Coffee

I had a casual acquaintance with Iris, the young woman who lived in the unit next to mine. Across the hallway, actually. She was quite young, in her early twenties, and lived by herself. I don't know what her job was but she always left home early, looking immaculate. From the few time I had spoken to her I had found her articulate and intelligent. I wouldn't call her a raving beauty but she has a sort of elegant style that appealed, and a figure that was very attractive. (Especially attractive to the lech in me, but I won't go into that.)

Now never having seen her looking anything but immaculate and charming it was quite a surprise when she knocked on my door early one Sunday morning. Opening the door I found Iris slouching there, dishevelled and rumpled, looking as though she'd been dragged out of bed, had some clothes thrown at her, and kicked out the door. She looked absolutely delightful.

"Coffee," she said, and she made that one word sound like a desperate plea.

"Do I take that to mean that you want me to give you some beans so that you can make some coffee or is it a request to come in and have a mug of my Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, freshly brewed and still piping hot?"

Seeing I had a mug of that same coffee in my hand I waved it under her nose, letting her catch the aroma. For a second there I thought she was going to snatch my mug right out of my hand.

"If it's already brewed I'll drink it," she said quickly, even the thought of it seeming to help her perk up a little.

"I take it you found yourself unexpectedly out of coffee?" I suggested, steering her towards the kitchen.

"I could have sworn I had another packet in the cupboard," she sighed. "You can imagine how I felt when I found it just wasn't there. I'm absolutely screwed if I can't have my coffee in the morning."

"Whereas now you'll have your coffee and still be screwed," I said affably, taking down a clean mug and reaching for the coffee pot.

"Worth it," she mumbled, grasping the mug as I passed it to her, her nose twitching, savouring the delights of the aroma. She sank down into a chair and sipped.

With each sip she seemed to come more and more alive. She was still dishevelled and rumpled but she was human again, not a barely animated zombie suffering from caffeine withdrawal.

As she sipped I could see her intelligence coming back online, her entire body sparking up, a smile on her face and a light in her eyes. Then there was a sudden look of shock and confusion on her face. I guess she was remembering what I'd said and that she had apparently agreed to.

Obviously she wasn't going to bring the subject up so I did.

"I see you just remembered what you agreed to when you came in panting for relief," I murmured, smiling happily.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said huffily. "I'm quite sure I didn't agree to anything."

"You don't remember?" I asked, sounding surprised. "If my memory serves me correctly, which it generally does, I said certainly you can come in for some coffee, but I reserve the right to take off your clothes afterwards so that I can touch and taste you. I'm quite sure the taste of you will greatly enhance the taste of the coffee. After that we'll see what happens. You said that it would be worth it, a fair deal for a mug of my exquisite coffee."

"You said no such thing," Iris protested, speaking very firmly. "I know I never agreed to any such thing, either. I wouldn't."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

She nodded, daring me to say otherwise.

"OK, if that's what you want. I'll let you take off your own clothes before I start tasting you. I can already see the visuals and I'm agog with anticipation."

"What in the world makes you think I'll take my clothes off?"

"Coercion."

"Really? And how do you propose to coerce me?"

"If you don't succumb to my wicked ways then the next time you're desperate for some coffee I won't have any. Then what will you do?"

She looked at me as if I was crazy.

"You don't really think I'll sleep with you just to be sure of coffee sometime in the future?" She sounded as though she was trying to humour the nut-case.

"Iris, if I had insisted that you be naked before touching my coffee this morning you'd have ripped off all your clothes with a single move."

The outfit she was wearing was a baggy old sweatsuit. I guess she must do some jogging or something to keep fit. I'd certainly never seen her wearing that before. Seeing she was currently standing I rose and moved to stand in front of her.

"You must have been desperate to venture out wearing these," I said. Reaching out I tugged at the trousers, not all that surprised when the baggy things promptly slid down. They'd probably been held up by a simple desire that they stay up, and that little tug was too much.

Now while I wasn't surprised to see them slip down I was surprised to see what was under them. Or wasn't, in this case. She didn't have a stitch on under the tracksuit pants. She blushed, her face going even redder when I thoughtfully looked at her top. I nodded to myself. She had nothing under that top, either, and she knew that I knew it.

"Don't you dare," she said, but was way too late in the saying thereof. I was already lifting up the top. I pulled it up firmly, not too surprised to find her lifting her arms to let me take it. Just like that she was effectively naked, a lovely pair of high firm breasts pointing at me. No sag, gleaming white, with lovely pink tips. Delicious.

"You, you. . ." She was spluttering and giving me a killing look but I was more interested in what she wasn't doing. For a start she wasn't reaching for her tracksuit pants and pulling them back up. Neither was she trying to fight me off, just standing there in easy tempting reach. So I reached.

My hands covered her breasts and they felt every bit as warm and inviting as they looked. I could feel her nipples reacting pressing against my palms, and I circled my hands slowly, feeling the hard little nubs rolling around. What was even better, from my point of view, was that Iris wasn't doing anything to stop me. I'll give her marks for trying to look shocked but I suspected that putting on a display was as far as the shock went.

I moved closer and her hands pressed against my chest but there was no force behind them. Neither was she telling me to stop. That's not to say she wasn't protesting, because she was, but her protests didn't include the word no.

I dropped one hand, sliding it across her mons and between her legs, massaging her more sensitive flesh. Her breathing deepened and her protests had a squeaky note but I could feel her pressing her groin more firmly against my hand, accepting what I was doing.

I kept this up for a short while, rubbing and teasing, my fingers dipping between her lips and out again. She was muttering and moving against me, her body reacting strongly to my touch.

I finally let her go, taking a step back, my own breath somewhat heated. I just watched her as I undid my belt and pushed my trousers down, her eyes getting wider and wider.

"Oh, come on," she protested. "A little touching is one thing, not that you should have been doing that, either, but do you really think I'm going to let you. . .?

"Yes," I said, smiling and moved closer to her.

"Well, all I can say is that you have a hell of a nerve. How dare you think you can just grab me this way? Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, I'm listening," I protested.

Why would she think I wasn't? Just because I'd lifted her and sat her on the table and was standing between her parted thighs it didn't mean I wasn't listening.

I moved closer and my cock was now pressing against her, seeking its entrance. Finding it I started pressing forward.

"You're deliberately ignoring me. I didn't say you could do that. You're supposed to wait until I say you can."

"What on earth for?" I asked, curious. I pressed further in. "I mean, if you didn't want me to proceed you'd have just said stop."

With that comment I gave a harder thrust, sliding fully in. The look on her face was worth keeping. She was going back over all her protests, trying to remember if she'd actually told me to stop or not. Not really having listened to her I couldn't say for sure.

I was now moving, rocking back and forth at a nice soothing pace, enjoying the feel of her around me. She was moving with me I was happy to see.

"I did tell you to stop," she gasped. "I'm sure of it. Didn't I?"

Why was she asking me? As if I was going to admit that she might have. I just sadly shook my head, still keeping up the pace, feeling her heated response.

"A bit late now, isn't it?" I said, and picked up the pace a little, my hands raised and massaging her breasts. She groaned and her legs came up and wrapped around me, holding me tight.

Things were already interesting but now they became even more interesting. Iris seemed to have decided that if she was going to be screwed then she was going to be screwed in a major way. She clung to me. Any reticence that she may have had had gone by the board and she was urging me on, demanding more and more from me. Harder and faster and deeper was what she wanted. Harder and faster I could give her, deeper not so much, unable to grow another inch at whim.

Still, I did my modest best, having a thoroughly enjoyable time doing so. I had her reduced to gasping pleas before I was finished and took great pleasure in answering them.

I have to admit that when she finally climaxed I was all too ready to let loose myself. I finished off in as big a way as I could. (OK. I finished off while holding a desperate desire to survive this encounter.)

Afterwards Iris pulled on her old tracksuit and then gave me a look.

"The things a girl will do for a decent cup of coffee," she said, and them ambled out of the door.

Thank you. A comment like that does such wonders for my ego. It suddenly registered with me that I may have made a bad decision. If she came over for coffee again would she also expect me to perform again? If so, would I meet the standard she expected? A man could get a complex from this sort of thing.