Saturday, April 3, 2010

Coffee Goddess - Madeline Elayne

She was my coffee goddess. We didn't have any sort of a regular “thing,” but any time we wound up at the same club together we'd eventually meet on the dance floor, and inevitably stumble back to her place in a panic of frantic gropes and kisses.

I know—you hear “goddess” and think “yeah, just another guy thinking his girl is the hottest thing ever.” Yeah, she was smokin', but I say it because sex with her was like...a religious ceremony. A coffee religion.

She ran the fuck. First thing, she'd shove me backward on the couch, and the ritual would begin. Her top always came off first, in a slick move any stripper would die to learn. That way, nothing would have to cross her face while she talked. She performed for me—hypnotizing gyrations while she peeled off her clothes one piece at a time, teasing me not only because she got undressed to frustratingly slowly, but because I knew there was no touching during this part of the sacrament. Any move toward her got me a frown and a rough shove back to the couch for my troubles.

This was the part where she danced. Not to music, but to the cadence of her own words. She told me about how she always roasted her own beans from...some special type humans weren't meant to pronounce. She gave me brewing tips while her hands caressed her own luscious curves, that little dip in her hip, her perfectly hand-sized breasts, and nipples the colour of a mocha latte. She'd pinch and roll those nipples I wanted so desperately to suck on until they pointed right at me while she explained what kinds of water were best for percolating the perfect cup.

To be honest, I was always too damn horny at that point to remember anything she said about the coffee. But it turned her on like crazy. The more she talked, the more excited she got, so that when she finally came within touching distance, when her mouth locked with mine for a lingering kiss, when her fingers wrestling with my fly finally freed my cock and she settled herself down on it, finger flying at her clit, we both always got off in record time.

Afterwards, she'd brew us a cup of her specially made coffee, and (this was also part of the ritual) we would drink it in complete silence. It was really fucking good, but what do I know? If coffee was booze, and she was a fine wine connoisseur, I would be the guy on the street corner brewing up hooch from NyQuil and Javex.

This is a problem, see, because last night she said those words I've been dreading since I met her:

“Let's go to your place tomorrow night.”

I have less than 24 hours to learn everything there is to learn about good coffee, or else I think I'm going to lose her. Google, don't fail me now.


Madeline Elayne is a newcomer to the erotica scene, but she's happily jumped in with both feet! You can find her at


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Skywatcher said...

The most unique, and fun, story. You have my vote.

Nghi Vo said...

Sexy and fun!