He enters the coffee shop at two minutes until two. He enters this same shop at the same time every Thursday afternoon. Sometimes if he’s early he’ll walk around the block, or sit at the bus stop bench and read, until it is time.

He is never late. Those are the rules.

The coffee shop is crowded, as is the street outside, midtown Manhattan in the afternoon on display through floor to ceiling windows. The room is large and old, brick walls, patterned tin ceiling rusting in several spots. The tables are covered in faded and mismatched plastic tablecloths. People are sitting in groups of two and three, talking, or by themselves, occupied by books and newspapers and cellphones and tablets and laptops. He takes a seat at a corner table so he can have full view of the room. He opens his laptop, fires it up, opens a window on it. He is rewarded with an almost inaudible chirp of a cricket, indicating he has a message.

I’m here. Do you see me?

No.

Over by the window. At a table under that big ridiculous painting.

Of the Minotaur? I hate that painting.

I know. I know your tastes. : )

Mmm. Yes. Now I can see you. What are you wearing?

You can see what I’m wearing, dear.

Yes. But I like it when you tell me.

: ) My hair is down. Those little ringlets you love falling on either side of my face. Just a hint of make-up, not too much. Pearl necklace.

Thank you for that.

The pearls? You’re welcome : ).

The pearls, yes. And everything else. Keep going.

White blouse. Tiny black lace bra underneath, which you can see through the white if you are really looking.

I’m really looking. ; )

You’d better be. One button too many unbuttoned. To tempt men into trying to catch a glimpse down my blouse.

All men? Or just me?

It depends on what you want, Sir.

I’ll let you know, my pet.

I know you will.

Give me more.

Short tight pencil skirt. Bright red. Blood red. That temping slit you love so much right down the middle of the skirt. So if I cross my legs you can see the tops of my stockings.

Tell me about those.

The stockings?

Yes, pet.

Thigh high. Black. A seam running straight up the backs of my legs.

I love that seam.

It took me forever to get them lined up exactly.

Just for me?

Yes, dear.

What else are you wearing?

High heels. The fuck-me-now black ones. The ones you love.

And what else?

Nothing.

Nothing else? No panties?

I thought it would please you, Sir.

Mmm. It does, pet. That is so hot. You make my cock hard.

Your cock is hard? Hiding under the tablecloth as you’re sitting there?

Yes.

That makes me purr, dear. I love it when you make me purr. Look closely, my nipples are hard, so hard you can see them through my bra.

Tilt the laptop screen up to them.

She pushes the laptop screen back so the camera is pointing at her nipples. She pushes her chest out, presenting them. It occurs to him that her nipples are now noticeably visible to the others in the coffee shop. He does not look to see if anyone is watching.

That is so sexy. God, I love your tits.

I know you do. I love showing them to you.

I love seeing them. Touch them.

But we are in a public place, dear. : )

You know how to do it. You know how it’s done. You know how I like it.

She idly touches her stomach, pretending she is reading something on the screen, then nonchalantly brushes her fingers across one nipple, then across her chest to the other, not trying to draw attention to herself. She does not look to see if anyone is watching.

She hopes someone is watching, of this he is sure. He shares this same hope with her.

Very quickly, as her finger brushes back across her nipple before returning to the surface of the table, she gives her nipple a sharp pinch. She shudders.

You are so dirty. You look so hot right now, pet. Nipples hard, face flushed, your blouse open a button too far, the skin above your tits reddening.

I have a surprise for you, dear.

Yes?

A wet surprise.

Yes?

A big sloppy wet surprise.

Show me.

She drops her hand and into her lap, so that it is in out of view of his eyes. She is wearing a cat and canary smile she seems unable and unwilling to conceal. Her smile broadens, her eyes widen as her hand returns to the surface of the table. She is holding something.

OMG! What is that?

It’s a Tootsie Roll Pop. I put it in my pussy this morning. It’s been marinating there all day. And I’ve been so wet for you, my dear. So wet. As wet as I am for you now.

You are so filthy, pet.

I spent a long time sliding it into my pussy. Did you know that? No, you couldn’t have known. I teased my pussy lips with it, up and down my wet slit, getting it slick and slippery, sliding it between my pussy lips. I took a long time, until I couldn’t wait any longer, until I was trembling. Purring. I rubbed my clit with it and took myself right to the edge, then stopped. Waiting on you dear. I won’t cum without you watching. I save it for you, Sir.

You are such a good pet.

Then I teased my pussy with it, the bulb of it lingering between my pussy lips, wanting to push it inside me all at once, but knowing how you love to tease. When I finally pushed it in I did so exquisitely slowly. I stopped right at the entrance to my pussy, the bulb of the candy halfway in, imagining it was the head of your cock. Then I continued to slide it in, so slow, dear, I know how you love it slow. I slid it half an inch inside me, then all the way out, then an inch or so inside me, then out, in and out, teasing again, taking myself again to the edge. Then stopped.

Because you won’t cum unless I am watching. Is that right, pet?

Yes, Sir. I purred and purred, but I did not cum. I left a bit of the stick of the sucker peeking out between the wet lips of my pussy. It’s kind of hot. : )

I wish I could see that.

You can ; ).

She conducts a quick browse, presses a couple of keys, and clicks Send. A few seconds later he sees an image appear on his screen.

Oh my pet, thank you for taking that picture. You love to be slutty for me, don’t you? You are so hot. You are such a dirty pet.

For you, dear. Dirty for you.

I know. I love that.

Yes.

What are you going to do with it now?

What do you want me to do with it?

Suck it, pet. Start by licking it. Do as you’re told.

She does as she’s told.

Mmm. Tilt the screen up so I can see your lips. Zoom in. Oh, I love the way you lick it. I love the way you circle your tongue around it. You are so good to me, baby.

Now watch this.

She takes the head of the candy between her lips and allows her lips to curl just past the edges, then she stops, pulls her lips back. She repeats this movement several times, only allowing the top half of the sucker to enter her mouth. She pulls it all the way out of her mouth. She takes the tip of her tongue and touches the center of the pop, tickling it. She moves her tongue so that is slides underneath the bulb of candy. She glides her tongue back and forth along the underside. Then, in one deft move, she takes the whole thing and pushes it deep in her throat, as far as she can. She gags, but does not remove the bulb from her throat. She throws him a sizzling stare as she chokes on it, then pulls it slowly all the way out of her mouth. A slick strand of saliva drips out of her mouth, following the candy, so a soft curving filament flows between her lips and the pop. She licks it off her lips at a tantalizingly deliberate pace, closing her eyes.

Oh God, that is so hot.

I wish it was your cock.

I wish it was my cock too.

Did anyone see?

I don’t care, baby.

I don’t care either, dear.

She slides the candy back into her mouth.

Now watch this.

She does not break her eye contact with him; it effortlessly bridges the full distance of the room. The look in her eye reshapes itself. A wicked smile crosses her lovely face. She bites down on the sucker, hard. You can hear the crack from across the room.

Ouch! Holy fuck! Shit! You bit it! You broke it!

I wanted to get to the chewy chocolate center. : )

She laughs out loud and smiles broadly. He stares across the gulf of the room in mock horror.

I just totally lost my erection.

That seems unlikely, dear. : )

Yes it does. My pet, I am going to tell you what to do next.

Oh, yes, Sir. Tell me what I need to do to please you.

I need you to slide your hand down to your legs. Slowly. Very slowly. Let it slide across the table. Now let it drop onto your lap.

But then you can’t see.

No. I can’t. You’ll have to describe it to me.

Mmm.

Her hand disappears below the surface of the table again.

Now I’m moving my hand down my leg to the edge of my skirt. I'm sliding my finger from my knee to the hem of my skirt. I'm playing with the edge of it. Brushing my fingers against my stockings. Do you like that, dear?

I love that, pet. Keep going.

Are you hard dear?

Yes.

Your cock is hard?

Yes.

For me, dear? Are you hard for me?

Oh my pet, I am throbbing. I throb for you.

I wish I were under the table sucking your cock.

God I am so hard for you.

Touch your cock for me.

Only if you keep your hand moving up your skirt.

I am moving under the hem of my skirt. I am playing with the edge of my stockings dear. And the skin above them. Tracing the boundary with my index finger.

I am rubbing my cock through my pants, pet. It is jerking and quivering.

That makes me wet.

Snap the elastic of your stockings against your skin.

He sees her flinch. Her face is red, her mouth in a pout, slightly open, tongue just barely visible. Her nipples are hard pebbles under her bra and barely buttoned blouse. Her eyes are glazed. She would be a wet dream of a fantasy to any stranger who might be looking at her. He scans the room, sees a young man, much younger than the two of them, transfixed by her. He wonders how long this man has been watching her. It occurs to him to tell her she is being watched, by someone besides him. He does not.

Further, pet.

I am tracing my finger along the bare skin above my stockings. I am taking an indirect route, curving and circling, teasing. I know how you love to tease. My pussy is freshly shaved, and wet, and tingling.

Your pussy lips are opening, aren’t they?

Yes. Like a flower. For you dear. It may be my finger, but you are the one making me wet. You are the one who makes my pussy quiver. I’m purring, dear.

Such a lovely girl. Such a sweet pet.

Thank you, Sir.

Further, pet.

My finger is settling on the edge of my lips. Mmm. I am tracing my wet slit. Up, then down. Then up. Then down. My finger is so wet.

Lick it. Taste it.

She does as she is told. She brings her finger to her lips, presses it against them, as if whispering, “Shhh.” She traces her lips with her finger the way she traced the lips of her pussy, gliding along the skin, brushing it, barely touching it. She slides it into her mouth, sucking at it. Her eyes narrow as she watches him watch her. She slides it back out, then touches the tip of her finger with the tip of her tongue. She lowers her hand once again below the surface of the table. He watches her, picturing the slow luscious path it is taking. He types no commands, he is content to watch her.

She pins him to his chair with a look of pure lust, then she closes her eyes and shudders. He envisions her finger sliding into the moist wonder of her pussy. Working it in with deliberate slowness, inch by intoxicating inch. Deeper. Deeper.

She types with one hand.

You’re hard, aren’t you? Hard and touching your cock. Stroking it. Stroking it for your pet.

Yes.

May I cum for you, Sir?

Yes, pet.

Are you going to cum for me, Sir?

No. You know the rules.

She is by now slumping into her chair. One leg is now stretching out beneath the tablecloth so he can tell her legs are spread. She closes her eyes. She opens her mouth. She licks her lip and bites it. Her breath is ragged, her chest is noticeably heaving.

He notices movement in the periphery of his vision, and sees the young man who was watching her push back his chair and stand, his eyes locked toward her. His pulse begins to race. As the man begins to walk toward her, he begins to type.

Pet. I believe you about to have some company.

A small electronic blip from her laptop rouses her eyes open. She reads the message. Her muscles go rigid.

OMG! He’s coming over!

Can you blame him? A beautiful woman, sexy clothes, hard nipples, flushed face. You look so hot. You look so slutty. A whore with a sweet, wholesome, girl-next-door face. You are perfect. You are a fantasy woman, given life.

What should I do?

Keep doing what you have been doing, pet. Don’t stop. Let’s play with him.

The young man approaches the table. She relaxes, slumps into her chair, and as she shudders he can visualize her finger gliding back into her pussy. Perhaps two. He stands over her, asking if he can sit with her. She says yes. He sits.

Can he see your screen?

She excuses herself from her tablemate.

No.

Is your finger still in your pussy?

Not finger. Fingers.

As in more than one?

As in two. Deep inside me. I’m spreading them as I push them in. Imagining it is your cock.

It was his turn for his face to flush. His turn to type with one hand. His muscles begin to tense.

Tell him what you are doing. Don’t tell him about me. Don’t tell him anyone is watching. Just tell him you are fingering your pussy under the table. Just ask him if he’d care to help.

She leans over, seductively close to his ear, so close she could touch it with her lips. She whispers to him. His eyes widen, and even from across the room he can be seen growing noticeably hard. She licks the inside of his ear and relaxes into her chair. He turns to look at her. She smiles and closes his eyes. He scoots closer to her. His hand disappears under the table.

She gasps suddenly, holds her breath for an endless moment. Her lips tremble as she struggles to control herself. She throws back her head slightly, exposing a delicious curve of creamy white neck. As he watches her from across the room he envisions the young man’s hand rubbing her clit, while she continues to finger fuck her pussy. Anyone taking more than a passing look at her would know how highly aroused she is. She has told him more than once how much it turns her on to know people are watching her. The scandalized stares, the hard cocks, the wet pussies, the thickening nipples. She tells him she imagines men at home, and women, fucking their wives or husbands, their girlfriends or girlfriends, while thinking of her. Their arousal arouses her, her arousal arouses him, his arousal in turn arousing her, in turn arousing whoever may be watching, on and on, an endless and ever widening loop, a spiral of desire.

It is why she lets him watch her, every Thursday, at two minutes before two.

Her chest begins to heave. The muscles of her neck tighten. She bites her lower lip hard. And suddenly her head lolls forward, her eyes tighten shut, her mouth forming a perfect O with her wet trembling lips, and for a single perfect instant she does not move, she is frozen; he feels as if he is inside her very body, at the nexus of every fuming nerve as wave after wave of an orgasm rolls through her body like the surf on the shore of a shining beach.

Her breathing slows. She opens her eyes. She turns to the young man next to her and he can clearly make out the words on her lips: “Thank you, that was lovely, you may go now.” He follows her instruction like an overeager puppy and bounds quickly away.

Well, that was new.

You did very well, pet.

Thank you, Sir.

She finds his gaze from across the room, meets it and rewards him with a smile as warm as skin, as cryptic as moonlight. He feels as if can see her thoughts, her memories, her desires, hidden within the folds of her mind. It is as if the whole room, the whole world has fallen away. Just his eyes, just her eyes. Just the two of them, the bond of their gaze holding them together.

Finally, she looks down to his keyboard, places his fingers on the keys.

It is time.

I know. I don’t want to go.

It’s the rules. It’s time to go home.

Yes.

Will you be thinking of me when you fuck her?

Yes. You know I will.

Yes.

The resultant pause fills with something neither of them can quite name, a little like joy, a little like remorse, a little like the half remembered bits of a dream fading the instant you awake.

Will I ever talk to you?

You know the rules.

Will I ever touch you?

The rules, dear. We made them for a reason. You made them for a reason. They are your rules.

I know. Sometimes I tire of rules.

I know.

Will you at least give me your name?

You have asked me that question a hundred times. : )

What can I say? I am a man of habit.

You are a man of wonderfully dirty habits.

They look away from their screens one last time, the same way they did last week, the way they will next week. His hands move toward the keyboard.

Your name, dear? I asked you your name.

Today my name is Caprice.

She walks out blinking into the harsh light of the world outside the walls of the room, enters the crowds on their way to jobs or stores or home or school. She blends in with them instantly, vanishing as if she is part of a magic trick, a rabbit in a hat, a girl sawn in half.

He turns off his laptop, stares at the unlit screen, and his reflection on the glass.  Behind his reflection sit the people in the coffee shop, and beyond them, framed in the window, the mirrored crowd who has just swallowed her up.

No one watches him now except himself. She is gone. He folds his screen down, tucks the laptop under his arm and stands. He passes through the doorway onto the street, absorbed effortlessly by the same crowd that has absorbed her moments ago, and heads toward home.