The Barista - Sex Stories

The Barista

... 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 ...