My Gift: Emily

Once a week I visit our other office for a 10 o'clock meeting. I usually arrive around 9 AM and sit in the coffee shop on the top floor of our building, getting work done until the 10 AM starts.

Every time I'm there I see the same woman come in. She's petite no more than 4'10" and she consistently wears cowboy boots and one of those long dresses I see on Home on the Prairie TV show. I've always imagined she gets up at 4 AM to feed the chickens and sweep out a stall or two before she heads into work to do her tech career. Her hand sports no wedding or engagement ring and her hair is a heavy cloud of dark reddish color she usually keeps loose but pulled back with a hair clip. She normally sits alone, perhaps scrolling on her phone, but more often than naught, gazing out the picture windows to the view of the mountains our vista allows.

The coffee shop is the top floor of a busy business and it is constantly abuzz with activity: Executives using the spot to meet with vendors or to have off the record conversations, engineers topping off their caffeine fix for the nth time of the day, people waiting for a meeting to start - or actively meeting via Webex in a booth against the wall. I am, we are, invisible in the hustle and bustle of the space - but never alone, always in public.

What no one knows is that I have an intense empathic power. With concentration, I can learn to experience a person, their general thoughts, their feelings, wants and desires from a distance - without having to speak to them. I have been studying this woman for weeks and weeks now. I come in, I find a spot with a good view of the cafe tables and I wait and pray she shows up. Inevitably she does, almost always alone, almost always with a slightly lost or internal look on her face.

I reach out with my powers and start to train them on her. The first thing I do is stare at her while projecting the feeling "I am being watched" to her from across the room. Five or ten second later she looks up and starts scanning faces around the room. When she gets to mine, I allow myself to get caught and then drop my eyes as if I am ashamed at my staring. I feel her study me through the connection and as she does I project "I like him looking at me" to her.

After a few minutes of dodging her eye contact, I look back and this time catch her looking at me. I smile shyly and then go back to my laptop and the work therein.

Weeks of this pattern are repeated, until one day I see her enter, eagerly looking around the room to see if I am there. We make eye contact and smile. This time, instead of ducking my head, through the connection, I kiss her exposed neck and breath through my nose to tickle the hairs on the exposed length of her. She immediately smacks her hand to her neck and spins to confront her assaulter - there is no one there, no one but me from across the room, touching her through my connection.

She looks back at me as she heads towards a table across the room from me, and as I smile, I softly "hmmmm" just outside her ear. Again her hand comes up to cover her neck, but her eyes never leave mine from across the room. I smile at the continued eye contact, wink and get back to work at my laptop.

The next time I see her, we make eye contact again and I breath in the scent of her. She'd changed something and I quickly detect a perfume that was not there the prior week. This time when I "hrrmmm" outside of her ear, she continues to stare at me but arches her head to the side exposing more of her pretty little neck. I bend down from my connection and kiss it softly while exhaling on her short hairs. I watch as she shudders from neck to cowboy boots as she slowly closes her eyes.

Over the next couple weeks, my connection grows stronger with use, and I can feel more and more of what she is feeling. I get anticipation and I get arousal. I run my fingertips over her scalp, under her hair and watch as she melts across the room. I trail the back of a finger down her bare arm, from shoulder to wrist and watch (and feel) the goosebumps pop from her skin. I feel her wanting more.

The next week as she is standing in line to use the coffee machine, I embrace her from behind, wrapping my arms around her and settling them on her stomach as I press my weight against her back. To her credit, she doesn't turn or flinch at the liberty, but only peeks with a side eye across the room as I sit there and smile at her. She puts her thermos down on the counter and reaching up and arching, pulls her hair back into a higher bun. She dares me, she taunts me, she wants me. As her arms are raised above her head, I trail my hands up from her surprisingly taught stomach, up and up, until they are under her breasts and then caressing them. She swoons a little, drops her hands to her sides and arches more, pressing her breasts out and up, willing me to enjoy them. The entire time she waits, I lift and weigh them, I kiss her neck, pressing my hardness against her back, and just before she must move forward and fill her own cup, I let her nipples slide between fingers and slightly tweak them. They are hard for me and her face expresses chagrin as she steps forward and loses my touch and connection.

The next time I see her, she is on fire. Her arousal and need throb and beat at me through my connection. She comes in and stares at me with a defiant and daring look on her face from across the room and once she has her coffee, slowly walks past my table to sit two tables behind me, her back to me and facing out the windows.

As I approach through my connection I feel her demanding my attention as she slowly opens her legs inside her dress. Her cowboy boots prop on the rung of her chair under her and her knees spread wide, covered by the country dress she wears. As I drop to my knees before her and kiss the inside of her knee, she pops in her Airpods - a universal indicator she should not be interrupted if someone in the room was inclined. I kiss my way up her leg, from knee to inner thigh, and as I near the apex, I can smell her scent. She is wet and inflamed, redolent in her arousal and dripping into her simple cotton underwear. I bypass the thin fabric through my connection and nuzzle her cleft with my nose.

Across the room, I can see her hunch farther in her seat and pull her hands up to hold her head. I lick the length of her, from taint to bud, gathering her juices on my tongue and taking her sweet essence into my mouth. She shudders through my connection and I lick again, this time bringing my thumb up to trap and caress her labia as my tongue dives deeper into her. My hands are on her nipples, pulling and tweaking, while my tongue and fingers caress her below - I am not limited by my physical capabilities through my connection, only my focus and imagination. I lick and suck, dipping fingers into her between strokes, I tweak her nipples with my multiple hands and ministrations, I play her like an instrument of pleasure, causing her to sing and eventually to bust out a solo aria as she crests the wave of orgasm and surfs down the back side.

I see her trembling. She is blushing. She is out of breath. Eventually when she can breath again, she lays her head down on her table and I feel her smile in replete submission. When she finally stands, she walks back the path she took, pausing and laying a hand on my shoulder, before she quietly continues on out for the day.

The next week she shows up early, having deduced my schedule. We take our time. In the privacy of her booth, I kiss her, caress her, hold her and eventually lick her to completion. This time, however, she wants more and I can feel the need through the connection. She gets up from her booth and approaches the puzzle table that sits in the middle of the space - a simple distraction for office workers to work on as they wait or talk in the cafe.

There are usually one or two people working the puzzle, but today it is empty. The room is not. Her booth is quickly taken, and almost every seat is occupied. We are surrounded by anywhere between 30 to 50 people as the coffee bar fills and empties, as the elevators deliver and take away patrons.

She is so daring and wanton. She sets her boots more than shoulder width apart and bends at the waist over the table. She faces me, giving me a brief glimpse of the tops of her breast before she ducks her head and appears to be looking at puzzle pieces. I don't hesitate. I stroke up the back length of her thigh and caress her tight little ass. I playfully smack it, causing her to jump a little at the table across the room. I lick her pussy from beneath and feel how wet and ready it is for me. My cock strokes its crown against her slit from beneath and I watch her writhe a little at the table. I pull it back, coated with her own slickness and present my head to her waiting opening. She pushes back a little and I push forward even more, finally sheathed in her tight little cunt. She leans back a little and grips the edges of the puzzle table, holding herself up, bent over, by her arms.

We fuck, in the middle of a roomful of strangers, unbeknownst to them. I start pounding away and through the connection I feel the heartfelt "Yes! Yes! Yes!" coming from my silent paramour. I pounded from behind and then concentrated on what I was doing. I tongued her clit, tweaked her nipples and, ever so slowly, dropped the tip of my thumb into her rosebud, wriggling it around. It took no time for her immense orgasms to spark my own and there, in a roomful of coworkers, we crested and slowly came down from our high.

That act solidified my connection to her, allowing me to feel her from across town, while she was having dinner with her folks, while she worked and when her days weren't always the best. That connection allowed me to share my love and desires, for us to communicate as no other couple ever had before.

It was the start of something good.