Instructions for apology

Finally, you pull out of her throat, revealing Jemma's glazed face covered with cum and drool that she coughed up while trying to throat you without complaints. Her eyes are focused on a point on the ceiling and completely dazed. You suspect she might be a little disassociated after what you just did to her, but that's not really your problem to deal with.

You clean up your cock and lower half with her discarded blouse, which fell to the floor while you fucked her brutally on the table. Jemma is breathing slowly but steadily and her eyes are gradually regaining their focus as you put the stained blouse on top of her chest with your cock cleaned of fluids. You notice when you do so that there is a small wet spot that is visible on Jemma's pants between her legs. Since you never touched her there, she must have gotten wet enough to soak through her underwear and then her pants.

You have a cock that's still somewhat erect, but you don't feel like you could really cum again so soon, and this was more than enough experimentation regarding the validity of the email you received. Jemma is regaining her awareness and gets up from the table with shaky limbs. You pat her head somewhat gently, which might seem a little strange after just fucking a lesbian's mouth with your cock so brutally, but she blushes just a little at the gesture. You look for your pants which had been hastily kicked to the ground earlier after her blowjob and gesture for her to get dressed as well. However, you tell her that you're keeping her bra as a punishment, and as a reminder for the future.

"Hey, listen." You smack her cheek gently to get her attention. The tap is gentle, but the action is still degrading and you like how it reinforces how Jemma is now inferior to you. You're still getting over this sudden change to your world, and the reinforcement in this case is as much for Jemma as it is for yourself.

"You can't change the fact that you're gay any more than the earth can stop going around the sun. That means that just using your throat once isn't enough," you tell her. You're testing out the limits of the email here again, but Jemma doesn't seem to question this and just nods, even if she seems unhappy about it. "From now on, every time you see me come into this café, you are to get under the table between my legs once you've taken my order to the kitchen, and you're to warm my cock until I come or I tell you I'm done. You got that?"

"Okay," Jemma whispers back hoarsely. She's clutching her blouse close to her chest to cover herself, and she's staring at the floor instead of looking directly at you, or maybe she's staring at the cumstains on her jeans or the small pool of mixed cum and drool under the table that she needs to clean up. Her apron is discarded on one of the seats at the booth, but you don't care about that. You get up and leave her to get herself sorted out while you head to the door to leave. Since you never actually ordered anything, you don't need to pay and can just leave Jemma to her own thoughts. As you walk out, you might have heard a faint sob coming from the booth you were sitting at, but then the door closes and the jangle of the chimes hanging from it drown out any noise until you're outside again and then you can't hear anything else from inside.

Once outside, you feel like even though you didn't actually get to eat anything, going to the café really cleared things up for you and was an important milestone you needed to reach to make sense of everything new that had happened to you recently. Your feet started walking to your apartment and you pulled open that packet of chips you bought earlier and started munching on them feeling lighter with a bubbling hopefulness in your chest. The email you were sent had said that you could basically do whatever you wanted to gay girls for their apologies, although sex was the priority. The writer of the email even accounted for the possibility of trying to change lesbians from their ways, unlikely as that was. You wondered just how far could you really take this email and the powers it allowed you. Judging from your earlier testing with Jemma, it seemed like the email was telling the truth and you really could just treat any lesbian however you wanted as punishment simply for their orientation.

Earlier, you had been too shell-shocked to go down this path, but now with your new knowledge, and with one sexual experience under your belt, you felt confident enough to do something. Reaching into your pocket for the number the cashier girl had given you, you dial the number one tap at a time and then press call.

The ringtone hums in your ear as you stroll down the street.