Sidewalk Cafe

There is a beautiful woman who, each morning, sits at a table for two at a sidewalk cafe. Always, she sits alone. She sips her coffee, happily, while reading a collection of short stories written for her by her lover. These tales take place in all lands and all places. The gleam in her eyes takes the place of the previous nights candles. If you look closely you will see little droplets of wax from “perhaps” the night before. The stories consume her. She is not aware of her surroundings, or of the people who watch her. Like me.

Quite often she is already there, while I slip in, unnoticed, to a table five away. I like to watch her from the side, to observe her upper lip as a quiver of delight escapes from her face. She smiles and I want her.

She holds the book with her left hand. Her right she keeps close to her coffee cup. Her thumb twitches as she reads. Sometimes the book is gripped too firmly, the oil from her fingers seep into the page.

She sips her coffee between many words. I imagine her dripping it salaciously into my mouth. I want to taste her. The people in the stories have her full attention now. I want her attention on my breasts, my mouth, my flesh. I want her to look at me. But then my cover would be blown. She reads; I watch. My nipples grow hard. I dip my finger into my coffee and lift it to my mouth. I imagine it to be her. She descends more into her story.

My tongue parts her labia. My hands grip her thighs. Her hands grasp the wood on my bed. Her thighs part for my head. I suck her in, pull back a bridge of desire. Her eyes are closed and I take her to faraway lands. There are goosebumps on the flesh of her pubis. It makes the texture all the more pleasing.

I clench her flesh, blood rushes to the surface. I push my tongue into her vagina; my eyes are on her clitoris, watching it expand. Blood pumps from shaft to tip. Her muscles tighten around my tongue and it is a game of push and pull. She is strong. I exit, twisting her mucous around my lips, and try for more malleable quarry. She tastes like coffee, full-bodied and sweet.

I suck her in, feel her up. Up around her stomach, her back. The stretch is useful in bringing her close. I love to pull her whole system into me, swish her around like a childÕs candy apple. Her labia, clit, everything fit inside my mouth so well. A soda fountain of pure want. My hand is below my mouth, being pulled into her womb. I fuck her: she bucks. My whole fist fits inside. I feel around this pocket, wet and tight. It is powerful.

She rolls over. I enter again, then lick her ass. My hand opens and closes ever so slightly. Her muscles contract around me. I want to taste her ass, but my tongue is not long enough. I part her cheeks with my left hand and enter anyway. I am so hungry. I want to immerse my whole body, have her liquid warmth all over me. My face is wrinkled and wet. She tightens; I clench. She tightens; I clench. I swallow, pull my tongue out and lick her back. She demands my full concentration.

Her breathing hesitates. I rotate my wrist and pull up. She screams, pulls me further inside, beats on my hand replete with vibrations. She comes. I stay and donÕt pull out. She drums on my bones, the intensity unequivacable. And when she stops, her breathing resumes, the pulses lessen, and still I stay.

The waiter refills her coffee. She offers him a smile in return. She is so beautiful. Her eyes sparkle as she returns to the pages before her. I wonder which story she is reading.

She clams. I retrieve my hand. It is wet, pasty and white. I press my body against hers. My breasts rest in the crevices of her back. Her skin is soft. Her ass round and firm. My arms rest on hers. I kiss her cheek and the back of her neck. She is warm and sweaty. I whisper something into her ear.

Quickly, she pushes me off, jumps up, lands directly on top of me, breast to breast. Hers are larger than mine. They are soft and fleshy. She looks at me ever so briefly, throws her mouth on mine. Our tongues crash against the walls of our mouths. She is forceful and energetic. She has me pinned between herself and the bed. I like the pressure. She offers no release. She kisses me forcefully, licks my teeth, pushes further inside. I want this woman. I want this woman so badly.

She is not slow tonight. She races to have me, to fuck me. She races because she can not wait. I gulp her inside. There is no plea. She fucks me like I want her to. She fucks me like she must. This is the beginning.

There is a beautiful woman who sits each morning at a table for two at a sidewalk cafe. I watch her from nearby as she reads the stories I have written just for her.

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