Just Books (part 1)

–for MomOfADragon

It was a rare 8 o’clock. The kind of 8 o’clock that found her far away from the rhythms of her everyday life, drifting through a small town just off the highway watching the storefronts close for the night. She counted a handful of bars, a few churches, and a strip mall that is full of empty windows save one. A blurry neon green sign flickers over the blank glass, the store’s inventory a mystery. She was just passing through, on her way somewhere else but 8 o’clock found her on the other side of her hotel room door and out here on the sidewalk in the warm night listening to the town yawn itself to sleep.

A few cars crawl their way down the blacktop, pausing beneath a tired traffic light before disappearing behind the strip mall. She decides she isn’t hungry, she’d eaten a few hours before settling in at her hotel and was more in the mood for a walk and maybe a beer before she calls it a day.

A dog barks somewhere and an engine growls to life in the growing twilight. The few people she sees on the street look tired. A woman smiles at her, Safeway shopping bags dangling from her hands like odd tan fruit as she shuffles by.

The first bar crouches at the edge of the strip mall’s parking lot. A glut of pickups crowds the parking lot. She listens to the music stuttering through the red metal door as she picks her way along the sidewalk. Jukebox, classic rock? She’s not sure, the lyrics are hard to make out but the guitar isn’t bad.

The blurry neon sign across the parking lot catches her eye again as she places her palm against the bar’s door. At a distance, it was a smear of green motion but from here she can see the neon flashing is actually a rough animation. The green tube curls in the shape of a book opening next to an impossibly large beer stein. The book flashes open and the stein tips in an endless loop. A spray of hand-painted letters arc across on window. Just Books.

Why not?

A bell chimes as she enters, a friendly sound. The bookstore is small, not more than four shelves holding up three walls with one shelf free standing in the center of the store. Book crowd together reminding her people pressed together on a bus, their spines flashing titles at her in tired fonts. And there, expertly built into the far end of the register counter, was a lazy little bar. A keg crouches in a wooden frame recessed into the wall, its silver belly touched with the book store’s fluorescent light. Two stools stand beneath the bar’s lip, worn and inviting.

“Hello?” The voice is surprised, a bit rough. She turns and a man stumbles out from behind the central shelf. He is fighting the bottom buttons of a black formal shirt. “I’m sorry, we’re…I mean…” He gives up on his shirt and glances down.

“Are you closed,” she asks. “The sign was lit…” She follows his glance to his shoeless feet. A black pair of dress socks make his feet look like long pools of ink against the gray carpet.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that,” he smiles and she decides he is a little younger than she is. Not by much. He has a wash of stubble that covers a defined chin. The hint of a dimple is shadowed beneath the dark fuzz. His eyes are either a dark green or hazel, she’s not sure which. “Look, I was…uh, just changing.”

“I’ll go,” she says.

“No! Wait,” He tries a smile and it is wide and easy. It looks good on him. “I have to admit, I don’t get all that many walk-ins, just regulars. I’ll tell you what,” he picks at his shirt, one hand working a button. She catches a glimpse of his bellybutton. She doesn’t look away. “Why don’t you sit at the bar, I’ll finish this and if you’d like a beer, I’ll pour you one on the house.” He smiles again.

“A bar in a bookstore…” she says.

His face lights up, “I know! You browse and booze, I don’t think you can get any better than that.”

His smile is infectious.

“Sold,” she says.

“Great! Have a seat and I’ll get this taken care of and be back for a beer in no time,” he gestures to one of the stools and she sits. She watches him disappear behind the bookshelf, trying not to ask herself why he’s changing there and not in a bathroom somewhere but in all honesty, she’s seen much stranger than this. She turns to the front of the store and stares at the dark windows. They’ve turned into near perfect mirrors as the night has fallen outside. Even the lights of the bars and the traffic signals seem to have faded to nothing more than a few red specks scattered in the black surface of the glass. She studies the bookstore’s reflection.

“I’m sorry for the wait. I’ve got a formal sort of gathering tonight. Town hall meeting. They want to sell the strip mall. I’m the last survivor. Just Books. Did you see my sign? Of course, you did, you just said you did.”

She is trying to think of a reply when her eyes catch his reflection. The windows offer a mercilessly perfect reflection of him. She can see the entire bookstore but he is somehow beautifully framed in the dark glass. He tells her that Just Books seems like a silly name, especially now that he is offering beer but she doesn’t hear him as she watches his reflection slip off its shirt.

His body is lined with delicious edges. Not the massive muscle of a bodybuilder but the definition of a runner or a swimmer. His shoulders flow as he lets the black shirts slip off over his head. His chest, touched with dark hair, works as he drops his shirt and unbuttons his slacks. He continues to talk to her, his voice bright and happy. Tidbits about his bookstore wash over her as his slacks swim down the length of his powerful thighs, exposing hard cut hips and the tip of a bobbing cock as he bounces out of his clothing. He pauses, gesturing with his palm up, half-turning toward the bookshelf, his wide smile on his face. She has no idea what he says but he laughs and she responds with a laugh of her own.

“I’m terrible at formality. I’m just a book guy. I love the printed word and the rest, well, I am pretty bad at,” his reflection says and she is aware that a warmth has begun to spread between her thighs. A surprising if not familiar wetness.

“Do you like beer?” His reflection is saying and she wants to answer but somehow there is a huskiness in her throat that she isn’t expecting.

“Yes,” she says.

“See?” He says, his reflection perfectly naked as if beer explained everything. He is picking at a separate folded stack of formal clothing now. He glances at a white formal shirt gracing the top of the stack and frowns.

“And erotica,” She says, surprising herself.

His reflection stops, a sock dangling from one hand. “Erotica?”

“That’s…why I came in tonight,” She lies. The wetness is accompanied by a hungry hollow feeling in the root of her belly. “Do you carry erotica here?”

His reflection appears to consider this. He flips the sock around once, his cock bobbing with the effort. “Well, yes. Do you have a favorite author?”

She swallows and makes a choice. It is a fantasy choice, the kind of choice she could only make in a small town at 8:30pm in a little bookstore just off the highway in the middle of nowhere. “No, but I know what I like. Why don’t I just tell you what I like to read and you could help me find something?”

His reflection blinks and opens its mouth to say something but she continues, “I like wet erotica. Really wet. Do you know what I mean? I want the author to describe the slickness of the body in a way that I can taste. Most authors spend a lot of time writing about sweat as being salty. But that isn’t enough,” She slips her hand along the length of her thigh, feeling the pressure of her fingers through her jeans. “Sweat is the start of sex, you know? I need to taste it. So sweat needs to be silky, it needs to lubricate skin to skin. When I touch my tongue to my lover’s neck, I want to taste his body. I want the musk of his skin on my tongue.”

His reflection is still, its mouth slightly open. His wide shoulders are turned slightly but she is staring at his cock now. This is her flag, this is her indicator.

“When I first lick that small piece of skin underneath the head of my lover’s penis…when the tip of my tongue touches that tight, hot skin. I want to taste the heat of him. I want to taste the climax building inside his body,” she says and her voice is already rich with the wetness of her body.

His reflection responds, his cock thickening, the head swelling gamely with her words. His eyes are wide as he looks down at himself.

“I want an author that can describe a tongue licking my clit in a way that reaches off the page and sends fire and ice down my thighs and up my spine. I want an author to describe the tip of my lover’s tongue slipping into the hood of my clit, saliva hot against the slick flesh, rolling as my hips quiver. I want an author to spend time describing how my lover’s lips and fingers find every ridge of my pussy, sucking and stroking until I can’t speak, until I can only cum,” she slips her hand into her waistband and slides her fingers into her underwear. The first electric jolt climbs through her thighs as her fingers find her lips and slip inside.

His reflection tentatively takes his cock in one hand. His embarrassment obvious, his glances at the bookshelf separating them and his reddening face make her all the wetter. He strokes himself once and shivers.

That’s enough, she thinks. This is mine, I started this, I’ll finish it. She pulls her wet fingers from her jeans and slips off the bar stool. She is around the edge of the shelf, her face hot and her desire heavy in her belly, before either of them can speak.

He is masturbating, his red cheeks bright. The head of his cock is a dusky as it slips rhythmically between his fingers, a trickle of sweat is visible at his temple. He opens his mouth, to groan or to apologize she will never know. She steps forward and thrusts her wet fingers into his mouth.

“Don’t talk, don’t say anything,” she feels his tongue against her fingertips, the yielding moist flesh is enough to make her legs shakes. “Take your hand off your dick right now,” she says. He blinks but he does as he is told. “Good boy.”

She studies him for a moment, allowing the heavy desire in her to build. A clear bead of precum blooms at the tip of his penis. She reaches out slowly, making sure he sees her every motion. She touches the tip of her index finger to the opening of his cock, gathering the glistening drop with a little flourish. His groan is deep and immediate. His cock flexes once and is still.

“Good boys are rewarded,” she says. She licks her fingertip, the taste of him rich on her tongue. “Bad boys,” she says, “are punished.” She slaps his penis, a quick flick her of her fingers, designed not to inflict too much pain but only just enough. This time his groan is startled, his face reddening further. His cock wags comically for a moment before she clutches and strokes it twice before letting it go and watching it spasm.

She makes a show of removing her clothing. Unzipping her jeans, letting his eyes settle in the hungry open v of the zipper as she slips off her shirt and bra. Her nipples are hard, she brushes her fingertips along both watching his eyes take in each motion. When she is down to her panties he tries to touch her, which earns him another penis slap. A thick tendril of precum drools from the tip now, the head red and quivering. When he calms, she takes slides her wet panties down her legs, turning and grinding her ass again his quivering cock. It is good to be naked here, good to feel her wetness against her thighs. Good to feel his skin burn against her own.

She leans against him, reaching between her legs and grasping him. She moves her hips, a slow flutter, holding his cock still as she flirts the sopping lips of her pussy across the dripping head of his cock. She considers guiding him inside of her, considers how satisfying it would be to feel the length of him deep inside of her body. She eases the tip of his penis inside, relishing the first push, the first heat of it all. When he moans, she pulls away. When she turns to him, he is shaking.

“Kneel,” she commands. He does as he is told and she is sudden and forceful. The moment he is on his knees she has her fingers in his hair and presses his face into her pussy. She throws one thigh over his shoulder, using her free hand to clutch the bookshelf to keep her balance. He is sloppy, driving his tongue the length of her pussy, greedily lapping at her flesh. She presses him deeper and he obliges, his nose and lips rolling against her clit as his tongue pushes deep. She guides his efforts, relishing the sound of her own breathing as he finds a rhythm and her body responds. Her bare foot whitens against the bookshelf as she shivers.

“Deeper,” she commands and even as he is breathless, he presses. He sucks the rich tight skin beneath her clit, his fingers pushing against the hard flesh inside her that cause the slickness to grow. She wants to pull away, to continue the game a little longer but he purses his lips and drinks her somehow, pulls the orgasm from her in a wet, sopping wave that pours from her in tremors and delicious spasms. She is gasping, cumming, oh she is cumming.

When she finally steps back, his face is glistening and his hair is a tousled mess. His smile is huge and ridiculous. He cock has gone from a bright red to a blue, it pulses with need.

“Stand,” she says and her voice is hoarse. It takes does so slowly, his penis swaying absurdly. “You’ve been a pretty good boy. What do you want, pretty good boy?”

He stares at her for a moment and she can see him wanting every part of her, see him running through his options and see the disappointment in having to select only one. “I want you to…uh…” he trembles and yet another thread of precum escapes his penis.

“Say what you want, good boy,” she says.

“Slap me again,” he says and it is almost an apology. “And…and…after I cum can you…suck me?”

She doesn’t smile, just watches him for a moment before reaching out and touching the tip of his cock with a fingertip. He shivers. She steps closer, enjoying the heat of his skin. She lays the edge of her fingernail against the ridge of his penis and slides it the length of the shaft. She is careful to keep the sensation light but deliciously dangerous.

“Oh…” he says and the first true spasm begins in his belly. She is slow and careful, red lines follow her nails along his body. She understands the art of pain and pleasure, where they meet and where they disagree. Gooseflesh follows her along his thighs, creeping across his back and over his chest at her touch. She spends a long moment with his balls, pulling them gently but firmly, listening to him groan. When his breathing has quickened to a ragged race, she stands.

“When you cum, we’re not finished,” she says.

“Okay,” he breathes.

“Good boy,” she says and watches him shake for a moment. He looks at her, his wide green eyes pleading. She waits.

“Please,” he says.

When she slaps his cock, she is surprised at the immediacy of his orgasm. His voice explodes into a liquid groan as his belly shivers. The first jet of cum spatters her forearm, the second and third catch her upper thigh in warm silken spatter. He struggles to stay standing as more surges of cum gush from his swaying cock. She makes a decision and slaps him again, less force this time but his pleasure is wild.

“Please,” he begs and she remembers the rest of his request. She kneels in the growing slick of cum and takes him into her mouth. His hot flesh is rich with cum, she swallows the length of him, enjoying his moan. The sounds of her sucking, the sticky liquid sigh coupled with the heady smell of cum and sweat brings her body back to the edge of arousal. Her fingers find her clit and she makes quick little circles in the wet flesh of her body.

She pulls away after a moment, quickening desire tightening her belly, gasping for air. He kneels, flopping down next to her, his penis still oozing but not yet flaccid.

“My God,” he says.

“We’re not finished,” she says. It is only 9:00, she thinks. She’s only had one orgasm. And still, no beer. She pulls herself forward, one hand grasping his sticky cock, one leg already thrown over his hip when the bells over Just Book’s door chime…

Submitted August 07, 2018 at 06:56PM by AniasAndNin https://ift.tt/2KzE5v1