Carol's Coffee Shop

Carol dove sleekly into the water and swam to the raft about fifty yards out. No one bothered her as she swam. The women had swum next to the raft and surrounded it, not wanting to leave the shelter of the water yet. When Carol reached the ladder, she climbed up, the water streaming off her naked body as she stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. She was alone on the platform, surrounded by the eager men in the water, her acolytes. Eventually they clambered onto the raft, lounging at her feet. None minded displaying their dicks. She had her pick, but the sizes were affected by the lake's coolness. It would take some effort to help them grow to a dangerous length. That was the trouble. Should she give her attention to just one, two, five, or all dozen of them? They had been boys she grew up with on this side of the mountain, but they were no longer kids. They were mature men with intense desires, all directed toward her. The other girls could not have been happy.

The sky was clear, sprinkled with stars, and hosted the wicked smile of a waning crescent moon. A gentle night breeze began to stir and goosebumps dimpled her body. It was time to go back. After a while, led by Jorie, the other young women swam naked back to the pier, picked up their suits. They summoned the men to follow them, waving their hands and their bodies to entice them, but the men waited for Carol.

She executed a perfect dive smoothly breaking the lake's surface. When she came up, she told the men, "Race you!" They accepted her challenge and tore toward the shore and the pier. That way they could see her when she came out of the water, too.

Carol had swum leisurely to the pier. She swept her hair back off her face. Climbing the steel ladder made her hips swing like she was doing a cha-cha. As she stepped onto the pier, she noticed that one man was behind her. A man with a broad smile and muscular shoulders. He climbed up the ladder and stood exposed before her. It was Brock. She had dated him once or twice, but he didn't seem to be that taken with her.

Brock shook and stripped the water off his limbs. He didn't bother with a towel. He said, "You know, Freyja was a statuesque blond. You've got the statuesque part down though."

His comment annoyed her unreasonably. She decided to punish him and turned her back to him. She felt his lovely blond haired paw on her ass, testing its firmness. His other hand came around and cupped her right breast. His thumb found her nipple, and teased it to full attention. Carol caught her breath. She began to realize how intense an erogenous zone her nipples could be. She rolled her head back, offering the sensitive side of her neck. He had to know, she thought, he had to know that if he wanted to take her, he could tonight. His fingers teased her nipple again. The hand on her ass moved around her wide hip until he had his fingers in her wet fur, probing for the warm, slick entrance to her pussy.

Carol groaned. She reached behind and found his prick, hard, thick, longer than a handful, and hot. She longed to turn around and put it into her mouth, but that would mean Brock would quit exploring her valley between her legs and quit teasing the nipple that was aching with desire.

Then one of the men shouted, "They've taken our suits and all the towels!"

The men laughed and shouted, all but Brock. He pulled Carol close to him, and turned her around protectively. She wasn't sure what he was protecting her from, since everyone had seen her body by now. But she was aroused and ready to submit to Brock. Maybe he wanted to protect her excitement. Her cheeks were flushed. She was acutely aware of the warmth of his cock between the two of them.

Brock looked into her eyes, then kissed her full on the lips. She opened her mouth to allow his insistent tongue to probe her. She melted into his chest as she kissed him back. Then, he broke off the kiss, touched her hair, and put his arm around her. He walked her toward the large house where everyone was staying. The lights blazed unmercifully. The men and Carol were in full view of everyone.

"Are you ready?" Brock asked Carol. She nodded, squared her shoulders. She led the procession into the house. Jorie met them, wearing in a beach towel around her hips, but with a handheld video camera to capture every embarrassing moment.

Except that Carol wasn't embarrassed. She was Freyja, Queen of the Gods. She was fearless before all her subjects. Except for Brock. She wanted to please him endlessly. But the general teasing had begun and towels were tossed and snatched away. In the next few minutes everyone was naked, not naked, hugged, kissed, and groped. More long neck beer was brought out.

Carol found a sleeveless coverup that barely covered her ass. She could have worn more, but she wasn't in the mood for modesty. She wished everyone to be exotic, erotic, and ultimately satisfied. She was surprised when Brock waved to the group and said he had to go.

"What?" she said.

Brock blew her a kiss across the room. But Carol could swear that he wanted to say more to her. Perhaps in the morning she could see him again. But he hadn't shown up that next morning. He left the mountain and Carol for the next seven years. The jingle bells over the door to Carol's Coffee Caress tinkled. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" by the Carpenters played softly.

"Carol?" It was Jorie, forcing her to come back to the living. "My dad's here."

"Why did Brock leave our party that night, Jorie?" Carol asked.

Jorie looked at her. "Don't you know? You scared the daylights out of him. He likes to be the one in control, and he was afraid he was losing control to you. He didn't want to be tied up here in Skypierce. He left for Chicago the next day. To escape, I guess."

Carol hung her head. "Why would he want to escape from me?" And what did his return mean?

Jorie's father, a tall, trim man with gray streaked bristles in his jet black shock of hair closed the door behind him. He had beard stubble and intense blue eyes, scarier eyes than Jorie's. He was at the coffee shop to pick up Jorie, but trained those searing blue eyes on Carol, x-raying her from head to toe as though he could see past her warm brown sweater and tight blue jeans. Carol forced herself to give him a smile and stood to offer him her welcoming hug. He stood a little taller than she did. He embraced her with his strong mountain man arms. His hug was like his personality, possessive. He held her close as he continued to study her.

"Cup of coffee?"

Magus Grayson shook his head. "I'm here for my little girl. We're planning the celebration for the 21st, just like every year. You should come, Carol." He leaned forward a little. "You really should. You might be crowned our Festival's Ice Queen."

Carol squirmed away with a laugh. "I'm more the Ice Cream type."

"Carol might come, right Carol?" Jorie put herself between her father and Carol. "Please come, Carol. Derwin and Brock will be there." She shot Carol a knowing look.

"I don't know what to wear."

"Perfect!" Jorie said. "I'll pick you up tomorrow and take you to the hall."

"Our guests wear masks to remain anonymous. It gives one more freedom to be natural and oneself if one doesn't have to explain one's behavior the next day. You understand. So, no identifying scars, no distinctive tattoos, no needle marks, that kind of thing." He narrowed his eyes, smiled a wicked grin and went back to the door. "Coming, Jorie?"

"I'll pick you up tomorrow, Carol. Ten o'clock. Oh, this will be the best Winter Solstice Celebration ever!"

"All right, but you have to promise to come to Midnight Mass with me on Christmas Eve. Okay, Jorie?"

"Sure, sure. Not a problem. Love you. Kiss. Bye."

And Jorie left the warm coffee shop. Carol shivered as she remembered Grayson Garbhon's gaze. Did she really want to put herself into his spider web? On the other hand, where else would she run into Brock?

Carol closed the shop for the day, still unsure of whether to accept Jorie's invitation. Jorie's invitations usually came with ulterior motives. Carol should have learned her lesson after the Summer Solstice celebration. She'd heard rumors and stories about other solstices, both winter and summer. Like Derwin, she had heard that "being natural" entailed nudity, whether one was a witch, wizard, or Wiccan. Carol liked her own figure, Derwin appreciated her figure well enough to marry her, and apparently, Jorie's father Magus Grayson lusted for her figure. But she wasn't twenty-two any longer. In another year, she wouldn't even be in her twenties. If pressed, she had to admit that was one reason she was ready to marry Derwin. She couldn't wait for ever for the right Brock,... er, brother,... er, man to come along.

Walking home on the snow-slickened sidewalks, she slid past other small businesses in the town. Whenever she could, she frequented them, the way she hoped they would patronize her shop. But at the edge of town, she saw one business she had never visited since she had been in college, Baba Yomama's place. It was a small house with a neon sign outside reading "Fortune Telling, Psychic and Tarot Readings--Your Future Revealed." Carol hadn't gone there since college. As a lark she had visited once and was shocked by the vivid, violent cards that had turned up for her. She had planned a warm, loving, generous future for herself, but the cards would not cooperate. Within six months, her parents had died in a frightful auto accident. The cards had predicted sudden change, and they had been proved right.

It was illogical to blame the cards for her parents' deaths, but Carol had been leery of them ever since. It was another reason she was reluctant to submit to Jorie's Wiccan festivals. The celebrations didn't seem to turn out well for Carol. First she lost her parents, then she lost Brock. Her life had been relatively stable for the past seven years. Perhaps too stable. Now, Derwin and Brock wanted to shake things up. So, perhaps it was time for Carol to shake things up as well. She took a deep breath and entered the house.

Remarkably, Baba had not changed since she last visited. She had eyes that might once have been blue but were now the color of ice. They focused somewhere just beyond Carol. The woman's gray hair spread out from her head. She wore a house dress and an apron, sensible dark shoes, and pale make up. She greeted Carol with a smile and a nod, and showed her the table where her future might be told.

"I'm nervous about this."

"We won't go anywhere you aren't prepared to go, my dear."

"Do you want to know anything about me? What I want to do? What my hopes and dreams might be? What brings me here?"

"No. You know why you are here. That is enough." She splayed a deck of Tarot cards on the table.

Carol paid her and the session began. Carol squirmed while the woman composed herself. When she looked at Carol, she asked, "What's bothering you, my dear?"

"Are you a witch?" Carol asked.

She smiled in response. "Everyone on this mountain is a bit of a witch, don't you think, Carol? Ready, my dear?" She shuffled the cards.

Carol nodded. The cards were displayed on the table, some face down, some face up. When Carol peaked through her closed eyes, a shiver ran through her. Some of the cards were the same ones she had seen before her parents' death. She was no expert at reading these things, but she recognized the Nine of Swords, the Ten of Wands, and the Hermit. They had all presaged her parents' disaster.

"They mean death, don't they?"

The woman, hunched over the cards, shook her head and explained. "The Nine of Swords can mean anxiety about death. You certainly seemed to be anxious, my dear. The Ten of Wands is also a card of stress, not death. What is worrying you, dear?"

"Do I have to answer? I just want to hear what the cards say."

"Of course. I understand. The last one is a strange one. The Hermit. A man alone. Do you face some kind of loneliness?"

"Absolutely not! I'm going to be married in another week or so. What do the cards say about that?"

"Well, dearie, let's see." The old woman shuffled the cards easily and three down another three cards. This time, Baba's surprise showed on her face. She recovered though, and cleared her throat.

The cards were the Tower, burning and under attack; the Knight of Swords; and the Death card. Carol searched the woman's eyes for some explanation that didn't involve disaster.

"I need to show you one more card, my dear."

The next card thrown down was the Queen of Swords. At least that card had not shown up with her parents.

"What do you see, Baba?"

"Let me start with the group of three. The last card with the skeleton on it is sometimes called the Death card. It should more properly be called the card of Transformation, of Change. I can tell you there will be a great change in your life."

"Well, I've just told you I'm getting married, so that's not a big revelation."

"Yes, perhaps it presages your coming nuptials. But keep an open mind. Next, the Knight of Swords. He is a creature of aggression, of impulse, and of force. You may experience things beyond your control soon."

Carol didn't know what to make of that one.

"Then we have the Tower. I won't try to kid you. This is not a pleasant card. It heralds destruction."

"Great. This means I'm doomed, right?"

"Oh, no, not necessarily. This destruction may affect you, but it doesn't mean it will be your own destruction. I look at all of these cards, and try to piece them together to tell a possible future for you."

"What's the last card, that Queen one?"

"Interesting. That's the Queen of Swords. She is a troublesome woman. She may be the catalyst for the destruction, the stress, the suddenness, and the transformation you are facing. As a result, someone you love may find themself alone."

Carol felt a tear drop onto her cheek and roll gently down. "I don't know any more than I did before, do I?"

"Yes, my dear. You do. You are entering a time of great and sudden change in your life. You cannot remain static or you will continue to feel stress and anxiety. You must confront the troublesome woman and the aggressive knight if you wish to continue complete your transformation. There is a chance you might fail, that is always a possibility. Someone, you, a loved one, an enemy, might end up alone after your metamorphosis."

"What can I do?"

"You can do nothing, and change will come crashing into your life. Or you can stride purposefully forward and confront the demons that are plotting against you."

"I can't do nothing."

"I can't tell you what to do, my dear."

Carol was dispirited. There was no answer here.

"Thank you. I'll be going now."

Carol left. The tears chapped her cheeks as she walked the last mile to her home. Once there, she called her employees and told them she would be taking two weeks off for the holiday and to prepare for the wedding.

"It's about time you started to think about yourself," one young girl told her. "Of course we'll take care of the store. One favor though?"

"What is it?"

"Can we wear whatever we want while you're away?"

"Well, within reason. No witches' costumes, okay? This is Christmas."

The girl laughed and promised everything would be fine.

Carol wondered what transformation might be waiting for the Coffee Caress.

The night of the 21st, Carol arrived for the party with Jorie and they went to the changing room. More than twenty women were sorting through white gowns, chosing something to wear for the celebration. Jorie had completely disrobed before slipping the white streaming robe over her shoulders and let it drape along her taut muscles. She looked as toned as a cheerleader. The white robe was the only thing she wore aside from her white mask.

"When in Rome..." thought Carol. She selected a white robe that covered her to about mid-thigh, shorter than where Jorie's robe fell. She cinched it with a gold chain. The gown had the kind of deep v-cleavage that Carol liked. Even foregoing a bra, her breasts were enviable mounds of pleasure. She chose a golden mask for herself.

The Magus's mansion was cozy warm, with a crackling fire in the huge fireplace and fragrant pine bough decorations draped on the walls. Rotating pentagrams hung from the ceiling in the great hall where warm beverages, some alcoholic some not, were served by some of the serving women in white robes. A young man, dressed as a satyr with goat legs and a tail, draped colorful flowers around Carol's neck.

The music beat heavily during the evening almost forcing a dance response.

Outside a path lead through the tall trees to an area where a large circle had been cleared. Huge piles of wood surrounded one oversized log in the center.

"The Yule log," Jorie explained. "It's central to the celebration."

Jorie began to dance, freely and expressively. She took giant steps with her legs and arched her back. Overhead, high cirrus clouds dusted the moon, and in return ice crystals glowed in the moonlight. The roaring fire in the center of the circle radiated warmth so that no additional wrap was needed. Jorie was soon joined by the other women who wore white robes and masks. As they danced, their arms swung wildly overhead. A crowd of onlookers gathered, appreciative.

Carol felt drawn into the dancing crowd. Her whole body thrummed with excitement. She jumped toward the yule log and joined the women. The white robes she and the others wore became diaphanous in the moonlight. Her rounded curves were clearly visible, as fully as they had been when she stood stripped of her bathing suit seven years earlier.

She didn't feel seven years older though, and judging by the attention she was garnering, she didn't appear seven years older. She saw Magus Grayson stroking his beard as his narrowed dark eyes studied her. Other men clapped time, breaking into easy applause as she twirled and leaped. At the north end of the circle, she saw the two brothers, Brock and her fiancee, Derwin, staring at her. She felt guilty that Derwin was seeing her this way, exposed before everyone, and she felt wanton that Brock was seeing her so vulnerable.

Carol read the invitation in Brock's eyes. She recognized that invitation from seven years ago. In Derwin's eyes, she saw restraint and some embarrassment. When she met Derwin's eyes, he smiled and nodded his permission. It was all she needed, and she spun even faster so that every facet of her figure was visible at the same time.

Jorie came to her. Carol indicated with her head where Brock and Derwin stood. Jorie smiled and began to dance closer to them. At some point her robe became loose and slipped from her figure. She danced nude, vigorously, displaying her finely toned muscles which were glistening with sweat and emotion. She took Derwin by the arm and pulled him with her towards the darkened woods. Derwin's glance checked with Carol, but she refused to meet his eyes. In a few seconds, Jorie and Derwin had disappeared from the crowd of onlookers.

Brock remained. His gaze was not distracted by the other dancers, many of whom were now naked, too. Their bodies looked as though they had been coated with shimmering oil, reflecting the dancing flames of the yule log. Brock had eyes only for Carol. She danced closer and closer to him, although it took a great deal of courage. To her, approaching him was as dangerous as falling into the yule log itself. She knew the pain that Brock could cause, but she was captured by him. She thought about the marriage to his brother Derwin in a few more days and how she would be Derwin's woman, exclusively. But that time had not come yet. There was still time for one more lover, one more man to lie with her, his male member parting her legs and plunging with vigor and warmth into her throbbing vagina.