Dildo seat

He licked his lips, the thrill of power coursing through him, and scrawled a new rule across the page, the graphite scratching faintly against the paper:

New Rule: Upon a male customer entering the coffee shop, every barista must offer him a blowjob under the table, performed immediately, while also asking if he’d like a drink. The act must be enthusiastic and thorough, continuing until completion.

The air in the coffee shop seemed to shift, a subtle ripple of reality bending to accommodate the new rule. Michael’s pulse quickened as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on Michelle. She turned, her green eyes catching his for a moment, a professional smile spreading across her freckled face. She sauntered over, her hips swaying slightly in her tight jeans, the apron barely containing her curves. Without a hint of hesitation, she knelt beneath the table, her hands deftly reaching for his belt buckle.

“Hi there,” she purred, her voice low and sultry, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “Would you like a blowjob and maybe something to drink?”

Michael’s breath hitched, his body tensing as her fingers expertly undid his jeans, tugging them down just enough to free him. The coffee shop hummed with activity around them—patrons chatting, espresso machines hissing—but no one batted an eye. The Rulebook’s power made this perverse new reality seamless, accepted. Michelle’s warm breath grazed him, sending a shiver up his spine, and then her lips closed around him, soft and eager. She worked with a brutal intensity, her tongue swirling, her head bobbing with a rhythm that was both relentless and precise. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth filled the space under the table, a stark contrast to the mundane clatter of coffee cups above.

Her hands gripped his thighs, nails digging in slightly as she took him deeper, her throat constricting around him with each thrust of her head. Michael’s fingers tightened around the Rulebook, his knuckles white, his body trembling as pleasure surged through him. Michelle’s red hair spilled over his lap, her muffled moans vibrating against him, driving him closer to the edge. The sheer audacity of it—the public display, the raw, pornographic fervor of her movements—made his head spin. She didn’t pause, didn’t falter, her lips and tongue working in tandem to push him toward release.

Around the shop, the scene multiplied. Under other tables, baristas—male and female alike, though Michael’s rule specified male customers—knelt before patrons, their heads moving rhythmically, the soft, wet sounds of their efforts blending into a perverse symphony. A blonde barista serviced a middle-aged man in a suit, her hands braced on his knees as she worked with the same fervor as Michelle. A brunette attended to a college student, her muffled gasps barely audible over the hum of conversation. The customers, unfazed, sipped their drinks or scrolled on their phones, as if this were just another part of the coffee shop experience.

Michelle’s pace quickened, her mouth relentless, her throat tightening as she took him fully, her nose brushing against him with each deep plunge. Michael’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing as the pressure built. With a final, shuddering thrust, he came, spilling into her throat. Michelle didn’t flinch, swallowing greedily, her lips still wrapped around him as she milked every last drop. She pulled back slowly, licking her lips, her green eyes meeting his with a mix of professionalism and something else—excitement, perhaps, or nervousness, as the New Rule’s emotional ripple played across her face.

“Anything to drink?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse, as she stood and smoothed her apron, utterly unfazed by the act she’d just performed.

Michael, still catching his breath, managed a weak, “Uh, just… water.”

She nodded and walked back to the counter, her hips swaying as if nothing had happened. Michael’s gaze drifted across the shop, his mind buzzing with the Rulebook’s power. His eyes landed on a cute student sitting alone in the corner, her nose buried in a thick novel. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her glasses perched delicately on her nose. A sly smile spread across his face as he opened the Rulebook again, the pencil hovering over the page. His hand began to move, the graphite whispering against the paper.