I was at the local coffee shop, alone but taking up a two-top in the middle of the afternoon. I was using my laptop (and their wi-fi) to write my next Lush Stories erotic tale. The redhead at the table next to mine—thirty-ish, pretty, and shapely in a skirt and blouse—was also using her laptop, likely for work.  

(I’d seen her there before; we had exchanged glances and friendly little smiles in the past, so she kinda knew me.)  

“Excuse me,” she said as she rose from the table, clutching her purse. “Would you mind looking after my stuff while I’m in the restroom?”  

Her accent was light and charming. Scottish, English, Irish? A mix? That kind of brogue just turns me on.  

“Certainly,” I replied.  

She started moving away. Nice ass.  

“Just a moment,” I called out. “What level of force should I use?”

She stopped and turned. 

“I’m sorry?” she asked, puzzled.

“What level of force,” I continued, “do you want me to use to defend your laptop from theft? My services range from a simple throat-clearing directed to the potential thief, or perhaps a passive-aggressive ‘I believe you are mistaken in believing that computer is your own property.' It can also extend to a physical encounter with the threat of bodily harm, and all the way up to, dare I say ...” 

I paused for effect.  

“... lethal force.”  

(I had witnessed similar requests in the past, and felt the time was right to spring this quip I had sketched out in my head for a moment like this.)

She got the joke and emitted the warmest, sunniest smile I had seen in ages. Then she looked me over, seemed to like what she saw, leaned in and asked, “Are you packing, sir?” 

Giving her my best grin, I replied. “Well, as a matter of fact, I am.”

With the tiniest glance down to my crotch, I flirted, “In more ways than one.”  

She licked her lips ever so slightly and whispered, “Well, then, if anyone, and I mean if anyone so much as touches that laptop, you are authorized to fuck the holy crap out of that person. Is that clear?” 

“Absolutely, miss."

She paused a moment to survey, at close range, my face and my intentions. Her fair-skinned cheeks were flushed and her breathing had gotten a little heavier. 

“Smashing," was all she said in that cute little accent.

She turned to walk away again and, without checking to see if I was looking—she knew I was—deliberately reached out to touch, with one elegant finger, the laptop in question as she passed her table.  

As she crossed to the rear of the shop, I took a moment to adjust the front of my pants, which suddenly did not fit the way they had just a minute prior.  

I followed her into the single-user restroom; she had not locked the door behind her. Confident woman.  

Locking it myself, I went in to kiss her. As we locked lips, she unbuckled my belt and reached into my pants.

I thus proceeded to pull her short skirt up around her waist, and yank her panties down to the floor.  

We fucked like strangers.

Which we were. 

Quickly, fiercely, wonderfully.  

(Fortunately, the restroom floor had been recently mopped. That was obvious due to how it felt while we were down on it, and then confirmed by taking note of the time-dated cleaning chart on the wall.) 

We put on our pants, straightened our clothing, and exited.  

I’m not sure we fooled anybody in the coffee shop as we casually strolled back to our respective tables.  

From which our laptops had been stolen.