October can be such a bright, festive month. The crisp, clean air, the fiery autumn colors on the trees, the gentle cool jacket-weather chill that’s just the right temperature for a pleasant walk.

Maybe you can imagine yourself taking a brisk walk down a city street. You don’t have anywhere particular to go, you’re just enjoying the scenery, the monotonous rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Back and forth.

Steady as a metronome. As soothing as the ocean tide. It’s little wonder so many people drift off into their own little worlds, stuck in their own heavy thoughts, as they stroll leisurely down the street.

You’re strolling leisurely down the street. Lost in your thoughts. Lost in these words.

Letting yourself breath in the sweet, fall air and feeling yourself relax.

Walking and relaxing.

Relaxing and walking.

Realizing that you might be smiling softly to yourself. Maybe smiling a little bit right now.

Feeling so free and relaxed as you drift down the street with a nice, happy smile.

And the more you walk the more you realize you can hear music. Softly at first, but then growing louder and louder. You can hear catchy tunes like something out of a carnival. Oboes, accordions, and tubas all harmonizing, syncing with the pace of your walk.

Almost as if you’re marching to the beat. Marching to the pretty tune.

You don’t really care where you’re going now. You’re just marching along letting the pretty music fill your head. Like a fun little jingle that sticks in your brain. The music is intoxicating and fills your head all the way up, burying your pesky thoughts in an avalanche of powerful notes and beats.

You’re walking just a little faster now. The music wants you to walk faster. It wants you to come closer. You don’t care where you’re going. You just want to find that wonderful music as it gets louder, and louder, and louder…

Suddenly you turn the corner and find yourself in front of an outdoor beer garden. There are people sitting at wooden tables enjoying the fresh air and mugs of foamy beer. Your eyes wander to the slew of waitresses dressed lederhosen weaving their way around the tables, their hands filled with huge jugs. The more you watch, the more your eyes are drawn to their short, frilly skirts, swishing with every step, teasing you with a peek at their plump backsides. They move with eerie grace, maneuvering through the tipsy patrons always with a stunning smile on their bright faces.

One of them notices you and comes to greet you, her flowing red gold curls bouncing around her shoulders.

“Hiya! Just a seat for one?” she says.

You gape, your words failing you. The music is still swirling through your head, and you can’t help your eyes from sliding down to the waitress’s full, heavy jugs. Two massive, round tits poke out at you from under the thin cotton of the waitress’s dress, the nipples just barely visible through the sheer fabric. The waitress hasn’t bothered with a bra, her plunging cleavage pulls your attention, sapping your thoughts.

She sways and bounces to the music, a vapid smile on her pretty face. You feel the same smile spreading across your face as you gaze at the creamy tits under the flowing top. At last, she cocks her head at you, a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“You’re really enjoying the music, aren’t you?” the waitress asks.

You nod your head. Such fun, happy music.

“Would you like to serve some big, heavy jugs with us?” She asks, looking up and down your body.

You nod again. That sounds so fun. Handling nice, big, heavy jugs.

“Follow me, sweetie,” the waitress says with a wink and turns on her heel.

You walk behind her, entering the beer garden, your eyes riveted to the waitress’s bouncy butt as she leads you through the quaint courtyard. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the other waitresses, some of them bustier than the redhead, leaning over tables, pouring beer, giggling as the patrons slip their hands down their dresses, hefting their heavy boobs and loading them with five and ten dollar bills. They coo appreciatively and wander away, their bosoms overflowing with cash.

You follow the waitress back to a neat little cottage with a thatched roof in the back of the garden. You start to wonder why you hadn’t noticed it before, but then the waitress turns and grabs you by the hand, smiling radiantly at you. You gaze into her sparkling blue eyes and feel a wave of happiness come over you. The music is still wrapped around your brain, and you’re helpless to resist the waitress as she pulls you inside.

“Just wait right here,” she commands. “I’ll get the matron.”

You’re left swaying on your feet in the cozy, rustic looking bar. A tall, voluptuous blonde wearing the same lederhosen stockings and skirt, her boobs straining against her dress walks in. She’s smiling vacantly like the redhead.

The same smile as you have.

She saunters over to a large glass jar in the middle of the bar, humming along to the pretty music. Dreamily, the woman leans over and pulls down her shirt, her huge, fleshy breasts popping out along with a pile of crumpled bills and a few gold coins. The money trickles into the jar, the jingling coins tickling your ears.

The blonde sighs with blissful satisfaction, takes a moment to rub her jiggling tits, and then stuffs them back into her blouse. She grabs two large pitchers of beer from the bar and turns back towards the door.

“It’s so fun making money for the matron,” she says to you with a wink before drifting back outside. You find those words dancing in your head for a minute.

So fun making money for the Matron.

At last, the redhead comes back along with someone else.

The matron is shorter than you, with coal black hair framing porcelain skin. Her stylish black leather dress only serves to accentuate her hourglass figure, and her piercing, green eyes hold yours like a magnet. She looks you up and down like she’s judging a prize pony at the county fair. At last, she turns to the redhead and nods.

“Yes. She’ll do wonderfully. Get her ready.”

The words drift through one of your ears and out the other. You don’t worry about what this stunning woman is saying. Not when the fun, happy music is ringing in your head.

The redhead curtsies and runs to the next room. In the meanwhile, the matron stalks closer to you, crossing her thick, fish-net clad thighs with each step. She brings up her hand and caresses your cheek. Something shiny flashes into your eyes.

“Is my shiny ring making you sleepy, little mouse?” the matron purrs. “Or is it my sweet, sticky music that draws you in? But surely…”

The matron steps forward, her ring waving back and forth. You don’t know what’s happening to you. You don't care what's happening. All you can see is the shiny gold ring. All you can hear is the pretty, happy music.

“Surely… what pulled you to me was my great, big jugs. All the big, heavy jugs my little toys carry around all day. Making them so silly and sleepy. So happy and bouncy. So eager to show off their big, tasty jugs… to whoever will pay for it.”

The door opened and the redhead comes back in. You don’t notice. Your eyes are captivated by the ring as you think of all the big, heavy, tasty jugs. The ring is fluttering away. Your eyes follow as it sparkles in front of two big, heavy jugs.

Two big, round, creamy jugs. Jugs with dark pink cherries shining back at you. Tempting you. Calling to you as they swing back and forth… back and forth…

So wonderful to watch the matron’s jugs.

You sense more people inside the bar with you. Smooth, slender hands run over your body, undoing your shirt, pulling down your pants. You hear feminine giggles as the hands cup your breasts and caress your legs. You don’t mind. You don’t care. You’re just zoning out, drifting on a wonderful soft cloud as you watch the matron’s jugs.

The hands are pulling new clothes over your body now. Soft cotton fabric rests against your braless tits, the grain of the cloth teasing your nipples. The hands pull your thighs and you obediently raise your leg so the hands can roll on the sheer stockings and hoist up the frilly, dark skirt. Finally, the hands pull back your long hair, stroking through your scalp, plaiting your hair into two thick braids, each topped off with a green bow.

The matron is talking to you, her voice as compelling as the music, but you can’t focus on what she’s saying. Your focus is trapped in the magnificent valley between her huge jugs. It’s like the music is teaching you things. True things. Things that are so obvious, it’s a wonder you didn’t know them before. You find yourself nodding along as the matron speaks to you while bouncing her big heavy jugs up and down…up and down…

Ding! Ding!

A bell snaps you awake. You look down to see yourself in the slutty bar maid outfit, two full pitchers of beer in your hands.

“Order up!” The matron sings to you with a Cheshire grin. “Go and shake those money-makers!”

A giggle escapes your lips as you thrust out your chest with pride. Yes! It’s so fun to make money for the matron!

You walk out into the beer garden, astonished at the beautiful, sexy servants, and the frisky patrons leering at them. Men, women, everyone seated at the tables wave their hands at you, trying to call you over.

The shiny, gold gleam of a fancy watch catches your eye. You wander over to it like a fish to a lure. A man in an expensive suit with a chiseled jaw line and dark stubble smiles at you. You smile back, feeling a growing heat the more you watch his approving eyes. You put the jugs of foamy beer on the table, remembering to lean forward at the waist, letting your cleavage dangle in the man’s face. He reaches around to feel your rump and you writhe from the attention. The man’s other hand reaches down your shirt, squeezing your tit, his thumb flicking against your nipple. You moan a little as he slips a twenty-dollar bill into your cleavage.

“Does the drink come with company?” the man asks as his hands slither to your waist.

You grin like a drunken wench and let him pull you down on his lap, your round butt resting on his thighs. You let him reach his hands up your shirt, fondling your tits, brushing down your thighs and under your skirt. You laugh giddily at all of his jokes and run his fingers through his hair. When he yanks down your top to let your tits flop out for the rest of the garden to enjoy, you gasp and grind you ass against his crotch even more

Each little grope and squeeze feels like it’s making you tipsy, intoxicated, drunk on the pleasure and attention. Eventually, a few of the man’s friends come over, helping themselves to the beer while they watch their buddy manhandle you like a sex doll.

At one point, the men try to put your hand down their pants. You suddenly remember the stern look of the matron glaring from above her powerful, dominating jugs.

You slap the man’s hand away and hold up your finger, warding off his advances. The patron you’re sitting on nods and reaches into his wallet, digging out three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, one for him and two for his friends.

The sight of the cash unlocks something in your head. You feel an intense urge overtake you as they slip the Benjies between your tits.

Your hands move on their own, reaching out to the men as they scoot their stools closer, one on either side of their buddy. Your patron supports your waist as he undoes his fly, his hard cock snaking out of his pants. His friends play with your tits as he slaps on a condom. Something is fluttering inside you as you sit down on the man’s prick, his shaft sliding easily around your panties and up your slick pussy. You moan and giggle as your hands find a cock on either side of you and you start stroking, both your hands working like pistons.

The other patrons around the garden don’t pay you much heed. Many of them are too busy with their own barmaids to care. One or two couples stop in front of you and the three men and begin to pleasure themselves. You grin and wink at them lasciviously as you enjoy the sensation of pleasing three cocks at once, your patron’s cock thrusting into you, making your jugs jiggle. They onlookers finish and drop a fifty dollar bill on table before leaving.

Finally, you feel a geyser erupt in your hands. First to your right, then to your left. And then lastly between your legs, the man’s seed leaking out of the base of his condom.

You rest there for a moment, your brain fuzzy with beer, music, and sex before hoping off the man and picking up the empty pitchers. The men smile and send you off with a slap on your ass before you make your way back to the bar.

As you enter, you feel your mind begin to drift to that fuzzy, happy place filled with matron’s creamy jugs and shiny gold ring. She looks so good with gold. She should have more gold. You remember how fun it is making money for your matron.

You find yourself walking up to the big wide-mouth jar in the center of the bar. Your tits suddenly feel so big and heavy, like their overflowing to the brim and you just need to empty them out or you’ll go insane. You heave your bust over the jar and pull down your blouse, letting an avalanche of hundreds, fifties, and twenties rain into the jar. You sigh and moan, feeling like a small orgasm is rocking through your body. You shake your boobs one last time over the jar before standing up and fixing your shirt.

DING! DING!

You look over to see two more jugs of beer waiting for you. Order up!

The long afternoon stretches into the night as your visit patron after patron, filling them up with beer and pleasure as they fill your bosom with more and more money for the matron. Finally, as the pale, yellow moon rises over the treetops, you find yourself closing up the beer garden, your fellow waitresses going around, wiping down the tables in a daze.

You feel like you’re sleepwalking as your help clear the last table and put away the clean glasses. Your body walks on autopilot, herding into the bar along with the other waitresses. The matron is there, near the back of the bar, standing in front of a long, soft couch. She gestures to you and you allow your body to sink down into the cushions. The redhead who brought you into the garden is sitting next to you, her eyes glazed and drooping. The statuesque blonde is one your right. You can feel the swell of her breasts pressing into your arm.

They gaze up at their matron as she stands over a table counting out money from the big jar. “Five…five and five hudred… six…six and five hundred for…thirty grand total! Not bad ladies!” The matron said, fanning out a stack of the money the girls had earned for her.

“You are all so talented at pleasing your patrons! I think you’ll be most lucrative employees this month. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

“Yes, Matron,” you mumble along with the other ladies.

“That’s what I thought. But now I think it’s time my lovely ladies got some sleep. Snuggling up on your pillows now. Dropping down into deep, deep sleepy, dreamy slumber now… deep asleep on your warm, soft pillows.”

You feel your body tumble over like a falling tree, your head snuggling between the blonde’s squishy boobs. Your hands come up to tenderly caress the redheads’ face as she cuddles between your tits, a dark curtain of sleep sending you all to dreamland until tomorrow.