Coffee Shop Sundays

I was never a coffee drinker.  But lately I've been going to Starbucks.  Why?  Because I saw him outside a Starbucks as I walked out of the running and athletic gear shop in the same strip shopping center.  Tall, fit, sweaty from a run or maybe working out, muscular, looked to be in his forties, a wedding ring (always a good thing for a single girl like me who wants fun, not a husband), and a handsome yellow Labrador perfectly behaved at the end of a leash.  Oh, I liked everything about him, and what the heck, coffee or not, a girl's got to stay hydrated.  So that morning I decided to get my bottled water at that famous Seattle-based coffee place. 

 

 I got behind him in line and needed to chat him up.  So I tapped him on the shoulder lightly and asked him if he'd just finished a run and if he was training for the Hot Chocolate 15K.  Which had been a week earlier.  So either he'd say, "Huh?" and I was free to take the conversation anywhere I wanted (hopefully toward a sexual way of getting to know each other better) or he'd say, "Actually, the race was last week," and I could pretend to be vulnerable, pretending to scold myself for missing it and being confused about the date, and then he could comfort me. You know, sexually. I'm pretty consistent, don't you think?

 

The things I'll do for dick.  You'd think I was addicted.

 

Oh, wait.  I am addicted to dick.   "Hi, I'm Dolly, and I'm a Dick Addict," is how the twelve step meetings should begin for me.

 

Found out he wasn't familiar with the Hot Chocolate run, and that his name was Art.  His wife didn't run, she never missed church, so his Sunday mornings were spent with Labby the dog ("How did you ever come up with that name for him?" I asked, batting my eye lashes) while his wife was at church and then Sunday school. We got our drinks, and I asked if he had time to drink it there or did he have to go.  He said he had a dog waiting outside so he was planning to take in the beautiful morning outside with his dog by his side, enjoying his Grande Latte with skim milk and two Splendas and would I care to join him. 'Why thank you, I'd like that."

 

 I decided not to fuck him that first day, just in case I might go to hell for fucking the holy woman's husband, or perhaps if he was a holy roller himself.

 

Like I wouldn't have been struck by lightning many times already if screwing hot married men was going to bring on instant damnation.

 

Anyway, hot or not, I actually decided to take my time, and become friends with Art, and just see where that friendship led.  The little devil in red on my left shoulder teased the angel in white on my right shoulder that maybe his wife would turn out to be fucking the minister and I could be poor cuckolded Art's revenge fuck.  I smirked internally.  

 

I was reminded of my neighbor Alyssa Greenberg's wedding, the same weekend that the scandal broke at her synagogue that the Rabbi's wife was banging Alyssa's dad, and the Rabbi was crushed, and how could he perform the ceremony for the daughter of the man who'd was banging his wife?  So the assistant Rabbi swapped funeral duty with the head Rabbi, and when the head Rabbi got back to the synagogue I brought him a plate of food from the reception hall to his office since he didn't have a home to go back to that night, not without seeing his unfaithful wife.  Rabbi Marx sure did get over his wife Rochelle in a hurry when I touched his forearm and asked, "Are you sure you're going to be okay tonight, Rabbi, do you really want to stay here with all the noise from the wedding filling the building?" When Rabbi Marx reached up, took my hand in his other hand and pulled me close and kissed me, I simply said, "or we could stay here and I'll go close the door....."  

 

Wow, I know I just took a serious detour from telling about Art, my coffee house fuck buddy, but its always fun to remember good old Rabbi Marx.  He ended up leaving his cheating wife and Alyssa's dad and the rest of that congregation behind and became a professor of religion at a major southern state university with a ranked football team, and his next wife wasn't Jewish when he started banging her after a Saturday night nationally televised football game, but she converted.

 

 I wonder, if I'd been interested in more than just that one "let me cheer you up" fuck, might I have ended up the rabbi's next wife?  Final thought on Rochelle Marx -- I sort of understand the choice she made.  Having had a perfectly acceptable but not superlative screw with her husband the rabbi, I thought to myself (as I tried to straighten my dress and return to the reception and hope no one noticed my hair and makeup looked a bit "off") that Alyssa's dad was a waaaay better lay than the rabbi, or at least he certainly had been when I stayed after the engagement party to help clean up and let the champagne go to my head and let Bernie Greenberg do me in his home office.

 

But getting back to Art the hot guy with the terrific retriever...

 

Over time, we became running buddies on most Sundays. We'd talk about our lives afterwards. Well, for me, I talked about the parts I talk about. Wasn't the time to let him know about the Dolly Jewel aspect of my life that my website reveals.  Yet.

 

Okay, I was crushing on Art big time and knew I had to finally go for it.

 

I met Art at the coffee shop recently and knew it was time. We weren't running that day, there had been a 10k the day before and I decided to recuperate for a day. But it looked like Art worked out anyway that morning (meanwhile, all I did was use my "toy" on myself and cry Art's name out while I came!). He always get me hot and wet and his just-worked out scent drives me wild. What I finally wanted was to be wrapped in his arms, and taste the lingering traces of salt, sports themed deodorant soap, and lemon oil on his skin. I had been spiritually seduced over and over by his smell. I needed to be physically seduced by him, at long last.


I also love the sound of his rich, deep voice. And his hands, strong, tanned, well groomed...all those places I wanted him to touch me, not the sexual ones up to that point, but oh, he filled and overwhelmed my senses with his scent, touch and voice.

I walked to the shop and Art and Labby were waiting there for me at an outside table. Two of my favorite things in one place. 


He was sitting with his hands wrapped around a cup, watching for me. I caught his eyes and he drew me in with that look. That smile.  Those hands. I had gradually gotten touchier with him, and he'd responded. A poke, a touch of the forearm, the shoulder, the small of my back.   Still not mauling each other, not sexual in actual activity, but the tension was ..... oh hell, I was ready for him and was powerless to resist just going for it -- and how great to see him look at me like that. He felt it too. There were no words needed between us. 

I got my water, joined him, and Labby hopped up to put his head in my lap, sniff my hand, smile as I rubbed behind his ears.  And Art patted his head, too, and that's where our hands met, and held the other person's hand, on Labby's head. 

"Tell me what you're thinking," he asked.

 

I paused.

 

"Tell me, " he urged.  "Please, Dolly."  So I just finally told him.

 

"I wish you could leave with me.  That it could be just us, for a while, anyway, I'm not looking to lock you up, I just want to borrow you.  All of you."

 

"And what if I told you I wanted the same?"

 

Our eyes met.  And he nodded his head.

 

As for the rest of that Sunday morning, which lasted into afternoon, I remember how I breathlessly took Art and Labby back to my high rise condo, how we clasped fingers on the way and then on the way up in the elevator.  How Labby had pee'd on some bushes before we went up to my place, so I knew he'd be fine, and he settled in on a comfy loveseat I have on the balcony, watching the park, the beach, some fine homes, the waterway.  How I kneeled between his legs while he reclined and loved his married but neglected cock with my mouth, sucking him and licking him until Art came so hard that his cum flooded his tight abs and all I got to taste really were the few drops that dribbled onto my lips. Oh, why didn't I suck him dry, swallow his seed, but I just wanted him to see, me to see, how I'd made him cum.  Could he see the lust in my eyes?

I handed him my panties and he started to smile and then he looked at me and winked. We both laughed as he sat there with my hot pink panties in his hand. He sniffed and I realized I was flitting myself down there, where I was no longer covered, but was instead increasingly wet and slick.

 

I needed to touch him and feel him right then, so much. My desire was fully exposed, my flushed cheeks, my breathing, my heart beating.   Suddenly he reached down and pulled me up to him, and we were kissing, Art showing no care about the traces of cum that I did catch in my mouth before he backed out and let the rest fall on him. He took my hand and start to walk away from the love seat, then he turned and looked back at me and then I knew. He wanted me to follow him, though since it was my place he did have to ask, "is this the way to your bedroom, Dolly?" 

My legs were shaking with excitement, my heart beating wildly. I point and we walk, but we didn't get there, because I pulled him into my arms and leaned back against the wall. His lips found the hollow of my throat and he kissed me with unsatisfied hunger,  his mouth then merging with mine and our tongues met like they were already best of friends, moving together and not wrestling for control, as can happen with an early relationship kiss. I was already moaning, as I pulled him tight against me, desperate to feel this unavailable, married man against every inch of me.  I knew this was stolen time, of course, but my body?  My body wanted to conquer the desire in his DNA, to make him unable to resist me, to want me, to need me.

 

Like I said, I knew differently than my body.  But that doesn't mean I won't let my body take the lead for an hour.  Or two.  Or ..... well, let me keep going....

 He finally broke off the kiss, a thin wisp of saliva linking our mouths, and my fingers communicated to me that they had begun the stripping, as I felt the heat of his skin under my fingers. 

We dragged each other the last few steps into the bedroom, clothing dropping along the way.  He squeezed my breasts and I wanted him to suck them desperately. Prayers answered, he bent towards me and closed his mouth around a hard nipple while he pinched the other. Oh God, his teeth grazing my skin.

 

"I can't wait any longer. I want you to fuck me now, I want to feel your cock inside my pussy stretching me and filling me".

I licked my hand and reached down to run my hand up and down the length of his manhood, and felt how stiff and ready he was again, so soon after I'd sucked him off.  I touched him with my skilled knowing hands, and his eyes rolled back and he gasped, grunted. "Oooff, fuck, Dolly... what are you,,,,oh God!" . He made me breath so hard when he returned the manual favor and slipped his fingers into my heat. I was so wet and so ready for Art to fuck me. I whispered the words, begging, " Please fuck me baby".

 

A moment's hesitation, and I had to sigh when I released his cock to step over to my night stand and open the drawer and pull out a strip of three foil wrapped condoms.  I started but he took them, lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers, saying "Here, I'll take care of this, of you."  Most romantic condom gesture in a long time, is how it came across.  I might have swooned.  

Then he put his arms around me and lifted me off the ground, then onto my bed and I wrapped my legs around him, feeling his hands on my ass, holding me while he lined his body up to mine. I closed my eyes and pushed my mouth forward, as did he, and we kissed with passion, as one, while I took his cock in my hand once more and guidde it to the wet, warm opening of my pussy. I slipped the head inside me and then presented my hand, wet with my juices, to him and as he slowly positioned himself fully inside me, feeling so good, he sucked each of my pussy coated fingers dry. 

Suddenly he pulled back and then thrust into me hard, powerfully and although I was expecting that, it sent me over the edge and I cried out, moaning "Oh God, yes, Art, yes, take me, make me yours I want you Art, take me". His hips moved against mine, over and over as he slid his hard cock deep inside me, rubbing hotly against the soft folds of my pussy, creating a torturous friction inside me. I worked my muscles against his hungry cock, gripping him and then letting go. He broke the kiss to watch my face, smiling. 

Once more he kissed me; reassuring me with his lips that this was not just a fuck, that we were lovers. I become aware of how hard we were each squeezing each other with our limbs, both of us, I grunted, the intense pleasure bearable, but so intense.  I felt as if my body had already left this earth. I ground my hips against him, urging him to finish what he'd started, what WE started, and he kept fucking me, changing to a slower pace at first and then so hard and fast that I dug my nails into him tightly to hold on for dear life. The room was filled with the wet echoes of his cock filling me repeatedly, his full balls slapping against me and the sounds thrilled me as we connected again and again. And then the tension he created inside me started to contract.

"Oh God, I'm coming baby", I gasped, squeezing down on him with my pussy as waves of heat radiated throughout my body. I started to whimper and moan and he smiled, thrilled with the response he'd earned, and kissed me again while I still moaned and whimpered and grunted into his mouth as I came on his cock again and again. Suddenly I felt him let go, and his cock shot all of his hot potent married seed into his condom, his pulsating cock filling me over and over again, wave after wave of delicious heat until I feel him finally stop the manic thrusting and start, ever so slowly, to deflate, and enter a well earned post-fuck hibernation.

THE END

Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!

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