Disclaimer: Any similarities between the characters in this purely fictitious late night meandering through my insomnia stricken mind as I contemplate the attraction (besides the obvious) of the bizarre world of Gentleman's clubs and the curious lunch time crowd and the corporate moguls who patronize such establishments are purely coincidental. I swear.
"I'll have the caesar salad, fresh fruit and a Heineken on red, no fiber." Mr. Marcus's order is always the same every Tuesday at noon. The only deviation in his regular routine is the choice of serving platter.
"Right away, sir. By the way, the buff-et special runs until 3:00 p.m. All you can eat for 795.00." Charles twiddled his thumbs awaiting Mr. Marcus's reply.
"Maybe next time Charles. For now I'll have the usual." Mr. Marcus settled back in his usual chair, fiddling with the tie he wears every Tuesday.
Charles backed away from the table and made his way through the double doors into the kitchen. With a staccato clapping of hands, he drew the attention of the staff. "Chantal, order up! Sergio--vegetarian's special sans the coat. Quickly, please."
Chantal, a healthy looking redhead with terrific tits strutted from the ladies lounge, still wiping the remains of shaving cream from between her thighs.
Smirking salaciously, and with the slightest hint of a baudy tease, Chantal laid herself upon the dining table on wheels, dutifully spreading her lavishly long legs and arranging her hair in an artful fashion over the crisp white linen.
"Don't make me laugh this time, Sergio. Remember what happened last Thursday? Yeah, right. I inhaled a raisin. Damn near thought I was gonna suffocate." Chantal winked up at the nervous chef hovering over her face.
"Achh-no Meez Chuntell, I no schpeek a vert... " Sergio replied, sucking in his lip.
Sergio began to spray Chantal's bare skin with a light coat of Pam. Pam's juices were always the talk of the club and since she produced a lot of it, they decided to bottle it with a little olive oil and a dash of lemon.
Chantal's freckled skin began to take on a glossy sheen as Pam stuck to her body. Chantal wiggled a little on the table in an attempt to alleviate a slight itch at the base of her spine.
"So, Serge, who's my grazer today? Not Vinnie, I hope? He has this annoying habit of sucking his teeth between courses. Gives me the squirms. O'course he tips well." Chantal considered this briefly before continuing her idle chatter with the foreign chef while studying the light fixtures amid the nude mural on the ceiling. Why anyone would want to install a flourescent light rod where Adonis's hard dick was supposed to be, she'll never understand. That's art for ya'. Just when you think you've got it figured out, she thought drolly.
Charles fretted by, catching Chantal's question. "It's Mr. Marcus, m'dear. Be nice to him, he seems to like this place and I really want to push the buff-et. His curriculum vitae just came through on the fax. Very impressive." Charles waved the pages in front of Chantal's uninterested expression. Charles continued gushing over Mr. Marcus's portfolio and other pertinent financial details. "Oooo...it says here Emmanuel Marcus is the CEO of Binders Designs. My, my... that is something. You know what Binders Designs are, don't you?"
"I don't have a clue. Hey, Serge, watch it, I told you I was allergic to arugula." Chantal fixed her lusty blue gaze back on Charles. "Tell me, what is a Binder Design."
"Binders Designs just happens to be the new fashion house of this continent." Charles all but squealed as he informed Chantal of this coup. "And the President and CEO is sitting right out there waiting for his lunch!"
Sergio looked up from his artful presentation of fruit compote, shaking his head in derision. "Hee always haf same tie. I do nyet understand why is--moanee can buy many, many nice tie. Sheet... heez offees girl maybe make bettah one."
"Now Sergio, it is not our place to question the eccentrics of the world." Charles turned with a huff off to procure another model from the dressing rooms.
Chantal shrugged, not really caring about the man's clothing, only about the tip she could earn with this lunch time guest. "Oooo Serge, if I didn't know better I would say you enjoyed smearing cream cheese on my tits." Sergio blushed at the insinuation that he got off on his job. That would almost be sexual harassment. He was an artist of gastronomical proportions, not a burger-flipper with a hard-on. Now if Lance, the hard-body blue plate special was spread out before him, then he may have to hide his admiration with a larger apron.
"Ah, there Meez Chantal... anuther masterbates!" Serge cried triumphantly, backing away from the elaborate and colorful display.
.... There is more of this story ...