Kirsty Quinn was 20 years of age in the second year of an economics degree at Sheffield University, it wasn’t exciting and frankly University life had been something of a let down. She had hoped that further education would have been more stimulating, but her fellow students were largely immature lads who simply didn’t have a clue how to deal with a classmate such as her, who was intellectually sharper than they were and also stunningly good looking. Kirsty would dress down for lectures and classes hiding behind horn rimmed glasses and wearing comfortable sweaters, jeans and trainers; she tied her shoulder length brunette hair into a pony tail. The trouble was most of her classmates were sex starved 20 year old economics students with personalities as exciting as your average household implement. ‘Only 18 months to go,’ she kept telling herself and then armed with a first class honours degree in economics the world would be her oyster, she hoped to move into the political arena and make a difference for people like her who had come from a simple working class background. Kirsty had applied to both Oxford and Cambridge Universities but had failed following what she regarded as a flawed interview process, a working class girl from Barnsley needs to be twice as good a student as a public school educated applicant with a father with all the right connections.
Three nights a week Kirsty worked as a waitress in a pricey City centre restaurant, she was determined not to leave University completely burdened by debt and it was also an opportunity to see how the other half lived; how she hoped to be living in ten years time. It was also proving a pleasant enough escape from her studies and immature students, replaced by bitchy waitresses and Kevin the 47 year old manager who was Kirsty’s only current love interest, the sum total of which had been a couple of late night fumbles in the kitchen when everyone else had left. Kirsty was less reluctant to hide her figure whilst working; wearing a simple tight fitting white blouse which exhibited her 36E chest impressively and a similarly tight fitting short black skirt which had every guy in the restaurant follow her every move, often to the displeasure of the female staff and guests alike.
It was a regular Wednesday evening shift at the restaurant, it was about sixty per cent capacity, to be expected in the middle of March, when there was some commotion amongst the staff around 8:00 when a party of four arrived. Kevin the manager rushed out from his Office to greet the newcomers.
“What’s this all about?” Kirsty asked Michelle her fellow waitress.
“It’ll be Mike Taylor,” Michelle replied showing little enthusiasm.
“Who’s that?”
“He’s some big shot businessman, a multi millionaire, lives in a mansion somewhere in the Derwent Valley.”
“Okay, I’ve never heard of him.”
“He comes here quite often, he’s really nice, but his wife is the Bitch from Hell!!!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, fake tits, loves showing them off, and a fucking attitude to match.”
Other members of staff were rushing around preparing Table 12, where all VIP guests were generally seated.
“It’s always a great honour for you to pay us a visit Mr Taylor,” Kevin was turning on his below average charm.
“Well we’ve never had a bad meal here Mr…...”
“It’s Maxfield but call me Kevin.”
“Right Kevin, these are my guests for the evening Mr and Mrs Poole.” Mike Taylor was of average build and height, he appeared to be in his early 40s his only distinguishing feature was a rather impressive moustache which put Kirsty in mind of Tom Selleck. Mr and Mrs Poole were similarly unremarkable he in his mid 40s she probably mid 30s both conservatively dressed.
“And of course my wife Erica,” Kirsty couldn’t believe her eyes, perched on a pair of beige kitten heels, wearing a bright red satin mini dress which was daringly low cut was her Year 9 French Teacher Miss Black.
“Kirsty can you take care of Table 12 this evening,” Kevin already regarded Kirsty as his most reliable waitress and the fact that she was so easy on the eye was an added bonus, Mike Taylor had a certain reputation when it came to the ladies, evidenced by his wife, so hopefully Kirsty could be relied upon to add a certain complement for the Taylor foursome.
“Of course, Boss.” Kirsty reached for four menus, still coming to terms with seeing her old teacher in surprising circumstances. Miss Black had been Kirsty’s least favourite teacher at school, fresh out of College, a job teaching French in a standard Comprehensive school in Barnsley ought to have been a tough assignment. Miss Black then 26 years of age had taken it in her stride with an uncompromising attitude, which alienated many pupils particularly the girls, for the lads however there were some redeeming aspects to being in Miss Black’s Class, specifically her physical attributes.
Miss Black’s or rather Mrs Taylor’s physical attributes were on full display this evening as Kirsty approached Table 12 apprehensively.
“Good Evening ladies and gentlemen my name is Kirsty and it will be my pleasure to serve you this evening,” Kirsty handed out the menus avoiding eye contact with Mrs Taylor,
“What would we like to drink?”
“Good evening Kirsty,” Mr Taylor smiled warmly at Kirsty before taking a not very subtle glance at her chest which as ever was struggling to escape her blouse.
“We’ll take a bottle of your Black Label Pinotage please, it was delightful last time, is that okay for everyone?” There were meek nods of approval from Mr and Mrs Poole and no response whatsoever from his wife.
“Very Good, I’ll let you peruse the menu.” Kirsty turned toward the kitchen.
“Wait a second young lady,” Mrs Taylor burst out unexpectedly.
“Yes madam,” Kirsty for the first time looked her former teacher in the eye.
“I would like a vodka and coke.”
“Of course madam.”
“One more thing are you new here?”
“I’ve worked here a few months.”
“Well you should have a uniform that fits, or are you just trying to make the most out of what you have?”
“Oh Erica you are awful,” tittered Mrs Poole.
“Come on Erica darling, let the young lady do her job.” Mr Taylor smiled sympathetically at Kirsty, who taken aback by what had been said, stared blankly at Mrs Taylor, Erica stared icily back fiddling with the straps on the front of her dress as if to bring further attention to her barely concealed 36DD breasts. Without further ado Kirsty fled to the safety of the Kitchen.
“Really Erica I don’t know why you do it,” Mike Taylor was closely following Kirsty’s path captivated by her derriere.
“For your entertainment darling, of course,” Erica stroked her husband’s arm, maybe inadvertently pinching him slightly betraying her annoyance at the attention he was giving the young waitress.
‘The fuckin Bitch!’ Kirsty muttered under her breath when safely back within the confines of the Kitchen.
“How is the delightful Mrs Taylor this evening?” Michelle enquired, noting how flustered Kirsty appeared.
“That Bitch is Miss Black, my old French teacher.”
“Really? I bet she didn’t dress like that at school.”
“No, and she’s had her tits done as well, but she had the same bitchy attitude.”
“Well be careful because we musn’t upset precious Mr Taylor, or Kevin will be in disarray.”
“Oh, I think I’ll make sure Mr Taylor has an enjoyable evening,” Kirsty smiled to herself as a plan of action formulated in her mind.
Kirsty collected a bottle of Black Label Pinotage and one vodka and coke from the bar, set them on a tray and then glancing at her reflection in the mirror set behind the bar, she undid the top two buttons of her blouse, causing Alan the young lad working behind the bar to fumble a glass which smashed to pieces on the floor.
“Would you like to taste the wine Sir?” Kirsty enquired of Mr Taylor returning to Table 12
“No just pour it please.”
“As you wish.” She leant forward to pour the wine affording the multi millionaire a very close up view of her cleavage.
“Will madam be taking the wine?” She glanced up at Mrs Taylor leaving her chest very much in the eyeline of Mr Taylor.
“Not yet, I’ll just take my vodka and coke, and there will be no need for you to stick your tits in my face.” Mrs Taylor grabbed her drink from the tray.
Kirsty stood erect one hand covering her chest in mock embarrassment,
“I’m sorry Sir I didn’t realise…..”
“No problem Kirsty,” Mr Taylor sought to reassure the young waitress.
“Wine for Sir and Madam?” Kirsty turned to Mr and Mrs Poole.
“Yes most definitely,” Mr Poole replied rather too eagerly and received a dig in the ribs from Mrs Poole for his trouble. Kirsty again leant forward to pour the wine for Mr and Mrs Poole this time giving the three other occupants of Table 12 a close up view of her impressive cleavage; whilst Mr Taylor had an equally impressive view of Kirsty’s bottom snug inside her short skirt.
“We’re ready to order!” Erica Taylor exclaimed bluntly, struggling to mask her annoyance at the fulsome attention the male half of the foursome were giving to their hostess.
“Of course, madam,” Kirsty straightened up and took out her notepad and pen, perceiving with satisfaction the frustration of her former teacher.
The evening proceeded along these lines, Kirsty grew in confidence, revelling in the attention Mike Taylor was paying her whilst Erica was growing increasingly agitated.
“Okay ladies and gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed your meals, can I interest anyone in dessert or coffee?” Kirsty said enthusiastically, anticipating the end of her shift and hopefully a healthy tip.
“Thanks Kirsty we’ve had an excellent evening, the food, the wine and the service top notch, but I’m watching my figure, so just a cappuccino for me please,” Mr Taylor smiled warmly at Kirsty.
“Sir looks in great shape,” Kirsty smiled back, casually playing with her hair.
“Oh please!” interjected Erica rolling her eyes, “We’ve had better service here previously, I’ll have a cognac and we haven’t got all night.”
“Okay darling, relax.” Mike spoke to his wife but continued to fix his attention on Kirsty touching her arm reassuringly before motioning toward Mr and Mrs Poole.
“Two cappuccinos for us love,” said Mr Poole hurriedly.
“Okay I’ll be right back.” Kirsty hastily returned to the Kitchen.
“Was there any need for that?” Mike turned his full attention to his wife who looked daggers back at him.
“You’ve been all over that waitress all evening, she’s young enough to be your daughter.”
“Exactly, why give the young lady such a hard time.”
“Because she’s got you wrapped around her little finger,” Erica was becoming increasingly animated “Sir looks in great shape, would Sir like a better look at my Tits?”
“Really Erica, I think you’ve drunk a little too much this evening.”
“Well….excuse me!” Erica got to her feet sharply and marched off toward the Bar.
“One Cognac please Alan for the Bitch from Hell,” Kirsty stood waiting whilst Alan nervously searched through the spirits section, she then momentarily froze as in the reflection of the mirror she saw Erica making her way toward the Bar.
“Meet me in the Bathroom you little Bimbo.” A casual observer would not have detected the subtle interaction between the two women, Erica hadn’t broken stride, and casual observers there were plenty, every man in the restaurant noticed when Erica Taylor was on her feet and all who had seats which allowed traced her progress all the way to the Ladies Room, many were still scanning the door expectantly when thirty seconds later she was followed by Kirsty the young waitress.
Erica Taylor stood in front of the mirror in the plush surroundings; she was fixing her face but it needed little maintenance despite her strained evening. Her peroxide blonde hair contrasted sharply with her bright red dress. She briefly looked up but feigned indifference as Kirsty entered and settled nervously a few feet behind her.
“Mrs Taylor….?” Kirsty stammered, immediately regretting speaking first.
“You can cut the Sir/ Madam shit Karen or Kathy whatever your fucking name is.”
“It’s Kirsty don’t you remember from Year 9 French, Miss Black.”
“Oh that explains a lot you’re one of my useless ex pupils,” Erica turned to face the young waitress, “I’m surprised I didn’t recognise you, you’re probably maybe a cup size bigger now?”
“I didn’t have any trouble recognising you, even with your new Tits and crappy hair, same old Bitchy Black.”
“Let me guess your fourteen year old boyfriend went off you, when he started in my Class.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, but you did have a reputation of flaunting yourself in front of the male students, a reputation hard earned I might say.”
“Bitch!” Erica took a step closer to Kirsty.
“But I guess 40 year old multi millionaires is progress, it’s legal at least.”
Erica snapped, slapping Kirsty across the face, “How dare you insinuate such a thing.”
Kirsty’s left cheek flushed red and her breathing quickened, unable to gather her thoughts, acting purely on instinct she grabbed two fistfuls of peroxide blonde hair and pulled with all her might. Erica felt a jolt of pain through her scalp bringing tears to her eyes, reacting spontaneously she grabbed Kirsty’s hair attempting to unbalance the younger woman. The two women struggled around the otherwise unpopulated bathroom, landing awkwardly against hand dryers and washbasins.
“You’ll pay for this you strumpet, I’ll have you sacked immediately.” Erica broke away from Kirsty’s grasp, her hair wildly out of place, her breathing uneven.
“Losing this job is a small price to pay, for giving you a whipping ‘Bitchy Black’” an evening of fawning to the wishes of Erica had left Kirsty with plenty of pent up frustration, now seemed to be the perfect opportunity to turn it loose. There was a momentary pause as both ladies strived to recover their composure; Erica took a step toward the door, but Kirsty realising that her job was probably lost already and had nothing to lose, moved quickly to block her path.
“Get out of my way Bitch!” demanded Erica
“No way!” Kirsty pushed the older woman back toward the middle of the bathroom. Erica responded with another slap to Kirsty’s still flushed cheek; this time Kirsty responded in kind eliciting a scream of pain from Erica. Erica turned attempting to disengage from the fight, Kirsty lunged at her and caught hold of a strap on her dress, as Erica pulled further away inevitably the strap unfastened. Erica’s dress dropped around her midriff, liberating her considerable breasts.
“Bitch!” Erica instinctively moved to cover herself with her hands, then as if recognizing there was nothing to be gained from attempting to recover her modesty, launched a counter attack, replying in kind by tearing at Kirsty’s blouse, which split further open exposing a black lacy bra. Losing sight of all other considerations both women now fixated entirely on the task in hand, namely the vanquishment of the other; they tumbled to the floor in a mass of loose clothing, exposed flesh and wildly flailing limbs. Erica gained the ascendancy, sitting astride Kirsty she attempted to reign blows down on the younger woman who desperately sought to protect her face, Erica was more hampered by her dress however which was hanging ineffectually around her midriff. Kirsty took advantage of Erica’s hindrance and was able to struggle from beneath her, Erica leapt to her feet, kicked off her heels and hastily squeezed out of what remained of her dress, leaving her attired solely in a red g string thong decorated with rhinestones at the back.
Kirsty stood with her back to the door of the bathroom, her blouse hung completely unfastened, exposing a black lacy bra which accommodated her undulating bosom as she caught her breath; she could but admire Erica’s physique, her breasts were unnatural but her legs, stomach and bottom were in fantastic shape clearly she spent hours in the Gym every week. Erica observed Kirsty’s admiring glances,
“Jealous, Bitch?”
“Of you? Never!”
“Liar, you’ve been all over my husband all evening, but he comes home to this every night.” Erica did a pirouette to emphasize her point.
“Seems to me, like he’s pretty tired with your attitude Bitchy Black.”
‘Bitchy Black’ was a taunt, Erica had escaped when she left the teaching profession three years earlier, it had tormented her during her three year career, she had even heard her Headmaster refer to her as Bitchy Black once in the Staff Room, it had brought tears to eyes then and it still stung now. She lurched at Kirsty suddenly but her ex pupil was able to deflect the blow, Erica careened painfully into an empty stall, seizing the opportunity Kirsty followed her, grabbing Erica by the hair, she yanked her out of the stall and flung her contemptuously to the floor. Kirsty fell upon her tormentor of the evening with a fury, aiming a series of blows upon both face and upper body of a seemingly helpless Erica. Erica desperately tried to fend off Kirsty’s incessant assault, there was little opportunity for counter attacks, but in a rare instance she was able to strike back, drawing blood as she clawed at the waitress’s face; this only served to aggravate Kirsty further.
“You Bitch!” Kirsty’s hand felt at her cheek, seeing blood on her hand, she immediately targeted Erica’s breasts ripping and scratching with abandon. Erica wailed in distress, tears streamed from her eyes.
“No more I give,” she sobbed.
Kirsty stood, unable to comprehend the force that had manifest itself and where on earth it had come from. She looked herself up and down in the mirror, her blouse was torn to shreds, but at least her bra was still in place, her hair needed fixing, her right cheek was cut quite badly and there were plenty of abrasions on her neck and upper body. She then turned her attention to Erica who had now stopped sobbing, but was lying quietly on her back in the middle of the floor, wearing only her G string, her entire upper body was red with scratch marks and chafing, the most damage was to her breasts, both were badly cut. Hesitant as to how proceed, Kirsty made for the exit before turning around once more...how do you explain such a situation? Erica could see Kirsty’s dilemma,
“You’re fucked Kirsty, assaulting a customer in the Bathroom, you will lose your job and end up in court.” Erica spoke quietly but with menace.
“Assault!!! It was you who hit me!” Kirsty cried in exasperation.
“Who are they going to believe a two-bit barmaid or Me?” Erica added arrogantly belying her current physical state.
“You’re right Bitchy Black, I might as well come clean.” Kirsty had taken note of the CCTV camera installed above the door and pointed at the main vanity area and said a little prayer that it was all in good working order. Kirsty walked over to Erica and dragged her by the hair under protest to her feet.
“Get off me, you Bitch this will only make things worse for you.”
“We’ll see,” still with a firm grasp of her hair Kirsty escorted Erica toward the door.
“I’m in no fit shape….” protested Erica.
“Me neither, but I’ve nothing to hide or lose.” Kirsty opened the door and the two women entered the restaurant once more. An eerie hush instantly descended on the room, which gradually gave way to the odd whisper of ‘What the fuck’ or ‘Look at her Tits’ which was rather superfluous. Feeling the crushing pressure of all those eyes upon her, Erica began to sob once more as Kirsty obdurately marched her toward Table 12. A commotion arose from the Kitchen, Kevin came hurtling across the room, colliding with tables and customers alike in his haste.
“Kirsty what the fuck…..Mr Taylor I apologise profusely…..Mrs Taylor please take my jacket.” All parties arrived at Table 12 synchronously.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mike Taylor was dumbfounded, he placed his jacket around his wife who had been released from Kirsty’s grasp.
“Mr Taylor, this girl will be sacked immediately!” Kevin turned toward Kirsty,”You get your coat and leave now!”
Kirsty ignored Kevin’s order, she barely seemed to recognise his presence; instead she stared inexpressively at Mr Taylor.
“Well,” Mike Taylor was unnerved by the young waitress’s deportment.
“Mr Taylor...” Kirsty finally found her voice,”Your wife and I had a fight, we argued, she hit me and then we fought...I’m really sorry,” the emotion proved too much, she broke down in floods of tears, before running to the exit and a cold Yorkshire evening.
“I promise you Mr Taylor that girl will never work here again, obviously tonight’s meal was on the house.”
“Can you just get us a Taxi for four, you annoying little man!”
“Of course Mr Taylor.” backing away from Table 12, Kevin fell arse over tit onto a thankfully vacant Table 11 “Shit!”
