The Coffee Shoppe Ch 02

Read The Coffee Shoppe - Part 1

To set the stage for the action here.

*****

The breeze was blowing through the green umbrella awning causing the edging to flap noisily. Inside the music was playing just above a conversational tone, Dean, Frank, Satchmo and Peggy and others singing the classics.

His smile was telling. He was a man who had seen much of life. He had travelled both on business and pleasure. He was educated, sophisticated, courageous and confident. His physical stature was not overwhelming but deceptive for his arm and upper body strength were not evident through his tailored shirt and sport coat.

He was a tasteful and fashionable dresser. His tastes were not conservative nor were they flamboyant. He tried to reach a modest blend of traditional with contemporary to achieve a statement that he was aware of today yet well-grounded in the past. He was not afraid of the use of color as he saw color as a mark of life, vitality and passion. He harbored a deep lust and exuberance for all three. Today his wine colored pin striped cotton buttoned down shirt and black slacks and matching socks were accented with a solid deep lavender silk tie, an artistic Stuehrling watch with black band, black grained leather shoes and a standard blue blazer with brass buttons. A slight bulge under his blazer gave one pause and hinted at the potential danger he presented and his possible continued engagement as a clandestine operative. Such was the rumor.

He had eclectic tastes in music and movies. He was comfortable with people from all stations. He could have a beer with the guys on the assembly line or a glass of Dom Perignon with the CEO. People trusted him immediately. He had a kind face and smiling eyes of the darkest brown. Medium brown hair with matching Van Dyke . Before dinner he was likely to have a cocktail - Vodka Martini with a twist, shaken not stirred in true Bond fashion. He enjoyed a variety of beverages but always matched his wine with his meal, a Chardonnay or Merlot with a Filet Mignon, Chianti with Italian red sauces, Chablis or Riesling with Fish or white sauces. He may later retire from the table with conversation and a snifter of Courvoisier.

Most of the time however he simply had unsweetened iced tea.

Today he sipped his double espresso and he watched her. The target was here. The trap was set and the bait had been taken. He had been with many women but they were all lacking. None were of her caliber. None shared the same predilections and sexual proclivities as he did. Some tried but none achieved what he was seeking. He had heard rumors of her escapades and apocryphal tales of her three husbands and their furtive and failed attempts to please her. She was, like Everest, the pinnacle of sexuality to which he was drawn. He sought a partner. He sought an equal. He sought one whose need to be dominated was matched only by his need to dominate and his ability to do so. For domination is not simply a physical force triumphant over another. The domination must be complete. Once this is accomplished then the relationship hinges on the mutual respect and affection each derives from the actions of the other.

His mind, always focused, was bursting with sexual fantasy.

He knew how to appreciate a woman... her scent... her softness... her subtle messages and invitations. He appreciated the arch of her back and that erogenous spot near the base of the spine that would cause her to thrust her hips toward his as they danced. He knew that sweet spot behind her knee that drove her mad as his fingers wandered there. He knew that her breasts were not loaves of unbaked bread to be kneaded, rather they were sensitive to a delicate touch, a flicking tongue with a circular motion leading to a gentle but firm sucking of his lips. He knew that to trace his tongue along the centerline of her stomach would cause her to moan and gasp as his hands slowly stroked her thighs and found her treasure. He knew how to excite and exploit that treasure to its maximum potential.

He appreciated her hair cascading down over her shoulder. He appreciated the artistic shape of her leg, the musculature of the calf and the soft sensitivity of her inner thigh. He appreciated her thin ankle and the gentle feet as well as her graceful arms and delicate hands and fingers.

He thought of women the same way he thought of a high end world class sports car. One can appreciate the lines, the artistry, the precision, the rich leather interior and the purr of the engine. However, one does not handle a world class sports car with a gentle hand. To see it perform at its peak and ultimate purpose one must hear the engine growl the tires squeal and feel the torturous g-forces as it accelerates. The gears must be shifted hard and at the right moment. She must be driven into the curve, forced to hold her traction and allowed to come out of it on her own. Foot pedals, braking, gears shifting, steering all are pushed to the limit at a breathtaking pace. It is a "sport car" and must be handled accordingly, used roughly, driven forcefully and guided without remorse or gentility to its destination.

Likewise he knew that there was a special breed of women who despite their beauty and grace, their delicate features and coy demeanor were born with a desire to test the limits. His target was one of those women. She was designed from birth to be driven by a man like him. He was neither cruel nor sadistic in his treatment but he knew that what he needed and what she needed were complimentary components of a single action.

So it was in his fantasy as he watched her. He imagined her stripped naked, bound hand and foot to the bedposts, splayed on her belly with a gag in her mouth. His mind captured the image and showed him mounting her from behind as she struggled helplessly against the restraints. His penis became erect as he thought about each movement... her protests... his plundering her rear... her squeals and wines as he rammed her vagina deep and hard... her cries of frustration as he pulled her hair while riding her like a bronco at the rodeo. Finally, her spirit broken at the futility of her position she succumbs to his direction and movements. His hips and hers now undulating in unison, faster and harder. Stronger with each stroke would be the waves of pleasure that wash over them. Deeper he would plunge and the louder she would scream out to unhearing walls. Finally with one mighty surge he rammed her again and exploded inside her. She could feel him splashing against her inner walls as she wailed a series of siren like sounds and felt her own orgasmic explosion... and again...and again ...and again. He knew she would be multi-orgasmic. He knew because she was a fine tuned, high end, world class sports car just made for him to drive to the limit.

His gaze lingered on her form for a moment more as he sipped his espresso.

His fantasy completed, he tilted his head, looked over his glasses, rubbed his bearded chin and smiled and said to himself: "This is going to be fun."