Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Mind Control, Masturbation,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Chantal hit the brew switch on the coffee maker and turned to go check on her orders. She made it halfway to the kitchen door when it hit her. Suddenly, her knees had turned to rubber and she had to grab the counter for support. Panicking, she looked up to see if anyone had noticed, but the customers seemed not to notice.
The dark sky became light and at some point, today became yesterday and tomorrow, today. The café refilled itself with people and the waitress from the night before refilled his coffee cup.
"Cream?" she asked, somehow looking past him. It seemed that customer service hadn't been high on her to-do list when preparing for her job.
"No, I-" she walked away, perhaps eager to serve customers who took cream in their coffee, as they should, "-drink it black," he finished anyway.
He'd successfully caused almost a full day to pass around him without actually experiencing anything. He'd have to try harder.
Looking at the waitress- now brewing a fresh pot of coffee- he saw a target.
Reality warped, and a new narrative was born.
Chantal hit the brew switch on the coffee maker and turned to go check on her orders. She made it halfway to the kitchen door when it hit her. Suddenly, he knees had turned to rubber and she had to grab the counter for support. Panicking, she looked up to see if anyone had noticed, but the customers seemed not to notice.
"Bathroom," she thought, and tried to move inconspicuously as fast as she could to the safe place. She quickly closed the bathroom door and, leaning against it, her hand dropped to her crotch. Why was she feeling like this? It was as though she'd just been having the best sex of her life but had stopped just before reaching an orgasm.
Massaging her lips through her pants wasn't enough to satisfy her, she needed to get off. What the hell was going on? One part of her mind was outraged that this was happening, and at work of all places. Meanwhile, another part decided that she might as well drop her pants and have a seat, since she was in the bathroom anyway.
The instant she felt her cool finger on her bare pussy, the rational part of her mind gave up. The feelings were more intense than she'd ever known. A second hand joined the first and she slid two fingers into her wet snatch while using the other to tickle her clit.
She was, of course, no stranger to masturbation, but she'd never had sensations like this. Pure lust gripped her entire body, and her muscled twitched involuntarily as she half-sat on the toilet.
Wishing she had more hands, Chantal abandoned her clit to knead her breasts through her work shirt. As her passion climbed, she pulled up her shirt and bra in one movement and rubbed her nipples.
It just kept building and building; as if there was no end to the heights of pleasure she could reach. She felt herself teetering on the edge of consciousness, afraid she might faint and miss out on what promised to be the best orgasm of her life.
Just when she thought she could take no more, Chantal came.
Her breath caught in her throat. All the muscles in her body clenched as one. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She jammed her fingers so deep inside herself that later she'd swear she felt her cervix. Her hand gripped her tit so tightly the bruise would take a week to heal.
And it was all worth it.
For a moment, time stopped, and then, to make up for its indiscretion, exploded in her mind like a supernova. It sent little explosions all throughout her body. Then her breath came back in gasps, her abdomen started contracting as if in childbirth. She could feel her toenails tingling and there was a loud ringing in her ears.
They say all good things must end, and like all your quarters on the last mission of an arcade game, her energy was spent. The fatigue began to creep in, soothing her high into a graceful decent into a bed of pure satisfaction.
She sat on the toilet a few more minutes before reluctantly returning to reality.
Panic gripped her once more as she realized what she had just done. Did she make any sounds? She couldn't be sure, but she was terrified that someone outside would've heard her if he had. She quickly appraised the situation inside her bathroom. It still smelled like a normal bathroom. The toilet seat was wet with her cum, but a wad of toilet paper or two would fix that right up.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her clothing was in complete disarray, and her hair had somehow taken on a life of its own. With a tiny bit of horror she realized that her pants were still around her ankles and quickly pulled them up, tucking in her shirt.
With a bit of water, she fixed her hair the best she could and decided that she was about as presentable as she was going to get.
Just then some new feelings came over her.
Back in high school, she used to be on the track and field team, and had had the opportunity to run a few very long races. Her body felt now the same as it did then. Fatigue burnt in her arms and legs. Her stomach felt as though she'd just done a thousand sit-ups. There were a few unusually sharper pains on the inside of her mouth, and one of her tits. And beneath it all there was a dull, but insistent throb somewhere deep inside her.
"Ok, the story is: you're feeling sick and you just puked. Maybe you can get the evening off," she whispered at her flushed reflection in the mirror.
With nothing left for her to do in here, she deftly brought her apprehension under control and set her face in what she hoped was a determined, but ill, visage.
She opened the bathroom door and walked out to face the music, as it were.
He didn't really care too much about his room- temperature coffee now. He had switched seats at his table so he could see down the short hallway to the bathrooms.
As if on cue, the waitress emerged, face a bit flushed and looking a lot more tired.
He couldn't help but smile. It's not that he wanted to make her feel any worse, he just found it terribly erotic to think that she just fingered herself to the best orgasm of her life, right there in the bathroom.
For a second their eyes met as she came down the hallway to the counter, but she looked away immediately. It seemed to him that that was the first time she'd really seen him at all, despite the fact that he hadn't moved from his table in almost 24 hours.
She went straight to the kitchen, where she would recite her impromptu soliloquy on how sick she suddenly felt.
He felt a bit guilty that he knew much more about her than she of him, and figured maybe he'd invite her somewhere for a chat.
Coming out of the kitchen, her coat on and glad to be leaving, Chantal walked to the door, glancing at him briefly with a bit of a worried expression.
"Now or never," he thought.
He headed for the door after her.
She welcomed the fresh, cool air outside but her relief was cut short when she noticed that he'd followed her.
She could run, maybe, she could use her keys as a weapon. She could just scream.
"Hi Chantal," he said in an easy voice.
"Uh," she cleverly replied.
"Hey, I'm not trying to freak you out or anything, I just wanted to know if you wanted to go talk somewhere or something," he said, wishing he'd sounded more confident.
"Uh," she reiterated, and after some quick thought, "how do you know my name?" She looked at him accusingly.
Now it was his turn to say, "uh," as his eyes move to the nametag, still visible beneath her open coat.
Suddenly she felt ridiculous for being so paranoid. This was just a normal guy. There was no reason to feel nervous or anything, he was just hitting on her. Just as she was about to shoot him down, something caught her attention. Maybe it was the peaceful expression on his face, or way he was standing, but she found herself tempted to accept his offer, and even to invite him to her own apartment.
"Do you need a ride?" he asked, non-threateningly. He began moving to the street where a cute, sliver, two-seater was parked and pulled out a key. The car alarm made a strangled little noise protesting its disarmament.
"Ok," she finally conceded. At least with a car like that he's not some bum off the streets who's going to want to start living in my apartment.
Chantal and her new friend got into the new- smelling sports car and drove toward her place. She made a point of giving him directions, so she could convince herself that he wasn't some stalker that knew where she lived.
He didn't say anything on the way there, but wore a curious smile. Somewhere in her mind, a tiny voice thought something was wrong, but with nothing to back it up, she ignored it.