The Coffee Shop

We had been talking for months online, and despite a relationship that had grown extraordinarily intense, we had so far managed to remain relatively anonymous to each other. We knew a few details of each other's everyday lives, but we hadn't even exchanged our real names, still calling each other by the names we had given ourselves in the role-play environment in which we had met. It was a fantasy world, with dark overtones, inhabited by people with very ordinary 'real' lives, but who chose to immerse themselves in this highly sexual virtual reality where boundaries were few. Some of these people I had got to know very well over the several years I had played there, and these I would consider to be close friends despite the slightly unconventional way in which we had met, and the unusual intimacies we had shared.

And then there was him. I'll call him Indigo, though that isn't even his character's name, but it sounds right. When we first 'met' I was attracted to him immediately, just by the words he had used to describe himself. Beautiful, poetic, erotic words. Words that made me want to touch him. Words that made me want to wind myself around him and just soak in his heat.

Then one day I mentioned that I was distracted and couldn't spend much time talking with him because I had a business trip to prepare for the following week. "Oh, where to?" The question was asked so casually that I didn't even think to be secretive about it.

"Washington D.C. Just for a couple of days, but I need to get some notes together for the meeting." I knew he lived in a big city somewhere, he often talked of thinking about me and our daily encounters while on his commute home on the train. We would make up stories about that journey. I don't know why train sex has always seemed so appealing to me, but in the midst of our work days we were able to weave endless erotic fantasies about strangers meeting on that short commute--stories that left us both breathless and wanting. My trip was on the following Monday and for some reason, after months of talking and never having shared this information, I asked where he worked.

"Washington D.C." Obviously he couldn't see my mouth gape, but the pause in my response to this revelation must have been obvious. I could imagine him sitting there, smiling in the way I knew he did though I'd never even seen the sensual curves of his mouth, waiting for me to reply.

"Oh. Well then, we'll have to meet for coffee!" I said it, but of course it was a joke. We talked some more, I even mentioned whereabouts I was staying, and although I can't say that the thought of an illicit liaison didn't cross my mind, it was too absurd to entertain for long and in any case I was busy and distracted by work and so it remained in the realm of occasional, though very torrid fantasy.

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The coffee shop was full--packed to the doors with people needing their fix of expensive coffee with foam and flavorings. It was a chilly day, so no one seemed in a particular hurry to get back outside, and that was just as well as the servers were slow and the lines were long, a hot crush of bodies. I stood in one of the lines, prepared for a long wait, but it was warm, there were people to watch, and there was the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee. I was in no hurry. The buzz of conversation was loud, the hissing and frothing of machines louder still, but over it all, there was no mistaking the sound of the voice so close to my ear.

"Morning, lovely." He had greeted me that way every day for so long, though I'd never actually heard it, only imagined how those words would sound. Now they sounded to me like warm flowing caramel and already I felt a rush of heat flood through my body. He was standing so close behind me, I could feel his body against mine, the warmth, and even though my feet felt suddenly fixed to the spot, I tried to turn to look at him. Strong hands gripped me firmly but gently by my upper arms, holding me steady and even if I could have wriggled out of their grasp there was no way I was going to try.

"It's ok. Don't look around. Just take your coat off."

I didn't move for a moment or two. Even above the hum of the coffee shop I could hear his breathing close to my ear, and perhaps it was just my imagination, but as he heard me whisper a tentative 'ok...' I thought I could hear him moan. I was wearing a long wool coat, but it was getting warm, and it seemed as though I was going to be here for a while, so when I felt the grip on my arms loosen, I slipped the coat off my shoulders. None of the questions that should have come to my mind, did. How, what, why...? I wouldn't even address these until much later. For now all that mattered was that he was here.

"Hold your coat in front of you, over your arm." Still baffled but almost hypnotized by the rich darkness of his voice at my ear, I did exactly as I was told. "Good girl," he murmured. "God, you're so beautiful." He was whispering close to my ear--no one else could hear him above the background noise, but the sound of his voice alone made me shiver, the small hairs at the nape of my neck bristling. There was no point in my arguing. People didn't run screaming when they saw me, but I was no beauty, and I'd told him this many times. That, he would say was one of the best things about this--that no one would guess for a moment. That no one would have any idea what I was with him. It was something for him alone. A secret that he owned, as he owned me.

I doubt that anyone was watching us in the crush, but it crossed my mind what anyone who did happen to glance our way must have thought was going on. With my coat removed I could feel his body pressing against mine. Strong thighs. Broad chest. And he was hard, really hard. I could feel that now, pressed against my bottom. Oh god. This was crazy. But I still hadn't grasped what he was about to do. I drew my coat in front of me, my arm across my middle so that the coat hung down, almost to my knees. Then I felt his hand at the curve of my hip and I shuddered. He simply rested it there for a second or two as if to let me get used to its weight. And then he slid it downward and around me until his fingers were at the crease where hip meets thigh. I must have stiffened at this point because he whispered breathily against my hair.

"Relax, lovely. It's ok. You know I'd never ever hurt you." I knew that. I knew it. We even had a safeword and he knew me well enough to be certain that I would use it if I needed to. I trusted him. Mostly. He knew more about me than perhaps anyone else.. more of the darker things that lurked inside me anyway, and I was beginning to get the feeling he was about to exploit that knowledge to the full. I felt another rush of heat in my belly--a little fear... excitement, and a thrill I could barely admit to.

I was wearing a relatively lightweight dark blue business skirt that almost reached my knee, and under it some particularly unsexy ribbed tights. His hand roamed lower, those fingers I'd only ever imagined before, bunching up the fabric of my skirt until he was holding the hem and then his hand slipped under it. My eyes flung wide, and I couldn't help but turn my head just a little.

"Keep looking straight ahead, or people will see." God I loved his voice. I loved it so much that it took a second or two to actually take in the meaning of the words.

People will see? See what? Oh shit. This was going to be bad, I knew it now. I could safeword. I could. Zebra. I could absolutely say it and he would stop. But as his fingers slid lower, moving over the navy blue rib of my tights, his hand soon cupping my mound, I could feel the excitement of what was happening at my very core. I glanced quickly around the coffee shop and then down at his arm around me. To most people it probably looked as though he simply had his arm around my waist. His hand was totally hidden by my coat. Probably no one could see. Probably. His fingers squeezed gently, the light pressure of the heel of his hand against my mound combined with the gentle press of his fingers sending a surge of pleasure through my body. Color rushed to my cheeks. I could feel them growing redder as my pulse began to race, my heart pounding in my chest. Dear god. He wouldn't really do this, right?

We had played these kind of games online, and they were always exciting and arousing. Battles of dominance and submission. I hated him when he did this to me. I loved him when he did this to me. And that was what he loved--seeing that conflict rage inside me and knowing which would ultimately win. Truth be told, he never lost in these battles. He knew me too well and the more he could sense me fighting it, the more deliciously evil he would get--the more he would want to push me toward the edge of what I knew and what was 'safe.' But pushing online boundaries, fun as it may be, was quite different to this. Now, here I was in the middle of a crowded, noisy coffee shop with a man I had never met before in person, now groping my crotch. It crossed my mind that any sane woman would run a mile, but this man had me already a little way down the slope toward insanity. I couldn't help myself, my hips tilting almost imperceptibly to push back against the pressure of his hand. I was almost angry at myself for behaving this way, but at the same time I was starting to want this, very badly.

I could hear a soft chuckle as he felt that small movement of my pelvis, and he rewarded it with another, teasing squeeze, the heel of his hand now beginning to rock slowly and rhythmically against my mons. "Tell me what you are?" There was really no point in denying it, and to be honest I was a little afraid that if I even tried to at this point, whatever he really had planned or me might be even worse.

"Yours..." I whispered it loud enough for him to hear, my head turned slightly, my voice already sounding as shaky as my trembling knees. Those strong, slender fingers eased their way further between my thighs, stroking lightly over my labia, pressing, stroking, pressing, and then sliding forward again. It was true. Though there was no collar around my throat here, no cuffs to bind my wrists, the reality of my status was all too clear to me now.

"Mmm... I can already feel how wet you are.. even through your panties and tights." Why did his voice have to be like that? Why did it make me crumple? I was defenceless against this and he was so aware of it that I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instead I moaned softly, my back arching enough that he could feel it. "You know what I'm going to ask you to do, don't you?" His voice was a soft growl that I could feel vibrating from his chest to my back. "And you know you're going to do it for me."

I shook my head. I knew it, but no. Really no, I couldn't do it. Not here. This was too crazy and too dangerous and for god's sake, I had a meeting to go to in an hour. Crazy. So why did I say, "Yes..." The word came out before my brain had chance to stop it. Fuck fuck fuck. It was his turn to groan now--a low, guttural sound from his throat as his whole body tensed. He ground his hips against me and all I could think about was how good that felt. I glanced around again, my eyes darting quickly to the people nearby, checking if we were by now the subject of a great deal of amazed attention, but no. Not yet anyway. No one seemed to have noticed us so far.

We must have looked like any ordinary couple, cuddling affectionately in line. He leaned forward slightly, nuzzling a soft kiss to my jaw. I swear this was only meant to be a distraction, because while all my attention was focused on the sheer pleasure of that gentle touch, his fingers moved quickly... up and then down again, working their way underneath the barrier of my tights and panties, brushing over the soft trimmed curls and lower. I almost cried out then as his fingers slid along my puffy labia, gentle teasing pressure allowing one of his fingers to part them and delve between. I could already feel how wet I was, the slightest squeeze of my thighs together causing an almost audible *squelch*. I couldn't help myself. Now he could feel it too and he was reveling in it... running his finger back and forth, each time stopping just short of my clitoris which by now was throbbing hard and needing more. Much more.

I'm not sure how I managed to retain the composure to glance around the shop again, but I did. Even in this condition, I was more than aware of where we were and what was happening, and I so did not want anyone else to know what was going on. As I looked I realized that there was now a small gap in front of us. The line was moving slowly, but it was moving, and I didn't want to attract any more attention to us, nor did I want the gap to open further and make his actions a lot more obvious. "Ohgod." It was more of a groan than words. "We need to move..." I mumbled in desperation and he chuckled, easing back his fingers just enough for us to half walk-half stumble forward until once again I was just another woman in line for coffee, her partner holding her close to him, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Those sweet nothings, however, were anything but sweet. Not in the conventional sense anyway.

"I knew you'd be like this." He murmured as his finger resumed that excruciatingly arousing slide between my labia. "I knew how wet you'd be... how much you'd want this... love this." I didn't answer. Part of me wanted to pull his hand away, turn round and ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing. That part of me however, was completely overwhelmed by the part that would rather turn and wrap my legs around his waist and fuck him right there and then in front of everyone, head thrown back and screaming for more. In any case, the roll of my hips, and the needy squirm that sought to bring his finger closer to that throbbing little nub was probably answer enough. When his finger finally hit it I squealed. That's the only way I can describe the sound. It seemed loud to me, but perhaps it was just lost in the background noise. I bit my lower lip hard enough for it to hurt. I tried to turn the sound into a laugh. Maybe I got away with it. No one really seemed to be paying us any attention apart from the woman in front of me in line who did turn her head for a second. I smiled as best I could and she turned back. We moved forward again, just as his finger was swirling around my clit, flicking over it and then swirling again. My head was swirling too. I was close already, soaking his fingers and ready to come so hard.

"You know I'm going to fuck you right here with my fingers. I'm going to fuck you and you're going to come." There was an inevitability to his whispered words. I did know. The part of me that should have turned and slapped him and run was silent by now, barely even raising an objection as his finger slid inside me. I'd always imagined those long, slender, clever fingers pushing into me, and he knew that I loved to be fucked this way. It wasn't enough though, and even as I arched and squirmed to push him deeper he slid another in alongside the first, pushing them deep as his thumb found and pressed against my clit. My eyes closed, for a moment I almost forgot where I was. I wanted to grind down onto his fingers, force them deeper still, to buck and thrash and give myself over to the orgasm that I now needed way more than was appropriate in the middle of a coffee shop!

I was startled back to reality by a voice that seemed to come from a different plane. "Yes?" Huh? "What can I get you?" Somehow I was now at the front of the line, and the girl behind the counter was speaking to me.

"Uhmm..." My mind was blank and I just stared at her for a moment, my jaw slack. His fingers slowed a little but continued that slow, delicious sliding, and I could feel myself dripping onto his hand, my hips tilting with his movements, urging him on. "Uhmm..." Think. Think! I blinked in an effort to clear my head, trying to focus on the girl behind the counter and not on the rapidly building sensation between my thighs. "Large.. fat-free... mochachino..." My voice was quiet and breathless. I repeated the words again because she was just staring back at me, tilting her head as if straining to hear. Her eyes narrowed for a second, and then I saw her eyes flit to him over my shoulder, then back at me, then back at him. The expression on her face changed in an instant. She knew. Oh god she knew. I swallowed hard, felt my face flush a thousand shades of crimson, which could only have made it worse. My breathing by now was erratic, short gasps, and I was biting my lip, trying so hard to remain standing, let alone coherent.

His voice, low and thick with lust in my ear made me shudder hard, "Come for me now, lovely," he murmured calmly, his lips brushing my hair as his fingers and thumb ramped up their delicious assault. I was helpless to stop it. I clutched at the counter, my knuckles white, my eyes flung first wide with panic as I looked at the astonished girl in front of me, then lowered in shame, then closed in ecstasy as the most intense climax of my life hit me like an oncoming train. Those beautiful practiced fingers curled inside me, his thumb teased and tormented my clit, allowing me no respite as I leaned back against him, shuddering, held up only by his arm around my waist and the desperate grasp of my fingers on the counter in front of me.

"Er... anything else?" She was still looking at me, her expression stunned. It was clear that the poor girl was rendered almost as speechless as I was by what she was witnessing. I looked up again, struggling to catch my breath, wetting my dry lips with my tongue and trying to find my voice. I was terrified that if I opened my mouth all that would come out was a moan.

He spoke first. "I'll have the same." How he could continue to sound so 'normal' I don't know. "And two biscotti. The chocolate-dipped ones." His hand slid out from between my thighs, my skirt quickly rearranged to drape respectably once more, and his fingers brushed my cheek, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers were warm and damp. I could smell myself on them. Dear god. He reached around me, paid the still shell-shocked girl, picked up the tray of drinks and cookies in one hand, and led me, his other arm tucking through mine, toward the nearest empty booth. Somehow my legs carried me there.