Cumming in the Cafe

A note for readers: this story includes both female and male masturbation in public. Please be aware that there is a non-consensual quality to where sperm lands -- and where it lands is also a particular concern of the piece.

Otherwise, I would of course appreciate any feedback; it's my first published piece. Thanks - GuiltyCowboy.

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The cafe on the corner was always busy on a Saturday morning but that was precisely why Charlotte liked the place. It had life. She also liked it because it was a real cafe, for grown-ups. There was no standing at a counter, there were no screens, there were no paper cups. It attracted the kind of people who read books and newspapers and who could hold a conversation. This was her tribe. It was mid-morning when she walked in and nearly every table was taken. The light at that time of day came in from a large window on the left and, as improbable as it was to Charlotte, it always lent the cafe the feel of a miniature cathedral, especially with its high ceilings.

As soon as she was through the door, Charlotte heard a low, guttural groan and turned her head towards the noise: it had come from a middle-aged man in a navy peacoat, collar upturned, a smart charcoal scarf knotted loosely around his neck. His hair was still dark, a little grey at the temples; he didn't need to keep it as short as other men his age. His shoulders were hunched unusually, and he was shuddering slightly as he stood over the small table he shared with a female companion. This woman was a similar age and quietly glamorous - a brunette with her hair up in a loose, weekend-morning bun, confident in minimal make-up, a copy of the FT's Life and Arts section folded on her knee. She was looking up at the man, her eyebrows ever so slightly raised at him as he stood before her. From Charlotte's position in the doorway, she could clearly see the man's cock jutting out from his pants, reaching out and up into the room, as if straining towards his female companion.

And then she saw it: a stream of sperm threw itself up and out into the room. And for a brief moment it hung there in the space above the couple's table in a perfect arc - a white ribbon caught in the sunlight. For Charlotte, the image was enough to still the sound of the hissing espresso machine and the clatter of coffee cups. It seemed somehow to still be climbing into the air even as it started to fall. And as his cum fell, it flopped onto his companion's hair, a little on the floor behind her. The woman didn't move.

The man had stopped shuddering and now his head was thrown back, his mouth agape, his eyes closed. Charlotte just stood in the doorway, looking.

His cock immediately launched its second spurt and this one was more forceful, clearing his companion completely and arcing out into the room in a proud, majestic loop. She saw clearly that this spurt would land on the table behind, where a younger woman sat with her notebook, eyes down, a fountain pen held to her chin.

The first thing you noticed about this younger woman was her hair; it was just so blonde. You couldn't not notice that before anything else. Hers was an almost platonic blondness: not platinum or dirty - it was pure light, pure youth. She kept it just short of her shoulders, enough to play with and to put up with a clip if she wanted. She can't have been more than twenty years old, a bright slip of a girl. If a sunbeam was a young woman, thought Charlotte, then this was her. It was easy to imagine her playing tennis or sitting in a sauna with a towel around her waist. The second thing Charlotte noticed was the way the sun highlighted her form. It shone at just the right angle to emphasize how her sweater draped over her chest, clinging to the two high swells, the shallow dip between them, and then hanging off them. It was an amazing trick really: just the right light at just the right angle with just the right weight of fabric and you could see the gorgeous young breasts of a gorgeous young woman as she sat working in a cafe. That girl doesn't need to wear a bra, thought Charlotte.

The largest drop of cum fell on the lip of the girl's cup, half of it sliding down into the saucer, the rest down the inside and into the foam of her coffee. The other droplets made a soft splattering sound as they hit the pages of her notebook. At this, the young woman looked up quickly, alert, smiling in surprise, but she didn't have time to react as the third shot of sperm - both the heaviest and the furthest the man's cock would launch - landed on her face, a rude splash over her nose denying the symmetry of her features.

She flinched - how could she not? - and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. A pearly globule of the man's cum sat delicately on her lower lip. Another, thicker and more copious, dangled from her cheek - stretching itself down onto the table, pooling on her notes. She was almost certainly a student, thought Charlotte, and this would very likely be the first time she'd had a stranger's sperm on her face.

The student looked across to the man in astonishment as the remaining spurts of cum decreased in distance one by one, each reaching into the air as insistently as they could before landing on the brunette, one adding to the sperm in her hair, another draping itself across her forehead, and another leaving a mess on her shoulder and down her lapel. The final two spurts had no more velocity than to simply coat the head of his penis, before they ran down onto the hand with which he gripped himself.

He shuddered once more, rocking back and forth on the spot for a moment, before he almost fell forward and had to place a palm on the table. The tassels of his scarf dipped into his coffee and across his half-eaten pastry and mussed the spots of sperm that dotted the table. The woman placed the paper back on the table. When he unbent himself at last, crumbs and cum clung to the scarf.

The waiter came over to the student's table. He must have been a friend of hers, a fellow student. She was wiping up the cum as best she could with the napkin and she colored a little as they chatted, distracted that there was too much for a single napkin to handle.

Charlotte thought they'd make a sweet couple. Instinctively, she pictured the girl with her lips around the waiter's cock, struggling to keep him contained as he bucked and emptied his balls into her mouth. She imagined the muffled sounds the girl might have made in that moment. Charlotte wondered why these images of hers were always moments of crisis, of being overwhelmed; they always had the quality of a roar.

Then she saw the girl bent over the table as the waiter thrust into her from behind. The girl was in a trance, eyes glazed in a kind of stunned and private pleasure, hair falling over her flushed face as she was shoved forward repeatedly by his intense rutting. Perhaps it was the blondness of the girl's hair but this second image took place in the summer. The girl wore a loose cotton dress, loose enough that it gaped as she leant forward over the table and Charlotte could see her cute breasts with their pink nipples being jolted back and forth.

And then Charlotte was suddenly back in the cafe, the girl sipping her coffee, and the same waiter gesturing Charlotte towards a free table in the corner.

Charlotte had to squeeze by the table where the man had just ejaculated and as she passed she noticed the faintest crows-feet around the eyes of the brunette. A lifetime of smiling, she thought. The woman looked up at her as she passed and that was when Charlotte recognized the same trance-like quality in her eyes. She hadn't noticed it before but the woman had a hand down the front of her suede skirt. Charlotte could see it rubbing furiously, then pause, then rub furiously once more.

The woman might have been sitting there in the middle of a crowded cafe but she was also being led, by her own hand, to a place where her most profoundly private act would be exposed in the most compromising public manner - exactly how she masturbated, how she looked as she was doing it, what she needed. It was a place where she would have no control whatsoever over what her body did and who might be watching.

And now her expression took on the slightly haunted look of someone who knows they cannot be helped. She didn't break eye contact with Charlotte even as her neck muscles started to tighten. And Charlotte realized in that moment that she was an accomplice in this woman's public exposure, that she was what the woman needed - a person who would look at her as she took herself over the edge.

The droplets of cum in the woman's hair shivered as she tried to control her shudders. Her jaw trembled and her face began to blush, her olive complexion growing suddenly warmer. She cried out, abruptly, a yelp more girlish than Charlotte would have expected, and then she was wracked with convulsions. Charlotte could see her left foot shaking under the table. Even the orgasms of a stylish woman are stylish, thought Charlotte, what a woman she must be.

When Charlotte settled into her corner table, the sunlight was reflecting brilliantly off the floor; a spot glistened where her footstep had smudged the man's cum.

Charlotte was relieved to get a table. And she was relieved to have a few moments to herself. She'd met Arthur a few times before, most notably at a conference in Bologna, when they'd both presented papers at a symposium on Italian Neo-realism, and then again a year later at the Danish Film Institute's season of Carl Dreyer films. She wouldn't say she knew him exactly but they'd been friendly enough and, over the years, they would surely have been in the same room at many other functions. He was in the city for a couple of days and had reached out to see if she might have the time for a quick coffee. He'd mentioned he'd read her last article in Cahiers, the one on Pasolini.

She'd dressed well, she thought. It wasn't difficult for her to appear competent, accomplished, a woman in her late thirties who understood herself and her place in the world. She liked to dress well for herself. A collared shirt from Charvet, white of course, and a tweed jacket nicely fitted at the waist - a subtly formal cut offset by its informal texture.

'Who's the girl?' she asked the waiter when he was taking her order.

She nodded her head in the direction of the student when the waiter played dumb.

'The blonde? That's Daisy. She's in my sociology class.'

Of course she was called Daisy. 'Nice looking girl,' Charlotte suggested.

'Yeah, she's sweet.'

'Do you want to fuck her?'

She didn't actually say that last question out loud though. What she said instead was, yes, regular milk would be fine for the cappuccino. Of course the boy wanted to fuck a girl like that, Charlotte thought. The question didn't need to be asked.

Arthur was standing in the entrance to the cafe when the waiter left her. He was looking around, hadn't spotted her yet. Charlotte saw him look over at Daisy more than once. He was more youthful than she had remembered, or maybe he just had a sharper haircut. And she was amused that he too had chosen a jacket in a soft texture but with a strong, formal shoulder. It was a good look for him. Not that a girl of Daisy's age would appreciate the subtlety, even if she would surely desire the broadness of his shoulders on a purely instinctual level. The question quickly turned itself on Charlotte: did she also desire the broadness of his shoulders? There was no time for her to answer herself before he came over and they were into the hellos and he was making himself comfortable across the table from her.

He immediately brought up the Pasolini article and seemed entirely genuine in his praise; he made a joke about one of their peers; ordered a macchiato; asked if she'd seen the Rosi retrospective; made gentle inquiries about where she lived, how she liked the neighborhood. He was polite, a natural conversationalist. He was worth a quick coffee on a Saturday morning. All through their conversation, Arthur looked her in the eye and listened attentively to what she said and rubbed matter-of-factly at his crotch.

He had managed to nurse his cock to full stiffness. Charlotte could easily see the outline of his penis as it bent over his right thigh. He must be left-handed, she thought. As the waiter placed her cappuccino on the table, Arthur took up the subject of the latest reviews from the Berlin film festival and pulled down the zipper of his fly.

He reached into his pants with his left hand and, from the way it sprang free, Charlotte thought it really was as stiff as a penis could be. It pointed straight up. It was in fact a glorious thing. It was glorious to see a thing be exactly what it is supposed to be: a man's cock is supposed to be as stiff as that, thought Charlotte, it is supposed to be taut and proud, it is supposed to be an incongruous sight as it stands up out of a man's pants, and to have clear pre-cum ooze out onto a livid purple glans - as was happening to Arthur now - which then runs down in a rivulet to get caught in the hair on his balls. That was the sight that Arthur presented to her in the cafe now.

Charlotte was taken aback at how he pumped his cock so vigorously so quickly; his right hand was immediately a blur. There was no gentle coaxing, no teasing, he just got straight to it in the most unaffected way: Arthur had a stiff penis and Arthur wanted to masturbate while he sat there chatting to her in the cafe. And so that is what he was doing. Charlotte asked him if he wanted any sugar with her coffee.

'Nah, I'm good thanks,' said Arthur, switching hands. 'So, Charlotte, this is a bit embarrassing but I wanted to tell you something. I know we don't know each other so well but I've had a fantasy about you for years now. Ever since I sat behind you one day that summer we were in Bologna, during Sherry's lecture on the Trilogy of Life - you remember the one? - and I had the most perfect view of your left breast. I was just across the aisle from you and two rows back, so I had a kind of quarter view of you from behind. You were wearing a t-shirt, a white one, which was pretty tight actually, and your bra was lifting up your left boob in just the most insanely perfect curve. You know when -'

'I wasn't wearing a bra that day,' she interrupted. 'I remember that day. It was too hot to wear a bra.'

He switched hands again, then undid the button of his pants to give himself the ability to finger his ball sack.

'Wait, what - you weren't wearing a bra? You cannot be serious! That's insane. I was going to say you were leaning forward, writing your notes, and the shape of your breast was like magic. Like, literal magic. It clearly had this natural heft but it also seemed to defy gravity as it curved away from your chest and then up.' To Charlotte's amusement, he traced the curve with his spare hand. 'It just floated there. Heavy but floating, perfect shape, curving up. I just couldn't believe I was looking at something so perfect.'

Charlotte didn't know what to say. Should she just make light of this and accept the compliment? The fact that she had good breasts was not news to her. If she cared to notice, she was reminded repeatedly of that fact throughout the day. The waiter had checked out her chest just 5 minutes ago. The glamorous woman with cum on her hair had looked at her chest as she passed by her table. But Arthur's enthusiasm was sweet.

'Yeah, they are magnificent, I have to say,' Charlotte said.

He shook his head. 'I knew it. I knew it'

'Always have been. Lucky genes. And they do seem to kind of float, don't they - though they don't feel like that for me. And of course I've never seen them from your preferred angle. But the real luck is that I have slender upper arms. That's the kicker. Tits, slim waist, slender arms.' She pointed to each as she listed them. 'That's why you're jerking off in front of me now. Anything else you want to know?'

'Yes, actually: how would you feel if I shoot my cum all over you?'

'You want to ejaculate on me? Is that what you're asking?'

She was teasing him. There wasn't much ambiguity about it when a man asked if he could spray his cum over you.

'Yes,' he replied earnestly and he beat his cock a little harder.

'When was the last time you came?' she asked.

'Two days ago. Before breakfast.'

'Were you thinking about my tits?'

'Yes.'

'I like the honesty. Did you imagine cumming on them?'

'I imagined cumming on your face. You asked me to cum all over your face.'

'Did I? That was good of me. What's it like when you cum?'

'What do you mean?'

'Does it shoot into the air? Does it dribble out? Does it gush? What's the pattern?'

'It shoots into the air. Can I cum on you? My cock feels so good.'

'I bet it does. How do your balls feel right now?'

'Heavy. They kind of ache. It feels good when I play with them.'

'Are they heavy with cum? Is that why they're heavy, Arthur?'

She swallowed the final sip of her cappuccino.

'Yeah. I've been saving up my cum. For two days. I want it to be a good load for you.'

Charlotte couldn't help but be amused that his earlier verbosity had been reduced to short, simple sentences. And he had stopped rubbing his cock so manically. He was now teasing it, letting go of it, pushing it forward towards her and letting it spring back up, using just a couple of fingers to stroke it but only briefly before pausing again. He was reaching under his balls more often now too, tapping them from below, then gently massaging the whole sack. Perhaps now was the moment to ask him about his research on Fassbinder's early films?

There was no doubt that he was indeed close to releasing all that cum that he had been saving up for her. Though two days didn't seem the greatest sacrifice to her. Nonetheless, he was trying to delay himself - and, because he was such a polite man, he was waiting for her permission. Charlotte still didn't know what she would say though. It was a truly handsome cock. She marveled at how much pre-cum had flowed from its tip. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen so much in fact. That was kind of interesting. Maybe the most interesting thing about him.

He was exhaling deeply now each time he released his cock from his grip, but she trusted him to control himself. In fact, Charlotte was sure she would already be watching him clean up his mess if he wasn't the master of his own cock.

'Can I cum?' he said.

He pointed his penis forward again, before letting it snap back into a strong vertical position. He groaned more deeply this time, not unlike the man in the navy peacoat when she had first walked in. But that man had had a serious quality about him, and a sense of physical prowess that spoke to Charlotte. He wasn't tall or muscular but his proportions fit together pleasingly and she liked the thickness of his neck. And the girth of his cock. He had a natural elegance. Perhaps he seemed more attractive too because he was with a beautiful, stylish woman who was confident enough to masturbate in public - and bring herself to orgasm in a crowded cafe with her man's sperm on her forehead.

The sunlight was still streaming in and the room was the fullest it had been since she'd been there. Did she want him to ejaculate on her? It was a thought.

'My god my cock feels so good,' he said again.

'Would you like to cum in my mouth?' she heard herself say.

'Yes'

'Would you like that?'

'Yes'

'Or would you like me to ask you to cum all over my face?'

'Yes,' he said again.

She lowered her head and looked up at him.

'Would it feel good if I sucked on the head of your cock right now?'

'Please.'

'...put it in my mouth. Would that be good? And what if I held your balls for you while you unloaded all that warm sperm into my mouth?'