She nods.

The girl nods, looking deathly embarrassed about the fact, as if it were something shameful that she'd just admitted to.

You look up at her again. "And I'm guessing that you want to apologise to me for being gay?"

She nods again, a little harder this time.

You stare at her, taking in her embarrassed, blushing look. You wonder if you can really go through with the contents of the email and just fuck her, or make her apologise to you however you want. It's tempting, but just publicly fucking someone, even indoors in an empty café, that''s still a crazy sounding thought to process. As you stay silent, thinking, an idea comes to you of a way that you could take things step by step and test out how true the email really was.

You look at the nametag on her shirt and see that it says 'Jemma', so that's what you call her. This is to make things between you two feel more personal, and to maybe make her feel more ****.

"Jemma, right?" You ask and get another nod in response. "If you want to apologise to me for being gay, what would you be willing to do?" you ask.

In an almost porn cliché response, Jemma swallows before responding back to you, "Anything you want." You're even a little taken aback by it.

You take a few moments to think before you ask again. "What if I wanted to call you names while you apologised?" What if I asked you to call yourself names as you apologised to me?"

Jemma closed her eyes, holding back tears as she replied. "Then you could call me anything you wanted, and I would **** and call myself whatever slur you asked me to call myself. Faggot, whore, rug muncher, cunt, bitch, anything. I've heard them all," she said.

"...I see," you replied. It would seem like the email really was telling you the truth, that or this was a really damn elaborate prank. At this point, if the email really was telling the truth then you might have to start questioning everything.

You decided to take the test to the next level with Jemma who was standing there quietly, just waiting for your judgement for being gay, something she had **** over.

"Take off your top," you told her. Jemma seemed relieved for you to finally be telling her to do something sexual instead of asking her these questions and dragging this out longer. She quickly discarded her apron in moments, no doubt practiced from endless days of working in the café. Underneath, she wore a black long-sleeved blouse which hugged her lithe body, along with dark skinny jeans. She reached down for the bottom of her blouse, and pulled it off in one go, revealing a red bra underneath which held two C-cup breasts in place.

"Go on," she said, "please touch them. Fondle them, do whatever you like to them. Forgive me for being a lesbian." Jemma looked at you pleadingly.

Finally, unable to bear staring at the third pair of exposed breasts just this morning for you, you reached out with both hands and grabbed her chest to grope those orbs through the bra.