0 comments/ 3670 views/ 1 favorites The Coffee Shoppe Ch. 01 By: Professori13 The breeze was blowing through the green umbrella awning causing the edging to flap noisily. Inside the music was playing just above a conversational tone, Dean, Frank, Satchmo and Peggy and others singing the classics. Students, sales people, an occasional teacher, moms with kids in tow, and grandparents having a day out with their little ones all line the tables and window counter as the aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafts through the air and blends with the sweet smell of baked goods and cinnamon. Their vehicles are equally diverse. The parking lot is shared by a white Dodge Charger, a green Toyota Tundra, a red Camry and a gold Ford Explorer. A mysterious black Jaguar enters the lot, circles and scans for available spaces. The glossy finish reflects the light in a series of starburst glare flashes. It glides quietly into a space away from the door. The door opens. A silken leg appears, then a second. She stood and surveyed the parking lot. Dressed in a simple but elegant black dress, she looked every bit as sleek as her car. Statuesque and regal she moved with a sensual air that bespoke her nature. She entered the coffee shop and saw him. In the corner he sat. The New York Times in his hand and an espresso on the table, he looked up over his glasses and back into the newspaper. The markets were fluctuating in the traditional January sell off and profit - taking frenzy. His portfolio was diversified and he knew now was the time to buy as others were selling. He was wise and shrewd, qualities that had served him well over the years. He also possessed an uncanny ability to read people, a magnetic charisma and disarming charm. Hers was a fortune made from the proceeds of three failed marriages to men who worshipped her flawless body but disrespected her mind. She was intelligent, beautiful, cunning and... dangerous. Her exquisite body, porcelain complexion, pouting lips and mesmerizing eyes provided all the tools she needed to captivate, manipulate and devastate any man. She was the consummate "black widow". She ordered her small no water vanilla chai latte and took a seat with her back to him but positioned so she could watch him in the convex security mirror in the corner. She saw him glance up from his paper and new that the bait was enticing and the trap had been set. He repositioned himself so he could get a better look at the target. Her body was a delightful display of curves and symmetry. Her ebony hair cascaded below her shoulders and was sensually draped over her left shoulder, revealing a tiny delicate spider tattoo on her right shoulder just barely peeking out from the Grecian drop shoulder dress. The best he could see of her legs from his vantage point revealed long sculpted calves dissolving into slim ankles disappearing into six inch black heels. He was definitely a leg man. He saw her gaze at the security mirror and he knew the trap had been set and she was taking the bait. Two predators engaged in an epic battle for superiority, they danced the sensual dance of intrigue. An intellectual paso doble as each plotted the domination of the other. They were not strangers. They had met five years ago. He was an international business man functioning as a border broker for small independent companies trying to break into emerging European markets in a rising global economy. She was an aspiring chemist trying to market her skills to international pharmaceutical companies as a research analyst. She had worked on some groundbreaking projects as an intern and junior associate in the U.S. but politics and her beauty kept getting in the way of her career growth. Her male supervisors were either so distracted by her that they couldn't function or they were constantly offering to advance her career in exchange for sexual favors, an invitation she considered but chose not to accept. She actually may have acquiesced if they had respected her mind as well as her body but instead they were only focused on the sexual nature of their propositions. Her female superiors were threatened by both her beauty and her intellect. She sought the European manufacturers because she knew that even though there would still be sexual advances at least women in science were respected for their mental abilities as well. It wasn't that she didn't like sex. She did. In fact, she had a nearly insatiable drive and some rather unusual requirements. In the lab and the office she wanted to establish herself at the top of the food chain. She knew she had the ability, the intellect, ambition and the courage to take on and dominate any man in her profession. "Dominate" what a strange word. It takes on different connotations depending on the context even though the definition retains its integrity. She could certainly professionally dominate any man; and her libido had no equal. However it was in her intimate life that the contradiction appeared. For this woman of power, talent and professional superiority wanted nothing of it in her sex life. She did not want to tell a man what she wanted from him. She did not want him to try and please her with his technique, his stamina nor the size of his endowment. No. What she wanted was for him to totally dominate her. She did not want pain and blood or injury. But she did want domination, total and complete domination. She would not simply comply for that would not be domination. She would resist. She must resist. He MUST Dominate. He must grab her by the arm with force. He must use his size and weight to force her to her knees. He must grab her hair and pull back her head as he grasps her throat. He must force his blood engorged sex into her mouth and he must demand that she suck him dry. He must rip her clothes away and press her to the ground to have his pleasure with her. He must force her legs apart while he buries his face in her crotch, licking and orally stimulating her to intense orgasm even amidst her most ardent protestations. He MUST dominate her. He must roll her over, binding her legs and ankles together and lifting her ass in the air and then he must use her womanhood and her ass interchangeably to reach his ultimate climax and then spew his load over her defenseless body. Then he must leave her as she lies, bound, sticky with semen and sweat and craving more, until his refractory period has completed its cycle and he resumes his domination again using her every orifice to take his pleasure. This complete domination will result in her own quivering spasms of orgasmic relief. This domination she sought, she demanded. She had let it be known in certain circles that any man who could so dominate her would gain a submissive servant beyond anything he could imagine. Three husbands had tried unsuccessfully to do so. One had not the physical prowess and the other two were intellectually inferior to her. For to truly dominate, one must be both the physical and intellectual superior of the other. ................................ She sat in the coffee shop contemplating the mysterious figure she so ardently watched in the mirror. Was he the one? She had heard there was one seeking to match her. She had heard that he was more mature than most of her suitors, reasonably pleasant on the eyes with a strong will and intellect. She did not know who it would be until now. He watched now in less a subtle manner. A patron entered and as the door opened, a breeze lifted her skirt slightly and at the same time floated her napkin on a cushion of air off the table and onto the floor. She left her seat just enough to reach down and retrieve it. His eyes dilated as he saw her perfectly toned rear and delicious legs along with her round bosom all move in concert and reveal a taste of what could be. A temptation indeed. A challenge, for sure. He smiled and said to himself: "This is going to be fun." (to be continued) The Coffee Shoppe Ch. 02 Read The Coffee Shoppe - Part 1 To set the stage for the action here. ***** The breeze was blowing through the green umbrella awning causing the edging to flap noisily. Inside the music was playing just above a conversational tone, Dean, Frank, Satchmo and Peggy and others singing the classics. His smile was telling. He was a man who had seen much of life. He had travelled both on business and pleasure. He was educated, sophisticated, courageous and confident. His physical stature was not overwhelming but deceptive for his arm and upper body strength were not evident through his tailored shirt and sport coat. He was a tasteful and fashionable dresser. His tastes were not conservative nor were they flamboyant. He tried to reach a modest blend of traditional with contemporary to achieve a statement that he was aware of today yet well-grounded in the past. He was not afraid of the use of color as he saw color as a mark of life, vitality and passion. He harbored a deep lust and exuberance for all three. Today his wine colored pin striped cotton buttoned down shirt and black slacks and matching socks were accented with a solid deep lavender silk tie, an artistic Stuehrling watch with black band, black grained leather shoes and a standard blue blazer with brass buttons. A slight bulge under his blazer gave one pause and hinted at the potential danger he presented and his possible continued engagement as a clandestine operative. Such was the rumor. He had eclectic tastes in music and movies. He was comfortable with people from all stations. He could have a beer with the guys on the assembly line or a glass of Dom Perignon with the CEO. People trusted him immediately. He had a kind face and smiling eyes of the darkest brown. Medium brown hair with matching Van Dyke . Before dinner he was likely to have a cocktail - Vodka Martini with a twist, shaken not stirred in true Bond fashion. He enjoyed a variety of beverages but always matched his wine with his meal, a Chardonnay or Merlot with a Filet Mignon, Chianti with Italian red sauces, Chablis or Riesling with Fish or white sauces. He may later retire from the table with conversation and a snifter of Courvoisier. Most of the time however he simply had unsweetened iced tea. Today he sipped his double espresso and he watched her. The target was here. The trap was set and the bait had been taken. He had been with many women but they were all lacking. None were of her caliber. None shared the same predilections and sexual proclivities as he did. Some tried but none achieved what he was seeking. He had heard rumors of her escapades and apocryphal tales of her three husbands and their furtive and failed attempts to please her. She was, like Everest, the pinnacle of sexuality to which he was drawn. He sought a partner. He sought an equal. He sought one whose need to be dominated was matched only by his need to dominate and his ability to do so. For domination is not simply a physical force triumphant over another. The domination must be complete. Once this is accomplished then the relationship hinges on the mutual respect and affection each derives from the actions of the other. His mind, always focused, was bursting with sexual fantasy. He knew how to appreciate a woman... her scent... her softness... her subtle messages and invitations. He appreciated the arch of her back and that erogenous spot near the base of the spine that would cause her to thrust her hips toward his as they danced. He knew that sweet spot behind her knee that drove her mad as his fingers wandered there. He knew that her breasts were not loaves of unbaked bread to be kneaded, rather they were sensitive to a delicate touch, a flicking tongue with a circular motion leading to a gentle but firm sucking of his lips. He knew that to trace his tongue along the centerline of her stomach would cause her to moan and gasp as his hands slowly stroked her thighs and found her treasure. He knew how to excite and exploit that treasure to its maximum potential. He appreciated her hair cascading down over her shoulder. He appreciated the artistic shape of her leg, the musculature of the calf and the soft sensitivity of her inner thigh. He appreciated her thin ankle and the gentle feet as well as her graceful arms and delicate hands and fingers. He thought of women the same way he thought of a high end world class sports car. One can appreciate the lines, the artistry, the precision, the rich leather interior and the purr of the engine. However, one does not handle a world class sports car with a gentle hand. To see it perform at its peak and ultimate purpose one must hear the engine growl the tires squeal and feel the torturous g-forces as it accelerates. The gears must be shifted hard and at the right moment. She must be driven into the curve, forced to hold her traction and allowed to come out of it on her own. Foot pedals, braking, gears shifting, steering all are pushed to the limit at a breathtaking pace. It is a "sport car" and must be handled accordingly, used roughly, driven forcefully and guided without remorse or gentility to its destination. Likewise he knew that there was a special breed of women who despite their beauty and grace, their delicate features and coy demeanor were born with a desire to test the limits. His target was one of those women. She was designed from birth to be driven by a man like him. He was neither cruel nor sadistic in his treatment but he knew that what he needed and what she needed were complimentary components of a single action. So it was in his fantasy as he watched her. He imagined her stripped naked, bound hand and foot to the bedposts, splayed on her belly with a gag in her mouth. His mind captured the image and showed him mounting her from behind as she struggled helplessly against the restraints. His penis became erect as he thought about each movement... her protests... his plundering her rear... her squeals and wines as he rammed her vagina deep and hard... her cries of frustration as he pulled her hair while riding her like a bronco at the rodeo. Finally, her spirit broken at the futility of her position she succumbs to his direction and movements. His hips and hers now undulating in unison, faster and harder. Stronger with each stroke would be the waves of pleasure that wash over them. Deeper he would plunge and the louder she would scream out to unhearing walls. Finally with one mighty surge he rammed her again and exploded inside her. She could feel him splashing against her inner walls as she wailed a series of siren like sounds and felt her own orgasmic explosion... and again...and again ...and again. He knew she would be multi-orgasmic. He knew because she was a fine tuned, high end, world class sports car just made for him to drive to the limit. His gaze lingered on her form for a moment more as he sipped his espresso. His fantasy completed, he tilted his head, looked over his glasses, rubbed his bearded chin and smiled and said to himself: "This is going to be fun." The Coffee Shoppe Ch. 03 The breeze was blowing through the green umbrella awning causing the edging to flap noisily. Inside the music was playing just above a conversational tone, Dean, Frank, Satchmo and Peggy and others singing the classics. It was dusk. The sun was settling into a comfortable spot on the horizon. The sky was a kaleidoscope of color. Nature's brush was working in rare form. Purple and gray toned clouds, wisps of white jet trails, all set on a canvas that ranged from blazing scarlet to magenta to azure and midnight blue, with pockets of deep lavender. It was an inspirational sight for what was about to be an inspirational and life altering night. In some parts of the world young men engage in an age old coming of age tradition by stalking, engaging and killing a lion with only a spear and a knife. When they survive the claw scars attest to their courage, cunning and new found "warrior" status. In the Hebrew tradition the Bar Mitzvah serves the same purpose. For young girls it is the Bat Mitzvah. All cultures from Inuit Tribes of the Arctic region to the Australian Aboriginals have carried on such traditions for centuries. Today most industrialized nations have substituted more corporate or urbanized versions of these rites of passage for both young men and women. Anytime we leave behind one period or chapter of our lives to enter an entirely new lifestyle we engage in such a rite of passage either formally or informally. Tonight would be no different. She had been in the Coffee Shoppe for two hours, working on her i-pad, talking on the phone and waiting... waiting for him to make a move...an introduction... or some lame line to begin the dance. He did not. She rose from her chair in her own smooth graceful manner, gathered her belongings in her case, straightened and smoothed her dress, carefully checking her breast alignment, belt and hemline. She moved deliberately and slowly toward the door, subtly glancing once over her shoulder to see if he was following. He was not. She slid behind the wheel of her black Jaguar in such a sensual manner that even the car seemed to develop an erection. A young bike courier nearly ran over a dog and wrecked his bike as he tried to get a glimpse of those perfect legs. She pressed the auto start. The engine purred to life. She backed out of her parking space, glanced once again at the door and window of the Coffee Shoppe. He was still in his seat. She sped away feeling both a sense of disappointment and wonder. Had she been wrong. Was he not the target she thought? A momentary doubt crossed her mind. For the first time in her life, her confidence waivered and she had a momentary doubt about her appearance and her desirability. She cruised on home replaying the moments in the Coffee Shoppe in her mind. He watched from his perch in his chair like a majestic raptor waiting for its prey to venture out with a false sense of security making a dash for its lair. Thinking it is safe it is swept up and captured in razor sharp talons and carried of to its demise. He rose from his chair and with cat like reflexes he moved out the side door to his waiting Audi Turbo. The engine was already running from his remote starter. The seat belt slid into place automatically. He had backed into his parking space so he could quickly accelerate away. He entered the freeway and demonstrated the Autobahn class performance of this thoroughbred. He pulled to the curb three minutes before her. He had scouted the area like the huntsman that he was. He waited. She pulled into her drive. He watched as she left the car, struggled with her bag and glided up her walkway to the front door. Even in the casual environs of her home she walks like a super model on the runway of Hotel de Crillon. Her toned hourglass figure sways with a fluidity usually only seen in Galleries d'Artes. As she struggles slightly to retrieve her keys and unlock the door she does not notice nor hear the figure exiting the car Audi across the street. He moves with an economy of motion and stealth that a panther would envy. As she unlocks the door and prepares to open it, he is upon her. He presses her against the door and pulls her hands behind her back. She struggles but is no match for his speed and strength. The door opens. He pushes her through it and, with his foot, moves her bag and purse into the house. She continues her struggle, pushing back against him. He lifts her from the floor with one arm and carries her to the back of the couch. He bends her over the couch, pulls a satin rope from the inside pocket of his jacket, cuffing her wrists and wrapping it around her slender ankles. She is draped over the back of the couch like a Grecian gown on the shoulder of Athena. Still she struggles but has yet to utter a sound, not a scream nor a whimper. He pulls two black silk scarves from his pocket. One he places over her eyes. The second over her mouth as a secure, but not painful, gag. He steps back to admire the vision before him. Her black dress has shifted revealing two muscular round butt cheeks. Sometimes referred to as a bubble butt, the outline, when viewed from aback, forms a heart shape whose terminus is at a point within the peritoneum and pointing the way to her sweet vagina. She lay before him bound, vulnerable and exposed. She was still struggling against the restraints and trying to wiggle free from her position on the couch. He stood behind her, pressing his hand on the small of her back to hold her in place, careful to avoid her flailing feet with the spike heels. He was being patient and allowing her to exhaust herself. He ran his free hand over her finely shaped buttocks down to her thighs. He took her ankle in his hand and raised her leg. His lips and tongue forged a path of kisses from her ankle to her thigh. Her struggle was lessening but she had not accepted her position. His hand now wandered to her smooth shaved vulva and explored the folds of her labia, careful not to enter her yet but simply to let her know that he can whenever he wants. The feelings of vulnerability caused adrenaline to surge through her system. She wanted to struggle more but her body would not allow it. She was momentarily frozen in place. Her feelings were a dichotomy of competitive aggression and burning sexual desire. Her pelvic cavity was engorged and her desire raged. Her clitoris was pulsating and her kegel muscles contracting. She thought she would explode from the desire ripping through her body. However, she was not going to yield that easily. It was her plan to make him buckle like all the others; to deive him crazy with desire and resist his domination. Instead, she would force him to yield. She would outlast him. In her world he would give in and beg her forgiveness for his behavior and then he would plead with her for her sexual favors. That's when she would know she had won and she would extract, extort and expose his financial worth. She would seduce him into lavishing her with gifts and possibly a marriage proposal after which she would divorce him and walk away with half his assets. That was HER plan. She had never met a man who could break her down. Many had tried but they had failed. No one had ever made her desire him and his dominant style to the point that she would totally surrender to his will and with whom she felt a strong enough connection to place herself in a totally submissive posture and kneel before him. No man had earned that level of respect and pleasure. She renewed her struggle. In the midst of her wriggling protest he suddenly rolled her over on her back. She was bent backward over the couch, her legs now in the air and her dress flipped up totally exposing her pussy to the world. His next move was totally unexpected but equally and shockingly pleasurable. He shifted his position and placed his middle finger deep into her vagina as his thumb found her tight bunghole. It caught her off guard. She had never had that happen before. The feeling she experienced was also unexpected. The pressure inside from two directions at once was indescribable. She had never allowed access back there before but now she had no choice and no defense. As his finger and thumb moved in concert the feeling was exhilarating. She felt her blood engorged pelvis pulse and her muscles involuntarily contract around his finger and thumb. He moved deeper and continued the internal massage. With his two digits he was searching for the sexual equivalent of the mythical Holy Grail, the female "g"-spot. She was trying to struggle but her own body was betraying her. She would NOT submit. He was relentless. Her position gave him complete access. She tried to roll away but could not get the necessary leverage or angle. She continued to resist and wriggle. His fingers held her in place. He moved and kissed his way down her leg again as he had done before but this time he did not stop. His tongue found her labia and gently licked the wonderful fold. He traced the outside with his tongue until he found the little hooded love button. He took the sweet clit into his mouth sucking it between his lips. She screamed with surprise and delight. It was an involuntary and spontaneous scream but a scream nonetheless. She caught herself and muffled the rest. The internal massage... the clitoral stimulation and the sensual tongue survey was taking its toll on her resolve. He continued the assault. Finally she could take no more. The waves were getting stronger, the intensity intolerable and the onslaught unrelenting. Wave after wave of irrepressible pleasure overwhelmed her senses at a magnitude that defied adjectival description. She felt her body spasm and jerk uncontrollably. She heard a voice screaming and pleading "Yes!! Yes!! More! Don't stop. Please don't stop. Yes! Now! Now! Now! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!" The waves continued as she realized for the first time that the voice was hers. She had not realized that the voice was her own. She was so enraptured that she did not feel it when he rolled her from the couch onto the carpeted floor... When had he tied her ankles together? How did she get from the couch to here? What were those guttural tones escaping from her throat? Why was her ass raised up in the air? The waves were continuing as she suddenly felt him. He was behind her, pulling her hair as his blood hardened cock was sliding effortlessly into her wet throbbing pussy. She ached as he made his final intrusion. He smacked her sweet round ass and pushed hard and deep inside her. Again the waves were triggered. This time they had even more intensity. She didn't think it was possible but here she was moaning and screaming again as he pounded her from behind again and again...harder and harder... deeper and deeper. It felt like an hour but could have only been minutes. His cock was thick, of average length, but thicker than any she had ever known. It pounded against her inner walls until l she felt it inside her begin to pulsate. She could feel him getting even thicker as he pulsated, getting closer to his white hot explosion. Harder, deeper, faster he moved. She was again pleading and howling with ecstasy as she reached the peak of what was, at least her fifth and most intense orgasm. She was in uncharted waters. She had never experienced this many consecutive orgasms and certainly not with this level of intensity. Her mind was swimming trying to regain control of her senses. Then two extraordinary things happened in sequence. First, she felt her muscles contract around his thick cock as the proverbial gates burst open releasing a torrent of his hot cum crashing against her interior walls. He pulled back from her and turned her to face his cock. He then uttered the only words spoken between them thus far. He said: "In your mouth and suck it clean, my servant." She bowed her head in acquiescence and her herself say, "Yes, m' Lord, as you wish." At that moment the Second event occurred. She realized it was over. Her search and struggle had ended. She had found the only man to whom she would ever submit in totality. He was now her "master" in mind, body and spirit. She looked up as she held his manhood between her lips. He looked down at her and smiled a knowing, caring, confident smile of conquest. She bowed her head and waited for his touch of approval and her next instructions. The next afternoon, the breeze was blowing through the green umbrella awning causing the edging to flap noisily. Inside the music was playing just above a conversational tone, Dean, Frank, Satchmo and Peggy and others singing the classics. Students, sales people, an occasional teacher, moms with kids in tow, and grandparents having a day out with their little ones all line the tables and window counter as the aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafts through the air and blends with the sweet smell of baked goods and cinnamon. A mysterious black Jaguar entered the lot. In the corner he sat. The New York Times in his hand and an espresso on the table, he looked up over his glasses...