Sex Du Jour – Part 1 [MF] [cafe] [public]

The drizzling rain pattered softly against the cafe's windows, mixing with the sizzle of grills from the back and soft conversations of the other patrons.

I'm sitting in my booth, my favorite booth – I love the view. I like to sit far into its length with my back against the wall, one leg stretched out on the burgundy padding and arm resting on the wooden table. I can see everyone in the restaurant from this corner, the perfect vantage point for people watching.

I pull back my sleeve and check my watch – the noon time crowd should be making their way out soon, getting back to their jobs in the business district a few blocks down Vine St.

"Afternoon, Mr. Anders." Rita walks up to the table and sits next to me – it's her signature with the regular customers. She sets her pad and pencil down on the table, "I was thinking you might be sick today."

"Nah, just a busy morning. Couple of projects I'm finishing up," I assure her.

"You and your projects. One of these days you're going to tell me about your work."

I laugh. I can hardly help but notice that her coral bra is peaking up between the unbuttoned portion of her blouse.

"The regular today?" She picks up her pad and paper.

"No, actually," I sigh, "I'm cutting down on the caffeine and trying to lose a little weight. Gonna need a minute to look at the menu."

"What?" Rita scoffs, "You lose a couple pounds and you might disappear."

I scoff, "It's just good to have goals. Keep disciplined, ya know?"

"Alright, well – I'll be back to check in on you in a few." She walks away, cute little butt squeezing around in her tight black work pants.

I settle back into my booth and survey the restaurant – let the games begin.

There. The brunnette near the wall with the terrible abstract art triptych, the quintessential young professional. She's wearing a beige vest over a white button up and a sharp gray pencil skirt. Her full curls tumble down her shoulders like wild vines. Her glasses are clear and modern, face dainty and heart-shaped, with a well-defined jaw line.

I get up from my booth and walk over, sitting down across from her at the table. I can see the title of the book now, "The Wild One" – there's some macho and very tan manly-man holding a very slender woman against a backdrop of a moonlit lake. Hilarious

Her eyes peek up from the book, "May I help you?" "I couldn't help but notice that you're over here, all alone. Thought I could you give you some company." I relax in the chair and kick a leg up over my other leg, "I'm told I'm very good company."

"Oh really?" her voice is unimpressed as her eyes hungrily keep peeking down at the book. I can only assume I interrupted a really steamy scene.

"What's happening?" I motion down to her book.

She instantly blushes, at a loss of what to say, "Well," she laughs, "lots of things."

"Be detailed," I encourage her, "I'm not shy. Are they in the middle of making love? What's the situation, what's at stake?"

She looks at me inquisitively for a few moments.

"I love a good story." I assure her.

There's a tense pause, and then she takes the jump.

"She's a woman from a small, very conservative town in colonial times, and is falling in love with a Native American who saved her from a bear that chased her when she was collecting herbs." Her voice is so sultry to listen to, what a dream. "So, right now is the first time they've made love, the first time she's given into her desire – it's in the barn of her father's farm. Gar-to'weh – that's the Native American – snuck out to her one night. She's scared they're going to get caught, but can't hold herself back." Her voice is quickening, "They're just overcome with lust for one another, excited by the. . ." she searches for the word, "taboo of crossing cultural divides. Doing the thing they shouldn't be doing, but want to do so badly. Very hot."

"I can understand the sentiment," I look her right in the eye, and drop my voice slightly, "I've wanted to just take you for myself ever since I saw you sit down."

Shock. Her eyes widen, surprised and disgusted as she sets the book down. That's okay, the normal response. I keep a smile on my face and keep eye contact.

"Did you. . .?" her blue eyes narrow as she searches for the words.

"I'm incredibly curious what your pussy looks like." I say, grabbing her glass of water and taking a sip, "I can only imagine the many times these books have made you touch yourself. I imagine is it a well-loved pussy, easily made wet and hungry for attention."

No, miss, you did not misunderstand me.

She doesn't have a response.

"I wonder what it looks like, what it feels like, what it smells like, what it tastes like, and what it sounds like to fuck it." I continue, "Every sense, just aching to be stimulated, incredibly curious what you are hiding down there."

The shock is wearing off, and she smiles ever so slightly. "In fact," I continue, "I would love to take you back in the restroom right now, lock the door, and fuck you. Not until orgasm, just a teasing fuck – like a wine tasting, enough to get a sense of the sensation." Her gaze is locked on me, still figuring me out, "Hike up your skirt, pull down your panties, set you up on the counter, and just enjoy the feeling of my big cock in your juicy little pussy. Fuck you for a minute or two, then zip up and we can both go back to our day, a little wiser about the world."

Silence. I settle back, letting the proposition sink in.

Lights dance behind her eyes, her mouth slightly agape Again, completely expected, given the circumstance. I enjoy the nervous energy, the anticipation of a response. Her head twists around, finding the restroom in the opposite corner of the restaurant.

Of course, I knew this would work out the moment I sat down – she's absolutely my type, and I her's. She put up a good fight, but it was a losing battle.

She looks back at me and leans forward, whispering through her beautiful, plump lips, "I'm so fucking wet right now."

I lean forward and match her volume, "Well, I'm going to be rock hard very soon. You lead the way," I reach under the table and squeeze her thigh, "you slutty little girl."

A minute later, the lock to the one room bathroom clicks shut.

Our lips tango, my pants drop, and hands roam across her tightly fitted business clothes. Her tight, gray skirt is pulled up over her waist, revealing a little baby blue thong. My hands squeeze her ass, fingers slipping under the fabric, pulling it down to her ankles.

Wrapping my arms around her, I lift her up onto the counter – her ass barely meets the marble counter before I'm inside her. Her glasses fall off as she clutches my back, lips sucking on my ear, as my cock slides in and out, in and out.

"Fuck, it's better than I could have imagined," I pull her head back and look her in the eyes, as my waist pushes in and out between her legs.

"Mmmm, it feels. . ." she gasps and swallows as I give an extra hard jab, "so gooooood." The vibration in her voice on that last word – perfection.

I lift her butt off the counter, finding my perfect angle, and push deeper into her lovely pussy while–

"Did you decide?" Rita pulls the pencil from its perch on her ear, and readies her pad of paper.

Ah.

Game over for now.

"Yes," I glance over at the little card with the daily specials, "I'll do the pastrami on rye, let's do a side of fruit. Can I get a tea with that?"

"You got it, boss." she scribbles her shorthand, and looks back at me, "The special comes with a cookie – chocolate chip, oatmeal, peanut butter, or house special."

"I'll pick it when I check out." I love choices, but find it so difficult to make a decision.

"Perfect. Order's up," Her and her perfect little butt take my order back to the kitchen.

I settle back again and gaze around the cafe.

Okay, next up.

There's a short-haired blonde in the opposite corner, nestled behind a dividing wall that separates the kitchen entrance. Deep red lipstick and a purple blouse with geometric patterns running through it. Black business pants, very well kept – not as young as the brunette over by the wall, I'd say late-30s to early-40s.

I like that this little spot attracts the professionals from the business district – I enjoy a woman that has an air of professionalism about her. I imagine she is very organized, very exact, very put together.

Just like a mischievous boy with a tower of blocks, I want to push the right area and let everything tumble down. Take that professional, well-to-do, business-minded veneer we all wear in the professional world and just rip it away, find out what's truly underneath.

I get up from my booth and walk over, pulling up a chair behind her. She doesn't see me, as she is busy looking at emails on a small tablet she has propped up on the table in front of her, next to a plate of biscuits and jellies.

"Don't look behind you, I want to ask you a question." I request. Her head instinctively starts to turn, but she catches herself. "If you look, it will ruin the question."

"A strange request," her voice is higher than I had imagined.

"I'm just curious. I was sitting over by the window, in the opposite corner – did you see me while you were sitting over here?"

She thinks for a moment, "I don't believe so."

"Good. Okay," I sit up in the chair and speak clearly, "So, listening to my voice, would you be willing to guess how I look?"

A moment of hesitation, and then she relaxes in her chair, "Hm, could you talk a bit more? Maybe, tell me about your day?"

I love how quickly she plays along.

"I got up this morning and let out my dog. Cooked up two eggs and toast for breakfast, then took a shower. Did a quick load of laundry. Is that enough?"

A few moments of silence, then she begins to muse. "I'd say you are in your early thirties. Your voice comes from above, so I expect you are tall." She pauses, "I can hear a distinctive rustle in your clothes, I'm going to guess you're wearing a button up shirt."

"Anything else?" I want her to continue, "Best intuition, go with your gut."

"I'm guessing your have brown hair. I don't know why, just feels right." She's considering hard, "A bit of facial hair? Chiseled features, not a soft face. There's a bit of rasp. Perhaps you work outside a lot…and have rough skin."

"Reach back and give me your hand, and find out if you're right." I offer.

Her hand drops from her waist and slowly comes back to me.

I take her hand in mine, letting her feel the texture.

"Yes, hands that work often." You can hear she's proud of herself.

I set her hand against my leg, holding it against my jeans.

"How about the color of my eyes?"

As she thinks, she does not retract her hand, "…um, a darker brown than your hair?"

I pull her hand up my pants a little bit as I scoot my chair closer behind her.

"Okay. Anything else?" I stop her hand just short of my manhood. I take away my hand, leaving her free to choose. She looks around the cafe, then lets her hand creep up my thigh. Her painted nails brush against the growing bulge, tracing the outline.

"No," she says softly, "those are the best guesses I have." "Well, it was very impressive." I grab onto the crook of her arm as her hand roams, "Not completely accurate, but I'd say you got me, oh – seventy percent correct."

My hand moves up her arm, "My hair is indeed brown and I have a bit of facial hair."

I grab onto her shoulder and rub in small circles with my thumbs on her shoulder blade.

"I am tall."

I scoot a little closer, allowing her hand to fully grab the hard spot in my pants.

"But my eyes are hazel and I don't work outside for my job."

Her head relaxes forward as I massage her shoulders.

"That feels good." she whispers.

"I'm glad to hear." A few slow circles on her shoulder blade, then I stop. "Do you mind?" Without waiting for a response, my right hand reaches in front of her and disappears down her blouse. My hand wriggles under her bra and cups her left breast, thumb pushing against the nipple as I squeeze it with purpose.

She tenses up at first, but doesn't resist. A moment later, she melts back into the chair. No one can see us behind the separator wall.

"My god, these are amazing," I whisper, as I stand and play with her right breast. Her hand drops from my waist as she lets me suffice my curiosity.

She's breathing heavier.

"What is your name." She whispers, voice raspy and wanting.

"Jeremy." I reply flatly, given a rough squeeze for emphasis, "And you are?" I ask, as I withdraw my hand and sit down behind her again.

"I," she hesitates, lost in the moment. Then recovering, "Isabelle…Izzy, for short."

"I love that name."

"Thank you."

"Isabelle," the name is like candy to say, "I want you to pull down your pants, to your knees – you can stay seated." I can feel the sexual energy pouring out of her. She loves this. I wish I could see the look on her face right now. So surprised, but excited – scared, but anxious, and wanting. What picture does she have in her head of this mysterious but bold stranger sitting behind her?

A waitress walks to another customer that just walked in the entrance, taking them him to the bar area. They both disappear from sight.

Isabelle reaches down and unbuttons her pants, rocking her bottom back and forth as she slips them down her legs, until just her bare bottom is seated in the chair.

"I want you to steady yourself and lift your bottom slightly off the chair."

She obeys.

My right hand moves between separation in the chair back. My fingers slide across her bottom, until I find her moist mound.

My fingers dip ever so slightly inside the lips, running their length, before retracting.

"Stay up." I tell her.

I bring my hand to my mouth and taste my finger. Her juice is thick and laced with a mild sweetness. The odor is musky and rich.

"Delicious. But that was just an appetizer, I'm ready for my meal." I say, as I grab her chair and move it away from her bum, still raised as she steadies herself against the table. "I'm going to eat your asshole before I let you sit down again."

"But what if someone sees us." Isabelle questions, as her gorgeous, plump butt hangs in the space before me.

Then they can fucking watch, I think.

I spread Izzy's ass cheeks and lick deeply, causing her body to shudder at the sudden sensation. I press a thumb up against her pussy as I enjoy deeply my prize, mind reeling at the taste and smell of her sex and her ass, mixing together in the already delicious smelling cafe. She holds in her sounds, so not to draw attention to us around the corner.

I press hard with my face, pressing her against the table and–

"Here you go," Rita sets the plate down on the table. The pastrami sandwich is piled high, with way too much mayo on top. So much for respecting that diet.

"Fruit will be out in just a sec."

I have a raging hard on right now, the fantasy was getting intense.

"Okay." My mind is still swimming. "Thanks doll."

Rita's ass leaves my table to go and wait on a pair of diners.

(to be continued)

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3jyyvs/sex_du_jour_part_1_mf_cafe_public