coffee or me

to Marie Kondo a student's brain

+18, no minors allowed or depicted, all age restrictions apply.

###

The library was cold. Much too cold for its purpose of allowing the written word to actually absorb across some thick skulls and thicker hairdos. Almost everyone was wearing double, and in some cases triple, layers inside the building, coats and thick jumpers, the least being college jerseys over unders, just to be able to survive the temperature. Thank God, because outside the building the summer heat was beginning to take its toll on the trees and flowers in the pavement leading to the library door. The sliding door and the windows all facing the outwards were dripping in the condensation, the cold battling the heat outside, like the whole library was a living organism, breathing in the sultry heady outside air and breathing out filtered refrigeration.

I was trying to get the intricacies of the Krebs cycle into my own thick skull, one of the hardest things in this year’s biochemistry syllabus set. The names of each enzyme and the reactions almost frustrated me to distraction, playing the pen with my upper lip, which was my preferred maneuver to try to get the gears of my brain to again start churning the juice. I had an exam on this the next week, and I had to memorize each and every detail of the mitochondrial enzymes in the cycle if I wanted to survive my premed course. I decided to take a breather and walk around inside the library, get the blood running in my legs, with hope it would probably help alleviate that irritating headache that was starting to throb at the back of my head whenever I tried to study something especially difficult.

There was a small coffee shop in the lobby of the library, so I made my way over there, leaving my books and stationaries as place-markers that the desk was currently occupied. The coffee shop cum kiosk was not a premium barista affair, not at all, though there was a shopkeeper. The coffee was in fact made by a machine, with just enough choices and additions to justify a slightly sub-premium pricing. The shopkeeper kept an eye on the machine and helped out if there was any cup that got stuck, any spills, and to top up the stock at the end of the business day.

I knew this because the shopkeeper was a favorite guy of mine. His name was Stan, a local. Stan was tall, ruddy, with a lean musculature that did not praise itself too much in the shirts and layers that he wore to survive the ever-winter of the library complex. He had a nice smile, with natural slightly crooked teeth that looked charming on his thin face, which was framed by an intentionally messy hair and his perennial backwards cap, which he kept even inside the library.

He looked up from the counter and saw me trotting towards his kiosk and smiled that wide charming smile. “Hey, my favorite customer,” with an exaggerated bow, making me flush with sudden shyness. “What’s the order today, or are you going for… the special?” His eyebrow wag as he mentioned those words made my ass clench with want.

I reached for his clenched hand, which was resting on the perch of the machine. “The special, please,” I whispered, eyes looking anywhere but Stan’s face. I felt his hand clutch back at mine, and heard his low chuckle.

“That bad, huh. Okay.” He looked around, making sure no eyes were actually on us, and pulled me back behind the counter where there was a door to a small closet space for the stocks of his coffee machine. There was a small couch where he sometimes took his rest period, play his phone games, anything to while away the time when the machine would take the orders on its own.

See, Stan was my favorite for a few reasons. The first was his height, that always made me feel like a petit guy, although at just shy off six feet I was not short at all. The second was (blush) his charming crooked smile, that always made me smile back, as if his smile was a beacon light that demanded to be answered back in kind, no matter how stressed I was, how much assignments I was buried under, how much percentage of the syllabus set that I still had to read and get inside my head before tomorrow came.

Third, his cum always made my head clear off any fuzziness from my study load.

“Sit,” he directed as he pushed down his pants, showing off a cock that despite still covered by his sensible cotton shorts was always already hard and raring to go. I sat on the couch, opening and unclenching my jaw muscles in preparation to receive his cock. One second, and … ah, his cock made its way home, at last. “Shit, your mouth’s always so warm and silky,” Stan murmured lovingly, his hands grasping now and then a fistful worth of my hair.

We spent almost fifteen minutes like that, him standing tall before me, rubbing the stress and tightness out of my head and neck, as I serviced his rampant tower of pleasure, seven inches of boyfriend-sized cock, without forgetting to make love also to his smooth balls, smooth as he kept them that way for my sake. It really was a good way to Marie Kondo my overwhelmed brain, cluttered from too much school work, and kept (or rather receive) the thing that would spark joy inside me, which was Stan’s eventual semen.

“God, why can’t my girl suck my cock like the way you do?” Stan whispered as his eyes watched me work his cock like a demure courtesan. “She always said she has headache or something, while you here – fuck – you look so happy just having my meat in your mouth.”

I took that moment to pause my suck and kissed his thigh. “It’s because you give me something too.” I kissed his tummy, the part that was just above the rise of his pubic hair. “You make my headache go away.”

“Fuck headaches, right.”

“Yeah.” I opened my mouth and made myself gag a few times with his cock. His size wasn’t the biggest, but it was the polite thing to do.

“Fuck, fuck baby, love it when you do that gagging business, fuck I’m close, can I come in your mouth baby? Can I come in your mouth now?”

I latched onto his corona and sucked hard. He was thrilled by that maneuver, judging from the way his hands and body shook. His cock vibrated and let out four-five thick streams of white hot semen. Stan grunted with each stream of sperm inundating my mouth, bringing clarity and relaxation inside my brain.

“Fuck baby, you’re the best.”

“I know.”

###