Cum cafe

The coffee shop reeked of fresh-brewed espresso mingled with the musky tang of sweat and sex, a heady aroma that hit like a punch to the gut the moment you stepped inside. Dim lights cast a warm glow over the sleek countertops, where naked bodies moved with purposeful fluidity, their skin glistening under the soft hum of industrial fans. Customers lounged on plush stools, some with hands already wandering, groping at the exposed flesh of the staff—tits bouncing freely, cocks half-hard and swaying, pussies slick and inviting. But the real draw was the male barista, a towering hunk of muscle with a shaved head and a thick, veined dick that dangled heavily between his thighs. He was squatting right there on the counter, knees spread wide, his balls hanging low and full, as if on display for the taking. The air was thick with the wet slaps of skin and the occasional moan, drawing every eye to him like moths to a flame. I pushed through the door, my heart pounding in my chest, the cool rush of outside air clashing with the steamy interior. My name's Jake, a regular joe just looking for a fix, but today I craved something more than caffeine. I'd heard the whispers about this place—The Cum Cafe, they called it on the down-low—and now, face-to-face with it, my cock twitched in my jeans, straining against the fabric. The barista locked eyes with me, his gaze predatory and hungry, a smirk playing on his lips as he adjusted his position, his ass cheeks spreading slightly on the cool marble surface. He was built like a brick shithouse, muscles rippling under taut skin, and his dick—fuck, it was a monster, at least eight inches of thick, uncut meat, already leaking a bead of precum that glistened at the tip. "What'll it be, stud?" he growled, his voice low and gravelly, making my balls tighten with anticipation. I stepped closer, my hands trembling as I reached out, the heat radiating from his body drawing me in like a siren’s call. Without a word, I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, feeling the weight of it in my palm, hot and pulsing with life. His cock was rock-hard now, veins bulging along the sides like rivers of desire, and I stroked it slowly, savoring the silky skin sliding over the rigid core. The barista let out a deep groan, his head tilting back as he thrust his hips forward, offering himself up like a prize. "That's it, milk that fucking cock," he rasped, his words dripping with raw lust, and I could feel the sticky precum smearing across my fingers, warm and slippery. The shop's other patrons watched with hungry eyes, some fingering their own cunts or stroking their dicks, but my focus was locked on him—on the way his balls drew up tight against his body, heavy and full of that creamy load I craved. I squeezed harder, my thumb rubbing over the sensitive head, feeling the slit ooze more of that clear fluid, and he bucked against my hand, his ass cheeks clenching on the counter. The rhythm built, slow and deliberate, each stroke drawing a wet, squelching sound from his skin as I worked him over, my own dick throbbing painfully in my pants, begging for release. As I milked him, the barista's breathing turned ragged, his chest heaving with every pump of my fist. "Fuck yeah, harder, you dirty bastard," he demanded, his voice breaking into a moan that echoed through the shop, mixing with the slurps and gasps from nearby couplings. I obliged, gripping his shaft tighter, feeling the heat build under my touch, his cock swelling even more as I twisted my wrist on the upstroke, rubbing that sweet spot just under the head. Precum dripped steadily now, forming a puddle on the counter, and I leaned in closer, the scent of his arousal overwhelming—salty, masculine, making my mouth water. His balls slapped lightly against my knuckles with each motion, heavy and pendulous, and I cupped them with my free hand, rolling the soft, hairy sacks between my fingers, feeling them tighten as his orgasm approached. "Gonna fill your cup with my hot cum, you want that?" he panted, his eyes half-lidded with ecstasy, and I nodded, my own breath coming in short bursts. The tension in his body was electric, every muscle taut, and I could sense the buildup, the way his dick throbbed in my grip, ready to explode. I didn't stop, couldn't stop, as I stroked him faster, the wet sounds of my hand on his slick cock filling the air like a obscene symphony. His hips jerked erratically now, fucking into my fist with desperate force, and I watched in awe as his face contorted, sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down his neck. "Oh shit, I'm close—fuck, feel that? My balls are churning, gonna blow a huge load," he grunted, his voice raw and broken, and I squeezed his shaft at the base, trapping the cum inside for a second longer, making him whimper. The head of his cock was purple-red, engorged and shiny with precum, and when I finally released my grip, he let out a guttural roar. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering into the cup I'd placed beneath him, the first spurt landing with a hot, viscous splash that coated the sides. It was pure white, creamy and abundant, pulsing out in rhythmic bursts as I kept stroking, milking every drop from his throbbing dick. His body shuddered violently, ass clenching on the counter, and the shop erupted in cheers and moans, the air thick with the scent of fresh spunk. But as his orgasm tapered off, his cock still twitching in my hand, I knew this was just the beginning—my cup was full, but my hunger was far from sated. I pulled the cup closer, the steam of the fresh espresso mingling with the warm, sticky scent of the barista's cum, a potent cocktail that made my head spin. My hunger was far from sated, the thick ropes of his load swirling in the dark liquid like a promise of deeper indulgence, and I lifted it to my lips, the first sip burning my tongue with a salty-sweet explosion that coated my throat. His cock, still twitching in my grip, leaked one last pearly drop onto my