The Coffee Date

The grey glare of the city shimmered off the telescope glass as he shifted his eyepiece to ground level, sharpened his focus, and probed the shadowy fold between her legs. Outside Starbucks, she startled. Magenta first-date lips curled, and flirty creases formed around her eyes. Were her Lululemons too tight?

Her I-phone flashed his Plenty of Fish profile photo for an audio-call. In a cool, composed tone, the first time she'd heard his voice, he apologized for the last minute switch-up, but he was expecting a package and couldn't join her for the coffee date. "Can't the concierge take it?" she asked.

"It's important. The pass-over must be in person."

The freshness of her lip-cover wearied as she bit her lower lip. He watched her head and shoulders drop, the sinking figure betraying obvious disappointment, and for a beat he let the silence become heavy and dense. "Why don't you join me chez condo? We'll hang out here and get our drink later." She hesitated. "We both know you made the time," he argued.

He texted his address, a sub-penthouse suite in the mirror-silver tower looming before her. She crossed the concrete plaza to the polished granite entrance and asked him to meet her there. "It's unit 25B. You come to me," he insisted and buzzed her up.

Alone in the hallway, she knocked, but there was no answer. A nervous reflex triggered a shiver. In that instant, the door flashed open, a hand clasped firmly over her lips, and dragged her in as the door slammed, and its springlock clicked behind them. He pushed her against the heavy door. She felt the textured wood surface cold against her cheek as his lips brushed her ear. "All the time we messaged, I knew I would have you," he said.

Breathless, her skin tingled but she didn't call Red.

He handcuffed her and turned her around to reveal himself.

"I'm going to undress you, understand?" She nodded.

He fought with her boot, until it popped off, and he fell backwards onto his ass. She choked back a giggle. He shot her a warning look. "You stupid Slut! Everyone knows Blundstones are supposed to be worn loose." He bowed his head to hide his face, trembled and heaved, gasped and snorted, and then exploded into peals of laughter. Still staring at the floor, he drew some breaths to compose himself, and then, with a dramatic flourish he pulled off a sock, twirled it in the air, and tossed it over his shoulder. He smiled and winked. She was allowed to laugh now, but only for a moment.

When he lifted her sweater over her head, she noticed his eyes were hazel with flecks of green. Her sweater got caught at the handcuffs. She yielded as he pulled down her leggings and peeled off her lingerie. He uncuffed her, and the sweater dropped to the floor, leaving her naked.

He turned her around to face the door again. "Don't move!"

He disappeared into the bedroom. Her body ached as she remained statue-like, staring at the door. The muffled bumps and shuffles of cupboards and drawers opening and closing told her he was retrieving something secret and well-hidden.

He returned with hemp rope, which he deftly wove, wrapped and tugged down her arms and back into a dragonfly harness. Her body loosened and complied. With every knot, her wet crotch pulsated.

He admired his handiwork, a beautiful coarse tapestry twisting down the links of her vertebrae. He traced the soft curvature of her hips and then stung her ass with one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five. . . six punishing smacks. The skin on her bum streaked and reddened as her wrapped torso writhed away from him, but she was blocked from any escape.

He flattened her into the door. His fingers blindly probed to explore her front. He clenched her nipples long and hard, until her pain response, a reflexive gaping of the jaw and a silent cough, prompted him to let go. He found her pussy, hot, wet and throbbing for him.

"On your knees, Slut . . . and look at me!" In an obedient thud, she dropped clumsily to the floor, and inched her knees around urgently. She stared up into his eyes, her tongue polishing her now natural, but still luscious lips, and she kept her study as he stood tall and drew down his zipper. Her gaze remained fixed as he held the back of her neck, slid his cock into her mouth, and forced it down her throat. He grabbed her head back by the hair while she pushed forward ravenously.

He wrestled her into the bedroom, and shoved her backwards onto the bed. She opened her legs, begging for him. At this, he smirked, gently stroked the outside of her vagina, and smeared its silky sheen between his fingers. "Why should I?" he scoffed.

The rope burned and stung, as she strained and fought to pull herself up to sitting. "I want you!"

He pushed her back down. "What?"

"Fuck me!" she begged.

"Ask politely!"

"Please . . . Sir!"

He watched her panting, straining, and begging. Then, he buried his face between her legs and noisily feasted on her cunt, licking, tonguing and edging her to orgasm. When he finally allowed her to come, she surrendered to him in an exquisite chemistry of heat, sweat and energy, her purrs, mewls, and howls echoing through the cement hallways and stairwells of the condo block.

He stood up; stripped; and then skin-to-skin fucked her, until in a moan of satisfaction he furiously pumped his semen onto her nipples, neck and face. "Thank you for your cum," she said as her glistening body softened.

* * *

The rope landed in a tangled mess on the floor beside the bed, where engulfed in soft cotton, a fine Egyptian-weave, their bodies were warm and tender. "Satisfied?" he whispered.

"When do I get my coffee?" she teased.