DokiDoki Freezy-Please-y Fun Times [Dr.Freon]

[Fairess]

The life choices one had to make in order to end up working at a place called "Cream Come True" were sad indeed. Claire was a typical starving college student with no funds but lots of dreams, and once she got past the shame of a uniform and putting on fake smiles for customers, it honestly wasn't so bad. The pay was much higher than usual for a waitress, the boss's rules and attitude favored the safety of the workers over the satisfaction of guests, and the bonus was as much ice cream as she wanted. Seriously! There was no limit on what the workers could have for a lunch break, and it was very common for them to be the first to try new flavors before they even reached the public.

So, despite the dirndl-meets-maid aesthetic of the uniforms and the cutsey dances she had to learn, all in all, Claire couldn't help but be affected by the children's dream come true vibe of working for such a prominent ice cream brand. Yes, Cream Come True was one very small wheel of a much larger ice cream factory, and people visited from all around the world to catch a glimpse of the famous ice cream wonderland within.

Unfortunately, the pseudo maid café wasn't actually inside the factory, merely part of the front for passersby to stop at before or after their visit. They served a whole lot of families and dates, so it felt like the "It's a Special Ice Cream Birthday!" song and dance routine was fixed on repeat nearly every hour. It at least beat getting hit on, groped, or creeped on at a typical maid café.

Things had finally started to slow down for the day, only an hour left on the clock before closing. Claire found herself cleaning more than serving, polishing up the 'snowy wunderland' floor with a mop and ensuring that the sprinkles-on-cake tops of the counters and tables were clean. Rather than leaning into an old-fashioned ice cream parlor sort of vibe, the shop was very much a wonderland experience with faux macaron cushions on the barstools and booth seats that looked like wafer cookies. It was on the razor's edge of being tacky, but had such a unified, tastefully colorful theme that the shop actually managed to pull it off.

Still, Claire was more distracted by the clock than the decorations. A certain someone hadn't visited at his usual time, and she couldn't help but feel a touch disappointed. Between work, school, and commuting, she hadn't really had time to devote to finding dates. Just getting her fill of a polite, handsome guy every once in a while did more than it should to perk up her downtrodden spirits.

And she surely looked cute herself! Beyond the soft pink and white tones of her maid-like minidress, she had a decent figure with generous hips and a promising bust. The white frills of her bodice only helped to emphasize the perky curves, and there was even a little midriff window between the top of the dress and the skirt that flashed a pale, smooth belly. It was food safety policy that her long hair always be tied back, so she favored a braided bun with ribbons that very much played into the blond dirndl aspect of her uniform.

Her face, she had been told, was 'mature but soft' and one of the relatively demeaning reasons she'd gotten the job. She had full lips that whipped cream looked indecently good on and warm brown eyes that could welcome customers without too much forceful cheer. Indeed, she played the gentle, matronly personality of the working girls, and because it was very useful for calming down crying kids who didn't want to leave, she rarely got flack for not being cutesy or energetic enough.

No homework tonight, no need to work late… I think I might actually have time for a movie. Maybe a bath soak? My back's a little sore… am I getting old already? It was a ridiculous thought for a twenty-something, but waitressing for so many tables throughout the day could do that to a woman.

 

[Doctor December]

With the industry conference in LA and the delayed flight back, Nick wasn't sure he would make it to Cream Come True before close today. Thankfully, touchdown was not as late he had first thought, and he wound up having a whole ninety minutes to get back from the airport to his home, drop off his luggage, and then get to the shop.

Before he stepped into the shop, he ran his fingers through his platinum blonde hair to sweep it back a little. The chime above the door sounded sweetly as he pulled it open and sidestepped through the threshold. Perhaps it was a little old fashioned, a little cliche, but that was the charm of Cream Come True. It was like stepping into your sugar craving's fantasy of what an ice cream parlor should be.

Cream Come True was owned by SnowCo, which was also the manufacturer and distributor of Mr. Snowman's brand ice cream. Mr Snowman's was then, naturally, what they served at Cream, and in the true fashion of corporate synergy, much of the framed pictures in the shop's walls were poster prints of old Mr. Snowman's promotions and ads throughout the years. There were pictures featuring the brand's very first slogan ("Bring us ice cream!"), and some with the old mascot: a childlike, cartoon elf with hair as white as Nick's tucked under a floppy hat that ended in a point. In fact, Nick looked more than a little like the cartoon sprite to most of the other patrons and many of the waitresses, though none of them would ever say so. After all, they concluded, it wasn't like it was intentional on Nick's part, and the artist had made that funny drawing decades ago almost certainly before Nick was born.

Nick took a seat at the bar on one of the macaron-stools, and rested both elbows on the counter, clasping one hand with the other. He found the waitress, the last one here for the day it would seem, was cleaning, and greeted her with a smile, exchanging a simple "Hi!" for her very rehearsed, "Welcome to our café, where creams come true!" He had seen her here before, but never as the last one out, and truth be told, something about being alone with her had his pulse jogging at a faster pace.

Being that Cream was mostly a family restaurant, its traffic tended to die down earlier in the evening than other places, and while a late night diner or a bar and grill might find 8:00 PM on a Friday to be peak business time, here it was a ghost town. It might seem rather suspicious that Nick liked to come into an ice cream shop as a grown man, alone, at this hour. One might assume he was here to stare at the waitresses in their mandatory lolita-esque skirts, and while that wasn't necessarily wrong, Nick might argue with some validity that he was here on a sort of... quality inspection.

"I think I'd just like a dish of the usual, please. Had a long trip and I just want some familiarity, you know?" Nick requested. When it grew silent again, the buzzing of the AC stood out more to him than before. It was reasonable that an ice cream joint would want the place a little bit below room temperature, and Nick didn't mind, even without a jacket over his blue vest and shirt. He always ran a little cooler than other people. Still, he couldn't help but wonder aloud to his server as he noted how short her minidress was, "Does it ever get cold in here to you?"

 

[Fairess]

No, I wouldn't know. I've never been anywhere outside the state and I'm twenty-three years old. But Claire smiled anyway, an actual smile, because it was Nick. "It's funny you should say that — most people seem to come here for the novelty, not the classic vanilla flavor."

Part of her was gently disappointed that he didn't need the menu. It wasn't as though it was particularly complicated, being 80% ice cream, but she liked leaning just that bit closer to him, catching a whiff of his pleasant cologne. Was that creepy? He didn't wear a ring or bring a girlfriend with him, but she never had the nerve to ask who he might be with. And yet this fleeting time with him had a way of feeling both special and familiar, as if sharing a choice few moments at this bizarre ice cream café was a secret only they shared.

I need to get out of here before I turn into a sugary yandere. Claire realized she'd simply been staring into his eyes and promptly glanced away, gaze moving toward the AC vent in the wall as he mentioned it. All it took was that association to make her shiver. Truth be told, while she told herself she'd gotten used to it, she always had to keep herself moving to keep from getting too chilly. Whenever she took her break in the backroom, it was always with a light jacket on.

But that wasn't something you told an attractive regular. "I-It's just fine for me! I hope you're not running cold, though." She didn't mention that she lacked the code needed to change the thermostat – sometimes it was just about the gesture, not the reality of things. Before he could clarify whether or not he was cold himself, she lifted and crossed two fingers in a classic mini-heart and dipped into an embarrassingly pert curtsey. "I'll be back with your order in two scoops!"

As long as he didn't laugh, she could survive. Damn him, though, she felt the cool breeze around her thighs all the more as she turned around and slipped into the kitchen!

There were three critical aspects of their sundaes (beyond the undeniable quality of the ice cream, anyway): the layers, the mix-ins, and the toppings. Layers were part of the overall appearance in a tall ice cream glass, but more importantly, it added texture. Nick seemed to favor the Shortbread Surprise the most, which meant the decadently creamy vanilla would be paired with layers of crushed, buttery cookies.

Only cookies and ice cream would be boring though, right? Hence the mix-ins. They always made it fresh, crushing raspberries via fork with just a hint of vanilla and lemon juice. Once she had the berries ready, she braced herself for the freezer, cursing the complete lack of sleeves on her dress as she came out with the tub of vanilla. Then she had to painstakingly mix it by hand with the berries, layering the freshly enlivened ice cream with the crushed shortbread.

Finally, the most important part: the toppings! It always had to be, quite literally, over the top to make an impression. That meant copious amounts of whipped cream, a pair of Piroulines just because, a fresh, de-stemmed strawberry, and a perfectly round scoop of vanilla ice cream turned into a smiling face with some very careful application of chocolate syrup. They even had little white chocolate cylinders for snow man hands peeking up out of the whipped cream, along with a black top hat made of fondant.

After braving the freezer again, Claire shook off another cold little shiver and stepped out to the ice cream bar with the adorable sundae and a fresh spoon.

God, and she had to do the thing. No matter how many times he watched her do it, she was never going to feel less mortified.

"Enjoy your creamy dream in a cup!" She beamed despite the flush in her cheeks, hands cutely interlocked beneath her chin. Did she have to be this diligent when it was just the two of them so close to closing? Probably not, but if he noticed the lack of maidly decorum… well. It'd be worse to have him comment on it. Given his regular visits, perhaps this was exactly what he came for in the first place!

Creepy. She should have thought of it as creepy. But what was one sundae between an ice cream maid and a regular?

 

[Doctor December]

Noting the brief but obvious stammer as she answered, Nick gave Claire a tilt of the head and cock of the brow in disbelief of her claim. She never ceased to surprise him with her sincerity (or the guise of it, as the case may be) when she did all of the poses and hand gestures and cute litte phrases they taught her in training. Most of the girls did them half-heartedly when they weren't completely shirking them.

Though she dashed off to get to work making his sundae, he continued the conversation. "Oh, well, I do run cold, but I've never really been uncomfortable in chillier temperatures. I'm definitely one of those 'shorts in fall' kind of guys..." He gave a smile, even if she couldn't see it whilst preparing the berries for his dessert. While she was distracted, he briefly left his seat and grabbed a spoon at the silverware, straws, and napkins station set up against the wall in case customers needed extras. Silently but swiftly, he returned to his seat.

He watched her as she emerged from the walk-in, and lightly bit his upper lip as he smiled a smile that only widened when she gave him yet another pose and catchphrase. Not only that, his dish looked immaculate. He didn't doubt it tasted good given the product, but the presentation, the quantity and distribution of the toppings was on point. Claire was the perfect Cream employee, and he simply had to have her. It was finally time to play with her a little, he decided, and see what she really thinks of this job of hers.

"Are you sure you aren't cold?" he asked, noting the shiver she shook off after leaving the freezer. Using the spoon that she had tucked in the sundae, he took a bite, his tongue collecting everything that had been scooped into it until it only detected the cold metal. Then, to follow up his question, he leaned in closer as if he had some kind of gossipy secret to share. "I can't imagine you're comfortable in an ice cream shop, in that outfit. If it were me, I'd want a word with the higher-up that decided to make that the uniform in a refrigerated restaurant. I'd probably say something about the dances, too."

He rested his head on his free hand, which was propped at the elbow on the table, and with a sly look on his face that looked both proud of his hot take and expecting of her thoughts on the matter, he helped himself to a little more of the sundae. Then he slid the dish of ice cream as well as the extra spoon he had gotten up to grab in her direction; a token of trust and bonding to put her a little more at ease with being open.

 

[Fairess]

Damn. Damn it! Those lips. That tongue! Claire couldn't look away, suddenly dying to know what flavor his mouth was. Perhaps it was this distraction that made his question feel a touch romantic, like he was about to offer to share his coat. Except, of course, he wasn't wearing a coat and suddenly seemed more concerned about her comfort. 'That outfit,' he'd said, like she was wearing a swimsuit in a freezer truck!

Okay, so maybe there was a little midriff… and a little cleavage… and she could really feel that AC breathing down her bare neck, but a dress was a dress! The only reason she felt cold now, surely, was because he was keeping her standing there.

And then he had to go and give her that look. A touch arrogant, a touch cool, but damn did his face pull it off! He had that sharp sort of chin and dramatic brow that could frame a smolder perfectly, and the language his eyes seemed to be speaking didn't really have anything to do with ice cream parlor policies. She struggled to grasp at any kind of response, not quite able to think about her feelings regarding uniforms and cutesy-cute dances.

I could do a different sort of dance for you. Maybe one on your lap? Her lips parted, and she leaned ever-so-slightly forward. Then she finally noticed that his ice cream sundae had moved.

Her eyes darted between him and the ice cream, once again completely thrown off. She really, really shouldn't — socializing with guests wasn't against the rules, but this was a little bit more than innocent chatter. She absolutely wouldn't believe otherwise.

A crazy little thought flashed through her brain, and she was just excited enough to listen. With her gaze trained on Nick, she leaned forward, neglecting the spoon entirely so she could dip low enough to steal a bite off the snowman's little hat. "I guess complaining is one way to break the ice. Sure, it's chilly, and the dances are a bit… silly. But that's why people come here, you know? Ice cream and cute service. Are you saying you want something else?"

 

[Doctor December]

Nick was surprised it took her so soon to thaw to his attempts at more personal conversation. He watched as she leaned in, boldly flirting with him far more openly than he had anticipated. His original goal was to get her to say something offensive about her boss's boss, but this was something else entirely.

He could play along, and indeed, the temptation was formidable. It would be the easier route to be certain, but it also had less promise for the compliance he was after from this encounter. However, while she had dodged his initial play expertly, she was setting herself up for a situation just as sticky.

As best he could, Nick tried to act confused by Claire's sensual, no-handed bite of the snowman. "What- what are you doing?" he asked as his eyes flicked with a series of confused blinks. "Uh... You know I'm Nicholas Froud, don't you? You own this place, right?"

And this was not a lie. Nicholas Froud was indeed the CEO of SnowCo, and Cream Come True by proxy, as well. The reason Nick was so casual about coming in this close to close and leering at the waitresses was that he could. Granted, Claire was relatively new (and it was a miracle that she was so forgiving of his suspicious behavior), but the more tenured girls knew well enough to try to kick him out would be a meaningless gesture at best, and a plea for discipline at worst. Speaking of discipline, it was now Claire's time to be dealt with.

Nick chuckled, dropping the joke to cut the tension. "I'm just teasing you, Claire!" He leaned back, eying the cleavage she had put on display by leaning forward. "But now you know who's in charge around here," he boasted, smirking to take the ruse down the path of a more good-humored charade. "In case you ever need someone to vouch to your manager that you'll go above and beyond when it comes time for a raise..." He took his spoon, scooped up just a small bit of the chilly vanilla cream in the sundae, and flicked it at Claire's chest, giving her a wink.

 

[Fairess]

Claire suddenly felt a touch light-headed, shame making her ears burn as her advances were rejected. This had to be a nightmare — Nick was the last person she wanted to offend, her secret little crush who was always so amicable. All it took to ruin the tender beginnings of friendship was a nip in the wrong direction.

She promptly leaned back, unable to swallow the sticky fondant that was now melting on her tongue. Nicholas Froud, he said? She knew the name, though not from her actual work at Cream. Mr. Froud was a beloved celebrity, a fun fact in every trivia game as the eccentric owner of the best and biggest ice cream brand in the world. When people talked about SnowCo, it was to remember the tub of lemon-meringue custard that was there for them after a break-up, or that classic and chocolatey rocky road cone spent on the porch steps with their grandpa. Mr. Froud was in the business of sugary happiness.

And now, apparently, she'd just made a slut of herself in front of him. At a family ice cream parlor!

His little joke didn't make her feel any better, the sound of her name on his voice making her tremble. 'Just a joke,' he said, following it right up with talk of her manager. Flustered as she was, she couldn't tell if his smile was meant to put her at ease or soften a thinly veiled threat. Or maybe he was just a sick customer who knew how to play a mean joke — after all those lovely sundaes she'd made for him, too!

Claire covered her mouth with both hands, the prickle of cold along the back of her neck suddenly feeling hot. With great difficulty, she finally managed to swallow the sugary lump in her mouth.

"N-No, I'm not… I w-would never! I…" She squeezed her eyes shut, eyes starting to tear up. She really couldn't lose her job, not now! Not over something perverted, of all things! "I'm so, so sorry. I misunderstood you, but I promise I won't ever make you uncomfortable again! Please, please don't bring this up with the manager."

 

[Doctor December]

Nick did begin to feel legitimately bad for Claire. This was clearly an un-ironic fright for the poor server. He would have to make sure she got a bonus in addition to the raise she would get if she ended up being to Nick's liking.

"I won't tell your manager..." Nick began, but sternly gestured with a pointed finger to enunciate the condition, "...If you take a few special requests from me." He slid the still fairly full bowl of ice cream to her. "Starting with finishing this dessert. We need you on a belly of nice, cold food before you take inventory in the cooler tonight."

He stood up, pacing around her like a frosty buzzard circling above a cone someone dropped onto the sidewalk. "I'm sorry to have given you a fright, as I said before, but despite my desire to keep this place professional, the truth is, I really did enjoy your little flirtation back there. You're awfully good at it, you know."

He glanced over his shoulder at the curved pane of glass guarding the ice cream flavors on display for scooping selection from the customers who would pick them out. He searched for the two fullest cylindrical tubs, finding one of them to be pink, and the other white with dark spots of crumbly chocolate dough.

"When you're finished eating, please remove the strawberry and cookies and cream flavors for the display cooler, get a scoop, and set them on the floor."

 

[Fairess]

Oh, something was very wrong here, like a sudden twist of sour cherry in the middle of a scoop of rocky road. Before this sorry moment, Nick had just been a nice, good-looking guy who enjoyed a bit of banter at the ice cream counter. Now, all of a sudden, he was walking around like he really did own the place, asking the strangest requests of her. Eating his ice cream she could handle, but what the hell was with scooping up ice cream and putting tubs of it on the floor?

Her imagination did exactly what it shouldn't have, trying to fill in the gaps of reasoning. Was he going to make her lick the ice cream off the floor like a sloppy little pup? Maybe he was more into the maid gig, forcing a pretty girl with a short skirt to bend over and clean up after him? Surely, surely he wasn't going to make her hitch up her skirt and sit on the frozen lumps of cream. Why did such a cursed image even enter her head?

And the inventory, what did he mean by that and having a belly full of ice cream? This wasn't a slippery slope, she realized, but a drop straight off a cliff.

So what did she do? Either she indulged the newly revealed pervert or he fired her. She eyed the ice cream in front of her, the stupid snowman's smiling face mocking her for ever thinking she could find happiness with a guy. It wasn't like Nick was unattractive, stalkerish, or violent. He definitely wasn't the nice guy she'd pinned him for, though, and the more she cooperated with him, the more control he'd have over him. The smart thing to do was to walk away, right? Go home where she was safe so she could find a new job somewhere else?

In the deepest, darkest part of her, however, the strangest sort of curiosity started to blossom. What, exactly, did Nick want her to do that was so pervy he had to accost one of the parlor maids like this? Why was it her he wanted to toy with?

And why did she feel such a naughty little thrill at the idea of obeying him?

"Mmm… hm… I wouldn't imagine someone as important as you would have any interest in the café's inventory." Claire turned her head about to watch him as he moved, eyes wary and shoulders tense. How he managed such a smooth, pleasant tone of voice while making such requests was beyond her.

"I don't suppose you're going to explain why you want me to move the ice cream onto the floor? Am I about to find out that you keep a bunch of corpses in some secret freezer compartment?" Still, even as she spoke such pointed questions, she was spooning up his ice cream and very slowly, suspiciously slipping it into her mouth.

 

[Doctor December]

Nick didn't seem to mind Claire's outrageous accusation, though the intent to weaponize it against his confidence wasn't lost on him. He could sense, even at the core of her tense and temptingly apprehensive body language, a seed of intrigue was growing. She was putting up a hard shell, like chocolate-dipped soft serve, but it could still be cracked to find the sugar underneath.

"On the contrary, as owner of the establishment, I'm extremely invested in the café inventory. I want to make sure all my product is thoroughly accounted for, you understand. So you're going to take inventory. Twice to be sure.

First, because you're feeling so hot and bothered with that flirty little proposition, you're going to drop a couple of scoops down your shirt to help cool you down." He eyed the rift were the pink bow of her uniform enveloped her chest before resuming a sharp, almost predatory eye contact.

He gestured to the floor again. "And because I'm in whimsical mood, you're going to shuffle around the cooler wearing the two tubs I asked for as boots, hence setting them on the floor: to step into them. That should help inspire you to take your time with the product count."

He gently nudged the dish of sundae even closer to her to encourage her to finish it. "And if you finish this little task, your manager might just have a promotion for you come tomorrow..."

 

[Fairess]

Whimsical, he said, like it was an amusing little diversion to watch one of the parlor maids clomp around a freezer with her feet stuck in ice cream. Despite the fact that he wasn't close enough to breathe down her neck, she still felt nervous prickles along her back as he casually lorded over her. Strawberry shortcake for her tongue, cookie dough for her chest — it'd almost be sweet if it wasn't so damn perverse.

"I'm pretty sure the word you're looking for is actually demotion. Any job that makes me your ice cream covered toy is a little worse than a 'Happy, Happy, Creamy, Dreamy Birthday!' dance." Her lips caught around another spoonful of ice cream, and she almost managed a confident little quirk of her brow. "You didn't come up with the songs yourself, did you?"

It was almost liberating, getting to talk back for a change. While she knew she ought to be careful, given the fact that she was alone with a man who could probably flip her over the counter and have his way with her if he was into that sort of thing, it also felt like she was in too deep already to worry too much. He'd outed her as an inappropriate dealer of ice cream — what harm was there in a few jabs here and there?

Regardless of his answer, she was determined to make it through the sundae, at least. Ice cream wasn't the easiest thing to eat quickly, given the potential for brain freezes and the richness of the blend, but he only had to wait a few minutes for her to make it to the empty bottom of the glass. By then, she'd decided to dig deep, find the last dregs of her confidence, and indulge his awful little fantasy.

First, she fished the two tubs of ice cream out from the display, along with the accompanying scoop. Having dished out ice cream at least a thousand times, it wasn't hard for her to roll up a decently sized chunk into a neat ball that ended up… right between her breasts. She tried to play it off like she didn't care at all for the diversion, but it was a little hard to remain calm and collected when a clump of frozen cream was directly on her skin.

"Sh-Shit! That's c-cold!" Claire gasped, staring down at the bodice of her dress with her arms clenched up around either side of her chest. She shuddered violently, unable to keep from fidgeting as a mixture of prickling cold and ticklish, melty dribbles mussed that tender, sun-shy skin. It was almost funny, really — many people tended to assume it was a woman's nipples that were most sensitive, given how readily and obviously they hardened against the cold, but it was that warm, tender skin under her bra that felt the invasion the most keenly.

There was no acclimating to it, not until all that frozen cream melted. Her hands were a trembling mess as they went for another scoop, this time of the sour cherry sherbet. With her bra already quite occupied, she had to use the scoop to squeeze the sour cherry into her cleavage, squealing as the frozen cream squished against the underside of her breasts.

No longer able to put up even an attempt at a front, Claire's every breath was rapid and raspy enough to be a gasp. Pitifully clumsy with all her shaking, she had to lean against the counter as she plucked up one of her feet, undoing the dainty buckle at her ankle until her shoe plopped onto the floor. The second one came soon after, leaving her pale little feet bare as she collected up the tubs once again and set them onto the tile beneath her.

She didn't really have a clue as to how she could turn tubs of ice cream into shoes, but the most straightforward method seemed to be to melt her way to the bottom. And to do that, well… she'd have to stand on the cream until it melted around her feet, right?

"A-Ah… Aaah!" She whimpered as one foot, then the other, sunk into the tubs of ice cream. Her feet were a good deal tougher, but that didn't mean the undersides of them (along with her toes) weren't soft enough to feel the almost ticklish needling of ice against them. She looked utterly ridiculous, bent over the counter with her hips thrust backward. Her arms spread wide, palms flat against the counter as she slowly, painfully sunk quite unevenly into the ice cream around her feet.