The Catalyst

Note: I'm lazy af and don't have a single useful text editor on this laptop, so please forgive a lack of proper formatting and [much needed] italics. Also it's my first story I've ever posted here so don't be too mean if the urge strikes you to comment. Posting this specifically for a special someone.

*****

Catherine stepped into Peet's, pausing for a moment over the threshold to shake her umbrella before carrying it over the carpet. As the cafe door swung shut behind her, warm, coffee-scented air enveloped her like a blanket; she breathed in deeply, and her stomach grumbled hopefully.

She had never been to this particular Peet's location before, but her normal route home was offset by all the construction on Lake Union. Catherine prided herself on quick facial recall at most places she frequented regularly and was on a first name basis with her regular baristas, but it was all new faces here. As she waited to place her order, she scanned the room, taking in the vibe and the people. A number of college students hunched over laptops and textbooks, one obvious first date—Tinder?—some middle-aged artist-types chatting by the door, two men setting up some amps in the corner, presumably for some sort of live music, and, wait. She had nearly passed him by. Sitting alone in the corner by the window sat a man in a checkered blue shirt. He had the sort of understated good looks that nearly made him blend in, but once noticed, couldn't be ignored or denied by virtually anyone. Catherine gazed at him for a moment or two longer, hoping he might glance up and catch her eye. No luck.

"Miss? Hi, miss? What can I get for you?" Catherine had reached the front of the queue without noticing. She shook herself from her reverie and ordered her usual before sidling further into the cafe. She snuck another look at Checkered Shirt. He was absorbed in something or other. He looked about her age—25, 26?—and had clearly not noticed her at all.

This miffed Catherine slightly, though she'd never admit it. She was accustomed to being noticed—glancing at her reflection in the large ornate mirror hanging behind the espresso bar, she examined herself, making sure nothing was outwardly off: Perhaps a bit taller than average for a woman, with light brown hair falling in faint waves past her shoulders, framing wide hazel eyes and soft pink lips—not bad, Catherine thought to herself. Slouching, though. She tried standing a bit straighter, her ample breasts straining against the fabric of her sweater as she did so. She allowed another glance towards Checkered Shirt. Still looking intently elsewhere.

Absentmindedly, Catherine got out her phone and flipped back and forth on the home screen. Maybe Oliver, the guy she'd been seeing for a couple of months, would want to come over tonight. She had planned on ending things soon but was suddenly feeling... in need of attention? She wasn't quite sure. She needed something, though.

Order in hand, she resolutely avoided one last corner glance and walked purposefully out into the chill evening.

---

It was three days before Catherine got out of meetings early enough to swing by the coffee shop again before embarking on an equally grueling evening of grading papers. She walked in briskly, eager to get out of the chill autumn air. A dress was a poor choice today, she noted to herself as a particularly strong gust of wind chased her into the cafe, lifting the hem of her dress threateningly high. Once she was sure her decency remained and all fabric laid as it should, she glanced around the cafe. Almost unwillingly, her eyes found the far corner.

Checkered Shirt. Back again. Although, not in a checkered shirt today, but rather a simple black T-shirt and khakis. Catherine tore her eyes away from him to place her order. Tipping her change into the tip jar, she paused for a moment before setting her jaw, as if in resolve. She strolled nonchalantly towards the corner, pretending to examine the art of a local photographer, taking in more of his appearance as she went.

Leaning back against the corner with one leg stretched lazily under the table, papers strewn across the double table in front of him, he was the image of a coffee shop regular. His brown hair was slightly messy, as though he had just ruffled it in thought; a pair of dark rimmed glasses framed serious, expressive eyes. Strong, fair hands drummed their fingers on the table as he gazed at his computer screen, brow furrowed slightly. He glanced up briefly and Catherine hurriedly looked away, a small thrill in her chest. She waited a moment, then let her eyes flick back to his. She felt a slight twinge of irritation that he wasn't looking her way anymore.

"Earl grey tea latte, one percent milk?" came the barista's call from the counter. Catherine sighed inwardly in frustration and retrieved her drink, smiling in thanks. As she prepared to step back into the rapidly darkening evening, she allowed herself one more glance over to Checkered Shirt's corner.

A little jolt. He was looking at her, the faintest trace of a smirk on his handsome lips. Or was she imagining things? Before she knew it, the moment had passed; he was reading something on his computer intently. A gust of cold, wet air hit her face as she stepped out into the night.

---

"Wow, Cat, what's gotten into you lately?" Oliver laughed as Catherine slid to her knees in front of him on the couch. She wordlessly shook her head, a smirk playing across her lips. In one deft movement, Oliver's belt was unbuckled and Catherine was sliding her hands into his jeans. They sighed in unison as her hands found his rapidly swelling cock and freed it from the confines of Oliver's boxers. Catherine paused, gazing at it for a moment.

Oliver was well-endowed, one of the reasons Catherine had stuck around as long as she had. Two fists wrapped around his shaft left enough of his head visible to hint at his considerable girth. Catherine gave it a squeeze, eliciting an appreciative groan. Oliver let his head fall back as she began slowly stroking his long cock with both hands, watching intently, waiting for one of her favorite parts. He felt hot and feverish in her hands. She smirked to herself.

A drop of precum was forming at the tip of his cock, glistening in the low light. Mmm, there it is, she murmured to herself. Catherine flicked her tongue out to bring the droplet to her lips. As its sweetness touched her tongue, she felt a familiar rush of heat and pleasure between her legs, and, unbidden and unexpected, a vision of Checkered Shirt sitting in his corner, of his eyes meeting hers for a moment. As if to try and push the thought from her mind, she jolted forward, taking the swollen head of Oliver's cock into her mouth. He sighed and thrust upward a little with his hips, but Catherine was going to make him wait to get deeper. She smirked around his cock and began bobbing up and down slightly, never taking him further than the head. She traced it with her tongue, fully exploring and pressing against each millimeter of skin, until her mouth was saturated with the salty-sweet taste of his precum.

Catherine shifted on her knees, the heat between her legs getting uncomfortable, needing attending to. She allowed one hand to leave Oliver's cock for a moment and reach beneath her dress, brushing against her panties, sending a shiver through her body. Glad I wore this after all, she thought.

"Mmmph. Yeah Cat, play with yourself," Oliver whispered, looking down at her. Catherine looked up at him, a little abashed, but not ceasing to trace little circles over her clit beneath her dress as she teased the head of his cock. She couldn't quite feel her wetness soaking through her panties yet. Again, unbidden thoughts coursed through her—those eyes from the coffee shop. The shape of his hands resting on the table, relaxed. His brow furrowed in thought. His khakis taut over his knees, and—maybe, just maybe—their curve over a slight bulge as he rose in her mind's eye...

The thought pushed Catherine forward suddenly, forcing the cock she'd been teasing deeper into her mouth. The first five inches were easy, it was the last two and a half that were the challenge. It was the sort of challenge Catherine had always loved, however, and she was rewarded immediately for her efforts by a grunt from Oliver. She held him there, five inches in at first, before beginning to push him deeper. Her throat spasmed and tightened uncomfortably around the head of his cock, but she had trained herself to control her gag reflex years ago. Just when it felt as though she couldn't possibly fit any more cock in her throat, she pushed forward to take the last inch—Oliver reached down and grabbed a fistful of hair as her lips met the base of his cock.

She let him hold her there for several moments, enjoying the throbbing of his cock in her mouth and throat. It felt wonderfully full, if a little uncomfortable. Then, slowly, she began to bob up and down. Never letting him very far out of her mouth, each downward motion bringing the head of his cock deeper in her throat, squeezing and, for all intents and purposes, gagging on his cock without outwardly flinching. Oliver was now letting out a stream-of-consciousness babble under his breath, his legs twitching occasionally on either side of Catherine, seemingly torn between letting his head fall back in ecstasy and looking down to watch her fuck him with her throat.

The gentle teasing of her clit was no longer enough. Her wetness had long since soaked through her thin cotton panties and her clit was so swollen against the damp fabric that it was almost painful. Without breaking rhythm on Oliver's cock, Catherine hurriedly pushed her panties to the side and let a finger press into her warmth. It slid in easily, her dripping pussy gripping it each centimeter, aching to be filled. Slowly she began matching her fingering to her sucking so that her finger was deepest when Oliver's cock was as far down her throat as it could go. Catherine's skin felt hot; she was sure it must be one hundred degrees in the apartment, and her pussy was trembling in her hand, begging for more attention. Shuddering, she shoved a second finger inside, reveling in the momentary stretch followed by pleasure. She had originally planned on simply getting a mouthful of cum—her favorite dessert—but now, she didn't think she could hold out much longer from climbing atop the cock herself and fucking it.

As soon as the thought entered her mind, she had to have it. She stood up abruptly, Oliver's cock springing from her mouth with a wet pop!, stripping out of her soaked panties as she did so. Oliver had hardly a moment to express disappointment before she turned around wordlessly and prepared to lower herself onto his lap. She paused with his swollen head pressed against her dripping pussy, inner lips swollen and sensitive, slick and hot. Catherine was tired of waiting, and Oliver's hands had barely risen to meet her hips before she let herself fall down his cock, an enraptured scream escaping her lips. She was so wet it was hardly painful—an almost unprecedented occurrence, she noted to herself, but just add that to the list of weird urges today—and she felt wonderfully full. Sitting still, enjoying the feeling of his cock twitching deep inside her, Catherine pulled her dress off over her head. Oliver hastily unclasped her white lace bra, and Catherine cast it off on the floor, her full breasts bouncing free. Oliver reached around and gripped a breast with one hand, squeezing and pinching the nipple gently. Too gently. Catherine reached up to her other nipple and pinched it, hard, sending shivers of pain and pleasure rippling down her body, settling in her belly with the rest of the fire.

Slowly she pulled herself up and off his cock until only the engorged head remained nestled inside her. Her pussy was soaking but still gripping him as tightly as it ever had. Shifting her lips from side to side, she savored the feeling of his cock twitching beneath her, of her pussy greedy for more.

"Fuck, babe," Oliver whispered raggedly, "what the fuck has gotten into you?"

"Mmm," Catherine breathed noncommittally. What HAS gotten into me? she asked herself. The vision of serious eyes, a playful mouth floated to the front of her mind. With a moan she let herself slide back down the full length of cock, no longer caring why those thoughts were intruding now, only savoring the effect they had on her body. She rode up and down, letting waves of pleasure ripple up and through her, gradually speeding up. Several long minutes passed, lost in her own hazy pleasure, before she realized Oliver was close to bursting, his breathing becoming ragged, his upward thrusts arrhythmic. She began riding faster, hand pinching her nipple so hard now that she had to bite her lip to stop from crying out. Her other hand traced down her taut belly, illuminated in the soft light by a faint sheen of sweat, seeking her swollen clit. Even brushing it lightly sent waves of electricity outward down her thighs and up her spine. What the fuck is going on with me today?

"Ugh, babe—don't stop, don't stop, I'm gonna cum," Oliver gasped, his grip tightening to white-knuckled on Catherine's hips. Without missing a beat, she slipped her hand down, past the hot cock pumping in and out of her, to cradle his balls. Gently, she raked her nails over them as they tensed, and she heard Oliver groan. His cock somehow seemed to get even harder inside her for a moment, before, with one last thrust upward, it began spasming, releasing rope after rope of hot cum. She felt the hotness spreading deep inside of her, felt her pussy tightening around the twitching cock... she was close. Panting now, hair sweaty and face flushed, she gave his balls one last squeeze before frantically finding her clit again, rubbing furiously.

"Fuck, I'm—I'm about to"—suddenly, unbidden, a vision of the smirk on his lips as she met his eyes in the doorway—"CUM! FUCK!" Catherine saw white, her body tensed and still as waves of pleasure radiated out and upward from deep inside her. Oliver gripped her elbows to stop her from toppling off of him as her eyes rolled back, an animalistic noise escaping her lips. She could feel her pussy squeezing the cock inside her spasmodically, slowing as the white hot light receded. Breathing heavily, she held still as the pleasure slowly faded, the room came back into focus, and she found that her eyes had been open in shock at the intensity of her orgasm.

Gingerly Catherine lifted herself off of Oliver's cock. Her legs were trembling and her body felt light, weightless—she wasn't sure she'd ever come that hard before. She began looking around for where she'd thrown her dress.

"Seriously, Cat. You've been amazing these past few days," Oliver said weakly, making to stand up. "Listen—what are you doing after work tomorrow? Come to my place for once."

Catherine gave him an apologetic smile, and without thinking answered. "Sorry, I can't. I have plans." The little voice in her head snickered. Yeah, plans at that cafe...