looking out over the rest of the restaurant where half a dozen topless pairs of legs milled about, taking orders and clearing tables and bringing out heaping trays of food with remarkable ease given their limitations.
"Well, I mean, someone's gotta, right? Why not the half with the arms?" Devin said with a shrug. For all he knew, the food fell out of a hell portal just behind the other, wider bead curtain in the back. It wouldn't be any less incredible, all things considering.
Soon the legs labeled Fran returned, bearing three menus and a new note, this one written with such precise penmanship it was hard to believe a human hand had made it. "Devin, Party of three, follow me!" Devin had barely finished reading when the legs turned and marched into the dining area, leaving the boys scrambling to catch up. Devin followed Fran closely, admiring how steadily she carried her tray even as her hips swayed teasingly each step. He was so caught up in his gawking that he nearly crashed into her when she stopped at a table in the middle of the restaurant, bumping her hip against the table so that the menus she carried slid onto it. She stepped back, turned, and bowed, then spun on her heels and walked away.
"Looks like this is us." Devin said, seating himself and grabbing a menu. Noticing his companions were still standing and scanning the room like a pair of meerkats, Devin rolled his eyes and put on his best TV host impression, "Johnny? Ian? Why don't you have a seat?"
"Dude, how in the fuck is everyone so calm about all this?" Ian asked, sitting but continuing to scan. The restaurant wasn't packed, but there were enough people here that there should be no way for this place to not be globally known.
"Well, unlike you turbo-virgins, we more worldly adults don't get weak in the knees every time we see a nice piece of ass." Devin said, casually popping open a menu even as his eyes slid right off the page and onto a passing pair of cheeks just barely contained in a skirt a size too small.
"Worldly my ass, like you've ever gotten ass!" Johnny jeered, grabbing a menu. "C'mon, everyone knows you're lying about prom, you and Cindy had a totally PG evening."
"Well why don't you ask your mom how good I give, then? There's a reason she left your daddy, you know?" Devin countered, sneering as Ian snorted in delight and Johnny rolled his eyes.
Before the lads could devolve further into debauchery, their attention was caught by two firm stamps. To their right stood a thick set of pale hips and thighs, labeled "Cyndi".
"Yooo! Speak of the fucking devil!" Ian howled, turning every visible head in the dining area. Johnny joined the laughter, while Devin could only chuckle along weakly as he studied the server more intensely than he'd studied the last two quarters of college. He hadn't seen Cindy since high school, but he remembered her being noticeably thinner. Then again, the skin tone was about right, as well as he could recall, and imagining the rest of Cindy on top of these hips left him thinking they were roughly the right length.
"Go on, Casanova, see how well she remembers you!" Johnny teased, rapping the backs of his knuckles on Devin's bicep.
Devin swatted the hand away more defensively than the light touch warranted, and he quickly snapped "Probably not her, numb nuts. Cindy from high school didn't spell her name like that. And she was thinner and taller. And-"
The legs stamped thrice, regaining their attention. She leaned in ever so slightly, wiggling her hips and rattling the plastic cups of ice water balanced on her tray topped hips. The boys took the hint, their cups, the notepad and the pen. The note was typed, and read "Hiya, I'll be your server today! Please mark down your drink orders, and if you've got any questions about the menu or have any dietary restrictions, write them in the provided space! When you're done, just put the pad back on the tray!"
Below the message were a list of drinks and check boxes like a multiple choice quiz, along with a few lines for notes. Johnny put a check next to black coffee and tossed the notepad to Ian, who ordered orange juice (no pulp) and made a note before handing the pad off to Devin, snickering.
Taking the notepad, Devin saw that his friend wanted to put two theories to the test with a single message. He wanted to know if Cyndi was Cindy's stage name and if their top halves were indeed cooking in the back, which he'd deduce with the message "Hi Cindy, it's your high school sweetie, Devin! (Kisses)"
"Gottem." Ian said, nodding proudly at his wit.
"A bold strategy, betraying me AFTER giving me the last word." Devin said, taking the pen with a flourish and clicking it ominously. Panicked, Ian scrambled to retake the pen, nearly knocking the table over in his mad rush.
"Hey, watch it!" Johnny complained, ice bouncing off his shades and back into the cup as the rocking table smacked his elbow.
"Gimme that, butt hole!" Ian demanded.
"That's what she said!" Devin teased, finishing his magnum opus and slamming the notepad down on the tray hard enough to make Cyndi's knees buckle slightly. Taking the forceful slam as her cue to get a hurry on, Cyndi strode back to the kitchen, leaving the bickering boys behind her playfully swaying behind. Regaining his bearings, Devin corrected himself "That's what HE said, I mean!"
"You'd know what he said, gay boy!" Ian snapped, blushing at the thought of what horrid riposte Devin had delivered.
"Nobody likes a homophobe, kids." Johnny said, holding the menu out like a man twice his age would hold out the Sunday paper. "Particularly not ugly homophobes."
"Is that why you wear sunglasses indoors, you virtue signaling dick? Hiding those beady little bug eyes?" Devin asked, picking up the menu and looking at it for almost long enough to read a whole word before deciding to get the same thing he did last time. It's not like Sherry's Shortstack Shack was famous for its hot dogs. It was known for exactly two things, its shortstack waitresses and its shortstack pancakes, and Devin could go for a fluffy mound of either.
"Big talk from Mr premature balding." Ian piped in, ruffling Devin's drawn up hood and taking a defensive slap on the wrist. Ian retreated behind his menu with an impish grin as Devin glared.
The next few minutes were more of the same, the overgrown man-children taking turns negging each other and trying desperately to assert their masculinity while eagerly awaiting the return of their waitress and sexual prop. By the time their plump half of a waitress returned with their drinks and a new note, the boys had managed to make every other table hate their guts. Quite the accomplishment, given the ample distractions Sherry's provided.
Johnny collected his drink and the newest note, "Ready to order? Fill out this ordering form just like you did with your drinks! Need a few more minute? Just double tap my tray and I'll be back in 10!"
"Need a lot more than ten minutes for a double tap from me." Devin joked, taking his drink. He raised his hearty breakfast glass of cola to his lips, but stopped short of sipping. Floating amid the ice cubes was a pink paper square, carefully folded and placed so only the tip poked out from amid the ice. Fishing it out, careful not to draw any attention to himself, Devin unfolded the sodden sticky note.
"Alright kids, no more funny business. I don't wanna get kicked out before out food arrives; I'm starving!" Johnny said, handing the menu to Devin. Devin took it and saw that true to Johnny's word, there were no snide remarks. There was, however one item he didn't recognize. Amid the optional add-ons to Sherry's Famous Shortstack pancakes, the only thing he ever ordered, was an option he swore had never been there before...
"Yo, you having a stroke or just thinking about having one?" Ian asked, his stomach grumbling to accentuate his impatience.
Devin took a deep breath and placed his order, adding a quick note at the bottom in a burst of panic before slamming the order form down on the plate with a clang and a jolt from Cyndi's legs. The waitress bowed and got a hustle on, leaving Johnny and Ian confused and Devin visibly mortified.
He knew he'd fucked up.
"You alright? Look like you're gonna be sick." Johnny asked, almost managing to sound concerned. A real feat, given he really was concerned.
"m fine." Devin answered, sipping his cola and scrambling to get the soggy sticky note off the table before his friends saw it. He shoved it into his hoodie's waist pocket and regret that immediately, though not as much as he regret what he'd wrote to the kitchen staff. He'd be lucky if all they did was spit in his food.
"Shit, was that actually Cindy? She remember you?" Ian asked, spotting the note disappearing under the table.
"No." Devin curtly answered.
"No she isn't Cindy, or no she doesn't remember you?" Ian pressed, his trademark evil grin splitting his face asunder.
"Neither! Not her." Devin said, setting his drink down heavily. "So, were you jackoffs invited to Mike's party next week? Because if not, I got a plus one spot, if either of you wanna start wooing me."
The bantering continued, the boys trading such savage verbal blows that the rest of the restaurant, unable to not overhear, thought they must be the worst of enemies, rather than the best of friends. For Johnny, Ian, and Devin, the fact that they could speak to each other like this and still voluntarily hang out was proof that their friendship was unbreakable. Only best friends could get away with being such shitty friends, they reckoned.
By the time Cyndi returned, her small serving tray replaced by a wider platter to accommodate their orders, the guys were all laughing and in high spirits, having given and taken plenty of solid blows. They greedily grabbed their orders, Cyndi's hips shifting ever so slightly with each plate lifted as she adjusted to the change in weight. As Devin took his order, he noticed two things. Firstly, the three pancakes were at least twice the thickness of the ones he was used to, maybe even three times thicker, making them an "extra thick stack" just as the mystery add-on promised. Secondly, Devin noticed that the napkin wrapped around his utensils bore a note in blue ballpoint, only a few letters visible in the rolled up paper cocoon. By the time he'd unfurled the napkin and read the message, Cyndi's legs had already retreated back to the kitchen. But it hardly mattered. He turned the napkin around for his friends to read, his lips frozen in an "O" of sheer amazement.
"No fucking way." Ian said, leaning over the table and squinting just to make absolutely sure he was seeing what was right in front of him.
"Some ladies have zero taste." Johnny said dismissively, downing the rest of his now room temperature coffee and wishing that he'd asked for a refill, among other things.
Devin spun the napkin back to himself, giggling as he reread Cyndi's secret message. "If D wants a 'thick stack of ass!', so shall D receive! Meet behind the shack in 6 minutes, and be discreet!"
"She's probably fucking with you, dude." Ian reasoned, refusing to believe his friend's good fortune.
"Wanna come watch? Get a nice video for your personal spank bank?" Devin asked, hoping against hopes that Ian wouldn't call his bluff. No way in hell was he could perform for an audience!
"Sorry, I never liked short-films." Johnny answered, his gaze so intense it went clear through his dark shades. Either Johnny knew he was saving Devin's ass and was silently letting him know that he now owed his soul and/or firstborn son, or else Johnny was so jealous that he was already plotting Devin's death.
"Your loss. Gonna win Emmy's." Devin said, shrugging. He picked up his fork and realized his hand was shaking with excitement. He noticed his heart was thundering in a chest that his lungs had seemingly vanished from. The lights were suddenly too bright. The noise of patrons and generic pop music Too loud. Shit, he was sweating so bad!
"Need some air. Freshen up. See you later." Devin mumbled, standing and staggering out the front door. On some instinct he didn't know he had, he'd navigated the strip mall's parking lot back to his piece of shit car and found himself behind the wheel. He had an intense desire to just peel out and speed away, leaving his friends to their fate and Cyndi to do... whatever girls did when they were stood up. He didn't know. He'd never considered the possibility of a guy standing a girl up until now. As far as he was aware, that never happened. Girls stood guys up, no guy would ever miss out on a chance for action... right?
Devin opened the glove box. He shoved some old receipts, frayed charging cables, and crumpled fast food wrappers out of the way, revealing an already opened box of condoms, short one foil wrapped rubber. Devin closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He withdrew the second rubber from the box. He was gonna rock Cyndi's world!
Stepping back into the real world, Devin saw that he was parked in the direct center of the strip mall's lot, making for an awkwardly long walk around the ends to reach the rear where Cyndi's awaited him. He looked right and left, agonizing over the ultimately meaningless decision of which end to circle around before ultimately deciding that right was right. He passed a smoothie bar, a cellphone repair shop, a laundromat, and finally a secondhand bookstore, each step shoving his painfully hard erection into the harsh metal teeth of his zipper. He hunched forward, trying to relieve some pressure, but then he worried that everyone now knew he had a boner. Why else would he be walking funny? He felt a thousand eyes on him. What if his physics teacher was watching? Or his mom? Or mom's neighbor's husband's brother? Who knew who could see him now, about to engage in such unconscionable courting? God, him and his big mouth! Big pen... whatever!
Devin turned the corner, hobbled past the reeking dumpsters that communally served this half of the strip mall, and turned the next corner in kind. To his right was a steep, rocky hill leading into back country, which created a roughly 6 foot alleyway behind the strip mall. Standing a little more than halfway down the alley were a pale, plump, naked piece of ass, which turned slowly to face him like a gunslinger squaring off at high noon.
Devin gulped, and urged himself forward, each step bringing new details into sharp focus. Cyndi's legs were standing on a fluffy mattress with gray sheets. she was tapping her left foot impatiently. Beside the bed was a crumpled up red sheet. Cyndi's pubes were yellow blond and shaved into an arrowhead pointing down, a bit lighter than Cyndi's hair though maybe the hairs down their were naturally paler or the hair up there was dyed. An assorted bowl of condoms was at her feet, in case Devin hadn't brought one, along with a half depleted roll of paper towels. There was an unfamiliar tattoo of all four card suits arranged in an arch over her outer right ankle bone. Taped to her stump was a new note, pencil on lined notebook paper.
"15 minutes, no bareback, damaging goods will incur additional fees, first warning is hard knocks on door, second warning is hard knocks to your skull. Have fun!"
Cyndi's legs took a step back, standing in the middle of the mattress and giving it a few goading stamps. The springs squeaked softly underfoot, a foot which Devin now noticed had bright pink polish applied. She stamped again, and Devin remembered he was on the clock. He quickly slipped off his slip-ons and stepped onto the mattress with Cyndi, undoing his belt and revealing a cock red with chafing after all the hurried walking he'd done in his tight jeans. He breathed a sigh of relief, chuckling softly to himself as the wind his his skin. The instant relief did a lot to untangle his nerves, though the relief was short lived.
"Shit it's a fucking jungle." Devin said, suddenly self conscious of the thick curly carpet that had migrated south from under his hood. Why hadn't he shaved downstairs before coming here? Well obviously because he hadn't been expecting anyone to fuck him today, but was that really an excuse? He had the condoms on perpetual standby after all, why shouldn't he keep their filling ready?
"EE!" Devin squeaked jumping back and nearly tripping over his undone pants. Cyndi's foot waved at him, revealing the sole she'd just flicked his dick with. Devin marveled at its softness, their gentle wrinkles. He was expecting the foot of someone on their feet all day to look more haggard, though he supposed she put a lot less weight on her feet than the average person. That soft, teasing foot twisted in tiny clockwise circles. Right, on the clock.
Devin got back on the bed, tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth, and after pushing some pubes out of the way he rolled it down to the base. He was ready. He rested his hands on Cyndi's hips and laid his dick on her stump, his nuts rubbing against her well trimmed arrow of hair. He growled on some animal instinct, rolling his hands back to her ass and squeezing. The legs trembled and pressed into him, sliding his rubber covered cock over her stump. Devin grit his teeth and stepped back, nervous he might finish his stack before even starting.
With a practiced flourish, the legs assumed the position, spinning around, bending over, and dropping to their knees, spreading their ass and shaking it to a distinct and inaudible beat. Was music playing in the kitchen? Could her top still feel this? Devin didn't care. He peeled a leg out of his pants, leaving them bundled up at the end of one ankle as he straddled Cyndi's legs and lined himself up. Placing a hand on the small of her back, digging his fingers into her soft stump and the hard spine beneath, Devin thrust his hips forward and shoved her waist back, driving himself deep inside her with a heavy, excited grunt of delight.
He hadn't blown it on the first pump, so things were already off to a great start so far as Devin was concerned. Riding a new wave of confidence, Devin rode Cyndi for all he was worth, throwing his heart and soul into each thrust. Cyndi reciprocated the enthusiasm, if more gracefully. It was obvious this wasn't her first rodeo, and in the back of his mind Devin wondered just how many men Sherry's Shortack Shack had shervished. Was every girl on the secret menu, or just Cyndi? He pushed such questions out of his mind, pushing himself deeper into Cyndi in kind. Her ass slammed into his hips with a hefty smack, the impact packing a surprising punch given how much weight Cyndi had lost. Relatively speaking, anyway.
"You like that, bitch?" Devin asked, feeling like a proper stud as Cyndi's feet dug into his calves as if to hold him in place. "Yeah, you like that! You love it! You can't get enough of this dick!" He boasted, forgetting whether or not the legs could hear him without ears. They could almost certainly see, but the rules of magic were a mystery to the humble patron.
And then something happened down there and he came. It came as a surprise to Devin as much as anyone. He didn't feel like so close to the edge, but Cyndi did something a very certain way and in an instant Devin's muscles locked up and trembled with tension as a hot wetness filled his rubber. His head snapped skyward without his permission, his hood falling down his back to reveal a thinning tangle of greasy black hair. Devin closed his eyes, both from the pleasure of climax and the pain of looking right into the mid-morning sun, and he made noise like someone getting stabbed to death but trying their best not to cause a scene.
Devin slid out and slumped back like a puppet with cut strings, limbs trailing in all directions and spilling off the edges of the mattress. His head hung back off the bed and rested on his crumpled hood like it was a pillow, his eyes closed and a weary smile curling his parted lips as he fought to put oxygen back into his lungs. He was ready to go to take a nap back here, though somewhere in his subconscious he knew his friends would come looking for their ride if he didn't return in timely fashion.
Out of nowhere, Devin's limbs and head all limply fell upward, like his near comatose body had just dropped off a cliff. He fought to keep his head up, even as his limbs came crashing back to earth, and saw Cyndi's legs in his lap, now facing him and shuffling her hips in small, forceful, and precise motions, manuevering his dick back inside her. Devin opened his mouth to protest, but realized he was still just barely hard enough to keep going, and feeling himself slip back in had his body revolt. His head lost power, dropping to ground as all available blood was forwarded to the front lines. Cyndi lifted her hips and dropped them with a viscous rhythm, like speed metal pounding his pelvis to dust. Despite missing most of her weight, Cyndi's hips dropped like a hammer, driving themselves into him to make up for the lack of mass. She'd clearly mastered the art of milking men, and Devin was soon enough dropping a second, pitifully small load.
Not soon enough, Cyndi seemed to think, as her hips only rode harder to break her own record. Or at least to keep him from going soft even as his libido drained. Devin's hands reached up and fell weakly on Cyndi's thick thighs, trying to stop this wild ride. His foggy brain managed to summon up enough cognition to be surprised, as he felt what he'd mistaken for juicy fat was in fact lean muscle, her legs toned and tightly packed like a professional marathon runner. While a thin layer of fat hid their definition, there was no questioning that this girl was in tip-top shape. The fat was not the result of a careless diet, but was carefully accrued so the underlying mass of muscles had fuel to feed them. She was built to go the distance, Devin be damned.
His hands slid off her legs and fell to the bed, useless. He couldn't overpower the storm, all he could do was whether it. His heart pounding in his ears, his mind a foggy morass, his junk getting bashed to a pulp by a power top-bottom, Devin focused on breathing. He just had to not pass out, he just needed to stay awake for another... shit how long had it even been? It felt like it'd been fucking forever since they'd started, but he had no idea how long he'd lasted or how long he'd been down on the mat getting ground pounded. 5 minutes? 10 minutes?14 minutes and 59 seconds? Well not that last one, for he was pretty sure a second had passed and Cyndi's legs were still giving him the works. He felt the sensation of cumming, more painful than anything at this point as the muscles in his meat tried to force out a nonexistent load. The tank was empty, but the licentious legs either hadn't noticed or didn't care. They had a job to do, and it was a job they clearly enjoyed doing. Devin grit his teeth, wondering what the news would report if he had a heart attack back here. Would it expose the magic of Sherry's Shortstack Shack to the world, or did they pay off the papers to keep themselves out of the public consciousness? Would men come down by the dozens just to die fucking, the generally agreed best way to go? As Cyndi's voiceless hips filled the silence with wet, sloppy slapping, Devin knew now he would've preferred a nice quick brain aneurysm. Just the instant blackness of oblivion, none of this tenderness, soreness, and fatigue. Somehow, this was not what he imagined when he pictured death by snu-snu.
BANG BANG!
The legs fluidly got their feet under them and stood, dripping a mixture of bodily fluids that spilled into Devin's lap and across his hoodie, the bed, and the ground as the legs walked back to the back door with a pep in their step. Despite the glistening sheen of sweat they'd built, they moved with the same energy and grace as when they were serving breakfast. They really were something fucking else. Devin saw, upside-down, the back door to Sherry's swing open without a hand in sight. Though, thinking about it, a motorized door opener was probably more probable than magic even at Sherry's. The was no way Sherry's Shortstack Shack was built without ADA compliance in mind, given the needs of its staff.
Cyndi raised a foot and waved it at Devin, her long and flexible toes furling and unfurling with such gusto that he could almost hear them saying "Toodles!" with sickening cheerfulness before they slipped back into the building and the door hit them on the ass on the way back with a playful thump.
"Fuck." Devin muttered. He smiled. He'd survived! He'd gone the distance! Against all odds he'd lasted fifteen fucking minutes! And all it cost him was his hoodie.
"Oh, fuck." Devin groaned, pulling his head up and gazing down his chest. The condom had slid off and dumped its contents into his lap when Cyndi'd stood, and she'd left a diagonal trail up the right side of his jacket as she left, marking him like the animal she was. Devin looked around and caught sight of the paper towels by the bowl of condoms. Small mercies, at least. He cleaned himself as best as he could, though only so much could be done. Reluctantly, Devin peeled off his hoodie and balled it up inside out so it wouldn't stain his car, leaving him in a retro video game t shirt and jeans. He scratched his head, adjusting his now extra oily hair into the most flattering arrangement he could make without a mirror. He was half sure it concealed the worst of the bald spot. He looked at the gray bed sheets, badly stained, and saw the red sheets to the side of the mattress. He put two and two together and stripped the mattress, leaving his sheet with the other. He was tempted to lift the red sheet, see if more sheets were tucked underneath, but realizing that would entail handling a sheet soiled by another man he shook his head and staggered back to his car. He tossed his hoodie in the trunk, then limped to the restaurant.
Ian and Johnny had finished their meals, and to Devin's chagrin he saw they had divvied one of his three pancakes between themselves, leaving Devin only two. He slumped into his seat, ignoring the dog whistles and hooting of his friends as wolfed down the remains of his breakfast.
"Dude, you reek so bad!" Johnny chuckled, covering his nose with the back of his hand, fork dangling from his fingers with a stolen piece of pancake stuck to it.
"Dude got that stank on him!" Ian snickered, raising a hand.
Devin gave it a look, and reluctantly raised his own for a high five, wincing as Ian slapped his hand out of the sky. Seeing his weariness, Ian asked "Yo, you okay my guy?"
"I am so fucking tired." Devin admitted, shoveling another two bites of pancake into his mouth and meeting Ian's gaze.
There was a pause, then the pair broke out laughing, followed by Johnny. "Got your money's worth, then?" Ian asked.
"Dunno. Might be down a hoodie. Things got messy." Devin said, pointing his butter knife at his tee.
"I was wondering about the glare." Johnny teased, sitting up and peering at the top of his slumped compatriot's scalp. Devin waved the blunt knife at him and Johnny retreated, lowering his shades and giving Devin a knowing look. He'd won Johnny's respect, no matter what that piece of shit said or did.
Within a minute, every crumb was consumed. Within another, two pairs of legs approached the table, one bearing an empty platter for the men to put their dirty dishes and the other bearing three bills. One of the waists was Cyndi, who'd already been cleaned up and put back on the clock, though Devin noticed that she now wore a new skirt, red and white stripes instead of solid red. He glanced around the room, spotting one other waitress in that attire a taller and darker pair of legs. He remembered the red sheets. Was this how they kept track of who'd already "served" a customer? Why'd they need to track that? Was it just to brag?
Devin was snapped out of his stupor by the sounds of clattering plates. Johnny gathered everyone's dishes and pilled them on Cyndi's platter, leaving only Fran's legs and their 3 bills. One was "Devin", the others were "Guest 1" and "Guest 2". Devin took his, while Ian took both the others and studied them to figure out whose was whose.
Devin's beet red face went pale. His hot sweat ran cold. He gulped. He'd been charged:
$2.50 for the soda
$9 for Sherry's Famous Short Stack
$500 for "Extra Thicc" add-on
$40.92 sales tax
Well, he definitely wasn't tipping now. Was his friends' respect worth the $550 price tag, the bruises, and whatever a new hoodie might cost? No. Not even close.
But maybe if tricked them into making the same order...