Barista

Is it wrong to be having lustful thoughts about the barista at the bookstore?1

Mmm-mm, she wears the cutest little dresses, hem above the knee, little apron tied at her waist.2

She doesn’t wear stockings, which is fine with me; she has strong legs, not skinny little pipe cleaners (which I don’t like). They aren’t pillars, either, just…mmm…strong. Katya is her name. She has that Slavic/Belo-Russian look, dark. Cute little upturned nose, strong hands, bright, ready smile, short hair that looks like feathers, little pointed chin.3

And legs. It’s her legs that get me. And the directness of her gaze. She’s unafraid to look me in the eye, to look anyone in the eye. How often do you get that?4

Still, those legs. I’m not usually a leg person, any more than I am interested in any other body part. I am usually more of a personality person.5

I have naughty thoughts about those legs, about spreading them and nibbling my way up them. Making her squirm, gasp, cry out. Little fantasies about them wrapping around me, pulling me into her while I work her with my tongue.6

Maybe following her back through that swinging door, to the storage area, where there’s a counter. Running my hand down her arm, trailing my fingers across her back, surprising her. 7

Brushing my lips oh-so-softly across hers, when she turns around, eyes wide. Teasing her nipples through her top, making them pop out. This would be a skirt-and-blouse night, so I could unbutton her blouse, pushing her gently back until she fetches up against the counter (the one you can’t see when the door opens). Slowly pull the blouse down, until her shoulders are bare. Brush my lips against her neck, nip her earlobe, fluttering kisses down her neck to her shoulder. Would she close her eyes, tip her head back? Sigh? I can see her breasts, small, firm, lifting with her sigh. She’d wear a white cotton bra, simple, sweet. I would pull the cup down, touch the tip of my tongue to her nipple, a little taste. Ah, nice, it’s one of those front closure bras. I would open it, release her perky duo, suck and lick them to my heart’s content. Take the left one into my mouth, roll the pebbled tip with my tongue, bite down softly, teeth just closing on the tender flesh. Would she moan, a little, try to be quiet so the customers don’t hear her? Moving on to her right breast, nuzzling, sucking, nipping. 8

My hands are busy, too. One hand playing with the breast not in my mouth, the other working down to her legs, those strong legs. Stroking her silken skin, tracing my fingers down their sides, spiraling towards her inner thighs, then around to her tight ass, squeezing her there, grinding my hips into her a little, pressing her into the counter. I’d push her legs open with my knee, run my fingers up her damp panties (cotton, sweet) to the elastic. I would slide my finger inside the elastic, pull it down, tug the panties until they drop, giving her the tiniest bit of room to step out of them.9

Her hands busy in my hair, tangling in the long strands, pulling softly, she would pull me up from her breast for a kiss, deep, urgent, tongues dancing inside each other’s mouths. I would put my hands on her hips, lift her up to sit on the counter. Break the kiss, look deep into her eyes, smile, take a breast again. I’d slide one hand behind her, up her back, grab her hair, pull back, move my mouth up to her neck, that little hollow where the jaw meets the ear. My other hand is snaking down her leg again, brushing lightly, then kneading her thigh. Run my fingers through the silken tangle of her snatch, feel the wetness, run a finger along her slit, teasing. Bringing my mouth up for another kiss, sliding my finger into her, barely into her, running it up and down her wet length, in circles around her hard node of pleasure without touching it, down again to her welcoming cunt. Slide another finger into her, turn them sideways, push into her depths a little, wriggle my fingers, push them deep, deep, fuck her lightly with them, feel her jump, push onto me, moan into my mouth. 10

I’d break the kiss, pull my fingers out, bring them to my mouth, taster her musky sweetness. I would place my hands on her knees, spread her as far as I can, lift her skirt, look down at her pink flesh. Lean down for a taste, tongue dipping in, just a flick. She would sit very still, then, almost afraid to breath, heart pounding. I would dip my tongue in again, bend over her, lave her in earnest, now. My tongue would fuck her deep, hard, insistent, then pull out and swirl around her clit, dancing over it, teasing it. Long strokes up her slit, lapping at her, then quick fluttering movements on her pleasure center, feeling it harden even more under my attentions. She would be wet, so wet, the counter wet, dripping onto the floor. I won’t let her cum, not yet. I’d move up to her breasts again, using my fingers to fill her , tease her, below. I want to fuck her, take her hard and urgent against the counter, but I won’t. Not yet. This time, I’ll just eat her until she is limp, weak.11

I move back down, plunge my tongue right into her, deep as I can. Pull it out, use my fingers in her depths while my mouth works her clit, tongue fluttering, pressing, licking, lips sucking, pulling at her, teeth nipping carefully. She would writhe, now, twine her fingers in my hair, pull me closer, urge me to greater efforts. Fingers in her, tongue lapping at her, lost in her smell and taste, I will make her cum, now, sucking, licking, lapping.12

She can’t scream, can’t cry out, she has to be quiet. Her release will rock her body, make her buck against my tongue, clench her legs, her strong, strong legs, around me, make her pant, but she’ll stay quiet. She’ll tremble with the effort of silence, from the power of the orgasm. I’ll straighten, smile at her, lick my fingers, reach into my pants and stroke myself a little, push deep into my own wet cunt, twiddle my clit, so close to cumming; I would push myself over the edge, staring into her eyes, using the fingers wet with her juices, fuck myself. I’d have to hold onto the counter, legs weak, trembling, until I find my own release, quick, hard, fierce.13

I’d help her dress, sliding her damp panties up her legs, stroking her snatch once before setting them in place. Fasten the bra after one last taste of her nipples, a little bite to remember me by, a suck, a pull. Nibble her earlobe while I fasten her buttons. Wipe my hands and face on a clean towel, smooth my pants and shirt down, fix my hair. I’d check the little window in the door, make sure no one is watching, saunter back to my table unnoticed. After a few minutes, she’ll follow, flushed, hot, sated.14

Next time, I will bring a vibrator, a double headed dildo, something for her ass. I am already thinking about it, about fucking her with a strap-on, filling her pussy with a vibrator, her ass with a dildo, making her eat me while she fucks me with the double dildo, until I’m ready to cum, them climbing on and fucking us both. I can feel myself tightening already.15

So, is it wrong the have lustful thoughts about the barista at the coffee shop?16