You swagger into the latest restaurant in town, dressed in a navy two piece suit and gray tie. You pause and glance innocently at a painting to give the room time to admire how dapper you look. Hoping to catch someone's eye, you survey the larger dining room, but the two dozen or so people there seem more interested in talking about old high school sweethearts or complaining about work drama. 'Typical,' you think to yourself, ' such a crowd wouldn't appreciate my Neiman Marcus suit anyhow.' After all, who wouldn't want a tall hunk of (mostly) muscle?

The host is standing at a podium, patiently waiting for you to be done preening yourself. "Good evening sir. How many?"

"I'll be dining solo tonight, though perhaps not for the whole evening," you wink at him with a knowing look after watching a dirty blonde waitress pass by. "And I'd like a table in the center of the room."

The host caught your meaning and blew silently out of his nose. 'Oh great,' he thought to himself. 'One of *these* types. Better give him what he wants then.'
"Unfortunately sir, this dining room is rather full, and - "

"I said I want the CENTER table," you enunciate.

"Yes sir, and I heard you, but that table is currently occupied. Why don't we seat you -"

"So have them finish up! They can't hog that table all night," you snap in response.

The host breathed out through his nose again. "We can seat you in the center of the smaller dining room, sir. Where, at the moment, you would be served exclusively by your waitress," he smiled as the blonde's ponytail bounced past again.

You smirk, "That'll do," and allow the host to walk you through the larger room through a decorated doorway to the smaller dining room. This room only had 5 tables, seating 4 at a time, and seemed to be meant for small gatherings or parties. You take a spot in the center table, facing the doorway and the rest of the diners, smoothing out invisible creases in your slacks. "Enjoy your evening, sir," the host said and walked away, giving a subtle hand gesture to the blonde waitress.

Her ponytail bounced over, and a smile set up the foundation for her small, upturned nose and bright green eyes. Her slight 5'8 frame fit comfortably into her light blue uniform, the hem reaching just above her knees. The white v-neck collar subtly drew attention to her 34B breasts, and the apron accentuated her slim figure. "Good evening sir! My name is Fran, and I'll be -"

*snap* "Water, ice, lemon."

"Wha...? Oh, uh, yes of course, sir..." Fran walked away confused. Then she realized what the hand signal from earlier meant - he was going to be a tough cookie. No matter! She was determined to make this grump enjoy his meal and leave her a sizable tip. She was confident! She got this!!

You appreciate her ass as she struts away (though she would argue that she doesn't strut, that's her normal walk, but she's been told otherwise). But her calves were firm, like she was used to walking around all day. Yes, this was going to be fun. You proceed to glance through the menu to see if they had any steak or lobster.

Fran returned with an ice water and a warm smile. "Here you are sir! Have you had a chance to look through the menu or do you need another minute?"

You stared at the glass of water. Was she deaf? Were you going crazy? "I wanted lemon," you stated as you turned your confused gaze onto her. She blushed. "Sorry sir, let me fix that." You brushed an imaginary hair off your immaculate beard in irritation.

"There you are sir, now, what can I get you?" Fran smiled briskly as she set down the correction. Her tan arms whipped out a pad and pen, giving you her full attention. 'About time she paid attention.'
"I'll have the rack of ribs with the salad on the side."

She jotted it down. "Any thing else sir?"

"Just you." You smirk at her thin, raised eyebrows.

"I, uh... I'll put that in for you right away," she said and she turned to start walking away."

"Sir!" You reminded her.

She glanced back sheepishly, "Right, sir."

You pass the time between glancing at your watch, Fran's butt as she struts past, and other diners to see if they noticed that your watch happened to be a Rolex. 10 minutes later, you snap your fingers.

Fran refrains from rolling her eyes and walks over. "Hi, can I get you anything...?"
You screw your lips in a subtle pout. "...sir?" You smile. "As a matter of fact, yes. I'd like a bottle of your finest champagne."

Fran's eyes lit up. "Right away sir!" She chirped, already wracking up his total in her head. She returns with a gold labeled bottle with some fancy French words you don't recognize, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Oh good! You have my favorite," you cheesed through a fake grin. You hold out your flute expectantly, impatiently clearing your throat. "No no, do it the right way! With a knife," you insist after seeing Fran holding a corkscrew. You hand her a butter knife despite her polite protests and glare at her until she gives in to your ridiculous demand. At best, she'll do it right and everyone in the next room will know how fancy you are. At worst, she'll mess up and spray it all over herself.

But what you don't expect is the sudden *pop!* followed by a burst of pain on your forehead. 'That clumsy idiot - how dare she!!' You furiously thought to yourself. You look up to see Fran's surprised face.

" Oh sh- sugar honey iced tea! I'm so sorry about that sir, but you see, that's why we use a corkscrew in this establishment. I understand you want things done your way, but I need you to trust me, sir." With that, she fills your flute and walks away.

You sip the champagne and wince 'What even is this crap? She must have ruined it by opening it wrong somehow.' You flag down the host and demand to speak to the manager. This injustice can not go unpunished!

After a heated discussion, the manager (also the host) offers you a discounted dinner; but the sour champagne ruined your appetite. You demand a free dessert instead. The two of you haggle back and forth before the manager finally stomps his foot and says "Fine! I'll get you what you want!" He turns off in a huff. Feeling pleased as punch, you stroke your beard and sip iced water to cleanse your palette.

Fran comes out holding a golden carrot cake with cream cheese frosting swirls along the top. She struts through the large dining room, the elegant cake dazzling the other diners. They turn their heads to see the lucky guy receiving this! As Fran enters the smaller dining room, she 'trips' on the threshold and the cake leaps from her hands in a beautiful arc...right into your face. It smashes and cream goes flying across your head and shoulders while chunks of cake fall onto your pristine suit.

You grab frosting out of your eyes in disbelief, but it's thick. By the time you clear enough of your face to see, you look up to find Franabout to enter with a vanilla buttercream cake dotted on top with strawberries and white chocolate shavings.

"Oh sir! I'm *terribly* sorry about that! I know you wanted to see our selection of desserts right away, so I thought - whoops." She trips again on the threshold, tossing the cake into an arc leading towards the top of your head. The vanilla torte smashes on your forehead, once again obscuring your vision. Your open mouth quickly spits out a gob of frosting in shocked reaction. All you can taste is vanilla, all you can smell is sweet vanilla with a hint of carrot. Your hands slowly, disbelievingly start to scrape off cream from your lapel. 'How is this happening? What is going on right now?'

You start to wipe your eyes when you finally register the noise. 'What's that...?' You realize it's laughter. You start to blush under the layer of dessert still smashed on your face. 'Oh god...all those people in the other room. They're laughing... at me!' A sense of horror starts to rise in your chest as frosting-covered crumbs continue to fall to the floor. You carefully open your eyes to every diner in the restaurant sitting with stretched necks or outright standing to peer into your room. It takes you a moment to notice that while they're giggling at you, they're not all looking at you...in fact, some of them seem to be staring behind - SPLAT!

Two creamy masses are smushed on either side of your head, cream wriggling its way into your ears. 'Great, now I can't see OR hear.' This time you don't bother with cleaning off your suit and wipe your whole face downwards. You swivel around to see Fran standing behind you, a tin in each hand, grinning maliciously. "And those, *sir* , are our delectable coconut cream pies!" She smirked. "Allow me to show you our other pie options!"

You spin around to see another waitress rolling up with a tableside cart - only instead of lettuce and vinaigrette, this one was covered with desserts. Your heart is threatening to pound out of your chest. The other patrons can't contain their wide smiles, some cheered Fran on with shouts of " You go, girl!" and "Get him!" The other waitress stepped back and folded her arms.

Fran moved around you, careful not to "trip" this time. She picked up a pie and tested its weight in her hand. She stuck her index finger in the pie and moved it around slowly, gathering a nice little glob of white and blue. She tasted it, letting her lips move sensually over her finger tip til they came off with a little *pop!* "Mm, blueberry! This will add some nice color to your palette," she smiled mischeviously and hoisted the pie. You tingled with anticipation.

It landed square on your chin, splattering little blueberries and white cream everywhere. You could feel the blueberries squish into your beard. You blinked to clear your eyes (no need for fingers this time) just in time to see her picking up another pie. She smashed it right on your forehead, red cherries and cream flying out in a circulsr pattern around you. The crowd cheered; they were enjoying it almost as much as she was!

You groan out loud, but inwardly it ...turns into a moan? There was something tickling you. You felt a deep, warm sensation emanating from...your groin?! What was this?? You start smearing the mess down your suit, but also rubbing it into a purple stain that may never come out.

*Wham!* You feel another hit right on your face; you nearly jumped out of your skin because you couldn't see this one coming. You opened your mouth in shock and allowed some to fall onto your outstretched tongue to solve the mystery. 'Banana? Well, I quite like those actually...' you lick your lips as you take off the suit jacket covered in cream. A deep purple V marked where your white shirt was ruined, but you were certain that would change soon. A strong urge instructed you to loosen your tie and unbutton your top three buttons.

*Sploosh!* This one felt more liquidy; you stuck out your tongue to taste this mystery as well. Despite the cream still in your ears, you could hear the guffawing of the crowd as you desperately try to identify this flavor, searching for more around your nose and chin to taste. "Oh, I see you like our custard pies then?" asked Fran. "Here, taste another!"

'Custard!' You thought right as another exploded onto your face. 'That's what this is! Oh god, this is so embarrassing...but delicious.' The warm tingling sensation spreads upwards towards your chest. You wipe your eyes and lick what precious filling you can off your fingers. 'Oh god, so good!'

Fran stopped to turn around and deeply bowed to the audience. They whooped and cheered for the brave waitress - after all, this was every waitstaff's dream come true! At the expense, of course, of your utter demise. You couldn't help but admire how her ass stretched the bottom of her dress taut, and how it was so short from this perspective that you could almost see her cheeks.

"So, ladies and gentleman, shall we give him more of what he wants?" Everyone shouted affirmations. "Well, alrighty then!" She lugged a large pitcher full of custard behind you. You sensed you knew where this was going, but felt frozen in place. You stared across the sea of faces, jubilant and cruel. Your hands lay uselessly at your sides, even as you felt the hard plastic tip of the picture press against your lower back and a finger stretching your waistband out. 'Oh no, here it comes...'

You gasped as the cold custard started sliding down your warm skin of your lower back. It quickly found the valley of your butt crack and you squirmed as it came cold and fast, pooling in your underwear. You closed your eyes and felt a rush of burning...desire?? Yes, that was this feeling. That same strong urge commanded you to unbuckle your pants as your member struggled to free itself from the rising flood. You couldn't pull your pants down, so you attempted to pull it through the hole in the front of your underwear. You felt it throb as you clasped it with a creamy hand. The sensual till of the cream lubricated it as you started pumping. The custard kept coming, and coming... you could feel it start to trickle under your knees and down your calves.

The patrons of the restaurant had finally settled into stunned silence. Fran could not see what was happening, and truthfully was so caught up in the moment that she couldn't stop giggling to herself. "Oh yeah, you SO deserve this," she muttered.

When she had finally tipped as much as she could down your pants, she scraped what clung to the inside of the pitcher on top of your head. "Hm, looks like I missed a spot," she announced after noticing some clean hair still on the nape of your neck. She took a glob from the top of your head and smeared it on the clean back of your neck. She stepped back to admire her handiwork; "hm, no, not enough," she announced and went to go grab two more creamy pies. She still hadn't noticed the change of atmosphere. She stood to your right as she held one pie in front of your face and one pie behind. It was then that she finally noticed the movement of your hand.

"What the - ew!! Gross!" She exclaimed as she slammed the two pies into your head. "You're so weird!!" She said, smearing them around before stepping back towards the cart. "Nobody wants to see that thing!"

To mark her point, she took a chocolate cream pie and flung it at your crotch. You couldn't hold it in any longer - the creamy chocolate frosting, the cool pudding, the sweet sticky sensation of it landing right on your most sensitive area at its most vulnerable point! You shuddered in delight, blind and half deaf, cold custard still seeping down your legs, but utterly lost in the mess.

The cops were swiftly called as everybody stayed in the larger dining room, stealing glances at the man who had just cum as a pie had been thrown into his crotch. You dumbly stared off into space, tired and satisfied, yet still dimly aware of their accusatory looks. The cops came and stared at disbelief at your wrecked suit and cream covered head, slowly dripping chunks onto the floor. They couldn't even see your member, as you had made no attempt to clear off anything; you were just amazed. They read you your rights as they handcuffed you, trying to tiptoe around the mess on the floor but failing. Too much had exploded upon hitting your face. Once they finally started leading you through the larger dining room through the quiet, disapproving crowd, you realized that your humiliation was not over yet.

The deluge of custard coupled with the unbuckling of your belt meant that your pants finally sagged all the way down to your ankles. You twisted to avoid hitting one of the cops (in case they decided to add assaulting an officer to your rep sheet), and so landed face first into one of the guests' cooling fondue pots (melted and still warm, but not hot). The room erupted into a fit of laughter, with even the policeman joining in. They openly mocked you as they pulled your face out of the fondue pot. Then Fran said "Wait, one more thing!" and smugly added a maraschino cherry to the glob that was your nose. She winked and blew a kiss at you as they finally shuffled you out the door onto a bustling street.