ed Caramel Megiato
By Chained Knee
Comments always welcome at chained.knee@yahoo.com
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.”
Meg gasped. Derek was right. She had a big thing for Professor
Hamilton. She dreamt that scene up and added to it throughout the
semester, until she found out he had slept with another student.
That was why the classroom had looked so familiar.
“I get all my ideas from you.” Derek said. “The elevator scene.
The naughty school girl. You thought those up. Every dream of
desire you've had, every lustful fantasy, I pick up on them and
can make them real--or at least as real as they can be in a
dream.”
“Well, quit it.” Meg told him. “I'm starting to feel like Daffy
Duck when Bugs Bunny was drawing his cartoon. I don't need to be
distracted by sexy fantasies when I wake up.”
The coffee shop shook more violently.
“That shaking is caused by you, you know.” Derek observed. “It is
you not getting a good enough sleep.”
“Yeah, because you keep screwing it up trying to screw me!” Meg
accused.
Derek laughed dismissively. “We both know that isn't true. It
doesn't happen when we are playing out one of your fantasies.
Only when you are here. You are more restful when your are
fantasizing on the hot stuff.”
Meg was about to say something rude but stopped. She realized he
was right.
“Would you rather be distracted from a restless night sleep where
all you did was make lattes in an earthquake?” Derek asked. “Come
on, try relaxing my way. What do you have to lose?”
Meg looked at him warily but realized she didn't have anything to
lose. “Ok." She said finally. “But if I fail my test because I
can't get a hot dream out of my head, I am going to take sleeping
pills and hunt down your sorry ass!”
Derek rubbed his hands together. “Don't worry. You'll be fine.
Especially after you enjoy this fantasy I've just been itching to
try.”
Suddenly, Meg found herself nude, lying stretched out along the
coffee store counter, which was unsympathetically cold and hard
against her bare skin. She was was in a pose that was exceedingly
compromising as it was uncomfortable. Her arms were pulled over
her head and her wrists strained against chained cuffs. Bonds
around her ankles kept her legs straight, taut and unmovable. The
restraints she wore fixed her body as tight as a bow string. Meg
could barely budge. She had to keep her breaths short as
expansive inhales caused her wrists and ankles to tug against
their cuffs. She gulped in surprise at finding herself this way,
and her throat's brief motion bucked against a wide metal collar
of a thin but unyielding metal.
Hearing whispered gasps nearby, Meg looked around the coffee shop
to find their sources. She was not the only one bound here. She
saw her coworker Jenny, with her perfect little body tied to a
chair. Alana, her roommate, with her long, athletic black form
was pinned against tightly against a wall. There was even her ex
boyfriend Fred splayed over the stand where they kept the
containers of half and half and milk. They were all naked like
her and all delirious with desire. Her ex's was more than obvious
with the tangible evidence of his arousal. All were marked with
collars from which hung a medallion with the coffee shop's logo.
Meg knew she must have one attached to the collar around her neck
too. She and the others were all like goods put on display to be
sold.
Meg realized they actually WERE goods put on display to be sold.
There were two men now standing over her on opposite sides of the
counter. One was Derek, on the cashier side, now with a green
apron over his clothes. On the opposite side was that Actor she
had a serious thing for. She gazed up to dwell in his warm brown
eyes and let her gaze wander through his dark brown hair streaked
with gray. His manner was easy and he had an attractive
contemptuousness of one who knows the world studies him but
disdains its discovery.
The Actor peered over the counter at the menu sign hanging behind
Derek. He was in the act of making a choice. His squint brought
out the tiny wrinkles around his eyes that had a way of making
him even more handsome. Meg hated to turn away from him but she
was curious to know what he had grabbed his attention. The menu
had her friends' names and her name listed on it but all were
transformed to make them mimic drink selections--the Skinny
Vanilla Jennalatte; the Dark Chocolate Alanachino, the Double
Shot Esfreddo. Hers was the Salted Caramel Megiato. The actor was
deciding who to choose among the three.
Even though it was the height of objectification to be wanted in
this way, Meg felt the immediate urge to have him choose her. She
wanted it so badly she squirmed, making her soft flesh rub
against her bonds' confines. She looked at him with longing but
unable to give voice to her desire and, in a way, this was even
more painful than being cuffed and chained as she was. She knew
that the others, even Fred, hungered for this man, as if his
acquisition of them would give their lives the utmost meaning.
They hung expectantly on every sound he made that might signal he
was coming to a decision.
Finally, the Actor spoke and his options held their collective
breathes. "I'll have the Salted Caramel Megiato, please."
Joy welled up in Meg's throat, joy that expanded and throbbed
from her inexplicable inability to express it. Sad sighs from the
others only exacerbated its power for she had been chosen...she
had been chosen!
"Yes sir." The incubus replied. He lifted a thick tube, held it
over Meg's chest and squeezed. A thick thread of sticky caramel
oozed forth, moving with agonizing slowness as Meg anticipated
its touch against her breasts. She clenched her teeth as the
cool, slimy touch fell upon her as Derek drew spirals over each
fleshy mound. Her nipples tightened with an irresistible desire
to be stroked. A glow of arousal was awakened within her and
slowly crawled up her spine. She took a deep breath too savor
it, causing her cuffs to dig deeper into her skin, stabbing her
with pain. She thought the discomfort would dispel her growing
craving, but it only altered the color it manifested itself as in
the periphery of her vision, changing from bright pink to a hot
red.
After Derek had covered Meg's perky breasts in caramel, he asked
the actor. "Would you like whipped cream with that?"
"Oh absolutely." The Actor replied and then smacked his lips in
anticipation.
Derek picked up a whipped cream container and crafted a firm
snowy summit upon Meg's carpeted mound. She clenched her thighs
as the coolness above embraced the fiery crevice below, creating
a gnawing sense of urgency within her.
The Actor crawled onto the counter, kneeling astride her with his
knees resting at the narrows of her waist. He was a predatory cat
in the way he handled himself and she could see the hunger for
her in his eyes. Surely she had been objectified, being put on
display, selected and purchased, decorated with caramel and
cream, but in his gaze she saw only that she was the object of
his desire. He wanted her. He needed her. He desired her and
would have her.
The Actor slipped down closer to Meg, leaning down on his hands
while he pressed his mouth against her sticky tits. He not only
tasted her but was consuming her, enjoying her flesh and savoring
her spirit. She squealed and tugged at her bonds as her body
instinctively writhed under his tongue lashing, feeling sharp
stabs of pain as the cuffs disciplined her flesh. The pain's
warning spoke to her, ordering her to hold still and she obeyed
its directive. Still she found herself surprised to find its
sensation not as unpleasant as she feared it might be. Just like
the corrective word of parent is not devoid of love, the pain
brought order to the irrational ecstasy blooming inside her by
forcing her to try to contain it. But this restraint did not
weaken that bliss it just made it all the more intense.
The Actor licked his way across the lower slopes of her breasts,
attending to the length of her belly with soft breathy kisses and
gentle nibbles. Each touch of his surprisingly velvety lips made
sent seismic ripples through her tummy. Warmth surged through
bone, muscle and nerve, imparting each with the urge to diffuse
and melt into a quivering mass of jelly. The cravings of her body
contrasted with the wicked intransigence of her restraints. She
tried to hold the one back so that it would not conflict with the
other but she knew this was a losing battle.
The Actor was devouring the peak of whipped cream, its height
eroding beneath his tongue. The end was coming and Meg held her
breath as it approached. His lips latched on to that precious
piece and he ministered to it with his tongue's amazing
dexterity. Her arms and legs fought against her restraints,
making her muscles burn. Her back arched. Pain and pleasure were
like fire and back fire, the one inferno pulling the other into
it and becoming one. She heard a voice screaming, human in tone
but pure emotion in its wordless meaning. She realized it was her
own.
Meg jerked up from her sweaty sheets, panting as her dream rush
faded in feeling and memory. She picked up the clock and peered
at the time in the faint light.
"That was some dream!" She said perfunctorily before getting up.
She was relaxed as she had ever been in her life.