On the Terrace
- 3 years ago
- 20
- 0
Cuppa Jo free porn video
The other customers were so into their lattes and iThings that a crocodile could have slithered through unnoticed. So they sure didn’t see my silly grin, or the cute barista who’d sparked it. During a lull in the order line she’d leaned forward, cupped her apron-covered tits and mouthed a sultry “Fuck me, Brian. Right now.” Then she’d shot me a goofy grin of her own.
Of course I’d do as Jo asked, but later.
For all this to make sense, even to me, I have to rewind the calendar a few weeks. Imagine a swirly dissolve: I was sitting at this very table...
“He shoots, he scor ... ooh, off the rim!” Would have been a three-pointer, too, from three tables away. Usually when I arc a crumpled page at the waste bin, I nail it. If ‘usually’ means like, 30%. I made a mental note go for the rebound on my way out.
I’m not much of a sports person, but I was a little punch-drunk on metaphors at the moment. That never happens in my day job as a tech writer -- I haven’t seen a figure of speech in all my time there -- but when I’m writing for myself I can spread my wings. Ha, did it again.
The crumpled paper deserves a word. Maybe it’s an affectation, maybe just a way to separate my writing ‘lives’, but I reserve the laptop for work and scribble in pencil for fun. Almost none of it ever gets transcribed. This, what you’re reading, first saw life on a lined yellow pad in this very cafe. It feels so meta.
They know me here. I pay my table rent. I’m not that leech in the corner nursing a flat white for hours. Lucky for me they serve a great ham and cheese croissant, rich little cakes, pumpkin spice whatnots -- enough variety to keep me from falling into a rut. The staff is OK with me because I’m a nice guy and I tip like a fat clown on a unicycle.
My job doesn’t care if I’m actually in one of their impersonal flexi-cubes, only that I meet my quota while on their LAN. Through some Faradayan quirk this place gets a solid signal from the office half a block away. So I look like I’m there but the laptop can just be idling beside me while I scratch out stories and, theoretically, My Novel.
I was about to wad up another abortive stab at compelling fiction when I noticed Jo hovering at my elbow. I’ve known Jo for a while in that casual way you ‘know’ servers, tellers, cashiers and so on. The cafe was often busy but right now we were the only ones in the place.
Jo’s younger than me, maybe 20 to my 25, with no visible tats or piercings (me either). About 5’6 and 135, cute and cheery with soft brown eyes and light reddish-brown hair with a slight curl just below the ears. Nice package, looking good in the company uniform of white blouse and some sort of overall-apron deal.
“Oh, hi Brian. Uh, how’s the writing going?” She seemed nervous. Uh-oh?
“Hey Jo. Ah, the usual. I think struggle is required. No such thing as a Caesarean when birthing a masterwork. Not even an episiotomy. I’d take a saddle block, though, if you carry anesthesia here.”
She gave a nervous titter -- not sure about my babbling but accepting it to keep the talk going. Nothing wrong with a nervous titter, by the way. Any kind of titter, really.
Then I saw what she was holding: a sheaf of smoothed-out yellow pages I suspected were once scrunched up just short of the basket. I guess I hadn’t made as many rebounds as should have.
She saw me see and blushed a bit. “I’m sorry. But you threw them away so I thought ... I mean, we kind of wondered what you write about and ... oh god I’m not really that girl but I figured I could get to know you a little better by ... is this really what you’re writing? Like, sex stuff?”
I don’t want to leave her hanging here but I should explain. Of course I’m writing the next Great American Novel. Who isn’t? But honestly, a lot of times when I’m moving the pencil what comes out isn’t greatness or even novelness. We’re taught to honor the process: a writer writes; don’t block the flow even if it’s just going down the drain. So between gouts of epic prose I’ll often fill the page with lesser stuff. Like a boxer in the gym, a batter taking strokes, just keeping the machine lubed. Erm, oiled.
“Well, not just that but yeah, sometimes when I’m not feeling inspired I’ll dash off something ... racy. Or mysterious, or scary. Just keeping my hand in.” I nodded at her pages. “I guess you picked up some of the racy ones?”
“Oh. But I mean, the things, the people, what you write about, does all that come from like, experience?”
She seemed to be struggling. I had to give her props for the guts it must have taken to approach me, then to stick with it.
“Well, I don’t know what you have there so I can’t really say. Can I read it? Re-read it, I mean?”
She held out the sheaf and I took it. What I’d written:
“It was hot in Ellen’s bedroom. She’d thrown off the covers and lay naked on the sheets, splayed wide, her hands busy at her lightly furred vee. But as good as her fingers felt, she knew she’d soon reach for the toys in her bed stand. It didn’t seem ... clean to stick her fingers into all the places she needed to reach.”
Hey, I tossed it, remember?
Ellen went on to do some, yes, unclean things involving a butt plug and a big rubber dong supposedly modeled after a porn actor named Mandingo. Was this drawn from life? Ah, maybe, surprisingly. But I don’t dildo and tell.
“What can I say, Jo? Sometimes you write what you know, other times you add what you imagine. There’s some fantasy in everything we read, even the news. Did this little scene make you tingle -- in a good way, a bad way... ?”
More blushing. “No, I mean yes. I just wasn’t sure if people, if girls, really thought that way, did those things. Or if y’all just made it up.”
“You’re what, 19, 20? Didn’t you talk about this in high school with your girlfriends ... and boyfriends? One of your pals must have owned a vibrator, right?”
“No! I never ... we didn’t go to normal high school. Our family was, I don’t know, just different. Poppa didn’t trust government schools so my brothers and I got taught at home. We learned all the subjects, momma was a good teacher, but...”
“No sleepovers, no dick pix in the girls’ room. I get it. You missed out on stuff, not all of it good. Well, what Ellen does there isn’t perverted and your reading about it, or even doing it, is just fine. Of course I would say that, I wrote it. But trust me, it’s the mildest sort of fantasy. There is some sick shit out there but this ... this isn’t it.”
This put her more at ease. “Yeah, I liked it. I imagined doing it. The butt stuff made me squirm a little, but I knew when I read it there’s more to learn. Do you, could you let me read some more like that? Things real people do for, um, real sex?”
“Hey, a little service over here?”
She jumped at the interruption and hurried back to the counter to draw a triple espresso for a skinny guy with a wispy beard, black horn rims and an itchy-looking hat. I hope we’re not becoming ‘that place’. Ah, it’s just one guy. Maybe he’s lost.
Over the next couple of weeks Jo spent more of her slack time at my table, talking about the pages she’d rescued and a wide range of other topics. She proved to be smart and engaging, up on current events. But when the talk turned to her, things could get odd:
“So, the name Jo. Is it short for something? Josephine? Jocelyn?”
“Yeah, it’s really Joliet but I never use that.”
“Joliet, huh. I’ve heard of Juliet, but ... Joliet like the prison?
“Poppa named us all after prisons.”
“What? No way! Who does that? Wait, don’t even answer. I know you’re joking. Good one, Jo ... lene?”
“Ask my brothers Corcoran and Raiford if I’m joking.”
Maybe ‘Poppa’ shouldn’t have a dad license. Though her mom sounded OK and Jo did turn into a great girl, if seemingly naive as hell.
You should know I’m not as kinky or even as experienced as those pages might make it seem. I’m sure Jo realized that, but she still treated me like some kind of authority.
We’d gotten comfortable with each other so when I asked her to a movie it was a pretty small leap. I’d only seen her in uniform, so it was a treat when she met me wearing tight jeans and a T-shirt that proved her B-cups didn’t need extra support. We got on well. She had a quirky sense of humor I sometimes couldn’t pin down, references I didn’t always get. Well, we did grow up in different worlds and my Poppa didn’t name me after a prison.
After a couple of these casual non-date dates we wound up one evening at her apartment, an older townhouse near the U campus. She hadn’t mentioned roommates. Two girl roommates. It didn’t hit me right away, but: Three healthy girls sharing a flat and one of them had no clue about what ladies thought and talked about? It was at the bounds of belief. I began to smell a rat. Or was that fish?
“Johanna baby! How was the concert?” “Hey JoJo, welcome home! I’m guessing this is Brian?”
Boom, right there. Joliet my ass. Apparently I’m as gullible as Gomer. I could tell from her sly grin she’d been looking forward to this. She’d had me on a string for an elaborate gag.
“Brian, this is Annie and Fannie. Guys, meet Brian.”
‘Fannie’ spoke first. “Don’t listen to her, she’s goofy. I’m Rebecca. Call me Becca or Becs. And this is Annika, sometimes Nika but never, ever Annie.” Hugs all around. “Nice to finally meet the famous writer. Jo’s been bragging on you and of course we’ve all been reading the stuff she brings home.”
I could see I had some catching up to do.
Becca was another cutie: Dark curly hair with big blue eyes and a megawatt smile, as tall as Jo but whip-thin and smaller in the chestal area. First impression? Miler on the track team, a lean machine.
Annika was an imposing ice-blonde, maybe 5’9, with straight hair to the shoulders and intense green eyes. Very Scandinavian. She filled out her top with prominent but proportional breasts. First impressions don’t always jell, but some people radiate smarts. That was Annika. Maybe intimidating isn’t the right word, but you knew she’d be a challenge.
As we chatted I discovered the extent of Johanna’s ... I don’t want to call it deceit since it was just a lark, but she had totally fooled me. She wasn’t 19, she was 23. Not only had she been to ‘government school’, she was studying economics. Just like Poppa, really a full professor at Drexel. The girls found this all quite amusing. Yeah, laugh’s on me but I’m a big boy. A big dumb boy.
We uncorked some wine and got to know each other. Annika’s warmth and wit belied her chilly appearance. Also 23, she was going for a masters in humanities. Becca at 24 was a post-grad in psychology. A powerhouse pair of roommates: great looking, personable, smart and sexy.
Jo balanced them, but it was the balance you get on the edge of a blade. Becca had said “goofy” but it was more than that. I guess mischievous wouldn’t be far off. But sure, also goofy.
As if to prove it Jo suddenly piped up, “Hey guys, I brought him home to fuck him to death, not talk him there. So unless you want to watch, we’re calling it a night. Brian, top of the stairs, second on the left.”
I was caught off guard but the other two just smirked. “Go on, Brian, we won’t watch ... this time.”
I barely got through the door before Jo, on tiptoe, greeted me with a hug and kiss that could have melted silver. Being no fool, I gave it right back. I’m a few inches taller, but we fit pretty well. We were so close Jo could feel how tight my slacks were becoming, as I was able to make out the shape of her tits and the bones of her hips. After a long minute we stepped back.
“Mmmm, I’ve been waiting for that since I started reading your scraps. I don’t understand why you never hit on me. I’ve never flirted so much and all you did was act polite. I was starting to feel ugly.”
Obviously, I’m not as good at reading cues as I could be. But here we were, so I guess she got through in the end. Plus, downstairs she’d said something about fucking me to death and that there is a signal even I couldn’t miss.
“Jo, Jo ... I’m an idiot. Of course I noticed you, you’re a cute and sexy girl, ow, I mean woman. But I get wrapped up in my work and to be honest, cute sexy women don’t come on to me. That I’ve noticed. Oh, right, or I could be an idiot.”
“OK, apology accepted. Now get me naked.”
I had her tee, then mine, off in seconds. Neither of us wore a bra. I spent a little time admiring those lovely breasts, first with my eyes and quickly after with my lips. I love tits, not too big, and these were prime. I could tweak and tease a pair of hard nipples for hours, and from her reaction I think she’d have let me, but I broke away because this was just a stopover, not the destination.
We fumbled at each other’s belts and buttons. She had my slacks at my feet before I slid hers down past her hips. She turned away and wriggled sexily out of her panties to display a shapely ass. As though reading my mind she bent forward to expose her full, meaty pussy lips and above them her tender rosebud.
She stood and faced me, posing hipshot. My gaze dropped to her nearly bald mound. Not a shy violet, this one. The need in her eyes drew me in. She dropped to her knees and tugged my briefs over the obstruction her show had caused. In seconds I was being sucked into a warm, wiggling cavern. I knew from our kiss she had a mobile and agile tongue. Here it was again.
I blush to admit I lasted about a minute before going off. She never faltered, slurping the semen I’d been saving all week. I apologized and tried to pull away, but she held on, shaking her head slightly to indicate that she didn’t mind. She sucked and teased and sucked and stroked until I was once again standing ready.
Pop. “Oh, what a nice cock. And so responsive.” She sat back on her heels and grinned up at me as she gripped my shaft and licked the tip for luck. “Was that how you would have written it?”
“Well, your part was dead on, but I’d have written me a couple inches longer and thicker. And with more endurance.”
Then it was her turn. She rose to take my offered hand. I guided her to the edge of the bed and nudged her onto her back with her feet still touching the floor. I knelt and wedged her legs open to get at her.
She was ruddy with lust and open like a flower. I nibbled at the outer lips and teased her inner thighs with licks and kisses, then worked my way from her asshole up to the apex of her moist opening. She shuddered as I found her clit and teased it erect. She had even less staying power than me -- with just a few trips up and down her crevice she came like a rocket, clutching my head with hands and thighs, crying out her joy. I hadn’t even managed to work a finger into her.
She was now too sensitive for direct contact with her pleasure point, but I did keep on muzzling, using my tongue to work open her pussy and loosen the grip of her asshole. Which I noted had a distinct strawberry tang: the little minx was nothing like the naive rube she’d played at work.
She came down slowly, pushing herself onto her elbows and inviting me up for a deep soul kiss. She seemed to relish the taste of her own juices, and if I got a taste of mine in there I didn’t notice.
“Oh, I love the taste of pussy. Even my own.” The message wasn’t lost on me. “Come on up here and snuggle a minute. I still mean to fuck you blind but I have to let that one sink in a little first.”
I stroked her nakedness as we lay together, with growing attention to her breasts and her hot opening. It had an equal effect on both of us. We were soon ready for the main act and Jo wanted to lead. I was OK with that, at least for a while.
She turned me onto my back, threw a leg over, and lowered herself onto my fully erect cock. She closed her eyes and moaned as my length penetrated the warmest, smoothest cunt I could ever remember. Yeah, memory doesn’t serve us well at times like this.
Then she was rising, plunging and rocking with a slowly mounting tempo. She wanted as much cock as I could give her and in this position she could get it right to the root. I wasn’t all that passive either. My hips were thrusting in time with her bouncing as I gathered her flowing juices to massage her joint on each bounce.
It was too glorious to last, for her anyway. I managed to hold off as she came with an almost scary intensity, head tossed back, freezing and quaking in climax. I’d like to take credit but you saw that: she won it for herself.
Eventually she came to, lowered her head to look into my eyes and whispered, “Thank you thank you. I really needed that. Needed you.”
I forced a little throb with my cock. “You don’t think that’s the end, do you baby? Someone else wants a turn. Little Brian has needs too. Up on your knees and let the big dog drive for a while.”
Spent as she was, she was still game. I pulled out as we shifted into classic doggie. The sight from the rear of her slick and ravaged pussy was energizing, but the winking of her asshole took it up a notch. I hitched into position and pressed my cock into her depths with one smooth stroke. Oh, I was going to enjoy this.
I wasted no time getting up to speed. After coming in her mouth earlier I had plenty left on the meter. Her pussy was still slick but maybe a little less tight since she’d pounded out her cowgirl orgasm.
After a few minutes I ventured a thumb-rub of her little bung, intending to test those waters. I was a tad disappointed when she grunted a little and raised one hand. But it wasn’t the rejection I thought.
“Brian, wait a second. I think can make it better for us. Let me get at my nightstand.”
I wasn’t about to leave my new home but we did manage to shift over so she could retrieve something from her drawer. I didn’t see what at first but a moment later she reached back to hand me a largish jewel-tipped butt plug.
“Ease that into my ass, babe. It’ll make things tighter, I promise. But go slow at first.”
If I needed any more proof that she wasn’t that shy innocent from the coffee shop, this was it. She should have been writing the blue stuff, not reading it. In any case, I worked some of her own juices into her asshole to make insertion easier. Gradually the tapered end slipped in.
Soon her anal ring clamped down over the outer ridge, trapping it inside. Sure enough, I could feel it along my cock. Her pussy was tighter than ever. The pleasure evidently wasn’t all mine, as Jo started to squirm and to vocalize in encouragement.
“Damn, feel that? Two big things in me, god I love this. Pump me, Brian. Fuck me hard, shoot me full. Oh, man, oh fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
She reached up between her legs to rub herself as I resumed fucking into her newly constricted cunt. It was an odd sensation but not at all unpleasant and it made me wonder what it would be like if there were a live moving cock in her ass instead of a passive plug. Judging from her ravings I believe she was thinking along the same lines.
Madison
- 01.03.2022
- 9
- 0
