Free Fiction: Thank You For Staring

Greetings all! And Merry Christmas!

Sorry about the lack of productivity here, but I think that will change soon. I've made a lot of progress on my next Ro-Sham-Bimbo story; in fact, if not for coming down with a nasty bout of flu I would've probably had it published this month already. I'm finishing it up and still need to do some editing and all that, but it should be posted soon.

In the meantime, and as a bit of a slightly-belated Christmas gift, here's a short story about a mind controller at a cafe. This is rather obviously inspired by the show Jessica Jones, which I've been watching lately. Not the best show, for various reasons not worth getting into, but still good for inspiring a story idea or two.

It ends rather abruptly, but if there is interest I could easily continue it, or add an epilogue to finish it off properly. Let me know what you think, and if you'd be interested in a continuation.

- Tabitha

Thank You For Staring 

By Tabitha Kohls

Copyright 2017

***

"Wow, are those tits real or implants?"

Miranda nearly shot coffee out her nose at the unexpected, and very inappropriate, statement.

"Excuse me?!" she gasped, wiping her mouth with her napkin as she stared up from her book. A strange man stood across the cafe table, smiling at her.

He wasn't just a total stranger to her, he was strange.

"I asked if those luscious sweater stuffers of yours are real," the man asked, taking a seat opposite her. She started to tell him off for taking the seat without asking, but he merely waved his finger at her. "Tell me the truth. Oh, but talk as if you were trapped in a porno."

"My titties are one-hundred percent natural titmeat, stud," her mouth said, as she guffawed in shock at her traitorous words.

"I knew it!" The man reached over, and without asking, pulled her coffee over to his side, and sniffed it. "Ugh, why you people insist on packing so much random unnecessary spices into these things..."

He caught the eye of a passing waitress, and shoved the coffee cup into her hand. "Here babe, go pour this out and fill it with the best coffee you can find. Then bring it back. Now!"

The waitress looked as flummoxed as Miranda felt, but hurried off, dropping a tray of food meant for the table behind them. She turned, not toward the kitchen, but instead straight out the cafe doors and headed across the street.

"So, let's talk about you, Miss Titterific," the stranger said. "What's your name?"

Miranda started to answer him, but again her mouth went on with a mind of its own. "Sloppy Seconds."

The man stared at her for a second, then slapped his head. "Ah, right, the porno thing. I take it your first pet was named Sloppy?" She nodded. "And you grew up on Second Street? Okay, what is your legal name?"

"Miranda Holly Taylor," she said despite herself.

"Three first names, interesting." The man stopped, as the waitress suddenly burst back into the cafe, sweating. He took the coffee from her as she reached the table, clearly out of breath. "Mmm, this is more like it! Best coffee around was in the diner across the street, I take it?"

"No, was... three... blocks... downtown--" the waitress began, panting, but the man dismissed her with a wave.

"Whatever, get back to your work bitch." The woman hurriedly began picking up the ruined food she'd dropped, while begging forgiveness from the men seated behind Miranda's table.

"Did you really have to call that fake-titted skank a bitch, studmuffin?" Miranda asked, then winced as her words registered.

"Sure thing, Sloppy," the man said, grinning as he sipped his fresh coffee. "What was Sloppy anyway, a rabbit?"

"My pussy, sir," Miranda said, wincing again. The man barked out a laugh. She tried to explain, but her mouth only made it worse. "My pussy always made a mess when I fed it. She made my hands all wet and dirty when I petted it."

She slapped her very clean hands over her very dirty mouth, her face burning red as people stared at her from the neighboring tables.

"Hence her name, I take it?" The man nodded. "Well, Sloppy Seconds, why don't you tell me some more about yourself. We've already established the fine quality of your tits... where do you work?"

Miranda struggled futilely as she answered the man, her mouth betraying her and adding the nastiest twist to every phrase. By the time the stranger had emptied his cup, she'd spilled out the details of her private life in intimate detail.

The man took her book from before her, as he had her coffee earlier, and borrowing a pen from her purse, quickly jotted down some information of his own. "Since you're a successful businesswoman," he said, pushing the book back to her, "you should have no problem transferring five-thousand dollars into the account I've written here. In fact, why don't you call your bank right now and transfer the funds. Oh, and while you are talking to your banker, you will speak like you usually do."

Miranda tried to fight his commands as she pulled her phone from her purse, but was just as unsuccessful as before. Within minutes she had transferred nearly half of her savings over to the man's own account.

"Well, today has been a very profitable day, for me anyway." The man started to push his seat back, then stopped, a bemused expression crossing his lips. "Hmm... normally this would be the point where I tell you to forget about me, and head off to spend my ill-gotten gains before the command wears off. But..."

He leaned across the table, staring at her, grinning impishly. "But you really do have nice tits. Maybe I'll keep you around a while longer."

Miranda felt her blood run cold. Clearly whoever the strange man was, he was incredibly dangerous. If she got away from him, half of her savings would be a small price to pay.

"Speaking of, why don't you take those lovely boobs out for me. Now."

Miranda gulped, as her hands began to unbutton her blouse on their own accord. "But, people will see my bitchin' tits, baby?"

Her blouse fell open, even as her busy hands reached behind her, and began to work at removing her bra.

"Of course they will," the man agreed. Miranda's face grew red, as she saw people whispering and pointing from around the cafe.

Suddenly she felt the room's cool air fall across her chest. Without looking down, she held her bra out in one hand. He indicated the table top, and she dropped the garment obediently in place.

"Don't cover up," he ordered, as her hands fell back to her sides. He gazed straight at her breasts, as she felt her nipples hardening in the air. "Oh yes, very nice indeed. It's a crime the way you've been hiding those behind that blouse and unnecessary bra."

Miranda's face was crimson, as people got up to leave, a few stopping just long enough to snap a picture with their phones.

"Please, baby, can't Sloppy cover her jugs now?"

"No." The word fell on her mind like a hammer. He continued staring for a time, as she continued to blush. "You don't like people staring at your tits, do you?"

"No," she managed, almost shaking.

"Not now, I mean before, when I asked you about your tits you seemed very angry that I even mentioned them. And that blouse, not flattering at all. You even button it up to the collar. And I see you've got a jacket on your chair, I bet you button that up too, just to keep people from seeing your wonderful tits."

"Y-y-yes, I-I--" she began, gulping as a group of local college students came in, staring in shock at the topless middle manager sitting in the middle of the crowded cafe.

"You try so hard to hide your best assets," the man said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "Well, no longer. I want you to thank every man you notice stealing a glance at your tits. Thank him, and tell him why you are thankful for his attention."

The new command fell over her thoughts like a net, and suddenly Miranda's mouth was moving on its own again. "Thank you, sir, for staring at my bazongas. It really makes me feel sexy and attractive, the way your eyes walk all over my giant rack...."

She suddenly turned in her chair, and stared straight on at a man sitting in the booth next to them. "And thank you for staring at my fuckballoons, baby. It really makes me feel so hot."

Miranda's face was on fire, as she started to turn again, to face another man. "Hold on, slutbumps," the stranger's voice cut-in. "Face me again."

She sighed in relief, as she turned back to him. "Thanks for staring at my jugs again, studmuffin. It makes my pussy gush to know how much attention my babies bring me."

The man grinned. "Oh yes, I'm definitely keeping you around. For a while, anyway. Alright, get dressed again, and then follow me; we're going shopping. Oh, and leave the bra."

Miranda hastily buttoned up her blouse, hard nipples tenting the thin fabric without her bra to hide them. She started to put on her jacket, but the man stopped her with a wave. "Take out anything you need from the pockets, but leave the jacket on your chair."

The man held the cafe door for her, as she hurried out, purposely not looking anyone in the eye.

"It's a pity my powers wear off after a few hours, so in a few hours that compulsion to thank guys for looking at your melons will abate." The stranger sighed, staring around them as she fumbled in her purse for her car keys.

"Still, there are some permanent things we can do, in the meantime. Tell me Sloppy, how do you feel about grossly inappropriate tattoos?"

***

To Be Continued....