Lets Grab Coffee: Part 1

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and we are in no way advocates of any kind of abuse, non-consensual behavior, crossing any hard limits, putting any one in harm’s way (physically/mentally/emotionally/spiritually), or violating one’s boundaries/what was pre-negotiated.

With this being said, enjoy the story!

It’s hot outside. I’m sitting in my van with the windows rolled up and the AC on. The radio is playing an obnoxious song from a band that sounds like every other band on this station. I’ve tuned it out though. It’s just background noise. I look up and glance at myself briefly in my rear view mirror- mascara hasn’t melted, lip salve is rosy as ever.

“Open the door. Climb down. Go inside. Don’t be a pussy, just do it”, I say to myself, thinking maybe if it’s demanded of me, then I won’t be so nervous. That if it’s a command, I’ll follow through.

Transitioning from the cool 68 degrees in the car, to the humid 92 outside makes my skin tingle. It gives me goosebumps. Stepping down from the van I have to be very careful not to reveal anything. Not to show anyone how naked I really am.

You told me not to wear anything underneath my skirt, and I’m a good girl, so I obeyed you.

The feel of the air moving up from underneath me as I jump down tickles me in places I shouldn’t give attention to in public. I can’t help but wonder how long it’s going to take before my juices start running down my legs. I’m turned on by just being here.

I’ve never not worn panties in public before.

I feel like everyone around me must know.

In their heads they must be thinking, “That slut. Spreading her legs for men other than her husband”, and “Can you believe her? Have some self dignity and cover yourself up!”. …”Act like a lady!” “This is not how a mother of 5 should behave!.” “You’re disgusting!”.

But- you told me to do it. And I want to be so very good for you.

Besides. Nobody REALLY knows that there’s nothing but dirty girl sexual tension underneath my clothing. For all they know, I’m a nun.

I walk into the coffee shop where the temperature goes back to freezing, keep going straight ahead with my eyes somewhat down, and then get in line.

Iced or hot? Iced or hot?

If I get iced, I’m going to find myself seductively biting my straw. But if I get hot, all of my lip tint will rub off on the cup as I sip from it. What I’m really hoping for is that the mix of rose salve and blush will rub off on you instead.

Iced. I’ll let you watch me play with the straw with my tongue. I want to draw as much attention to my mouth as possible. I want you to imagine my mouth pleasing you.

The line moves forward a step. I’m trying not to glance around with wide eyes wondering where you are. I refuse to look up. Please come find me.

While I stand, I read the back of the shirt of the person in front of me. I stare at a basket full of overpriced reusable plastic cups covered in logos, and I focus on my breathing.

It’s my turn to order. Please let this take a very long time because I really don’t want to have to make eye contact with anyone other than the cashier.

Small coconut milk iced latte. I’m jittery enough. The less caffeine the better.

The gal behind the counter compliments me on my dreadlocked hair. I smile and thank her, and just as I’m about to plug my card into the chip reader-

“There you are”, comes a voice from beside me, and quickly I feel the heat and pressure of a large, strong hand on the small of my back.

I hold my breath.

You’ve found me. You’re touching me. Please want me.

Frozen in place, I stand there like a deer in headlights as you move around me, hand still making contact and lowering down to my backside. You put your card in the reader instead. You smile at me quickly, and then make small talk with the cashier, who is asking you something about the weather, or maybe how you like the americano she made you. I’m actually not sure what either of you are saying because your hand is on my ass and I’m concentrating on clenching my legs together so I don’t let anything escape.

Oh, but shit- you just payed for me. You shouldn’t have done that. I mean, that was nice and all, but, is that how we’re doing this? This isn’t a date, right? This is more of a- thing?

The line has to keep moving, so you give my ass a nudge, and we walk over to the drink counter. There’s a lot of noise surrounding us- relaxing me enough to raise my eyes and look around. Lots of people on laptops, a few business meetings, maybe a moms group or something. They call out my drink, and I reach for it with a shaky hand.

I’m so nervous.

I wonder if the barista knows how wet I am right now. Does she get wet when she’s helping a hot customer?

I look away from her as quickly as I can. This is torture.

Your hand moves from my ass to my arm, and you start leading me to a small table in the back corner. Someone has just gotten up from it, and we move past them on their way out. It was perfect timing.

I have to carefully smooth out my skirt before sitting down-mostly checking to make sure there isn’t an obvious wet spot on the back of it- and cross my legs carefully as I descend upon the seat. I can feel the slickness as I bend, and I’m praying to god I don’t make a mess of this chair.

You sit down directly across from me. That drink that the cashier was asking you about before is suddenly in your hand. And you’re staring right at me.

I can’t help but smile and bite my lip the way that I do when I have dirty thoughts running through my mind. I realize what I’m doing, being awkward and silent, so I force myself to speak.

“Thank you for the coffee”, I say, and raise the straw to my mouth.

You stare at me only a few seconds longer, and then you say, with a completely serious, yet casual look on your face, “Spread your legs”. Followed by silence, and a smile.

My eyes widen. And so do my legs.

I’m chewing on the straw now, exactly how I knew I would. You didn’t skip a beat, did you? My heart is racing a little bit faster and my cheeks must be beginning to blush. I smile back, and simply say, “Yes,” trying to keep my voice as casual as yours.

“Good girl”, you say back.

You know how wet those words make me.

I continue seducing my straw- bending it back and forth with my tongue between sips.

As I’m pawing my mind for something to break the silence, you begin telling me about your drive. You’re going into detail about your morning and the gas station that you stopped at before heading down south-silly chatter to fill the space between us.

And then I feel your hand under the table on my knee.

I pause my straw chewing and let out a small gasp.

I try to recover with, “Oh yeah, I never win from scratch off tickets either,” trying not to ruin the cover conversation.

As you speak, your fingertips slip beneath the edge of my skirt, and your hand starts slowly moving up my thigh. You’re talking about chicken wings and how you used to get them all the time with your dad when you were a kid, and how now you always get them with your son.

I see your mouth moving and I hear your voice, but I’m having a very hard time following the actual story. Chicken wings. Car. Summer.

I spread my legs wider- my body’s natural reaction to your slow going movement up my skin. Surely, you’re going to pull your hand back at any second, and that will have been that. This is all a tease. You asked me to leave my panties at home so you could tease me. To make me want.

I’m nodding along to what you say, trying to act as if nothing abnormal is happening under the table that we’re sharing. Occasionally saying things like “Oh, me too,” and “Of course.” You’ve just finished talking about a hiking trip you took last weekend, when you clear your throat, and raise your coffee cup to your mouth.

As you’re taking your sip, you stare directly into my eyes, and your hand takes a swift yet graceful leap. I feel your fingers plunge smoothly inside of my wanting, needy pussy.

Both of my hands slam down on the table, and I suck in a loud breath of air.

Not a tease. You’re finger fucking me in a coffee shop.

You lower your cup from your mouth, and continue talking. What is even happening here? Is the hand that’s slowly working its way in and out of my pulsating womanhood the same hand that’s attached to the person flawlessly speaking to me?

I hear nothing now, and you must know this. I’m trying so hard to keep my breathing steady as you curl your fingers upward, and find that spot that no woman on earth can resist.

I’m having a difficult time keeping my eyes open all the way. And an even harder time keeping myself from rocking my hips. Oh my god there are like 40 people in here with us. I can’t believe you’re doing this.

I bring my hand over my mouth to let out a muffled moan, and turn my head to see if anyone heard me.

Nobody knows.

Our secret is safe.

You’re knuckles deep up cunt river and not a single person here, other than us, has any idea.

How are you still talking? Something, something bonfire, something, something bourbon, something, something swimming. I have no idea what you’re rambling about and I don’t care.

Is it hot in here? Anyone?

…there’s a thumb circling my clit now. Are you fucking serious?

You are obviously very pleased with yourself because you keep smiling at me with a devilish grin between speaking words about god knows what.

People are moving around the coffee shop as if nothing is happening. Walking past us to the bathrooms and back. A delivery driver dropping off a box in the back.

My eyes keep rolling back in my head and my lips keep trembling, breath becoming jagged. As your fingers slip and slide along my tight wet walls, I almost can’t control myself.

Suddenly your tone changes. You set down your coffee on the table with a gentle thud, and remind me, “Be a good girl”.

Right. Yes. I’m being ridiculous. I need to calm down. Be good. Listen to him.

“Keep looking at me, and behave, girl,” you command.

Oh, Jesus.

Yes. I will behave.

My eyes are locked on yours, and I’m being as still and quiet as I possibly can- just like you’ve instructed. And then you add another finger, and I let out a moan loud enough to turn heads from the table behind us.

I try to cover up the sound of my pleasure by clearing my throat and asking you with a shaky voice about where you plan to hike next, and you say, “I like to think of it more as exploring. …and I’m exploring something rather beautiful and dangerous right now”.

That’s it.

Fuck.

I’m done.

You win.

My hands grip the sides of the table, my mouth opens wide in a silent O. I clench my eyes shut, throw my head back, and I let my body shudder with the rush of intense waves of pleasure that are pouring over me from head to toe.

I’m leaning back in my chair, ass scooted down and towards you, trying desperately to catch my breath as quickly as my exercised lungs will allow. I look up, we lock eyes- and I see that fucking grin looking back at me.

I shake my head no. You shake your head yes.

In a few seconds when I can finally regain the ability to speak, I say “We have to leave. Now”.

There is no way that went unnoticed. How fast can I get from this side of the store to the door? When I stand up am I going to flood the place with the leftovers from my orgasm?

You’re still smiling. No, you’re laughing. You think this is funny?

You love it.

I take a deep steadying breathe, stand up without looking at ANYONE, grab your hand with a tug, and start walking, leaving my coffee sitting on the table.

Click here for Part 2

About the Author:

Paige is a 34 year old dreadlock mama, currently living in Virginia, exploring her deepest desires to be primally dominated. She has spent the last 12 years as a housewife, but has quietly fantasized long enough, and is now beginning her kinky journey to self realization and true pleasure. Paige writes erotica based off of a combination of personal fantasy and experience.

Fetlife: TangerineSpeedo