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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.
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