So it takes 21 days to form a habit and here I am again, unable to forget about you. It's Tuesday again. Some people don't like Mondays, but Tuesdays just kill me. Very habit forming. Worse than Sundays.
It's really too early to meet for lunch but let's do it anyway. And let's pretend, this time, that we're friends, friends with similar interests in the light of day, and that this table is our playground. The more I think about it, the more I can imagine it, the way we could just hang out and talk. Never mind all the flirting, the hunky in hunky dory, let's just sit here like adults and have a conversation.
You'll order food. What the hell do you actually eat? We'll wait for it to arrive while discussing the arts and culture. You'll eat it. I'll order food. I'll eat it. I'll watch your mouth chew, you swallow, your hand on silverware. I'll play with my waterglass, eat my fruit slowly, and try to turn you on. Hands, eyes, mouth, tone of voice. You'll order me not to turn you on, which will make me feel more like turning you on.
Our knees will brush under the table. You'll compliment me without thinking. I'll make some observation and start touching your hands again. Thank god there's a tablecloth, I'll think to myself, as your knee slides between my legs. I'll be wearing jeans, no need to make it easy, but still. You want me to spread my legs for you so you talk me into it. By telling me not to.
Just watch me pretend to have a normal conversation. I can talk about anything you want with great intelligence while I stroke your cock. I love feeling it half hard, feeling it grow in my hands, running my hands up and down it. I pride myself on this very thing. Taking you to the edge while your face remains impassive, as if I am having no effect on you at all, as if you aren't losing total control right now.
I also pride myself on being able to have undetected sex in public, so when I get up to go powder my nose, I think you should put your salad fork back on the plate and follow me.
No one's in the corridor and it's one of those rooms you can lock, clean and hip and I can smell the cinnamon in the air freshener. I'm cold but your mouth is warm on mine and your hands are hot on my skin under my t shirt. So fast, so hot, your defenses slipping away and you're into me good now. One hand up my shirt and one on my cunt as I stroke the back of your neck and cover your face with kisses, whispering you into me, my hair, my skin, pulling you so close, careful not to leave marks as I wrap a leg around your ass and pull you into me against the wall. Grind it into me. Yes. I'll give you everything. "You are such a bitch," you whisper. "How am I supposed to go back to work after this?" "Not my problem," I whisper back. "Kiss me." Then we just lose it as the heat envelopes us. You thought about how you wanted me so many times and never let yourself describe it because it scares you but now, your body betrays you. No, your soul. I take you in with everything that I have. I yield to your desire, what you won't let yourself feel, I open to you as you slowly tease my hot slit with your hard cock, my jeans going to my ankles, my panties irrelevant as you stake your claim. Your mouth is all over me, your hands in my hair, I'm so hot I'm going to cry while I come. I can barely keep quiet, and my moans resonate against the walls of this little room.
I pull myself onto the little counter which is strong enough to brace this stolen moment and spread wide for you and guide your cock inside. I watch you fuck me, my minds eye extending my coming so it seems like it never stops as you feed me with your cock and balls, as I spread wide, as you blow my mind with your soft thrusts. We have no time, but we go slow enough to be excruciatingly precise up against the mirror, the sink wetting my jeans, the reflections in the room giving a good view of both of us in the rusted and high gloss of this afternoon delight. I feel your flesh melting against mine, your muscles defined as we come together. Our breath mingles, our eyes meet, we're just friends...
It's really too early to meet for lunch but let's do it anyway. And let's pretend, this time, that we're friends, friends with similar interests in the light of day, and that this table is our playground. The more I think about it, the more I can imagine it, the way we could just hang out and talk. Never mind all the flirting, the hunky in hunky dory, let's just sit here like adults and have a conversation.
You'll order food. What the hell do you actually eat? We'll wait for it to arrive while discussing the arts and culture. You'll eat it. I'll order food. I'll eat it. I'll watch your mouth chew, you swallow, your hand on silverware. I'll play with my waterglass, eat my fruit slowly, and try to turn you on. Hands, eyes, mouth, tone of voice. You'll order me not to turn you on, which will make me feel more like turning you on.
Our knees will brush under the table. You'll compliment me without thinking. I'll make some observation and start touching your hands again. Thank god there's a tablecloth, I'll think to myself, as your knee slides between my legs. I'll be wearing jeans, no need to make it easy, but still. You want me to spread my legs for you so you talk me into it. By telling me not to.
Just watch me pretend to have a normal conversation. I can talk about anything you want with great intelligence while I stroke your cock. I love feeling it half hard, feeling it grow in my hands, running my hands up and down it. I pride myself on this very thing. Taking you to the edge while your face remains impassive, as if I am having no effect on you at all, as if you aren't losing total control right now.
I also pride myself on being able to have undetected sex in public, so when I get up to go powder my nose, I think you should put your salad fork back on the plate and follow me.
No one's in the corridor and it's one of those rooms you can lock, clean and hip and I can smell the cinnamon in the air freshener. I'm cold but your mouth is warm on mine and your hands are hot on my skin under my t shirt. So fast, so hot, your defenses slipping away and you're into me good now. One hand up my shirt and one on my cunt as I stroke the back of your neck and cover your face with kisses, whispering you into me, my hair, my skin, pulling you so close, careful not to leave marks as I wrap a leg around your ass and pull you into me against the wall. Grind it into me. Yes. I'll give you everything. "You are such a bitch," you whisper. "How am I supposed to go back to work after this?" "Not my problem," I whisper back. "Kiss me." Then we just lose it as the heat envelopes us. You thought about how you wanted me so many times and never let yourself describe it because it scares you but now, your body betrays you. No, your soul. I take you in with everything that I have. I yield to your desire, what you won't let yourself feel, I open to you as you slowly tease my hot slit with your hard cock, my jeans going to my ankles, my panties irrelevant as you stake your claim. Your mouth is all over me, your hands in my hair, I'm so hot I'm going to cry while I come. I can barely keep quiet, and my moans resonate against the walls of this little room.
I pull myself onto the little counter which is strong enough to brace this stolen moment and spread wide for you and guide your cock inside. I watch you fuck me, my minds eye extending my coming so it seems like it never stops as you feed me with your cock and balls, as I spread wide, as you blow my mind with your soft thrusts. We have no time, but we go slow enough to be excruciatingly precise up against the mirror, the sink wetting my jeans, the reflections in the room giving a good view of both of us in the rusted and high gloss of this afternoon delight. I feel your flesh melting against mine, your muscles defined as we come together. Our breath mingles, our eyes meet, we're just friends...
posted by The Barista at 10:09 PM
1 Comments:
tastes like metal
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