As I walked towards the coffee shop, I felt the breeze blowing up my short, flimsy skirt, feeling pert, all alert. It felt good on my naked pussy. It was my kind duty to spread myself around as much as possible. And when I say spread, I mean it literally. I did that by flashing my little triangular hair pie to all those men who struck my fancy on a fine summer day, when I wanted to play. I giggled in anticipation, an-ti-ci-pa-tion, it's making me late, keeping them waiting.
I sat in a corner of the al fresco coffee shop, just a short hop from the sex toy shop. The iron fence was behind me. In front were several couples having their morning lattes or whatnot. Some single souls with their laptops were scattered around the sidewalk sitting area, hiding hard ons, one guessed, or greasy, sleazy snatches. Two or three interesting men had marked me when I walked in. I stuck my tongue out and they grinned at me. I was fine and took my time, feeling divine.
I had tightly curled blond hair that gave me a pixie look, me being only 5 feet 2, and eyes of blue, coochy, coochy, coochy, coo. I was by no means thin, but most men savored the curvy meat I had to offer. My legs were long for my height, with great curves and small feet in ballerina slippers. And I loved to skip along the street singing ditties to every man I met. Or the women, come to that. I loved tickling pussy. Yours or mine. Mine was a tickled pussy. I tickled where I could. Tickle me once, make me come. Tickle me twice, I'll be real nice.
I was waited on by a sweet, good enough to eat, treat of a waitress and she fairly quickly brought me my usual. Regular coffee, that is, with cream and sugar. I sipped it and blew her a kiss. It was hot. So was she, as she blushed at me. I let it cool for a few minutes as I took my time on this fine day, ready to play, feeling so gay.
I glanced around the open-air setting and checked out the opportunities for flashing. I homed in on a fellow, not too tall, but with large, brown, sensitive eyes, wearing a Greenpeace t-shirt and roomy shorts and sandals. He looked to be my type.
I slowly moved my position so that my body was facing him, not on a whim, but feeling trim, out on a limb. Then I slowly started spreading my legs to give him and him alone a good shot of my sweet cunny with its triangle of blond hair, so fair and rare. I was a true blonde. As I spread my luscious thighs apart I glanced over under his table and noticed something interesting. His shorts were so roomy one could see up his legs. He wasn't wearing underwear, it wasn't there, his dick was bare. On one side I saw a cock head and it seemed to wink at me, with glee, as if it could see, deep into me.
I raised my eyes to his, and he did, indeed wink at me. Then he sucked his finger, held it to the wind, and winked again. He was a charmer, as was I. And he spread his legs to show me his manhood was hard and straining to get out. My little cunny started to cream, this was a dream, it leaked a stream. It always did, but usually not so fast. Now I was leaking pussy juice and getting my skirt totally wet. I was sure it was wafting upon the breeze to the other diners. My juices are pungent and fragrant and made to be savored. I am favored that way, I must say.
It was time to begin my usual show. We were sitting in chairs around very low tables, but there was plenty of room to get one's hand underneath. I did so, soft and slow. I started diddling my pussy, just for him. My legs were wide apart and I was squeezing my clit head so the clit would pop out. It did. I think it winked at him, too. I was so fucking sensitive that I came at once. Then I started spreading my sweet honey cum all over my swollen pussy lips, and I spread the labia to show the bright red inner pussy for him.
I looked over and was startled to see he had wrapped a hand around his cock, protruding from his shorts, and was jerking off as I diddled my cunny. We were in synchronization. Jack and jill, cum up the hill. I was fucking my fingers into my pussy and he was jacking his hard cock. Of course, he couldn't beat me to a cum, but he wasn't far behind. I was wishing he was in
my behind, but that is another story. Giggle.
I took my hand out of my cunt and started licking my fingers. I loved the taste of my own cum juices. He kept right on jerking as if his life depended upon it. My pleasure didn't, for I had juices still flowing, but I wanted him to please me with his spunk flying high, up in the sky, maybe into my eye. Finally, as he jacked off with his right hand he reached with his left for his cup of coffee. He placed the cup in front of his cock and started squirting cum into it. It looked like a pint or so, but, of course, couldn't have been. Damn, I wanted to see it spurt out. Oh well, easy cum, easy flow.
We both took a cloth napkin from the table and softly wiped ourselves clean. He smelled his, I smelled mine, it was fine, like newly bottled wine. I had brought along my usual peasant shawl that I could wrap around my waist to hide all the cum juice. His, of course, was in his coffee cup. But he did have a drop hanging from the flaccid pecker he sported in his shorts. He took a finger, dabbed at it, and licked it clean, like a lean, Green, sucking machine. I had something he could suck, he could run amok, with any luck, but what the fuck!
He had completely finished cumming and had apparently finished with the coffee shop and with me. He got up, smiled at me and gave the peace sign. Then he walked slowly away, with his hard on still pushing his shorts out, and without a doubt he knew what he was about. He didn't seem to care, he had gumption to spare, and I was wishing I could share whatever was there.
I sighed, and quickly got up to go over to his table, I took his coffee cup, glanced around, noticed no one noticing me and went back to my table. There I poured my coffee into his cup and slowly savored the life sustaining taste of man cum.
It had been a Frabjous Day! Callooh! Calley!
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