Mocha Dreams, Dark Desires—The insidiously sexy sequel to Lust and Lattes!

A cute college dropout gets a cool new job at a trendy, newly renovated book store/coffee shop in town. But something isn't right amid the those shelves of books and stacks of expresso beans, something seeping into the minds of the patrons, her coworkers, and, soon, her as well!

Check my new story out on Smashwords, or read on to enjoy the first three chapters for free!

Free Demon Mind Control Story Sample Below

Dropped out of college with no plan and no direction, the cute, tan-skinned red-head takes a job at a local coffee shop and bookstore known as the Ivory Pages. Everything seems amazing—her manager is cute, everyone is friendly, and she gets feelings of warmth and acceptance just being there.

But Cynthia slowly realizes something is wrong as those warm feelings begin to warp and twist into something far darker, filling her mind with deviant desires and debased lusts. Her manager's increasingly intimate discipline leaves her dripping with need, and the shop's stunningly beautiful owner seems to hold everyone in her thrall.

With her mind reeling and her own thoughts betraying her, Cynthia scrambles to understand what's going on, and what it is she even truly wants. With the bands of control steadily tightening on her psyche, will she discover the truth in time to save herself? But even if she does, it is even possible to walk away from the dark pleasures on offer in the darkest bowels of the Ivory Pages?

Mocha Dreams, Dark Desires is an insidiously sexy story with scenes of mind control, corruption, submission, BDSM and more!

Get it on Smashwords here!

1

You know, it's really amazing how something as small as a part-time job can wind up changing so much. The way you view the world. The things you're into. How you think. How you exist.

Literally everything.

I'd been lost for weeks. My fall semester at Colorado University went poorly, and things weren't looking better for. With my scholarship gone, the only thing I could do was take the semester off and hope to figure things out. And so, with nothing better to do, I applied to the local bookstores and coffee shops to find a job to pass the time.

College dropout barista. Original, huh?

For a while, I thought I wouldn't even be that. Nowhere was hiring. The closest I got was an interview at this indie bookstore, a rundown little place tucked into a corner of nowhere; the kind of place smug college students went to for hipster cred. Right up my alley, in other words.

They wanted me to replace someone who had stopped showing up, which seemed simple enough. But then the missing person did show up, and it was like everything changed. They stopped returning my calls. The place even shut down for several days. It was weird.

But it wasn't until they called me back a few weeks later, asking if I still wanted the job, that I would learn just how weird it was.

When I showed up for my interview, the whole place had changed. It had a new storefront. "The Ivory Pages," it read, done up in a sleek new display. Inside, they had remodeled everything with a sleek, modern look; recessed lighting and an almost mazelike design that a person could get lost in. They had expanded the coffee bar installing a small stage for live music in the evenings. It was crazy.

It was so crowded that first night; it was almost overwhelming. There weren't just hipsters hanging around anymore, but trendy folks from all walks of life. And they all looked like they knew exactly where they belonged—not just standing around awkwardly, staring at the counter like I was. It was a bit intimidating, to be honest.

Strangest of all, the person running the place was a woman named Amanda, the person I was originally going to replace, if you can believe it. It shocked me when I saw her approach, this thin girl in leather pants and jacket, formal blouse, and black lipstick. She looked like some kind of goth business exec.

But then she smiled at me with these eyes like sapphires, and it was like all my apprehension melted away. I probably should have known something was off right then. But it never seems to work that way, does it?

"I know you're worried," she said, taking a sip of coffee at the bar. "But trust me, you're going to feel right at home. People like you are just what we need."

A sheepish smile pulled at my lips. "People like me?"

I could have sworn her eyes almost seemed to glow, but her smile was so nice that I barely noticed. "People who are eager. Sweet. Maybe a little innocent." She nodded at me. "Stuff like that helps people open up. And that's what I'm really looking for."

As she spoke, it was like I could feel a warmth settle over me, making me feel comfortable. Safe. Like I could really find myself working there. "What will I be doing?" I asked, growing excited.

Her smile grew slightly. "I'll show you."

Amanda introduced me to Blake, the cute, lanky, sleepy-eyed manager of the coffee bar, and I knew right away they were a thing. The way she touched his arm as she introduced me, the heat in their eyes when they looked at one another. I could practically see the sparks. Normally, that kind of thing would make me uncomfortable, but there was something about the energy of the place. The atmosphere, you know? It made me feel like it was OK. Normal.

I felt Amanda's fingers rest on my shoulders, squeezing them lightly. "So, Blake, it turns out that Cynthia here was still looking for a job, even after all the disruptions and delays. Between my promotion and our expansion, I figured we could use the extra person."

I didn't quite get the look she flashed Blake, then. But to be honest, the feeling of her hands on my shoulders was too distracting. I don't normally like to be touched, but there was something about that place. Something about her. I could feel that warmth, murmuring and bubbling like soft voices in my head, telling me it was good. Telling me it was right. Telling me to relax.

I thought it was just the chill atmosphere of the place, helping me finally open up. When my mind drifts back to that first night, knowing who I was. Knowing what was happening, I still get chills.

"Thanks so much for this opportunity," I said. "It's so hard to find a place in town with a flexible schedule. I'm so excited about getting started!"

"Not as excited as us, I promise you." Amanda said, giving me a final squeeze of my shoulders.

I was practically high on the place. High on the idea of working there. The feeling was so intense that I barely noticed the way Blake looked from Amanda to me. Barely noticed the apprehension, the almost sadness.

But when he spoke, it was gone, and there was only that congenial smile and those sleepy eyes looking at me. "All right, sure. I'll show her around here when we get done," he said as I explored the dimly lit coffee bar.

"I can't wait!" I said, poking the espresso machine, so shiny it must have been brand new.

"She can't wait!" Amanda said to Blake behind me with a soft, velvet laugh.

As strange as it was in hindsight, that first night—the only night I was there that late for such a long, long time—was one of the best I ever had. Blake was kind, funny, and a little spacey. He seemed to know what he was doing, and just being around him made me feel comfortable, but he wasn't someone I'd have pegged to run a coffee bar at a fancy new bookstore.

But there was once, there at the end, as I was grooving to the live jazz band playing, that I turned to see Blake looking at me, an odd expression on his face.

I leaned over to him. "Are you okay? You look a little sick..." Without really meaning to, I reached over and put my hand on his shoulder.

My hand felt strange as it touched him. Like tingling feathers running up and down my fingers. It was only for a moment, and I wouldn't have even noticed if not for the look in Blake's gray eyes and the peculiar thought that rose in my mind almost simultaneously.

I mustn't ever disappoint him.

I blinked, feeling a wave of confusion. But Blake shook his head and looked away. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a little dizzy, there. No big deal. Why don't I show you how to work the espresso machine, real quick?"

And so he did, walking me through everything I needed to know to be a Grade A barista. Or at least a good junior one. I didn't get anymore strange thoughts popping in my head, but that murmuring warmth didn't go away until I left later on that night, with Blake staying behind to close up. And even then, it left a happy afterglow in my mind that stayed with me until I got home and went to bed.

And even then, as I lay in bed, the last thing I thought before the wafting tendrils of sleep pulled me down was, I won't ever disappoint him. Never, ever. No matter what.

 

***

 

2

It was so nice working for Blake those first few days. He was so friendly and helpful. He would stand by as I worked the counter, and just having him there made all the difference. I could feel his eyes on me while I did my work, serving the men and women who came. 

It's how I knew the job was for me, you know? Every time I took their order, every time I gave them what they wanted, that same murmuring warmth would rise; a happy little whisper in my head telling me what a wonderful job I was doing. 

I could never make it out exactly, mind you, but it felt good, and by the end of my shift each day, I was practically buzzing.

One morning I came in, eager to get things set up and going for the day, when I found Blake and Amanda sitting together at one of the round tables near the bar. They were staring silently into one another's eyes, her hands in his. I'd see their expressions shift, even though they didn't speak, like they were reading each other's minds.

It wasn't the first time I had found them doing something like this, and it always left me feeling like I was looking in on something profoundly intimate. I blushed slightly as I passed, only stopping when I felt Amanda's gaze fall on me.

"Blake's been telling me you've been settling in well, Cynthia," she said, smiling.

"It's been easy with everyone here being so nice," I said cheerfully.

Amanda's eyes sparkled. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, rising to walk towards me. In the bright light, I felt almost entranced by her features; her smooth, pale skin, sharp chin and smooth, high cheekbones. Her tall, slender frame still blessed with clear and supple curves. Her lips remained painted black, an almost sinister touch to her beauty.

Amanda reached out to gently touch my cheek. "And you've been doing everything you can?" she asked softly. "To fit in. To make Blake proud?"

Her touch startled me—her touch and the increasingly familiar warmth that flooded my mind as she did.

Never disappoint him. Never, ever.

"Y-yeah, of course," I said, the murmurs rising in my mind. I could feel my lip trembling. "I'd do anything for him. He's great."

A smile played at the corners of her dark lips. "Oh? Anything?"

I felt my blush deepen, not realizing what I had just said.

"She's been doing great, Amanda," Blake said, stepping up to the two of us. "I have zero complaints."

The statuesque goth woman looked askance at her friend—her lover? Her partner?—her smile deepening. She withdrew her hand from my cheek, and I could feel the skin still tingling just from her touch. "I can tell. Just wanting to ensure her superb performance continues."

He cocked his head slightly, giving her a cheeky grin. "I can't imagine that being a problem, yeah? Everyone loves her."

"And I love the job," I added in as even a tone as I could manage.

Amanda shifted her gaze back to me, those shimmering sapphire eyes seeming to peer deep inside me. She booped me lightly on the nose. "And I'm sure that'll only continue."

She leaned back to give kiss Blake tenderly on the lips, winking at him before heading towards her back office.

"Don't worry," Blake said, leading me back behind the counter. "Amanda can be... intense sometimes. You're doing fine."

"Thanks," I murmured, my heart beating fast.

Those occasional interactions didn't change how much I enjoyed the job. And even when they happened, afterward I only enjoyed the job more, feeling even more determined to do well and make Blake proud.

Whatever it took. Whatever I had to do.

It was a day after that last interaction that things turned. I came home one day—almost skipping from being in such a good mood—when I found a package on my front door. There was no label, no return address. It was cute, though. A square box with crimson wrapping and with a gold ribbon tied around it.

I was definitely curious. Who wouldn't be? But when I brought it inside and opened it up, my eyes went wide in surprise. Inside were designer skirts. Short designer skirts. Ones of various designs and colors. There were red ones and black ones and pink ones. Frilly ones and silky ones and plaid ones.

And all of them had my name printed on the inside band.

Needless to say, that left me considerably weirded out.

I stored the box in my closet, not really knowing what else to do. When I got to work the next day, without even meaning to, I brought it up to Blake. It was as if something inside me needed to tell him. I was so excited to work with him, to see him; and it was like—it was like the voice inside me was telling me it was okay to tell him. That he could help me.

"Wow. That is weird," he said, resting his elbow on the espresso machine. "And, like, you've no idea who sent them?"

I shook my head. "No idea. Do you think I should just, I don't know, throw them out?"

Blake said nothing, though the concern on his face was clear as he scratched his long, stubbled chin. When he still didn't speak, I wondered if he hadn't heard me. Before I could repeat my question, however, one of the book side clerks who was standing nearby, a blonde girl named Stacie, glanced my way. "Say? What do they look like?"

"Well," I paused. Standing there, at this cool bookstore with my chill manager, I suddenly found it hard to be as upset as I had been the previous night when I had found them. I thought about how they looked, remembering the feel of the expensive fabric as I held them. Smooth and cool and pleasant on my fingers. And so expertly crafted, too. "They're mini skirts. I g-guess they're kind of cute."

She raised an eyebrow. "Cute?"

I blushed at what I'd just said, but still I kept on. "Yeah, like... the colors are nice and vibrant. And I guess they did a good job with the designs. The material was really soft, too."

"Hmmm." Stacie said, smirking as she stepped over, her ponytail bobbing with each step. "Did you try them on?"

"No!" I blurted. But then the thought hit me, how they would have actually shown off my legs hips really well. Not to mention my butt...

"Seems like a nice gift to me," Stacie said, leaning against the counter. "I mean—you're really cute; with that mocha skin of yours and those cute red curls."

She giggled, her eyes running up my body as she bit her lip. "If you wore something like that, I'd have a hard time not licking you right up."

The words struck me silent in surprise. I opened my mouth to respond, but it was like the words just slid away. Stacie had always been playful. Even a bit flirty. But the way she looked at me in that moment made my stomach drop.

But as I tried to form a response. A rebuke, a polite dismissal, even just a thank you, it was like it all faded. The warm murmurs rose in my mind, cradling me. Soothing me.

She just thought I was cute. And is just being a little more playful than normal. That was OK, right?

OK for her to want to run her tongue along my neck; for her to want her hands running through my hair; to press her lips on mine. To have her naked body against me. It's OK. Better than OK.

I like it.

I don't know what happened. The thought was only a warm whisper in my mind, but the sudden rush of arousal was fast and immediate. I could feel the heat in my face, the flush in my cheeks—and not from embarrassment.

Stacie grinned at my continued silence and reddening face. "Relax," she said. "I was just messing with you."

I laughed nervously as she walked back towards the shelves. I couldn't take my eyes off her; her long, shapely legs, the way her tight jeans hugged her hips, the way her t-shirt was so tight across her chest.

"You, like, feeling all right, Cynthia?" Blake said, staring at me with an arched brow.

I nodded, feeling my heart pounding against my chest. "Yeah, sorry. Just—you know. Got taken aback, is all."

"I'll talk to Stacie," he said. "That was a little much, even for—"

"No!" I blurted. "It's fine. It was... it was just a compliment. Um, it felt kinda good, actually."

He smiled. "Sure. Still, maybe take your break. Go get some water or something. You're still getting into the swing of things."

I felt the sudden, powerful urge to go into the bathroom and touch myself. To pull down my shorts and panties and slide my fingers inside me. To play with my sensitive little kitty until the pressure building in my head went away.

To cum, thinking about Stacie eating me out.

"Cynthia?"

"Nope," I squeaked. "I don't need a break! I'm fine!"

If you enjoyed this preview, and want to read the rest, you can find it here on Smashwords!