Coffee

I noticed three things when I pushed open the door at The Morning Buzz. Some guy, cap on backwards, was sitting at a table near the left-hand side window, leaning over his laptop and licking his lips. An older woman, hair highlighted in bright red and dark brown, was sitting at a table in the back, trying to stir her coffee while a cellphone was tucked between her left shoulder and chin.

And Sam was waiting for me, smiling, eyes alert, wearing the red knit dress that she knew was my favorite.

I looked at her, felt the enjoyment I always got when I saw her sitting at the table waiting for me, and smiled back. I walked to the table, put my briefcase down on the chair across from Sam, leaned over, kissed her lips softly. I felt her tongue touch mine, and then disappear.

"Good morning, princess," I said.

Sam's hand touched my face, tugged my beard. "Hi, Daddy," she said. "I've missed you."

I took her hand, squeezed it, put it on her lap, and then ran my hand slowly along her thigh. She shivered, oh so slightly, so barely noticeable that only I would have noticed. "Daddy has missed you, too, baby," I said.

I straightened up, walked around the table and past the over-sized ficus that sat in the middle of the room, and made my way to the counter. When the Buzz was busy, the line to the front door had to split on either side of the tree, and the cashier couldn't see to the front of the shop. That was one reason why Sam and I enjoyed meeting there.

The woman behind the counter saw me, reached for a coffee mug, started to fill it. I had met Sam when she had taken my wine appreciation class, which I taught every other semester at the local culinary school. Sam had been a 19-year-old aspiring chef, sitting in the back row on the first day. She was a small woman, and her chef's whites made her look like a little girl playing dress up. Her hair was cut short in whatever the style had been at the time and she had that damned smile on her face.

Nothing happened between us that semester. I'm too much of a professional, for one thing, and the work was too difficult. My classes usually had 25 or 30 students, most of whom where young men, most of whom knew nothing about wine, and most of whom only wanted to be a chef because they wanted to be famous. My job was to drag the students, against their will, through the wine basics – the major varietals, food pairings, the main wine regions. Did I notice Sam? You bet. She was smart and funny and outgoing, and I loved how she called me Mr. Richards when she asked a question or made a point. Was she flirting with me when she did it? Probably. But there was nothing I could do about it.

That was the spring semester. I didn't teach in the summer, and I didn't see Sam when I returned in the fall. I asked one of the students about her, and she told me Sam had taken the semester off to take care of some family business. But I got a call around Halloween, and it was Sam. She was working for a small, but well-regarded, restaurant in town. Would I be interested in helping her boss upgrade the wine program?

Yes, I said, and I did. And I saw a lot of Sam in the process, and all the things that I had thought about when she was in my class happened – and even some I hadn't thought about. Sam was a revelation – eager, hungry, adventurous, kinky, submissive, intelligent. And she adored coffee.

The woman behind the counter pushed my mug toward me. I pushed money in her direction, picked the mug up, walked back to the table, sat down. Sam was stirring her coffee with her right hand. Her left hand, I knew, was in her lap.

I sipped the coffee, and scooted my chair so that, even though we were still sitting on our respective sides of the table, I was almost knee to knee with Sam.

"I touched myself in the shower this morning, Daddy," she said. Her voice was loud enough so I could hear it, but no louder. Her tone was the one she used when she wanted to be my special little girl, the one that had made me fall in love with her.

I smiled, sipped my coffee. "And?"

"I came so hard." Sam's cheeks were flushed, and I could see her nipples, hard under her knit dress. She wasn't wearing a bra; never did when we played like this. "My finger felt so good going in and out of my pussy. All I could think of was my Daddy's cock inside me, filling me."

Now my cheeks reddened, and I took a breath, looked at the guy with the cap on backwards. He was typing quickly, the keys clacking. My knee touched Sam's ever so slightly, and she moved her knee into mine.

"Are you wet for Daddy now, baby?"

She nodded. Sam moved her left hand from under her lap, showed me her index finger. It was glistening. "See, Daddy?"

The woman on the cell phone laughed – so loudly the woman at the counter turned to look. Sam moved her finger to my lips, painted them with it. I flicked her finger with my tongue, tasted my lips, let out a breath.

"What do you need to do now, princess?"

Sam flashed that smile at me, pushed her chair back, got up. She walked to the restroom, past the guy with the cap. He glanced at her, went back to his typing.

I finished my coffee, felt it go hot down my throat. Sam was walking out of the restroom, and if the guy had looked up from his laptop, he would have seen her erect nipples pushing against her dress and something white clutched in her hand.

She sat down, scooted closer to me, her knee pushing against mine.

"Did you bring it, baby?"

Sam practically giggled. "Yes, Daddy," and handed me the bunched up white cloth. It was her panties. I took them, felt how wet they were, how wet she was for me. They were white cotton, low cut, one of several pairs we had bought on-line together one rainy winter Sunday morning, between fucking and orgasms and coffee and cleaning cum off each other's bodies with our tongues.

I spread the panties open in my lap, fingered them. I rubbed my cock, pushing the panties against it and my pants. Sam pushed her knee against mine, and she was practically holding her breath, waiting. I folded the panties, reached for my briefcase on the next chair, unzipped one of the compartments, slid the panties in. The guy with the cap was looking at his screen, and then he reached for his cellphone.

"Now, little one, what do you have to do to get those back?"

Sam reached for my left hand, scooted her chair even closer. There were only those three other people in the Buzz, but the ficus tree would have shielded us from six or seven more. She took my left hand, slid it under her dress, and I felt how wet her thighs were. She guided my hand to her clit, and pushed my index- and forefinger against it. It was swollen, and I pinched it just enough to make Sam tighten her body.

"Who does your cunt belong to, Sam?"

"To you, Daddy," she said, and spread her legs a bit wider.

I rubbed her clit with my two fingers, first going up and down and then making circles. I don't know how many times I did it. I wasn't worrying about that. Sam's eyes were glittering, but she sat there somehow, barely moving. I kept my thumb on her clit and slid my big finger into her cunt, hard. This time she did move, sitting up in her chair and knocking her napkin to the floor. Her face was almost completely flushed.

Her cunt was slick and wet and beautiful. I moved my thumb, got a better position, pulled my finger out most of the way, then pushed it in harder and deeper. I did it a second time and a third.

"Who do you belong to, Sam?"

"To you, Daddy," she said, and her voice was throaty, but she sat there, barely moving.

"What are you, Sam?" and I was using two fingers now and her pussy was wide open for me and I was finger fucking her hard and fast and quick and no one in the Buzz was paying any attention, wrapped in their laptops and their cellphones and their coffee making.

"I'm your slut, Daddy, I'm your whore, I'm yours to do whatever you want whenever you want," said Sam, and she used her hips to push her cunt harder onto my fingers and she held it as long as she could and then relaxed and when she relaxed I knew what was next and moved my big finger to her clit and rubbed it gently and then faster and then gently and then she came, hardly moving at all but her body tensing and her clit swollen and her breasts full and her nipples pushing against the dress.

I took my hand out from between her, my fingers wet. I tasted the index finger and then the forefinger and then both of them and Sam reached for my hand and kissed my fingers and licked the tips.

"Was I a good little girl, Daddy?"