I found my old diner uniform while cleaning last week—stiff white shirt and that tiny black skirt management made us wear. I hadn’t touched it since quitting but holding it sent a rush between my legs. I had a date that night with Jake, a regular from the diner who’d always stare at my ass when I bent over. Fuck it. I put it on. No bra. No panties. Just the uniform and red lipstick.
He picked me up and froze when he saw me. “Holy shit you’re still in that thing?” I smiled and slid into his car letting the skirt hike up my thighs. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. We didn’t make it to the restaurant. He pulled into an empty lot and kissed me hard. His hands gripped my tits through the thin shirt. “You wore this to drive me crazy didn’t you?” I nodded and guided his hand under my skirt. “Feel how wet you made me.”
He unbuckled his belt and yanked me onto his lap. The skirt ripped as he lifted me onto his cock. I rode him slow grinding my clit against him with every bounce. The shirt buttons dug into my chest. He sucked my neck and growled “Knew you’d fuck me in this slut outfit.” I came so hard I saw stars. He flipped me over the console and fucked me doggy. The skirt was around my waist now. His balls slapped my clit with each thrust. “Gonna cum in that tight diner pussy,” he groaned. I screamed yes and he pumped me full.
I stumbled out of his car later with cum leaking down my legs. The uniform reeked of sex and sweat. Jake texted me an hour later: “Next time keep the heels on.”
Still haven’t washed the skirt. It’s stained but fuck it—I’m keeping it for round two.
