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Message-ID: <63538asstr$1443471004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RavensDrkGothic@aol.com
Full-name: RavensDrkGothic
Subject: {ASSM} Coffee Shoppe (Part 1)
Lines: 190
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 2015 16:10:04 -0400
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Coffee  Shoppe (Part 1)
 
    The  hot coffee in hand, slowly wending my way to a corner table.  
Sipping  briefly from the small opening, then setting the coffee down on a  
napkin on  the table top.  The wooden chair scrapping across the tiled  floor.  
Angling myself so that I might look at the passing pedestrian and  vehicular 
traffic, and the assortment of customers at the various tables.   Wondering 
to myself if picking an outside table was wise this time of  year.  Laying 
my cocoa brown jacket across the back of the adjoining  chair.  Carefully 
smoothing my matching skirt over my long lightly tanned  legs.  The hem a few 
inches above my knees.  The peach colored linen  blouse soft and buttoned 
sensibly to displayed a small vee of flesh at the  neckline. 
    The  sugar laced coffee warming my insides as eyes closed I take the 
first few  sips..........at the moment, the taste is almost heaven.  Content 
for the  moment, I look down at the book, magazines and paper.  None of them  
catching my interest as I lean back and survey the patrons of the coffee  
shop.  Mindful of my work suit, holding the napkin to catch that errant  drip 
of liquid, looking down at the french kruller, and slowly lifting it to my  
mouth, the hardened sugar coating my lips as I bite into the airy pastry.   
Smiling at the delicious taste and the thought that an afternoon of 
shopping  will ease the tension of the work day so nicely.
    Wandering  from table to table, my eyes, looking amused and wondering 
about the different  folks people sharing this afternoon with me.  A couple 
of suited men and a  woman.  Lawyers or bankers shuffling papers as they 
talk.  Two women,  maybe in there twenties, mothers maybe, well one anyway, with 
the young boy  sipping on the chocolate whatever he had.  Anti mated in 
conversation and  loud enough to overhear their woes as football widows.  
Another table with  a group of teens, mostly girls and one tall gangly boy.  
Catching myself  shaking my head, as I look at the scantily clad girls.  Showing 
more flesh  then I remember having at that age.  Smiling at myself, as I 
realize my  shake of disapproval or jealousy reminds me of my mom and her 
thoughts on girls  and the way they should act and look.  Well maybe they aren't 
scantily  clad, but what they have is most definitely out front and in your 
face.   Feeling so staid and stuffy in my suit and blouse.  Oh, the 
privilege of  youth.
    The  coffee mellowing me out as I listen to the conversation, some 
subdued, others  normal and then the table of giggly girls, a bit loud and 
boisterous.  The  boy I think is overwhelmed by the girls.  Their bold looks and  
words. Looking at them, I am a bit overwhelmed myself.  Again shaking  my 
head, trying to clear it of the thoughts. 
    Nervously  crossing my legs, taking a deep breath.  Looking out to the 
passing  cars, tapping my fingers on the cup of coffee.  Then finally 
letting  my eyes again settle on the table of girls.  The long tall and slender  
blonde jeans tight on her small ass, curves almost there.  A flannel  checked 
shirt almost giving her a cowgirl look.  Again tight to her upper  frame, 
the top three buttons open, attesting to her larger then average  breasts.  
Leaning into the boy as she talks around him to another  girl.  She stocky 
with running shorts, exposing her firm thighs  and lower buttocks as she leans 
forward on the table, kneeling,  revealing a line of cleavage in her 
sharply veed top.  Her short  red hair and freckles, proclaiming her to be Irish 
descent.  The third  girl, wearing a sweatshirt, neck cut away, her breasts 
swaying  under material, nipples pushing darts into the cotton shirt.  Her  
denim skirt, short and tight on her firm cheeks.  My eyes dropping below  the 
table as I watch her sliding back and forth on her chair.   Legs open and 
spread as she leans forward to whisper to the other  girls.   Some confidence 
so very important, that it excludes the  boy.
    Taking  a deep breath as I mechanically lift my cup, eyes still 
watching the table of  girls, raising them to look up as the cup touches my lips.  
Meeting the  eyes of the fourth girl at the table.  Her smile widening as 
she catches my  eyes, feeling my cheeks slowly reddening, as I realize she has 
been  watching me.  A wink of her left eye and a soft laugh.  Caught in my  
lechery as I was saving her for last.  Wanting to hold her gaze, meet it  
and let her know that I was just casually looking, but feeling my eyes lower 
to  look at her chest.  The orange spaghetti tank top revealing the tops of 
her  breasts, barely covering her dimpled navel.  The twin points of her 
nipples  poking at the thin top.  The soft swell of her belly rolling down to 
the  white jeans, painted on her hips.  Setting so low that the think strings 
of  her throng slink around to the small vee of material above the 
waistband.   A white belt, through the loops over the short fly of her jeans.  Then 
the  well defined "Y" of her womanhood, girlhood, confused just thinking of 
it.   Not even wanting to look up again from my kidnapped eyes.  Knowing 
that her  eyes will be looking at me, knowing my thoughts.  My heart beating in 
quick  seeming loud pulses.  Swallowing as I finally raise my eyes to catch 
her  puckering her lips in a soft kiss, directed at me. 
    Crossing  my legs again nervously this time, squeezing them tight as I 
try to steady my  breathing.  Blinking through my glasses, feeling moisture 
on my  lashes.  Sitting confused, hands shaking as I grip the end of the  
table.  The girl smiling widely again and then nodding as she turns back to  
the conversation, seeing one of the girls pointing to me and asking her  
something.  Busying myself with a magazine, flipping pages aimlessly as  I focus 
my eyes unseeing at them.
Finally  getting some control, chastising myself for being such a dork.  A 
high  level manager at a Fortune 500 company and acting so  immature. 
    Uncrossing  my legs and standing, walking past the girls table without 
glancing, feeling my  steps jerky as I try to ignore my feelings.  Then 
feeling a warm hand touch  mine, holding me and slowing me to a stop.  Looking 
at the girl, seeing how  small she is, short, but well rounded, long light 
brown hair and dark brown  eyes.  Memorizing her face as I look closely.  Lips 
slightly parted,  the tip of her tongue hiding at the opening, eyes 
twinkling at the joke.   Her fingers moving on my palm, stroking my now clammy 
hand, feeling the moisture  forming there.  Her eyes, knowingly directed to the 
hard points of my  nipples, poking at the conservative blouse. 
    "Hi,  you remember me Samantha," her question loud in my ears, as I 
look around  the table, the girls just paying me passing attention, then going 
back to their  conversation. 
    "Yes,  of course Samantha, who could not remember you."  Smiling weakly 
as I try  to collect my thoughts.  Ours hands touching my thigh as I stand 
there, my  leg trembling. 
    "Are  you cold,"  her words breaking into my frozen mind?  Again, 
feeling so  stupid, knowing I need to move on, but not able to move to break the 
grip of her  fingers, small in my hand.
    "Just  need another coffee, would you like something,"  again not able 
to think,  making mechanical responses.
    "Sure.   I will have a mocha frappe," her smile reassuring, as I hear 
the quiet sure  voice.  Walking numbly away to the counter, I order the 
drinks, nervously  toying with my purse, wondering what I am doing.  Giddy like a 
teenage  girl.  Smiling nervously as I realize I am the unsure one  here. 
    Stopping  back with her drink,  set in on the table, a quick squeeze of 
her hand on  mine and a "thanks."  And quickly she continues her 
conversation.   Sitting back down at my seat,  self consciously, I look at Samantha.   
Watching each movement and seeing her eyes move to me every now and then.   
After talking to her girl friends, she walks over to my table, drink in her 
 hand, setting it down, she walks behind me and leaning down, brushes my 
cheek  with her lips.  "Thanks, again.  You are so sweet and nice.  What  is 
your name," her voice a soft breath of air against my face?  The scent  of 
melon, strong and enticing as she brushes the hair back  from my left ear.  
Another kiss on my cheek, "Patrice", I whisper  softly, "my name's Patrice."
    "Lovely,"  her word thrilling me, then feeling her lean over, her arms 
reaching down and  hugging me from behind.  I can feel the press of her 
breasts on my back,  against my neck.  Her arms crossing over my chest and 
pushing against my  hard nipples.  Moaning softly, my breath quickening at her 
touch.   Eyes closing, as she softly nuzzles my cheek with hers. 
    "You  like me, don't you Patrice," her question emphasized by the 
squeeze of her  arms against me?  The feel of her fingers undoing a button on my 
blouse,  brings my eyes open wide, my hands reaching to cover hers.  Feeling 
 her fingers into my blouse, touching the soft flesh of my breast.   
"Don't, please don't," pleading as the pads of her fingers gently massage the  
flesh.  My breath labored with the fear and the excitement of my  body.  
Helplessly, my fingers weakly brush at hers, covering them  as my eyes close 
again.  Moaning, squeezing my legs together as her  finger touches a nipple.  The 
sensitive flesh alive with nerve  endings.  Eyes watering at how helpless I 
am.  Her words a soft  continuous monologue, responded to by only soft 
moans and movements of my  body.  "You like this, patrice?  How does this feel, 
patrice? Should I  stop, patrice?"  Each sentence taunting and teasing.
    Sitting  helpless in my seat, Samantha leaning over me, hugging me with 
affection, or so  it would seem to anyone passing by and looking.  Her 
words and lips and  fingers, showing much more than simple affection.  Teasing, 
taunting,  enticing, exciting me.  I can feel the my throng damp, as my 
lower  lips swell with excitement.    My legs  quivering as I hold them tight 
together, one crossed over the other.   Helpless, totally helpless I sit in 
the chair, quivering in need and want.   Helpless. 
    "Look  at me patrice," her words a command, holding my gaze to her 
eyes.  The  softness in them belying her total control.  Pulling a chair up 
close to  me, her hand clasped in mine, as she leans over and touches my lips 
quickly,  tongue tip just brushing my parted lips for a moment.  "Would you 
like more  patrice?"  Her question hanging in the air between our mouths.   
Nodding dumbly as I look into her eyes, the innocence of her face.  Not  even 
able to voice a word.
    "Good."   The word sealing the pact.  "Now you will do as I say 
patrice,"  not a  question, but a statement of fact.  Waiting, my breathing hard 
and fast,  body flushed in spite of the not so warm air.  Again nodding an  
affirmation.
    Her  hand reaching to stroke slowly along my cheek, the fingers 
caressing the fevered  flesh.  The soft words, from her mouth, warm against my 
face.   "Unbutton your blouse."  Eyes flickering at her words.  Moving to look  
around as I break the stare.  Focusing and seeing the girls and boy at the  
table looking over at us.  Flushing quickly, her hand holding mine, keeping  
it from closing the already partially open blouse.  Her gentle; but firm  
voice again saying, "unbutton your blouse patrice."
    "Please,  no."  Feeling tears in my eyes, wanting to please her, to do 
as she asks,  commands; but frightened hesitating for a moment, then my 
fingers trembling as I  work the next button open on the blouse.  The edges of 
my breasts and small  cleavage exposed.  "Another," as my finger hesitate 
again.  Then  weakly the fumble the last one open.  My body exposed from neck 
to  waist, a small sliver of flesh, teasingly showing the small  breasts.
    Samantha,  looking intently at me, not even looking to my chest, "open 
your legs  wide."  At her words, her hand dropped to under the table and 
pulled my  skirt high on my thighs.  My legs slowly swinging open.  "More", her 
 word allowing no refusal.  My legs widening, spreading open at 45 degree  
angles from my body.  My tan throng covering my fat labia, damp with  
moisture, stained in the middle where my excited body has betrayed  me.   Flushing 
in complete humiliation as I look at Samantha.   "Don't look at me, look at 
my friends," eyes slowly shifting to see the girls,  smiling and laughing 
softly as I, a grown, mature woman, sit exposed to the  young nubile women.  
Samantha again pecks my lips with a flick of her  tongue.  "Good girl 
patrice."  A soft pat of her hand on my cheek my  reward.
    Another  kiss and hug, as I sit there limply, numb and humiliated, 
tears filling my  eyes. 
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