Coffee Talk


All characters depicted are fictitious. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.


Its 3a.m. and I'm suddenly awake, thirsty. As soon as I realize I'm awake again at this usual hour, my thoughts immediately go to her. I wonder if she's awake, and if she's thinking about me. She often tells me she sleeps badly, waking up for hours in the middle of the night.

She's told me this on many mornings while we have coffee at our office. She makes it at home and brings in every day just for our morning social ritual, when we sit and talk about our lives as friends do, and sometimes talk about things we really don't talk to anybody else about.

In 3 years of coffee talk, I've learned that she often wakes up for long stretches in the middle of the night. She has also let slip on several occasions that her husband stays up all night in his office and doesn't sleep with her, at least not until 5 or 6 in the morning when he drags in to bed as she's getting up. I know he's not working, so I ask her what he's doing in there. She just says she doesn't really want to know.

She doesn't complain about him, not much anyway, but it dawns on me now, as I lay here in the soft, warm darkness, that a woman wouldn't say these things to a man unless she wants him to know that she's lying awake in bed every night alone, not having sex with her husband. How can I have been so dense?

I've wanted to tell her so many times that if she were mine, I would make sure she was in bed as early as possible, and make sure that she drifted off to sleep every night happy and exhausted. The one thing I know I could definitely do that would make her happy, and it seems I'm powerless to do it. What brand of idiot would let an incredible creature like this go unloved and un-sexed? I did tell her once, in the middle of a long hug, that I wake up and think about her at night; she just smiled and lightly scolded that I should not have told her that. God, I am an idiot. It was one of those times I should have acted. Everything about her was screaming for me to act, not talk. But I talk, try to anyway. I tell her how beautiful she is. I don't know if she ever believes me, I wish I could convince her, help her see herself the way I see her.

I'm thirsty, so I get up and wander down the hall, my hard on wagging before me like a friendly dog just roused from his nap. I stop for a very long pee, then a tall glass of cold water, and wag my way back down the hall to bed. As I roll back in, I worry slightly at waking my wife, but I already know the chances of that happening are slim, and as I slide under the covers and nestle back in, her steady breathing confirms that she's out.

When I was much younger I always wished my wife was the kind of woman who would be glad to be awakened by a man with an erection, or the kind of woman who might wake up herself and rouse her sleeping husband to erection, but I stopped wishing for that a long time ago. In this bed, a hard penis is an unwelcome annoyance, an unnecessary chore.

As I start to warm back up under the sheets, my thoughts are immediately of a woman in a bed a mile away as the crow flies, likely awake, possibly thinking of me and maybe doing what I'm starting to do, have sex with that one person who is always there for us. I think about how she might do it, what she looks like while she's doing it.

My brown eyed, pale beauty. She has the most luscious white skin. Her breasts are fabulous, definitely one her most eye catching features. I've been around long enough to be able to tell the good ones, even through layers of clothes. I would guess she's a 32-34C. She's hugged me countless times, generous with her full frontal contact, so I have had those firm breasts pressed tightly against my chest enough times to accurately judge. I've even had my hands on them a couple of times.

There was the time she asked me crack her back for her. She came and stood in front of me with her back against my chest. I asked where she wanted me to place my hands, and she unhesitatingly said to put my hands on her hands. Then she immediately crossed her arms and cupped those large breasts with her slender little hands. My hands, being much larger, overlapped hers by a quite a bit, and I extended my feel by sliding my hands a little bit downward, about half off of her hands, half on the soft undersides of her tits. My head was spinning. I took my time leaning back and lifting her very slowly. I was ridiculously hard already, and I knew she could feel my swollen cock against her ass. I let her back down just as slowly, and took an extra-long time sliding my hands off of hers, gently cupping the outside of her breasts as I let her go.

So now I picture her slender hands cupping and stroking those incredible breasts. I'm wondering what shade her aureolas are. Are they light pink like her lips? Does she play with her nipples, does she pinch them, pull them, pinch them extra hard? She has told me out loud that she likes pain.

I wonder if she plays hard with herself, since she has often alluded to a masochistic side, dropping subtle hints in passing conversations. Like the time I came into the office off the road in the middle of the afternoon and casually asked how she was doing as I walked to my desk. She didn't even look up from whatever task she was absorbed in; she just said "I need a spanking". She said it in a weary, beleaguered sort of way, and I just laughed slightly, not knowing how to respond. I think I mentioned that I could help her with that and just went on with the work on my desk.

It would come up again and again over the years; she would occasionally drop a little hint that she needed strong male hands on her. That she wanted to be manhandled. I don't know if she's ever realized how much it turned me on, fueled my fantasies about her. After a year of knowing her, she became the sole object of all my sexual fantasies. As we jousted in conversations laced with sexual innuendo over the next 3 years, and as I listened to her and watched her body language, I became aware of submissive tendencies. It became obvious to me that she wanted and needed a strong man to take charge of her body.

Some nights I get myself off just thinking about her getting herself off thinking about me. It's a favorite fantasy to think we might be climaxing simultaneously while thinking of one another.

But tonight I'm drifting back in time just 8 or 9 hours ago, at the office with her. We stay after hours and work off the clock for at least an hour every night, sometimes way more. Sometimes if I'm coming in late off the road, she'll keep busy and wait there for me. Our thankless jobs are such that there is always something to do, but we both know that it's simply an excuse to extend our time together.

Last night, as I sat at my desk, she came over and stood to my right as I worked, leaning forward to rifle through the forms on the wall shelf to my front. She was so close. I knew she was there just to be close. I had by this time in our relationship, been indulging in some playful grab-ass with her. Just a pinch at first, which elicited a shocked "hey!". I scared myself a little too, thinking immediately that she might cry sexual harassment, but she didn't. Over the next weeks and months pinches progressed to light fondling and slapping, which was never rejected. I would run my hand up the back of her thigh and gently squeeze the perfect little peak of her cheek. She would still cry out in shocked surprise, but she never asked me to stop.

As she stood beside my desk last night, my hand found its way to the back of her leg, as it had done many times before when she came to rifle through the forms. And just as before, she made no move to stop me or move away. I placed my fingertips softly above the back of her knee, on the leg closest to me, caressing the back of her thigh, ever so gently sliding upward. I could feel the smoothness her skin through the thin, loose material of her slacks, God how I wished she would wear dresses.

She didn't make a move to escape my touch, just hunted for the apparently elusive form as my fingertips drank in the smoothness of her thigh, and continued upward on their own laboriously slow hunt, finally finding that place on a woman's body I love so much, that place where the back of the thigh meets the curve of the buttock. I could return to that spot again and again to fondle, pinch, kiss, lick, or bite. Just as my fingertips reached the spot and gave a small squeeze, she exclaimed: "Found it!" and trotted quickly back to her desk with her piece of paper.

I have gone over that moment so many times in my head, groaning at my failure to seize the moment and take charge. It's another time I should have acted. I start to stroke my swollen cock as this favorite fantasy takes up where I left off.

I think that if I could go back to that moment, I would have stopped her from walking away. I would have stood up swiftly beside her, my hand gripping roughly the place I had just been fondling gently, pulling upward and roughly grabbing a handful of her slender ass. I would have reached my other hand up, slid my fingers into the hair at the top of her graceful neck and firmly grasped a handful. I know she would have gasped, maybe give the appearance of trying to move away, but I would have held her there, locked in my grip against the front of my desk.

I would have gently increased the pull on the handful of soft brown hair down and back, while leaning into her back with my left forearm, as my right hand, releasing its grip on her ass, begins further exploration. The right hand moves on its own now, sliding down the right leg swiftly, then slowly drawing back upward, this time with fingernails digging in.

As my right hand reaches her buttock she struggles and whimpers slightly, and I answer it by pulling the hand suddenly away, then just as swiftly bringing it back flattened, to spank her right ass cheek sharply. I hear her breath draw quickly, give a seconds pause then bring the hand back, spanking the left cheek, counting a second and sharply spanking the right. With swift upward glancing strokes striking the underside of her butt, I give her ten hard, loud smacks in quick succession, alternating sides.

Then my hand softens and begins to caress, gently and slowly exploring the lobes of her ass. I move my lips to the skin of her long, lovely neck, kissing softly, whispering to her "You are mine, my sweet adorable plaything." I bring my hand up between her legs as I pull back roughly on her hair, maintaining the pressure against her back, driving her forward. I reach my foot over and kick it against her right foot, sliding her legs apart. I find her soft warm mons with my fingertips and rotate in a broad gentle circle over the area of her clitoris, steadily, softly. I turn my hand and find the outline of her puffy labia between my fingers.

Gathering her sex between my fingers and thumb, I start to gently pull towards the floor, moving my fingertips, squeezing and pinching the little pouch together as I pull, releasing, pulling and releasing, all the while lavishing soft kisses along the length of her neck. I kiss my way to her earlobe and suck it between my lips, catching it with my teeth. I let go of her hair and seize her breast roughly with my left hand, rotating my thumb over her nipple. I slide the hand across both breasts, pulling roughly as it goes along, then reach back again to grab a handful of hair at the nape of her neck.

I feel her start to grind her hips forward, crushing my hand between the edge of the desk and her soft Venus mound. I want desperately to pull her pants down, kneel behind her and go down on her, taste her, suck her vulva into my mouth, suck her clit between my lips, fuck her with my tongue. So many times I've smelled her luscious white skin as I've held her next to me, longed to taste her, fantasized about going down on her, but that has to wait. Right now she needs more spanking. When we'd playfully spank talked at times, she would ask me what I would use to spank her with. "Are you gonna make me go out and cut myself a switch?, she winked." I whisper into her ear in low, stern tones, "You need to be spanked my dear. For now I'll just use my hand. If you're a good girl maybe next time I'll use a switch."

I want to get her buttocks rosy red and hot, make the blood rush to her pale white skin, make her pussy swell with the rush.

I push her upper body down to the top of the desk, my left arm still controlling her with the handful of hair. Her arms resist the pressure at first, pushing back against the desk top with the palms of her hands, but she relents as I hold her down and her hands curl uselessly beside her head as she lays it on the desk, facing away from me.

Her precious little butt is thrust up and out now, and I begin spanking with measured patience, alternating cheeks at a steady tempo. I start to build the strength of the blows slowly, slapping lightly at first, warming the skin. I stop after a dozen or so blows and run my hand lovingly over the peaks of her tiny buns. She's so exposed in this position, so open to my exploration. I run my hand down between her legs, lingering there, caressing her warm softness, probing, squeezing and pulling at her sex. I want to manipulate her, shock, surprise and, draw her in, leave her desperately wanting one moment, instantly fulfilled the next, teasing her back and forth until she's begging for more...

I bring myself off quietly, once again hoping she's having the same fantasy a few miles away.

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