Coffee Shop Writer

Ever since the pandemic I’d been working remotely. At first I worked from home on a small desk in the cramped hallway of my tiny flat. As soon as the lockdown restrictions were lifted, I moved to a shared table in my local co-working space so I could enjoy at least a little human contact.

And that was where I worked for the next year or so, getting to know the staff and the other regulars. They were a mixed bunch. Some worked in marketing, others in legal services. There were quite a few techies trying to launch start-ups, and there were dozens of writers of various types. We built an ever-changing network as people came and went, cross-fertilising ideas and contacts as we all worked to cover our rent.

It was here that I met Sarah. She was a writer about my age who’d joined our little group about six months after I started at the co-working space. She was slim, smart, pretty, and funny, and when she wasn’t working - she spent most of the day head down over the keyboard of her laptop - she had a spell-binding, joyous laugh that would cheer the whole room.

I’d never been able to get her to talk about her work. None of us had. We speculated wildly when she wasn’t there, and at one point we’d taken bets on the subject before someone had pointed out that we’d never be able to settle them.

In late summer the old building was warm and humid, its ancient air conditioning doing little more than move the hot air around. Our entire group had de-camped to the pub next door for a little liquid cooling. Everyone but me and Sarah, that is. I was trying to finish a background article on an new piece of tech that would soon be another has-been idea and, at the other end of the table, Sarah was in her usual spot punishing her keyboard. She was a fast typist, but today she kept pausing to frown in my direction. I caught her watching me a couple of times but she looked away as soon as she noticed. When the clock ticked past six, I grabbed a couple of cold beers from the fridge and wandered over.

“Something to cool you down?” I said, offering the can.

“Oh, thanks.” She pulled the tab and drank deeply. “I needed this. It’s been a long week.”

“You have a deadline?” I asked with a nod at her screen.

“Self-imposed, but yes. I want to get this out next week and I’m still several chapters short.”

“Novel, is it?” She nodded. “What genre?” I asked as casually as I could, before quickly backtracking when she hesitated to answer. “Sorry, none of my business.”

“No, it’s ok. I’m only cagey because I’m embarrassed.”

That piqued my interest but I played it cool. “Really? Why?”

She bit her lip and shyly closed her laptop. “I write erotic fiction.”

“Oh, right,” I managed. “And, er, you make a living from that?”

“Oh, sure,” she said with a nodd. “Five figures. Monthly.”

I boggled. That was at least ten times more than me, and I thought I was doing well. “I hadn’t realised it paid so well.”

“People seem to like my work,” she said modestly, “but I’ve hit a minor problem with this story.”

“Anything I can help with?” I offered. Not because I actually thought I’d be able to help, you understand, but because I wanted to know more about her writing.

“Yeah, maybe.” Now that she’d started talking she seemed keen to continue. “My protagonist, a feisty wench called Liz, needs to get it on with her lover to seal the deal and come out on top, so to speak, but their only option is somewhere rather public.”

“Right,” I said slowly. “How public?”

“The booth of an inn. You know, those screened off tables in old pubs where rich gents used to hook up with their lovers.”

“Like at the Old Coachman around the corner?” The Old Coachman was a Victorian inn with private booths designed for a discrete rendezvous, but even with a curtain across the entrance and frosted glass in the screens, they weren’t exactly private. The pub’s other patrons might not be able to see what was going on, but everybody would know what you were up to.

“Exactly like that,” said Sarah. “Normally I draw on personal experience, watch porn for inspiration, or write what I see in my imagination, but this one’s got me a bit stumped.”

“It’s way outside my area of expertise,” I said apologetically. “If you needed help with a crypto story or a tech tale, I’d be your man. But this? I wouldn’t know where to start.”

She looked disappointed. “But you’re straight, right?”

That made me blink. “Sure, and single,” I added without really knowing why, “but this style of writing—“

She shook her head. “It’s the mechanics I need help with, not the writing. Look, I’ll show you.” She pushed her laptop aside and sat on the table. “Come and stand here,” she said, indicating the floor beneath her feet.

“Ok,” I said warily. I swigged my beer then set it aside and stood in front of her.

“No, come closer,” she said. I shuffled awkwardly forward until I was uncomfortably close. She sighed with frustration. “My male lead is well-endowed, but even he won’t make contact from that distance.” She grabbed my shirt and pulled me so close our bodies made contact.

I put my hands on the table and tried not to look down the front of Sarah’s dress. It was short and cut low, and made of some sort of lightweight cotton fabric that, I guessed, was cool in the heat. She wrapped her legs around me and she pulled me even closer, pressing her breasts against my chest and causing her dress to ride up to her hips. If she felt at all self-conscious at exposing her thighs and knickers to the world, she gave no sign of it.

“Would this work? Imagine she’s sitting on the table. If he stands on the floor with the backs of his legs against the bench, would penetration be possible? And could he get deep enough to drive her to orgasm?”

For a moment I couldn’t think of anything but the smell of her hair and the feel of her body against mine. I cleared my throat and tried to concentrate on the problem at hand, but I was horribly aware that I was becoming aroused. I needed to step back, but her legs had locked me in place.

“Good question,” I managed to say. Clarity struck. “Maybe if you — that is, she — scooted forward and leaned back at the same time? That might do it.”

Sarah shuffled forward, pressing herself into my crotch, and leaned back on her elbows to look up at me. “Like this?”

“Yeah, that could work,” I croaked. I glanced down. The front of her knickers was pressed against my shorts, and a strip of dark hair was clearly visible through the lace. I jerked my gaze upwards.

“Hmm.” She seemed unconvinced. “Could you put your hands on my hips? I can almost see how it might be done.”

I dropped my hands and hovered them over her hips. “Like that?” She raised an eyebrow and gave me A Look. I put my hands on her hips, but she still didn’t seem satisfied.

“Would you be able to do it in this position?”

I looked down at her lying in front of me and tried to formulate a coherent thought. “Probably,” I said eventually, “but it’s hard to say for sure, especially with the bench so close behind me.”

“Ok, I’ve got an idea, but it’s a bit out there, so bear with me.” She stopped and bit her lip again. “Would you mind if I borrowed you for a physical experiment?”

“More physical than this, you mean?” I didn’t see how that would be possible given our current proximity. There were only a few of layers of thin cloth between her genitals and mine, and her knickers were mostly see-through. It was all I could do to tamp down my arousal to keep things even vaguely decent.

“Hear me out. My readers demand accuracy in my work, so I really need to be sure that this position works.”

My panic must have shown on my face. She giggled. “It’s not like that,” she said. “I’m not asking you to fuck me.”

“Phew, you had me worried.” She raised her eyebrows. “No, that sounded wrong. Obviously I’d fuck you if… No, that wasn’t any better.” I rubbed my forehead, and she laughed at my consternation. “I mean, er, what do you suggest?”

“Maybe we could use your, er, penis to check the distances?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A sort of measuring stick. For a practical assessment.” She grinned and I looked down at her pussy again. Were her knickers wet? I felt my cock stir again at the thought of her arousal.

“If this position is viable,” she went on, “it’ll be obvious, won’t it? We just need to lay your penis out across my mound and see if you can reach far enough from where you currently stand.”

This was now more than I was comfortable with. I needed to put an end to this conversation and get back to work. Then I realised I was being stupid. Whatever she had in mind, she’d clearly thought it all through, and how many times had I fantasised about getting into Sarah’s pants? If I backed out now, I’d probably never get another opportunity to even talk to her. It was time to go all in and see exactly how far she wanted to go. I cleared my throat again and nodded. With the decision made, my cock quickly thickened to a stiff rod inside my shorts. Sarah must have felt the change since it pressed against her vulva, but she didn’t say anything, and now I really wanted to see this through.

“Ok, but for total accuracy, I’ll need to be hard. A flaccid cock isn’t going to work.” She giggled. “Are you ok with that?”

She calmed herself and nodded. “Total accuracy. Yes, that makes sense.” She glanced down at my shorts. “Yes, I’ll manage. I can feel your hardness. It’s delightful.” She grinned again, clearly enjoying the situation. And now that I’d relaxed a bit, I found I was enjoying it as well.

I looked around to check we were alone, but there was never anyone here at this time of the day. I put my hands on my belt. “Ready?”

She nodded, a serious expression fixed to her features. I took a calming breath and unbuckled my belt. She was watching my hands intently, eager to see everything, and she licked her lips as I unfastened the button and lowered the zip. She grinned. The anticipation was exquisite. I pushed my shorts down and let them fall to the floor.

“Oh, wow,” she said quietly. The head of my penis was peeking above my boxers and I’d swear her hands twitched as if she wanted to reach out and grab it. Which might well have been the case. I’d certainly have wanted to touch her pussy if our positions were reversed. I did want to touch her pussy, I realised. And her breasts, and every other part of her. I forced myself to stick to the request and eased my boxers down.

“Sweet Jesus and Mary,” Sarah whispered as my cock was exposed. “That’s a good sized penis,” she said. “What’s the girth?” She shook her head before I could respond. “Sorry, let’s stick to the plan. Does it reach?”

I stood naked before her and we both looked at my cock. Pressed up against her and standing upright, it was difficult to see how far it might reach horizontally. I didn’t feel there was anything I could say.

“Hmm. Hard to say. I think it’s a yes,” she said, “and it’s been a fun experiment, but we’ll probably never know for certain.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I said, reaching for my boxers.

“There’s one more thing we could try,” she said suddenly, touching my hand to cease its motion. “Hold on.” Before I could say anything, she pulled her knickers aside to expose her vulva, bring her bare flesh into contact with my cock. It was a most distracting torture, and now it was my turn to express my admiration.

“You’re so beautiful,” I said. She smiled.

“Would you be able to slide your penis into my vagina from there?” She laid one hand across her pussy, brushing against my cock as she did so, and parted the lips. “Right there…” she said huskily.

“Are you sure?” I asked even though she was obviously very sure indeed. She nodded hungrily. “For the sake of your art,” I said. I took hold of my cock, set it between her lips, and pushed forward. It sank easily into her slick, wet pussy, and I pressed on until I was buried deep inside her. She moaned, and it took all my resolve not to pull back and fuck her properly. Instead I stood there and stared down at the glorious sight of our joined bodies.

“Just the final test,” she hissed, and I looked up to see an openly lustful, needful, expression on her face. “Can he drive her to orgasm?” This was obviously where she’d been going the entire time, and I was so onboard with the plan.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Do it,” she said. “Do me, please!”

What else could I do but obey? I pulled back as far as I could then thrust forward, driving all the way into her. She moaned.

“That’s it, do it again.”

I obliged, as much for my own need as for hers, and a moment later I was pounding her pussy, the point of the ‘test’ forgotten as I did everything I could to satisfy her lust. “Yes, yes,” she cried, before remembering where she was and clamping one hand over her mouth. She came with a suppressed groan, bending off the table toward me. I came a moment later, grunting with the effort as I shot my load deep inside her. I managed a few more strokes before I stopped.

“Thank you,” she whispered, but whether for the orgasm or the successful test, I couldn’t tell. I murmured my own thanks, stepped back and sat down on the chair behind me.

“Wow.” I watched Sarah’s pussy disappear behind her knickers, smiling at the thought that, if I was lucky, I might get to see it again. She smoothed her dress back into place and sat up. Her hair was messed up, and her dress wasn’t quite straight, but aside from the grin on her face you’d never guess she’d just fucked in the middle of our co-working space.

“Oh, fuck,” I muttered. She laughed as I scrabbled for my underwear and shorts, and when I was once again decent she leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Maybe we can do that again,” she whispered, pulling me into a hug. “When I next get a bout of writer’s block, maybe?”

“I’d like that,” I said. Her hair smelled divine. “Do you often struggle to find the words?”

“Now that I have such a fun solution, I think it’s a problem that’s about to get a whole lot worse.” She jumped off the table and began to pack up her stuff. “I’ll write it up later. Let’s get a drink.”

If you enjoyed this story you should check out my other work, like More than a Massage or Meeting the New Neighbour.