Watch Me

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You’re sitting in your favorite coffee shop when you look around and your eyes lock with hers. She’s been watching you intently, you can feel her stare seared onto your skin, as if she was calling you with her eyes. As she holds your gaze, you’re not sure what it may mean, but before you can do anything about it, she looks away. You let your eyes linger on her face for a second longer hoping that she’ll change her mind and come to you. She doesn’t, though, so you drop your gaze and go back to what you were doing. You sip your coffee while checking your emails, but somewhere in the back of your mind those eyes are distracting you. Every now and then you look in her direction without being able to help yourself. You want to see her almost as much as you want her to see you. As much as you want her to see you watching her.

Her face is angelic, all of her gestures seem almost choreographed. Her posture is feminine yet strong, she holds her head high with confidence and poise. Even the way she holds the cup of coffee and takes it to her lips makes you tremble. All about her provokes you. She seems like an illusion, but you’re hoping that she’s more than that. You keep throwing glances her way and you get to catch her eye from time to time. Sometimes she glances up from her coffee and discreetly meets your gaze. You’re unsure if what you see dancing in her eyes is the glint of a smile, but you dearly hope that it is.

She’s on her own and you toy with the idea of taking your cup of coffee and moving to that table. But what could you say? You start constructing a script of seduction that can grant you access to her company. Every time you look at each other you can feel the heat building up. Beneath the table you can see that her legs are long and toned, and with that sight your groin awakens with anticipation of what could come next.

As you take your cup to make a move, she is joined by a duo of women that greet her with hugs and kisses. You feel a pang of disappointment washing over you. That’s not a good sign, you think. You feel you’ve lost the opportunity to meet her. She’ll probably leave with them, and while she’s immersed in a conversation she won’t remember to look your way again. You should probably let her go now.

You try to immerse yourself in your own business, but you can’t. Your arousal at her sight has grown to a degree that it’s unsettling. She is right there and you can’t help yourself. No matter how many times you cross and uncross your legs, you can’t avoid the feeling of having had her eyes on you. How you’d like to have them look at you again. Those were eyes that could undress you, eyes that had hands and fingers to fondle you. No matter how many times you take a sip of coffee, or how many times you silently chastise yourself and try to focus on what you are doing, you are unable to alleviate the tension that keeps growing inside of you.

She is so close… You would only have to take a couple of steps to plant yourself in front of her table. And then what? Those damn women. But then, you do have to curse yourself. You should have moved faster. Your hesitation took her away from you. The fact that you can’t touch her, that you can’t even openly look at her when you want to, is slowly driving you insane. You are swimming in a sea of passion and desire, your body becoming more impatient with each passing second. You dare another look, but she’s animatedly chatting with her friends, oblivious to the fact that you’re dying to see her eyes once again. Why doesn’t she look at you?

It’s clear at this point that the insistent feeling growing inside of you isn’t going to go away by itself. You know you have a busy schedule ahead today, and you dread the many hours that will follow with her image haunting you. You’ll have to pretend that you’re not thinking of her, that there’s nothing but work in your mind. But you know your thoughts will be coming back to her legs and to her full lips for the rest of the day. She has taken you already, with a single glance, with a single glimmer of hope.

You want to hold her; you want to kiss her in all those sweet spots that will make her cry bursa escort bayan in ecstasy. If she can have bedroom eyes at this hour of the morning and in the middle of a busy coffee shop, you can’t wait to see the depth of her stare when you’re plunging into her body. You want to explore her, you want to lick her skin; you want to bite her neck when she is about to come. You want to push her to the farthest corners of rapture and then let her fall down an abyss. You want her to sigh and moan into your open mouth. You long to hear her voice screaming your name out loud and claw your back with orgasmic pleasure.

You’re about to groan in frustration when her friend flags down a waiter. The motion makes you look in her direction. Then you see that her eyes are looking for you. You can feel her warm gaze on your cheek, you can see her exploring your body without shame. She becomes bolder by the minute, but you are not sure of where that is leading. You don’t want to overthink it; you don’t want to close any doors when there’s a chance.

Her gaze is steady and unwavering; there’s a taste of scrutiny in it. You can see that her lips are parted ever so slightly, and you can imagine a lipstick mark on her coffee mug. You’d gladly lick the rim of that cup of coffee to taste the cherry flavor of her lips. Then you’d move from the cup to her mouth, nibbling at her lower lip before flicking your tongue across her lips, sucking that lipstick away.

Outside, rain clouds darken the sky and, for the first time, the gloomy weather makes you happy. You have a valid excuse to stay exactly where you are, working from that coffee table instead of leaving and losing that woman forever.

From her corner table, her friends seemed to have noticed the impending rain, but to your dismay, instead of rushing out and running away, they order some cakes to entertain themselves while the sky clears again. She doesn’t seem worried about the rain, and it makes you wonder. Is she a bored housewife meeting for a morning coffee with her housewife friends? Could she be a college student on her way to her afternoon classes?

You examine her smooth, intelligent face, her broad forehead and her strong eyebrows. You can’t guess her age. She’s young but composed, and her clothes are of an exquisite taste yet ageless. She’s composed enough not to be a student, you venture. But someone with that face – with that voice, with those measured gestures – cannot possibly be someone’s housewife. What kind of a person, you wonder, would be able to enchant her so? Who would be able to give her so much in life that she belongs to just one being? You resent whoever it is in your imagination that has managed to captivate – and capture – such an exquisite vixen.

From across the room you watch her as she shifts her body slightly and uncrosses her legs below the table. That simple act of lifting a leg and placing it atop of another perfectly formed, smooth leg, shoots fire through your lower regions. If only she had paused a moment between her uncrossing and crossing of limbs. If only you could have seen her inner thighs for more than half a second, you’d be on your feet and out of your mind. Now, you’re peeking at her from behind your laptop screen, your coffee is cold and completely forgotten on the table. Nothing else can get your attention. You look at her closely, afraid to miss even a move.

She laughs and that sound lights up the room with a soft, amber glow. She leans forward and pats one of her friends on the shoulder, clearly celebrating a joke, and you’re immediately jealous of that touch. You want to be touched by her, slapped by her, pushed around by her, whatever it takes to have her hands on you. Whatever it takes for her to acknowledge that you exist: an interaction that validates your being. If she was to look at you, stretch her hand and touch you, it would all make sense, your life would suddenly acquire a new meaning. You don’t know why, but you desperately want to be near her. You need to feel her close, inhale her scent and sink your teeth into her skin. That, you’re sure, would make you feel more alive than inegöl escort ever.

Her laughter dies down and she returns her hand to her own lap, but it doesn’t stay idle for long. You watch almost hypnotized as she slowly moves her hand up her thigh. You blink, almost certain that your mind is playing tricks on you, that you’re seeing exactly what you want to see. This has to be but a figment of your imagination. As if in a dream sequence, you watch her with such intensity that you almost forget to breathe. You can feel your face flushed, your pulse beating faster, your own hand twitching nervously on your lap. Her hand continues its steady way up her thigh, softly, without a rush in the world.

Your eyes shoot to her face, and then to her friends’ respective faces, half expecting them all to be looking at you and mocking your desire. But they’re all oblivious of the fact that those five foxy little fingers are caressing the thin skin of her inner thigh in plain sight for you to see.

She slides her hand under her skirt, and the motion makes you jerk so violently that your coffee cup wobbles on the saucer, making a loud clinking noise that makes you shrink in your seat. You’re afraid that everyone in the room will realize what you’re doing – what she’s doing for you – and that it’ll be over in an instant. You scan the room and feel relieved that no one seems to have noticed. Not even her. She doesn’t turn towards you, she’s not throwing furtive glances your way anymore. She simply continues her journey to her inner sanctum.

Her face doesn’t give anything away. She’s talking with her friends as if nothing was happening between her legs, but as her hand moves her skirt away, you can see that plenty is happening. Her fingers push their way past the suggestion of lacy underwear that you can see despite the table, the skirt and her hand, and you know that this is a private show that is meant just for you. A second later you can observe a slight movement beneath the skirt, and you are suspecting, no, wanting for her to be doing what you think she is doing: pleasuring herself.

This coffee shop, this afternoon, the rain falling outside that made you both seek refuge in this particular coffee shop on this particular day at this particular time, everything seems to be on your side. You feel invincible. As if the energy of the whole world is building towards this. A beautiful woman is looking at you, flirting with you, wanting you and you are ready to bring a mountain to her feet if she so desires.

She puts her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand lazily. She has fallen silent and is looking at her friends with well-feigned interest, but you can see that her eyes have started to glaze. You’re staring openly at her, not pretending anymore that anything else around you matters at all. Then she swivels her face on her palm and looks at you. Her face is naughty, flirtatious, and you know that she is enjoying this as much as you are.

In front of all these unsuspected guests, in front of her friends who without a clue continue their meaningless chatter, she is giving way to all her desires and is making you a very grateful accomplice of her escapade. The hand that is half-hidden under her skirt is moving in a constant circular motion, and you wish you could simply fall to your knees, push her panties to the side and bury your face between her thighs to find relief.

You are angry at the chairs, the furniture and the people that stand in between the two of you. You are angry and frustrated that you cannot quite crane your neck to have a better view. Maybe if you drop something to the floor you could find an excuse to take a closer look…

While you entertain that idea, she raises her chin and straightens her back as if stretching from tiredness. She casually reaches for the necklace that is adorning her neck. She rolls the small pendant between her fingers in a peculiar yet familiar rhythm. You recognize the pace: it’s a mirroring movement of what is happening below the table. She is showing you. She wants you to know. You’re not to miss bursa merkez escort a single detail and she’s bringing you the stereo vision of her pleasure. You have to bring your hand between your own legs to appease your arousal. You can’t take it anymore.

She knows you are watching her every move. She knows that you are following every little gesture of her body, hoping for a sign, a glance, a moan, something that would allow you to get up and drag her to the nearest stall, the nearest car, somewhere, and fuck the hell out of her.

Her eyes are dazed and yet when she looks at you, there’s unequivocal clarity. As if sensing that you’re reaching your limit, she lets a lascivious smile light up her face. It’s a smile intended for you. She pinches her pendant and you moan, knowing that her clit is receiving those delicious ministrations.

The circles she’s tracing on her necklace become smaller, her movement more frantic and you can see her gaze becoming unsteady. Her lips begin trembling and you cannot believe her friends are unaware of the impending orgasm that is about to overflow inches away from them. ‘God have mercy’, you think as your own hand desperately slides down the table in search of your own relief. Your body is aching to be touched, your own clit so engorged that a brush of your fingers almost brings you over the edge. You’re thankful for the big tables, but right now you could be completely exposed, you don’t care anymore.

You dive straight in, your fingers plunging into your hot mound. You’re so wet that your fingers slip effortlessly into the epicenter of your pleasure. You can feel your moisture spreading to your panties and wetting your hand up to your knuckles. You rub your clit as you finger yourself as discreetly as you can, all things considered. You swallow a groan that gets stuck in your throat, and you shiver biting hard on your lip as the waves of your orgasm threaten to hit you hard. Your are so close already and you feel that just a single look at her is enough to make you come at once, but you manage to control yourself, wanting to experience this with her.

Her pace is much faster now and you try to meet her, building towards a climax that you are sure you will not be able to endure in silence. But you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’re about to come and the torture is delicious. Your lips are parted, you’re panting heavily, and you’re just waiting for her sign to come in exquisite unison.

Her friend reaches for her then, putting an arm on her shoulder as if to check that she’s okay. Your sex goddess blushes and stops all her succulent motions, her hand surfacing from below the table in a smooth move. She crosses her leg and you can hear her clearing her throat as she says: “It’s just been a long day. I’m a bit tired.”

Fucking women, why do you have to spoil everything, you think while eyeing the two companions of hers with pure hatred, wishing that they would drop dead. Your phone rings and it’s your own reality that wants you back this time.

It’s your boss, she wants you back in the office and she wants you there now. You sigh and start packing your things away. She sees you doing that and looks at you, a flash of panic clearly etched in her expression. She doesn’t want this to be over either. You shrug your shoulders and give her an apologetic smile. You continue to put away your computer, your phone, everything in a painfully slow motion, hoping that you are giving her enough time to understand that you don’t mean to leave without seeing this through. You need it. Your body is screaming for solace. You feel your wetness seeping through your underwear and sticking to your thighs. You could pretty much mount the table and come in one move, that’s how hot you are.

She stands up and points to the restrooms at the back of the coffee shop. She excuses herself from her companions and as she walks in that direction, she brushes lightly against your naked arm. That slight touch makes you quiver like a feather, you could pass out right now. She glances at you over her shoulder, her eyes making sure that you’ve got the message. There’s no doubt about it: you’ve got the message loud and clear.

You wait until she disappears around the corner, grab your things and follow her. She is waiting for you there, just at the entrance, ready for whatever you have to give to her. You can’t bear to waste another moment. You enter, pulling her behind you.

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