Meg stood behind the counter, in an empty Starbucks, making a latte. She liked working at Starbucks. When on shift, she achieved a relaxing zen-like state in the steady rhythm of making various incarnations of espresso. Being a barista was the ideal job for her in college.
Right now she was finding it hard to focus on her work. She had a big exam coming up and she was worried that she wasn't going to do well. The shop rumbled as if a semi truck had passed by outside as if to emphasize that fact.
Yet another distraction appeared to annoy Meg. While she was steaming milk, she realized she was being watched by some guy. She snuck a peak at the man while she continued to fix her drink. Even though dressed in thrift store chic and his long blonde hair shined like it hadn't been washed in a week, he was quite good on the eyes. He looked liked he might play guitar for a grunge band that hadn't given up the cause. Perhaps he was a reincarnation of Kurt Cobain? She wondered why he was here with her and what he represented. She was intrigued by the meaning of his existence because she was actually sound asleep. She was dreaming. The coffee shop, the coffee she was making and this strange man were all part of a most lucid dream.
"Who are you and why are you here?" Meg finally asked him.
"I'm Derek. I'm an incubus." He replied matter-of-factly as he watched her work.
"An incubus?" Meg asked quizzically as she tried to lay a coffee colored design on her layer of foam. "Isn't like that a demon?"
Derek shrugged. "Yeah, we get called that all the time. Just because people don't understand us."
"Should I be worried then?" Meg asked as she carefully laid her perfect coffee on the counter.
"That I'm going to drink your coffee?" Derek asked with a furrowed brow, not catching her meaning.
"No, that you are going to steal my soul, or cause some sort of ... um ... nocturnal emission." She told him. "This is a dream after all."
"Yeah." He acknowledged. "And a pretty weird one at that. That's why I stopped by."
Meg look visibly hurt. "What's so strange about it?" She asked, looking around at the mostly empty coffee shop.
"Well, I've been in, like, a kajillion dreams, and I can't say that I've ever been in one with the dreamer so focused on making a latte. I mean, you can do anything in a dream. Why do something you do all the time?"
Meg pouted. "Making coffee helps me relax. I've got a physics final tomorrow and it is driving me crazy. I need to relax to get some sleep so I won't totally screw it up."
There was another tremor and the coffee house shook.
Derek laughed. "It doesn't seem to be working. This is one of the most restless sleeps I've been in. I can think of more relaxing things to focus upon."
Meg picked up another cup and filled it with coffee. "I'm sure you could, if you were real."
Derek looked hurt. "But I am real."
Meg laughed. "Incubuses ... incubi aren't real. You're a figment of my imagination. You're some distant memory from a horror movie I've long forgotten."
"Oh, really!" Derek said. "Well, could a figment of your imagination do this?"
The coffee shop blinked out of existence and was instantaneously replaced by a different place. Meg found herself in the back of a crowded elevator. She was dressed differently too. Instead of wearing her black shirt and tights, fronted by the trademark green apron, she was now in a tight, crisp white blouse, a knee-length pencil skirt with a wide black belt and a silver buckle and very high heels. Her eyes were framed by a thick set of horned rim glasses. She clasped a folder full of papers against her chest. Her flaming red hair was pinned up in beehive hairdo. When she touched it, she felt a rigidity achieved through copious amounts of hair spray.
Confused and a little scared over reality's metamorphosis, Meg tried to back up against the elevator wall but ended up bumping into someone standing behind her. She looked around to see who it was. She found Derek who was also different than he appeared in the coffee shop. He was now clean-cut and neatly dressed in a blue suit with clear tailored lines the brought to mind an early 1960s style. He looked like he could have been an extra on the set of Mad Men. Meg loved Mad Men. She had fantasies about Mad Men.
Without acknowledging their collision, Derek lay his hands on Meg's waist and pulled her tightly against his. She could feel his arousal against her ass and instantly her body was aglow. A hungry feeling pulsed like a knot in her stomach. Without looking as if anything had happened, she started to brush her butt against him, moving slowly and surreptitiously, side to side, feeling his hardness grow. Derek leaned forward, his breath hot against her cheek. His hands slid down her dress and lifted it up to expose her writhing ass. No one else in the elevator seemed to notice their secret sensual play. Yet, the thrill of being discovered just made her hotter and hungrier. Meg thought about their disapproving looks if they knew and what they might say if they found out. The danger was making making her nerves fire in waves. She tried desperately to check her breath, to choke back a moan as he...
"Hey, wait a second!" Meg suddenly cried out. The elevator doors opened and she pushed her way through its oblivious occupants, emerging back into the coffee shop. Once there, she was back in her black clothes and apron, her red hair back to its shortness and natural style. "What the hell's going on?"
Derek followed her out, his dress and appearance returning to its former state.
"Whaddaya mean? You were totally enjoying yourself." He chided "Don't try to deny it!"
There was a rumble and the coffee shop trembled as if in a light earthquake.
Meg snatched up a cup of coffee and went back to making a latte. "Ok, it was fun, but very distracting. I need to get myself into the zone for my test and stuff like that is not going to help."
"You have a funny way of getting into the zone." Derek observed.
"Well, that is just who I am." Meg said firmly.
"Oh really!" Derek smirked. "I know what else you are!"
Reality was once again distorted and remade, carrying Meg into a new scene. Now she was sitting at a desk like she had in grade school and she was dressed in a adult version of a catholic school uniform. She was wearing a white blouse again but now with only one or two buttons fixed in the middle. The top was spread wide to reveal the cleavage of breasts ready to burst out of a lacy bra. The bottom was tied into a knot at the midriff. Low around her waist and high at the thigh was a short pleated skirt with tartan plaid. She had white socks that went up past the knee and heavy maryjanes with thick heels and bright silver buckles. Her hair was long and set in ribbon decorated pigtails that bounced jauntily when she moved.
"You gotta be kidding me!" Meg grumbled as she looked herself over.
Derek was conservatively dressed and cleaned up again but older and exuded an aura of collegiate intellectualism. He was leaning against the teacher's desk in the front of a room that was familiar to Meg though she couldn't immediately place where it was.
"Passing notes is very naughty, Meg." Derek scolded. "Come to the front of the class!"
Meg's annoyance quickly dissipated, replaced with an intense sense of shame. Her cheeks burned nearly as red as her hair. "Yes, sir." She said meekly as she slipped out of chair and approached him.
"What happens to naughty girls?" Derek asked with a menacing smirk.
"Um ... they get spanked." Meg said in a voice so low that it was nearly a whisper. She surprised herself by finding the the punishment surprisingly enticing.
"Assume the position." Derek ordered.
At his command, Meg reached pulled her gripped the desk's edge and bent over to she was not wearing underwear. Derek slid the back of Meg's skirt up and let his hand fall on her ass with a loud slap. Meg winced in pain, but her body throbbed with a restless excitement in response as if beckoning for more. His hand spanked her again, leaving stinging red marks against her skin and her cunt pulsing and wet. He was growing hungrier too, pulling apart her shirt reaching into her bra and freeing her breasts, grasping and squeezing them. Meg swooned in his grasp, her breath growing deeper, wanting to turn and embrace him and kiss him, feel him over her, inside of her...
"No! No!! No!!!" Meg cried out pushing Derek away. "Where do you even get this stuff?" She cried out, pointing to her clothes.
"From you." Derek noted as he shifted back into his Kurt Cobain look.
"What!?" Meg asked, angry, embarrassed and confused. She was momentarily distracted by the room shifting and remolding back into the coffee shop. Her clothes returned to what she wore to work.
"Don't you remember?" He told her. "Last semester's English class? You had the hots for Professor Hamilton. You daydreamed that whole scene while he was lecturing on Paradise Lost. Of course, it was with him and not me but I like to have some fun too."
.... There is more of this story ...