Under The Hill Ch 03 Coffee Girl

"I was in a coffee shop," she said. "It wasn't this coffee shop, but it might as well have been. The same kind of couches and steel-legged tables, a different color marble countertop, pretty young baristas in different fashions. White plastic Macintoshes open everywhere instead of silver ones."

I had just been looking at my notes when she sat down across from me. She hadn't told me much more than her name, but I knew as soon as I saw her she was a Hostling. How she knew me, I wasn't so sure, but I wasn't going to miss the story. I put the recorder on my phone and started to listen as she told her story.

Melanie's story

I was supposed to be working on my masters' thesis. I mean, I was, but my mind was drifting. My mind's always been like that. Okay, I was having a sex fantasy, but it was my own head, right? Not like anyone could know what I was thinking.

Well, that's what I thought. Then She sat down across from me.

"Oh, that's a good one," she said. "In the office where you work, right? What is it that you imagine they'd call you?"

I remember her hair. Black and shiny with this hint of green. Older than me, but I was young. I mean, I guess I still am but it doesn't seem that way. I was just beginning my Master's.

"What?" I said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She just laughed.

"I'm working," I said. "Please leave me alone."

She laughed again.

"That's two lies you've told me in a row. You can't lie to me anymore, and you have to answer my questions. Tell me, in your fantasy, what do they call you?"

I looked up at her eyes. She hadn't looked that old, but now that I saw her eyes, I knew different. I was so scared. I'd have left my computer on that table just to get away.

But I had to answer her questions. I didn't understand why then, that was the worst part. I just had to, because she'd told me. And I couldn't lie. I looked down at the table as long as I could.

"Coffee girl," I said quietly, and the weight went out of my chest as I spoke the truth she was forcing from me.

She giggled.

"Of all the things it could be," she said.

"How are you doing this?" I asked. "How do you know what I'm thinking?"

She didn't answer, just kept talking.

"I mean, they could be calling you cumslut, or fucktoy or whore, couldn't they? Tell me the fantasy."

I shook my head.

"Please, I don't want to," I said. "Don't make me. I don't know how, but you already know it, don't you?"

"It's more fun to hear you say it," she said.

I looked out the window as long as I could. A city street like this one. Moms with kids and businessmen looking at their phones - they would have been Blackberries instead of iPhones then. Not so many cyclists as you see now, that's something I notice.

But I had to answer. It was like turning in a paper you didn't want to do.

"It's like the office I temp at," I whispered. "Or maybe it is that office."

"Can't hear you," she said. "Speak up."

Of course she'd been able to hear me. But other people hadn't. I spoke up.

"But in this, in this fantasy I'm not an employee," I went on. "I'm, I don't know, property. Something they own, like a computer or a copy machine. Something they use. Not like a person."

She took my latte and took a sip, just looking at me. I felt it in my chest again, I wasn't done. I had to say it all.

"They are all wearing their regular clothes, but I'm naked. Sometimes in the fantasy there are other people like me, people who have to walk around naked and do whatever they are told."

"Like what?" she said, as if she didn't know.

"Sometimes I have to go under someone's desk and give them oral sex," I said

A man at the table next to me looked at me, then back down with a smile on his face. Another woman had a scowl. When I blush I really blush, and I must have been full scarlet then. People could hear what I was saying, but no one said anything. And I couldn't stop. I wasn't allowed.

"Other times they bend me over the desk and fuck me. But lots of times they just have me doing office tasks. I bring them files and clean their offices. When I make a mistake they punish me. They bend me over the desks and whip me, or put those strong black metal paper-holding clamps on my breasts. They make me wash the windows while they stare at my ass and I'm showing my cunt to whoever can see in the window. I give people backrubs or I get paper when the printer is out."

"And you bring them coffee," she said.

That wasn't a question, so I shouldn't have had to answer. But the question was in her eyes. So I did my best.

"Bringing coffee, especially to men, well, it's this outdated thing that women used to do when we weren't seen as equal. If a man in the office told me to get him coffee I'd tell him to fuck himself. But if I were a piece of property, a thing that was owned, then I'd have no choice. I'd just have to do it."

She nodded.

"So. Coffee Girl."

"It's just a fantasy!" I said. "It doesn't mean I want it to happen."

She chuckled, and shook her head.

"Mortals are funny," she said, and the way she used that word made my stomach cold. "I can't tell you how many times I've heard that. But you didn't say you don't want it to happen, did you? You said it doesn't mean you want it to happen, but it also doesn't mean you don't."

"You're twisting my words," I said, shaking my head.

"If you say so. So, do you want it to happen? No, don't answer. Would you like to find out?"

"What?" I said.

"It's easy to say you wouldn't want it to happen when you know it couldn't anyway, isn't it? Well, you see what I can do. You don't understand what I am, of course. But you know enough. Do you want to come with me and see what it would be like?"

A big black SUV pulled up in front of the coffee shop and I knew right away it was hers. And I knew I could stand up right then and come with her.

I just sat there. I didn't say anything, because I didn't dare to. She just finished my latte and stared at me. Finally she leaned across the table and whispered in my ear.

"If you don't really want this, then you'll slowly forget this ever happened. But if you are lying, even to yourself, there is no escaping it. You can escape from everyone but yourself. Remember that over the next few weeks. I won't be the cause of any of it, except maybe the way a loud voice sets off an avalanche."

Well, I didn't get much thesis writing done after she left. I didn't get much done at all after that. I went to a different coffee shop, of course.

I tried to forget. I tried to let it fade from my mind. But the fantasy got stronger. Before it was something I'd gone to every few weeks, one of a lot of different fantasies I used. But now I was thinking about it all the time. Even at work. Especially at work.

Whenever someone asked me to do something all I could do was imagine they were telling me to take my clothes off, to bend over the desk. My cunt was wet all day at work. I started bringing an extra pair of underwear.

And on top of that, I'd lost my ability to have an orgasm. I'd come home, dripping wet, and I'd throw myself on the couch and slide my panties off and start rubbing myself. I'd almost get there, and then it would just slip out of my fingers. I guess that happens to everyone sometime, but imagine if it was all the time. And then five minutes later you'd need to come again.

I wasted entire evenings unsuccessfully masturbating. My friends started to slip away as I didn't call them.

I started wearing more revealing stuff to work. The office I was at then had a fairly casual dress policy. I'd wear short skirts with no hose. The thoughts of the guys looking at me made me so hot I could almost come when I was in the toilet stall.

But that wasn't enough. There was this guy who'd always been staring at my ass, even before my new personal dress code. His name was Steve, and all the women thought he was an asshole. He was upper middle management, and he was a sexist prick. He'd hit on a number of the female employees, including ones who were married.

So I started asking Steve if he wanted coffee. At first it wouldn't have seemed like a big deal, especially if I was getting some for myself. But I started getting him coffee even if I didn't have any.

I kept doing it until he started to expect it, started to ask me to bring it for him. At that point all the other women in the office were avoiding me, talking about me behind my back. I'd have done the same thing.

I'd been missing graduate classes, too, turning things in late, eventually not turning them in at all.

It was only a matter of time before I went for a drink with Steve. He was married so we couldn't go to his place. We went to mine instead. My roommate was out, thank God for small favors. I gave him a blowjob in his bed, and then he fucked me.

And while he was fucking me I looked up in his eyes, and he wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the wall, not even thinking about me. And I knew I was absolutely nothing for him but a thing to stick his dick in. I knew that he'd leave as soon as he came, without even saying a word. I knew he'd tell everyone tomorrow at the office that he'd fucked me, and that everyone would know.

That's when I came. After he'd gone I cried and cried. After I'd cried awhile, I masturbated and tried to come again but I couldn't.

Things went even more downhill after that, in school and at the office. My thesis advisor had a meeting with me and suggested I put my masters on hold for awhile, and I had to agree.

At the office, no one would speak to me. That's not true. The guys would speak to me, but only to try to get me to fuck them. I might as well have had a target painted on my ass after that. I told myself no way was I going to do anything like that again.

But that was a lie too. Two weeks later I went home with a guy from work again. Not Steve; after he fucked me he wanted nothing to do with me. David, the guy I went home with this time, wanted to come in my face. While I knelt under my cock I frigged my clit like crazy.

But this time it wasn't enough. Like Steve he left as soon as he was done. But I didn't wipe the cum off my face. I knelt in front of the mirror and looked at the sperm dripping down my nose and fingered myself, but I couldn't get there.

The next day I asked the temp agency to transfer me somewhere else. They said they'd have to see about it, and to wait. I guess they were hearing about me from other people at the office. It was pretty clear I wasn't welcome back where I was working.

So I went back to the coffee shop again, I mean the first one, the one where I met Her. I had my computer open. I told myself I was going to find a new job, make a change. Get my graduate degree back on track.

I'd been staring at the screen for three hours when she sat down across from me.

"I guess you need a new job," she said.

"What did you do to me?" I asked.

"You don't listen, do you? I told you I would not be the cause of anything that happened if you made the wrong choice. Now you have another chance. What are you going to do?"

"You could just make me, couldn't you?" I said. "Just make me do whatever you wanted. Why don't you just make me?"

"That wouldn't be any fun at all," she said.

The car was parked in front of the coffee shop again. So I stood up and started walking to it. I left my computer right on the table, and my purse on the ground next to my chair. I knew I wasn't going to need them.

The car door opened as soon as I got there, and She was inside already. I wondered how she did that. Inside the back of the SUV there was a desk set up, and she was sitting behind it. There was a seat for me on the other side, one that put me several inches lower than her.

"Think of this as your intake interview," she said. "Grab a cup of coffee."

There was a silver urn to one side of me. In front of me was a beautiful small coffee cup, a little bigger than a demitasse, the kind with the little handle you only hold with two fingers. It was glass on top, gold on the bottom.

It wasn't really a question, so I got some coffee like she said. It was really good coffee.

"Tell me," she said. "Have you ever solved a significant problem at any job that no one else could solve?"

My mind scrambled for an answer.

"One time I talked to a customer who was really angry about an accidental subscription cancellation. This was a market letter that was really expensive, like a few thousand dollars a year. I calmed him down and we got him to renew."

She looked through some papers.

"I see that. Martin Anderson? But I see here that your boss had to give him a years' free subscription to make up for it. And that the cancellation was because of your mistake in the first place. So do you really think you'd say you solved a problem?"

"No," I said, looking down.

The whole 'interview' was like that. All a rigged game on her part, of course, they can do that. But the whole thing was set up to show that I was worth nothing as an employee. I should have anticipated this. I knew what I was there for.

"Let's try a different tack," she said. "How often would you say you masturbate?"

I looked out the window, but there wasn't much to see. I think we were on the FDR. I did see the river. But I had to answer.

"Once or twice a week," I said, an instinctive lie.

She scowled. She knew the answers to all of these questions, of course.

"If you're dishonest in this interview, we can't place you where you really belong," she said.

"Please don't. Just make me do whatever you want me to do."

"Answer the question."

"Once or twice a day."

"Do you masturbate when you're supposed to be working?"

"What difference does it make? Just do whatever you're going to do to me. Yes."

"Have you ever had sex with a co-worker?"

"Yes."

"Did a romantic relationship come out of it?"

"No."

It went on like that awhile. She dug into my whole sexual history, all my fantasies. I had to answer.

I didn't feel it when the car stopped. I couldn't feel it when I was moving. I just knew when she opened the door.

"Congratulations!" she smiled. "I think we have a place for you."

We were in a basement car park. It was dimly lighted, and there was no one around. I started to follow her out of the car.

"Wait," she said. "You're not in uniform. Take all that off."

"What, here?" I said.

She didn't answer, just looked at me. It wasn't like I was wearing much, just jeans and a t-shirt. I tried to take my clothes off in the car, but it was awkward, worse than if I'd just stepped out and stripped. Finally I was sitting across from her in my underwear.

She kept looking at me.

"What's the uniform?" I said, before I did anything else.

She pointed at the ground in front of me. There was a pair of red stilettos there. She was holding what looked like a few strings in her hand.

"Wait a minute," I said. "I don't know if..."

"You don't want to be a disappointment on your first day, do you?" she asked.

I closed my eyes and unhooked my bra. Then I took off my panties. I opened my eyes and looked down at the shoes.

"Wait a minute," she said, and handed me a pair of hose.

They were garter hose, black, with no panties. I slid the garter up my legs and attached the hose. She nodded at me and I stepped in the shoes.

"Wait," she said. "One more thing."

She attached a sort of metal thong chain around my waist. It had a lock, holding it in place, and the soft chain went right through my slit, pulling tight. It didn't cover anything, but there was a little plastic bulb right around my clitoris. I tried to hook my finger under it, and realized I wouldn't be able to get it off until she let me.

"Ah, ah, hands off that," she said.

I felt a little electric buzz in my clit. It was both painful and stimulating. I tried to pull it away and it buzzed even more. It also lit up red with a little LED.

"Wait!" I said. "Is this all I'm wearing?"

But she was already walking toward the elevator. I just stood there for a moment, but then the little electric thing on my clit lit up and buzzed me again. I yelped and tried to stop it, but that only made it worse.

She turned and looked over her shoulder.

"The only way to stop it is to do what you're supposed to," she said. "It's a simple, effective motivational tool."

She started to walk toward the elevator again, and I trotted after her. When I was close to her the electric shock stopped.

"But," I said. "How do I know what I'm supposed to be doing?"

I got a shock after that.

"You'll figure it out," she said with a smile.

I started to ask another question, but then got an even bigger shock. I realized that one of the things I wasn't supposed to be doing is talking, at least not if I hadn't been asked a question.

"Oh, wait," she said, before we got to the elevator. "There's one more thing."

She hung a lanyard around my neck. I lifted it up and looked at it. It looked like most of the lanyards I'd worn before with a corporate-looking logo labeled Under the Hill on top. It had a picture of me - a terrible one. I didn't recognize it, but then I saw that my face was covered with sperm, like one of those porno pictures you see on Tumblr. I realized that it was right after David had come on my face. Had he taken a picture? Maybe not. Who knows what the - what those people can do.

Below, it didn't have my name. It just said "COFFEE GIRL."

I felt another electric shock between my legs again, and I looked up.

"Hurry up," she said. "Get on the elevator."

The office was like every other one I'd worked in. It was rows of cubicles, with a hint of art-deco in the brass lamp fixtures under the fluorescent bulbs, and enough dark-stained wood to make it look a bit more than a cubicle farm.

I don't know what they were doing. Certainly it couldn't have been real work; their kind don't do that. I guess for them it was like some kind of crazy roleplay, but I didn't know that then. It looked like real people working to me: talking on the phones, typing on computers, going through files.

But the difference came clear pretty quickly. I looked under the desk of a woman on the phone near me. She was leaning back, and there was a naked man kneeling between her legs. His arms were chained behind him and he wore a chained leash that was attached to the base of the chair somehow. Her skirt was pulled up nearly to her waist and he was servicing her with her tongue.

I didn't get much more time to look around. I got another burst of pain from my clit. I looked up and realized where I was supposed to go.

The coffee station, at least, was far more elaborate than any coffee shop I'd ever been in. There were four silver pump urns, dark roast, light roast, decaf and hot water for tea. There were stations for milk, cream, half and half and skim. There were every kind of sweetener: raw sugar, stevia, agave, everything.

The station had a monitor next to it that had a layout of the whole office on it. As soon as I got there I saw an alert blinking over one of the desks. It said "1 cream 2 sugar."

I just stared for a moment, but then another burst of electricity in my cunt got me going again. It was obvious what I was supposed to do. I took a cup and poured it. The pain stopped.

Another shock. I added cream, and scooped two spoons of sugar in. As I did that, instead of a shock, I felt a pleasant vibration.

I hustled to deliver the coffee, trying to figure out where it was based on the map. I made a couple of wrong turns, but the pain between my legs let me know.

The man I delivered the coffee to was big and blonde, and he was not really doing any work. He was twisting some golden ropes in the air in a way that didn't seem geometrically possible. On his computer screen was a video of an athletic, slender man hanging naked in ropes in a small room. As the blond man manipulated the ropes, the man in the video was twisted into different positions, some of them quite painful. I realized the video must be live.