BDSM Erotica
"The Coffee House," an erotic short story by Jean D'Amour
She walked into the coffee house, seemingly happy and care-free, ordered a latte, and then sat down with her Cosmo magazine. The article on "10 things to do to surprise and delight your man in bed" intrigued her.
She was not quite 20, her birthday was coming up in two months, and she was just beginning a new relationship. Bobby had kissed her, and very well too, but she had resisted any further advances. However, she had invited him to her apartment tonight. She had a nice dinner planned, but she expected 'dessert' to be the highlight of the evening -- hence the magazine and its intriguing article.
She knew that he would want her to use her mouth on him, but she decided that she wouldn't let him squirt his icky stuff in her mouth. She might do that someday, but not this early in the relationship. Of course, she intended to let him 'go all the way,' because she wanted that just as much as he, she was certain. On the other hand, if he wanted to do that other thing, that nasty, dirty thing putting it in her bottom hole -- Eeew! -- he was just going to have to forget it. At least she told herself that she had the strength to control the situation to that extent.
She visualized the encounter she planned with him this evening -- kissing, caressing, unbuttoning, intimate parts of their bodies exposed, then touched and kissed, her excitement increasing, his rising, male smells, female smells, insertion, more excitement, her climax, his discharge, and her hope that he will cuddle her gently after the act is over.
She was reading in the magazine about how a man loves it when a girl runs her tongue tip around the rim of his cockhead when HE walked in.
He was dark and rugged, contrasted with Bobby's fair hair, fair complexion and smooth softness. He walked with assurance, exuding an air of supreme self-confidence. As he passed her table on the way to the counter to order his coffee, he glanced down at her. His appraisal of her took but an instant.
He passed quite closely to her table, and she smelled him. The mixture of aromas was complex, but she analyzed the sensation quickly. Soap - no, body wash - probably Old Spice, but his shower had been taken two or more hours ago. Perspiration. He had had some exercise, but the sweat smell wasn't stale. And cunt. Yes, he smelled of cunt. He had evidently just come from taking his pleasure in a woman. A picture flashed in her mind: He was naked with her, a girl who looked much like herself, petite, 5'1", 103 lbs, hair a deep rich red, except that his woman's hair was a soft warm brown. The woman had a soft, neatly-trimmed, and very curly patch of hair at the base of her belly; a downward pointing arrowhead that might just as well have been a neon sign flashing "Fuck Me Here." Did the bright red curls at the base of her own belly give the same message? She grinned inwardly and thought, "I hope so." The thought nearly caused her to giggle. "Why is my pussy all wet all of a sudden?" she thought to herself.
He got his coffee and sat down at a table about half-way across the room from her, sitting in a chair that faced her. His dark eyes fixed on hers and stared.
She was young, beautiful and self-confident too. So she decided to give as good as she got. She stared back, making her eyes hard, and fixed on his deep, dark orbs. But he was too much for her. She could not continue. "Maybe I should just get up and leave," she thought. She closed her magazine and reached for her purse, but she suddenly realized that she was still staring at him. Her eyes were fixed on his eyes and she could not turn away. "This is ridiculous," she thought, and started to rise from her seat. She could not move, and her eyes remained locked on his.
A shudder of fear ran through her. She was in his complete control as much as if she was bound tightly with cords hand and foot. Not only was she unable to turn away from his gaze, she could not move her body at all. A thought of herself standing in front of him and disrobing while he sat in a comfortable chair with a bemused smile crossed her mind. And her next thought was that if he wanted her to do that, she would do it.
Her mind began to race. "What if he wants to 'do it' to me? No, that's not right, he would be angry if I used juvenile terms like 'do it.' What if he wants to fuck me? I must obey, mustn't I?. But what if he wants me to suck his cock? Then I must obey. Mustn't I? Surely he won't want to squirt his icky cum stuff in my mouth. But if he does, I must obey, mustn't I? Oh, my god! What if his girlfriend, the one I smell on him, is there? What if he wants me to let her suck me? What if he wants me to suck HER? I must obey, mustn't I?. And what if he wants to fuck me in my ass? Then, of course, I must obey. I really must. Mustn't I? He may want to spank me. With a paddle or a strap. It matters not. I must submit. At least I think I must. And if he decides to offer me to his friends to use as he has used me or even in ways that I can't imagine, I must obey. I must submit, mustn't I?. Will Bobby understand? Will he know that I must obey? But, must I really obey? Yes, it matters not, I must obey. Mustn't I?"
He sipped his coffee as he continued to stare. She shuddered visibly. He rose from his chair, took two steps to the door and held it open. He glanced back at her and gave a nearly imperceptible gesture with his head pointing to the open door.
She rose from her chair thinking, "I shall obey."
Originally published May 2007 - "Mmm"