Fantasies with a stranger

I burn from the inside out, like every day at the same hour. Always at the same hour. I know because it's extremely punctual. A man of routine, a well-dressed man. Always in a strict suit, shirt too long and prolix, tie matching each day. Well-trimmed beard. Pleasant perfume. Serious by nature but with an amiable smile in response to my greeting. Always alone attending this shift, I approach him like every day and ask what he'll have. Every day he orders the same coffee, with the same medialunas. I could ask if he's going to order the same thing again, but I'd get a laconic yes and that's not what I want. I like listening to him. He has a pleasant voice, like someone sure of himself. Everything about him seems to denote security, which attracts me to him. Besides his age, of course. He's older than me by at least twenty years - maybe a bit more - although he carries it with an elegance that takes a few years off him. I get excited thinking about how he'll be in bed. Will he like strong sex or will he be more laid-back? Will he want to try new positions or be more conventional? Will he do it outside the bed? I don't recognize myself thinking this way while preparing his order. At my young age, few times have I fantasized about someone this way, without even having a conversation outside of what arises when he makes his order or pays. But also, at my young age, few people have captivated me like this. Today my excitement reached new levels. When it was time to pay for his consumption, our hands accidentally touched. I stayed frozen, looked at him and he's looking back with a half-smile, a side smile. Was it accidental or did he do it on purpose? Anyway, that lit something in me. As he left, I asked the other waitress who had just arrived to cover me for a few minutes and I went to the bathroom. I couldn't control the electricity running through my body, nor the humidity between my legs. I went to the employees and I made sure no one else got in. I had a few minutes to myself, but I didn't want to rush. I started by tracing with my fingers where we had touched. Quickly the excitement increased and my body was asking for more caresses. I slowly and smoothly ran my hands over my arms, shoulders, neck, and then went back down to my chest, stopping for a moment. The uniform didn't allow easy access to my nipples, so I undid a couple of buttons to be able to free them, squeeze them, pinch them. My other hand joined in by undoing the button on my pants.
In my head, images were crossing of what his tastes and desires would be. Will he be a conventional man? Not in my fantasies. In my fantasies, he's a cultured and professional man in society but a pervert in intimacy. In my fantasies, he's one of those who prepares a strong sex session, in a room equipped with everything necessary to subdue the woman accompanying him. A room with dim light and a bed in the middle. On the side, a table with a whip, straps, leather handcuffs, candles, and some other elements for tying or removing vision.
The orgasm was almost immediate when I imagined his mercy. I imagined myself being subdued by that man, tied up and almost hanging from my wrists above my head. I imagined him using all sorts of elements on my receptive skin. He using different elements that would provide a mix of sensations: cold, heat, pain, softness. Everything together predicting the orgasm that was happening in both scenes: in that room and in the bathroom at the bar.
By the time I realized it, I was pinching and twisting one of my nipples, while two fingers were easily entering and leaving me due to the achieved humidity. Gagged moans and agitated breathing accompanied me in that small bathroom until I reached a devastating orgasm. An orgasm like those that leave your legs weak and a satisfied smile. An orgasm like those that make you say renew my energy to make it to the end of the shift. I get dressed, look in the mirror trying to eliminate any hint of what just happened. And I leave thinking about the coincidences of life. The coincidences that made us meet at the least expected place, where a few months earlier I wouldn't have even imagined finding myself working there. A place where I cross paths with so many people daily but only a few stand out, only a few grab my attention like that. And where almost no one manages to keep my interest despite the little real contact we have between us.