Post the Eighth or Coffee



The steam rose languidly from the cup of coffee. I leaned forward and breathed in the rich smell and smiled. I loved coffee. Still love coffee. At the time, I was sitting in a dimly lit cafe on the east side. I was trying, and failing, to work on my final take home exam. The smell of the coffee and the people watching was making it hard to concentrate.

One person in particular was especially vexing. His skin was as dark and smooth as the coffee that I was drinking. His locks fell down around his face gracefully as he poured over his book. His body was all power and strength and yet he held himself gracefully, almost softly, leaning back on the overstuffed couch. He seemed so intent on his literature that I was almost loath to interrupt.


I waited until he got up to make my move. He rose from his couch, stretched and made his way to the front counter. As he was ordering another coffee I quickly moved over to sit on the couch.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” I asked as he walked back towards me.

“Not at all.” He replied, smiling shyly.

I knew I had him. I positioned myself so that our knees touched. He glanced at them once and than at my breasts but left his knee next to my own. After sometime I said, “I really like that art piece over there.” Pointing to painting of a flower near the bathroom.

“Yeah,” He said, “Its very… Vaginal.”

I laughed, “Lets go look at.”


We walked over to the painting and studied it for a few moments. He brushed his hand against my arm and I knew it was deliberate. This was my chance.

I opened the bathroom door and pulled him into the bathroom. It was dark and I couldn’t see a thing but that didn’t matter. He pushed himself hard against me, eagerly searching my mouth with his own. I was only too happy to oblige. I pressed him up against the wall, pinning him with my own body.

“Pull my hair…” He whispered to me. I replied by reaching my hand into his locks, caressing each in turn and yanking down. He gasped. I brushed my lips against his exposed neck. His skin was as soft as I had imagined. I bit down and he screamed. He ran his hand down my back to cup my ass. He pulled and scratched at it as I bit down ever fiercer.

He finally gasped, “Stop. Please.”

I smiled and pulled away. I moved him over to the sink, feeling my way through the dark. I reached into his jeans and felt what I was hoping for.

He was so wet.

Even in the dark I could see his expression of pained eagerness. I could feel those eyes questioning, wondering. Will I reject him? Will I be like so many others who, when exposed to this wonder, shrink back in fear? I pull my hand out from his pants and I feel him tense. He knows what will happen next.

I take my fingers and run them across his mouth, his lips parting to allow my entry. “You are so beautiful.” I whispered. And with those words he melted against me and began sucking my fingers earnestly. I bit my lip, reveling in the feeling of his mouth around my digits.

While he was sucking my fingers I used my other hand to unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans. He wriggled out of them while still sucking on my fingers. I flung them aside and got on my knees. At this point my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I looked up at his face. He was so beautiful, so vulnerable and so mine.

I inched down his boxers slowly, whispering all the while what I was going to do with his glorious cunt. He shivered and moaned, rocking his hips back and forth.

“Please…” He breathed.

I got his boxers down around his ankles and leaned close. I blew across his pubis and along his cunt. He shivered again. I fingered his labia gently, teasing him with the tip of my finger. He bucked, shoving his crotch in my face, his desire clear.

I inserted two of my fingers into him and began to fuck him. I fucked him gently, tenderly. He rode my fingers expertly, meeting my thrusts with his own. I could tell he had done this before. I began to fuck him harder, reaching deeper inside him. I inserted a third finger. He whimpered.

I put my mouth around his clit and began to suck. He gave a low long moan of pleasure and I could feel the heat rising in my own crotch. He tasted so sweet. Sweet and salty and mine. I ran circles with my tongue around his clit as my cock got harder and harder.

His breathing got faster as I fucked him more intensely. I kept riding his edge, slowing down or speeding up to keep him from coming. I kept taking him to that point but not allowing him to fall into blissful oblivion. I played him like I would a sweet violin. His knees began buckle and shake at the pressure and I knew he couldn’t last much longer.

“Please can I come, sir?” He asked with desperation in his voice.

I pulled out of him and with my tongue I spelled, “Come.” on his clit.

And he came.

And he came.

And he came.

It was like a deluge as his wetness swirled out of him and down his legs. I leaned closer to drink it in and as I pulled my nails across his thigh he came again. I put my hands on his stomach to support him as he slumped forward, spent.

I rose, planting a kiss on his lips. I could feel the smile there.

“I’ll see you at home, honey.” I said.

About witchymorgan

I'm a 22 year old womanist, sex positive, pansexual, polyamorous, queer, bruja, transwoman. Social justice activist by day, social justice activist by night. Fun! View all posts by witchymorgan

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