Chapter 1: Wait

“Why so shy Honeybutt?”

An unexpected hand felt upon a thigh sliding gingerly up beneath the short skirt of an all about business Waitress found its final resting place on her left butt cheek as she stood taking their order. Three fishermen fresh off the boat sat frisky and needing attention after two weeks at sea. Her courter’s fingers slipping barely under her thin white panties made her fidget. While it felt nice to be touched, she worried what the other customers might think.

“What can I get you Gentlemen?” She softly smiles with hesitance in her eye, not just of being caught but of her thoughts that this was something she had fantasized about.

“What’s tasty?” One of the other men perked up turning his ballcap backwards as if expressing some swagger, he truly didn’t have.

“I bet she is.” The third man with a lengthy brown beard chuckled, rubbing his chin.

“You on the menu Sweetheart?” Her assailant grinned with a cocked eyebrow, “She’s a trembling, boys.”

“Ain’t pulling away though Pete.”

“I think she likes your hand on her ass.” The second man Castor puckered then reached out to run his own hand up beneath her skirt to mimic Pete’s embrace. With two hands on her ass, fingers beneath her panties the waitress bit her lip.

“Everything alright over there Midnight?” Another waitress behind a counter noted their less than respectful behavior.

“Midnight? That’s a pretty nifty name for a lovely young gal.” Pete nodded,

“Everything okay over here Miss Midnight?” The girl nodded with a nibble to her lower lip. Reluctantly looking back at the other waitress over her shoulder, Midnight Amador shared her acknowledgment that she was in good hands. Never wanting trouble Midnight always remained calm. Normally any handsy flirtations ended quickly. At age 19 Midnight was new to adulthood yet not completely hidden from society. She was just quiet, in her own thoughts mostly. All of her life she had discovered two things about herself, one being that confrontation was never wise, and defiance was not in her persona. Even in high school she was pushed around until she blossomed into the beauty she was today.

At 5’4, 110 pounds, her skin tone golden brown befitting her heritage as half Spaniard, half Native American of the Santee tribes of Coastal South Carolina, Midnight was the furthest thing from being unattractive. Ordinarily she would never wear short skirts, but the restaurant Owner Olan required a hint of sensuality to lure in customers. Her tips were quite good overall, so she became more aware of her attire. Other waitresses showed off more than Midnight did and banked a nice living. Slowly but surely, she was adapting.

“The cod is fresh today.” Midnight spoke as their fingers slipped deeper beneath her panties at an angle, tips discovering her crack. A light squeeze between them pried her cheeks apart just enough to make her share a nervous gasp. Exploring her face for panic the men found only eyes awaiting their order. A cleared throat from the waitress at the counter eased the men into retreating.

“Place of business.” The waitress Naomi pointed out, Midnight remaining calm with doe like eyes, her long raven black hair pinned back revealed a beautiful neckline, her white waitress uniform unbuttoned just enough to accent her golden arches, firm 34D’s, the size ofttimes making her self-conscious over them. She knew guys liked them, but she had to live with her burdens. Although understanding her good looks she tended to feel insecure that she just wasn’t enough. Obviously these three gents liked what they were seeing, feeling up. Encouragement at best.

“Can I get a refill?” A voice from the next table over lifted a coffee cup. The man was sitting alone reading and writing in a large diary of sorts, keeping to himself overall but eying the clientele with interest. With the seaside diner only having 12 booth style tables and a lengthy counter near the kitchen it was seated sparingly. Only six tables were occupied, three barstools at the counter.

“Wait your turn, Amigo.” Pete turned in his seat to leer back at the Hispanic male wearing a black t-shirt tightly fitting a very intense frame of chiseled muscle tone. Not any bodybuilder but thin in shape, broad shoulders and severely lacking in any paunch. His arms were covered in sleeves of all things Asian respect tattoos. Single Samurai’s, katanas, and cherry blossoms adorned both arms down to the knuckles. Wrapping the knuckles appeared to be tightening ropes that literally circled his hands even over the palms. The ropes on his palms were alone without any other shading around them. As if his hands were tied. They obviously had some inner meaning.

“I got it Midnight.” Naomi walked from behind the counter with a pot of coffee. Strutting to the loner’s table she filled his cup, “Sorry Handsome. The locals get a little unrestrained.” It was then she noticed his hand tats. “Interesting artwork. Culture clash?”

“Only to you. I was stationed in Yokohama Japan. Marines.”

“No Carolina accent in your tone. Vacationing?”

“From New York. Tired of the big city and needed some fresh air. Flew down in my Cessna with plans to buy into the area.”

“Pilot then.”

“I am. One of my occupations.”

“If you own a plane, you must have money.”

“I’m doing okay.” He eyes Midnight finally finishing her tables order.

“Well welcome to the waves Handsome. I apologize for Midnight’s behavior. She’s shy and has no defense mechanism. Santee blood but not a fierce bone in her beautiful body.”

“Santee?”

“Local tribe. Her Momma is full blooded Santee. Her Daddy is from Spain.”

“Interesting bloodline. Midnight, you say?”

“Yep! Midnight Isabella Amador. Her Momma named her because she was born at the stroke of midnight. Tribal thing I reckon.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you around again, I’m sure. I’m scouting for a property in the area. Borrowed a buddy’s beach house for the summer while he’s off in Guam to get me started.”

“Midnight’s Aunt Tilly is a realtor; you might ask about her to help narrow things down.” Naomi glances to see Midnight stepping toward the kitchen to pin up her order for the Cook, “Your ribeye should be coming up shortly. I’ll let Midnight bring it over seeing as you are seated at her table.”

“What happened to my other waitress?”

“Lynette clocked out. Her kid got in trouble at school again. Long story.”

“Midnight is fine.”

“Isn’t she?’ Naomi winked, “Single too.”

“Duly noted.” He toasted her with his coffee. Leaving his side Naomi met up with Midnight at the drink fountain.

“Sweetie? Why do you let people treat you so badly? You don’t deserve that kind of treatment.” She hugged the girl from the side as Midnight shrugs lightly.

“I’m okay. I’m used to abuse.”

“Sometimes I think you like it.”

“Yes, sometimes.” She mumbles. More than she freely admitted!

“You are an extraordinary young woman, Midnight. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I ... can’t help it.”

“As Nancy Reagan used to preach ... just say no.”

“I don’t want to.”

Sighing Naomi knew she was talking to a wall, “Just be careful.” As Midnight filled her drink glasses Naomi added with a tug to her apron strings, “Oh! That handsome man in black over there wants to move here to Caretaker, I think he’s rich.” A wink went right over Midnight’s head, she had no concept of worth. A thin scowl Naomi patted her on the shoulder, “Share your Aunt Tilly’s number with him. Tilly can use the commission of selling a house in this sad ass market.”

“Okay!”

“ANY DAY MIDNIGHT!” Pete the troublemaker called out, “Dying of thirst here.”

Jumping a bit at her table’s insistence she succumbed to being too slow and avoided Naomi further, holding three glasses of soda tightly together in transport. Shuffling toward the trio of local terrorists she approached with trepidation. Reaching the table, she bent at the knee slightly to sit the glasses down without spilling them. Successful at first, she moved each drink in front of the proper order. The man in the back of the booth being further away required her to stretch a bit. In doing this Pete reached in front of her and hooked a finger between her cleavage, capturing the center of her bra holding her forward. Eyes flaring, she shivered at being so strangely captured. “Will you look at those titties Castor? Now that’s perfection.” Unwilling to believe that she was perfect in any way she felt Castor unbutton the top two buttons of her shirt for an even better look. She felt helpless but rather liked the feeling of no control. Afraid to fight back she merely found her limbs frozen in time.

“Even better now Pete.” The third man spoke then casually tips his drink over spilling it on the tabletop. “Damn I’m clumsy. Got any napkins on ya Miss Midnight?”

“I can go get some.” She managed in a soft-spoken tone.

“Naaa!” Castor winced shaking his head, “I found a napkin right here.” His hand slid back up under her skirt and pinched the waistband of her white panties and slowly peeled them down over her ass. Having gone to the kitchen to assist the Cook, Naomi was not there to rescue her this time. Whimpering ever so expectedly Midnight felt her panties slide over her inner thighs, a tender wisp of air flow tickling her wetness. Helpless yet enamored by their interest in her she just let Castor stand up behind her and kneel enough to guide her panties to her work shoes. All around them customers were shocked but afraid to intervene. Such was the populace of the town of Caretaker. Always looking out for themselves, not one another. Weak knees were well known in these parts.

Castor removing Midnight’s panties from her feet admired her bare ass with interest, tossing her underwear over her body to land on the table. “Wipe that mess up Virgil.”

“Can I get another refill?”

“Waitress is a little busy Chi Chi.”

The racist slurs were rising more and more utilizing stereotypical names to mock the man in black. High seas hicks had no sympathy. Castor lifted Midnight’s skirt for a stunning reveal, administering a shit eating grin, “Clam bake Boys.” Midnight’s pussy was tight beyond measure, having been with one man ever, not consensual at that. Not even her parents knew of her rape at 16 by a much older man, someone she couldn’t possibly know in the darkness of night. A stranger that treated her like some slave, brutally fucking her and leaving her lay in the weeds to cry. Tears that retreated unexpectedly, in favor of an emotion she had trouble deciphering. Part of her ... liked it. Her thoughts finding the rape to be thrilling rather than humiliating and mentally destructive, lost control revealing what her soul was all about. She never saw that man again, if you could call it that, never actually seeing his face. Being incapacitated in such an environment in front of customers unwilling to defend her was frightfully arousing.

“HEY!” Naomi made her triumphant return with the Cook right behind her after spotting the situation from the service ledge. The Cook, a gay man of Santee origin named Rupert held his cell up showing 9-1-1 in ready. “That’s enough! Behave or get out.” Naomi was the only one in the place with any balls. A snapped glance toward the man in black Naomi found him engrossed in his writing. Without looking up from his book he lifted his coffee cup for that refill. Naomi realized he was well aware of the trouble in hand but was staying out of it.

“I have 9-1-1 on my phone. Leave our girl Midnight be. Don’t make me dial Dolan.” Rupert sounded flamboyant but stood his ground with a fierce expression. Seeing the cell ready to call out Pete removed his hooked finger from Midnight’s bra, Castor standing up to release her skirt. Virgil held on to her sopped underwear.

Rising slowly Midnight removed three straws from her apron pouch and returned to work. Moving around Naomi who just scowled at her, the dining crew let the fisherman calm down at their booth. Before Naomi could say anything, she saw Midnight discover the man in blacks’ steak and baked potato on the serving ledge. Claiming his order along with the pot of coffee she made her way past Naomi as if nothing had happened. Rupert shrugged and went on back to the kitchen.