Something warned her that she wasn’t the first one he was ravishing on this bay window. He knew his way around that cramped space too well. But she couldn’t afford to care. Not right now. Not when she is so close. So close to the ultimate end that every beginning craves. So close to being one with all that is good in this world. So close to her first orgasm in years.
Naas had frequented Turquoise Cafe so faithfully for months now. She knew who would be serving her the regular Latte and how long it will take them to prepare her usual croissant. There was a reason she preferred to go to the cafe at 4 in the evening on a weekday. There would be no one around. No one to judge her taste in music, no one to comment on her slightly quirky sense of style and no one to curiously stare at her long flowing black curly hair. She loved this hour of her routine – it was liberating to be away from any kind of incisiveness.
This Tuesday evening was slightly altered. She was not alone in Turquoise Cafe at 4 PM. But, oh, she didn’t mind at all. She didn’t mind an eye candy at all. His hair jet black, eyes a shade lighter than hazel, his face covered in the most magnificent beard she had ever seen. As she entered she found him looking out of the window, his back turned to her. Her first thought — how completely spectacular it would be to eat his ass. She missed a step and stared too long as her own thoughts startled her and she realized that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time.
What followed was everything all the years of cheap, desperate Mills and Boons has taught you – their eyes met, her gaze fell, his heart melted and they both knew something has changed in the air. Maybe the automatic air freshener has squirted out another batch of fragrant liquid to diffuse in the air. Or maybe the dispenser that poured out its entire entirety and made the air as thick as it could be.
It felt strange but she took her usual seat. She could feel him. Feel his eyes on her, curious, maybe even judgmental – but she liked it. She tried to sneak a peek at him. Saw his shoes. If what they say about the shoe size is true, he was a well endowed man. His legs. How they would look intertwined with her legs. His buttocks. She thought about how her legs would look wrapped around a stranger’s ass while he thrust himself into her on a kitchen counter top. The specifics of her imagination made her realize how lively her mind was. And with that she noticed the waiter for the first time since she had entered the cafe. She received her order and the waiter retreated to the inner room as he usually did, knowing she was to be his lone costumer for an hour or two.
As she took the first sip she felt the stranger move, looked up and saw him coming towards her. There was no polite conversation, nobody said a word. She stood up as if commanded to. With one swift move he grabbed her ass. Something shot through her that captivated – not her mind or heart — her imagination.
That man, that figure of self possessed surety, was going to destroy her for any man ever, and she had no idea.
While standing really still, his hand moved up her spine, the fingers tangled in the vastness of the curly hair, he pulled them. It hurt her.
It assured her of his grip. As she stood there, face up towards the ceiling, all she wanted, all her loins seem to want was his lips on hers, his tongue dipping in her mouth. And he finally did. Nothing in her life had ever felt as lively as this stranger’s tongue felt. It made her wet. Moist with anticipation. Anticipation of the unknown.
Without a warning, he scooped her up. She could feel his heart racing as she dangled from his arms, head against the chest. It assured her that she was not alone in this madness. He propped her against the bay window, and slowly knelt down in front of her. With a jerk he parted her legs and with another tore apart the piece of cloth that hid her soul. A single touch and she loosened up. A single lick and everything inside her tightened.
He pulled her closer and she slid deeper into the seat, possibly as deep as his tongue ventured inside her vagina. She pulled his hair as every sense inside her tingled. He nibbled softly at her clitoris and made circles around it with his tongue, and gently run his hands up and down her thighs. She felt aroused and calm at the same time. The desire to have a stronger and harder tool in place of his tongue was growing inside her. She believed that she couldn’t wait any longer, and if she did she might die.
And just at that moment he stopped – abruptly. And without so much as a kiss, he pulled down his pants. With a single, forceful thrust of his hips he was buried deep inside her. And that’s when she realized how big he was. An excruciating pain shot through her – there was nothing pleasurable about it. The pleasure came after the third thrust. That’s when she remembered why Missionary was her favorite position – she could hold on to his ass, and maybe move it to her rhythm. Her legs wrapped around his waist, one hand on his ass, and another holding on to the edge of the window. There were times she thought she would scream and the whole world would hear her – or at least the waiter.
The intensity of the situation made her forget everything – where she was, where her underwear was, why she was letting this stranger fill her up with what could only be described as a magic wand, she forgot herself, she forgot her shame. She screamed. “Do me”.
He muffled her with one hand and pulled her hair with another. It was a warning, and she understood perfectly.
She took his hand and placed it on her neck. She had been a bad girl; she shouldn’t have been so naughty. But she was ready for her punishment. He reached for her neck. She was glad; she loved being kissed on the neck. But he didn’t kiss her, he bit her, hard. She screamed out again. And this time he stopped pounding her. She thought it was over, she didn’t want it to be over. But he held her waist and turned her around. He was going to take her from behind — just like that, without a word; he was going to plough her ass.
It felt different. It felt like suddenly he was enraged. More powerful, more passionate. But it wasn’t just passion. He was squeezing her breasts with a force worthy of murderous rage. It turned her on and antagonized her at the same time. She felt him go faster and harder and then suddenly come to an absolute halt. She knew what it meant. He was finished. He had just come inside her. She could feel it. It filled her. She wanted to see his face; she knew it would have a look of glory on it. She turned around.
It wasn’t the same face anymore. It wasn’t the same man anymore. What had just happened? This is not possible. She knew him. But it wasn’t the same man. She knew him from all the 4PM Lattes. It was the waiter.