Room for Cream?

I've been an avid reader of many Literotica authors over the last year and, finally, I've put pen to paper to share my first story. Taking the time-honored advice to "write what you know," I've based the following on an actual encounter, with some editorial embellishments.

I would welcome constructive feedback with an eye toward improving my writing and storytelling for future pieces.

Thank you in advance for taking the time to read my story.

VIS

ROOM FOR CREAM?

MY COFFEE SHOP ENCOUNTER

PART ONE: THE COFFEE SHOP

Chapter 1

"Whatcha workin' on?" the barista asked as she plopped down next to me on the well-worn coffeehouse couch. I was startled by the distraction; I had been working through some of the finer points of an erotic daydream and was totally focused on typing it out on my laptop.

"I didn't mean to scare you," she offered apologetically.

"No worries. My mind was totally someplace else."

"I hope I'm not bothering you," she offered again, this time with a sweet smile.

"No, uh, not at all," I stammered, trying to pin a placeholder in my fantasy and return to the present.

I had been working out of a coffee shop for the past couple of weeks, since my daughter began a new school nearby. She was taking a little while to get used to the new surroundings, so I'd been driving the 25 miles each morning to drop her off and staying nearby to pick her up at dismissal. Fortunately, I had found a coffee shop with enough space and quiet to work on my latest story. At least temporarily.

"Are you coding?"

"No, I'm writing."

"What about?"

"Uh, uh, just a short story."

"Cool! Can I read it?" Marisol had been friendly and sometimes chatty, but never this forward. She made a great cappuccino, and before this, we hadn't exchanged more than quick pleasantries when she cleared tables after the first morning rush. She had a plain face and wore an oversized hoodie with the coffee shop logo. I was more into checking out the hot moms who stopped in after yoga class.

"Probably not a good idea. I'm writing this for my wife."

"What's it about?" she persisted.

Hoping the truth would shut down the interrogation, I said, "It's an erotic story."

"Really? I didn't know people write stories like that. I guess I never thought about it. Porn just seems to be sex with no context."

"Well, it's not porn. Not really. Well, it's not a porn script. It's an erotic story."

"Like a sex fantasy?"

"Yeah, more like that."

"Now I really want to read it!" Marisol smiled. My plan had totally backfired.

"I'm not sure you're old enough."

"Yeah, I am. I'm 23."

"Can I see some ID?" I joked. "Actually, I'm a little uncomfortable with that. This is my wife's fantasy. Plus, I write these stories anonymously. Under a pen name."

"Now I'm really curious! It sounds exciting!"

Trying to move off topic as quickly as possible, I offered, "How about this? I'll write a story just for you."

This was intended as a blow-off. I expected my daughter to get settled soon, and I wouldn't have to work from this coffee shop much longer.

"Really?!" Marisol exclaimed. "That would be cool! What about?"

"That's up to you. It's going to be your fantasy."

"Huh? I don't have any fantasies."

"Sure you do. Since you brought up porn, it seems at least you know what it is."

"Uh, well, yeah. Of course."

"Tell me, what do you like to watch?"

"You know, just regular porn."

"No, I mean, what turns you on? Do you like watching men, women, men and women together, threesomes, bondage?"

Marisol considered the question for a moment.

"Uh, I like bondage if it's not too crazy, and I like watching threesomes... but I never..."

"Remember," I interrupted, "this is a fantasy."

"Uh, uh, yeah, okay."

"So, bondage, multiple partners. Men or women?"

Her answers were coming more slowly now as she gave each question more consideration.

"Uh, both?" she answered quietly, becoming distracted.

"How many?"

That question flipped the switch. The local temperature shot up a few degrees, and it was obvious this was starting to turn her on.

"Just two... one of each."

I let her fantasy begin to marinate before continuing.

"Random people or a couple?"

"It doesn't mat— uh, a couple, I think."

I was now taking my time between questions, slowly stoking her arousal. And mine.

"Do you seduce them, or do they seduce you?"

She closed her eyes and thought about this for a long minute, her internal monologue clearly in overdrive.

"They... they seduce me," she murmured, almost breathlessly.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" I interrupted, a little too loudly.

The edges of her lips curled up in a little smile before she opened her eyes, remembered where she was, and blushed.

"Easy to get lost, eh?" I whispered knowingly. "There's a line at the counter, Marisol. We can talk more about this later."

I inhaled the aroma of her sex as she got up off the couch, walked past me, and went back to work. Her scent mixing with the warm smells of espresso was intoxicating. I had to adjust in my seat to hide my rock-hard erection.

Chapter 2

Marisol avoided eye contact the next day as I placed my order and set up in my usual back-corner spot.

I approached her when there was a break in service and noticed she was wearing a little makeup and lipstick. "Hmm, kinda pretty," I thought to myself.

"Everything okay, Marisol?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"It's a little quiet now. Do you want to continue our conversation?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. I don't think so."

"Really?" I replied, disappointed.

"Now I know what you mean about being uncomfortable with someone reading your stories. It's very... personal."

"Once a fantasy gets in your head, different scenarios play over and over. It lives in your head rent-free until you..." I searched for a non-sexual metaphor. "... get some... relief."

"Relief?"

"Yeah. Until you get rid of it. Usually, you need to have actual sex or an orgasm to hit the reset button."

Marisol stood over me for a long few seconds, then decided to sit close to me on the couch so the few customers wouldn't overhear our conversation.

"I know, right? I was so horny all day," she confessed. "I couldn't concentrate on anything. After you left, I had a fantasy about every couple that came in. When I got home, I couldn't do anything until, well, uh, you know." Marisol averted her eyes.

"No, I don't know. Tell me," I urged, wondering if she could hear my quickening heartbeat.

"You know, took care of myself," she said, blushing and looking away.

"Lucky you!" I said with a chuckle and a little too much excitement. "I had to wait all day until my wife came home."

We sat in silence for a moment, digesting each other's confessions.

Taking a big chance, I leaned over and spoke in a hushed voice. "I was playing out a fantasy in my head while my wife gave me a blowjob."

Marisol took this in and was clearly debating how to react, then spoke in a similarly hushed voice. "I did too. I dreamed that I was tied up—" she paused, searching for a different phrase but not finding it, "—and treated like a bad girl."

My chest tightened. My pants too. I rebounded quickly and, somehow with a straight face and without mumbling like a dirty old man, said, "That's so hot! Did you fantasize that it was one of your customers who was, uh, you know, treating you like that?"

"What about you?" she countered unexpectedly. "Was it your wife—" again searching but not finding, "—sucking you off?"

There was something so nasty-sexy in her words. I used all the restraint I could muster not to put my tongue in that dirty-talking mouth.

"Of course it was my wife!" I exclaimed.

"Not that! Did you fantasize it was your wife?"

"Uh, no," I admitted shamefully.

"Who was it?" She smiled conspiratorially. "Anyone I know?"

There is only Regret at the collision of Fantasy and Reality.

"It was fun while it lasted," I thought to myself.

I stared into her chocolate brown eyes for a moment that seemed like an hour before I whispered, "I fantasized that it was you."

I prepared myself for a slap, but she blushed and looked at the floor.

"I was thinking about you too."

"Really?" I replied in genuine amazement, thinking our significant age difference made this highly unlikely.

"I've always been into older guys. When my friends were crushing on the football players, I was crushing on my teachers. They always made fun of me, so I've only dated guys my own age."

"It's flattering to still be thought of that way!" I replied. "Tell me, how bad was I treating you?"

I needed details.

"I was bringing over your coffee and spilled some on your computer by mistake. I tried to apologize, but you kept getting madder and madder. You pulled me into the back storage room by my hair and ripped open my shirt."

She was speaking more deliberately, giving the action time to play out in her head before continuing.

"Then you tied my hands to the shelf and tore off my bra."

I leaned in closer and felt her breath on my cheek and the heat rising from both of us.

"You unbuckled your belt and told me that you were going to teach me a lesson!"

A pause.

"Then you ran your hands up my legs, under my skirt, and tore off my panties."

"Were you on your knees?" I asked absentmindedly, totally absorbed in her fantasy.

"I was on my knees and bent over. My hands were tied. I begged you not to hurt me. You laughed and smacked my ass with the belt."

I thought the couch would combust.

"I kept begging and apologizing. You gave my ass one more hard slap. Then you spread my legs open. I was totally helpless," she paused, "and totally turned on!"

"You said this dumb pussy must taste delicious, and you licked me. You put one finger, then two, inside me. After a minute, you made me taste my own juices."

"Did that make you cum?"

"Yes, the first time."

"Then?"

"Then I saw one of the yoga ladies watching. Her pants were pulled down to her knees. She had one hand in her sports bra and one hand between her legs. Oh my God, she was so sexy!"

Marisol paused, tried to catch her breath and whispered in my ear.

"Then she said, 'suck his cock, you dirty slut!'"

I was so lost visualizing her fantasy and distracted by my straining erection that I didn't realize Marisol had been squeezing her thighs together, putting pressure on her clit. She had intertwined her arm with mine and was now almost pulling my shoulder out of its socket.

She wedged her head behind my back against the couch pillow, and her body went rigid as she bit into the fabric of my shirt and the flesh of my upper back to muffle her scream. Her legs spasmed as her orgasm released. After a few deep breaths, Marisol pulled my arm between her legs and ground against my forearm to a second orgasm, this time almost biting through the couch cushion.

Thankfully, the coffee shop was mostly empty, and no one noticed. Or pretended not to.

Marisol took a minute to compose herself and reached over to give my raging erection a squeeze before getting up.

"Relief," she mumbled, going back to work.

Hunched over, I stumbled into the bathroom, where the sink had magically been replaced with Marisol's face and painted lips. It didn't take me very long.

"Relief," I groaned, wiping a splatter off the bathroom vanity.

It took me a couple hours to process the morning's adventure. Before I left, I needed to get things straight, so to speak.

"Listen, Marisol, just to be clear, I'm married, and you know that. You're a great girl and incredibly sexy, but I'm really not looking to cheat on my wife."

"I understand. It was just these fantasies... sharing them with you... it's been so long."

"It's okay, Marisol. We're all human. It just can't happen again."

"Yeah. Sure," she said, our eyes locking a beat too long.