The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Marilyn: A Christmas Coffee

Chapter One

“Umm... isn’t that a bit too much cinnamon?”

Beverly turned to look at their latest customer, just managing to suppress an angry glare. She was double-shifting tonight, the weather had been beyond chilly, and the Christmas shoppers, looking for a physical jolt and a bit of warmth on a cold day, had been coming into the coffee shop in droves.

Beverly, on the other hand, was just plain tired. Tired of mixing up coffee drinks all day. Tired of being on her feet all day. Tired of having to chant to herself, “The customer is always right... The customer is always right” all day in order not to take a swing at one of them when they complained how she’d made one of their frou-frou, “get it just right” concoctions.

She looked away from the customer and back down at his order. A “nonfat, sugar-free, dolce cinnamon latte with no whip cream, to go”, and yeah... perhaps her hands, running on autopilot now, had tapped a bit too much cinnamon into it.

“I hope not,” she said, looking over, forcing a smile onto her face, “But take a sip before you go, and if there’s too much for you, let me know and I’ll make you a new one... okay?”

She hated the plaintive nature of her reply, but knew if she had to toss his drink that today’s profit would be that much less. Beverly didn’t own the store, or even a small part of it, but in today’s tough economy, every penny was becoming more important... to the business, its owner, and ultimately, her job.

“Coffee Creations” was struggling to survive, the same as every other retail establishment, and that weighed on her. She didn’t really like working here, or working as a barista, period; but her Masters degree in journalism was practically worthless to her now, and she needed to make ends meet. Like everyone else, she needed to survive on her own, somehow.

“Okay,” he told her. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Thanks,” Beverly told him, walking over and handing him his drink. “It’s been a long day, and I do hope it’s okay like this.”

“It will be, I’m sure,” he told her, giving Beverly his best “I’m a nice guy... see?” smile, and handing her a ten.

She took it, giving him back her best “You’re a sweet guy for saying, and if the universe were a different place maybe we could fuck” smile in return. It wasn’t quite a true smile, as she wasn’t that attracted to him, and as she had no sexual interest in him at all. It made his smile a little wider, though, caused him stand up a little taller, and made her feel a little bit better... so what was wrong with the occasional facial “misdirection”?

He took his drink and his change and said, “Thanks.” Then he dropped a dollar in the tip can, turned, and walked out of the store without even bothering to take that sip.

Less than a half-hour to go, she thought, staring after him, feeling her heart sink a little deeper into her chest. She’d never imagined she’d be working in a place like this, or standing here giving any thought to the idea of some handsome, rich stranger walking through the door and pulling “An Officer and a Gentleman” on her. But here she was, and that’s what she was thinking... about some studly guy coming in and sweeping her into his arms and out into a life far different than what she was living now.

“No!” she said aloud, shaking her head. She’d always seen herself as making her own life, in dictating the ways and means of her own path through the world. That dream was starting to die, though, as she stood here behind the counter at “Coffee Creations”, making hot drinks for total strangers, and trying to pretend that she gave a damn about any of it.

Or that she didn’t give a damn that nothing in her life was the way she wanted it to be.

Still staring at the door, and still counting the minutes until she could take off and head back to her ratty apartment on the East Side, Beverly watched yet another customer enter.

Speaking of ratty, he was nothing like the last man, dressed instead in faded, torn jeans and an old, green zip-up jacket. Playing her normal game of guessing what each patron wanted before they asked, she thought, Coffee, black.

“Gimme the strongest thing you got... small,” he told her, looking from side-to-side and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

She could have asked him which blend he preferred, as they had three different ones they considered “strong”, but told herself, Fuck it... this clown wouldn’t know the difference between North and South America, much less Bolivian and Honduran blends, so just went to the cheapest, strongest coffee they sold, and started to pour him a cup.

It was some sixth sense that told her to turn back and check him out again, just in time to see him grab the tip can and go racing for the front door.

“Noooo!” she screamed, knowing that she hadn’t emptied it for hours, and that each time she’d meant to, another customer had been waiting and she hadn’t gotten around to it. There were hours’ worth of decent tips in that can for her and Liz, the other barista who’d been working tonight. Seeing it fill up had been the only good aspect of having to work so hard today, and for so long. She’d known, because of that, she’d have a bit more to show for all her efforts, for all the abuse she’d taken, and for all the pain in her feet from standing all through this miserable day.

Liz had just left to handle a family problem, leaving Beverly in charge of the last few customers and to close up the place, and she’d fucked it up for the two of them!

As the grungy thief got to the door, Beverly found herself lifting her body over the counter and running after him. A tiny part of her knew there was no logic in this, as she’d never catch him anyway, and that even if she did, he’d probably just hurt her and head off on his merry way.

But a greater part of her cried out in anger and frustration. He was stealing the skirt and blouse combo she’d promised to buy herself for Christmas, in lieu of anyone else getting her anything. He was running off with all the smiles she’d plastered on her face today, and all the times she’d swallowed the things she’d truly wanted to say, just in order to have a few customers toss their change, or a loose dollar or two, into that can.

Beverly rushed out into the snowy, dark, nearly deserted street, only to see the creep, tip can at his side, 30 yards down the sidewalk, and running fast. Even if he tripped and fell now she doubted she could catch him.

“BASTARD!” she screamed at his disappearing form. “You fucking BASTARD!”

Panting, she stood there, struggling not to drop to her knees in the snow and start sobbing. It had been such a long day, and she still had to close up, and everything about her life was hitting her all at once, making her ache so badly inside that she could barely stand it. Her life was a mess of unfulfilled expectations and desires, and now someone, whose life was probably even worse, had literally stolen another tiny dream of hers.

“Fucker,” she whispered to the air. “That blouse looked so good on me.”

Standing there, unable to get herself to move, Beverly felt a hand on her shoulder, and heard a soft voice saying, “Are you okay, dear?”

She turned to see another woman, perhaps ten years her senior, standing there in the blowing snow, wearing a blue vinyl Columbia jacket, and smiling at her.

“No,” was all she managed to say, staring at the attractive woman for a moment before lowering her eyes, and feeling the weight of her job, her life, and the world sinking down on her again.

The woman, Marilyn Kramer, watched her, what had just happened so obvious. She didn’t know this younger woman, but could understand exactly what she was feeling, and what she was going through.

She didn’t need her “gift” to see any of that.

“I’m sorry,” Marilyn told her, reaching out and pulling the other into her arms, needing, and trying, to make her feel better.

She hugged her close, feeling the young woman resisting for a moment, then melting against her. Sensing something in the way the other clutched at her, Marilyn allowed her latent ability to read people to have full reign. Since her early teens, she’d been able to sense and almost literally “see” what anyone was thinking, feeling, and wanting, simply by touching them and concentrating… as she was doing now.

Images of this stranger’s life and times began to fill her mind, telling her things, letting her know things for certain that she’d already guessed. There was such unhappiness in so many areas of her life… her job, where she lived, her social and sexual attachments. She needed and wanted so many things, and Marilyn couldn’t help but ache for her.

Beverly, for her part, barely knew what she was doing. She’d seen this other woman and felt her hand. When the other had said, “I’m sorry”, and basically pulled her into her arms, she’d allowed that, not knowing quite why. She did know right then, though, that more than anything, she needed a hug. She’d needed to know there was someone else in the world who gave a shit about what she was feeling, and who perhaps had some compassion for how badly she was hurting inside.

“It’s okay... it’s okay, sweetie,” Marilyn told her, still feeling the other’s wash of pain, feeling the disappointment and longing flowing out of her.

“He... he stole our tips. A blouse... was going to buy a skirt and blouse,” Beverly whispered, her mind whirling, thankful to have someone to hold her up, to help her carry that weight for a few moments. “I shoulda emptied the can earlier, but I was just so busy....”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Marilyn told her, “but it’s not the end of the world... you’ll see.” Marilyn gave her one last squeeze. “You’re going to freeze out here, though. Let’s go back in the shop and you can get me a coffee.”

“Yeah, okay,” Beverly said, not so close to crying anymore, and feeling a bit better, a bit warmer inside, if not out. “No use catching a cold just before Christmas.”

“No, that wouldn’t do at all,” Marilyn laughed, putting her arm over Beverly’s shoulders and guiding her toward the door. “My name’s Marilyn, by the way.”

“Hi, Marilyn,” Beverly said, looking up at her, “and thanks for the hug. I’m Beverly, and I really needed that.”

“I could tell, and it was my pleasure. Now,” Marilyn continued after they’d entered the shop, “do you think you could get me a Central America mild? You could probably use a warm up, too.”

“Sure, no problem,” Beverly told her, moving back around the counter. She poured each of them a cup, then came back and handed the one to Marilyn.

“On the house.”

“Thanks, Beverly, but I insist on being the first into your new tip, um... can,” Marilyn said, pulling a small wallet from a jacket pocket and looking around.

“You don’t have to, you know, but I’ll get a new one out for tomorrow, at least.”

Feeling better, Beverly went into the back, came out with another empty can, and set it down near the register. She’d label it “Tips” tomorrow, as just getting through these last couple of minutes before the shop closed was all she really cared about. This section of downtown was almost deserted this time of night, so there was never any real reason to stay open much after 9 PM, and it was very nearly that now.

“There you go,” she said.

“Thanks, hon. For you,” Marilyn told her, dropping a fifty into the can.

“Well, for me and Liz. She was here with me most of the day, but had to leave early.” Beverly explained, having seen the five on that bill, and thinking it was a more than generous tip.

“Ohh? In that case....” Marilyn took out a twenty and dropped it into the can, too.

Beverly saw the twenty clearly, her mouth opening, then grabbed the can and looked inside.

“Seventy dollars? You can’t tip us seventy dollars!”

Marilyn simply smiled at her. “You’re right. I know I can’t. I just read where the state has set lower limits on the amount a person can tip.

“But I’m a maverick. You won’t report me, will you?”

“But you don’t have to do that! I’m not such a weakling or as big a baby as I seemed out there. I don’t need your charity!” Beverly finished, feeling a flash of anger.

Marilyn just kept smiling, having expected such a reaction. “Settle down, Beverly, and just listen for a minute. Have you ever seen the movie, ‘Field of Dreams’?”

“Yes,” Beverly replied, subsiding just a little. It was one of her favorite movies, in fact.

“Do you remember James Earl Jones’ speech at the end, about why people would come from all over and be willing to pay just to watch the baseball field?”

“Yes.”

“He said, ‘for it’s money they have, and dreams they lack’. Well, I have money, so let me spend it on the dream of you going home tonight a bit happier, and then feeling even better when you buy those clothes for yourself. You wouldn’t begrudge an old woman spending a bit of her money to buy a dream, would you?”

“Well, no,” Beverly told her, biting at her lip, not quite able to grasp what was going on here. She was beginning to wonder, however, given the way Marilyn was looking at her, and how nice she was being, if the older woman wasn’t perhaps looking to buy something more than just “a dream”.

“And you’re not an old woman.”

“Thank you... glad you noticed, Beverly. One more thing, though. In the bible, Jesus said ‘and the greatest of these is charity’. He didn’t mean giving money to the poor there, you know. To him, charity was synonymous with love. Please don’t tell me that you don’t need love.”

Beverly didn’t know what to say for a moment, almost certain now that Marilyn was coming onto her. In a way, she was flattered, actually. However, though she had nothing against lesbians, she wasn’t one herself, and struggled to think of a way to let Marilyn know that.

Finally she smiled and said quietly, “Of course I do, but I did say I didn’t need your ‘charity’, Marilyn.”

“That may be true, dear, but could you stand a little company while you close the shop? This isn’t a bad part of town at all, but still...? You did just get robbed, and probably shouldn’t be here all alone.”

Beverly knew she’d be lying if she said differently, so simply responded, “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

“Good! I’ll just stand here and drink my coffee while you close, and maybe we can chat a little bit.”

And that’s what they did. Beverly locked the front door and turned off the “Open” light, rang out the register, split the tips as she and Liz had agreed, leaving Liz’s in an envelope under the counter, and cleaned up the shop while the two of them talked. She found it a very pleasant conversation, too, as Marilyn seemed a happy, interested, and intelligent person, and one more than willing to listen.

They exchanged a bit of history, with her telling Marilyn about college, her Masters, her struggles to find a job in an industry that was almost dying. She’d found out in return that Marilyn was wealthy, the former CEO of a large software development firm, and now its owner, that she was unmarried and without children, and lived in the ritzy, secluded part of the city.

It also became more apparent that Marilyn was indeed hitting on her.

For Marilyn’s part, from using her gift and seeing all those images and feelings in Beverly’s mind as they’d hugged, she pretty much already knew everything the attractive young barista was telling her, even before she said it. But she wanted to hear Beverly say it anyway, knowing the other needed to talk, and to not feel so alone, especially at this time of year.

That, and though she still had wonderful Jada at home, who’d fallen in love with her before Marilyn had hypnotized her and strengthened those feelings, she was now looking for more. Her house was so big, with all those empty bedrooms, and here Beverly was with almost no one, and starting to lose hope for her life, and being so definitely attractive to her.

“That’s about it,” Beverly told her, finally. “I just have to turn out the lights and go. Thank you for staying, Marilyn, and for your big tip. I’ll have enough for those clothes now. You really did salvage my day... though again, you didn’t have to.”

“No problem, and hopefully you realize that you’ve made my day, too.”

“No, I didn’t realize that, but thanks for saying,” Beverly told her, opening the shop door and shutting off the lights.

“Would you care to make my evening, too, Beverly?”

There it is, Beverly thought, as the two of them stepped out onto the sidewalk and she closed the door behind them. The strange thing about it, however, was she couldn’t just automatically make herself say “no”. She was enjoying her time with Marilyn, had little to go home to, and found herself not wanting that to end. She didn’t want to lead her new friend on, though.

“I take it by your hesitation that you’re thinking about it? That’s good, as I could use something stronger than coffee, and hate to drink alone. That’s where I was headed when I ran into you... down to ‘O’Leary’s’ on Third.” Marilyn had actually been heading for her car after completing some shopping, but Beverly didn’t need to know that.

“C’mon, it’s only a few blocks, and I’m buying.”

Oh screw it... why not? I could use a drink bad, too.

“Okay, okay... one drink, and well, don’t try to hit on me, all right? I’d have to be an idiot not to see that you seem interested in me in that way, and you’ll just force me to have to get rude. I don’t want that, especially considering how nice you’ve been to me.”

“I’ll agree to neither of those rules, dear, but you’ll survive your time with me quite nicely, I’m sure. So let’s just go and try to have a few laughs and a bit of fun.”

Even with the older woman’s response, Beverly found herself unable, and unwilling, to refuse, so the two of them walked down the snowy sidewalk to “O’Leary’s”. Once inside, and grateful for the warmth of the place, Beverly was surprised when all the bartenders and waitresses seemed to know Marilyn. Many of them appeared to even go out of their way to say hello as the two of them were ushered into a nice, private booth in a back room of the crowded bar.

“You come here a lot?” she asked Marilyn, as they took off their coats and sat down.

“Well yes, I do. Actually, I, um... own the place,” Marilyn told her with a bemused grin.

“Figures... figures, Miss Moneybags. Must be nice,” Beverly said with a laugh.

“It is, honestly, though it can be tough keeping tabs on everything, don’t kid yourself. In fact, I’ve been looking for an attractive younger woman to help me out there, someone with word and people skills. Interested?”

Interested? Beverly was stunned by the question, not believing she’d heard it. Not knowing what to say, she was happy for the distraction of a waitress coming up and asking what they wanted.

“I’ll have a bottle of Bud and a clean glass,” Marilyn told the waitress with a wink. “Beverly?”

“Um... a vodka, straight up, with some water on the side.”

“Make that a double, Grey Goose, Cath. Everything on my tab.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Kramer,” Cathy said, smiling and moving off toward the bar.

“Thanks, but a Bud?” Beverly asked, surprised that Marilyn had ordered something so... mundane... when she could obviously have anything she wanted.

“I like rice, and Missouri, what can I say?” Marilyn replied, sticking out her tongue. “But seriously, I do what I like, and what I want, and never worry about getting hung up on convention or appearances... unless, of course, they’re important for getting what I need.”

Beverly nodded. She could vouch for that, as she’d been surprised, when they’d chatted at the store, with how unaffected Marilyn was by her wealth. Ordering a commercial beer and wearing a thick, warm ski jacket when she could’ve been wearing a mink were just other examples of that.

“But you’re stalling. Are you interested in hearing about my job offer?”

“Well, I don’t know....”

“You’re planning on working retail for the rest of your life, waiting for the New York Times to suddenly start hiring again?”

Beverly grimaced, as right now that’s basically what she was doing, with no clear way out of her dead-end loop in sight. She didn’t hate working in the shop, but it was a close thing, especially as busy as they’d been lately. The hours and the customers were wearing on her, and the money was pretty lousy. She was getting sick of looking at coffee cups and containers all day, of trying to be nice to people always wanting her to hurry up and to make everything so perfectly. She liked Liz and the other baristas well enough, but the owner could be a real noodge sometimes. She didn’t yell a lot, but occasionally would take out her anger and fears about her own life on the staff, who had to stand there and just listen and deal with it as best they could

No, about the last thing she wanted to do was work retail for the rest of her life.

She wanted some autonomy; she wanted some excitement; she wanted to feel like she was making a difference to somebody.

“No, I’m not, Marilyn. We can talk about your offer.”

“Excellent! We can speak about that later, though, and just enjoy ourselves for now. I just wanted to see if you’d be amenable to the idea, and I’m glad you are. Heck, you can always say ‘no’, you know.”

Beverly nodded, as Cathy came back with their drinks. She couldn’t help but have the feeling, however, that saying “no” to Marilyn Kramer, in anything, would not be all that easy to do.