THE DRIVER

by Valen (valen_thyan@hotmail.com)



- 1 -

The dark sky became light and at some point, today 
became yesterday and tomorrow, today.  The café 
refilled itself with people and the waitress from the 
night before refilled his coffee cup.

"Cream?" she asked, somehow looking past him.  It 
seemed that customer service hadn't been high on 
her to-do list when preparing for her job.

"No, I-" she walked away, perhaps eager to serve 
customers who took cream in their coffee, as they 
should, "-drink it black," he finished anyway.

He'd successfully caused almost a full day to pass 
around him without actually experiencing anything.  
He'd have to try harder.

Looking at the waitress- now brewing a fresh pot of 
coffee- he saw a target.

Reality warped, and a new narrative was born.


Chantal hit the brew switch on the coffee maker and 
turned to go check on her orders.  She made it 
halfway to the kitchen door when it hit her.  
Suddenly, he knees had turned to rubber and she 
had to grab the counter for support.  Panicking, she 
looked up to see if anyone had noticed, but the 
customers seemed to be oblivious.

"Bathroom," she thought, and tried to move 
inconspicuously as fast as she could to the safe 
place.  She quickly closed the bathroom door and, 
leaning against it, her hand dropped to her crotch.  
Why was she feeling like this?  It was as though 
she'd just been having the best sex of her life but 
had stopped just before reaching an orgasm.

Massaging her lips through her pants wasn't enough 
to satisfy her, she needed to get off.  What the hell 
was going on?  One part of her mind was outraged 
that this was happening, and at work of all places.  
Meanwhile, another part decided that she might as 
well drop her pants and have a seat, since she was in 
the bathroom anyway.

The instant she felt her cool finger on her bare 
pussy, the rational part of her mind gave up.  The 
feelings were more intense than she'd ever known.  
A second hand joined the first and she slid two 
fingers into her wet snatch while using the other to 
tickle her clit.

She was, of course, no stranger to masturbation, but 
she'd never had sensations like this.  Pure lust 
gripped her entire body, and her muscled twitched 
involuntarily as she half-sat on the toilet.

Wishing she had more hands, Chantal abandoned 
her clit to knead her breasts through her work shirt.  
As her passion climbed, she pulled up her shirt and 
bra in one movement and rubbed her nipples.

It just kept building and building; as if there was no 
end to the heights of pleasure she could reach.  She 
felt herself teetering on the edge of consciousness, 
afraid she might faint and miss out on what 
promised to be the best orgasm of her life.

Just when she thought she could take no more, 
Chantal came. 

Her breath caught in her throat.  All the muscles in 
her body clenched as one.  Her eyes rolled back into 
her head.  She jammed her fingers so deep inside 
herself that later she'd swear she felt her cervix.  
Her hand gripped her tit so tightly the bruise would 
take a week to heal.

And it was all worth it.

For a moment, time stopped, and then, to make up 
for its indiscretion, exploded in her mind like a 
supernova. It sent little explosions all throughout 
her body.  Then her breath came back in gasps, her 
abdomen started contracting as if in childbirth.  She 
could feel her toenails tingling and there was a loud 
ringing in her ears.

They say all good things must end, and like all your 
quarters on the last mission of an arcade game, her 
energy was spent.  The fatigue began to creep in, 
soothing her high into a graceful decent into a bed 
of pure satisfaction.

She sat on the toilet a few more minutes before 
reluctantly returning to reality.

Panic gripped her once more as she realized what 
she had just done.  Did she make any sounds?  She 
couldn't be sure, but she was terrified that someone 
outside would've heard her if he had.  She quickly 
appraised the situation inside her bathroom.  It still 
smelled like a normal bathroom.  The toilet seat was 
wet with her cum, but a wad of toilet paper or two 
would fix that right up.

She looked at herself in the mirror.  Her clothing 
was in complete disarray, and her hair had 
somehow taken on a life of its own.  With a tiny bit 
of horror she realized that her pants were still 
around her ankles and quickly pulled them up, 
tucking in her shirt.

With a bit of water, she fixed her hair the best she 
could and decided that she was about as presentable 
as she was going to get.

Just then some new feelings came over her.

Back in high school, she used to be on the track and 
field team, and had had the opportunity to run a few 
very long races.  Her body felt now the same as it 
did then.  Fatigue burnt in her arms and legs.  Her 
stomach felt as though she'd just done a thousand 
sit-ups.  There were a few unusually sharper pains 
on the inside of her mouth, and one of her tits.  And 
beneath it all there was a dull, but insistent throb 
somewhere deep inside her.

"Ok, the story is: you're feeling sick and you just 
puked.  Maybe you can get the evening off," she 
whispered at her flushed reflection in the mirror.

With nothing left for her to do in here, she deftly 
brought her apprehension under control and set her 
face in what she hoped was a determined, but ill, 
visage.

She opened the bathroom door and walked out to 
face the music, as it were.


He didn't really care too much about his room-
temperature coffee now.  He had switched seats at 
his table so he could see down the short hallway to 
the bathrooms.

As if on cue, the waitress emerged, face a bit 
flushed and looking a lot more tired.

He couldn't help but smile.  It's not that he wanted 
to make her feel any worse, he just found it terribly 
erotic to think that she just fingered herself to the 
best orgasm of her life, right there in the bathroom.

For a second their eyes met as she came down the 
hallway to the counter, but she looked away 
immediately.  It seemed to him that that was the 
first time she'd really seen him at all, despite the 
fact that he hadn't moved from his table in almost 
24 hours. 

She went straight to the kitchen, where she would 
recite her impromptu soliloquy on how sick she 
suddenly felt.

He felt a bit guilty that he knew much more about 
her than she of him, and figured maybe he'd invite 
her somewhere for a chat.

Coming out of the kitchen, her coat on and glad to 
be leaving, Chantal walked to the door, glancing at 
him briefly with a bit of a worried expression.

"Now or never," he thought.

He headed for the door after her.

She welcomed the fresh, cool air outside but her 
relief was cut short when she noticed that he'd 
followed her.

She could run, maybe, she could use her keys as a 
weapon.  She could just scream.

"Hi Chantal," he said in an easy voice.

"Uh," she cleverly replied.

"Hey, I'm not trying to freak you out or anything, I 
just wanted to know if you wanted to go talk 
somewhere or something," he said, wishing he'd 
sounded more confident.

"Uh," she reiterated, and after some quick thought, 
"how do you know my name?"  She looked at him 
accusingly.

Now it was his turn to say, "uh," as his eyes move 
to the nametag, still visible beneath her open coat.

Suddenly she felt ridiculous for being so paranoid.  
This was just a normal guy.  There was no reason to 
feel nervous or anything, he was just hitting on her.  
Just as she was about to shoot him down, something 
caught her attention.  Maybe it was the peaceful 
expression on his face, or way he was standing, but 
she found herself tempted to accept his offer, and 
even to invite him to her own apartment.

"Do you need a ride?" he asked, non-threateningly.  
He began moving to the street where a cute, sliver, 
two-seater was parked and pulled out a key.  The 
car alarm made a strangled little noise protesting its 
disarmament.

"Ok," she finally conceded.  At least with a car like 
that he's not some bum off the streets who's going 
to want to start living in my apartment.

Chantal and her new friend got into the new-
smelling sports car and drove toward her place.  She 
made a point of giving him directions, so she could 
convince herself that he wasn't some stalker that 
knew where she lived.

He didn't say anything on the way there, but wore a 
curious smile.  Somewhere in her mind, a tiny voice 
thought something was wrong, but with nothing to 
back it up, she ignored it.

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comments, questions, adulation: valen_thyan@hotmail.com
other stories can be found at: /~valen