I’ve been using my local coffee shop for years. I was a patron long before my accident. Unfortunately, I now needed to walk with a stick permanently, which made carrying a tray loaded with coffee and a sandwich or a slice of something delicious something of a faff. On the plus side, all the staff know me, and they know my order, large Caramel Latte and diabetes be damned.
It wasn’t uncommon for me to walk in, wave a greeting to the staff that happened to be working that day and take my habitual perch at the back of the shop so that I could write my stories and people-watch. Then, a few minutes later, they would kindly bring my order to me, so I could enjoy my time there and not worry about having a disability for a while.
That kind of consideration and level of customer service is excellent when so much of life is so challenging. Not that I mind. I would, of course, rather have two working legs, but I don’t, so this is the hand I have been dealt to play with. So, I do so with a song in my heart. However, the accident could have so quickly and easily taken much more than the use of my leg from me.
On this particular day, a Sunday – May 28th, 2023 - I woke early, far earlier than usual, and gently kissed my still-sleeping wife on the forehead. I was in the mood for coffee, not an instant coffee, but a proper barista-style coffee. However, the craving I had wouldn’t quit until it was sated. I am sure that you, dear reader, will be familiar with this type of craving and have had at least one experience.
My wife’s eyes fluttered open briefly, and she gave me a lovely, lazy grin as she stretched like a cat laying in the sun, her hands reaching above her head and grasping the ironwork of the bedstead and pulling herself up into a half-sitting position. She inadvertently jostled the silk scarves tied to the ironwork for some of our more… playful love-making sessions. She giggled at the memory of the last time she had tied me up. Leaving me tied to the bed while she went out with her girlfriends to a club. I’m still planning my revenge, and it will be epic… But I digress.
“Would you like a proper coffee, baby?” I asked her as I kissed the side of her face and traced the delicate contours of her modest but perfectly formed breasts with my index finger. Even after all these years, I still marvel at how responsive her nipples are to the slightest touch of my hand anywhere on her breasts. I gave the nipple nearest to me a playful pinch, not hard enough to hurt but certainly enough to cause her to catch her breath and enjoy the delicious sensations that I knew would be instantly transferred to her rapidly moistening pussy.
“Ummm, sounds delicious. But I want some more sleep. Why don’t you take your laptop to the café and write me a story while you enjoy your morning? Then, you can bring me one back when you come home.” She turned onto her right side and kissed me slowly and passionately. Our tongues danced a slow waltz about each other, and her hand reached down to my naked cock.
Instantly, my little friend was curious about the touch of my wife’s hand and started to fill it out nicely. I’m not a bragger, and I am pathologically pre-disposed, to be truthful. I could tell you that I have a nine-inch long, six-inch girth monster nestled between my legs, and you would be none the wiser for the telling. However, I’m average if the national statistics are to be believed. I’ve never had any hang-ups about my size, having been married and divorced from my first wife. That union resulted in a Son who has matured into a wonderful and level-headed young man, so average must be pretty good in my book.
“Nu-uh, you need to get dressed and go out!” she giggled under her breath, having given little me a few light strokes. I love my wife dearly, and we have an honest and open relationship. But she’s such a cock-tease. She knew that my motor would be running now, as slow kissing is my kryptonite, and she was now sending me off into the world with not only a raging boner but also the libido that would want satisfaction sooner rather than later.
“You’re such a prick-tease!” I sighed mock exasperation in my voice. I feigned getting up by throwing the duvet off us, then pounced into a massive tickle assault on her ribs.
She screamed, then laughed, which set the dog off barking. Not wanting to piss the neighbours off too much, I ceased my tickling and gave the dog a fuss, letting her know everything was OK. Staffordshire Bull Terriers are a wonderful breed, so loving and docile, but they have NO sense of humour! Taking the hint, I admitted defeat and threw on some clothes, grabbed my backpack, which contained my laptop, charger and a few other items, and headed out to my favourite spot.
~~~~~~{}~~~~~~
The drive to my favourite café was uneventful and only took five minutes. It is situated near the Town Centre and a junction for a major Motorway, so it captures plenty of passing traffic new to the area and local denizens alike. I reversed into one of the spaces reserved for disabled clients and headed inside.
I checked the faces in the surprisingly busy indoor seating area and quickly noticed a couple of regulars sitting with their papers. Then I looked at the staff behind the counter. There wasn’t a familiar face among them. Knowing I wanted my usual drink, the only choice I had to make was what to have for breakfast. I selected a vegan breakfast wrap and waited in line, my back gradually getting more and more painful as I stood waiting.
I guessed that the young lady behind the counter was new, as she struggled with the EPOS system and entering my order. I gave her a reassuring smile; I didn’t mind waiting while the crippling pain in my back made me sweat; everyone has to learn, right? Finally, with my order entered, paid for and being brewed, I leaned forward to ease the pain in my back.
“Are you OK?” The young lady asked of me, concern evident on her face.
“Yeah, all OK here. Old injury is playing me up some is all,” I replied, trying to muster a smile, but I guess it was more of a grimace.
“Your order won’t be long; why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll bring it over to you?” She said with a big smile spreading across her face.
I hadn’t noticed before, but she was quite pretty. She had a fair complexion with a few acne scars but nothing that made her unattractive. I’d guess she was perhaps twenty, maybe twenty-one years old. Her brunette hair was tied back into a ponytail that swished about happily as her head moved this way and that. She stood about 5’ tall and, if I had to guess, was maybe a 34B at most. Her most prominent feature was her full, generous lips, perfectly sized and shaped for kissing.
I thanked her cordially and proceeded to my usual perch, grateful to finally take the weight off my good leg, ease back, and enjoy the relief from the pain. Then, taking my laptop and charger out of my backpack, I set up and connected to the free WiFi offered by the café. I quickly checked on mail with Outlook, then logged in to LushStories to see what, if anything, was happening in the world.
Nothing transpired that needed my immediate attention, so I opened Word and re-read the last few paragraphs of my current story to refresh my memory and consider where to take the dialogue and plot next. A timid little voice sounded in front of my screen as I scanned the text.
“Here’s your food and coffee, Sir.”
I looked up and saw the little Brunette that had taken my order. I smiled inwardly. Why was I happy that she had delivered my order? It wasn’t a great surprise, as it appeared she was manning the in-house orders alone while her colleague was running frantically about doing orders for the Drive-Thru.
“Thank you so much,” I said, always sure to be polite and grateful towards those working in any service industry. They’re feeling people, just like everyone else, doing their best and trying to get by. However, the number of people that give service workers a hard time for the slightest imperfection in their orders, thus making their lives miserable, is quite staggering to me. So I try to give them a ray of light and gratitude in an otherwise primarily thankless job.
I pulled my laptop towards me to make more room for the tray. I watched as she carefully placed my order on the table, taking great care not to spill my coffee as it was lowered. As she stood, I caught her eye and gave her a big smile of gratitude. Her face flushed; I guessed she wasn’t used to people being so amiable with her yet.
“If you need anything else, just shout for me,” she said, shyly smiling as she said the words.
“I shall, thank you, but it would be helpful to know your name.” I pointed out playfully.
“It’s on my badge!” was her somewhat unexpectedly sharp reply.
“What badge?” I questioned. She looked down at her right breast for a second and realised that the little name badge was missing.
“Shit!” a heartbeat later, she realised she was speaking with a customer, and I had to suppress a chuckle.
“I am so sorry, Sir. I didn’t realise my badge had fallen off.” Her hand went to her forehead in exasperation.
I don’t know if she was apologising for cursing in front of a customer or panicking, as she would get into trouble for losing her badge.
“My name is Casey; just shout if you want anything. Can I get you anything while I’m here?”
“No, thank you, Casey; I’m good for now,” I said with a huge grin. She turned on her heel, and I watched her disappear behind the counter. Marvelling at the sway of her hips and how tight her leggings were. I noticed that she was either wearing a thong or was otherwise without underwear, as there was no visible line where one would expect panties to reside under tight leggings.
As I busied myself with the development of other characters in my work, I absent-mindedly took nibbles of my wrap and the occasional slurp of my coffee. Casey busied herself back and forth to the café floor, taking food orders to customers waiting or clearing tables and bussing the empties to the washroom for cleaning.
I watched that marvellous ass sway away from me for the umpteenth time when I accidentally inhaled some coffee. I promise it was wholly unconscious, but the effect was immediate, and I dropped a mostly full cup of coffee into my lap. It was relatively warm, though not hot, so I was torn between trying to stand on my good leg, hopping up and down while frantically patting at my groin, and fighting for breath as I was choking.
The cup merrily sailed on past my balls, having squashed them a little on its way to the floor, and now lay as a small jigsaw of ceramic pottery pieces strewn about in a large puddle of coffee.
Before I knew what was happening, someone was thumping me on the back, and they were doing so hard. The movies would have you believe that someone choking can remedy their situation with a few light taps in the middle of the back by a well-meaning bystander. Unfortunately, this is not the case. You have to hit hard between the shoulder blades to force air from the lungs to dislodge whatever may be occluding the airway.
“Sir, are you OK?” A concerned voice came from behind me as I breathed in a huge lungful of air. I nodded, not trusting my airway to form words without lapsing into a coughing fit. After a few seconds, I could feel my back tense again, so I shakily lowered myself to the now-saturated seat. I gathered myself while Casey hovered by my shoulder until she was sure I was OK again.
“I am now; thank you for your help, Casey,” I nodded to back up my statement, wondering how I would contend with the mess I was in and the drive home.
“Come with me; we’ll get you dried up in the washroom. We’ve got a hot air blower in there, which will make short work of drying your wet clothes.” I sensed from Casey’s tone that it wasn’t a request, so I agreed, as I didn’t fancy squelching my way home and then having to dry the car seat as well.
As I stood, I forgot to account for the wet flooring, and my stick slid away from me as I put my weight through it. I followed it down and instinctively reached out for something to grab onto. Unfortunately for poor Casey, that something was the sleeve on the left side of her shirt, and there was a loud tearing sound as the sleeve came away in my hand.
Somehow, I managed to keep my footing and regained my equilibrium. Casey led me to the washroom and had me stand against the sink. She seemed oblivious that her torn top allowed me an unimpeded view of her braless milky white left breast and its pink areola and perky dark rose-coloured gum-drop nipple each time she stood in profile to me.
This sight alone was enough to stoke the fires of any red-blooded male; the fact that Casey was also busying herself with pointing a source of warm air at my midriff and patting at my groin fervently with a cloth was doing nothing to stop my erection from developing to see what all the fuss was.
“Oh! Oh my,” Casey said. Not sure what to do as my shorts started to tent. Her eyes were large as saucers, and she unconsciously licked her generous lips.
“It’s perfectly natural, given that you are touching me there, and your left tit is hanging out of your shirt,” I chuckled mischievously. I hadn’t realised that Casey wasn’t aware of the state of her shirt.
“It’s what now?” she muttered, only half registering what I’d said as she was transfixed by the now fully erect cock in my shorts.
“OH SHIT!” Casey muttered. I chuckled again and thought, ‘And light dawns on the situation’ to myself. I watched as she looked at the damage to her shirt and placed a hand inside, squeezing and pinching her nipple as she looked up at me with lust burning in her eyes.
Then, the craziest thing happened. This young nymph yanked down my shorts and was surprised to see that I was commando. In my defence, I had left the house in a hurry. My pink cock wobbled merrily before Casey’s face, and I saw her pupils dilate. In no time, she lunged her head forward and enveloped my cock in one deft movement.
Watching my shaft disappear between her perfectly plump lips stole my breath away, and I let my head fall back as I enjoyed the sensations of her mouth bobbing up and down on my rock-hard cock. I held on to the sink counter for dear life to support my weight. I had no idea how long this would take, and I couldn’t stand for long periods. I could feel her tongue tickling my balls at the bottom of her stroke. This young girl loved giving head, it seemed.
