Coffee and books

Emily stood outside her university, the morning sun glinting off the glass facade, her body still buzzing from the bus ride’s five brutal orgasms. Her phone buzzed, the uni app flashing a notification that made her blood boil: “PSYC101 Lecture Canceled - Prof. unavailable.” Emily groaned, stomping her foot, her tits jiggling. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered, her voice sharp with annoyance. She’d dragged her ass out of bed at 7 AM, fought through makeup mishaps on her vanity’s 7-inch ridged dildo - smudging eyeliner twice as orgasms ripped through her - and endured the bus’s pothole-pounding cum-fest, all for nothing. Five minutes before the lecture, and now she had two hours to kill. Her friends, Mia and Lisa, weren’t around today - Mia was probably getting her face fucked for tuition, Lisa off somewhere riding her own seats. Emily sighed, her pussy twitching at the thought of more sitting. “Might as well get coffee,” she grumbled, spotting a new cafe across the street her friends had raved about.

The cafe, Brew & Bliss, was a chic spot, open just a few months, with exposed brick walls and soft jazz humming. Emily pushed through the glass door, the air thick with espresso and a faint musk of arousal - standard for any place with seats. She chose a corner table, a small wooden chair with a cushioned seat, and opened her Seating App to tweak: 6 inches, smooth, medium vibes - gentler for studying. She flipped her skirt, baring her dripping pussy, and lowered, the chip in her right butt cheek pinging. A glistening dildo rose, sleek and curved, and breached her with a wet squelch. “Mmmph,” she grunted, the stretch uncomfortable but familiar, her pussy clenching as her ass met the cushion, clit grazing the vibrating base. It wasn’t as brutal as the bus, but fuck, it still sent sparks up her spine. She pulled out her psych textbook, trying to focus, but the vibes made her squirm, juices already leaking.

Her phone buzzed again, a government alert flashing: “New Rule Effective Immediately: All Cafe Waiters Must Offer Oral Sex to Customers.” Emily’s jaw dropped, her pussy twitching around the dildo. “What the actual fuck?” she whispered, her face flushing. Why now? Why so sudden? She glanced around the cafe, noticing it was packed with men - unusual for mid-morning. Waiters, mostly young guys in tight aprons, were already under tables, heads bobbing as they sucked off customers. The air filled with wet slurps and muffled grunts, men leaning back in flat chairs, pants unzipped. A blonde waiter serviced a burly guy nearby, his cock disappearing down the waiter’s throat with rhythmic smacks. Emily tried to ignore it, focusing on her book, but the dildo’s vibes pulsed, and her clit throbbed, making concentration impossible. A soft orgasm hit, her pussy spasming, a trickle of cum soaking the seat. “Shit,” she hissed, biting her lip, the nano-cleaners humming to clean the mess.

A young man - early 20s, lanky, with a cocky grin - approached her table, his eyes locked on her squirming form. Emily tried to read, her face buried in her book, but his stare was relentless. She looked up, annoyed, another mini-orgasm teased her. “What do you want?” she snapped, her voice shaky, pussy clenching the dildo.

He grinned wider, pointing to her chair. “That new? The… thing you’re sitting on?” Emily’s eyes widened, baffled. Was this guy living under a rock? Her face burned, another sigh escaping as she shifted, the dildo rubbing her G-spot. “New? Are you serious? It’s been like this for generations,” she said, astonished, her voice hitching as a stronger orgasm loomed. “Since I was 18, every seat - fuck -” She gasped, cumming hard, her body trembling, squirting onto the cushion, nano-cleaners whirring. The guy raised an eyebrow, thoughtful, then shrugged and returned to his flat seat.

Before Emily could recover, her phone buzzed again, another government alert: “Effective Immediately: All Youth and Non-Erotic Books Banned. Only Erotic Literature Permitted.” Her heart stopped, her pussy clenching so hard she came again, a sharp cry escaping as her body shook, juices flooding the seat. “Excuse me?!” she gasped, her mind reeling. Ban books? Her psych texts, her novels, all her uni notes - gone? What the fuck was the government doing? She jerked upright, the dildo grinding deeper, triggering another orgasm - her third in the cafe, her skirt soaked, her face scarlet with shock and arousal.

Emily’s phone pinged again - a message from her professor that made her stomach churn: “Purchase ‘The Art of Sex, and How to Indulge in Sex Through Art’ for next lecture. Dispose of all non-erotic texts immediately.” Emily’s stomach clenched, her clit still buzzing with residual aftershocks. “This is insane,” she muttered, standing with a wet pop, the dildo retracting, nano-cleaners erasing her mess. She paid for her untouched coffee, her hands shaking, and stormed out, her thighs slick.

On the sidewalk, she spotted a trash can and, with a pang of rage, dumped her backpack’s contents—psych books, notes, a dog-eared novel—into it, the pages fluttering like dead dreams. “Fuck you, government,” she hissed, her tits bouncing as she marched to the Naughty Nook, the university book annex.

The Naughty Nook was in a state of chaos. The pale, purple-haired attendant, Zia, was standing on a rolling stool in the center aisle, gleefully sweeping armfuls of books—classics, science texts, even cookbooks—off the shelves and into industrial-sized recycling bins. The thump-thump-thump of literature hitting the bottom of the bins sounded like a **** knell for rational thought.

Emily slapped the professor’s text message down on the counter. “Is this because of the new rule? The one about adventure and romance?”

Zia looked serious, her dark eyeliner crinkling at the edges. “Yup! The Curricular Integrity Act 4.2 just dropped. No more non-erotic texts allowed. Only sex and pornographic erotica from here on out.” Zia grabbed a heavy box from under the counter, labeled "Incoming Stock," and pulled out a handful of new titles, laughing as she read them aloud. “Listen to these gems: ‘The Clitoris and the Calculus: An Integrated Approach’... Oh, and this one: ‘The Marquis de Sade’s Guide to Accounting Principles.’” She tossed them onto the growing pile of new inventory.

“I need The Art of Sex, and How to Indulge in Sex Through Art,” Emily managed to say.

Zia pointed to the back of the store. “It’s in the Sensual Studies section, but you better hurry. That’s last semester’s required reading and it’s almost sold out.The next batch books will arrive next week. It’s supposed to be behind ‘Cum Laude: Advanced Seminal Analysis’.”

Emily sprinted back, her heart hammering. She found the book, a dense, glossy brick, and rushed back to Zia. As Zia scanned it, she said, “Word is, it was written by the same group that drafted the new Act.”

Emily paid the outrageous fee, not caring about the cost, only about the compliance. She didn't wait to leave the store; she ripped the plastic off the book and flipped it open frantically to the table of contents. She scanned the chapter titles—"The Penile Brushstroke," "Aesthetics of Anal Pleasure"—until a sidebar caught her eye: Technique Highlight: Bio-Art.

Her eyes widened in disbelief and a fresh wave of nausea hit her, overriding the residual spasms in her groin. The book didn't just advocate for painting with bodily fluids; it gave detailed instruction on using:

• Semen as a fixative for oil paints, detailing how the proteins prevent cracking and add a “unique, savory patina.”

• Vaginal discharge as a natural adhesive and finishing glaze, noting that the pH balance provides “a truly organic luminescence.”

• The careful use of anal beads and other penetrative objects to create relief sculptures directly on the canvas, referred to as “the geometry of ecstatic penetration.”

Emily closed the book with a loud snap, the sound echoing in the surreal store. This wasn't just absurd education; this was grotesque performance art disguised as mandated study. Her anxiety was now cold and clinical. She had the book, but she knew, with terrifying certainty, that this was just the beginning of how deeply the new rules would penetrate her life.