Prelude to Coffee

"Hey Trish" You quipped reluctantly.

"Hey." She responded. The sharp smirk that graced her face remained, but her brow cut deeper into a furrow. "I think you've got something of mine."

You laugh, then nod. A strange silence hung in the air as you walked down the hall to meet her. For a second, you wondered if it wouldn't be wiser to invite her into your place, or to talk out in the hall. A nervous energy grows within you, raging like some animal instinct deep in your mind. Tour feet echo down the hall like on a somber march to the gallows. Your spirit defies you, and warns of some hidden danger, but you ignore it. She has the stockings, Surely she can fix all this...

She holds the door, and at her bidding you cross the threshold to her house. As the door snicks closed, a constraint falls on your heart, and your panic falls silent, allowing you to investigate your surroundings. You'd seen inside her room once or twice when chatting, or dropping off mail that found the wrong box, but had never been insider. Her room is decorated with a meticulous attention, and after a second look you begin to wonder if it's more than interior design that motivates the layouts. Her walls are covered in art that reminded you of witchcraft, if witchcraft were a school of geometry. Fine and deliberate pen strokes etched out designs and patterns that bewildered the mind to look for longer than a moment. Symbols are inscribed within the artwork with equal parts artistry and precision. There are an array of plants lining the windows, and while they all look familiar, none of them seem distinctly recognizable.

"Have fun with a slit between your legs?" Her words fall and cut through your wandering attention like a guillotine.

You gaped, made an awkward noise of surprise, tried to compose yourself, then gaped again. "You know?!" You manage to stammer at last.

She nods. "I've got to be honest. It threw me off when you went to work." She laughed high and chirping, like the morning sparrow. "You lose your dick, and your first thought is, 'Well, time to punch the clock'? What is your deal?"

You fluster, and scratch the back of your head, "W-well. What am I supposed to do?"

"Go to a doctor, freak out... Stay home and experiment?" She smirked, and cut her eyes your way. "But maybe you did that at work anyway." She takes a step towards you. Closer than you expected. Close enough to feel the warmth of her body. Her hand teases towards your groin, but she doesn't touch. "Have a bit of fun at work?" She coos.

You can practically feel her spindly fingers dancing above your rosy new petals, and the faintest of whimpers slips past your lips, before you shake yourself and shout "I didn't do anything!" Your voice trills falsetto, which causes her to laugh again.

"I'm not judging." She takes a step back, and her voice turns more grave. "But I'm glad you didn't." She crosses her arms. "That's mine." She points a slender digit directly between your legs. The smirk on her face had given way to a scowl. "And I don't want you doing anything without my say to what's mine."

"Yours?" You fluster suddenly feeling awkward, then shake your head, "What do you mean? How do you know?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Because this is yours." She grabs the crotch of her jean boyshorts, and gives it a rub. You take a closer look and suddenly identify a telling swell outlined by the tight fabric.

You reach towards it, as if to pick up a pen or stapler, or any other mundane item, but falter at the impossibility. You ask vacantly, "D-did you..."

"Experiment?" She smiles. "Maybe." She sighs, and turns around, making her way to the kitchenette opposite the entrance. "I definitely wasn't expecting to wake up with a dick this morning." She pours, and then grinds coffee beans, leaving the pair of you to stand wordlessly at the sharp whine of the burr grinder fills the room. She takes the grinds, and taps them into a filter. "Does it do that every morning?" She asks casually. "Don't get me wrong. It felt great. It was just more... Demanding than I thought it would feel."

"Y-yeah. I guess. It gets better if you just go to the bathroom. You don't have to..."

"Jerk off?" She finishes your sentence for the second time, and you just nod in response.

As the coffee machine gurgles, you try to collect your thoughts. "So This was the stockings that did this?" She nods "And you have the stockings?" She nods again. "So... You can fix this?" She doesn't nod, but neither does she shake her head.

"To be honest." the words drift out whimsically. "I'm not sure."