Whore of The Bookstore

This is not a story about a normal Friday. I am a
practical woman, world-wise, aware but not alarmed that
I am single and approaching my mid-thirties. Marriage
will probably happen for me one day. Children may or
not. These aren’t concerns that drive my life.

I’m sexually confident and secure with my own body, but
don’t I offer myself easily or lightly. The casual fuck
has never held much allure for me.

In other words, I’m a hungry lover when I’m in a
relationship, but otherwise I have different things to
occupy my mind. And if I get the itch for some
occasional sexual pleasure I have my own ways of
satisfying my needs. So to say that what happened that
Friday afternoon in July in the upstairs of a used
bookstore was out of character is putting it, well,
mildly.

The story actually begins that Friday morning. Just a
random Friday in July. I’d taken the day off work for no
particular reason, and in the morning I went to my
health club for a workout. I did some weight and
equipment work and then headed to the StairMaster for
thirty minutes of aerobic exercise. Now, I work hard
when I’m at the gym. I’m usually focused on what I’m
doing, especially on the StairMaster, when I’m giving it
all I’ve got.

That morning I was working hard but maybe scanning the
room more than usual, and that’s how I became aware of
the man on the treadmill along the opposite wall. I
would have noticed him under any circumstances because
of his dark hair and high cheekbones and because of the
way his quads snapped into muscular definition with his
every stride. “Cute,” I would have said to myself. Maybe
even “Hot,” if I was in that kind of mood, which
possibly I was. But the other reason I noticed him is
that he was obviously noticing me.

He had thick black eyebrows over deep-welled black eyes
that were looking my way with an appreciation that
bordered on hunger. I have a good body for the gym, well
defined, and I work out in lycra shorts, sports bra, and
a loose tank top, and after I get warmed up on the
StairMaster I usually shed the tank top.

It’s not the first time a guy has watched me work out,
and I don’t mind: I like the way my body looks when I
work out. Sometimes I like to play games, to flirt a
little, but most of the time when I look back at them
they look away.

I thought I might flirt a little bit with this guy, too,
but he didn’t look away when I cut my eyes at him.
Instead, I felt such a jolt of intensity in my gut when
I looked at him that it was me who ended up quickly
averting my gaze. For the rest of my workout I was aware
of him every time he looked at me. I would feel his eyes
on me, like sunbeams radiating out of twin dark stars.
And even though I didn’t have the will to hold his gaze
with my own, I wanted to hold his attention.

His eyes beamed hot reserves of energy into my pores and
I worked that StairMaster harder than I’ve ever worked
it before. I showed him how hard my body could work,
what it looked like when I was at a physical peak, and
at the end I was exhausted and glowing. He was still
running, running hard, on the treadmill as I left the
room, and I couldn’t resist walking by him on the way
out, glancing up at him to smile and get a closer look.
He was well worth it.

His dark hair was just beginning to show the first
strands of gray, and up close his face showed more
gentleness than it had from across the room. His lips
looked soft, and tiny lines radiating out from his
intense eyes indicated that he probably laughed easily.
He smiled back at me. His eyes were kind but his mouth
was hungry.

I felt very alive on the way home, both from the
intensity of my workout and the dalliance I had had with
the man on the treadmill. I wasn’t involved with anyone
at the time. As I said before, being in between lovers
doesn’t bother me, but that day I was sorry I didn’t
have someone at home to help scratch the itch I was
feeling.

Images of old lovers kept finding their way into my
head. Memories of things we’d done. Our bodies pressed
close together, the heat of touching. In the shower I
spent more time than usual soaping my breasts, thinking
of other hands that had touched me there, other showers
where I wasn’t alone. When I washed between my legs I
found my thighs wanting to part a little wider at the
touch of my warm soapy fingers.

If I had just given in and masturbated there none of the
rest of what happened probably would have happened. But
I didn’t. Sometimes I enjoy being a little bit turned
on, having it as my secret. But a secret’s no good if
there’s no one to keep it from, so I decided I needed to
get out of the house.

Not having any particular plans for the afternoon, I
decided I’d catch an easy lunch outdoors. There’s an
area of town whose old buildings have been converted
into boutique shops and restaurants. It’s a wonderful
place to shop, or to just sit at an outdoor cafe and
people watch.

I threw on a lace bra and panties, a simple cotton
sundress, some flimsy black flat sandals, and went out
to lunch. I don’t want to blame what happened next on
the attention of the sexy guy in the gym or on my own
teasing of myself in the shower, but I definitely left
the house that day with a warm buzzing glow on my skin.

The main shopping avenue was so crowded I had to park on
a side street down from the corner of a used bookstore I
enjoyed browsing in when I had the time. The sidewalks
were busy with people shopping, walking, enjoying the
summer. The sun was bright so I fished a pair of John
Lennon sunglasses out of my purse to hide behind. I
wanted to touch everyone I saw.

Well-kept wives of wealthy husbands looked beautiful
with their shopping bags, their jewels and blond hair
sparkling in the sun. Beads of sweat glowed on the
foreheads of pinstriped businessmen. Rangy youths on
skateboards, their oversized T-shirts flapping around
them, zagged rudely by, brushing everyone with brazen
teenage pheromones.

Hidden behind my sunglasses I was free to look at anyone
and I liked that many of the men noticed me when they
passed. Some gazed appreciatively at the way I moved
underneath the sheer cotton dress. Others glanced up at
the inscrutable reflection of my sunglasses.

In the midst of all of this I found the place I wanted.
It had a few tables outside and even though it was
lunchtime most patrons had decided to eat inside out of
the heat. I sat down and refreshed myself with ice water
that was immediately served by a bright-looking college
girl on summer vacation.

Resting, I felt the heat glowing from my body. I was
humid. I felt the moisture on my thighs when I squeezed
them together. Sweat tickled my sternum. I found myself
wondering how tantalizing the ice in my drink would feel
pressed lightly against my neck, along the inside of my
forearm, into the back of my knee. The thought caused a
light touch of goosebumps to tighten my flesh in the
July heat.

I ordered a Caesar salad and a bowl of fresh chilled
fruit. The romaine was cold and crisp and the parmesan
was newly grated. When I bit into the grapes and
strawberries and pineapple chunks, their succulent
juices burst into my mouth. I ate slowly, enjoying the
day, savoring the refreshing food, watching the people.

The door to the restaurant opened and closed as patrons
entered and exited. When the door was open it reflected
the tables on my side, and once I glanced up as someone
was leaving and saw in the door glass a man sitting at
one of the tables behind me.

I felt a tightening in my crotch. He looked so much like
the man I’d been trading attentions with on the
treadmill that morning! But it had only been a brief
glimpse before the door swung closed again, and surely I
was mistaken.

I resisted the urge to turn around and look, but I began
to feel warm on the back of my neck, like whoever this
stranger was, he was looking at me with a heated
intensity. It wasn’t long before someone else left the
restaurant and I caught his full reflection in the door.
This time I got a good look at him and there could be no
mistake.

It was the same man.

The tightness in my loins increased and I felt myself
subtly squirming in my seat. The rational part of my
brain told me there was no way he could have followed me
home and then here. It was just a coincidence. But
another part of me said that these things aren’t
coincidence: who knows what powers draw people to a
certain place and time?

Whew! Was it ever hot! I drank some more water and the
ice melted as soon as it touched my lips. A few more
patrons came and went and I had time to see that he was
dressed for a day off as well, in walking shorts and a
T-shirt and sandals that strapped around his ankle. He
looked relaxed and yet ready, as if he was biding his
time expectantly.

He was eating something that looked like a wrap,
drinking iced tea. I had time to appreciate the nice
dark hair that covered his legs and the way he smiled at
anyone he made eye contact with before my waitress
brought my check.

I left cash on the table and walked out past him,
braving a look from behind my shades. He was wiping his
mouth and he looked up at me with the napkin still at
the corner of his lips. He smiled conspiratorially, twin
reflections of the sun in his eyes, and I was hoping my
knees wouldn’t lock right there in mid-stride.

I had already come to know what it felt like when he
looked at me, and I knew as surely as my heart was
pounding that he was watching me as I walked away. I
felt the cotton dress sliding over every inch and swell
of my skin.

I told myself maybe I should just go home. Maybe if I
just went home and took all my clothes off and found a
nice sunny window to curl up in front of and touch
myself and imagine it was him touching me until I came,
then I could doze off in the sun and get over this
spell.

I wandered away with more or less that intention in
mind, but found myself pausing and window shopping,
lingering over the items on sidewalk tables in front of
the stores. Sure enough after a few minutes I saw him
again, absorbed in a store-window display. I moved on a
little farther, a little progress towards my car, was
again distracted, and when I looked up there he was, a
little closer this time.

He was talking to one of the merchants, making a
beckoning motion with his finger. Was it just my
imagination or was that the exactly same way he’d stroke
my g-spot if his finger was inside me?

I had to get home.

This game of cat-and-mouse went on as I made pitiful
progress towards my car. But just who was the cat and
who the mouse in our game, I wasn’t quite sure. Finally
I reached the side street on which I’d parked. The used
bookstore was on the corner. The proprietress was a
woman both ancient and kind.

The actual store was on the second floor, above a
florist, in a space narrow and long and overcrowded with
books of all kinds. I had spent hours just browsing,
usually buying a book or two even if I didn’t find
anything of particular interest because the woman was so
nice and because the bookstore never had many customers.

She had been there forever and probably didn’t need my
purchases to stay in business, but it made me feel like
I was doing my part. When the weather was nice she took
her cashbox outside and sat in the sun and informed you
just as sweetly as sugar water that if you had any
questions or wanted to buy anything, just please come
back down and she’d help you out. I don’t know how she
managed it, but she usually also had some tables set
outside piled high with books.

That day she was outside as usual, sitting in the shade
of a large umbrella and sipping lemonade. We smiled at
each other and I stopped to survey the books, flipping
the pages, touching them idly, uncovering the titles in
the middle of the stacks. It wasn’t long before he
showed up.

The woman greeted him and he said a simple, “Good
afternoon,” the first words I’d heard him speak, and his
voice was rich and sonorous, the voice of a narrator. He
paused to browse at the tables, but I was certain now
that he wasn’t paying any attention to the books.
Neither was I. It was impossible to do anything but try
and avoid melting in the heat and his closeness.

To the car, I told myself. Just walk to the car. So I
wrenched myself away from the table and somehow the air
was so thick, and I began walking. To the car, to the
car. But I found myself moving instead towards the door
inside the bookstore, walking past the kind old woman
and up the stairs. I was almost dizzy as I climbed the
steps. I hoped there would be other customers up here. I
hoped the space would be empty. I hoped my stranger
would walk away down the street. I hoped he’d follow me
inside.

The interior of the bookstore was only dimly lit because
of all the rows and stacks of books, and because the
only real windows were at the front and rear of the
store. I floated up the steps, along the length of the
bookstore looking for anyone. There was no-one.

The interior of the bookstore seemed darker than usual,
and like a moth, I sought the light. I reached the back
of store, leaned up against a counter, and stared
vacantly up into the sunbeams coming in through the
window. It was hot and close in the bookstore, but still
the sun felt good against my skin.

I had just begun to be able to breathe again when I felt
a finger brushing lightly against the bare skin along my
collarbone. I hissed a sharp, startled inhalation. I
held it in, unable to let go until the rest of his
fingers touched me in a light, caressing massage, and
then I was able to let it out.

I hadn’t heard him come up the steps. Hadn’t heard him
come up behind me. It could have been any other man
except for the heat I felt against the back of my neck
from his gaze. Nobody else had ever looked at me that
way before.

He massaged me like that for a minute, turning all the
tension into jello. I felt the buckle of his belt touch
the small of my back. His breath was hot against my neck
and then I gasped when he nipped me with his teeth. He
pressed his hips closer, and I felt his weight against
my back. I pushed back against him.

It seemed to be the sign he’d been waiting for, because
as soon as I did it his hands left my shoulders tracing
down my sides along the outside of my breasts and ribs
and hips and thighs, and then one of his hands was
moving just as easily back up the back of my thigh under
my dress. He ran his hand lightly over the lace of the
underwear stretched across my butt.

I could feel the heat of his fingers through the sheer
fabric. I felt the heat building downwards as his
fingers moved lower, and before I even realized what was
happening I was sliding my feet across the floor and
turning my heels out to open the way.

His hand was between my legs and I was already imagining
how deliciously his finger would slip into me when he
paused, cupping my mons lightly in his palm. He held it
there, applying the gentlest of pressure with his
fingers, as if he were palming a peach, feeling it for
soundness.

I am hot, I breathed out silently into the air. Feel how
ripe I am, how full of sweetness. I want you to taste
me, to drink my juices, to peel me and eat everything
you find inside.

He must have been able to inhale and understand those
silent thoughts, because suddenly in one whirl of motion
he was turning me around and sinking to his knees,
pulling with both hands at the sides of my lace panties,
sliding them effortlessly down my legs. He lifted one of
my feet to slip the underwear off, spreading me even
wider when he placed my foot back on the ground, and
immediately plunged his face into my cunt.

“Ohhhh!” I moaned, the first audible sound made by
either of us, as his tongue glided past my already slick
vulva and into the nectar of my pussy.

He licked hungrily up and down the length of my sex,
keeping his tongue as far inside me as he possibly
could. He had split me open and my engorged lips sealed
around his tongue as he moved it up and down. He was
making grateful sounds in the back of his throat, the
sounds of a parched man finally slaking his thirst.

After a minute he stopped probing my depths and lengths
so insistently and his tongue instead flicked its way up
towards my clitoris. He pulled the hood open with his
thumbs, forcing my clitoris up and out. When his tongue
first hit my fully exposed clitoris, it was like all
those jolts of energy I had felt earlier in the day had
come together and multiplied a hundredfold and zapped
down out of the sky directly onto my clit. My knees
buckled and I called out “Ahhhh!” into the gloaming of
the bookstore.

I leaned backwards heavily and thankfully the counter
was there or I might well have fallen all the way down.
He sucked my clitoris into his mouth, rolled it around
between his lips, and nipped at it with his teeth, each
variation sending spangles of white light wheeling
before my eyes.

After a minute of this intense teasing, I realized that
what he really wanted to do was get his lips locked all
the way around my clit, but even with my legs spread I
was too short to provide an accommodating position.
There was a stepstool parked by the counter and I
reached out with one foot and hooked it, and when it was
next to me I gave my surprise lover a much easier target
by raising my leg and placing my foot on top of the
stool.

He thanked me by accomplishing what he’d been trying to
do and getting his lips tightly around me and sucking my
clitoris into his mouth.

Ecstasy. I was in heaven.

And then, since he no longer needed his hands to spread
my lips, he thanked me again by slipping one and then
two fingers upward into my pussy all the way until their
third knuckles were snug against the entrance.

He looked up at me then without stopping what he was
doing. He smiled. His eyes were still hungry and kind
and now I saw in them something else: the simple wonder
of a young boy discovering a brand-new thing. I smiled
back at him and ran my hand through his thick black
hair, grabbing a fistful in each hand and pressing his
face back into me.

The sunlight coming in from the window above us fell on
my shoulders. I turned my face up to it like a cat, and
the heat from the sun and the heat from my lover’s lips
and tongue and fingers drizzled through my body in a
fine incandescent mist.

In a strange unrelated thought, I realized why it had
seemed so unusually dark in the bookstore. In my
hormonal haze I had forgotten to take my sunglasses off
when I came inside. I felt my delicious stranger’s
fingers probing my drenched depths, sometimes working in
tandem like a small cock and sometimes working
independently, scissoring back and forth against the
walls of my cunt.

Somewhere not far away my orgasm was forming, and as I
rocked upward on the pleasure waves, I chuckled at the
thought of what someone might find if they walked into
the bookstore at that very moment. Me, leaning back
against the counter, my head thrown back, face splashed
in sunlight and ecstasy, still wearing my sunglasses,
like a movie star, a rock star, a porn star, one leg
hitched up on the stool, and in front of me, kneeling
before me, a dark and handsome man, his face buried
happily in my cunt, licking me and fucking me with his
fingers.

Me being fucked by his fingers, giving him my clitoris
to suck and lick and gobble like candy right here in the
middle of the day in this public place, and the sun, oh,
the sun, his fingers curling now just like I’d imagined
to scrape my G-spot. Only this time beckoning me, my
orgasm, rolling my g-spot between his fingers, his
tongue alternating between flattening my clitoris,
trying to smash it back into my skin, and pulling it
greedily back into his mouth, the sun drenching both of
us as the orgasm took me.

When I come, it usually begins right at the bull’s eye
of my clitoris and spreads outward through my body from
that central point, lessening in intensity as it ripples
out through my toes and fingers. This one was just the
opposite.

I felt it first as a tingling in my outermost
extremities, coursing through my limbs, a million
independent sensations beginning slowly and then racing
through the trunk of my body and uniting all at once in
a deeper focal point in my loins, bursting outward
sunlight and heat like a supernova as his mouth clamped
down on my clit and my cunt clamped down around his
fingers.

I must have screamed. I don’t know how I could not have
screamed, but I can’t be sure because all I heard was
the roaring of blood in my own veins as my body twisted
and curled inside out a few times before the beautiful
orgasm that I didn’t want to end and yet could hardly
bear finally coalesced into a comfortable hum in my gut.

My man was kneeling back away from me, looking up at me
in wide-eyed surprise, as if the force of what had
happened had knocked him backwards. “Oh my God,” I
managed to say, and once he realized I was human again
he rose and I kissed him openly and wetly and felt his
arms encircle me.

I was drained, happily so, but I wanted to thank him for
what he had given me, so I unbuckled his pants and
curled my fingers around his cock, which was rock-hard
and beautiful. I stroked it a couple of times, learning
a little bit about the feel of it. Now it was his turn
to moan. He had obviously been hard for some time.

I was preparing to kneel before him just like he had for
me when his arms tightened around my waist. I looked up
at him and suddenly his hands came up under my butt and
he lifted me off the ground. My legs went automatically
around the small of his back and he drew me to him. I
reached behind me and guided his cock to my pussy as he
slowly lowered me down. I was wet and open after
everything he’d just done to me and he began slipping
into me without resistance. Slowly, slowly, he allowed
his arms to lower me.

Suddenly I felt the smooth length of him filling the
spaces inside me until our pubic bones met and I could
sink no farther. We rested like that a moment, joined. I
pulled my head back long enough to look at him through
my sunglasses. He held my gaze as if he could see right
through the dark lenses. I smiled and he smiled back and
playfully arched his eyebrows. I arched my eyebrows back
at him and at the same time contracted my vaginal
muscles around his cock.

He made a sound back in his throat and I gasped in
surprise when I felt the smallest pulsing of his cock
back at me. I squeezed him again and he responded again,
a deep-space probe signaling home. Message received, I
transmitted back to him. Welcome. We were making love in
the tiniest places inside.

It must have started driving him as crazy as it was me
because he moved me again, lifting me not quite as
slowly as he had lowered me. I sighed out when he broke
the seal we’d been holding. He lifted me almost all the
way off his cock. My cunt clenched for him but all that
was there was the tapered head, which slipped away. I
moved my hips trying to capture him again and when I
find him I thrust forwards but his hands limited my
movements.

He was only in an inch or so. And then he fucked me in a
maddening way like that, moving me only an inch up and
down, just burying his cockhead before pulling me back
up again. I was getting frustrated. I wanted him badly.
Wanted him all the way inside me again, moving all the
way in and out. I glared at him with all I had and made
my mouth as pouty as possible.

He laughed then and said, “Say it,” in my ear, his
breath as warm as his baritone timbre.

“God,” I said, and he started fucking me a little bit
more deeply. “Fuck,” I gasped, and he went a little
deeper still. “Fuck me,” I finally hissed into the close
air of the bookshop. “Fuck me fuck me, FUCK ME!” and
suddenly I was impaled again along his whole cock but he
didn’t rest me there this time. Instead supporting me
with his hands while he crashed his hips into me with
all the desire he’d been restraining until now. He was
grunting and moaning like a man possessed.

His balls were slapping against my ass every time he
crashed into me. I was moaning and grunting, too. I
scarped my cheek across his stubbled beard and buried my
face against his neck. He smelled so fine I bit the
muscles in his shoulders that were bunched up with the
effort of his holding me while we fucked. I matched his
force by jamming my heels against his back every time he
split into me again.

His moans and grunts grew hoarser and suddenly converged
into one strangled cry as he plunged himself deeply
inside me and froze, his whole body frozen except his
balls as they drew up against my ass in a tightening
that continued through his cock, and I felt him again
pulsing powerfully inside my pussy, only this time with
each pulse he chanted out “Ah! Ah! Ah!” as he delivered
his payload, coating everything inside me with his milky
cum.

I suppose I could end the story there, and maybe it
really is the end. The fact is that with our passions
satisfied we weren’t quite sure what to do there in the
bookstore that afternoon. We were awkward around each
other as we fixed our clothes.

What, really, is the appropriate thing to say after
something like that? I was hoping that would happen?
What’s your name? Here’s fifty bucks?

He said about the only thing I wasn’t expecting him to
say. He turned to go but then whirled back to me and
kissed me in a way that turned my toes to butterflies.
“I’ll find you,” he said, his words like rainclouds in
my ear, and then he was gone.

It’s been six months ago now. It’s January and the rain
is turning to ice as soon as it hits the ground. I
haven’t seen him since that afternoon, but I feel him
moving again out there in these long cold nights. A
glass of wine, another log on the fire, a glow warming
somewhere deep in my gut.

Perhaps the story I’ve just told you is only a
beginning…

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