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From: Jack Stratton <jackwritesdirty@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Barista (MF)
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Date: Thu, 13 Nov 2008 21:10:06 -0500
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Fiction - The Barista

A man addicted to coffee and a certain rather bitchy barista. When the
two of them meet at an art show sparks fly.

The Barista

Jack was addicted. It was something he needed to admit to himself. It
was something he needed help with. It was something that was part of
him.

"Gimme a quad shot cappuccino, very dry, non-fat milk."

He stood at the counter digging deep into the pockets of his jeans
trying to get another fifty cents. It was a costly habit, four shots
of espresso with a little steamed milk was five bucks.

Behind him a line of well dressed people tried to summon the psychic
power needed to destroy him. He was holding up the line, therefor
holding up their caffeine intake. This was a dangerous thing.

"Don't worry, you come in every day like three times. I think I can
overlook fifty cents." the girl with the thick glasses and the tight
shirt behind the counter said with a smile.

Blond, bright green eyes, a nose ring. She was very cute, but a little
to skinny and bubbly for Jack's taste. He smiled and handed her his
deficient funds.

"Quad non fat cap, dry!" she barked over to the barista.

Now, there were many coffee houses in Jack's neighborhood. Among them
roughly half were of the corporate chain variety, whose coffee and
politics left bad tastes in his mouth. A few of the privately owned
ones were run by hippy scenester types and tended to be heavy on
ambiance and light on coffee brewing know how. Then there was The
Coffee House. It was a little out of the way, but it was hard core.
There were only a few tables and there was no internet access or jazz
music. They served coffee here, hot and strong and good. This wasn't
some diner brew, this was deep rich earthy Columbians and Sumatras and
powerful orgasmic Blue Mountains along with their very own extremely
potent espresso blend which Jack had been slowly replacing his body's
water supply with. Though, there was another reason he came to this
particular place.

As he walked away from the cashier and passed the small stack of
burlap bags that held rich-smelling beautifully oily beans he saw the
two towers of silvery coppery power that made the brew. Behind one of
these steaming whistling machines was a woman.

Her hair was a short jet black bob, pulled back severely into a pony
tail. She wore dark rimmed glasses and dark matte red lipstick. Her
lips were huge, so big and pouting the they almost made the scowl she
gave everyone sexual just because of their lusciousness. Her hands
were large and strong. She worked those machines. She owned them.

As Jack watched she wiped one metal nozzle with a damp cloth while
pounding a large metal handled portafilter against the counter. She
moved fast, her fingers adept and economic in their movements. She
tapped out the used grounds, wiped the filter and then brought it up
to a huge grinder which whirled and roared and then filled her filter
with exactly enough coffee. She pressed the fine as powder grounds
into the metal filter with the bumper and then twisted the filter into
the giant espresso machine.

She wore an argyle sweater of dark green and burgundy. It was a low v
cut sweater that showed her whole-milk colored cleavage which was
sprinkled with freckles like a dusting of cinnamon on a foamy drink.

She sloshed some milk into a large metal cup and then slipped the
steam nozzle into the cold milk. The steam screamed as it hit the cold
milk. Beads of moisture condensed on her cleavage. Jack was erect as
he watched it.

The espresso came in spurts, thick rich crema dark against the white
porcelain shot glass. She worked both machines now. Two shot from one,
two shots from the other, then all of them into a huge bowl-like latte
mug. She followed it with the steamed milk and topped it off with a
large helping of foam.

"Skin quad cap." she shouted, thinking the owner of said drink was
waiting at a table. She was shouting the drink order right into Jack's
face.

"That's me." he said, trying desperately not to look at her cleavage
and succeeding only because he was hypnotized by her eyes which where
chocolate and honey brown, deep and rich like a dark roast.

She scowled at him as he took the drink. Jack knowing she had contempt
for most patrons and squirming a little under her powerful gaze. He
picked up his coffee and sat in a chair by the window. It was the same
thing every day.

*

The art showing was not something Jack particularly wanted to go to,
but friends being friends they pushed, and since somehow Proust alone
on a Saturday night seemed a little to depressing even for him, Jack
went. It was in a somewhat rough part of town in a brownstone in the
middle of a long block.

Sometimes these art things were fun and sometimes not so much. The
minute Jack entered the brownstone and walked to the open door he knew
this was going to be the latter. First of all it was quiet. There was
a lot of whispering, a lot of people leaning into each other while
holding glasses of whine and whispering. Jack never exactly understood
why some showings were boisterous and cheerful and some were reverent
and hushed.

Like most recent art school graduate showings it was trying to do a
lot of things at the same time and failing at almost all of them.
There were mixed media pieces, little televisions showing this or
that. A lawnmower sat in the middle of the white walled livingroom. It
was painted with zebra stripes and had an arrow sticking out of it.

Jack searched the crowd, looking for his friends and found something
he didn't expect. The barista.

She was dressed in a white button up blouse and a black skirt, looking
far more sophisticated than her coffee serving alter ego, but she
still wore the same scowl. Jack picked up a glass of red wine and
downed it with a gulp and decided it was far too good of a coincidence
to waste.

He walked over and stood next to her, looking at the same painting she
was gazing at. It was an abstract maze of words and cartoon faces.
Those large dark red lips were pouting, though Jack wasn't sure if it
was with scorn or thought.

"You work in the The Coffee House, right?" he said, maintaining his
concentration on her.

She looked at him in a way that made him feel small and disgusting.

"Oh." she said, half to herself, "You're that guy." then she looked
back at the painting.

"That guy?" he asked with a chuckle.

"That guy who comes in every day and orders the same thing and stares
at my tits."

There are a variety of reactions one could have to this sort of
aggressive answer. Jack wasn't sure what most of them were but his was
to basically stand there with his mouth open.

"So what are you doing here?" she said just as casually.

"I... my friends said this might be interesting." he mumbled. "And I
don't do that."

"Do what?" she asked with a smirk.

"Stare at your tits."

"You've never looked at my tits when you got coffee at my shop?" she
asked, eyebrows arched as she sort of leaned into the painting,
causing him to get drawn into the two open buttons of her shirt.

"I..." he coughed. "I mean, people look at things, it's not like I was
staring, but you are tall and I may have-"

"Shh!" scolded a bald guy with a beard.

Jack felt very out of his element.

"Why do you come in every day, are you stalking me?" she asked in a
quiet voice which forced him to walk a little closer.

"No, I live a couple blocks away and it's a good place to study." Jack
said trying to get some control of the conversation. She was snide and
sarcastic and basically all the things he usually was in a
conversation. This left him weaponless.

"You have quite the ego, don't you. Thinking I was there looking at
you and stalking you. People drink coffee. Your tits aren't that
nice-" his voice went a little louder and he was again chided.

"Hey, sorry." said a woman holding a tray of glasses. "Do you mind
keeping it down in the art area?" pretension and self importance
dripping from her thin lips.

The barista walked away from the painting and Jack followed.

They were standing in front of a coat rack covered in christmas
lights. She took a red wine off a tray and sipped it, then making a
face of disgust, put it back down.

"Do you like art?" he asked half heartedly.

"Not particularly."

"Are you a student?"

She rolled her eyes. "Perpetually."

"What do you study?"

"Art." Her voice was flat.

She turned on him. "Are you trying to pick me up?" she said as if she
suddenly realized it and was incensed.

"I... no.. I mean." Jack was usually a lot better at this, but this girl
seemed randomly aggressive.

She scoffed, a smile flickered, a challenging smile.

"Let me guess, you're a graduate student." Her tone was flat again and
mocking.

"What's your name?" he tried to turn the conversation.

"Jane."

"Jack."

"Is that your real name?"

"No."

"Yeah, there are no real Jacks."

"Shh." said someone in the distance. Jane casually walked out of the
apartment into the hallway. Jack followed.

"Did I piss you off or something? Do you not like how I order my drink
everyday?"

She eyed him. The hallway was echoey and humid. She walked to the
stairs.

"You're just that guy I see every day who looks at me but never has
the balls to say hello. Another lame graduate student. What is it? Let
me guess, philosophy?"

"No." he said with distain.

"Literature? Literary Theory?"

Jack didn't say anything.

"Oh god, you're one of those assholes who sits around mentally
masturbating and deconstructing Joyce."

He didn't know why or how but suddenly he was kissing her. They were
on the stairs and as she spoke someone looked out of the art showing
and glared at them for making noise. Jack moved in as Jane whispered
her hatred for his life's work and then the next thing he knew his
lips were on those big soft red lips. And it shut her up.

"Well, we can't all go for hands-on applied science of art history."

She was stewing, she looked like she might hit him.

"Fuck this. This show is stupid, I shouldn't have come." She turned
and walked up the stairs. Jack wasn't sure where she was going but he
followed her.

On the second floor there was a narrow hall and two rows of doors.
Jane got a set of keys out and opened the old door. 2B.

*

He kissed her against the wall. Her hands on his hips and her knee in
his groin.

She bit his bottom lip as he pulled away and cut her eyes at him.

"I don't like you." she said as flatly as she could.

Jack smiled, licking his lips. "I don't mind."

She untangled herself from him and threw her keys on a coffee table.
The apartment was tiny and a mess of books and indian rugs. She sat
down on a beat up red couch and didn't look at him. Jack sat down next
to her and kissed her neck. She turned and kissed him once, Jack
kissed her deeply and she let herself slip into his kiss before
pushing him away again.

"You should go, this wasn't a good idea."

He moved in again, his hand on her knee slipping up her skirt as he
kissed her neck. She gasped and put her hands on his collar, pushing
him away, but holding on to the fabric of his shirt.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said a little breathlessly again
his ear, her warm soft lips brushing against it as she spoke.

"I'm trying to fuck you." he growled, as she clamped her legs shut on
his hand.

It was hot there, between her thick thighs. It felt unusual with the
softness of her skin and the roughness of the fishnets she was
wearing. Jack felt with the tips of his fingers where the stockings
ended in lace and were clipped to garters. The image made him groan.
Fuck, he liked her style.

The fact that she hadn't punched him let him know that this was going
to go all the way as long as Jack played it right.

Jack kissed her neck and dragged his bottom lip acoss her skin, then
he sucked on her earlobe and bit at the flesh.

"I'm not going to fuck you." she growled into his cheek.

His hand moved further up her leg, he felt heat radiating from between
her thighs.

"I know. I'm going to fuck you." His fingers touched the edge of her
panty leg. He traced that elastic edge as he traced his bite marks on
her neck with his tongue. As the very tip of his finger slipped under
the fabric her breath caught and her grip on his shirt loosened.

"You feel awfully wet for someone who doesn't like this."

She was past listening, his words were just little thorns that made
the itch his fingers were so close to scratching more deliciously
unbearable.

He brushed his lips across her cheek, edging near her full lips. The
vivid dark red of her lipstick matte, slightly smudged, perfect. He
nearly caught her with a kiss, but she turned her head. His finger
moved in, feeling smoothness where there should be coarse hair.
Another predilection he had carried out by this girl. Another reason
to want her. He rubbed there, never quite in the right place, cupping
her sex and petting her but not quite slipping his finger in. It was
almost too much and yet just enough to keep her on the edge.

He moved in again, his bottom lip almost catching hers. She moaned
into his cheek and the sound made his cock throb painfully.

"Take your panties off for me." he whispered in her ear.

One finger slid between her wet lips. She was one of those girls who
got soaking wet. Sopping wet. He watched the pleasure take over. He
edged around her clit, tracing around it, feeling its firmness under
the soft folds of her hood.

"Fuck you." she spat.

The dark laugh came from the very bottom of his stomach and spilled
out. He laughed right against her neck as his finger slipped into
unbearably tight wetness.

Jack knew that sigh, that moan. Some girls like to have their clit
played with for hours, some girls like to have a tongue torturing them
for days, but Jane wanted cock. She wanted a big thick cock to fuck
her, that was the only thing that would get her off.

Jack pushed her away from him roughly. He flipped her over on the
couch and pushed her head down so she was on her hand and knees with
her ass in front of him. He pushed up her skirt and then pulled his
zipper down and pulled out his cock.

She was groaning and hissing about it, but she wasn't going anywhere.
Jack rubbed his cock against her pantie covered sex, he could feel the
split of her lips through the soaking wet satin. She pushed her ass
back at him.

"Take your panties off for me."

She scoffed first, but then pushed back against him and made a
desperate little squeal of frustration. Her hands came up and back.
Her thumbs hooked the sides of her panties. There was a beat, a pause
and she pulled them down. Not all the way down but just to her knees.
Then she pushed back, trying to impale herself on his hard cock.

Jack rubbed the head of his cock on the same spot now that it was
naked. He looked down at obscenely pink lips against his hard
reddening cock.

"Ask me to fuck you."

She turned her head and those eyes were full of hate and want and
fire. Her hands flew back and she tried to pull her panties back up
but he grabbed her hands and held them behind her back.

"Fuck you. You're the one who started this. I'm not asking you for
anything." she hissed, her cheek pressed against the couch.

Jack rocked against her, the head of his cock just barely pushing into
her wetness. She let out gasps with each little push.

"Pl... you fucking asshole. Just..." another whine, another gasp, another
curse.

"Please what?" his voice was more and more gravelly. The little
chuckles darker and darker.

"Just... please..." her voice was quieter, almost inaudible. Then a long
sigh.

"Just fuck me."

It wasn't really what he wanted. He wanted her to beg, but he knew it
was enough and he couldn't hold back any longer.

He spit on his hand and worked his cock up and down, then rubbed it
between the wetness of her lips. When he pushed his cock in, finally,
it was almost painfully pleasurable. He let out a loud groan.

"Put your hands on my ass." she said, not even looking back at him.

He did, squeezing both cheeks and starting to fuck her for real.

Sometimes it took time to work up a real rhythm. Sometimes you had to
figure the other person out, get the angle right. Jane was wet and
just right and Jack sank his fingers into the softness of her big ass
and pounded into her. It was a normal fuck, this was hard and fast and
the couch was moving.

"Oh holy fucking shit." she said, letting out a string of curses mixed
with moans. Her hands were on the arm of the couch as she was rode
harder.

Jack reached up and put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into
each thrust. His other hand snaked up into her hair.

"Fuck me harder." she said looking back with the same fire. "Come on.
Is that all you got? Really fuck me."

He grabbed her hips hard and pounded into her. Hard fast slapping over
and over. She let go of the arm of the chair and let out a little
howl. He felt her legs tighten, her cunt clenching on him as a moan
built into a wail.

She pulled away suddenly and pulled off her panties. Jack grabbed all
the pillows on the couch and threw them across the room. They pulled
at their shirts, needing more contact. She half ripped off her bra and
he was on her, sucking her nipples, biting her neck and finally
kissing her plump lips. Their faces were covered in lipstick. And then
he was inside of her again, this time on top.

She was three times as wet now. She wrapped her legs around him as he
fucked her. Her hands were around him and then her nails were digging
into his back. He was thrusting slow and hard, but building.

Suddenly the world was spinning. Jack didn't know how but he was on
the floor and the barista was on top of him, her neat black bob now
half sticking to her face.

Her hands on his wrists she turned and twisted her hips trying to get
the right angle and then when his cock finally slipped back into her
she purred and looked down at him.

"Want to come bad, hm?"

Jack bucked his hips, but she was not a tiny girl. Plus there was the
fact that he wanted to see where this was going.

"It's only fair." he said low and gravelly.

She moved her hips up and then down a little, sort of bouncing up and
down on him. The pleasure was like a punch it was so potent. Jack
tried to maintain control at least enough to watch her bit her own lip
and moan.

Jane opened her shirt completely, button by button. She continued to
flex her legs causing her to go up and down on him with a slow steady
rhythm. She pulled off her shirt and the bra which was hanging off her
waist. She locked her eyes with him as she cupped her breasts and let
her fingers pull at her own nipples which were surprisingly dark for
her pale skin and large with fat nipples that were hard points.

Jack put his hands on her hips and bucked his hips again. She wasn't
stopping him now. Her eyes closed and she moved up and down a little
faster, with Jack bucking up to meet her. She pulled roughly on one
nipple which her other hand went down to her wet pussy. Jack could
dully feel her rubbing her self as he slipped again and again into
her. Suddenly she was gasping and her fucking lost its momentum. Jack
took hold of her hips and kept fucking her from underneath her. She
was lost as her fingers moved on her clit and nipple. Jack watched,
feeling his orgasm building faster and faster.

She was going crazy on top of him, whimpering and rolling her hips. He
tried desperately to keep fucking, keep the rhythm.

"Come. Come on. Fucking come inside of me." she was practically
yelling.

And then the building for so long finally hit its end and Jack
exploded. He wasn't sure what he said, but it was loud. She rode him
through it and kept on riding him until he was limp and weak and then
she fell on top of him, her hair clinging to his face and her lips on
his as they panted.

--

Stories and sex blog at
writingdirty.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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