The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Coffee Shop.

Disclaimer. The following story, is a work of fiction. The characters portrayed within are a work of fiction as well, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead is a coincidence and unintentional.

Copyright © 1998. This story is the property of the author, Canadian Cowboy. Any duplication, in whole or in part, is forbidden without the express written consent of the author.

Part 1: A Hot Cup of Coffee.

There is probably one somewhere in the city that you live. It is just your average neighborhood coffee shop. A place where all sorts of people come to read the paper, drink coffee, eat donuts and talk. There is nothing at all to make it seem out of the ordinary or unusual. In fact, you probably drive right by it every day, and that is why you’ve never noticed it.

I’m one of those ‘strange’ people who has never had, and probably never will have, a car. I tried to learn to drive once, but it was a very bad experience. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it, but that is another story which is best left for another time. So, over the years I’ve learned to take the local city bus, or ‘public transportation’ as it is called, and the occasional cab when I need to get somewhere in a hurry. But if the weather is nice, and I have the time, sometimes I walk.

That is how I came across the coffee shop.

It was a Saturday, one of the few ones I’ve had lately where there was no reason to go into work, and no chores to do at home. I was just enjoying my free time. Indulging myself by walking around the neighborhood, in a section of town that I did not often frequent. The wind was somewhat colder than I had thought it would be, so I ducked inside to get out of the wind and warm my hands around a hot cup of coffee...and maybe a donut.

I’d never been in the place before, but it seemed nice enough. Clean, bright, pleasant, and permeated with the aroma of hot coffee. As I sniffed the air, and the blood seemed to flow back into my frozen nostrils, I could detect the wonderful aromas of flavored coffees that I’d bought at the supermarket. These seemed to be richer somehow, stronger, and just breathing the air I could almost taste the coffee in my mouth, on my tongue. The shop was not exactly quiet, but it wasn’t packed to the rafters, either. There were a dozen or so people spread out sitting at various tables, and a few in some of the booths. They were quietly talking with friends, reading their papers, or just looking out the windows at the people walking by. I know that this sounds so ordinary, and quite boring actually, but at that time the place was very unremarkable, except for the aromas of the different coffees in the air.

The woman behind the counter appeared to be of middle age, a sort of motherly figure, whose eyes seemed to sparkle with hidden joy and laughter, the sort of person that seems to brighten a room when they enter it. I was sure that she was probably the reason why people came here in the first place, or at least why they came back. I felt my mood improve from just seeing her smile a big warm welcoming smile as she said, “Hello, sir. What can I get for you?”

“A large hot cup of coffee, no flavor please. Oh, and I take cream and sugar,” I replied.

“Just be a minute. There’s plenty of room here at the counter, so why don’t you sit here?” She replied in that warm motherly tone of voice.

“Sure. Okay.” I said, as I plopped myself down on a seat a few feet away from her and the multitude of coffee pots steaming gently in the corner. As I waited for the coffee to arrive, I noticed that the shop had a warm and inviting feeling to it that I had not noticed when I first stepped inside. It made me feel a bit better and a bit more relaxed, but I was far from a happy person.

The waitress, if you really wanted to call her that, arrived moments later and placed a large mug of hot coffee in front of me, accompanied by a bowl of sugar and a decanter of cold cream. “Listen,” she said. “You look like a man who needs a break. The first cup of coffee is on the house. And, I won’t take no for an answer. So you just sit there and enjoy your coffee and try to relax a bit, okay?” She turned away from me and went over to chat with what appeared to be one of the regulars who was standing by the till, waiting patiently to pay his bill. The man just smiled at me and nodded, as I looked at him for a moment. He turned to the waitress, and conversed with her for a few moments before paying his bill and leaving.

Actually, I was very surprised at her kindness, and appreciated it more than she could have known. It’s the little small thoughtful things that impress me, about people. I found myself feeling a little better about myself, and feeling just a bit more relaxed. For just a second, I felt a smile touch my lips. I smiled a second time. I suddenly realized that all this, the free coffee, the warm inviting atmosphere and the cheerful attitude of the waitress, were all designed to make me feel better about the place of business, and myself. It is just good business, and a way to get repeat customers. A little psychology goes a long way. I’m actually very familiar with using this approach, when I want to hypnotize someone. You see, I’m an amateur hypnotist. I do it because I love hypnotizing people...guys mostly. Both to help them, and because it is a turn on for me. I don’t get to do it as often as I would like, and certainly not to some of the good looking guys that I’ve seen. But I get by, I guess.

The coffee tasted very good. Smooth, and rich. Sipping it slowly was a luxury I had forgotten, or maybe it was just that the coffee here was very good. I soon felt the tension in my neck and shoulders fade away as I started to relax more and more. I was just looking around, at the people in the they came and left. Without quite realizing it my mug was soon empty, and I raised my hand to attract the waitress’ attention.

“Hi, again,” she said with that warm motherly tone of voice. “Would you like a refill? But, you’ll have to pay this time. It’s $1.50 a mug.”

“No problem,” I said as I smiled at her. “I think I can afford that.”

“You seem to be feeling better, sir,” she grinned, as she filled my mug. She came back a few moments later, after returning the pot of coffee to the collection of pots in the corner. “Listen,” she said. “I’ve got a free ear if you need it.”

I suppose, looking back, I should have been surprised at that statement, but I wasn’t. I soon found myself talking to her, about me, and my life and my troubles. Sort of like pouring out your guts to your favorite bartender. Understand that I am a very private person, and I don’t tell my secrets or problems to anyone. Well, I have to be private. I’m gay, and still in the closet. Sure, there are many guys out there who have come out successfully, but I haven’t done that yet. So, as you might imagine, I have a lot of suppressed feelings and desires that I have to keep under careful control all the time. Is it any wonder I’m tense a lot?

I won’t bore you with the details, except to say that this motherly waitress soon knew all about being gay, my having a crush on my boss, and my fantasies about him. It was odd, as if spilling my guts to a total stranger was not odd enough, that as I was spilling my guts, she would just stand there and listen. Every now and then when someone would come near or she would have to leave me for a moment, she would touch my forehead and say “pause,” and my mouth and tongue would freeze. When she came back a few minutes later, she’d touch my forehead again and say “continue,” and I’d pick up right at the syllable where I left off. After this happened four or five times, it finally dawned on me that there must have been something in the coffee. (Okay, so Sherlock Homes I’m not.) I knew that I hadn’t been hypnotized, but I had been drugged, and that drug was preventing me from feeling scared or frightened or even angry. I would have felt that way, if I had been in my right mind.

I finished my tale of troubles and woes about two cups of coffee later. The waitress just looked at me for a while. She didn’t say anything, but a tear started to roll down her right cheek, and I heard a soft sob escape her lips. I knew that I should just get up and leave. After all I’d paid for the coffee, and I’d just told a complete stranger all my innermost secrets, but I couldn’t leave. I could not stand up and walk out the door. I just couldn’t. I didn’t feel compelled to stay, and I knew that I didn’t need her permission or anything. Whatever hold she had on me earlier had faded away and I KNEW that if I started to leave, she wouldn’t even try to stop me. Something inside, some part of me felt that I should stay and listen to her. So I gently reached up with the napkin and wiped away the tear from her cheek, and then sat back down and waited for her to say something.

“You poor man,” she said. “It’s not fair that someone as kind and sweet as you should go through life with such burdens, and worries. You deserve better. You deserve a chance at some joy and happiness. There is much you can do to make this a more wonderful world, if you were just given the chance.”

“Lady,” I said, trying to bring the conversation back to earth, and to keep from losing my temper. “Just what the hell are you talking about, and what did you do to me? What was that drug you put into my coffee?”

“Paul,” she said. “You did not leave now, when you knew you were able to, when you knew you had the chance. You chose to stay, and perform a small act of kindness for someone who you felt has just abused and humiliated you, and in public no less. Why do you think that is?”

“Probably,” I said with disgust and anger clearly in my voice. “Because I’m stupid. I also want to know exactly what you did to me, and why.”

“No,” she said with a small smile. “Deep down you have a compassionate and caring heart. It is just in your nature to want to try and help people, even if it seems to you that you always lose in the end. That quality is very rare, and very precious. I think you may be the person I’ve been hoping would come in here someday.” With that, she touched my forehead again, and I suddenly could not move a muscle! I was paralyzed, and scared to death!

“Paul,” she said as she smiled at me. “Come with me to the back room.. We need to talk..”

And like one of those hypnotized zombies, or slaves you see on an old TV show, I found myself standing up, and walking with her to the back room. My face a mask of terror, and my guts turned to water. My GOD! Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Is all I could chant in my mind as I followed her like a good little slave, into the back room. Once there, I sat down in an ordinary chair, and waited. And waited. And waited. In darkness, and in terror.