Solitary Cafe: Tea with Lemon

Rain fell in endless sheets upon the pavement as a hooded figure walked staunchly forward. The figure's face was pointed downward, and it was clear by the way they were walking that they were less than pleased to be out in the elements.

The sun had set hours before, and the streetlights reflected eerily against the slick road. The sidewalks were almost entirely empty, though a person or two could be glimpsed for a few fleeting seconds while they charged out of one of the surrounding buildings and into a parked car or taxi. The person walking down the street was effectively alone, however, and it was apparent that they were lost by the way they raised their head periodically to peer at the street signs.

A dull glow sprang up against the hooded figure's chest in the form of a handheld screen. In the gloom, against a wall of darkened storefront glass, a small, grumpy face glared at the screen in contempt.

"Where the fuck am I?" A woman's voice muttered, barely audible even to herself over the sound of the rain. She attempted to shield the screen as best she could as her wet thumbs struggled to type a street address that she'd never been to.

At the top right portion of the screen, a small bar indicated that she was on roaming, and she cursed as she waited nearly a full minute for a map to load. Finally, it blipped up on the screen and she winced down at it before sighing heavily, "God... I'm not even on the right side of town," she muttered with mixed sadness and frustration.

A cold breeze came by and iced through her as she shivered. She had a late interview dinner lined up with the owner of an art gallery that was interested in displaying some of her pieces. She had been so excited by the prospect that she'd hastily agreed to meet the owner at a restaurant she'd never been to... in a town she'd never even so much as laid eyes on. Her train had been late, and to top it off, she'd gotten off at the wrong stop. She had no umbrella and nothing with her except a portfolio that was tucked beneath her already soaked hoodie. She grit her teeth as another gust of wind went through her, "Well, if I die out here it's not gonna matter either way," she told herself as she looked down at her phone. The one sad bar that depicted the faintest stream of data was gone; now she didn't even have enough reception to make a phone call. She shook her head as she looked around, "I'm just gonna have to bite the bullet and get a cab," she told no one but herself as she continued to walk.

"Stupid quaint small town," she commented as she looked over the dark main road. She could make out the store hours signs in some of the windows that she passed, and most places had been closed for a while, many even before the sun set. She cast a long gaze toward the end of the street, as far as the weather allowed, and concluded that she wouldn't have much luck if she went any further. It seemed that the road only led to a more suburban looking area, and as desperate as she was beginning to feel, she wasn't quite ready to start knocking on strangers' doors in the late hours of the night.

She turned her head to the left and realized that she was standing just outside of a small alleyway between buildings. She turned and furrowed her brow toward it before correcting her thinking: it wasn't an alleyway, exactly, but more like a very narrow street. That in of itself wasn't enough to incite interest, but at the end of the alleyway there appeared to be some sort of cafe or bistro entrance. There was an inviting, soft yellow light hovering over a chalk sign, and she took a step toward it as she murmured, "Oh good, at least someone is open."

As she drew closer, she read the sign aloud, as was a habit of hers, "The solitary Cafe...hm," the sign was well drawn with colored chalk, but somehow it hadn't been touched by the rain and wasn't at all faded or runny.

The woman shrugged and pulled the door open; it seemed as good a place as any to try and make a phone call.

"Hi there, welcome to the Solitary Cafe."

The hooded woman was immediately greeted as she walked in, but she was too busy wiping water out of her eyes to respond right away, "Oh...hi. I uh, don't suppose you have..." she looked up and saw the girl that had greeted her and she almost coughed, "A phone I could use?"

The girl was standing behind a counter some ways off from the entrance, but even from where the soggy artist stood it was clear that she was well dressed, perhaps overly so, "Sure. Why don't you come inside and dry off a bit; there's a heater in the corner there," she said, nodding in that direction.

"I appreciate it, but I'm kind of in a rush, I'm afraid."

The girl nodded, "I understand completely. Let me go into the office and see if you can borrow my boss's phone," she said with a smile as she came out from behind the counter.

The hooded woman looked over the girl as she walked off. She'd never really been attracted to the same sex, but the girl was alluring. The barista, which is what the woman assumed she was, was wearing a black tuxedo cut blazer with a matching bowtie. Instead of pants, she wore a black mini skirt and white leggings with elegant black flats. It was an odd outfit, but it was sexy and very flattering to the girl's figure. The artist caught herself staring at the girl's legs and wondered what her nationality was absently. It was a strange habit of hers that she'd developed at a young age, and since blending colors for skin tones was something she prided herself on, she always tried to guess when she saw interesting or attractive people.

The barista disappeared into the back of the cafe and the artist looked around. She flipped her hoodie down as she did so, revealing a pale faced woman that might have been in her early thirties. From the looks of her, it was clear that she was an artist of some sort, thought at that moment she looked particularly disgruntled.

The first thing that the soaked artist noticed was that there were no customers in the store. A soft stream of smooth jazz piano could be heard from some hidden speakers, and she shook some of the excess water from her clothing as she examined the cafe more closely.

She wondered immediately how she hadn't seen it before, but there were rubber ducks everywhere. They were sitting atop almost everything that had a flat surface, and their little orange beaks and yellow bodies could be seen dotted all over the booths and tables. As if that weren't odd enough, there were paintings of ducks on the walls as well.

"What the hell?" She whispered to herself. It wasn't bad art, in fact, most of it was expertly painted, but she wondered who would go out of their way to actually paint a rubber duck.

She didn't reflect on the point for very long, because the barista returned and walked straight toward her.

"You can come on back and use the phone," the tuxedoed girl said with a wide, flawless smile.

The artist took a closer look at the girl and almost stepped back when she saw her alarming blue green eyes, "Oh, thanks a lot."

"My pleasure. Follow me," the barista offered as she turned.

The artist did so. She stole another opportunity to look at the girl, focusing particularly on her hair style. The barista's hair was short and black; the artist assumed that it was probably naturally curly, but the girl had straightened it and was wearing it down. She followed behind the girl for several steps, secretly examining her, before the girl turned her head slightly, "I'm Pakistani."

"What?" The artist replied, somewhat startled.

"My ethnicity. My parents are from Pakistan," the girl laughed lightly, and to the artist it sounded like music, "I thought you might like to know."

The woman in the frumpy hoody frowned and attempted to recover from her confusion. It had seemed like the most random statement that a total stranger could make to her, then she remembered that she'd been asking the question to herself only moments before. A bit of uneasiness came over her and she wondered if the girl had somehow caught her staring. Once more however, she didn't have any time to reflect on it.

"My boss is right through those doors... She really likes ducks," the barista added with a chuckle before she walked away.

The artist said nothing as the girl made her way back to the counter. She was standing several feet away from a bend in the hallway, and she stepped forward slowly before turning her head to peek around it.

"Hi, come on in!" A woman greeted her chipperly.

The artist smiled weakly as her eyes settled onto the woman, "Hello... I'm uh, here to..."

"Oh, oh, you're the artist!" The woman interjected excitedly. She was sitting behind a dark wooden desk in a large, leather office chair, and she leaned forward , "I'm so glad you're here; please, make yourself at home!"

"Um, I think you've got me confused with..."

"My gosh, you're totally soaked! You poor thing," the woman shook her head. "Please, sit down and dry yourself off," she said as she stood and made her way around the desk, "I'll turn on the heater for you while you get your portfolio out. You did bring your portfolio, didn't you?"

The artist blinked, unsure of how to respond, "I did, but I don't think..." she stopped, this time ending her own sentence before the other woman could interrupt her. The owner of the cafe, as the artist assumed she must be, was breathtakingly beautiful. She had to have been at least six and a half feet tall, and her features were sharp and well defined. She wasn't in any way unfeminine, however, and it was only after a long moment of staring that the artist realized how busty and long legged the woman was.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," the owner of the coffee shop laughed.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I guess I just kind of zoned out there for a minute," the artist felt a flush of embarrassment as she realized that she'd been openly staring. Still, even after realizing it, she was continuing to look over the woman, admiring her olive skin and her dirty blonde hair, which was long and slightly curly.

"No need to apologize, I'm used to it. My staff has taken a liking to calling me Mrs. Amazon," the woman laughed again. "But I have to tell them, 'That's Miss Amazon to you!," she said in a gruff voice before bending down and turning the floor heater on. "Now, you sit and I'll go ask Kamilla to make us a drink. I'll be right back."

Before the confused artist could respond, the owner had whisked herself away. With a perplexed expression, the frumpy woman took a seat as she'd been instructed and sighed. She hoped dearly that she would still be able to make it to her appointment, but at the rate things were going, it seemed that she was more likely to miss it all together.

She absently took a look around the office and was unsurprised to see even more rubber ducks lining the shelves and desk. The closest one to her was dressed like a genie, and she reached out to it and tapped it's nose, "I don't suppose you can get me to my dinner," she mumbled to it with a sardonic chuckle.

The duck, of course, had no answer for her, but the owner of the Cafe reentered the room, "That's Gene," she said brightly as the artist pulled her hand back like a kid who'd just been caught doing something wrong. "Don't worry, you can touch them; I move them around all the time," the woman laughed as she resumed her seat on the opposite side of the desk. "Now, where were we... oh, right, business. So, I have..." the woman stopped and gasped, "Oh no, I didn't even introduce myself! How rude can a person be?!" She thrust out her hand across the desk and frowned slightly, "I'm Megara. Yes, it's my real name; my mother was obsessed with Greek mythology and I'm named after the city she was born in," the woman added with a smile.

The artist took the woman's hand with both obligation and fascination, "Carol."

"Wonderful to finally meet you, Carol!" Megara beamed as she relinquished the woman's hand. "So, I don't want to waste your time, since I'm sure that you have lots of other pressing matters to attend to, so I'll get right to the point. You might have noticed that I've got a thing for ducks," she said with a laugh as she picked one up from the desk, "That being said, I'm having some difficulty finding the right person for my next project. I know you're a canvas artist, but..."

"I'm really sorry, but, uh, I need to interject," Carol interrupted the woman once she realized that she wasn't going to give her a chance to do it naturally. "I, uh, don't think I'm the artist you were waiting for."

Megara gave her a perplexed expression, "Oh? You do canvas work, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"And you brought your portfolio?"

"I did, but..."

"Ah, I can see how you would be confused, we can be sort of difficult to find, but we were definitely expecting you!" The woman behind the desk beamed.

Carol's shoulders slumped as she saw movement from the corner of her eye. The girl that had greeted her entered the room with a small cart, and as she approached she parked it beside the desk and gave the artist a nod, "Coffee isn't really something you enjoy.You're a tea drinker, yes?"

Carol nodded once, deciding to give up on her meeting. She would never make it on time, so there was no point in stressing. After she'd made brief peace with that fact, she furrowed her brow and asked, "How did you know?"

"I just did," Kamilla, the barista, smiled once more.

While their exchange was happening, the cafe owner was jotting something down on a sticky note. She finished and jumped into the conversation, "Kamilla is our resident tea expert; you came on a good night."

"I wouldn't call myself an expert," the girl flushed slightly as she began to prepare things atop the tray.

"May I look at your portfolio?" Megara asked professionally as she held out her hand.

The night was becoming bizarre, but Carol had already subjected herself to it, "Why not?" She gave the tall woman a sideways smile as she dug the folder out from under her jacket. As strange as the circumstance was, she thought that she might at least be able to contract a little more work.

Megara took the folder and opened it readily, "Hm..." was all she said as she looked over the woman's art.

Carol was only vaguely interested in the woman's reaction. At that moment, she was more interested in watching the girl make tea.

Kamilla carefully took up two tea strainers and opened them. Using a small spoon, she added various tea leaves from different containers on the tray. After she filled them to proper capacity, she snapped them shut and dropped them into a handsome stainless steel teapot that had a long spout. With a small tink, she snapped the lid over the pot before going about the task of arranging the teacups.

"These are wonderful," Megara said absently as she flipped through the portfolio. "Tell me, how comfortable are you with the idea of painting on a wall?"

Carol barely heard the woman as she watched the barista work. There was something fascinating about the girl, and the artist was trying to figure out what it was, exactly, "Oh... I don't have any issues with that as long as I have enough time," she replied distractedly.

"Great. What I'm looking for is a mural on the walls of the bathrooms. You can paint them however you'd like, as long as they are duck themed. I'm going to finish looking at these," she said as she moved her hand forward, "Why don't you look at these numbers and tell me if they're fair and we'll go from there."

The cafe owner thumped her palm down on the desk in front of the artist, and Carol pulled her eyes away from the girl for a moment to look at it. She read the note and her eyes nearly bulged from her head.

Two murals, one for each bathroom. The offer is $2500 each with all basic materials paid for. If more supplies are needed, terms will be discussed.

Five Grand. The woman sitting on the opposite side of the desk was willing to pay her that much money for murals in the bathroom. It was more money than Carol had ever been offered for any project, and for a moment she thought that she might be hallucinating.

She was about to speak when she saw the girl grab the hem of her skirt out of the corner of her eye. Then, things became very strange.

Kamilla lifted her short skirt smoothly and somehow tied it up in the back. Carol's mouth fell open as her eyes widened even more: the barista wasn't wearing any panties.

"I love the way you blend colors," Megara commented as she continued to flip through the portfolio.

"T, thank you," Carol whispered distantly. This can't be happening, the artist thought as she watched the barista take up a small, smooth piece of steel. She wanted to remove her gaze, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. The steel cylinder was shiny and came to a rounded bullet point, and the artist's brain almost shut off when she realized where the girl was headed with it. This is all a big dream...I must have gotten hit by a car and I'm in a coma or something...

Her eyes snapped back to the note. What if it was real? Five thousand dollars was nothing to sniff at, but the barista...

Her eyes moved back to girl and she watched as Kamilla spread her legs slightly. The tea expert's pussy was immaculately trimmed and perfect, and she placed her fingers on the fringes of her labia before bringing the steel cylinder forward.

"How long did it take you to do this one?" The cafe owner asked as she flipped one of the pieces toward the woman.

Carol blinked as she faced Megara, "Oh, um... maybe..." she could see the girl off to the side in her peripherals. Kamilla positioned the toy below her with a crooked wrist, "From start to finish, perhaps twelve hours..." Kamilla parted her pussy lips and gently slid the steel cylinder inside of herself, "Or so."

The tall woman didn't seem to notice her employee as Kamilla began to slide the smooth metal in and out of herself, "I can see how much work you put into your art. I myself have almost no artistic talent to speak of, so I really appreciate these kinds of things." She looked up at Carol, "Oh, you look bothered; does the amount seem unfair to you? I'm open to negotiation, I understand how time..."

"Oh, no!" The artist squeaked, much louder than she'd intended to. Kamilla was picking up speed, and all she could could see was the small steel dildo sliding in and out of the girl. "It's very generous...I think it will suffice."

"Good, because because I don't want anyone to think that they're being paid poorly. I put a premium on such things, and artists of your magnitude should be compensated accordingly."

Carol stuffed her hands into her hoodie's front pocket and swallowed hard. She wanted to look anywhere but at the girl, but she couldn't control her eyes. Megara was still poring over her art and didn't seem to care in the slightest that the girl in her employ was openly and deliberately masturbating right beside her.

The artist was transfixed with the girl as she continued to pump the shiny steel device into her pussy. Everything about her was perfect. her movements, her expression, the color of her skin. Her lips were pouting slightly and she was trying hard to hold in her small gasps of pleasure, and even as her hands moved faster she never broke concentration. Her wrist was tilted in a very particular angle, and it seemed like she was quickly moving to climax.

"Yes, these are extraordinary. I guess I'm not a very hard sale, but you're really good!" Megara laughed as she folded the portfolio neatly and set it down in front of it's owner.

The artist pressed her hands together in her hoodie's pocket until her knuckles were white. All she could think about was painting the girl. She'd never once in her life done a piece that could be considered pornographic, but suddenly there was only one painting that mattered. She'd never seen anything so purely, so perfectly erotic in her life.