The Barista Pt. 03

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Life had been crazy since the events of the last chapter. Some of that craziness involved the triangle between me, my wife, and the Barista.

Last summer, the plan was for my wife and me to travel to Houston to visit my Barista. We had not come to a final decision on whether I would give her another child. We had not decided if sex would only be between the Barista and me or all three of us. We did know that something sexual and significant was going to happen and I was excited about that prospect.

Even more thrilling was that I would be meeting my now two-year-old daughter for the first time. I was eager, nervous, and terrified all at once. What if she didn’t take to me? What if she wanted to have nothing to do with me? What if having my wife in the presence of my “other” family hurt her? It would put an end to all that we had worked on together. I was bringing two worlds together that I was not entirely sure should ever come in contact with each other.

All my thoughts and worries would prove to be meaningless. When you think you have plans, life decides to throw your plans out the door and shows you it has plans of its own. A week before we were going to make the trip, my mother called me with the news that she had been diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. It was treatable, but it was going to be a fight.

I am an only child, and my mother had me when she was young (only twenty). She was single, and my father was not in the picture for my entire childhood. She devoted her whole life to me and ensured I was provided for and loved. My mother never married.

When I became an adult and began my own family, she focused on her work and mentoring younger people (always the mother). I have always been protective of my mother. I am all she has. So, when I got that call, everything was immediately dropped, and my focus was on helping her beat this thing.

I’m an analytical person, so I immediately went to Google to research everything I could find about this cancer. I researched diets for cancer patients to make sure my mother got the best food. I took her to all her appointments. I even hired a patient advocate to make sure all of my mother’s concerns were heard. We had someone working for us and our best interest that could help us make sure my mom got the best care available.

She was diagnosed in June. By August, my mother, who before this appeared to be very healthy, was bedridden and could not eat on her own. I have never felt so helpless to stop something in my life. We did all the right things, went to the best specialists, and had access to the best therapies available, and my mother was still dying. It was a whirlwind few months that took five years out of me and ultimately took my mother’s life.

I thought I would break down and mourn at this point, but it never came. Hospital visits. Seeing my mother’s health deteriorate. Seeing her move her mouth to speak but literally not having enough air in her lungs to make a sound, to seeing her take her last breath. In all of this, I did not shed a tear. It was as if something inside me was blocked. Even after her death, there was still so much to do and only me to do it. I did not have the luxury of grief. I had to plan a funeral, inform family, and settle my mother’s affairs.

My wife was a great help and instinctively knew what I needed, emotionally and otherwise. The work we were doing the past few years prepared us for this in a way neither could have predicted. Because of her, I did not feel like I was drowning. The funeral seemed to take forever to arrive. I just wanted it over. I wanted time to mourn her loss without dealing with other people’s grief and well wishes. I wanted to just get away. Far away. Like another country far away.

When the funeral finally did come, I was on autopilot. My wife and I were greeting the guests, and someone showed up that I did not anticipate, my Barista, with my daughter in tow. I felt like everything froze when I saw them. I did not think. I just ran to her and hugged her tightly. There were no words. I had no idea how much I needed to see her, especially now. My wife flew them down (along with Barista’s mother). Like I said earlier, she knew instinctively what I needed, and I needed my family with me. I needed all of them.

My wife set aside any doubts, fears, and insecurities she had to bring them to me. After the hug, I was introduced to my daughter (not as my daughter, though). At that moment, I knew things could not stay the way they were. I needed them both in my life, and they needed me. My mother raised me with no man there. I told myself I would always be there for my children because my father bahis siteleri wasn’t there for me. I needed to be her father. I needed to be in her life.

I got through the funeral, but still no tears. I came close when I realized this was the only time ALL my family would ever be in the same place at one time. My wife and our two children (both in college), my Barista and our daughter, and my mother, who died, not even knowing she had another grandchild. That thought put a knot in my stomach. What was I becoming with this life? Who was I?

After the service, we had a repast where we all ate together. Everyone wanted to know who this woman was who seemed so close to my wife and me. We introduced her as a “work colleague” (technically true since we work for the same company). I knew eventually I would have to tell my kids who this person really was and that this little girl was their sister. Everything seems so sexy and fun until reality hits. I confessed to my wife, and things ended well, but my acts and confession hurt her. The thought of how this would hurt our children cut me to the core.

After everything was said and done, my wife and I went home exhausted. Our kids stayed the night and headed back to their lives the following morning. They had just had the blow of losing their grandmother. This other news could wait for another day, but eventually, it would have to come.

The next day was the first day of quiet I had had in months. This was the first day not dealing with cancer, funerals, or guests. Just me, my wife, and silence. It was the first time I had been still in months, and I began to feel the weight of everything. My wife was right there anticipating my needs. Taking care of me, cooking my favorite meal, popping a bottle of my favorite red wine, and just talking to me and being there for me.

For some people, stress and grief kill their libido. I am an odd type where my libido increases during those times. Sex and masturbation are how I process and self-soothe. It is the way I connect in a way words just can’t express. That night after dinner, my wife told me to shower and that when I finished, she would be waiting for me. I knew what that meant, and I needed her now more than ever.

When I came out of the bathroom, I found my wife in all her sexiness wearing a red lingerie set… and lying next to her was the Barista in an all-white set. I have never experienced lust, joy, and heartbreak simultaneously. At the sight of them there, the two women of my life, with all the emotional baggage I had been carrying, I broke down in tears (not at all how I imagined this moment going). They both jumped out of bed, ran to me, and hugged me. We made our way to the bed, where they laid me down between them, both literally kissing the tears away from me.

The raw emotion in the room, the proximity of these two women, MY two women, and my need for emotional connection and release had my dick hard in this bizarre situation. My wife saw my need, took the Barista’s hand, and closed it around my dick. She spoke to the Barista but looked directly at me as she said, “Take care of our man. He needs us right now.”

Barista said nothing but immediately went down on me and started sucking me. Have you ever gotten a blow job while sobbing like a fucking baby? I have. The man in me has some shame about writing this. It was like every emotion was flowing down to my dick. While Barista was sucking me, my wife was in my ear, comforting me, “It’s ok, baby, let it go. We’ve got you. Give it all to us. Let it all out. We want to take it from you.”

In all of two minutes, I came so hard that I blacked out for a few moments. When I became aware of my surroundings again, my head was cradled against my wife’s breast, and Barista was pressed against my back with her arms and legs draped over me. We stayed that way for a while, just caressing and me dozing in and out. That type of release left me drained and exhausted. The last thing I remember hearing before drifting off to sleep was Barista. Her voice broke as she told my wife, “Thank you so much for calling me and letting me be here for him too.”

I awoke in the night to the sounds of smacking. As I started to open my eyes, I saw that Barista was no longer next to me but on the other side of my wife, and they were… kissing, very awkwardly. They were in a tentative embrace kissing lightly like they were just trying it out, and they were. I noticed that their lingerie had been shed while I was asleep, and they were both naked, so I didn’t know what or how much had transpired while I was sleeping.

Barista seemed to be taking the lead, while my wife was more passive. I expected my canlı bahis siteleri wife to take the lead since she was older. Still, Barista had more experience being with another woman.

The kissing was so… sweet. Not slutty, lesbian-porn kissing, but wholesome is probably the best way I can describe it with lots of gentle touching and caressing. They took their time and kissed slowly and gently (longer and softer than my wife and I usually do).

The way they were with each other was very different from how they were with me. They complimented each other as they kissed:

“You are so beautiful; your skin is so soft.”

“I love your breasts; they are so soft and big. I would love to have breasts like that.”

“Honey, your breasts are beautiful. Those pink nipples are so cute and sexy”.

I have seen women that are good friends build each other up when they get together. It was so different seeing it in a sexually charged situation. They were each calling out the parts of themselves that they were insecure about. The other was validating how beautiful they actually were. While they did this, I could see them both relax more into each other, and the kissing got more passionate and intense. They still had not realized I was awake.

Finally, Barista asked my wife if she could put her mouth on her. My wife said nothing but just nodded. I watched Barista take a slow walk down my wife’s body with her lips, stopping everywhere and leaving no area neglected. When she got to her breasts, my wife noticed me and looked shocked at first, like she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. Then she relaxed and smiled at me, and I smiled back.

When Barista got to her pussy, my wife grabbed my hand and clutched it. Barista took her time. I found myself comparing techniques. I am more aggressive in my pussy eating, and my wife loves it, but Barista was getting different moans than I ever got out of her. Oddly, I felt a quick stab of jealousy. Did my wife like her technique better?

My wife must have been reading my mind because she reached over to me, grabbed me by the back of the neck, and pulled me down for a kiss. Not the sweet kiss that she had with Barista, but the “I want to fuck” kiss that we usually shared. Her body responded differently to Barista and me, just like I responded differently sexually to her and Barista.

While she was being licked, my wife started to talk dirty to me. “She’s licking my pussy. Your little coffee slut is licking my pussy.” Coffee slut is something my wife calls Barista when we roleplay. Hearing her say that with Barista there was like worlds colliding. I was embarrassed and turned on at the same time. For her part, Barista moaned into my wife’s pussy when she heard herself being referred to as a “coffee slut”. She has always liked dirty talk, and humiliation turns her on.

My erection grew even more engorged as my wife poured it on. “This little slut needs it. She needs something in all her dirty little holes. If we don’t give it to her, somebody else will. We have to take care of all her slutty needs, or she’ll be selling this pussy on the street.”

That hit something because Barista reached back and started rubbing her own pussy at that comment. My wife caught on fast and kept talking to me about Barista like she wasn’t even there. “Get that dick in her hot hole and fuck her.” Barista took her mouth off my wife’s pussy and pleaded while she was still rubbing her own pussy, “Please fuck me, daddy. I need it in my pussy”.

I looked up at my wife to see how she would react to Barista calling me Daddy (it freaked me out and turned me on the first time). She didn’t skip a beat. She put her hand on the back of Barista’s head and pushed it back down to her pussy. Then looked at me and said, “Yeah fuck her…daddy.” in a mocking tone.

I lined up behind her and began working my dick into her pussy. It had been so long. She was still so tight, and she kept contracting on the head of my dick like her pussy was trying to eat it. Thank goodness I already had a hard cum, or it would have been game over.

When I was all the way in, I started fucking her in a good steady rhythm, grabbing her sexy ass for leverage. At that moment, I realized I was fucking another woman in front of my wife. I looked at her face, afraid of what I might find. I did not want to hurt her, and I did not want to stop.

She was mesmerized, staring at my dick thrusting in and out of Barista. Her mouth was partially open like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing but couldn’t look away. Eventually, she looked up, and we made eye contact. I hope my face conveyed what I was feeling. I wanted canlı bahis her to know, “this feels so good, but I will stop right now if you want to.” She gave me a sly smile, and her eyes rolled back and closed as she came hard in Barista’s mouth.

I lost it and started thrusting like there was no tomorrow. My wife saw this as she was coming down from her orgasm and started saying what she knew we were both waiting to hear: “That’s right fuck her. Bust that nut in her little pussy! That’s what you came here for, right. To get my husband’s cum in your little horny snatch! Answer me slut!”

My wife pulled Barista’s head back by her hair so that she was looking up at her. Barista was sobbing and cumming while rubbing her clit and fucking me. “Yes, that’s what I want. I want his cum. Cum Daddy. Show Mommy how you cum in your coffee slut”. I was done. I came hard and deep while Barista screamed. When we were done, Barista collapsed against my wife and cried, saying, “Thank you, thank you.” My wife held her and cried too, stroking her hair and telling her, “It’s ok, we’ve got you.”

Epilogue:

These are the non-sexy things that happened afterward that some of you may be interested in. Feel free to skip if you were just here for the sexy parts.

Barista did not get pregnant during the encounter (sorry to disappoint), but that is probably for the best. We really had a lot to sort out before we made that step. I spent time with the Barista and my daughter for the remainder of the trip, and I fell in love. There is no way I could meet this little girl and ever be able to not see her every day. I am ashamed that I went this long. I want to be her father in all aspects, not just from a distance.

My wife and I will need to have a conversation with our children. They already know we had marital issues due to infidelity. We thought it was important to let them know this is something we went through and that we sought counseling. Many married couples experience infidelity, but nobody really talks about it or prepares young couples. We decided to let our kids know at the appropriate age. They do not know the details or about the baby, so we will need to have a discussion that will hurt them and probably shake their world. I hope in time, they will be able to forgive me.

During this time, I also met Barista’s mother, who flew down to help take care of her granddaughter. Barista and her mother have a very open relationship and talk about everything. She was a young, single mother who got pregnant by an older married man. In her case, the man wanted nothing to do with her or her daughter, so she raised Barista alone and was very…non-traditional in her parenting.

She is a hippy type of “peace and love” person, which worked out well in our meeting. Her openness to life and her own life experience made her much more accepting of me than I would have been if my daughter had brought home someone twenty years her senior. As accepting as she was, she left me with the parting words, “if you hurt my daughter or granddaughter, I will hunt you down and kill you.” Then we went to a spot I know that has good kombucha 🙂

Life with me, my wife, and Barista; that’s more complicated. I want to be a father to my daughter. All parties agree this is the best action and are on board, but what is our relationship dynamic? My wife and Barista get along great, and there is a sexual element my wife is interested in exploring more of, but polygamy seems to be a hard line.

In her words, “I am your wife. I don’t want to share that with anyone else”. Her saying that makes me love her even more. But I love Barista, and I don’t want her to feel isolated. My wife feels the same way. She wants Barista to share a life with us, but she doesn’t want her spot taken. That makes sense to me, but I’m not sure what the solution is.

Our marriage counselor suggests bringing Barista with us for a few sessions to work through this. It sounds weird to me, but it makes sense to have someone not so close to things help us to work through them. Family counseling might be a good idea for what is coming when we talk to our kids.

Barista is moving into my mother’s house with our daughter for the time being. It is free and clear, so she can stay there as long as she wants with no mortgage or rent woes. Something about my daughter being raised in the house where my mother lived feels right to me.

A part of me feels like I just can’t lose right now. For things to have come to where they are is something I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams. It could have gone wrong, and everything I cared about could have been lost, but when I was staying in the lines doing things the “right way,” I almost lost everything anyway. In the end, I am finding if I am honest with myself and those around me, things will go the way they should. And good or bad, if I live honestly, I can accept what comes.

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