Content Warnings:
-------------------------------------------------------------
If you are unfamiliar with espresso machines, scroll to the bottom for a spoiler image.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Inspection
Alison inhaled before she lifted her body off the ground. Weakly, her thin arms pushed up, tried and failed to push her up. She remained prone, pants and underwear at her knees. Exposed to the cold floor.
She had never been so isolated, so sore, so helpless. She was terrified of what was to come, of how easily this anonymous person, whoever it was, had convinced a man she thought was her friend to assault her body in the worst way.
Her head buzzed. Ached. Hurt. Her eyes couldn’t focus. Am....I....concussion? For a brief moment it felt as if Marvin had cracked her skull under the pressure.
I...doctor...help
*ping*
She froze. How could this be? Wasn’t this nightmare over?
Her body curled to bring her phone, still tucked in her pocket, close enough to grab ever so slowly. She stared at it, still blurry, as it unlocked. Alison squinted, trying to read, as if she was studying English.
*ping*: “Fun, right? It sounded like you really got into it.”
She had forgotten where each letter was organized on the keyboard. One by one she typed.
Alison: “No.”
*ping*: “What do you want me to say? Poor baby? Poor Ali? Tell me, does it feel like your coffee shop still has the same appeal it did this morning? Would your grandmother be proud of you?”
She sniffled. More silence.
*ping*: “I am sure she would be. This is probably the same way your grandmother did things too.”
*ping*: “By the way, you are on the pill right?”
Alison thought for a moment. Her eyes widened. I didn’t refill my prescription on Friday, she recalled.
*ping*: “It doesn’t matter, really. Unless your little tryst ruins that perfect body of yours.”
She remained focused on the prescription. Wait, did I take it this morning? Or yesterday? Alison’s thoughts were jumbled. The ache between her legs left little room for anything else except a ringing in her ears.
*ping*: “Still there Ali?”
Alison: “I am here. Please stop. Are we done?”
*ping*: “I have to say your grunts and groans did almost push me over the edge. I especially liked that guy you were with, he was fun. But no, I haven’t cum yet, just edging.”
Her stomach dropped. He was just toying with her.
*ping*: “You know something fun, Ali? I printed out one of your photos and I’ve been rubbing my precum on it. Would you like to guess with photo?”
Alison: “No.”
*ping*: “That’s okay. You are soaked. I don’t think I’ve ever had this much precum. It’s kind of fucking up the ink actually. I might need to print a different photo.”
Alison: “You are fucking gross. You are a monster. No wonder you are alone.”
The phone remained silent. One minute. Two. Alison’s heart began to race with anxiety as she anticipated what may be happening on the other end of the conversation.
Finally, she felt the strangest relief. Not a true relief, only relief in that she had more information of what would come next.
*ping*: “I’m gross? You just sucked off an old man and let a stranger fuck you, Ali. Come on now.”
Alison: “You are gross.”
*ping*: “You know what’s gross? Coffee. I never liked it. The only thing all of you stuck up cunts see in coffee is an excuse to drink a bunch of cream and sugar. But you don’t need coffee to drink cream, right Ali?
”*ping*: “For insulting me, Ali, you are going to make coffee somehow even worse. I have visited your coffee shop before. I know you have those annoying bitchy espresso machines. I think yours is silver with a black handle, right, Ali?”
She glanced over at the machine behind the counter, shining and polished.
Alison: “Yes.”
*ping*: “Put the handle up your ass.”
She was speechless. After everything she had endured today, somehow this felt like true, simple disrespect. Alison had devoted the last year of her life to coffee. Trying to find the right beans with the right roasting and tasting notes. The right machines to extract the most flavor and warmest smells. It is where she invested her inheritance, and where she felt her future would lie.
Alison exhaled, looked down at the floor, and dragged herself over to the counter. She tried to pull up her underwear and pants, both of which were sloppy and uneven on her body. Her small hand raised to the machine, just as it had hundreds of times before. She twisted the handle and pulled it out of its locked position.
When she first purchased the machine, the handle’s weight had given a sense of professionalism, durability, and luxury. Now it felt like a club ready to subdue its opponent, girthy and thick in her hand.
Alison: “I can’t, that is not sanitary.”
*ping*: “But getting barebacked by a stranger is? Put it up your ass, Ali.”
Her mind resigned. There was no point anymore. Nothing mattered. Her business. Her body. Her grandmother. Her existence. It was all meaningless. So there was no point in arguing anymore.
Alison pulled her pants back down to her ankles. She crouched, just as she had done dozens of times on camping trips and the occasional music festival.
She brought the thick black handle down beneath her body. She felt the cold metal press against her anus. She began to press it forward, but the friction was too great.
Alison: “It won’t go in.”
*ping*: “Why not? I’m sure you’ve taken big cocks before, right Ali? Up that tight little ass of yours?”
Alison: “I need lube.”
*ping*: “Sure you do. All of you bops have lube all the time. Either suck it and spit on it or get some of that other guy’s cum. It’s still inside you, isn’t it?”
It was. But Alison did not want to feel that. Bringing her humiliation, her weakness, as slime into her own hand.
So Alison spat into her hand. She worked it over the tip of the handle, sliding and smoothing it around. More spit, more stroking. And again.
Finally Alison felt the handle may have enough spit on it to potentially fit inside her ass. only for a moment. That was all she would have to do. Just a moment.
She held the handle upright, aligned it, and began to lower her body. The pressure mounted, and her brown star began to spread open. Her weight pressed down, pushing the hard, cold handle inside her body. She whimpered and winced and sniffled in pain.
Once an inch was inside her body, Alison took her phone, trying to find the right angle for a photo. SEND.
*ping*: “That’s it, Ali, good little bitch. But I think you can take it deeper than that. Come on girl, push it. Imagine that was my cock in there.”
Alison’s empty eyes stared at the phone, and she lowered herself further. Two, three, a full four inches disappeared inside her, down to the silver end of the portafilter. She took another photo, showing the handle fully hidden, and her bare pussy for the camera.
She could barely focus, between the discomfort, the camera work, and the terror of her future, or whatever remained of it.
SEND.
*ping*: “There, we go, baby. That’s it.”
As Alison awaited her next command, the front door opened with a creak.
She sprung up, but upon standing, screamed out in pain as the handle shifted inside her. She crumbled back to the ground.
The new guest ran quickly behind the counter.
“Oh my, are you okay, I just - oh -“
There he saw Alison, curled in the fetal position, whimpering and crying, exhausted, pants at her ankles, and just the silver shine of an espresso portafilter visible between her buttocks.
“I, wow-“ the man said. “My luck-“
He knelt down next to her.
“Are you Alison Weathers, owner of Drips Coffee?”
She looked up at him, barely turning her head. Her bloodshot eyes told him yes, she was.
“I’m Ronald. I’m here for a health inspection.”
Alison could barely understand. Her eyes drifted back down. This was it. The end of Drips Coffee, the end of her career, the end of her life as she knew it.
Ronald looked around her body. He saw her phone, still in her hand, unlocked. He took it, and stood up.
Alison tried to protest, but could barely muster the energy.
Ronald began to scroll. And scroll. And scroll.
“Oh Alison, you have been a bad girl, haven’t you?” Ronald flipped the phone around to show Alison a photo of herself with a beer bottle inside her pussy.
“You know,” he continued, as he began to tap her phone. SELECT ALL. “most other inspectors would just fail you on the spot and close your doors.”
Ronald took out his own phone, unlocked it, and held it up. His eyes moved back to Alison’s phone. TRANSFER.
He smiled and knelt back down to her.
“But I’m much nicer than other inspectors. I can see you’ve been through a lot today. Is that right?”
Her head dropped and she weakly nodded in agreement.
“I am not going to fail you. I am actually going to give you flying colors, but first you are going to do something for me.”
Her eyes widened as he looked up in terror. She winced again, feeling the pressure of the handle inside herself.
“You are going to help me get off. My wife left a few weeks ago, and I have been one horny motherfucker. I won’t make you do it for me, don’t worry. You just get up on this counter and that’ll be it.”
*ping*
Alison looked up at Ronald. A new man, who she had never met before, never seen before, now was observing, and apparently enjoying, her degraded state.
*ping*
“Come on, Alison, get a move on, I can’t be here all day.”
Alison began to push herself up in jagged, prolonged movements. Upon reaching her hands and knees, she began moving her arm back to remove the handle from her raw anus.
Ronald quickly tapped her wrist. “No no, that stays,” he laughed. “Silly Alison.”
*ping*
Alison brought one foot under her body for support. She pushed up, and rolled her body up until she was hunched over, but standing. The same position her body remembered from hangovers and the flu. Except this time, the small silver cup at the end of the portafilter hung from her like a short, stubby, inadequate tail.
“Up on the counter.” He patted the marbled surface next to the espresso machine.
Alison felt she had aged fifty years in so many minutes. “I can’t- it is too high.”
Ronald thought for a moment. “Good point. Here-“
Without warning, Ronald bent over, threw Alison over his should as a fireman would, and placed her on the counter. She leaned against the espresso machine, careful to position herself to not sit directly on the painful handle.
“There we go,” Ronald said. He took a step back, satisfied. He observed her, broken, alone, and exactly what he wanted.
*ping*
Alison watched passively as Ronald unzipped his fly. He struggled for a moment, then produced his soft penis, and began to stroke. It was small, barely visible behind the two fingers that tugged at it. He moved slow, pulling it to its full length, before starting over.
*ping*
“Fuck you are popular, Alison. Rub your pussy for me.”
Robotically, her mind gone, Alison began to rub circles around her clit. She felt no pleasure. She barely felt anything. She only felt like a hollow soul desperate but unable to scream out in pain.
*ping*
Ronald looked behind Alison at the espresso machine. He released himself for a moment, as he struggled to dislodge the other portafilter from the machine. With a SNAP it broke, leaving only the thick black handle in his hand without its previously-attached silver cup.
“Sorry about that,” he began. “But this will be fine. Fuck yourself with this.” He gave Alison the broken handle of her expensive coffee machine. She briefly stared. Now even her prized espresso machine was broken.
More failure. More heartache. More pain.
She brought the handle down and pushed it smoothly inside herself. She had never felt so stretched, but for so long she had been rubbing herself, performing, that her pussy was ready to receive. Not to mention she had just been mounted by Marvin, which must have made things easier.
“That’s it, baby.” Ronald began stroking himself faster. She saw him begin to grow, as he eagerly stroked and focused his attention on her holes. He observed the first portafilter still firmly parked in her ass, and the new broken one sliding in and out of her cunt.
*ping*
“You like being filled up, Alison? Is that why you got this machine? So you could fuck the handles? Use them as toys? Pretend they are nice hard black cocks?”
*ping*
Alison was disgusted at his commentary, which she felt was cheap and amateurish and desperate. But the whole day had been a nightmare, so it also felt strangely in line.
“Fuck yes I know you love having both of those holes filled,” Ronald continued, muttering to himself as he rapidly jerked himself. “Shove that one up in your pussy then suck your toes, Alison. I want to see you sucking those nice bare feet.”
Paul had been kinky, but never had she actually encountered someone with a foot fetish. She thought it was just the stuff of only existed online in memes and jokes. But here was a man, albeit a strange man, asking her, or really instructing her, to suck her toes.
*ping*
Alison weakly raised her bare feet toward her face, a struggle with her pants still around her ankles. She observed her nail polish, dark blue, contrasting with her pale white skin, slightly worn down from the last few days. She hesitantly kissed her toes.
“Mmmm look at those nice slender feet,” Ronald groaned, “that’s right baby, suck on them.”
*ping*
She did as she was told. Alison tasted the dirt from the floor. She felt crumbs, previously stuck to her bare feet, on her tongue.
Alison felt the handle inside her pussy beginning to slip out with the new angle of her hips. Relief was in sight, perhaps. But Ronald released himself, pushed the handle fully back inside her, and resumed stroking.
*ping*
“Fuck those pings are annoying. Here,”
Ronald grabbed her phone and swiped on the chat.
Alison tried to object, “No, don’t-“
Ronald tapped DELETE AND BLOCK.
“There, now we won’t be bothered anymore. Now keep that fucking handle inside you, Alison. Fill that little cunt. Keep those holes plugged, I know you love it, all you sluts do.”
Alison was horrified. Not at what she was doing, she had broken from that a long time ago. She was terrified that her anonymous master would not understand what happened. That she was ignoring his messages. That he would deem that to be disobedience and post her images online and share them with family. Even after everything she had done.
As Alison thought about what the consequences could be for ignoring those messages, for blocking the sender, Ronald held up his phone and snapped a photo of Alison, on her own counter, leaned against her broken espresso machine, portafilters in both of her holes, sucking on her toes. He smiled, proud of himself, and enjoying the thrill of her subservience.
She continued to lick her toes. Ronald then took two steps closer to Alison, leaned his hips forward, and moaned.
“Fuck, here it comes baby, my little coffee barista going to take my cum!” he moaned before shooting a thick white rope onto Alison’s hip.
She shuddered as the next spurt hit the side of her ass, and the next. She looked at Ronald’s face, red and desperate, as he maintained his pace stroking.
“Bitch, that’s right, take my cum,” he grunted as the next few drops landed on the floor.
Alison held still, both of her holes still full of her beloved espresso machine. Crumbs from the floor on her tongue.
The cafe was lost. No more cleanliness. No more safety. This was her punishment. But for what? For trying her hardest? For setting her mind to something? For being a slut? For expressing her own sexuality with boyfriends?
Ronald quickly zipped himself back up and walked over to his briefcase.
He removed a full page “A - PASS” page, and taped it in the front window.
“Alison, I am pleased to give Drips Coffee a passing grade, and I will see you again for the next inspection in 6 months.” And Ronald abruptly walked out the door, back to his car.
Alison tried to gather her feelings, her senses, her body. She removed the handles from her body, she spat out the crumbs in her mouth, and tried to get down from the counter. But Alison fell off the counter, face first, and smashed into the hard floor. There she lay, bloody, until she had regained the strength to stand.
Her mind wandered back to the anonymous chat. She had no way to know what he was thinking on the other end of the phone. Or what he would do. Maybe it would all go away. Maybe it would be her worst nightmare. She felt...guilty? She felt like she had somehow abandoned their dynamic. Their horrible, non-consensual dynamic.
A small drip fell from Alison's body onto the floor. She looked down, unsure what it could be. Was that ejaculate from Ronald, mostly still stuck to her hip? Or from Marvin, leaking from inside her body? Or maybe it was her own sweat or juices. Alison locked the door of Drips Coffee and finally sobbed, unsure if she would ever unlock that door again.
End of chapter 5
-------------------------------------------------------------
► Show Spoiler
