The Barista - Sex Stories

The Barista

... later, she realised she was speaking with a customer, and I had to suppress a chuckle.

“I am so sorry, Sir. I didn’t realise my badge had fallen off.” Her hand went to her forehead in exasperation.

I don’t know if she was apologising for cursing in front of a customer or panicking, as she would get into trouble for losing her badge.

“My name is Casey; just shout if you want anything. Can I get you anything while I’m here?”

“No, thank you, Casey; I’m good for now,” I said with a huge grin. She turned on her heel, and I watched her disappear behind the counter. Marvelling at the sway of her hips and how tight her leggings were. I noticed that she was either wearing a thong or was otherwise without underwear, as there was no visible line where one would expect panties to reside under tight leggings.

As I busied myself with the development of other characters in my work, I absent-mindedly took nibbles of my wrap and the occasional slurp of my coffee. Casey busied herself back and forth to the café floor, taking food orders to customers waiting or clearing tables and bussing the empties to the washroom for cleaning.

I watched that marvellous ass sway away from me for the umpteenth time when I accidentally inhaled some coffee. I promise it was wholly unconscious, but the effect was immediate, and I dropped a mostly full cup of coffee into my lap. It was relatively warm, though not hot, so I was torn between trying to stand on my good leg, hopping up and down ...

... while frantically patting at my groin, and fighting for breath as I was choking.

The cup merrily sailed on past my balls, having squashed them a little on its way to the floor, and now lay as a small jigsaw of ceramic pottery pieces strewn about in a large puddle of coffee.

Before I knew what was happening, someone was thumping me on the back, and they were doing so hard. The movies would have you believe that someone choking can remedy their situation with a few light taps in the middle of the back by a well-meaning bystander. Unfortunately, this is not the case. You have to hit hard between the shoulder blades to force air from the lungs to dislodge whatever may be occluding the airway.

“Sir, are you OK?” A concerned voice came from behind me as I breathed in a huge lungful of air. I nodded, not trusting my airway to form words without lapsing into a coughing fit. After a few seconds, I could feel my back tense again, so I shakily lowered myself to the now-saturated seat. I gathered myself while Casey hovered by my shoulder until she was sure I was OK again.

“I am now; thank you for your help, Casey,” I nodded to back up my statement, wondering how I would contend with the mess I was in and the drive home.

“Come with me; we’ll get you dried up in the washroom. We’ve got a hot air blower in there, which will make short work of drying your wet clothes.” I sensed from Casey’s tone that it wasn’t a request, so I agreed, as I didn’t fancy squelching my way home and ...