"Carol's Coffee Caress" boasted the best coffee this side of Grayson's Gorge, located in the village on the east side of Skypierce Peak. The cafe had been decked out for weeks with colored Christmas lights, tinsel, a seven-foot tree, and ornaments hung from the walls and ceiling. Holiday music played softly in the background. Peppermint, eggnog, cinnamon, and other holiday spices found their way to the coffee bar. Customers were drawn to the warm aroma of fresh coffee, the friendly atmosphere, and the sweet pastries, but returned because of Carol. The "caress" name stuck because Carol hugged her customers when they arrived. She was everyone's favorite barista.
Carol's beautiful shape inspired more than thoughts of hugs. She had light brown hair like cafe au lait and dark brown eyes like espresso. She had a smile for all of her patrons, dark eyelashes above wide cheekbones. She could be found near a table or booth holding a pot of steaming coffee for refills. In the winter months she favored brown sweaters that subtly accentuated her breasts. Carol didn't mind the attention. Today, her sweater's v-neck dipped to show just the round tops of her breasts. She permitted her best customers to drape their arms around her narrow waist, just above her tight jeans. She enforced her limits, gently removing eager hands that tended to drift to her shapely ass without unduly embarrassing her patron. Her enviable hour-glass figure hadn't changed much during the seven years she owned the place.
The door bell jingled as Carol's best friend Jorie entered the shop. Blond Jorie was slim as a pencil and muscle trim, despite having given birth to four children. Jorie and Carol grew up on the Peak, went to the university together, and both returned after college. Jorie exercised and trained anyone with money to pay her fees but didn't really need the work. Her father was Magus Grayson, who owned Skypierce Peak and Grayson Gorge, and her husband Hervé successfully represented the mountain folk in their disputes at the county courthouse.
They embraced and traded air kisses. High-maintenance Jorie sluffed off her jacket and sat at a table near the window where she could be seen from the street. She wore jean shorts over lavender tights, tossed her blond hair, and bobbed her leg to draw attention to its slimness. Carol brought her a cup of green tea and an almond cookie, her traditional fare.
"Sit down, Carol." Jorie placed her hand on Carol's arm.
Carol checked around the shop and decided she could afford a few minutes before her next round. She slid her round ass onto the chair and placed the coffee pot on the table.
Jorie took out a six-inch handcrafted doll made of sticks, pine cones, and ribbons. Its most prominent features were two large breasts and a pentagram on its front. Jorie smiled when she gave it to Carol.
"Oh, no. What is this, the tenth time you've invited me to your Wiccan party? I'm not interested. I love you, Jorie, but it's not for me. I'm not that girl any more."
Jorie shook her head. "You can't goose a girl for trying. My father has wanted you at his annual party for longer than ten years. He thinks you would be a perfect Ice Queen, our own Freyja. What am I supposed to tell him? You don't want to party with him?"
"Your father gives me the creeps, so no, I don't want to party with him. I'm surprised you still do."
Jorie smiled like a cat on the back of a sofa. "Of course I like it. It's a celebration of the Natural. Just like you, Carol. You are naturally beautiful. You should come, one time before you get married."
"I'm sure that Derwin would certainly not approve."
Jorie puffed her lips. "Derwin. You can have your pick of any man on the mountain and you're stuck with Derwin the drip."
"He's fine." Carol's attention was caught by an arm waving at the other end of the cafe. "Be right there," she called.
"Please, Carol. Just this once. You're going to be married right after Christmas. If you think that Derwin won't let you go now, he'll absolutely forbid it after you're married."
Carol slid off her chair and went to the table that had waved. A group of middle-aged construction men on break were finishing up their coffee. She gave took out their check. While she figured it out, the man closest put his arm around her waist. She leaned into him. It was a nice feeling to have someone want her. What else was a woman's body for if not to be seen, gently touched, and appreciated?
She poured some hot water for the old crone who came daily to her shop. Baba Yomama operated the fortune telling and tarot reading shop at the edge of the village. She came because she liked the "magic" associated with this cafe.
Back with smug Jorie, Carol sighed, awaiting Jorie's lecture. It came immediately.
"I know what you're thinking, girl. You like attention from men. You like to flirt and hug. When men take you out, you have a wonderful time and so do the men. Or they used to, until you agreed to marry Derwin."
"Derwin is fine."
Jorie leaned forward so no one else could hear. "So you're willing to have only one cock in your pussy for the rest of your life?"
Carol shot back. "You do. You're married to Hervé."
"That's why I celebrate the winter solstice each year. It's a chance to be a little crazy, a little wild, and completely natural. It's a celebration of the sun coming back. It's a festival that has been going on for centuries."
"I'm not a witch. I'm not a Wiccan. I think what you do may be a sin."
"Wiccans don't believe in sin. Our creed is Do No Harm. Come on. Don't let your pillowy round thighs go to waste. You need at least one more real man to lie on them, right?"
Carol flushed while listening to Jorie. The image of an excited sex partner, stripped, his long dick bobbing, kneeling between her legs, wanting her, then lying on top of her, brought back a decade of fantasies. Jorie had a vigorous sex life; Carol was lucky to have slim, gentlemanly Derwin as a friend and fiancé. She hoped someday soon he would be her lover.
Then, to add to her discomfort, Derwin's entrance sounded the tinkling bell. Carol beamed a broad smile when she saw him, which quickly died when she saw his brother, Brock, behind him. Brock, who grew up with Jorie and Carol but who left the mountain seven years ago, with not a word since then to Carol. He broke her heart by leaving but she had gotten over it. Really, she had. She told herself this every single day. Now, here was Brock, looking even sturdier, studlier, and more handsome than he had seven years ago.
Damn him.
Carol had a way of sliding off her chair that emphasized her curves, with a sinuous uncoiling. Her hips were wide, it was true, but her waist was so narrow that a man with large hands could encircle her waist completely. Brock had been able to do so. When Brock used to hold her in his arms to dance, he knew the compactness of her ribcage. Then there was her erotic surprise--her full, firm breasts which completed the hourglass figure. She remembered how it felt to be held close by Brock, her boobs squished firmly between them.
Carol took a deep breath, which made her sweater bulge a little more. She smoothed her hands over her hips before taking a step toward Derwin and his brother. The winter air had come into the shop with the brothers. Derwin looked happily into her eyes and smiled. Brock noticed that the cold air turned Carol's nipples into hard little pebbles, and gave her a lecherous smile.
