Coffee

At the corner of 10th and Wessex stands a small café. The streets are not terribly busy, which makes the shop pleasantly quiet, but on the other hand it isn't very busy inside the shop either. Still, the aging wood front indicates this place has been standing for at least a generation and wouldn't be going out of business any time soon. It had a number of regulars, one among them being a rather quiet man who came in every day around noon, bought the same thing, and sat for half an hour reading a newspaper. Sometimes other regulars at the shop would come and talk to him, but not usually. Most days he just sat there, wearing his hat low over his eyes with his trench coat collar turned up to obscure his face.

There was a new hire at the counter today, and she was very disinterested in her work. Unless the manager was present, she was rude to customers, made mistakes, and scolded anyone who asked for her to fix them.

Noon rolled around and this man ordered his usual, a flat white with nonfat milk, please, in his quiet voice. The girl behind the counter sneered at his odd manner of dress and made his drink haphazardly, using whole milk to make a plain latte that filled about 3/4 of the mug she was using.

"Excuse me," the man said, not raising his voice but now looking up more directly at the girl. "That is not what I asked for."

"What do you care? It's coffee, it all tastes the same anyway." She said, not even looking at him.

"That is not what I paid for." The man said, his volume only raised slightly. Sneer on her face, she turned to him and shoved the mug into his hands hard enough that it slopped over the edge and down his front.

"It is now." She snapped, turning away. The man stood for a moment, apparently thinking, then went to get some napkins to dry himself off. A few of the regulars looked horrified or sympathetic, but none bothered the reclusive gentleman. Several wanted to ask if he was alright, or if he was going to stand for that, or go notify the manager, but all found themselves unable to stand.

The man went to his usual table with his newspaper and what was left of his coffee. He opened up his paper but his eyes remained fixed on the girl behind the counter.

Almost inaudibly, so no other patron could hear, he whispered "Look at me." The girl glanced up from her phone, surprised, and locked eyes with him for a moment. Then she shook her head and looked back at her phone.

Minutes passed, but nothing seemed to be happening. Then she set down her phone, holding her lower belly and biting her lip. She whimpered quietly, then went into the backroom, forgetting to shut the door. From the man's angle, he could watch as she stuffed her hand into her mouth and shuddered.

The man's eyes flicked over to the manager's door, and a moment later she had poked her head out the door. The man grinned as she hunted down the errant barista and shepherded her back to her station, threatening her if she left it again.

The man looked around the cafe, checking to see no children were present, and luckily, there were none. Then he looked out on the street and locked eyes with a pair of men across the street. A minute later they were in the cafe, the white man giving their orders to the barista.

The introverted man's eyes were fixed again on the woman, who seemed less concerned with getting their orders right than with hiding how she wanted to rub her legs together, or how whenever she reached down to pick something up from under the bar, she would "accidentally" brush her hand over her crotch. As she handed over the coffees, the man's eyes went to the two men, and their faces went from neutral to annoyed.

"What the hell, lady? We asked for different things but I literally just saw you make us both the same thing. I didn't even want a coffee at all, I asked for tea!" One said.

"Where's the manager? I want to talk to him." The white man added, looking around.

"Please don't tell the manage, she'll fire me for sure!" the barista pleaded, keeping her voice down with nervous glances at the manager's door.

"Well, you need to pay us back somehow." The white man interjected again. The introverted man, watching, nudged the men mentally, and they shifted their stances. It would be clear to the barista, though not to the other patrons, that both men stood now at half-mast.

The barista glanced around, momentarily catching the trench coat man's eye. He mouthed words along as she spoke them, her eyes half-lidded and her tone heavy with suggestion. "I've been bad, I know it; would you teach me a lesson?" She leaned over the counter, her skirt stretching over her ass and leaving nothing to the imagination. Internally she was confused, screaming, trying to fight off the compulsion that had come over her, but her struggles were in vain.

The men were fighting back equally, so to maintain control of all three, the man in the trench coat released his hold over several of the patrons. They no longer felt compelled to remain, sipping empty cups or rereading articles for the third time.

The barista opened the door to get behind the bar and the two men walked through, touching her all over, fondling her breasts, exploring her body, as she stood passive. The white man unhooked her bra under her shirt as the other untied her apron, setting it aside. She pulled off the rest of her clothes as they removed their jeans and shorts, now much more erect.

"We're gonna teach you how to brew a cup of tea, bitch," the white boy said as his friend put her apron over her naked form. "It's not hard. You get some boiling water and put in a fucking tea bag. Got it?"

The barista nodded, turning to do just that.

"Dumb bitch, We don't want that any more." The other man said, grabbing her by the hair. At this point, nearly all the patrons had noticed, and the trench coat man let several more go, though he held onto a couple others who were engrossed in their reading or wanted to watch. "You're here to make it up to us." He pulled her head down to his cock. "Get to work."

She took his cock in her mouth and began to suck, bobbing her head and using one hand. The other hand was holding onto the counter as the white boy grabbed her around the hips and pushed inside of her, groaning as he thrust into her over and over again, as fast as he could handle. Soon all three were moaning, the barista frequently choking on the cock in her mouth as the man at her head pushed into her throat as deeply as he could manage. Soon the white boy exploded into her, and rubbed himself back up to a full erection as his friend finished into her mouth and all over her face.

"Swallow, bitch," the white boy ordered. He pushed her onto the counter, belly up, and walked around to her head as his friend brought himself back up to a full erection. Once there, he took her apron almost all the way off, leaving part around her neck and tying her hands behind her neck. As his friend lubed himself on her soaking pussy, he pushed into her mouth. As he groaned, he pulled at and twisted her nipples, making her twitch, choke, and groan. His friend pushed into her asshole and started to fuck her raw, playing with her clit until she came, shaking and choking. After that he slipped into her pussy and picked up his pace, pounding her, slapping her thighs and ass until he came. His friend had already finished, cleaned himself off with a napkin, and was pulling on his pants. As the second boy pulled on his own pants, the first boy turned the cashier around, pulled out a sharpie, and wrote, "Free rides with every mistaken order" across her breasts.

One customer, who had been watching with rising excitement, went to the girl for a ride of his own, and as he was finishing up the manager came out again. She was completely stunned, and started yelling at both customer and barista. The customer fled, and as one the remaining customers looked up, adopted shocked expressions, and all left, including the man in the trench coat and hat. Quietly he whispered, "forget," and every patron forgot what had occurred, instead remembering only a normal visit to te coffee house.

The man in the trench coat returned the next day to find the manager working the counter and a "help wanted" sign in the window. He smiled sympathetically at the manager, and said something to her to alter her memory and make it less shocking- she had been suffering with self-doubt about her judgement of character as well as worrying about how to tell upper management why the new barista had been fired. The new memory was simply of the girl thieving from the till, which would be much less weight on the poor manager's mind.

The man in the trench coat continued to sit in his same spot every day, but most days now, instead of merely looking sullen, he had a small self-satisfied smile on his face.