Baristas -- #YoungMenOlderWoman #Fantasy #FreeReadingFest #Prizes

 Image by Karolina Grabowska from Pixabay

 

Who can explain desire?

Some women lust after rock stars or cowboys, rough-and-ready construction workers or CEOs in designer suits. Me? I fantasize about baristas.

The best are artists, concocting beautiful, customized beverages for their clientele. They know your name, remember your usual order, gift you with radiant smiles that tell you you’re special. Perhaps they’re just angling for tips, but they do it so gracefully that you feel privileged to drop a dollar into their box.

There are four coffee shops on the ground floor of the office complex where my firm is located, two in the east tower, two in the west. Each has its own vibe, and its own delightful young men.

D’Amicos is a classic Italian café, its gleaming espresso machine adorned with brass lions and cherubs. Theo, the server, fits in perfectly, with his jet-black curls, olive complexion, lean frame and lazy grin. He’s told me he’s studying drama, but he wouldn’t look out of place behind the wheel of a Maserati.

Stanwycks caters to the millennial crowd; rarely do you see a table without a MacBook or iPad. Jim and Jeff preside over the counter there, two rangy blonds from South Dakota of all places, with an easy manner that seems out of place here in the city. Jeff tells me they got tired of cows. The way his blue eyes sparkle, I don’t know whether to believe him or not.

The Espresso Club is more upmarket, frequented by many of my colleagues. It’s where the deals get done. Behind the bar, his trim white uniform contrasting with his gorgeous ebony skin, Jeremy works with quiet efficiency to lubricate the wheels of business. He takes his job seriously—he might be the only barista I know who thinks of it as a career—but he always lightens up when he sees me coming.

Finally there’s The Bean Bag, with its retro sixties décor, complete with posters of Jimi Hendrix and the Grateful Dead. The low, cushioned chairs in the Bag are almost sinfully comfortable. The Bean Bag’s a place to hang out, a place where you don’t hurry. Of all the options, it might well be my favorite. The baristas, Todd and Martin, provide the leisurely service their customers expect. The generous drinks and moderate prices more than compensate for their lack of urgency.

Todd has a dancer’s build, slender and muscular, while Martin is stockier, more like a wrestler. Neither could be older than twenty-five, but they’re channeling the styles from half a century ago: shaggy hair (Todd’s sandy, Martin’s ginger), embroidered Indian cotton shirts (Martin’s with a V neck that shows off his furry chest), broken-in jeans that hug their young butts.

I find them both irresistible.

Actually, I want all my baristas, with their ready smiles, their flirtatious charm, their strong young bodies. On weekdays I cycle from one cafe to the next, trying not to be too obvious as I ogle them. On weekends I invite them—in my fantasies—up to my luxury condo, where I entertain them, and vice versa.

I’m not a cougar or anything like that. I occasionally date men my age. When I do, though, I remember why these encounters are so infrequent. Men of my generation have such a sense of entitlement. They expect to be flattered, coddled, treated like the kings they believe they are. They find it hard to deal with an intelligent, assertive woman like me.

Plus they’re rarely good for more than one round of sex. They always leave me hungry for more—hungry for my youthful, virile baristas who, unlike my own cohort, are open-minded and egalitarian. They look at me with awed admiration, a full partner in a prestigious law firm at only thirty-seven, but they’re not intimidated. They live to serve.

Most of the time it’s more satisfying to spend time with my vibrator and my coffee-dispensing fantasy lovers than with some flesh-and-blood advertising executive, retail magnate or real estate tycoon.

I’ve never done more than imagine, though. These days women get sued for sexual harassment, too.

My job often demands long nights, but usually I manage to keep my weekends free. Last Saturday, though, I was forced to go into the office. Pam, my paralegal, finished her research into a complex M&A case late on Friday. I had to review the stack of files she’d left on my desk before Monday’s meeting with the client.

I gathered the documents, dumped them in my attaché case and headed to the ground floor for a cappuccino I sorely needed. I’d planned to drop in on Theo, but D’Amicos was closed. Indeed, only The Bean Bag was open on that summery Saturday morning. Peering into the empty coffee shop, I concluded the other cafes probably had the right idea. Why stay open when there were no customers? I was grateful the owner of The Bean Bag wasn’t so sensible.

“Ms. Jordan!” Todd’s face lit up as I walked in. As I lowered myself into a chair at my favorite table, he rushed over to scrub at the already-spotless surface with his towel. “What a surprise to see you on a Saturday.”

“Hi, Todd.” I grinned up at him, my mood noticeably improved by the sight of his broad shoulders and narrow hips. “You know what they say: no rest for the wicked.”

“Are you wicked, Ms. Jordan?” Martin emerged from behind the counter to join his colleague. “I don’t believe it.” They stood together on the other side of the table, the blond and the redhead, eager and attentive, waiting to hear what I wanted.

I recalled my last fantasy starring these two, in which Martin’s presumably substantial cock had filled my pussy while Todd’s more slender member rooted in my rear hole. I’d needed a second dildo for that one. I felt my face heat up at the memory. “Oh, you have no idea what I’m capable of, gentlemen.”

“I’d love to know,” Todd murmured, brushing his hair out of his eyes. The two men exchanged a meaningful glance. My blush intensified.

“Your usual, Ms. Jordan?” Martin asked. “Double cappuccino?” He licked his lips.

“Add some whipped cream this time,” I said. “And one of your scrumptious blueberry muffins, toasted. Never mind healthy eating—I need some consolation for having to work on the weekend.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll console you,” said Todd with a cheeky grin. “We’ll be right back.”

I pulled out the first file folder and started to skim the pages inside. Normally, I have no trouble working regardless of what’s going on around me, but I couldn’t seem to focus on the analyst’s reports and tables of figures. I kept glancing over at Martin and Todd, as they bustled about fulfilling my order. Although both were over six feet, with long legs and arms, they didn’t interfere with one another. They had long practice choreographing their movements in the cramped space behind the counter.

Would they be that way in bed, too? The thought came out of nowhere. At the same time, I realized that my nipples were taut beads under my designer tee and that the crotch of my panties was soaked. Fortunately the rich aroma of fresh ground coffee wafted through the shop. I hoped it would drown out any hint of my personal scent.

Get a grip, Elaine. Fantasy was all very well, but careers had been ruined by failing to distinguish it from reality.

“Here’s your coffee.” A decadent swirl of whipped cream decorated the cup Martin placed before me. Perched on top was a tiny milk-chocolate heart.

“That looks amazing. And fattening.”

“Not something you need to worry about, Ms. Jordan.” His hazel eyes glittered with mirth.

Todd appeared beside him. “And your muffin...” Melted butter dripped down the toasted surfaces of the two halves.

“I didn’t ask for butter,” I protested, a bit alarmed by all the calories in front of me.

“You can’t have a blueberry muffin without butter,” insisted the sandy-haired barista. “It’s illegal!”

We laughed together. “What the heck,” I said, surrendering to their charm. “I didn’t have any breakfast.” I dove into the feast they’d prepared for me.

I must have been hungrier than I realized. I’d drunk most of the coffee and devoured half the muffin before I noticed they were watching me. Their eyes followed every sip, every bite.

“Good?” asked Todd, his voice smooth as one of the blended frappes he and his partner concocted for their customers.

“Unbelievable. Thank you...”

“You missed a bit.” Martin ran his finger around the inside of the cup, gathering some remnants of the whipped cream. He held the digit out to me. Before I could stop myself, I took it into my mouth and sucked.

Time stood still. The two men shared another one of those pregnant looks. His finger still between my lips, Martin nodded at his partner. Todd strode over to the door, locked it, and flipped the sign to “Closed”.

No, I wanted to say. No, I can’t.

Martin withdrew his finger.

“Oh,” I breathed, wanting it back. I felt empty, everywhere. “Please...”

Todd lowered the blinds.

Martin moved the table to the side, then crouched down so that his freckled face was level with mine. “What do you want, Ms. Jordan? How can we serve you?”

“I—I can’t...” I babbled.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Todd joined his colleague on the other side of me. “Just leave everything to us.”

Before I could reply, he was pushing my casual cotton skirt up my bare thighs to give his partner better access. Martin hooked his fingers into the waistband of my bikinis and tugged them down far enough to expose my pubic curls.

“Oh, pretty!” Todd exclaimed, brushing his palm over my fur and sending electric sparks straight to my clit.

“A natural blond,” added Martin. He slid one delicate finger between my swollen labia. “A very wet blond.” The slight invasion just made me want more, but even as I arched up from my chair, he withdrew to suck off my juices. “And delicious.”

“Let me taste, Martin.”

Shameless, I tried spreading my thighs, but the panties interfered. I raised my butt so Todd could slip them down to my ankles. He stuffed them in his jeans pocket before kneeling in front of me.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long, Ms. Jordan.” Using his thumbs, he opened my sex like a ripe fig and licked me from back to front. Just one stroke, but it was more than enough to make me squirm.

“Oh, God! More! Please...”

He bent closer and lapped along my cleft with a firmer pressure, finishing with a flick to my clit. Lightning sizzled up my spine. I arched up from the chair, trying to hump his face. With a chuckle, he burrowed deeper, plunging his tongue into my folds then nibbling at my inner lips. Everything he did felt heavenly.

Before long he had his whole face wallowing in my pussy, using his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, even the hardness of his nose to bring me pleasure. A climax coiled in my pelvis, winding tighter each time he dove into my body with such enthusiasm. I was soaked and slippery. I knew I was drenching him with my secretions, but unlike many men I’ve known, he didn’t seem to mind at all. The more I bucked against him, the more energetic he became.

I was so, so close to coming. I knew that was what he wanted, too. My fingers buried in his shaggy hair, I pulled his head closer and directed his agile tongue to just the right spots. I ground my sex against his face, thrashing and wailing like a wild woman as I teetered on the edge of climax.

I’d forgotten all about Martin. When he clasped my breasts through my shirt, I jerked in shock at the new stimulation. He’d circled around behind my chair so that he had a better angle.

“Relax,” he murmured in my ear, before licking the sensitive skin below my earlobe. “Relax and enjoy.”

He dragged my tee up to my armpits, then deftly peeled down my bra to bare my breasts. “Oh, yeah!” he breathed as he gathered them in his big hands. “You are the ultimate fox, Ms. Jordan.”

I started to laugh, but Todd grazed my clit with his teeth and my chuckle turned to a gasp. Martin rolled my nipples between his fingers, gently at first, then harder. “Come for us,” he urged, pinching and pulling the swollen nubs. “Don’t hold back.”

Todd burrowed into my pussy, devouring me. Martin played with my tits, teasing me with his clever fingers. Together my baristas worked to push me into climax. How could I resist them?

I screamed as the whirlwind seized me. Pleasure swirled, rose, tore me apart. My self-awareness shattered into a million shards of bright sensation.

I came back to reality to find them grinning at me, looking as pleased and satisfied as if they’d been the ones who’d come. Todd’s face was slick with my juices. The scent of pussy overwhelmed the usual coffee smells.

“Thank you.” Grateful but embarrassed, I started to pull down my shirt.

“Wait—don’t!” said Martin.

“Don’t you want more?” Todd asked. He glanced at the locked door. “We might not get a chance like this again.”

“I don’t know—” I began.

“We want more,” said Martin, tossing away his shirt and starting to unzip his jeans. My mouth watered when I saw he wore nothing underneath. His muscular thighs were furred with the same red down as his chest. His cock reared up from a ginger tangle at his groin, frankly magnificent.

“If you’ll have us,” Todd added, stripping down as quickly as his partner. His skin was paler, and almost hairless, but his erection was no less impressive—certainly not the slender shaft I’d imagined.

Their nakedness triggered a new surge of arousal. I wanted those lovely young cocks inside me. I understood that I could say no—my rational side suggested that would be the wisest course of action—but I just couldn’t refuse.

“I’d love to have you,” I told them. I took longer to undress than they had, partly because my clothing was in such a tangled state, but in minutes I was as nude as they were.

Martin eased me back into the well-padded chair. I spread my thighs wide. He stepped into the gap between them, his enticing erection bobbing with every movement. Grasping my hips then pulling me forward a bit, he hooked my legs over his shoulders. “Can you handle this position?” he asked.

I nodded, glad for all the hours I spend in the gym.

His cock poised at my entrance, he paused once more to check my reaction.

“Do it,” I stammered, so turned on I could hardly talk.

He tilted his hips and plunged his cock all the way in.

“Oh!” We cried out at the same moment, as bliss overwhelmed us both. Closing my eyes, I savored the heat and the sense of fullness. No dildo could ever compare.

The red-haired barista struck up an easy rhythm, thrusting deep, giving me time to feel every inch. I clenched my inner muscles around his rigid shaft and was rewarded by his gasp of pleasure. He picked up his pace. His swollen rod massaged my clit on each stroke and I found to my surprise I was already well on the way to coming.

“Ms. Jordan?”

I opened my eyes to find Todd’s tempting cock hovering inches from my face. “Oh, I’m sorry for neglecting you!” I cried. I kissed the rosy head, then swallowed the whole impressive length. My tongue danced along his silky skin, stretched so tight over the steel beneath. He moaned as I turned up the suction, thrusting deep. I took him all, right down to the root. My nose buried in his pubes, I breathed in his funky male scent and sucked harder.

Meanwhile, Martin continued to fuck me, sliding his cock in and out of my drenched sex. The two men seemed to fall into the same pattern. Todd’s cock filled my mouth while Martin stretched my pussy. Both challenged me to take what they had to give. Then they both withdrew, giving me a moment to breathe and appreciate the many shades of delight that flickered through me.

We were in perfect balance. It seemed to go on forever. I suppose the guys must have been very horny, but they had amazing stamina. Our climb together was gradual but inevitable. Our climax was blissfully easy.

Todd’s cock twitched and pulsed against my tongue. I knew he was close. I grazed his shaft with my teeth and tasted his first spurt of cum. Meanwhile, Martin drove deep while thumbing my clit, releasing me into an orgasm as smooth and rich as whipped cream. As I convulsed around him, he exploded in a flood of heat.

The guys recovered before I did. Well, they were younger. Plus they’d each had only one orgasm to my two. When my eyes fluttered open, I found them seated cross-legged on the floor, side by side, watching me.

“Are you all right, Ms. Jordan?” Martin asked.

I sat up, leaned forward, and gave him a quick kiss. “Of course I am, silly.” I brushed my lips across Todd’s as well. “But given what we’ve been up to, maybe you should call me Elaine.”

Martin reached out to tweak my nipple. “That wouldn’t be respectful.”

Grinning, Todd nodded his agreement. “After all, you’re our valued customer.”

He stroked his resurgent erection. “So, are you ready for a refill?”

I hope you’ll take a moment to leave a comment and let me know what you think of this story. Every comment could win you a $10 gift certificate or a free ebook. Don’t forget to include your email!