Coffee Break 10

"Oh, do you mind if I sit here?"

Always while she was focused! Her reverie shattered, Emma tore her eyes from her book. A tall woman stood awkwardly before her, tendrils of steam drifting from the coffee in her hand. Emma quirked an eyebrow.

It was hardly crowded, of course. It never was on Thursdays; the majority of the usual clientele were at work, only drifting through for brief moments to grab their morning fix—never to linger. Emma relished these slow mornings at the cafe—but now, someone saw fit to interrupt her.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a bother—you seemed lonely!" The woman grinned, her emerald eyes glittering in the light. "Certainly a coffee is better with company—don't you think so?"

Lonely?

Emma stifled a groan. "I suppose so. I guess I'm not doing anything important."

"Oh, great!" The woman lowered herself to the table, her cup clinking as she set it down. "My name's Veronica. How are you doing today?"

"Emma. I'm fine." Emma took a sip of her latte, swells of soft jazz filling the brief silence. "I'm not much for conversation."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma," replied Veronica, flashing a smile of perfect, straight teeth. "That's okay. I'm pretty good at getting people to talk, anyway."

Emma returned the smile. As irritating as it was to be interrupted, Veronica

was

attractive

—

her low-cut v-neck hugged her ample chest in all the right ways, accentuating the contours of her body. Flowing, shoulder-length auburn hair framed high cheekbones, casting her like an angel in a Renaissance painting. Emma's gaze traced the woman's tall form—her book could certainly wait. "You must be special, then. I've never had much luck with people."

"Maybe that'll be different with me." She paused. "You're awfully cute, you know that?"

Blood rushed to Emma's face. Had Veronica caught her looking? "I—um, thank you?"

"You're very welcome," Veronica winked. "You come around her often, sweetie?"

This was unusual. Was Veronica flirting? Emma found it hard to believe—rarely did anyone attempt to woo her. Her stony, disinterested exterior usually stymied any attempts, and she didn't mind that at all. Yet something was different this time. Something about Veronica put Emma at ease. She had a calmness about her—a sense of passive reassurance, a feeling that everything would be all right. "Y, yes," stammered Emma, words suddenly heavy in her mouth. "I like to spend my mornings here, um, reading."

"Oh?" Veronica leaned forward, her face much closer than Emma was comfortable with. "I read a bit myself. What do you like?"

"W, well, I was in the middle of, um," Emma gestured to her cheap horror paperback

,

left splayed half-open on the table, "—that."

Veronica made eye contact, pausing for a beat to flutter her eyelashes. Dishes clinked in the background. "Me, I prefer to read

people

, you know? I just find others

so interesting

."

Emma laughed, unsure how to respond. Her face burned—she was certainly red as a tomato, and that fact didn't help her confidence. "That makes one of us, then."

"But you, you're

especially

interesting, aren't you? Something tells me there's more to you than meets the eye." Veronica sipped her coffee.

Emma's heart rose to her throat. She was

definitely

being flirted with—and by someone exactly her type. She couldn't let this one go. "I, uh, don't think so?"

"The best ones

never

think they're interesting. It's always sweethearts like you that catch my attention. Say, how long were you planning on staying here?" Veronica took another sip. "The coffee's good, sure, but—not to brag—the coffee I make at home is better. How about you come by and sample a cup?"

Emma blanched. "Excuse me?"

Veronica grinned, her laid-back tone easing Emma's anxiety. "I'm asking you to come by my place, silly. Didn't you say you had nothing important going on?"

This was it. She was being asked out. "Sure! That, um, would be wonderful—I'd love to get to know you." Emma cringed as the words left her mouth.

I'd love to get to know you

—what a cliche and boring thing to say!

Veronica didn't seem to mind. "Did you drive here, sweetie?"

"No, I live, um, right down the street." Emma downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp, eager to have a moment where she didn't need to speak.

"Perfect! I did, so why don't we ride over to my place right now?" Veronica leapt to her feet, her half-drank beverage an afterthought. She extended her hand.

"N, now? As in, right now?" Emma stammered, fidgeting with her mug. "Isn't that a little, uh, forward?"

Veronica's laugh rang over the music, lilting and clear. "Maybe, but who cares? It'll be fun!"

Fuck it. Now or never.

Emma stood up, taking Veronica's hand. It was warm, soft, smooth—the hand of someone delicate, unblemished by the callouses of work. Her heart, already racing and primed to burst, beat at a speed she hadn't thought possible. Emma opened her mouth to speak—but nothing came out.

"I'll take that as a yes!" Veronica tugged Emma's arm, taking a few steps toward the exit.

"My book!"

"I'll buy you another one. Come on!" Unperturbed, Veronica dragged Emma to the doorway—and led her outside. Gentle sunshine greeted them, a mild breeze drifting through the crisp autumn air. "I'm right beside the building. Let's go!"

By the time Emma had a second to mourn her lost book, Veronica had pulled her through a dingy, narrow alley to an expensive-looking two-door coupe. "

This

is your car?"

"Impressed?" Veronica said, unlocking the passenger's side. "I'm sure I have plenty of other surprises for you. Hop in!"

Taking a deep breath, Emma opened the door. Her thoughts struggled to catch up with her nerves—her, on a

date

? Emma couldn't even remember the last time she was on a date, let alone one with someone as attractive as Veronica. What about her had caught the woman's interest?

Hot breath crawling along her neck snapped Emma from her thoughts. Veronica was practically on top of her, delicate, plush lips painfully close to Emma's own. She froze.

Veronica spoke, her voice a low, seductive purr. "You're such a precious little thing—so innocent and soft. I always love the first time I get to be with someone like this. It almost makes me feel a little guilty."

Emma had only an instant before the needle pierced her neck. It was over immediately, Veronica injecting its contents and removing it before Emma had even a hope of responding. A stinging sensation coursed through her body from the point of contact, transitioning to a thick, heady numbness just seconds later. She tried to climb to her feet, but her legs refused to respond—instead, Veronica's hands guided her, holding Emma in place with minimal effort. Her vision swam, pinpricks of darkness in her periphery growing bolder and larger the longer they persisted. Even the fear that tore through her was dull, muted—as if it too was suppressed by whatever she'd been stuck with. "Let go! Let go!"

"Shh, honey," Veronica whispered, caressing Emma's face. "It'll be over soon. Don't be afraid."

Emma opened her mouth to speak—to cry for help, to ask why, to say

anything

—but her lips disobeyed her just as her legs had. The spots swirled, at last overcoming her vision and dragging Emma down into blackness.

- - -

Consciousness returned slowly. Dimly, Emma became aware of a low drone—a hum that sounded as if it was both close and far away at the same time, coming from all directions and yet nowhere at once. Her limbs were stiff; the slightest twitch was met with great resistance—like moving through a thick liquid. As her senses returned, Emma managed to open her eyes.

"Basement" was the wrong word for her surroundings—"dungeon" was vastly more appropriate. Stone brick walls surrounded her on three sides. The fourth consisted of wrought-iron bars on a swinging hinge—fitted with a sturdy-looking lock. A solitary light bulb swayed above her, casting a dim glow through the otherwise dark room. Emma had been placed on a coarse straw bed at the far corner of the cell.

Emma knew she should be terrified. And yet—panic refused to blossom. In its place was a dull sense of unease—weak, just like the the fear she had felt after being injected. Logically, her emotions should be running wild, lost in the endless possibilities of what could happen to her now—but they weren't. Had something more been done to her? Emma's bones popped as she rose from the bed, her aching legs carrying her to the bars. Straining her eyes, she made out a narrow stone corridor—terminating in stairs upward. Veronica was nowhere to be seen.

Veronica! The name hit Emma with the intensity of a truck, the memory of what happened flooding to the forefront of her conscious. She had gotten into the woman's car—only to be drugged and kidnapped, whisked away to her current location. Damn! Emma cursed herself—she should have

known

something was off. And yet, she allowed herself to be taken in by someone showing an interest in her, inadvertently handing herself over on a platter. Even her anger at her own foolishness felt soft, pliable—as if she wasn't certain she was supposed to feel that way. Emma tested the bars—but the cold metal of the impenetrable wall before her resisted, reaffirming her all-too-real predicament. And what was

with

that humming sound?

Footsteps cut through her reverie. Down the hallway, a pair of legs descended the steps—revealing Veronica, now clad in little more than a silk robe. As she approached, Emma noticed just

how

scant the covering was; it clung to Veronica's form, the buds of her soft, brown nipples visible through the garment. Frilled black panties hugged toned, supple thighs. Emma's mouth filled with saliva.

"Oh, dear—I do hope you haven't been awake for too long." Veronica's voice was entirely too gentle for a kidnapper. "Have you started to hear it yet?"

"Hear what?" Emma snapped, fingers curled around the bars. "What are you going to do to me?"

Veronica laughed. "I guess the answer is no. But you'll know when you hear it. I promise I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart. I merely need to teach you a

truth

." The way she enunciated the word was unsettling—steeped with a deeper meaning that eluded Emma's comprehension.

"What truth? What the fuck are you talking about?" Sweat formed on Emma's brow. Veronica was speaking complete nonsense—and that fact in itself was frightening. What was this woman capable of?

"Look, honey. I'll help you out. Listen

close

to that soft little noise that I'm sure you've noticed. I'll come back when it starts to make sense." A wide grin dominated Veronica's face, her flawless teeth no longer charming—rather, they served as an indicator that whoever she

truly

was, she had

money

. Nobody was going to find Emma down here. Something told her that Veronica had made sure of that.

Veronica turned, setting off in the opposite direction. "Wait! Please!" At Emma's cry, the woman stopped and looked over her shoulder—before giving a sly wink and continuing on her way. "No! Stop—let me go!"

Her words fell on deaf ears. Veronica ignored her pleas, disappearing as she ascended the stairs. The distant sound of a door closing echoed through the corridor, carrying with it an unnerving sense of finality. Emma slumped against the wall, gradually lowering herself down to the makeshift bed. The ever-present humming continued.

Emma's rational mind shifted to her emotions. The lack of fear nagged at her, a disturbing buzz at the forefront of her consciousness. Where was her panic? Her sense of self-preservation? She had never been a reckless person, nor was she particularly tough under any level of pressure. Stress got to her easily. And yet, despite it all, her sense of dread was mild—like that of an upcoming test, not being imprisoned in an unknown location. Something

had

to be wrong with her.

The warmth in her lower half seemed to confirm that. Her length throbbed, agitated, pulsing with desire. How on Earth could she be aroused? She was in an untold amount of danger, yet Veronica's outfit stuck in her thoughts—eagerly pushing away her concerns. Unable to help herself, she reached into her pants and ran her fingers along her cock—shivering at the sensations it produced.

No—she had to stop. As she pried her hand from her length, Emma noticed the hum was getting louder—and its sound was changing ever-so-slightly. Faint chiming noises underpinned the drone, just loud enough for Emma to hear—but quiet enough to require attention to pick them out. Straining her ears, Emma concentrated on the hum—what even

was

it? Was it produced by some machinery nearby, or was it being played from a speaker? It almost defied explanation—coming from all directions and producing tones unlike any she'd heard before. Why had Veronica told her to listen to it? As she focused, Emma's muscles relaxed—in a way, the sound was calming, massaging away the pains of her aching body and providing a thin sense of peace. After all, there was nothing she could do this moment except wait—right? Surely it wouldn't hurt to give herself a few minutes to rest. Maybe during that time she would determine the source of the drone.

A yawn escaped her lips as she allowed her eyes to drift shut. Whatever it was, it was making her sleepy. The quiet tones of the drone surrounded her, echoing along the cell walls and cradling her tired form like a fine down blanket. Even the discomfort of the straw bed seemed insignificant, any barrier to tranquility fading into nothing in the face of the sound. She sighed. Maybe she was right to be unafraid. Perhaps this was all some sort of... misunderstanding...

Emma bolted upright.

That

didn't feel right. Nothing about this situation was a "misunderstanding"—she was

imprisoned

, and her attention needed to be on escape. Had she

really

thought such a thing? Almost immediately her concern began to melt away, floating into the all-encompassing grasp of the drone.

Stay calm, Emma. Getting upset won't help with anything. Lay down.

Lay down... the words hung in her mind like an unspoken command, bouncing through her head and interrupting her focus. Her cock twitched, still aroused—as if her body was responding to stimuli unknown to her conscious brain. "Lay down" was right—she needed rest more than anything else. A cloudiness had crept into her thoughts—like a thick fog drifting over a lake, it covered her. Rest would help her think clearly. Rest would help her make sense of Veronica, of the drone, of everything. She returned to the bed.

Time passed in a blur. As she laid, a subtle shift occurred in the drone. A voice—as quiet as the chimes and just as gentle—spoke underneath the sound. Emma strained her ears, intrigued—but as the words bubbled in the background, she failed to make sense of them. It enticed her. Breaking her lethargy, a twinge of excitement stirred in Emma—and along with it, the suggestion of anticipation.

Wait. Nothing about this made sense. What was happening to her? Why were her emotions so inappropriate—why was it so hard to

think

? The sound! It had to be the drone—it was changing her, stretching to the very depths of her subconscious mind. It was terribly, terribly wrong—and at once, her body was on

fire

.

Emma's breathing shallowed—the urge to touch herself had once again grown overwhelming. Fuck, she was so hot! Her clothes were unbearable, the fabric now rough as sandpaper and entirely too warm. Beads of sweat rolled down her brow as she peeled her jeans from her legs, tossing them to the ground. Her shirt followed—tearing down the middle as she wrenched it from her body.

What was she doing? Why couldn't she stop? The drone reverberated through her mind, desire penetrating her thoughts and replacing them with itself. Stripped down to her underwear, the heat refused to relent—and before she knew it, her bra and panties had been discarded, too.

Emma raised herself from the bed and leaned against the wall, sighing in relief as the cool stone pulled some of the heat from her skin. She stroked her shaft, a whine escaping her lips—a plea for the

release

she now desperately needed. Maybe... maybe if she pleasured herself, this would all stop. Maybe it would all finally make sense. Maybe the fog derailing her thoughts would dissipate. In the back of her head was an itch—the knowledge that she was running out of time to act. If she didn't figure out how to stop whatever had come over her before Veronica returned... who knew what would happen then.

Veronica. An unexpected rush of affection overcame Emma, and with it a feeling of tranquility. She couldn't shake the idea that she was missing something. The voice beneath the drone grew in volume, its words distinct for a brief time:

Veronica is helping you. Veronica is perfect. Obey your Mistress.

At last, panic broke the threshold of the alien calmness that had so long dominated her. For the first time since awakening in the cell, Emma was terrified. The truth rose to the forefront of her thoughts: she was being brainwashed. There was no other explanation. Again the drone began to dull her reaction, stripping away layers of emotion just as Emma had stripped away her clothes. She had to touch herself. She had to clear her mind, give her body what it desired. She had to

obey

.

Emma couldn't resist. Every stroke was bliss, carrying with it a sense of deep relief she had never felt before. She was doing what she

needed

to do—what Mistress

wanted

her to do. The thought set her heart aflutter. Mistress. Veronica... Veronica was the Mistress, and Emma was meant to serve her. The edges of a building orgasm welled within her.

"Good girl. Now wait."

The pleasure died as Emma removed her hands from her length, compelled by a force beyond her control. Veronica stood on the other side of the bars—in her haze, she hadn't even noticed the woman's arrival. She was practically nude now, having forsaken her robe. Black panties hugged a plush, round ass—and hardly concealed the girthy length beneath. Emma's lips moved of their own accord. "M...Mistress..."

Veronica's smile was manic. "It's all making sense now, isn't it? You're almost ready."

Ready. The word bounced around Emma's mind, full of tantalizing promise. "I... I don't... What is any of this? What's happening to me?"

Veronica laughed. "I'm sure you've figured it out already. You were so cute in that cafe—I knew the minute I walked in that I

had

to have you. But... it takes time to build trust, don't you agree? That's why"—she gestured to the surrounding hallway—"I had this all built. A perfect holding chamber while the hypnosis fries my targets' little minds. And you? You're the perfect toy for me today."

Words felt heavy and unfamiliar in Emma's mouth—as if she had gone years without speaking. Her head was spinning. She had been right—that omnipresent drone flooding the room was brainwashing her. The further its fingers sunk into her mind, the less certain Emma was that she wanted to fight back. It was like slipping into a vast body of water, her mind sinking beneath the waves of suggestion—alien calmness cleansing her body. Each time she surfaced for air—and with the air a moment of clarity, a grim realization snapping her out of the haze—less of herself remained. She

knew

the drone—and its voices—was pulling the thoughts from her mind. But now, with Veronica—with

Mistress—

inches away, Emma at last recognized the truth: it felt

good

.

"I'm going to let you out now, toy. And you're going to be a good girl and play nice for me, aren't you?" Veronica revealed a key in her hand and inserted it into the lock; with a click, it popped open and fell away. Now unrestrained, the cell door drifted open, leaving the two women face to face. She had to

approach

. She had to

return

to her Mistress. Heeding the invisible command, Emma walked—slowly, uncertainly—over to Veronica, stepping out of the cell.