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Message-ID: <31303asstr$994479004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: walt9899@my-deja.com (Walt9899)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 6 Jul 2001 18:29:31 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} RP: Bookstore (MF)
Date: Sat,  7 Jul 2001 00:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

STANDARD DISCLAIMER:
This story contains graphic depictions of sex between consenting
adults.  If you are under eighteen years of age you must stop reading
now.  Stop, I said.  Stop!

Now that I am addressing an audience consisting of only mature,
responsible persons over eighteen years of age:

This story and all its characters are a work of adult fantasy.  They
live in a world where sex is free of disease and unwanted pregnancies,
and, when convenient, free of the deeper emotional complications that
accompany it.  The characters happily invite you into their world
while you read the story but ask also that you please remember to
return to your own world when you are finished.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
This story's copyright, like its sex, is fantasy.  You may use,
modify, or distribute it as you choose so long as any use,
modification, or distribution is for the strictly personal purpose of
(1) pleasuring yourself or others; (2) light recreational reading; or
(3) testing to see if your boss really reads those continuous
improvement initiatives you keep sending him (or her).

FEEDBACK:
Did the story turn you on?  Did it stink?  The author appreciates any
feedback you may have to share about this story.  Send e-mail to
walt9899@my-deja.com.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME

********************************************************


BOOKSTORE (FM)
By: Walt9899


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 caf  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 sidestreet
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.  It
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 sidestreet 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 sugarwater 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 a 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 ripe, 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 bullseye 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 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.  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 slapped 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.

That'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 told you is only the
beginning.


THE END

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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