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Booked

By: dogilguy



I've been staying in Seoul for a couple of weeks when a friend mentioned the term 'booking club' in a discussion about the local night club scene. I never heard of that before and it turned out that there are a number of clubs in Seoul with a quite unique system that allows men & women getting hooked up.

I was told that the clubs have a relatively high number of tables, some even separate rooms and that usually groups of guys go there to meet woman. Unlike typical night clubs, the dance floor is pretty small. The guys are buying all the drinks and also platters with side dishes such as fruit and other snacks. The waiters, there are many of them, are not only brining the food and drinks to the table, they also bring the girls. Yes, that's right – they bring the girls.

Many of the women hang out in some waiting area close to the restrooms where they can take care of their make up or they stay on the dance floor. As soon as they are anywhere else, one of the waiters will grab them and bring them to a table or into a room and sit them next to a guy. Some of the girls are reluctant and protest, some are just following. However, they are usually OK with that as they knew what to expect before going there, although sometimes a girl was not told about it before and that means she is in for a small surprise.

I was also told that the better clubs with that system are often packed with girls because of a number of scouts that go to the restaurants and coffee shops in the area and talk girls into going to the club later that night. Having some fun and getting free drinks all night is doing the trick for many. As the clubs are frequently visited by richer guys and sometimes celebrities, this seems to work quite well.

So, once the girl sits next to a guy, they usually check each other out and introduce themselves to each other and the girl typically within seconds decides to stay or leaves (just to be brought to another table).

It gets tricky by guys giving tips to the waiters requesting special girls and sometimes even girls tip the waiters to be brought to a specific table.

After I heard that story, I could not really believe it. I mean, I have seen many really interesting things in Korea and I believed my friend told me the truth, but at the same time it was a bit hard to understand it without seeing it.

Around a week later on a weekday, I had just finished dinner with a business partner, my friend called me and asked if I want to join him and a couple of other guys in 'the' club. I first did not know what exactly he was referring to – honestly, I simply did not make the connection to the story I heard before at that moment. Anyway, I had no plans for the rest of the evening, so I agreed and minutes later I was sitting in a taxi going to the most fanciest booking club in Seoul – Club I in the basement of the Riviera Hotel.

I meet my friend in front of the building and we walked in together. Just the scenery was great, beautiful woman everywhere and even by only passing by I could already see the action going on, waiters dragging and pushing girls reluctantly to some table, a nice small dance floor full with gorgeous hot women, dancing to the latest electronic dance music.

It turned out that we had a separate room and when we reached it, there were two other guys in there, each of them with a nice girl sitting next to them. We joined the group and started drinking.

Only minutes later, a waiter came in and brought in a girl and sat her next to me. We smiled at each other and probably did not want to be with a foreigner and immediately stood up and walked out. Well, it did not matter, less than three minutes later the next young woman sat next to me.

In less than one hour, I talked to 6 different girls, saw another 3 that sat next to me but got out instantly. I meet a flight attendant, a professional dancer, two students, a Korean American only there for a 3 day holiday and really cute English teacher. I did not drink very much until then and had quite some fun, also some of the other guys meet interesting girls and no matter how it continued it would be a memorable evening in any case.

After I was without a girl next to me for a few minutes, the waiter brought in a new woman. I immediately liked her when I saw her because she did not look too overdressed. Many Korean girls are using too much make up which is nice, but I personally prefer the natural look. It turned out that she speaks English quite well and she was 29, one year older than me. She was dressed in a loose blouse with bra under it and tight jeans. Her body was average I guess, she was not too skinny, her breasts were not huge but still noticeable.

We both liked each other instantly. She told me that she had just went to a job interview for her dream job at a very important travel agency but was turned down. She was really down and quite sad about it but decided to join her group of friends to go to the club to get her mind of it. Actually, it turned out they were scouted from a coffee shop nearby. 

She also told me a lot about her experience when she lived in Japan for some years and how different the countries are. We talked about the different views on relationship and even sexual life in the countries and I was surprised how open she talked about it, many Koreans are very conservative about such topics. With my experience about Korean and Japanese culture, I was an active participant and we both enjoyed the whole scene a lot.

Later in the evening, she had to go to the restroom. The problem in this club is that girls coming out of the restroom are usually picked up by the waiters again and sent somewhere else, so I decided to go with her and waited in front of it. When she came out, she was surprised to see me there as she thought I might had already given up on her feeling the other girls would have been more pretty but of course I just had to wait for her.

On the way back to our room, in a slightly darker corner, she suddenly started to french kiss me without any warning. Wow - I was really surprised. It was a corner in the room, but still people could see us. It was great and it went on for several minutes. I really felt it took even longer. Both of us have drunk that night, but actually not much, so we could both fully enjoy everything. 

One of my friends saw us and when we finally went back into the room, he suggested to get a room upstairs in the hotel. I asked her and she did not answer, still he had already started to arrange it for us – one of the conveniences that the club is in the same building as the hotel. We sat down again, had a bit more alcohol and continued talking, until my friend announced that he and his guys decided to leave. When we got up and walked out of the room, he handed me the room key for the hotel room upstairs. 

I showed the key to her and asked her if she wants to join and again she did not reply but simply smiled. I walked with her towards the elevator going up to the hotel rooms and she entered it with me. Inside, we kissed again as we rode up to our floor.

Once we stepped into the room, she noticed that she forgot her handbag in the locker down at the club and said she wants to go downstairs to pick it up. I was a bit worried then, because I thought she might have changed her mind. I said it would be OK and I would go with her but she then turned her face around to look me into the eyes and pushed me on the bed – her handbag suddenly seemed forgotten.

We kissed each other like crazy this time, with her laying on top of me. After some time we were slowly undressing each other. I felt her ass with one hand pulled under inside the tight jeans she was wearing and then moved it around and opened the front of her trousers, she started to touch my chest after she had opened my shirt.

I was getting very aroused and she kissed my chest with the main focus on my left nipple, she even bite it and I loved it. She moved her head down lowly until she licked around my tights. I was getting fully rock hard for her at that moment and my cock head pushed itself out through the underpants.

After turning around and rearranging ourselves, we both took of our remaining clothes. I started licking and kissing her body in all different areas. Her breasts have been quite small and I loved them, especially her nipples that stood up and where perfect for licking and sucking.

I went down her body with my head and soon started licking around her labia and inside her pussy. I noticed she was very aroused and quite wet. You see, I love giving oral pleasure to women, and especially in this case the taste was delicious. There was a small smooth patch of pussy hair just above her clit and it looked beautiful. Once her clit was more visible, I started licking and sucking there and her response was very nice. She put her hands on my head and encouraged me to continue what I was doing more and faster.

After some time she came. She became a lot louder suddenly! Her body was shacking a bit more than before and it was an amazing feeling.

It took some time for her to relax again and I used that to get a condom and put it myself on my dick. I slowly started fucking her pussy with me on top of her and looked into her eyes. We kissed more while I slowly increased my rhythm and pushed more and more deep into her.

Not soon after I came, she was so exhausted that she started sleeping. I pulled the blanket over her to make sure she is not getting cold and then snuggled under the blanket next to her. 

In the morning, I woke up just before her. When she woke up, she was surprised to see me but then instantly remembered and we started chatting a little bit. We talked about her experience in Japan more and she told me of the things she does not like in Korea, especially the moral views about sex. She told me Japan is crazy but she preferred that culture to Korea when it comes about sexuality. The discussion really turned me on and she started to fondle my dick with her left hand and I became hard quite soon.

She started to give me a hand job slowly while we still talked and our discussion got more naughty. I fondled her breasts and her ass. Then she moved over me and saw there was another condom next to the bed and unpacked it. She put it on my dick and then sat on it. I moved it inside her pussy while she slowly moved down. After starting slow movements, she moved her body forward and her head down and we kissed again for a long time. She really enjoyed riding up and down on my morning erection. When she moved her body up again, I touched her breasts sometimes but actually I simply enjoyed looking into her eyes and she looked in my face with passion until she closed her eyes, moved her body back and increased the speed of her movements. Soon after that she started moaning loudly again and after some time I was coming. Luckily I still stayed hard and she continued moving up and down until she came as well and then moved back to the side next to me.

A bit later, we took a shower together and focused on cleaning each other. We then went together to have some late breakfast.

I had a business meeting that day in the morning and of course I was quite late ...

Bookends



Chapter 1

110º. Thank god for air-conditioning, Anne thought. West Texas. Flat stretch of endless desert and burning blue sky. Rest Stop Cafe. Red neon sign to the right. She pulls in on the gravel lot. Sign in broad window says, 'Enjoy a hearty meal in air-conditioned comfort.' Not many customers. Anne takes a booth and orders a turkey sandwich with salad and a glass of iced tea with lemon slice. A Mexican, early twenties, is watching her. She's used to men watching her. She's good looking and knows it, but isn't hung up on it. She ignores the Mexican and gazes out the window. When she's through she dials a number.

"Hi, hon, it's me."

Barry looked up from blueprints on his desk and leaned back in the swivel chair, a smile on his face.

"Where are you, babe?"

"Somewhere in West Texas at the Rest Stop Cafe. You won't believe how hot it is—110°."

Barry whistled. "Bad time to go visiting your mother."

"I miss you already."

"I know, me too, but I haven't seen mom for years. Megan wanted to go with me, but she's got a bug. She's always calling Megan and me to come see her. She's lonesome. It won't be long. A week and I'll be back."

"I'll be here, and the first thing I'll do is rip your clothes off with my teeth and lick your naked body all over until you're begging me for it."

"You shouldn't talk like that. You'll make me hot—and it's already 110°.

"I'm serious."

"You'd better be. I might do some licking too."

The Mexican was gone when she got through talking. Two rednecks had come in and were sitting at the counter. They stole glances as she left. Outside, as she got into the car, she noticed the Mexican in a white van with another Mexican. 

Santana dialed a number as he watched the pretty gringa drive off. 

"She coming, Cobra. Gray Honda, WRA183. Blonde, blue eyes; 36C-22-33 or 34; five-five there bouts.

Anne saw the patrol car sitting on the side of the road and slowed until she was certain she was well under the speed limit. What in the hell anyway? The road was as straight as an arrow as far as the eye could see. Surely the officer knew he wasn't going to catch anyone speeding while he was sitting right there. Stupid. She drove past making a point of not glancing at him then heard a whoop, whoop. A glance in the rear view mirror. She saw the patrol car pull out, blue lights flashing. She pulled over. Her heart was pounding. Men with badges...all that deadly hardware around their waist, frightened her. You've done nothing wrong, she told herself. Calm down. It's some kind of mistake. Maybe something wrong with the car. What? In the mirror, she watched him get out from the patrol car. He was big with a pot belly. He swaggered toward her, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. She scrolled down her window feeling the furnace heat of the desert rush in. Wavy lines rose up off the highway. The sun was everywhere. A blinding radiance. She squinted looking up as he stopped at the window.

"What's the problem, officer?" She smiled weakly. He had a crude, insensitive face.

"Well. I'll tell you what's wrong, little lady. You were speeding."

"But that's not possible because--"

The officer grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. "Because you slowed down when you saw me, didn't you?"

"I wasn't speeding."

"Ugh."

"Well, just write me a ticket, then, and I'll be on my way."

"Oh, so now you've got a smart mouth. I want you to get out of the car."

"Officer, I wasn't being smart with you. It's just so hot, and I've been on the road so--"

"Lady, I'm not gonna tell you to get out of the car again." He jerked the door open, grabbed her arm and pulled her out. "Now don't make me charge you with resisting arrest."

"Arrest? But I haven't done anything. Please..."

"Turn around and face the car. He forced her wrist behind her back and cuffed it then the other one. "Spread your legs."

"What are you doing? Why?"

He kicked her feet apart. "I said spread 'em." He began frisking her. "Wearing a miniskirt. You women disgust me." He rubbed his hand up between her legs feeling the smooth cunt through the thin panties.

"Stop it! Stop it!"

He grabbed her by the hair and forced her toward the patrol car, shoving her in back. After a minute or two a white van pulled in behind the patrol car. The Mexican who had been riding with Santana got into the Honda and drove off. Cobra and Santana followed. Where a sign read: LAST EXIT TO TRAVISVILLE. They left the Interstate and pulled in at an abandoned gas station. Cobra got out of the patrol car and dragged Anne into a gutted room that had once been the office. The only furniture now was a filthy double wide mattress lying on the floor. The Mexicans watched as he forced her down on the mattress, pushed her skirt up.

"Hey, man, take her clothes off. We wanna see pussy."

"You can do what you want when it's your turn."

Cobra slid the panties down and tossed them aside among other dusty stale articles of women's apparel lying on the gritty floor then bunted her thighs apart. He unzipped his pants and thumbed his cock out. She gave a wounded cry. He jerked open the front of her sleeveless blouse, buttons popping, then pushed up her bra. 

She wailed with animal ferocity as he cupped her tits, thumb nails denting hard into the soft pink nipples. He was strong and held her in check as if she were a child. Cupping her ass he lifted her off the floor as he strained to force in the knotted head of his cock. She was dry. Tight. Her blue eyes froze on him as he spit on his hand and rubbed it over the purple veined organ. He pressed against her again. Slowly she spread. She clenched her teeth as she felt the width and length of him; squeezed her eyes shut; twisted her body beneath him, sliding and kicking her spiked heels against the floor, the soles making a scrapping rasping sound like sandpaper. Her face red from struggling. Sweat beaded, trickling down into her hair. She arched her back, bucking against him, her struggles only intensifying his eager thrusts. The weight of his fat body, slamming against her, forced air from her lungs as if she were a bellows. Guttural whines puffed her cheeks. He began moving in and out more easily. Suddenly he grew rigid. He groaned, then exploded with short quick thrusts and collapsed on top of her. After a moment he rose up and shook his dick off on her belly then stood up. She lay on the floor looking up, her eyes hot, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Naked to their gaze.

"Tight."

He walked outside and lit a cigarette leaving the two Mexicans with her. A lone car swished by on the Interstate. The naked desert shimmered in the heat. A bird made a black dart overhead. When he finished his cigarette, he strolled back inside. She was totally naked now. Santana's switchblade lay on the floor next to the mattress. She was sandwiched between them. Santana on top fucking her in the ass. Jorge beneath. The rest of her clothes had joined the scrap pile scattered on the floor. She no longer struggled. There was heavy breathing, grunts, the sound of flesh against flesh. Her blonde hair hung down curtaining her head. Jorge had his hands on the sides of her face kissing her hungrily. Cobra could imagine her slack mouth and greased cunt accepting his wet thrusts.

He walked back outside and opened the door of the Honda. Her purse lay on the passenger seat. He opened it, saw the cell phone and took it out. He dropped it on the concrete and crushed it with his heel.

After awhile Santana came out buttoning his shirt a toothy grin on his brown face. "To think we get paid for this, bato." 

"Is Jorge about done?"

"Aw, you know that fucker, man. He go on forever. He like his pussy." He lit a cigarette and stood with his hands on his narrow hips looking out over the desert.

"Well, he's gonna have to rush it. I wanna get an ice cold beer and something to eat. Get out of this fucking heat."

Santana nodded. "Manana." He got in the van and left.

The sun moved imperceptibly across the sky. Half an hour dragged by before Jorge came out, a shorter man than Santana and pudgy. He nodded, got in the Honda and drove off. Cobra tossed his cigarette and went back inside. She was sitting up, strands of long blonde hair hung down to her nipples. Pink lipstick smeared her cheek. Her body was wet with sweat. The greasers had taken her wedding ring, watch and gold necklace. He lifted her up, walked her out to the patrol car, and put her in back.

Sheriff Jane Kitten sat at her desk, pointed boots propped up, clicking a ballpoint pen against her smooth, white teeth while studying a crossword puzzle. Long red fingernails tapped the folded magazine. Piercing blue eyes moved over the columns. Red lips smiled faintly. Beneath a gray Stetson, tilted low on her forehead, long black hair was fixed in a ponytail. Custom fitted jeans and a long-sleeved western shirt, with small brown and white checks, cleaved to her perfect five-foot-seven figure. On her hip was a pearl-handled .357 revolver.

Her Smart Phone buzzed on the desk. She picked it up.

"Got another one for you," Cobra said. "Prime this time. Blonde, blue eyes."

"Okay. Bring her round back. I'll be here."

She dropped her feet off the desk and slid back in the swivel chair, got up and opened the office door. Gladys, the dispatcher, was playing poker on her computer. She went to the right, down a corridor, opened a steel door with a key, passed two empty cells and opened another steel door marked EXIT.

Outside was a brick walled alleyway on both sides. A green dumpster hid the exit door from the view of anyone passing across where the alley met Loomis Ave. An anonymous graffiti artist had spray painted in bold letters on a section of wall, SATAN RULES. Underneath was a well executed picture of a leering, demonic creature.

Soon Cobra's patrol car turn into the alley. He stopped at the exit door and got out.

"You're gonna love this 'n, Jane." He pulled the naked blonde out. "Whadahyah think of that?" He squeezed a tit.

"This man and two Mexicans raped me." Anne tried to jerk free, but he was too strong.

"Shut your slut mouth, bitch." Cobra shook her.

"Bring her inside."

She opened the cell nearest the exit, and Cobra took off the cuffs and shoved her in.

"She's gonna bring a pretty penny, huh?" Cobra said.

"We'll see." Kitten said, matter of factly. Then with a tone of dismissal, "I'll get back to you."

Cobra fumed as he drove off. He didn't like being kept in the dark. He had no idea who the higher ups were that Kitten was dealing with, and that being the case, he only had her word on how much she was getting for the women he brought her--and, damn it, he was taking all the risk. Yeah... but he grinned. Even he had to admit there wasn't much risk with the county sheriff protecting him. He headed for Nell's Bar & Grill for a cold one. Hell, even if she was short changing him, the easy money was still good and so was the free pussy.

Anne sat on the thin bare mattress that rested on a steel slab jutting from the wall. There was nothing in the cell to cover her nakedness. Only the bunk and a steel toilet-sink combo. It was hard to form her thoughts. Only a few hours ago she existed in a world that made sense. Now nothing did. What was it the man Cobra had said? She'll 'bring a pretty penny.' Are they going to...sell me?

Her eyes darted to the steel door that suddenly opened. The pretty sheriff, the one Cobra called Jane, came in. She unlocked the cell door and tossed a pair of padded cuffs on the mattress. "Put one around your wrist and the other around one of the bars."

When Anne had done so, Jane sat down on the mattress next to her. She placed the palm of her hand on her cheek. The hand was soft and warm. Anne smelled a flowery scent. Jane moved the hand down the side of her neck squeezing softly with tantalizing, almost hypnotic, repetition.

"You're very lovely." She placed both hands on her breasts and flicked the pink nipples with her nails until they became rigid. She slowly circled the breasts with her palms, pressing, massaging, making the shapely mounds swell. The slightest touch was making Anne tingle with guilty anticipation. She wanted to resist, felt she must, but couldn't. She closed her eyes and when she opened them Jane was naked pressing her red lips to hers. She didn't resist, couldn't have even if she wanted to. She'd never been kissed sexually by a woman before. It was like nothing she could have imagined. She felt the wet tip of the woman's tongue pressing insistently at her lips. She parted them allowing her full access. She grew heady. Her senses spun out of control. She felt warm soft breasts pressed against hers.

Hands gently reclined her on the bunk. The tongue worked within her mouth dominating her, smothering her with unrelenting eagerness. Hands wandered over her nakedness. Warm palms circled her belly giving rise to needs she had to have fulfilled. Then she was jolted. She cried out in lustful agony. Fingers prodded her swollen cunt sending myriad electric shocks racing through her tormented flesh. She arched her back forcing her hips up against a hand now wet with her juices. Fingers probed her, building an unquenchable fire. Long nails traced erotic outlines about her clit driving her wild. Every touch sent shudders of ecstasy rampaging through her. Her heart raced madly beating against her chest. She panted, gasping for breath. Crying. Begging. Whimpering. Moaning uncontrollably. Then there was a pleasure almost inconceivable, she felt the woman's tongue, her lips, her mouth probing, kissing, sucking at the cleft beneath her belly. The teeth nipping, tugging, biting. Hands cupping her breasts. Fingers kneading sparks of desire from nipples hard as pebbles. Sensations rocked her body building in intensity, more than she could endure. Her body shook as waves of delicious release exploded from some deep central source racking her with convulsions that, after what seemed an eternity, subsided, leaving her incapable of thought or motion. When she became aware of her surrounding again, the beautiful sheriff was gone.

Kitten looked at her watch again. It had been three hours since she'd called Fetcher Murdoch. She didn't like holding merchandise any longer than necessary, and she was anxious to get the haggling over that she knew was coming. The blonde was, as Cobra said, prime cut. She should bring top dollar. And she was going to make damn sure she did. She was about to make another call when Murdoch came in the front door. 

"In the office."

He settled himself in a chair in front of her desk, crossing his legs. He was a tall thin man with coal black hair combed back and a long narrow nose above lips so thin the mouth seemed cut with a razor. A cigarette dangled from the corner. 

"Whadah we got?" he said, letting smoke drift idly from his mouth.

"Blonde, blue eyes, perfect figure, unblemished skin."

Interest showed in his dark feral eyes. He smiled salaciously, the tiny teeth pearly white. 

"Alright, let's take a look then."

She led him back, as always, to the cells. Anne sat up covering herself with her hands. 

"Stand up," Kitten said. The naked woman no longer interested her. She'd had her. Now was business. "Come over here; let this man inspect you. And none of your damn false modesty."

Anne hesitated, then, realizing the futility of resistance, dropped her hands to her sides and stepped up to the bars. Murdoch's dark eyes gleamed with appreciation. 

"Indeed, indeed," he muttered. He had her turn around. The ivory skin was flawless. No blemishes. He would haggle price, but he knew as well as Kitten that the blonde was a rare jewel. They went back to the office and agreed on a sum three times higher than usual. 

"I'll be back tomorrow and pick her up."

Kitten followed him to the front door. Then, when he was gone, she turned to Gladys, who was showing a dead hand on the computer screen.

"And you wonder why you're always broke."

"I know, I know, but what the hell. You'd think I'd make a big score one of these days."

"If you have to think you're doing something wrong." Kitten nodded sagaciously. Gladys was like most people. Living on dreams. And if you don't ask too much of her, pay her enough to get by, she'll never ask questions. Had no interest in knowing what went on around her. In short, the perfect employee.

In the morning, before the heat started rising off the desert, Kitten opened the cell door. Anne, who was sitting slumped over, head in hands, looked up. Kitten went to the sink and filled a paper cup with water then handed her a pill.

"Take this."

"What is it?"

"A morning after pill. You don't want to get pregnant, do you?"

Anne shook her head listlessly and swallowed it, draining the cup.

"What's going to happen to me?" she asked. She lowered the cup to her lap. "Please tell me. That man who was here yesterday, he's going to buy me, isn't he?"

"Bought. He's already bought you."

"But what will he do with me?"

"He'll sell you to another party who'll sell you to another party until an ultimate buyer purchases you, I imagine.". 

"Please. My husband has money. His construction firm is starting to do a lot of business. He'll pay you more than that man paid you. I know he will. No questions asked."

Kitten chuckled. "Nah, I don't think so, hon. You've been bought, and--soon to be--paid for. Accept your fate, and you'll suffer less in the long run."

"Please help me. How can you be like this?"

"For money. It's nothing personal. I do feel for you, but one has to be practical. It's just business."

"Will you give me something to wear? Please. I don't want that man seeing me naked. You're a woman. You must know how I feel."

Kitten sighed, glanced at her watch. "He owns you now. That'll be up to him. Don't resist. It would be pointless."

An hour later a late model hearse with a simulated black leather top and silver gray sides parked at the exit door in the alley. Murdoch pressed the buzzer and a minute later Kitten opened the door. He dropped his cigarette and came inside. Anne lay on the bunk, hands cuffed behind her back and a ball gag in her mouth.

"Nice. Really nice." Murdoch muttered. He reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick manilla envelope and handed it to Kitten. She thumbed through the contents then nodded. He motioned for Anne to get up and led her outside. The back of the hearse was open. Inside, the metal tracks serving to slide a coffin in and out had been removed. Thick gray carpeting covered the floor. Stronger than his slender frame would suggest, he easily picked her up and placed her inside. He lowered the hatch, lit a cigarette and turned to Kitten.

"See if you can get some more like this, Kit." he fiddled in his pants pocket for car keys. "Blue eyed blondes with velvet skin are a hot commodity."

He guided the smooth running Caddy out into the desert leaving Travisville a dot in the immensity behind. A cigarette in his mouth; an air-conditioner blowing full on; and a naked babe in back. What more could a man want? Whiskey. He removed a flask from his chest pocket and took a burning gulp. Even the sweet smell that flared his nostrils was addictive.

"Ah, god," he sighed. He took another gulp then screwed the cap back on. In the mirror he could see her lying there. He didn't usually fuck with the merchandise. He had a Mexican wife who kept him well satisfied, but this blonde was too much to ignore. He looked for a spot to pull over. Soon he came to a mound chock full of rocks and left the highway to circle around behind it. When he was out of sight, he put his cigarette out and took off his clothes. His bloated cock swung heavily side to side as he made his way back to her on his knees. Her blue eyes fixed on him. A stifled moan and grunted protest were muffled by the ball gag. He spread her legs and got between them. She banged her heels against the carpet, squirming rebelliously until she felt his belly against hers and the fullness of his cock in her. She ceased struggling and stared corpse-like at the ceiling. He unhooked the ball gag and started kissing her. She turned her face to the side. He grabbed her head with both hands, resting his weight on his elbows, and forced his tongue in her mouth. She made weak garbled protest as the long minutes passed then became still as his thrusts became more and more frenzied and brutal. He was entering her fully now. Wet sweaty flesh, despite the air-conditioning. Each time he withdrew she could feel her hips rise off the carpet then be slammed back down as he entered her. She cried out twisting her body crazily beneath him. Their rapid pants and gasps fill the plush interior of the hearse: Death's chariot. He placed his hands on her hips. She could feel them trembling with need. He had to come. He thrust forward. Missed. The huge cock slipped out flopping against her belly, come gushed out and squirting like warm gravy all over her. He'd waited too long.




Bookends



Chapter 2

Megan was in the tub when the phone rang. She wanted to ignore it, but it could be Anne. She climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a pink towel, padded down the hall and picked up a red retro replica of a 50's model dial phone. 

"Yes?"

"Megan. This is Barry. Listen, um, I haven't heard from Anne since I talked to her yesterday morning. It's probably nothing, but I was wondering if you'd heard from her since then?"

"No, I haven't and I was beginning to be a little nervous—you don't suppose anything's happened...to her, do you?"

Barry could hear the worry in her voice, but there was no way he could soft petal his concern. Besides Megan was too intelligent to buy bullshit euphemisms.

"I don't know, Megan. To tell the truth I'm worried. I've tried to call her but I keep getting a message that the call couldn't be completed. It wouldn't be like Anne to not keep in touch. She wouldn't want us to worry."

"I agree. I think we should call the police. She may have had an accident."

"Right. Let me get on it. As soon as I find out anything I'll get back to you."

"Where are you, Barry?"

"At home. I called Marty at work to handle things."

Megan knew he must really be worried if he would take a day off. Barry was a work-alcoholic who had built a fledgling construction firm into a going concern. He wasn't the kind of guy to worry needlessly.

"I'm coming over. I'll be there in an hour." She threw on a t-shirt, jeans and high heel sandals, grabbed her purse and hopped in her blue 70's Vette. 

Barry and Anne lived in a rustic split level with lots of broad windows, wood beams and a wide stone patio on a hill side that overlooked a lazy river meandering through a lush green valley. His own firm had built it at a savings of tens of thousands of dollars. 

Megan parked in front of the lower level garage and hurried up stone steps to the patio door and went inside. Barry was sitting on a brown leather sofa. A cup of coffee sat on the coffee table. He gave her a weak smile, but she could see anger in his eyes. She stood by the coffee table waiting as he lit a cigarette and leaned back. His smile changed to one of derision.

"You know what the local police told me, Megan?"

She waited.

"They said it wasn't in their jurisdiction. So I battled with the Texas authorities, and when I finally cut through all the bureaucratic bullshit and was connected to the proper division, they told me all they could do would be to put out an APB since she was a transient. But I could tell it was all very low level stuff for them. Hell, they were about to hang up without even asking for her name, description or damn license number."

"Oh, my god. Aren't they even going to check the hospitals?"

"I had to suggest that. They said they'd get back to me. They're not gonna do shit."

Stunned, Megan sat down in an armchair. "What can we do?"

"I'm gonna go to the cafe where Anne last called me from."

"But what good will that do?"

"I don't know, but maybe someone there will remember her...know something. I can check the hospitals and motels that are en route from the cafe."

"I'm going with you."

Barry shook his head. "You need to stay here on the off chance that the police actually do locate her. I gave them my home phone before I knew what I was going to do. Besides you sound like you should be in bed."

It's just an allergy. I'm taking something that'll clear it up in a day or two." She looked at him smiling weakly. "Find her, Barry. She's the only sister I've got."

A Horse With No Name was playing on the radio as Barry headed out into the Texas flats. He was driving a Jeep Wrangler with the canvas top off. Storm clouds brewed in the distance promising relief. The news came on. Barry held his breath, always thinking that this would the one where notice of an unknown female fitting Anne's description would be announced. But it never happened. It was as if she'd been swallowed up in some kind of vortex. Even as if his beautiful wife had been a dream—never existed.

He saw it. A red neon sign. Rest Stop Cafe. 'Enjoy a hearty meal in air-conditioned comfort.' He pulled in on the gravel lot and parked near the entrance. He sat down at a window booth and lit a cigarette. After a moment a cute waitress, with green eyes, came to take his order. "Hamburger, fries and coffee black." As she started to leave, he stopped her and showed her a photo of Anne. "Can you tell me if you remember seeing this woman? She would have been in here a couple of days ago." She glanced at it and shook her head. "Must have been on my day off. I'd remember a looker like her. Your wife?"

Barry nodded.

"Mary normally has this table, but she's off today. She tapped the photo against her cheek. "Let me show it to the other waitresses. Maybe they'll remember her."

Ten minutes later she returned with his order and shook her head. "No one remembers her. Sorry." She handed him the photo with a sympathetic expression.

Barry hadn't eaten a decent meal since he'd become worried about Anne. Now he scarfed down the burger and fries like a man dying of hunger. When he was through, he lit another cigarette and sipped his coffee wondering where he would take it from here. He didn't really hold out much hope of finding a motel she could have checked into, even the one adjacent to the cafe. And surely if she'd been in an accident someone would have notified him by now. But what else could have happened, and why is her cell phone dead?

As he ruminated over these matters, he noticed a good looking girl, high schoolish, wearing a mini skirt and sleeveless blouse, get out of a VW and come in. But what caught his attention was the actions of a youthful Mexican who got out of a white van, parked near by, and walked to the back of the VW and stopped as if he were studying the license plate. After a moment, he turned around and got back in the van where another Mexican was sitting. Curious, instead of leaving, Barry let the cute waitress give him a refill and ordered a slice of blackberry pie with a scoop of vanilla on top.

The high school girl finished her malt and left. Barry watched her get in the VW and leave. The white van pulled out behind her.

Barry left a tip, dropped a ten at the register and rushed out. The van was out of sight by the time he got going. He burned rubber. The cute waitress watched from the broad window. 

A few miles down the road Barry saw the van parked behind a patrol car. As he passed he saw the VW. A county sheriff was patting down the high school girl. He kept going until he came to the LAST EXIT TO TRAVISVILLE sign. He stopped in the emergency lane, got out and pushed up his hood. Then waited. The heat unbearable.

Within ten minutes the VW passed driven by one of the Mexicans. Following it was the patrol car and the white van. They all took the exit driving for a quarter of a mile and pulling into a gas station. Barry couldn't see what they were doing, but he was certain that this wasn't any kind of legitimate law enforcement work. He would have given his right arm to know what they were up to. 

Cobra got out of the patrol car and stood staring back up at the Interstate.

"What you wait for, bato? Let's get the girl and fuck her. She virgin pussy." Santana squinted, brow wrinkled, and followed Cobra's gaze. "What the fuck you looking at?"

Cobra sighed. "That man in the Jeep."

"What about him. Fucker overheated."

Cobra took his hat off and rubbed his burr cut. "Yeah, maybe, but maybe something else. I'll take the girl on in. We'll forget about fucking this time."

"Aw, fucking shit, man. You worry too much."

"Are you forgetting who's in charge?"

Santana turned his head, tossing his hand up. "Okay, okay, you the boss man." 

Cobra stared at the Mexican, bobbing his head up and down slightly several times, then gave it a quick jerk and got into the cruiser. Out the window he told the two Mexican to get going and drove off.

Barry dropped the hood and took the exit just as the VW and the van passed him. Both Mexicans stared pointedly at him. In his rear view mirror, he saw them take the entrance ramp back onto the Interstate. He speeded up until he was close enough to the patrol car to see the girl's head through the rear window. He dropped back a little not wanting to draw attention to himself, and in twenty minutes they entered the town of Travisville--wide streets bordered with a mix of adobe, wood frame and brick buildings. They passed a motel then the patrol car crossed a street and veered left into an alleyway. Barry slowed and glanced down the alley as the patrol car stopped at a green dumpster. He circled the block and saw lettering on a broad window that said Travisville Sheriff's Department. He turned back to the right and pulled into the motel lot and glanced back. From where he was he could see the entrance of the alleyway and the front of the sheriff's department. All he could do now was wait. He got a room and ordered pizza, beer and a pack of cigarettes; pulled a chair up to the window and watched.

Late, he dozed off, and when he woke up it was ten o'clock in the morning. He cursed softly. But then what the hell could he do? He had no idea what might happen next. Or how long he would have to keep up a surveillance. He didn't even know what to expect. It might be weeks before anything happened. But it had to be some kind of trafficking operation. So surely things would have to move quickly. But do they?

His cell phone buzzed. It was Megan. He couldn't ignore it. She would be frantic. But how to tell her Anne was abducted by traffickers? He answered on the fifth buzz. He told her that no one at the Rest Stop Cafe recalled seeing Anne and that he was going to start checking motels and hospitals. 

"I'll call you as soon as I learn anything." Eventually he would have to tell her something, but he didn't have the heart at the moment.

He made some coffee from the brewer that the motel provided the room with and munched on a stale slice of pizza. Around noon he saw a black and gray hearse come down the street and turn into the alleyway. He hadn't seen a funeral home when he'd circled the block. So he got in his Jeep and drove past the alley catching a glimpse of the girl being shoved inside the hearse by a tall thin man. 

This was it.

He pulled over and waited. When the hearse came out, he followed at a safe distance. Once in the desert, the hearse picked up speed covering the miles at a rapid clip. Fifteen minutes or so later, the hearse turned off the highway onto a dirt track raising a plume of reddish-brown dust in its wake. Barry stopped. Unsure what to do. If he followed the hearse farther he was sure to be spotted. And if the traffickers realized someone was on to them they would change their methods. The chain leading to Anne would be broken and he would never find her.

Half an hour passed. His t-shirt was wet with sweat. A horrible notion hit him. What if the dirt track led to another highway? He started the engine. He had to take a chance. He turned onto the track then suddenly stopped. In the distance he could see a plane coming in for a landing.

So that's how they do it, he thought. He turned around and drove farther down the highway. He wasn't sure which way the hearse would turn when it came back to the highway, so he parked and popped the hood again to give the appearance of car trouble. He felt bad about the girl, but he couldn't afford trying to rescue her jeopardizing his chance of finding Anne—not that he had any idea how he could have rescued her. Life doesn't always give one options.

Half an hour later Barry saw the plane rise into the sky, become a blurry dot then disappear on the horizon. Soon the hearse returned to the highway and went back toward Travisville. Barry was certain the driver hadn't seen him. He was almost a mile farther down the road and his jeep was brown matching the color of the desert closely. 

When the hearse was out of sight, he drove back down the highway and turned onto the track. He drove slowly, not knowing what lay ahead, until he came to a dead end. Just beyond a landing strip was visible through the low lying desert vegetation. Barry got out and walked onto its tightly packed surface. He lit a cigarette, staring toward the empty sky.

In the air conditioned comfort of Nell's bar & grill, Barry took a sip of his second ice cold beer then continued eating a ham sandwich. When he finished, he raised the beaded long neck back up to his mouth, head tilted back, and saw the sheriff standing over him, looking down.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Make yourself at home, Sheriff."

"Deputy." He flicked his badge. Then motioned for a beer to the overly made up woman behind the counter.

"You passing through?"

Barry felt an almost uncontrollable rage build in him knowing that this was the man who had abducted Anne, but he had to control it.

"Yeah. Had a little car trouble, turned out to be a lack of coolant."

"That'll do it. Heat. A man could die in a few hours without water and air conditioning." Cobra twisted the cap off his beer and took a long draw. "By god, that's good." He smacked his lips. "So where you headed?"

Barry wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he forced a smile.

"LA. Business."

He stared at Barry for a moment, as if he were trying to decide something, then chugged his beer, belched, stood up and swaggered out of the diner without paying.

Barry wondered if the deputy would run his plates. If he did and if he knew Anne's name the jig would be up.

He paid the matron and went outside, got in the Jeep and drove up Loomis Street to a pawn shop he remembered passing. Inside a stocky, bald man was sitting behind a glass counter loaded with merchandise. A ball game was on the TV. A bottle of beer sat on the counter. Barry stopped before a display of handguns. The man clicked a remote and muted the game.

He looked at Barry with jaded blue eyes. A man Barry estimated to be in his sixties.

"What can I do for you?" The tone of voice was tinged with the mild sarcasm of a man who knows there is always an angle to everything.

"I want to buy a gun."

"Um hmm." He glanced out the window at Barry's Jeep and gave him a thin smile.

"What kind of gun are you looking for?"

Barry shook his head.

"Well, if you're looking for home protection a shotgun is your best bet. .00 buck—has nine .30 caliber balls in each shell. If you're looking to carry, a .38 is probably best. It's light, easy to conceal and more accurate than the heavier models for the average person. The five shot is more powerful than the six." He pushed his lip out with his tongue giving Barry a dry look. "But if your looking to kill somebody, a Clock .40 is a good man stopper. But, being an old ex marine, I prefer the .45 auto with Black Talons. They'll go through a bullet proof vest like a hot knife through butter. Course the Talons are illegal. They took them off the legit market years ago."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm Ted Hargis. My grand niece, Abby Hargis, is a waitress at the Rest Stop Cafe. She told me about a feller who was looking for his wife. Drove a Jeep like yours. Feller doesn't ordinarily need a gun to find a wife."

Barry exhaled audibly. "She's been abducted by traffickers."

"How do you know?"

"I came out here looking for my wife who was going to LA and disappeared. I saw the deputy sheriff and two Mexicans abduct a girl yesterday." Barry went on to tell him the rest of the story."

"So you didn't help the girl?"

Barry sighed and shook his head. "I know it's wrong, but--"

"But you didn't because you're not James Bond, and they would have closed down their operation if they knew someone was on to them, and you wouldn't be able to find your wife."

Barry nodded.

"Well, what in the hell do you plan on doing?"

"I don't know. Get on the plane the next time they abduct someone, make the pilot take me to where he took Anne." 

Barry ran a hand through his hair. "I know I haven't thought it out very well, but I've got to do something. It's driving me crazy knowing she's in the hands of these bastards."

"I don't want to be a downer, but you must know the odds of ever finding your wife are almost nil."

"I can't accept that...I won't."

"Look, I was a cop in Dallas for twenty years after I did a tour in Nam. I'm aware of how traffickers work. The operation starts out small. A couple of guys abduct an attractive girl or woman, sell her to someone else on the next higher level and so on until she's finally sold at a private auction online to a wealthy buyer who will use her as a sex slave. Ninety percent of the women you see on porn sites have been abducted and forced into prostitution. There are lots of these buyers, world wide, who bid on these women anonymously. There's no way to trace them. The buyers are usually men with diplomatic immunity. Men in high places. Powerful and wealthy and protected by their governments: presidents, congressmen, ministers, CEO's of mega corporations, world banks—even catholic priests, all the way up to the Vatican—mostly young boys for those assholes."

"Suppose I could trace my wife to where the auction takes place?"

"Hmp, even assuming you could do that, how could you discover who purchased her? I seriously doubt they keep records."

Barry lowered his head, gritting his teeth. "There's got to be a way—got to be."

Hargis shook his head. "I don't think so, but if you think of one let me know."

Barry went back to the motel and sat on the edge of his bed chain smoking, thinking until he thought his head would explode, but no solution came to mind. If he were trying to estimate how many bricks it would take to build a stadium he would be in his element, but trying to find his wife wasn't a matter of arithmetic. There was no formula. He would have to call Megan soon, but how could he tell her to face the fact that there was no hope when he couldn't face it himself?

They had given her four inch spike heels to wear—nothing else. Eye of the Tiger reverberated through the walls. She could hear an auctioneer calling off bids from another room. She didn't know where she was. They had brought her blindfolded from the plane. Now she sat in a room with a dozen other naked women like herself. 

A Chinese woman, in a black low cut mini dress and knee high leather boots with dagger heels, had given her something to drink. Everything seemed out of focus. She felt woozy headed.

A door opened. The smell of expensive cigars and liquor drifted in. The woman entered followed by a severe looking man in an expensive looking gray suit. She stopped at the center of the room and looked back at the man who let his gaze travel slowly over the naked women. He jerked his head up when he came to Anne. The woman told her to get up. They took her down a hallway and entered a large dimly lighted room except for a raised platform in the center. All around the room large monitors on the walls showed her nude body from every angle. She was aware of dozens of men seated in chrome-leather chairs around the platform. The glowing cigars made a veil of blue smoke hang in the air. Ice clinked subtlety in finely tuned glasses. Somewhere a miked voice called out a number: "Item 133." The woman told Anne to get on the stage and walk about.

"Bidding starts at one hundred thousand euros gentlemen," the miked voice said. "We call this number Blonde Beauty. And, as you see, she is that. She has what the discerning gentleman desires in a female form. Blonde and blue eyed with perfect symmetry. A angelic face expressive of sensitivity and intelligence. No bimbo here. A competent looking woman who, once trained, will provide the perfect companion at all those so important social affairs where the right impression is everything. A trophy slave. And with a flawless body measuring 36C-22-34 she will provide endless hours of private amusement corresponding to your particular tastes. Truly this offering is one of a kind, gentlemen, not soon to be repeated here or anywhere else. " 




Bookends



Barry could hear her sobbing. It tore at his heart, but there was nothing he could do.

"I know, Megan. I know...but--"

"The police. We'll go to the police. They'll find her." She was grasping at straws. On the verge of hysteria. Her voice pleading.

"The police couldn't find their asses with a map," Barry said bitterly.

"What if you told them about the deputy and the Mexicans?"

Barry sighed. "It wouldn't do any good. Who are they gonna believe, an outsider from back east or one of their own? I have no proof."

Megan was quiet. For a moment he thought she'd hung up, then she spoke. No more tears. Voice firm, controlled.

"What if we could find Anne ourselves?"

"We've gone over that a thousand times, Megan. There's no way."

"Perhaps there is. One you haven't thought of. What if I let them abduct me?"

Barry rocked back in the motel chair.

"That's crazy. Do you realize what could happen to you? Besides, even so there's no way we could discover who bought Anne. It's all done anonymously."

Megan's voice took on a confident tone.

"Barry, do you remember when you first started dating Anne how you were constantly confusing us? We're twins."

"Yeah, but I still don't--"

Megan slapped down her full house.

"Whoever bought Anne bought her because she had all the physical qualities he desired in a woman. What's to say he wouldn't want matching bookends?"

Chapter 3

Ted scratched his Hemingway beard. "It's a long shot, but it's the only shot we've got." He lay the photo of Anne down on the counter. "And her sister looks just like that?"

"Identical." Barry nodded. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she's determined."

Ted took a gulp of his beer. "It might just work, but it's gonna be dangerous and take a lot of luck."

Megan pulled into the gravel lot of the Rest Stop Cafe and parked near the office of the Desert Inn Motel that was adjacent to it. She couldn't believe the heat that engulfed her as she slid out of the blue Vette revealing shapely legs all the way up to the hem of her denim mini skirt. She stepped onto the walk and passed a Mexican unloading linen onto a stainless steel push cart. 

"Es mucho calor, no?"

"Si, mucho calor." Megan smiled, pushing her dark sunglasses up on top of her head.

"Ah, senora, ustead habla espanol."

"No senor. Y no soy senora. Yo soy senorita."

"Aw, you speak good."

"Thank you, but only the little I remember from high school." She looked down the empty lot. "There aren't many customers, are there?"

"Ah, no. Business bad. Too hot."

"Does anyone ever get used to it...the heat?"

The Mexican shook his head. "Never. My father died picking tomatoes one summer in your country. It hot like this."

"I'm so sorry." He looked so sad she wanted to hug him, but she knew that would be inappropriate."

"Well," she said, "The sooner I get a room, the sooner I can get in the shower."

He smiled. "If you need anything just ask for Santana."

I will, Santana. And thank you."

"De nada."

In the office a slightly plump Mexican woman, with gold rimmed glasses, hair in a bun, waited on her. The woman's two teenage daughters sat on a gray sofa giggling while watching her. 

Children, always acting nutty, Megan was thinking, but while they laughed their dark eyes stared at her coldly. It was a little unnerving. 

"Be quiet, girls. Mind your manners." She looked at Megan apologetically. "They at that age. What can you do?"

In the next room, Jorge picked up a remote and turned on a large screen TV. Only this one didn't show programs. On a split screen was a full view of the motel room next to the office and on the other half a full view of the bathroom.

Megan stripped, flinging her clothes on the double wide and hit the shower. The cool spray stung her flesh. Invigorating. The room was warm. The air conditioner had been lowered to save energy. She toweled off and dropped it in a hamper, turned the thermostat up, stretching sensuously as cool air washed over her naked body. She tossed her clothes on an armchair then sat down on the edge of the bed and took her cell phone out of her purse.

"Barry, it's me. I'm at the motel."

"She order coke and pizza." Jorge motioned to his daughter, Maria. She was staring at the naked gringa on the screen. She nodded, got up from the sofa, set back against the wall, and sauntered into the office. Esmeralda, her mother, took a plastic vial from a counter drawer and put two white pills in her brown palm. 

Outside, a young man came across the gravel lot carrying a pizza box and coke. 

"For number one," he said, tiny beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

Maria chuckled. "What else...she our only quest so far. I'll take those."

He gave her the box and the coke. He let his blue eyes linger on her.

"Like what you see, pretty boy?"

He grinned wryly. "Always, Maria."

She set the order on the top of the Vette, and they kissed passionately.

"She's a looker," he said, after they broke apart.

"The gringa?"

"Yeah. I saw her when she first got here."

"Es puta."

"Yeah. Well, I've gotta get back. Wanna go somewhere when I get off?"

"Not tonight. Got things to do. Manana."

Megan wrapped a towel around herself and opened the door. It was one of the gigglers with cold dark eyes.

"Got your pizza and coke."

Megan took the order and set it in the armchair. "How much do I owe you?"

"Twenty dollar." Bored voice.

Megan stopped thumbing through her wallet.

"That seems awfully steep."

The dark eyes were full of menace. 

"I don't make the price. I just deliver."

Megan sighed and forked out a twenty.

The Pizza seemed tasteless. The carbonated coke too sugary sweet. She turned on the TV and propped some pillows up against the headboard and leaned back. She tried to block thoughts about what she was getting into. But it was impossible. The world, her world, had turned upside down. She was scared. A thousand things could go wrong, but she couldn't back down. If there was any chance at all of rescuing her sister, then she would do it--despite the permanent queasiness and dread she was feeling.

Her eyes begin to droop. The towel gradually unfurled. Vague disembodied voices lulled her. She drifted into nothingness. 

Barry stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Someone was knocking at the door. 

His mouth may have dropped open. He wasn't aware. Abby stood there in a pink halter revealing lots of cleavage, bare midriff and a denim skirt short enough to be illegal. A pair of green day-glo spiked heels gave her four inches of lift. Her brown hair was a wild tangle of curls and random loose strands piled up on top of her head. Bright candy-apple red lips widened into a knowing smile revealing a flash of dazzling white teeth.

The transformation from cute waitress to siren was startling. Amazing. He wouldn't have recognized her but for the green eyes.

"Uncle Ted sent me."

Barry stepped back opening the door wider. She stepped inside.

"Teddy thought you would need a reason for hanging around Travisville. I'm it."

Barry picked up a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt off the bed and went back to the bathroom. 

"I'll just be a minute."

When he returned, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, leaned back on arms straight behind her.

Barry shuffled a cigarette out of a pack on the nightstand and lit it.

"Yeah, I told him Cobra might become suspicious if I hung around too long. But...he hadn't mentioned anything about you."

"It was my idea. If Cobra sees a hooker with you, moi, that'll give you all the cover you need. Course Uncle Ted doesn't know about the hooker part. That's my idea." She raised an eyebrow. "Think I'll pass?"

"You'll pass." Barry said, dryly.

"Maybe we ought to head down to Nell's. That's where Cobra hangs out. Let him see us together." 

"You should be an actress," Barry said, once they where outside. It was still early and hadn't become unbearably hot yet. They started down a wide street past various businesses to Nell's.

"Hmm, thanks, but I haven't a clue in hell how to act like a real hooker."

"No offense, Abby, but based on appearance, you seem to have a knack for it, but, uh, just curious. Are you street legal?" 

"I've got a driver's license that says I am, but..." she added impishly, "those things can be fudged." 

"Lolita?"

She chuckled. "Better put your arm around me or everyone will think you're my daddy—not that you're all that old...yet."

"Thanks."

Nell's wasn't crowded. Two punks in low slung jeans were playing straight pool. Two old alkys sat at a table playing checkers.

The heavily caked matron, with black hair down her back, brought them a couple of beers.

"I don't drink," Abby whispered when the woman was gone.

"You've never drunk booze before?" Barry asked incredulously. "Didn't you have a misspent youth like the rest of us?"

"Pot," she said with twinkling eyes."

"Hmm. Not a problem; when no one's looking I'll drink yours."

"No, then I'll be the only one sober." She picked up her glass and took a sip then made a sour face. "God, that's...but I'll manage." She finished tragically. 

"It gets easier the more you drink."

She gave him a skeptical look. "What if Cobra doesn't show? We could get seriously plastered."

Ah, we'll leave before that."

They were on their third beer when Cobra came strutting in. Three or four more patrons had by that time, too. Cobra called out a name or two then plopped down on a stool at the bar, but not before he gave Abby a salacious grin. There was crude laughter as he leaned toward the men sitting next to him. They turned to stare lewdly at Abby.

"Well, mission accomplished," Barry said. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Abby shook her head. "Not yet. Let's give them a show."

She got up and went to the jukebox, her hips moving provocatively, and shoved in some change. A cross-over tune came on. She swiveled on the balls of her feet doing a little two step, swaying and twisting sexily, on the linoleum floor as a raunchy beat filled the air. She turned to Barry and held out her arms. When he came to her, she pressed up against him grinding her hips against him.

"You know, we'd better get before you turn on every man in here."

"That's the idea," If I turn them on then it won't be a stretch for them to understand why you're hanging around."

"Oh, I think they'll get that."

Suddenly, a bald man, with biceps the size of a man's neck, shoved Barry aside.

"Why doncha dance with a real man, baby?"

"I am."

She rammed her spiked heel down on his instep. Then brought her knee up between his legs. 

"You fucking bitch!" he growled, between clenched teeth, doubled up on the floor.

Laughter broke out. "What's the matter, Arty, pussy whipped?" someone teased.

"I leave wit dems whats brung me" Abby said, in the vernacular.

"You two, out." the black haired matron ordered, glaring at them.

"I think we made an impression," Barry said, as they walked back to the motel. "Say, where did you learn to do that?"

"Uncle Ted. He was in the marines."

"Semper fi."

She chuckled and moved up against him, putting her arm around his waist. He could feel the rocking motion of her hip and heat of her through their clothes. Something stirred within him, and it was very pleasing...and worrisome. 

When they were back in his room, they stood staring at each other in awkward silence.

"I guess I should leave," she murmured. 

"Yes...but..."

"But what?"

"Stay?" 

She waited a moment then stepped back and slowly kicked off her heels. She lifted the halter top off over her head. Her breasts were full and firm, the nipples a tender pink. He felt a lump form crotch-wise. His heart began to beat wildly. A giddy arousal swept over him. Her young body was perfect. 

He knew what he was doing, what he wanted, wasn't right, but it felt right.

She unzipped the skirt and thumbed it down. All that remained were pearl colored thong-back panties. She stepped toward him.

"Rip 'em."

He grabbed the thin waist band, the backs of his fingers feeling the soft warmth of her firm skin. He jerked. The panties came away with a snap sound. A soft gasp escaped her glossy lips. Her eyes closed. She swayed off balanced. He grabbed her, picking her up and lying her on the bed.

He stared down at her unable to believe how beautiful she was. She raised her arms up. Her eyes were feverish. Her cheeks burned red. Her breast rose and fell rapidly.

He pulled off his t-shirt and fumbled with the zipper of his jeans with fingers that felt like sticks of wood.

She was ready. She grabbed his cock and guided it in. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. Their wet lips locked together, sucking; their tongues licking and lapping frantically. Their hot breaths bred garbled inarticulate sounds.

He rolled her over so that she was on top, his cock impaling her as he sucked her swollen nipples. She arched her back, her face strained with need, as she raised and lowered herself on him. He could feel her tight slick sheath around his rigid cock squeezing and pulling it like a greased fist.

He came so forcefully it hurt. She gasped, cried out, tightening around him, forcing the come to stretch out. She rocked violently, her hands flat on his chest and came and came, her body trembling uncontrollably—like a spider web having caught a treat. 

Then she collapsed on top of him. The only sound, in the aftermath of their passion, a heavy breathing that dwindled into quietus as she slid to his side, her wet thigh over his, their mouths touching in depraved innocence.

Something was on her nose. A fly. She tried to swat it, but her arm felt weighted. It wouldn't move. She tried again. Something tightened around her wrist painfully. Puzzled she tried the other arm. Same thing. Frustrated, she jerked her arms then instantly stopped when she felt a sharp cutting pain. She opened her eyes, painfully slow. She couldn't focus them. The lids seemed leadened. Everything was blurred as if she were under water. She realized that something tight was around her ankles. She raised her head, feeling a rush of dizziness and nausea. She waited then glanced down. She was naked, her legs spread painfully. Rope. Rope around her ankles. Something moved to her side. A figure.

"Who's there? Help me."

"Mama, the puta is awake."

A young girl's voice. 

"Si, si."

The giggling sounds. 

"She shaves her pussy."

"She a fucking puta."

A door opened. Padded footsteps. Megan's eyes grew more focused. She saw Esmeralda lean above her looking down through glinting glasses. The daughters stood in the background, smirking. 

"Get me a pillow, Maria. Juanita, help me lift her hips. 

Soft hands gripped her buttocks. Maria picked up a pillow off a chair and brought it to the bed.

"Slide it under her ass."

When it was done, Megan could see her cunt forced up obscenely. The girls were giggling. 

"Keep an eye on her. If she screams gag her." 

Esmeralda went back into the office. Jorge and Santana were eating a meal of burritos, chips and beer. On the TV screen Megan lay spread eagle on the bed.

She sat down in a vinyl recliner and watched them noisily eat for a moment. 

"Are you going to give her to Cobra?"

"What else?" Jorge said. Mouth full.

"Um, why don't you sell her to him, instead of giving her to him?"

"We always give the women to Cobra."

"Yeah, and he get all the money, and you get chick feed." 

"We do alright," Santana said. Jorge nodded.

"Alright," she said, contemptuously. "You don't even know how much money he makes, do you?"

"So what your fucking point? We can't fuck Cobra. He a bad dude."

"Bah, you two will never amount to anything without a...um, espinazo."

Esmeralda rose up and stomped back into the office. Fucking losers, she was thinking. Never amount to anything without a...a spine. That's the word. She smiled.

The two girls were naked. The one called Maria climbed onto the bed between Megan's legs. The other one, Juanita, sat down on the edge of the bed and started milking her nipples.

"She like, this puta," Juanita said. "Her nipples are getting hard. But this cow give no milk."

Maria stretched the labia apart and licked the dewy pinkness up and down with the point of her tongue held rigid. Then she gripped the clit between her lips and rotated it back and forth until it became hard and swollen. After some moments, she raised back and licked her middle finger and placed the tip against the anus, slowly inserting it, causing Megan to arch her back and gasp painfully.

"You like, you dick crazy slut."

They worked her, their fingers taunting, pinching, tweaking her fine white flesh, bringing her higher and higher to the threshold of carnal release--not to please but, with sadistic glee, to humiliate and degrade the Anglo bitch.

As if a wind up toy, Megan suddenly tensed then shuddered violently, her body twisting and writhing against her restraints as she groaned rapturously, oblivious for the moment to the sharp stabs of pain that radiated down her limbs from the tight restraints.

When pain once more washed back over her body, the girls were giggling. They forced her mouth open and spit in it and on her breasts and cunt. Then the two little sadists got dressed and left, still giggling.

The clack of pool balls. Country music from the jukebox. Cigarette smoke thick and eye stinging. The sour fermented smell of liquor. A couple of slender sluts in tight dresses with their tattooed boyfriends. 

"What's the matter, Arty, the little bitch get you down?"

There was a scattering of laughter.

"Laugh all you want, assholes, but that little cunt better pray I never run into her again."

"Shouldn't be hard to find," Cobra said, fondling a blonde in a black mini dress.

"Yeah, like you know where she's at?"

"She's probably at the motel up the street with the guy who was with her. That's where he's staying."

Arty chugged his beer and stood up. "Then that's where I'm going."

As Arty hit the street there was a mad rush of guys and their babes for their cars parked out front. No one wanted to miss what promised to be some excitement on a dull evening.

When Abby woke up it was dark outside. A street light cast a yellow glow through the slatted shade of the window. Barry was dead to the world. She got up, careful not to wake him and padded into the bathroom. She had a headache and felt nauseous. Beer didn't agree with her. She studied her reflection in the mirror and was surprised to see that she didn't look as bad as she felt. Lipstick was smeared across her cheek, but aside from that and a slightly sore bee stung lower lip she looked fresh faced. Her green eyes were clear and sparkly. She stepped into the shower and turned it on as hot as she could stand and scrubbed herself down. When she was through, she went back into the front room and scrounged up her purse, halter top, skirt and heels then went back into the bathroom.

As she got ready to leave she lay her panties on the nightstand next to the bed. A daisy in memory of a lark.

It was pleasant outside. A mild breeze was blowing from the west where sheet lightning occasionally illuminated the sky. She had no idea what time it was as she turned up Loomis. If she hurried she could be at her apartment in fifteen minutes, but she wasn't in a hurry. Her heels clacked on the sidewalk. Above the stars glowed brilliantly. For an instant she thought that she might have gotten herself pregnant bothered her, but as she walked past closed shops, stores vacant lots and such, she pushed the possibility out of her mind. She knew she would see him again. Knew she shouldn't, but knew she would. His wife was a lost cause. He would realize it in time, then maybe she... She pushed the thought out of her mind. Surely she hoped he would find his wife. How could she not? But she knew she didn't. Maybe if she were pregnant--




Booking Her Passage



Author's Note: I got so horny writing this! :) This isn't a personal fantasy of mine, but it was at my husband's request, and I always do right by him. I went right into the mindset of a girl who would want to be fucked like crazy at her library, and there she was, ready to let me peek into her fantasy. Please enjoy Venice's story and tell me what else you want to know about her so I can write her future chapters!

--

Venice ran her finger up the bridge of her nose. It was pure habit - she'd abandoned her clunky librarian glasses years ago, after the laser surgery, but it was as ingrained in her as her adoration of books. She kept an eye on the three shuffling young men who had just entered and were drifting towards the dusty archive section. One was white and looked a lot like her kid brother, with blonde hair and freckles; the other two could have been twins, their dark skin absorbing the light as they vanished beyond where she could see them.

Trying to perfect her disapproving librarian stare, Venice stood up and scanned the library. There was a graduate student in one corner, dutifully spread-eagled across her homework, but otherwise the building was empty. With a sigh - she could never leave well enough alone, and she knew it - Venice sidled away from the desk and made a beeline for the archives.

She had to navigate a bit of a maze to find them, but at least she found the trio, lounging against the shelves in a tight half-circle. She cleared her throat. "Excuse me. Can I help you find something?"

One of the twins raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, suga'. Got a quiiiiet little corner back here." He dragged out the I so the pinch in Venice's gut tightened and drifted lower. Without thinking she rested her hands on her hips, just above the line of her slacks.

"Yes," she said, then cleared her throat because three pairs of eyes belonging to three well-built, good-looking, inevitably well-hung men were boring into her. "Ahem. Yes. I do. And I want to keep it that way, so what can I help you find?" She tried to stand taller, but all 5'5" of her was minuscule in comparison to the bulk surrounding her.

They shifted closer, and Venice felt her heart in her pussy, its throbbing ever quickening. This was something she'd barely let herself admit she'd dreamed about. This was one of the deepest, darkest fantasies she had, one she'd never let surface, even in her open relationship with Ken. That was long gone, and she hadn't been fucked properly in months (though there was that one hipster at the bar, but he'd been laughable), and - their eyes, their stances were very clear. They wanted her.

All of them.

She realized she must have conveyed the same with her gaze, because they backed off just a bit now and a ripple of knowing laughter ran around the circle. Venice's cheeks burned and she ducked to peek out into the library. All was still quiet. On an impulse, she dashed out towards the door and flipped the sign: "Out, Back Later, Will Return in One (1) Hour." She turned the lock, too. The grad student had dozed off and did not even stir.

Venice darted back to where the men were waiting, her fingers working to unbutton her blouse. By the time she returned, her shirt was off and dangling at her waist where it was still tucked into her slacks, and both the twins had their cocks out. The white boy was still unzipping his jeans, but soon three sizeable dicks were waiting in a circle for her.

Barely able to breathe, Venice knelt down in the center and reached for all three, two with her hands and one with her mouth. Her lips closed around the nearest twin's cock. He tasted like baby powder and cheap cologne and hungry sweat. She was readying herself to take him deeper when he grabbed the back of her head and plunged into her throat.

Venice gagged uncontrollably around the mass of pulsing flesh. She tried to pull away, to breathe, but he held her there by the hair. Even as she blinked away tears from the blow, Venice could not deny that she was turned on. More than turned on: she was unleashed. She clamped her teeth gently around the cock and tugged without moving, just using her neck, and was rewarded with a satisfied sigh from the man. Her hands kept working when she remembered to move them.

Finally he let her go and she turned to his brother, closing the distance with small steps of her knees. His hair and flesh smelled the same, but he tasted wilder, woodier, like a room that has been opened to a forest. He was less violent, so she was able to gaze up at him with her wide brown eyes, thrilled when he smiled through the contortions of pleasure.

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and someone roughly undid her slacks, yanking them down her legs. The twin she was blowing dove both his hands into her bra and released her tits so they swung brazenly when she moved. Her ass was pulled into the air and her hands hit the floor. It was the white boy behind her; he even moved like her brother, swinging with every step he took. He positioned himself behind her while the twins shoved their cocks in her face. Venice frantically licked them both, back and forth, while the third cock hovered at her entrance.

Then it was in her ass, not her pussy, lubed by a wad of spit the white boy dropped just before he pushed inside of her. Venice could have screamed as guilt and pleasure overcame her, but her inner librarian squawked, "INSIDE VOICE!" and she muffled it against the carpet. As he slammed into her, the white boy grunted. The twins chuckled under their breath. One knelt down on the carpet and offered her his very erect cock. Through her tears, Venice reached for him and sucked hard. There was no recovering now - she was lost in the adrenaline.

With a final heave, the white boy came in her ass, his ill-cut nails digging into her sides. Venice arched her back and took him as deep as she could, having to catch her breath as he popped out and sat back, hard. The twin in her mouth yanked himself free and wrenched her around so he could delve into her pussy. He was massive, but compared to the ass fucking he felt like a dream. Venice let herself fall into the rhythm, focusing only on the sound of her bare thighs slapping his.

The other twin tipped her chin back and made her open her eyes. "Yeah, take it like a bitch." He was grinning, his teeth very white in the dim light. Venice opened her mouth and he slid his cock inside, holding her head so he rammed into the back of her throat. She was skewered from both ends - now a third place, as the twin behind her slid his finger into her lubed asshole. He wriggled it vigorously as he increased his thrusting; as if on the same wavelength, his brother did the same. Venice was completely filled. The pain was excruciatingly wonderful. She knew exactly how brutalized she would feel tomorrow, and all she wanted was more.

She came, uncontrollably shaking and writhing against them. The cock in her mouth squirted first, gushing warm and thick down her throat. Venice swallowed obediently and gasped for air, her hips convulsing as the finger in her asshole pumped with the ferocity of a vibrator. Then the cock in her pussy hardened, pulsed, came. The twin shoved her away and she was left in a shivering heap on the floor.

Above her, three pairs of jeans zipped and buttoned. Three pairs of Nike tennis shoes clunked past her head. None of them said a word. Venice did not dare lift her head. She wanted them to leave before she stood and collected what remained of her dignity. She stared almost unseeingly into the row of archived books, and it was only when she realized she was reaching to put them in the correct order that she knew she would be just fine.

Shakily, she stood and dressed. Her legs would not hold her, so she hobbled back to her desk and sat down with relief. Blood pumped in her lower extremities and she could hear her heart in her ears.

The grad student raised her head, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth. She caught Venice's gaze across the room and smiled. "Quiet in here," she said.

"Yes," Venice said, her hand slipping into her pants and touching her engorged clit. She was already reminiscing, a coy smile on her trembling lips. "Quiet. Sure."

----

Venice could barely breathe as she gently pushed the library's heavy double doors closed and turned the deadbolt. She stood on her tiptoes and peered into the nearly-empty parking lot. Parents ran in circles, rounding up sleepy but determined youth shrieking about the library's puppet collection.

The quiet, scholarly young man who had kept to his corner all evening caught Venice looking and raised the corner of his mouth in thanks. His mane of curly black hair was almost irresistible, but she'd managed. Venice blushed and dropped back on her heels, reassuring herself that the deadbolt was secure.

Now. She took a deep breath, turning to face her library. Shelves heavy with knowledge strained towards the ceiling, and the silence made her quickened breathing loud and obvious. Tonight it was just her and her library.

Clever girl, she thought, crazy, stupid, clever girl.

Because it wasn't really just her and her library, at least not for long. She looked down at her watch. Quarter after eight. Just enough time left to straighten up and finish her day job, and then the real work would begin.

Tonight was the second indulgence. Venice had spent a lot of time justifying the original act to herself—the first time was a fluke, a taste to drive her wild. What she wanted now was a feast. She wanted to be filled with cocks, with cum. She was hungry and she wanted to sate her appetite. This, she told herself, was just sexual release. Just an exploration of her sexual identity.

She was not, she told the insistent little voice, a whore.

Her gaze fell to the stack of unpaid bills on her desk and she flushed with irrational anger. A librarian's salary was barely enough to keep the lights on. If she did have to turn elsewhere for additional income, well—that was her business. The little voice could go shove it.

She bagged up the trash and checked her phone. She dumped all the paper waste cans into one and checked her phone. One message this time, confirming the library address. Her face hot, she pocketed the phone, heaved the trash over her shoulder, and scooped up the paper waste can on her way towards the back door.

Venice was just heaving the trash into the dumpster when the sound of a pebble kicked across asphalt made her whirl around. She screeched as she stared through the shaggy black hair of the scholarly young man.

He threw up his hands, clearly realizing he had nearly traumatized her. "Totally didn't mean this to come off like it is right now."

Venice clapped a hand to her heart. "What, fucking creepy? Jesus. Only rapists and how-to-catch-a-whatever cops hide in the bushes like that."

"I wasn't hiding in the bushes," he protested, but then dropped his hands to his sides with a half-chuckle. "Okay. This is not going better. Let me try again?"

"All right," Venice said warily, because she couldn't deny the tingling his earnest face summoned between her legs. She folded her arms and tried to strike an intimidating pose. "Your best shot. Go."

Hiding his relieved grin, the young man approached with a hand extended. His brown eyes barely glinted through his mop of hair. "Hey. I'm Tavis. I stayed for six hours today because I kept looking at you. I looked because you're beautiful and you love books and, well, I'm a sucker for those things. But I couldn't get up the courage to say anything inside, so—I decided to gamble on your being attracted to creepers who wait for you to take out the garbage. Again, that's Tavis, and the number's two-four-three, seven-seven-zero-nine, in case the, uh, the police need it."

He stood sort-of grinning with his hand out. In the twilight, he was irresistible. Venice took a deep breath and giggled. It was time she unleashed her own awkward demons on a stranger, come what may.

She took the tips of his fingers and shook them. "A pleasure, Tavis. I'm Venice. In a sec I'll text you my number because I'm already rather fond of you, but you should probably know that I'm staying late tonight because I've arranged a gangbang in the archive section. You're welcome to join." She rushed through the last sentence with all the breathlessness and gravity of a child offering their greatest possession to a friend.

Now it was her turn to gaze solemnly, hopefully at the other. Tavis's head began to tilt slowly until he was looking at her at a 90-degree angle.

"Wow."

"Wow what?" Venice said, snappier than she had intended.

Tavis raised his hands in defense again. "Wow, I've never met a woman so brave as to actually live out her fantasies."

"Oh." She dropped her guard, and with it the paper waste can.

"Now," Tavis said, rubbing the back of his mop, "while I would love to be a stud and join you, what I'm actually facing is a two-year drought and probably the lowest self-esteem of my life. Can I take you out on Friday night instead? After your shift of course. I wouldn't dare take such a beautiful woman from her books."

Venice was blushing furiously, and her now-free hand twitched towards her pantline. "Yes," she said, "you may."

"Oh thank god." Tavis passed the back of his hand across his brow, leaving just a faint sheen under his hair.

He looked ready to say something else when Venice added, "But won't you come in? I mean—if this is how we're going to start something, then maybe you should know. What I do. Sometimes." Venice's mind churned. She knew she could be ruining her best chance at serious stability, but—her newfound lust (and with it, courage) demanded that she be true to herself.

He hesitated. She watched him process, biting her lip as he turned slightly to look at his dumpy pickup truck.

Finally, he sucked in his breath. "All right. But promise me," he said, trying very hard to be stern, down to the wagging finger, "that I won't embarrass myself."

"I can't promise that," Venice said, relief giving her the spunk to pop forward and kiss his cheek, "but I can promise you ought to have a good time."

She led him through the back door. In the half-light, Tavis caught her wrist and stole their first kiss. Venice's whole body lit up with heat as she returned it, sucking in his smoky breath.

----

The others arrived almost together. Venice sprinted across the library to answer the tandem knocks at the back door and found that the beefy ex-football player and the hunky construction worker were exchanging grunts about their alleged reasons for being there.

Furiously tucking her hair behind her ear, Venice pointed to each of them. "You're both here for the same reason."

"Ahh," the ex-football player said, his dark eyes sliding up and down her body as his equally dark hands rubbed together. "Let's do this then."

The construction worker simply nodded. Men of few words, Venice thought, shivering with anticipation. She led them inside and to the archive section, where Tavis was sitting on the floor, a book spread across his crossed legs. He leaped to his feet and offered both the newcomers a hand.

"Tavis," he said. They looked at his hand, at each other, then over at Venice.

"No names," she said, wincing.

"Ahhh. Ehhhh. That's my stage name." He grasped his crotch with a cheesy, toothy grin as if demonstrating the size of his package. Venice dove between him and the newcomers and held his wrists.

"Shhhh," she said. "Just—they're here to fuck me." Hearing herself say it aloud made the anticipation harder to contain. "So help them out and just fuck the shit out of me, okay? And I'll tell you about my childhood and where I went to school and all of that stuff later." She touched his jawline with affection that shocked her with its strength.

Tavis nodded furiously and drew a line across his jugular. "No talking. Just humping. Got it."

Venice rolled her eyes with a smile and turned around, right into the grasp of the construction worker. He raked his gaze up and down her body, her upper arms clasped in his sun-cracked hands, then he spun her around and slowly undid the zipper on her skirt. Venice froze as his fingers explored past the thick black fabric to the insubstantial lace of her underwear.

Soon the dark hands of the ex-football player were exploring her pale legs. Venice knelt down on the ground and presented her face to both the newcomers. The construction worker flipped his dark hair out of his face as he slid his hard cock out of his pants. He rested it on her cheek for a moment, then slapped her with it. The black man did the same; they took turns leaving tiny stinging welts on her cheeks.

Venice slipped her hand past the welcoming lace and fingered herself. She was already sticky and throbbing, and even a delicate touch made her spasm as the cocks slapped her face. Abruptly, the black man grabbed her face and twisted it towards him, offering her the tip of his cock. She flicked out her tongue and traced the circumference of the swollen head, her eyes rolling back to seek his approval. His lip curled in response and he shoved her face away.

Out of the corner of her eye, Venice saw Tavis. He was hunched awkwardly, sometimes shifting as if to move forward and join in, but every time he hesitated. She desperately tried to catch his gaze; finally she did, and gave him as encouraging a smile as she could with a dick between her lips.

He moved forward, stop-start, stop-start, until finally he was close enough to press his palms to her breasts. His entire body relaxed as if an electrical current had just been switched off and let his limbs be, and with a shuddering sigh he leaned into his newfound task. He rolled her nipples between skillful fingers and soon Venice's hand was working over time on her clit as she was yanked towards orgasm.

She gasped for air and turned to take the other cock in her mouth. The black man only let her suck that for a moment before he jerked her off her feet and laid her down on the ground. Whimpering, Venice flattened her legs open, lotus-on-her-back, and was grateful for those yoga classes, somewhere in the back of her foggy head.

A huge cock teased her entrance with just its tip and she leaned into it, moaning. It lingered there, stroking her to silkiness, then suddenly retreated. Venice vocalized her displeasure, but was swiftly silenced as the construction worker swatted her face and then dropped a fistful of balls on her face.

Venice's tongue swirled between them; she nearly gagged on the smell of Axe soap but was grateful he had showered. Meanwhile, the cock tip had been replaced by a heavy pair of lips, mercilessly sucking her clit and mouthing her whole pussy. A thick, muscular tongue dove between her lower lips and sought another orgasm, a wave made more powerful by the heavy palm that ground into her clit.

Again, delicate fingers descended and teased her nipples. Venice arched her back, scrunching her face into wrinkled pleasure. "Fuck me," she said, breaking the otherwise wordless soundtrack, then realized they were alone and cried out, "Fuck me!"

Someone obeyed. Someone hard and ridged and powerful, slamming into Venice's pussy with the enthusiasm of a stallion.

Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Tavis. But it wasn't Tavis. The same mop of hair, the same brown eyes, but he seemed to steam with dark heat and a fiery single-mindedness that left Venice breathless. She arched her feet, her pussy in the air, and he reached beneath her and grabbed each ass cheek in his long but assuring hands. He hissed, and the air by her ears crackled. Venice squeaked and wriggled into his crotch, grinding her nub into the coarse hairs beneath his belly.

She came so explosively that she vaulted off of his cock. His hands were still on her ass. Just as the lights began to dim in her vision, Tavis pulled her back down, smeared her juices downward, and eased into her ass. A thrill lanced through Venice. "Tavis—fuck," she said. Again: "Fuck fuck FUCK—"




Booking Her Passage



He slid her up and down his shaft, and his ridges rippled pleasure through her ass so she could feel every fiber of muscle, quivering with readiness. She opened her eyes enough to see Tavis stretching out his neck to take the black cock deep in his throat before the construction worker blocked her view, straddling Tavis to bring his cock down to her pussy.

His eyes, too, were brown, but they glinted with shards of sunlight from his hours outside. His rough hands were not gentle. He jerked her on his cock, disregarding the strain on her asshole, which sent rivers of ecstasy gushing down the dick deep inside her. Three men moaned, each their own sound: throaty and angry; dreamy and determined; clanging and earthy.

Venice's voice lashed across them all, culminating in a shriek that might have been a name. Her nails curled like claws into the carpet and her spasming anus squeezed an orgasm out of Tavis's rigid cock. He gagged with the intensity and his throat made the black man come, his hand descending to palm Tavis's curly head of hair. The slick walls of Venice's pussy swallowed the construction worker's cock and coaxed free a hot load of thick cum.

Slowly, they sagged and extricated themselves. Venice lay on her back on the wet carpet until she heard the door closed twice. Then, in a tiny voice that shook out of her trembling body, she hoped out loud: "Tavis?"

"I'm here," came his voice, very close to her ear.

She reached up without looking and found his hair. Her knuckles collected his curls. "Oh good," she said. "I hoped you wouldn't run away."



Booking Mistake



As I said in the introduction to another of my stories, I'm no believer in a lot of mostly splashy anatomical detail in the romance section. And of course, all my characters are over 18. Most of them are over 30. 

This story has a basis in fact. Once I was working as night receptionist at a hotel on the night before the largest IT exhibition of the year. As usual, relying on some cancellations, we were overbooked. And two people arrived late, when we only had double rooms left. We solved the problem as described, and I often wondered how the situation had panned out. 

***** 

It had been a long journey and I was tired. For seven hours we had been travelling by train from Inverness to London for the annual computer convention, which we were going to combine with a visit to our latest customer for discussions on a new system we were constructing for them. We would have flown if there had been a convenient flight, but with changes and one thing and another, it would have taken just as long, and we'd have had to keep track of our luggage at each stop. Francis had done his best to make it a pleasant trip, talking, mostly about work, when I wanted to, reading or working when I didn't. I didn't understand how our colleagues at work could have such a negative view of Francis. He was generally considered to be a half-autistic nerd, socially incompetent and extremely shy. 

And I suppose, thinkng back, that it was just so that I had seen him when he was first assigned to my group. But as I became familiar with him and he with me, comfortable with me, and particularly when he had begun to appreciate my competence, or so I hoped, he had changed, and now it was hard to remember those early feelings of frustration at his inability to communicate. We had become friends, and he had introduced me to his wife, and we had had threesomes over dinner, or foursomes when I had a boyfriend, for, I must admit, I'm not a great expert myself at personal relations either. Not in Francis's class, I have to say, but not given to opening myself to others willingly. 

I often used to wonder how Francis had met his wife, who seemed to be quite normal in so many respects, but I'd never had what I considered to be a suitable opportunity to raise the matter. And now it was irrelevant. His wife had divorced him nearly a year ago, and was now living with another man, planning to marry, and already pregnant. 

And here we now were at last, outside the hotel and I was looking forward to nothing so much as to check in to my room, take a shower, eat a late meal in the restaurant and away to my bed. Whilst Francis paid off the taxi and found a trolley for the luggage, I went ahead to begin the check-in process. The receptionist was apologetic. 

"You've booked two single rooms," the young woman began. "Unfortunately we've had a problem with the booking system, with the computer convention and all, and we're accidentally overbooked. We were wondering whether you and your colleague could be persuaded to share a room for one night. As a compensation we would be able to offer you both a double room for the remainder of your stay." 

At this moment Francis joined me and the receptionist blanched. 

"Oh, my god," she said. "We thought you were two women. Someone spelt your name as Frances with an 'E'." This to Francis. "Oh, dear. Then I'm afraid we'll have to pay for a taxi to take you to another hotel where we have been able to book a few free rooms. The problem is it's a fair way out, about thirty minutes away." 

We looked at each another. We were both tired. The thought of a thirty minute taxi journey before I could get my shower and late meal - if we could get a meal at all at that time, so far out of town - was not appealing. 

"Give us a few minutes to talk about this," I said, and drew Francis over to a couple of easy chairs in the reception area. 

"I don't fancy their plan B," I said. "It's not just tonight. It's tomorrow morning, as well. Another taxi ride back, after packing our things again. Can we cope with a shared room for one night?" 

"I guess I can cope if you can," said Francis. "But what's the bill going to look like? If we get a bill showing we spent the first night in the same room, it'll be all over the company as soon as bookkeeping gets their hands on it." 

"You're right," I said. "There are some who have us down as a pair already. Let's check." 

We went back to reception. 

"Is there any danger that we'll get a bill showing that we spent one night in the same room?" I asked. 

"None at all," replied the receptionist. "Worst case, we'll type out special invoices for your two rooms, the two you will be in tomorrow night and the night after." 

We looked at each other once more. 

"Then we'll take the double room for tonight." 

"Thank you," said the receptionist. "Is there anything we can do for you as a sort of thank-you gesture?" 

"You could pick up the bill for our dinner in the restaurant," suggested Francis. 

"That we will." 

We received our keys and made our way to the elevators. We were silent on the way up to our floor, and a little reserved when we came to the room. I think Francis was more shocked than I was to find that, instead of twin beds, we had been assigned a queen sized double bed, and Francis wanted to go back down and ask for a room with twin beds, but I stopped him. 

"It's okay," I said. "I don't want any more hassle." 

"So, do you want to shower first?" asked Francis. "I can unpack in the meantime." 

I nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. When I returned, wrapped only in a towel, I discovered that Francis had stripped down to his boxer shorts and fallen asleep on the bed. I looked down at him. He had a nice body, I thought, and felt an unaccustomed stirring in my loins, which I quickly quelled. I liked Francis, both as a colleague and a person. We worked well together, and often ate lunch together, usually stuck together when the company had a jippo at the start of a new project or one of the seemingly constant re-organisations. Luckily we had never been "re-organised" into separate groups, and we made a successful team. I had pepped him after the divorce, which had devastated him. 

"Wake up, sleepy head," I laughed, and shook his foot. Francis woke with a start, struggled up from the bed, and moved apologetically to the bathroom, hardly daring to look at me, although he appeared to be very much aware of my body, and my long legs beneath the towel. When he returned, I was dressed demurely and sitting in one of the armchairs at the window end of the room, checking my email. 

He turned away, dropped his towel, showing me a firm pair of buttocks, and dressed quickly in casual clothes. 

"Shall we go?" he asked, turning to me. 

I smiled, and stood up. 

"You look very nice in that dress," he said, and nearly bit his tongue. "If you'll excuse me making a personal comment," he added. 

"I will. And thank you," I smiled. 

In the dining room we made no special demands of the hotel, taking two reasonably priced meals from the a la carte menu. The waiter told us that the hotel had included a glass each of the wine of our choice, and I chose white to accompany my fish dish, whilst Francis chose a red wine to his cutlets. 

We each took a dessert, and Francis paid for liqueurs, and we lingered over our drinks until we realised that we could no longer put off the return to our room. I think we were both privately thinking hard about the logistics of two people getting ready for bed in the same room. Although I have to say, I also felt a certain excitement. 

We entered the bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed, each of us apparently very much aware of the other and that we would soon be sharing this bed which fortunately had separate duvets. I felt my itch return. 

"Where do you want to be?" asked Francis indicating left and right sides with a wave of his hand. 

I took a sudden decision. 

"Underneath," I said, to his surprise, and removed my blouse and stepped out of my skirt then came and stood beside him again. 

Once again Francis could not help admiring my body and legs, and had trouble looking into my eyes, though not from shyness. 

"No, I mean which side do you want me?" he asked. 

"Inside," I replied, and again took him by surprise. I removed my bra, and came over to him, my breasts swinging gently. He tried hard to keep looking me in the eye. I began to undo the buttons of his shirt. 

"We're here," I said. "Nobody is going to know. I think some of them suspect that there's something between us, with all these business trips we have to make together, but they can't confirm it. You're divorced. I'm single. You're not too off-putting, and I hope I'm not. Let's go for it, if you're willing. Just a wild fling and then, if you prefer it, back to normal." 

"Just a one-night stand?" 

"One-night, two-night, or all three, whatever we decide." 

Francis stared at me, then began to undo his belt and fly. I finished opening his shirt buttons, stroked his chest with both hands, and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, caught it as it fell towards the floor, and threw it casually over a chair back. I helped him lower his pants to the floor, held them whilst he stepped out of them, folded them neatly and placed them on a chair. When I turned round, Francis had taken off his socks. 

I walked over and stood in front of him, our bodies close together. 

"Will you go first or shall I," I asked. 

"Go first?" 

"We each have one item of clothing left. Will you take mine off first, or shall I take yours off?" 

In answer he reached down, slipped his thumbs under the elastic of my panties and pushed them down over my hips and a bit down my thighs until they began to fall of their own accord. I stepped out of them and imitated his action with his boxer shorts. As they passed his hips, his penis sprang free and began slowly to rise. 

"Nice," I said. "And very flattering." 

He pulled me to him, bent his head, and kissed me, and I felt his penis lengthen and harden between us. I gently took hold of it and cupped one hand under his scrotum. 

"Next stop nirvana," I said, and climbed onto the bed. I lay on my side, thighs slightly splayed and he looked at the triangle of curly blond hair between them. He climbed onto the bed and lay beside me, kissing me on the lips and stroking my body from shoulder to hip. Slowly he moved his stroking hand from my side to my front, stroking the side of my breast, over my stomach, and down to the top of my thigh, then pushed me slightly so that I lay on my back. He stroked down to my breast, cupped it, leaned down to kiss it, took the nipple in his mouth, and then let his hand glide down, over my navel to my loins where he began to stroke me gently, pressing slightly harder with his middle finger. 

He continued kissing me, kissing my breasts and stroking me until he felt my thighs move apart. He moved his knees between mine, leaned forward on his hands and slowly bent his head down to kiss me again. I parted my lips and gently licked his lips, and he opened his mouth also to take in my tongue and I could taste the freshness of his breath. 

He pulled back, breaking our kiss, and looked down at my body beneath him, my breasts now flattened against my chest. 

"You're a very womanly woman," he said. "Your body has beautiful curves. I like the way it draws in towards your waist then expands again to your hips and thighs." 

"You're very poetic," I breathed. 

He bent down again to kiss my breasts and gently suck my nipples, alternating between them and my breathing became heavier, my urgency greater. 

He lowered his hips towards mine, and I felt the tip of his penis on my loins. He swayed from side to side and up and down, drawing a convoluted picture on my lower stomach. Surely you know where it is, I thought, then realised he was doing it to tease me, excite me, circling my vagina. At last he seemed to find the right place, and began moving up and down along the line of my labia until I was wet with longing. I could feel my breathing becoming more and more laboured, and he bent his head down again to kiss me, at the same time pressing his hips down, and easing himself into me. 

"Oh," I sighed as he filled me. He continued kissing me as he moved his hips up and down, filling me with each down-stroke. My breath was coming in stertorious gasps, and he slowly increased the pace of his movements. Suddenly he stopped at the top of a stroke, nearly out of me, just the tip of his penis inside, and I cried out in frustration. He sank down again, and I let out a long sigh. 

"Don't do that again," I breathed, and in answer he did just that, pulling almost out, and holding. I growled and pummelled his back, and again he sank down into me, and this time continued with slow penetrations. I felt my ecstasy grow until finally I nearly blacked out, and a cry escaped me, and I felt myself tighten around him, sending him, too, over the edge. I felt him pulsing inside me, and the warm glow of his semen spreading inside me. 

"Oh, yes," I gasped and locked my legs around him, stopping him from withdrawing. 

"Stay just where you are," I said. "Let's see if we can make that happen again." 

I began rocking my body gently, and felt myself tighten and release my vagina around his penis. Slowly he began to grow again until he once more filled me. 

"Nice," I said. 

"Yes." 

"Can you reach down to my breasts from where you are?" 

He tried, and found he could almost reach them. I slipped a hand round one and lifted it up so that he could cover the nipple with his lips. He sucked and I cried out, then I lifted the other breast and he transferred his attentions to that, producing another small cry. 

"Enough," he said, and began to move again. 

"Oh, yes," I said again and fell in with his rhythm. Once more he took me to the peak of ecstasy and over, and once more I felt him shudder and fill me with his seed. 

Afterwards he collapsed on me and I held him tightly with arms and legs, until he rolled off me, gasping for breath. 

"Thank you," he said. 

"My pleasure," I replied, and we fell quickly asleep with me curled up in his arms. 

In the morning the alarm woke us and we turned sleepily to look at one other. I smiled, and he smiled back. 

"Some night," I said. 

"And now it's morning," he said, and reached for me. He suckled my breasts, breaking off every now and then to kiss me on the lips, until I became impatient. I moved my legs apart and pulled him on top of me again, and we made satisfying love for the third time. 

We spent a useful day at the exhibition, and arrived back at the hotel around five in the afternoon. The receptionist greeted us and told us that we had now been moved to separate double rooms and that our cases had been moved to the new rooms. We thanked her and took our new keys. In the elevator we compared keys and found that we had been given adjacent rooms, and each went into our room. 

I messed up the bed, lay on it and wriggled around, punched the pillow and generally made it look as though it had been slept in, then grabbed my towel and bathrobe, and went to knock on the next door. 

Francis had not been in his room long enough to do more than remove his jacket, hang it in the wardrobe, and open his laptop when I arrived. 

"I wondered if I could use your shower," I said, and he invited me in. 

"You realise we have to use both rooms," he said. "Otherwise the hotel will know." 

"Oh, I already did," I said. "I mussed up the bed to make it look as though it had been slept in. But I had thought about actually sleeping in here if you've no objection." 

"How could I have?" he replied, and drew me to him. "Now, help me get you out of these clothes." 

"Aren't we going to have dinner?" 

"Later." 

"Then I have a suggestion." 

"Go ahead." 

"We'll be in bed quicker if we each undress ourselves." 

"Good thinking!" 

And in a matter of minutes we were in bed, kissing and stroking one another until we could wait no longer, and he entered me and we began the slow process of exciting one another to mutual pleasure. 

Getting dressed again for dinner seemed like an anti-climax in more than one sense. 

Our meetings with the customer on the following two days were interesting from the energy which we brought to the discussions. I have never felt more alive. We made notes of the agreed upon changes, were even able to give an estimate of the cost of certain items, and generally impressed the customer with our co-operative willingness. On the afternoon of the second day we were once more in the carriage of a train taking us back up to Inverness. We sat quietly for half an hour or more, relaxing after the hectic time in London, and I was thinking about what had happened between us. I offered to go to the restaurant car for coffee and cakes. When I came back we spent a few moments arranging things on the table. 

"So where do we go from here?" I asked, taking a bite from my slice of carrot cake. 

"How do you mean?" 

"Well, is our relationship different now? If so, is the change permanent or do you want to go back to normal? Whatever normal means." 

Francis was silent for a while, chewing and drinking. His silence was so long that I began to have misgivings. 

"If you want to say no, just say it," I finally burst out impatiently. 

"I don't want to say no," said Francis. "I've just been working out whether what you said means that you want it to be different or go back to how it was before, and how I'll persuade you to keep the new relationship. I'm getting used to the idea of sharing my bed with someone again, and I want it to be you, and I'm wondering whether I want to move in with you, or have you move in with me, or whether we'll both keep our apartments, and decided each evening on an ad hoc basis." 

I gave him my most brilliant smile and saw the mixture of relief and happiness. I reached over the table and took his two hands in mine. 

"I'm glad," I said. "Now why don't you come over to my place when we get home. I've seen too many batchelor pads to want to go home to one the first night of our new relationship! And by the way, you can take me out to dinner before we go home." 

*****



Booking the Babysitter



At 1am I was snuggling down into the Cunninghams plush leather couch, my feet tucked up underneath me, and munching on my second bowl of popcorn . The twins were in bed hours ago and those cute little tots were blissfully asleep. Squared against the couch was their giant plasma TV, sporting interminable cable stations stretching into an infinity of re-runs. The room was dark, but the TV gave enough light to see by. I liked it that way. A strange house with the lights off was a mysterious thing, a mixture of the forbidden and the dangerous.

I was feeling tingly and excited inside because I had just explored their house, padding through the dark rooms in my bare feet. The biggest thrill was their bedroom, just being there made me feel so naughty. Idly, I had pulled open a drawer on their dresser and saw Mrs Cunningham had quite a lot of expensive lingerie. Standing in the half-light I picked up a lacy garter-belt and conjured an image of her wearing it while getting nailed on that big bed. I shocked myself with a thought that I should try her lingerie on. My stomach gave a little icy thrill. Even though I savoured that thought I was too afraid to dare. Besides, they would be home soon, I had better be downstairs. 

Once on the couch my finger was getting worn out pushing the up button on the remote. Jeez they must have every pay station going. 

Crap. Crap. Crap. Girl with two guys. Crap. Crap...What?

I froze in my seat. Did I just see what I thought I saw? My finger slowly moved from the up arrow to the down arrow. That was definitely two guys "going to town" on one girl all right. They were all topless and she was doing her best to keep them both happy. Kissing this way and that. Then the camera panned back and I squeaked in surprise, they weren't just topless. The guy behind was rubbing a big angry cock in the valley of her bum while she stroked the front guys tool against her belly with both hands.

I watched as they sandwiched her and groped her lustily. She was pretty, and blonde like me. She writhed between them, encouraging them on with moans and kisses. I bit my lip.

Something clicked behind me and I jumped with fright at the sound. I flicked the station and whirled to look over the back of the couch. Nothing was there. My heart was hammering in my chest as I listened intently. After sixty seconds of straining I heard their refrigerator, deep in the kitchen, crunch and gurgle as the ice-maker replenished itself. I fell back to the seat in relief, barely registering the gardening show on the other channel as I pulled myself together. 

It look several minutes.

When I had calmed down I knew had to go back. Preparing with furtive glances in every direction I picked up the remote again. The station came back and my eyes went wide as saucers. Oh my God! The things they were doing to her. They moved and ground together, panting and gasping, no part of her body was safe.

Shocked and thrilled I watched with rapt attention as they turned her this way and that. Took her in all kinds of ways. They were cute and fit guys and she seemed to be enjoying herself just as much as they were. I could feel my cheeks flushing. Not to mention the tingly, moist, sensation building in my pants.

A fantasy came alive in my mind, augmenting what I was watching. I imagined myself in her place. Trapped between those chiselled bodies, with no choice but to do every dirty thing they wanted to do. 

Imagine I did that. Imagine I was that kind of girl.

Bobby would faint. 

I smiled at that thought, but indulged the fantasy a little more. Maybe my boyfriend wouldn't faint. Maybe he would be into it. Maybe he'd bring over Josh, his hot friend from the football team, and "go to town" on me like that. I was warming to my fantasy and I shifted in the seat, feeling my clothes were too tight for me now. 

No, that's not it. Bobby wasn't much of a lover, it was always over too quick with him. 

My thoughts turned to Mr Cunningham, commanding and confident. In my new fantasy he was instructing Bobby how to treat me. When to tease and when to thrust. Which bits to lick and where to put his fingers. But, he wouldn't just "tell" Bobby. No, he would "show" him too. I would just have to go along with it. Helpless, but not wanting to be helped. Sucking what I was told to suck, changing positions as ordered, giving up whatever part of me I was told to give up. 

I squirmed in the seat as I watched the threesome. My mental state was getting to a critical point. I was so hot and bothered now, a steamy session of touching myself was inevitable. I wondered if I could possibly wait until I got home before I started attacking myself. Could I wait? Or could I do it here? I mulled over the possibilities.

It was extremely risky. If I was caught masturbating by my employers I'd never get a babysitting job again. They'd probably even tell my parents. But, god-damn-it, I felt so horny now I couldn't think straight. It's not easy to make good decisions in that state. I put a hand on my left breast. Just as a test. I could feel my aroused nipple through the fabric and I pinched it a little. 

God, that felt good. 

Just when I was contemplating whether rubbing the remote against the front of my jeans would be enough to get me off, I heard a rattling at the front door. Somebody was coming in. I quickly changed the channel and dropped the remote, adjusting myself so that I appeared in rapt attention to what was on. I took the bowl and munched a little of the popcorn. Blood was pulsing in the veins of my neck, but I schooled my face to innocent boredom. 

I felt a presence more than saw it, a deepening of the shadows.

"Hi Megan, what are you doing?"

It was him.

"Um ,nothing. Just watching TV Mr Cunningham."

He crooked a sceptical eye at the gardening show on the big screen and turned to look at me silently. I gazed up at him with moon eyes. He looked so handsome with his face shadowed like that. Something in his expression made me lick my lip nervously. He moved to stand between me and the TV. 

Had he seen what I was watching?

"It's time to drop you home." 

Eighteen and I still don't have a car of my own. The shame of it.

I got up off the couch. Strangely, he didn't step back. I had to rise in the small space he allowed me. I was very close to him, so close I could feel the tips of my breasts rub lightly on his chest. He was so tall, and I had no shoes on, my eye-level was at his collar bone. His shoulders were at least twice as wide as mine. This close I could feel the heat off his body and smell his aftershave. I looked demurely at his chest until he caught my chin in his hand and gently tilted it up until I was looking into his eyes.

"I know what you want Megan."

I held my breath.

"Barbara has gone to the gas station with the car."

He touched my lower lip with his thumb. 

"You've got fifteen minutes to get it."

It was like an explosion happened at that moment as we crashed together. I flung my arms around his neck and dragged him down to my hungry mouth. He kissed me savagely, worked my mouth open with his. Our tongues touched, and touched again. The sound of heavy breathing rushed in my ears. Mine? His? Who knew? I groped at his huge shoulders with the palms of my hands, examining the rock-hard muscle underneath his shirt. His hands roamed down to the small of my back then even lower to grip my ass, tugging me forward against him. Something hard was growing between us. He wanted me to know it was there. I crushed my tits against his chest, letting him feel how soft they were.

We broke our kiss and I eyed the wall clock frantically. Five minutes gone already! Now he was unbuttoning my shirt, quickly, and with well practiced fingers. I put both my hands into his crotch to feel his dick growing and twitching like a live creature. His face was in my cleavage now, kissing and licking. His fingers searched over my boobs until they found my nipples through the fabric of my bra. He played with them, pinching and rubbing until they throbbed and I gasped over the top of his head. Working on touch alone I struggled to undo his belt and button. I fumbled to open his zipper. Soon I had "it" in my hand, hot and smooth, hard as a rock. I got a start as I felt his size, he was both longer and thicker than Bobby. 

I glanced at the clock. Fuck, seven minutes.

Collapsing back onto the couch I started to claw at the studs of my jeans, popping them open. He lowered his trousers and pants as I desperately tried to do the same. Those damn skinny jeans were so tight they stuck to me like a second skin. I wriggled and wrenched in frustration just to get them off my hips. He joined me, but our tugging and pulling worked as much against each other as together. With a cry of exasperation he flipped me over onto my front. I gasped in shock as the air left my lungs. He grabbed my waistband and wrenched the jeans down off my ass as far as my knees, where they stuck fast. I was panting like a sprinter. Fresh air danced on my exposed backside.

I got my knees under me and crawled-shuffled to grab the arm of the couch for support. My jeans tangled my legs awkwardly. I felt him take position behind me and looked back over my shoulder at him. I couldn't see much except my backside, high in the air, and a look of concentration on his face. Then I felt "it" rub against my pussy, a hot bar of iron teasing me and making me moan. He was getting the head wet in the slick channel between my swelled labia, rubbing it up and down. 

He moved to my entrance and I felt him start to apply a delicious pressure. He was slow and careful, having no intention of roughing me up. The sensation mounted, making us breathe more raggedly, until my pussy popped open and we both said "Oh" in unison. He slowly pushed into me, letting me adjust. It felt so big I knew I would be tender in the morning, but I was so slick with juice that I felt nothing but pleasure now. He didn't stop until he had pushed every last bit deep inside me.

"God you're so tight" he gasped.

He slowly pulled out half way and back in again. Then he did it again a little faster, and a little faster too, building speed. I groaned to let him know how good it felt. He was getting up to a good pace, driving through the slippery clenching of my inner muscles. I gasped on the "out" and groaned on the "in", but he just got faster and faster until I could do neither one nor the other. The sounds just mixed into a long mewl of pleasure. 

I could feel myself about to let go.

Suddenly, the room was bathed in light. A huge neon blast from outside. I screamed in fright and he pulled out of me. A car had mounted the driveway like a hellish demon, lancing full beams at the sitting room window. We bolted up from the couch, everything looking freakish in the powerful white glare. 

I just couldn't move. I was frozen.

The headlights winked out and suddenly I realised I was standing with my shirt open and my trousers clinging between my knees. As we heard a car door open we both started to dress frantically. I shook with terror as I tried to get my panties out of the crotch of my jeans, but they were tangled up. There were footsteps on the driveway, heels clicking ominously. I abandoned my underwear and started yanking at my jeans to get them up, they clung to my thighs, stubbornly resisting all movement. I finally got them up as the key crunched in the door. 

He was already dressed now and moving nonchalantly. The front door cracked open, but I was still on my first shirt button. My fingers were trembling, hindering me. 

Button two. Button three. 

She appeared in the doorway and he moved to block her sight with a little kiss. 

Button four. Button five. 

When they parted I had my shirt closed. Her eyes flickered at my chest. 

Had she seen my hands lower from my bust?

We stood in silence for an awkward moment. Mrs Cunningham was an attractive woman, she filled her black cocktail dress with a fine curvy figure. Long dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. She regarded me without expression, her face an impassive mask. I tried a little smile, but it must have looked sickly. Every fibre of my being was twitching nervously.

"David, why don't you get the car ready to drop Megan home." her voice was low and cool.

"Sure thing honey," he drifted past her.

I made a move to follow him, avoiding eye contact as I headed towards the door. Just as I got to the door-frame, her arm shot out and thudded a palm against the wall. I jumped with fright and then cringed, now blocked at neck height. I turned to look at her with frightened doe eyes. Her face was an icy, expressionless, mask. It's funny how fright plays tricks on your powers of perception. Her lipstick looked so red, her diamond ear-rings sparkled.

"Just where do you think you're going?" her voice was deadly cold.

I shrivelled inside and quailed back as she loomed closer to me. I retreated from her until I could feel the wall press against my back. I was trapped. 

"Mrs Cunningham I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." I was whimpering.

She came closer, staring directly into my eyes, menacing me. I shrunk back, but she didn't stop until our noses were literally touching. I could smell her expensive perfume rising from the deep cleavage of her dress. I was panting quick shallow breaths.

"I can explain. I was watching TV and there was... Mmmmm." 

My excuse was cut short by her kiss.

My eyes went wide with shock. She adjusted a little and kissed me again. One more time she kissed me with her full glossy lips. They felt so soft against mine. I didn't know what to do. It was so confusing, so terrifying. 

Could I push her away? Should I play along? 

I kissed her back. Just a little bit. Was I playing for time? Or was it an automatic response? I didn't know. I'd never felt attracted to another girl before, but just minutes ago I was having sex and my body was still in the zone. This new human contact was starting to affect me strangely. My inhibitions were not quite what they would normally be. She felt my kiss and murmured, encouraged. She was melting against me. 

I thought, "What the hell", and closed my eyes.

Our kissing got a bit more vigorous. Vigorous to the point where we would either have to stop or go the whole way. I opened my mouth a little and the tips of our tongues touched. The physical reaction to that tiny wet touch was electrifying, like an ice-cube had dropped from my throat to my crotch. Everything came flooding back. The naughtiness of searching the house. The horniness of watching porn. The down-right lust of fucking her husband. I thrashed against her and French-kissed her for all I was worth.

She started to struggle to control me as I gave vent to my passion. We ground together until she had me pinned against the wall with her body. She held my face steady with one hand and pulled open the studs of my jeans with the other. I writhed my hips as I felt her insinuate her fingertips under my panties. Kissing was one thing, but I wasn't sure about anything else. I didn't think there was room for somebodies hand in the front of these jeans, but somehow, she forced it inside. Any thoughts of reluctance melted away when her fingers prized open my labia and started to play in the wetness. When she pulled back the hood of my clitoris I moaned loudly into her mouth.

She gripped my chin, pushing my head back so she could nuzzle my neck. She swirled her tongue in the hollow of my collarbone and slithered it up to my earlobe. Inside my jeans there were no more games being played, she had found my clit and was rubbing it mercilessly with her whole hand. I thrust my hips uncontrollably, trying to kiss her, but she held my head back, nibbling my earlobe. When she shoved her tongue into my ear my eyes popped open with a startling realisation.

I was going to come.

I was going to come ,and there was not a God-damned thing I could do about it. The pressure was too much, it just had to be released. My tummy twitched and my clit throbbed, setting off a chain reaction of pussy spasms. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. I started to moan in a higher pitch. She understood that sound. She was waiting for it. Holding me tighter she started to really thrash her hand inside my jeans, driving me over the edge and giving me no chance to release my orgasm gently. I screamed as I came hard. Everything was clenching in time with the pulses from my clit, my stomach, my pussy, my ass-hole... everything. I put my head back and howled.

After the climax I shivered and groaned until she had rubbed every last aching pulse from my clit, every last helpless spasm from my pussy. Eventually I had to hold her wrist to make her stop. It was over, I couldn't take any more. She stepped away from me with a beaming smile on her face. I still needed the wall for support, my legs felt like jelly. I was was gasping, my face was flushed and so was my neck. Heat pulsed off me. She caressed my face with the hand from my trousers, leaving a big streak of wetness on my cheek.

"David will drop you home now honey."

Dumbly I nodded and made for the door. I was still twitching from my orgasm. The car was running in the driveway, pointing out. I pulled open the passenger door and gingerly got in. I was so distracted I had my seat-belt on before I realised my jeans were still wide open. Mr Cunningham watched with interest as I shyly started to button up. 

"Thanks for babysitting tonight Megan. Your fee is in that envelope"

"Thank you Mr Cunningham."

"We'd like to book you to babysit again next Saturday."

"Um... Ok Mr Cunningham."

"Call me David."

"Yes... Em... David"

"And Megan."

"Yes."



Booklovers



Booklovers was a bookstore owned by a man who loved books. Unfortunately, he loved them too much. 

He couldn't say no to anyone looking to sell or trade, and eventually the bookcases were filled double deep with books of every type by every author. When there was no room left on the shelves, he stacked unsorted boxes of books in front of them until you could barely see the bookcases, let alone move down the aisles. 

Unable to browse through the books, or even reach them, the customers stopped coming. But the books didn't.

Box after box was brought to the store, and when he'd try to explain that he couldn't buy any more books, their owners would give them to him for free. No one saw any value in books anymore; they just wanted to get rid of them.

He should have refused the books or dumped them right into the recycling bin, but he couldn't -- he loved books too much. He piled the boxes on top of each other until they nearly reached the ceiling, one teetering stack after another. Eventually, he realized that he'd end up buried beneath the books, and locked the door and put up a For Sale sign.

For weeks the bookstore stayed dark, while new boxes of used books kept piling up outside its locked doors. And then, one rainy morning, the neon sign that said Booklovers flashed to life again.

A woman named Miriam had bought the store for the princely sum of one dollar, and a promise to take over the lease and -- most importantly -- keep the bookstore open.

And it was only a few weeks after that Aaron discovered the store. Every aisle was filled with a chaotic mess and most people, walking through the door for the first time, would have immediately turned around and left. 

But as soon as Aaron saw the stacks and stacks of boxes of books, he knew there was something valuable within. What he didn't know was that he was about to discover the greatest treasure of his life.

However, no one said finding buried treasure was easy, and Aaron knew it was going to take a lot of work to unearth any gems in this hoarder's heaven. 

The jewels he was digging for were first editions; preferably ones marked Burroughs, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald or even Tolkien. Unfortunately, every stone he uncovered was of the common variety -- Robbins, Sheldon and Grisham. Sometimes he thought if he had to sort through one more box of Danielle Steel novels he'd pull a pile down on top of himself and end his misery.

Aaron had made a hobby of searching for rare first editions, but he never kept them; even though he loved books, he loved money even more. He didn't really think he'd get rich prowling old bookstores, but it was a decent second income and he loved the hunt.

Most of the first editions he did find were lucky to fetch a hundred bucks on Ebay, but he'd once found a rare first edition of Gone With the Wind, which he'd sold to a private collector for five thousand dollars.

He hadn't found anywhere near that big a score at Booklovers, but he knew the books he was hunting for wouldn't be found in the boxes out front, they'd be back behind the red curtain. That was where Miriam kept the boxes that had never been sorted through, not even by the original owner.

And tonight he was finally going to get a chance to search them, a chance to see if any rare jewels were waiting to be discovered.

Aaron pushed open the bookstore's front door and the bell above it jingled.

Miriam was sitting behind the counter in front of her computer, and as she spun her chair around and saw Aaron she smiled.

"You're here," she said.

"Of course, did you think I wouldn't be?" Aaron had brought Miriam a coffee and went to put it on the counter for her, but there was no space as books were stacked a foot high from end to end.

As she stood and took it from his hand, she said, "I just thought a good-looking young man like yourself would have something better to do on a Friday night than spend it with a bunch of old books and an old broad like me."

"Are you kidding?" Aaron said. "I couldn't wait to spend the night with you, and Molly of course."

He pushed open the swinging door beside the counter and Molly waddled toward him. She was a half-blind thirteen-year-old cocker spaniel. When she got close and sniffed Aaron, her tail wagged.

"I'm so glad she likes you," Miriam said, as Aaron scratched behind Molly's ears. "She couldn't stand Harold."

Harold was the sorter that Aaron was replacing. He was retired and a long-time customer of Booklovers, and Miriam had recruited him to help tackle the seemingly never-ending stacks of books that needed to be sorted. Exhaustion had eventually set in, and Harold had told her he needed a break.

"I'm glad Molly likes me, too," Aaron said, and stood up as she headed back to her small dog bed underneath Miriam's desk to go back to sleep. "And I wanted to say thanks again for letting me help sort."

"Well I remembered you asked before, but I was worried there wasn't enough space for three sorters back there," she said, nodding at the red curtain. "And besides, you're much better looking than Harold."

Aaron smiled, knowing that Miriam's flirting was harmless. At sixty, she was more than twice his age, and he knew she thought of him like a son.

She'd been married to her husband for thirty-five years, but they'd never been lucky enough to have children. The two of them had met in a bookstore and it had always been his dream for them to own one of their own. But he'd died before he could achieve his dream, so Miriam had decided to keep it alive. She'd bought Booklovers in his memory, and her and Molly had made the store their home away from home.

"Shall we get started?" Miriam said, as she opened the door beside the counter, stepped out, and then carefully made sure to shut it again to make sure Molly didn't get out.

"You bet." Aaron grabbed his coffee and followed her toward the red curtain.

"You know the deal," she said, "you help me sort the books, and if there are any that you want you can have them for one dollar each. But once you start on a box you have to keep sorting until each book is in its proper place, either on the shelf or in the recycling bin. Ask me if you're not sure where they go, but don't start a new box until the one you're sorting is empty."

Aaron nodded his head. "No problem. When you say a buck a book, you mean hardcovers too?"

"Any book -- even a first edition," she said, and gave him a knowing smile.

Aaron felt a wave of guilt. He'd bought half a dozen first editions from Miriam and always paid the price she asked, never haggling. However, he'd sold every one for ten times what he'd paid on Ebay, and always felt as if he'd cheated her.

As if she'd read his mind, Miriam said, "I bought this bookstore because I love books, Aaron, not because I was hoping to get rich. And even though I may not have a lot of money, one thing I do have is a lot of books.

"When I took over Booklovers, I never realized how much work it would take to make this place resemble a bookstore again. And I don't think I could have done it without the help of friends and customers like you. So if you find a book you want -- any book -- I'm more than happy to let you have it for a dollar as thanks for your help. Because believe me, in this store, one less book is always a good thing."

Miriam pulled back the red curtain and Aaron's jaw dropped. He'd seen the three-high stacks of boxes that still lined every aisle in the front of the store, but he'd never seen anything like this.

Carton after carton of unsorted books were stacked ceiling high on and around temporary wooden shelves.

Seeing the shocked look on his face, Miriam said, "And there's even more in the storage locker!"

Aaron ran his hand along the countless cardboard boxes. "Wow, I never realized there were still so many books back here." 

"You should have seen it when we started, we couldn't even move down the aisles. And I've already filled two dumpsters with textbooks and cookbooks. I wish I could get a third sorter, but I still don't think there's enough space back here."

"No, this is perfect," Aaron said. He didn't want anyone else digging through the boxes before he had a chance to. 

"What night does the other sorter come in?" he said.

"Oh, she's already here."

Aaron was surprised; he didn't think there was anyone else in the store. Miriam led him around the corner, and on her knees in the next aisle, surrounded by stacks of sorted books, was a young woman with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.

She only glanced up for half a second before burying her nose in another box of books. 

"Emily," Miriam said, "I'd like you to meet Aaron, he'll be helping with the sorting."

Emily stood up and, though she was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and no makeup, Aaron thought she was cute.

A lock of her hair had come loose. Without putting it back into place and without a smile, she said, "Hi. When's Harold coming back?"

"I'm not sure," Miriam said, "but until he's feeling better, Aaron will be taking over his sorting duties."

"In Harold's row, right? I don't need his help in my row."

"Yes, Emily," Miriam said, and turned to Aaron. "You'll be sorting the aisle we were just in, and Emily will work in this aisle. But I'm sure she'll be glad to help if you have any questions."

Aaron saw Emily watching him and her look said it all: "Stay out of my boxes."

She went back to sorting books as Miriam and Aaron went back to the aisle they'd just been in.

"Emily's a little shy," Miriam whispered, "but once you get to know her, you're going to love her."

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "I don't think the problem is going to be whether I like her or not, I don't think she likes me."

"Are you kidding? I don't think I've ever heard her say 'hi' to anyone before."

As soon as Miriam went back to the front counter, Aaron pulled the first box down and tore it open like a kid on Christmas morning. But when he discovered the box contained nothing more than a few textbooks and an assortment of battered Stephen King paperbacks, he felt like a kid who'd opened his present and discovered socks. 

He immediately grabbed down a second box and prepared to tear it open, but when he looked at the stack of books already piled on the floor around him he remembered Miriam's directions and figured he'd better take care of them first.

As instructed, he dumped the textbooks in the recycling bin and took the paperbacks to Miriam. After she'd narrowed the stack of King novels down to the ones that she didn't already have at least five copies of, Aaron stacked them on the shelves, threw the rest in the bin, and went back to open another box. 

While he sorted through it, he tried to peek through the shelves and boxes at Emily. He wasn't interested in her though, he was interested in the boxes she was sorting through. 

Aaron just knew, with his luck, that the treasures he was hunting for would be on her side of the aisle, not his. So the next time she took a handful of books out to the shelves he went to talk to her.

When she saw him coming down the narrow aisle she was in, she tried to head in the opposite direction but stacks of boxes blocked her escape.

Turning back to him, trying not to make eye contact, she said, "You're in the wrong aisle." Seeing the confused look on Aaron's face she pointed at the book in his hand. "Mystery is in the next aisle, that's where books written by Parker go."

"Oh," Aaron said, "I actually came over to introduce myself again. I didn't really get a chance to say hi earlier."

"Oh," she said, brushing the loose lock of hair behind her ear and giving him a quick smile. "Hi again."

"Here, let me help you with those." 

As Aaron went to grab the stack of books in her arms, Emily stepped back and clutched them to her chest. "I don't need any help!"

"Okay," he said, holding up his hands, "sorry for asking. Anyways, I also wanted to check and see what you're looking for."

"Pardon me?"

"When you're sorting the books, what type are you looking for? Romance? I can let you know if I find any in my boxes, if you want."

"I'm not looking for romance...I mean, romance novels. I'm not looking for anything -- I just love books. Can I get by?"

"Oh, sorry," Aaron said, and backed out of the aisle so she could get past. "I actually collect twentieth-century first editions, so if you find any of them could you let me know?"

She nodded her head, and hurried past him back to her aisle.

Aaron sorted box after box of books but never hit paydirt once; when Miriam let them know she was closing for the night, he went to the counter empty handed. 

But as Emily came out of her aisle, he saw she had a stack of books between her arms. "Need a hand?" he said.

"No, I'm fine."

As she placed them on the counter and Miriam counted them, Aaron scanned the titles and was amazed at the mish mash of books she'd selected. There was no rhyme or reason to it, everything from fiction to children's books to a textbook on small engine repair. But at the bottom he spotted an old dust jacket and reached for it.

"That's mine!" Emily said, and tried to grab his hand.

But Aaron quickly pulled the book away, and as he did the stack spilled over and one of the books tumbled to the floor before Miriam could stop it.

Emily cried out as the hardback flipped open and landed on its spine, splitting it.

"Shit, sorry," Aaron said, and bent down to pick up the broken book.

But before he could, Emily grabbed it and an old black and white photo that had fallen out of it. Tucking the photo back in the book, she put it on top of her pile and grabbed the book Aaron had taken back out of his hand. 

"Sorry about breaking your book, want me to check the shelf and see if there's one in better condition?" Aaron said.

"No," she said, as she paid Miriam fifteen dollars. "I want this one."

Aaron knew he shouldn't have grabbed her book without asking, but he recognized the jacket; it was a Modern Library first edition of Travels with Charley by Steinbeck. He knew it was probably only worth a couple of hundred bucks, but he'd specifically asked her to tell him if she found any first editions, and she'd promised she would. 

Wondering if she was also selling books on Ebay, he followed Emily to the parking lot. 

"I thought you weren't a collector?" he said.

"I'm not," she said. "I just love books. All kind of books."

"I can tell, quite an assortment. Are you some kind of hoarder or something?"

She glared at him, resentment in her eyes. "No! I told you -- "

"Just joking!" Aaron said, holding up his hands to calm her down. "But I saw that Steinbeck book you bought, and I actually need that for my collection. Can I buy it off of you?" 

"It's not for sale," she said, clutching the stack of books to her chest.

"I'll give you twenty bucks for it."

"No. I don't want to sell it."

Aaron smiled; she obviously knew how much it was worth. "Okay, how about fifty?"

"No! Please quit asking."

"Look, you're not going to get more than a hundred for it on Ebay, I'll give you that much right now."

Emily's mouth fell open and her eyes went wide in shock. "Ebay? You think I'm selling these on Ebay? These books are mine now, I'd never let some...stranger have them."

Before he could say another word, she got in her car, slammed the door and drove away.

* * *

The next week didn't go much better for Aaron. He didn't find anything worth more than a few dollars, but every night Emily found at least a dozen books that interested her.

He tried to look at her stack, tried to see if there was a pattern to the books she chose, but any time he came near her aisle she hunched over her pile like a dog guarding a bone. He knew he had to find a way into her good books.

The next night he went down her aisle to talk to her. She was hunched over a box, sorting it, and when he got near she reached for her stack of books and covered them protectively.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to steal your books. I've got more than enough of my own to plow through," he said, gesturing at the never-ending stack of boxes. "I was just heading out to grab a coffee, and thought I'd check to see if you wanted one?"

"No, thanks," she said.

"Are you sure? Because I don't mind, it's my treat."

Emily bent over the box, her attention back on the books. "I said I don't want a coffee."

When Aaron returned, he brought her a coffee anyways. "Just in case you change your mind," he said, and left it on a shelf near her.

Emily glanced up, but Aaron had already returned to sorting books.

When he came back from shelving a stack of Dean Koontz novels, he saw Emily had moved the cup of coffee to a shelf far away from her. After she bought her books and left for the night, he checked the cup. It was still full -- she hadn't taken a single sip.

Aaron dumped it in the garbage, the message received loud and clear -- Emily didn't want to be friends. As he went to leave, and petted Molly goodbye, Miriam gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Don't judge her by one cup of coffee," Miriam said. "Emily is a sweet girl."

Aaron shrugged his shoulders. He'd tried. But he really wasn't that worried or even that interested. He was here to find books, not friends. And it was obvious that Emily wasn't keen on helping him find either.

Which was why he was surprised the next night when he looked up from some books he was shelving and saw Emily standing there, holding out a cup of coffee toward him.

"I thought you didn't like coffee?" he said.

"I don't, I only drink tea. I -- I tried to tell you, I can't stand the smell of coffee, it makes me nauseous, it -- "

"It's cool," Aaron said. He could see how nervous she was. "It was my fault -- I shouldn't have bought you one after you told me not to."

"I know," she said, twisting her sweatshirt around her finger, "but I still should have said something. I spend most of my time at home, alone with my books. And now that I've been coming here...I'm still getting used to being around people, around friends." 

Aaron stood up, smiled at her and took a sip of the coffee. "It's perfect, thanks."

For the first time, he saw her smile. And when she did her eyes lit up and he had a hint of just how beautiful she really was.

"I -- I was also wondering if this was one of the ones you were looking for?" She took her hand from behind her back and held out an old hardcover book.

Aaron took the book from her and as he slowly turned it over, and saw the tan cover and the black embossed signature on the face, he knew immediately what it was -- a first edition of For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway.

"Are you kidding?" he said. "You don't want this?" He knew, even without the dust jacket, that the book was easily worth a couple hundred dollars.

"No," she said, smiling again when she saw how excited he was. "I'm not a collector."

Aaron was so anxious to get the book back to his stack that he didn't even wait for Emily to back down the aisle so he could get by.

He went to squeeze past her and, with the row being so narrow, their bodies became wedged together.

"Sorry," Aaron said, and went to move back.

But before he could, Emily blushed and said, "It's okay," and let him squeeze past.

Her breasts were pressed against his torso, and as he slid his body across hers, careful not to spill his coffee, she put her hand on his hip to steady him.

Aaron was so excited about his book that he didn't even notice as his crotch ground against hers, but Emily did.

She let her hand trail down his hip as he went past and exited the aisle. And as Aaron smiled back at her and thanked her again, Emily tugged at her sweatshirt and wondered why the bookstore suddenly seemed so warm. 

When Miriam saw the book she congratulated Aaron on his find and charged him one dollar. And when the book sold the next day for one hundred and seventy five dollars, he went to give half of the money to Emily.




Booklovers



"You sold it?" she said, a crestfallen look on her face.

"Well...yeah," he said, as he tried to hand her the money.

Emily shook her head and refused to take it. "But I found the book for you. I gave it to you because I thought you collected them?"

The last thing Aaron wanted was for her to be mad at him again. If she was, she might not tell him about the next first edition she uncovered. So he lied. "I do collect them, but when I went home and checked my books I saw I already had that one. And I knew a guy who really wanted it for his collection, so I sold it to him."

Emily slowly nodded in understanding. "I -- I guess that's okay then. I just wanted to make sure the book went to someone who really needed it."

"It did," Aaron lied. "It did."

* * *

Emily's disappointment was short-lived, and as the weeks went by he could feel a growing chemistry between them. Now when he needed to get down an aisle that she was already in, she didn't back away to let him get to where he needed to go. Instead, she turned to face the bookcase, and as he squeezed behind her both of them couldn't help noticing the feel of his crotch sliding against her round ass.

And if Aaron had to let her pass, he'd lean back against the bookcase and, facing him, she'd slide her body across his. When their eyes met she'd blush, smiling at the contact. 

One time she was in an aisle and standing right where he needed to go. Without waiting for her to move, Aaron went directly behind her and reached up to put the book on the shelf.

Emily didn't move as his body pressed against hers, forcing her against the bookcase. She could feel his hardness pressed against her ass, and so could he.

After the book was in its place, Aaron put his hand on her shoulder. She lingered for a heartbeat, glancing back at him before breaking the contact and hurrying back to her aisle. After she left, Aaron adjusted his cock in his pants and wondered why the bookstore suddenly seemed so warm.

The very next night, he was sorting through a box of books when Emily wandered over and handed him an old copy of The Pearl by Steinbeck.

"I want you to have this one," she said.

Aaron flipped open the cover and his eyes lit up when he saw it was a first edition.

"But I don't want you to sell it."

"Oh," Aaron said, as the dollar signs dancing in his head slowly faded away.

Seeing the disappointed look on his face, she said, "look inside."

He flipped through the pages and saw there was something in between, a Valentine's Day card.

"You got me a valentine?" he said. "Aren't you, like, a month early?"

"No," Emily said, blushing with embarrassment. "It's not from me. I found it in the book."

Aaron pulled it out and saw it was a really old one from the forties, and on the back was written: "For Esme -- from Jerry."

"I love these old books and their stories," Emily said. "Not the stories written in them, but the stories of the books themselves. A girl named Esme must have owned that book, and she kept that valentine as a bookmark. Seeing it there makes me wonder what happened to them. Did they fall in love? Did they get married and have a family?" 

"And you want me to have it?"

"Yes, I don't want the book to get bought by some stranger who'll just throw the valentine in the garbage. If you don't want it, I'll take it."

"No," Aaron said, smiling at her. "I'll treasure this book, and the valentine, forever."

After Emily had paid for her books and wished him and Miriam good night, Aaron took his book to the front counter, waiting for his change while he petted Molly.

"Indian food," Miriam said, as she handed him four dollars.

Aaron looked up. "Pardon me?"

"Indian food," she said. "Emily loves Indian food. You know, just in case you ever want to ask her out for dinner or something..."

Now it was Aaron's turn to blush. "I think she just wants to be friends."

"And do you just want to be friends?"

Aaron laughed. "Is this a bookstore or a matchmaking service?" 

"You'd be surprised at what can happen in a bookstore," Miriam said, and gave him a wink.

* * *

A week later, Aaron was sorting books in his aisle when he heard footsteps approaching.

He assumed it was Emily, but as he looked up a smoky voice said, "Wow, you're cute!"

Aaron looked up and saw a beautiful blonde watching him from the end of the row. She had wavy, shoulder length hair and was wearing black yoga pants with a form-fitting tee. As he stood up, she walked over and introduced herself.

"Hey, I'm Chloe. I thought some old guy helped sort the books. I didn't expect to find someone like you here." 

"Hey, I'm Aaron." He brushed his hand against his thigh to remove the dust from the books, and held it out.

As she shook it, her eyes drifted down his body. When they reached his crotch she glanced up, biting her lower lip as she smiled at him. "Maybe you and me should sort together? And you can, you know, show me how to do it?"

She looked over Aaron's shoulder as Emily peeked around the corner, wondering whom he was talking to.

By the time Aaron turned to look, she'd already ducked back out of sight.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Chloe said.

"No, she's just a friend. I don't have a girlfriend."

Chloe gave him a naughty smile, and said, "I'm glad to hear it."

Miriam explained to Aaron that, with him and Emily making such a large dent in the stacks, she felt there was finally space for a third sorter. Chloe often came to the bookstores on Thursday evenings, bored and looking to kill time, so Miriam asked her if she wanted to help.

But while Emily insisted on having her own aisle to sort, Chloe didn't want to be anywhere other than beside Aaron.

She sorted her books right next to him, and any time she found one she thought he might like she leaned her body close to him and asked if he was interested, smiling as he blushed every time she said it.

And every time he was in an aisle, Chloe found a reason to go down it. When she'd pass him, she always made sure to slowly glide her sexy ass across his crotch, smiling back at him.

"Tight, huh?" she said.

"Pardon me?" he said.

Chloe smiled as she caught him checking out her ass. "These aisles...they're so tight."

When she came back Aaron went to let her pass, but this time she stopped and placed her hand on his chest, looking down at his crotch. "Looks like your pants are getting tight too," she whispered.

She laughed when she saw him blush, but as she passed in front of him, squeezing her body against his, she let her hand trail down his chest and brushed her fingers across the bulge on the front of his pants, giving him a knowing smile.

Aaron went back to the box of books they'd been sorting, not sure what to say to Chloe; he'd never met anyone so forward.

"Sorry if I embarrassed you," she whispered, "but I like big ones, and it felt like you've got a big one."

She was just sliding her hand along his thigh, toward the outline of his stiff cock, when Emily poked her head around the corner to let them know that the store was closing.

Emily took her books to the counter and Aaron was behind her. He hadn't talked to her once the whole night. Miriam was counting the books when Aaron said, "I know it's late, but did you want to grab something to eat?"

Smiling, Emily turned to say yes, but quickly turned back around when she realized he was talking to Chloe.

"That sounds like it'd be a lot of fun," she said, glancing down at his crotch, "but I should really get going home."

"Did you need a ride?" Aaron said, not even noticing Emily as she quietly left the store.

"Not tonight, but I'd love a ride next week," she said with a wink.

* * *

The next week came, and when Aaron got to the bookstore Chloe was already there, sorting books and putting aside ones she thought he might be interested in. 

She'd worn the same black yoga pants as the week before, but the tight top she had on was different, and highlighted her high, full breasts. Being January, Aaron knew it was cold outside, but he wasn't sure if that explained why her erect nipples were straining against the fabric. When Chloe caught him looking at them, she gave him a naughty smile.

He knelt to check the books she'd put aside, but she covered them with her hand. "What are you going to give me for them?" she said, as her eyes drifted down to the bulge in the front of his pants.

"You are such a tease," he said, and took the books from her as she leaned her body against him and laughed.

Emily was down the aisle they were headed to, and Aaron wondered why she looked different than normal. As she smiled at him, he realized she was wearing makeup and had taken her hair out of the ponytail. She'd also ditched the baggy sweatshirt for a beautiful, oversized cream-colored knit sweater, and was wearing black leggings with brown knee-high leather boots. 

Aaron tried to back out of the narrow aisle, but before he could, Emily said, "It's okay, I can get by," and went to squeeze past him. As she slowly slid by, her body pressed tightly against his, she smiled and said, "After we're done tonight, did you want to go get a tea...or something?"

"Sorry, I've already got other plans," Aaron said. He actually didn't, but he was hoping that Chloe would take him up on the rain check from the week before.

As Emily left the aisle, head down, she glanced up at Chloe, who raised an eyebrow and half-smiled when their eyes met. 

Once she was gone, Chloe sauntered down the aisle and pressed her ass against Aaron's crotch as she pretended to look for a book. 

"Now, where was that..." But when she felt Aaron's cock stiffening through his pants, she smiled and said, "Oh, there it is."

She slid her hand behind her and rubbed his cock through his pants. "You do have a big one," she whispered. "You'd better be careful with that in here, you never know where you might end up poking some poor girl."

Chloe placed her hands against the opposite shelf to brace herself, and then ground her ass against Aaron's crotch.

"I think you'd better adjust yourself," she whispered.

Aaron reached in his pants and shifted his swollen shaft so it was pointing straight up.

Chloe leaned back so his cock was between her cheeks like a big hot dog and rubbed her ass up and down on it. Peeking down the aisle to make sure no one was coming, she took his hands and pushed them up under her tee.

She wasn't wearing a bra and her firm breasts fit perfectly in Aaron's large hands, and as he squeezed her tits, he could feel her erect nipples pressed against his palms. Chloe moaned as he played with her, and she kept rubbing his cock between the cheeks of her ass.

"You're so fucking stiff, let me suck it," she whispered.

"Let's leave here, and go back to my place," he said.

"No, I can't wait." She turned and lifted his shirt up so she could see his cock, which was sticking up above his waistband. She rubbed her finger against the tip, feeling the slickness of his pre-cum. "It doesn't look like you can wait either."

"Let's go out to my car," Aaron whispered, stifling a groan as Chloe slid her hand down his pants and squeezed his shaft.

"No, I want to do it here, in the bookstore," she said.

"Are you crazy? We can't do it here."

"Why? Are you afraid we'll get caught?" 

"Yes, aren't you?"

"Not at all. I like being watched." Her hand was completely down the front of his pants, playing with his cock and balls.

Aaron didn't know what to say. He wanted her to suck his cock so badly, but was still worried that Miriam or Emily might catch them.

They heard footsteps coming and Chloe quickly pulled her hand out of his pants and tugged her tee down, which had been pushed up so that her tits were completely exposed.

When Emily came around the corner, Aaron had a book in front of his crotch, hiding his throbbing hardon. But Chloe made no attempt to hide her rock hard nipples, which were straining against the thin fabric of her tee, and Emily couldn't help noticing them. She also couldn't help noticing how close together they were in the aisle, as Chloe gave her a smug smile.

"Umm...I was just going to get a tea, and was wondering if you wanted me to grab you one, Aaron?" Emily said.

"Yeah, that would be great," he said, "and can you get one for Chloe too?"

Emily glanced at her, and then turned and left without answering the question. Seconds later, they heard the jingle of the bell as she left the store.

Aaron checked around the corner to make sure Emily was gone, and saw that Miriam was in the back of the store; there were no customers and she was using the opportunity to sort through some boxes of old magazines. When he turned back around, Chloe was already on her knees and undoing his belt.

She smiled up at him as she pulled his thick cock out of his pants. "Mmm...you do have a big one."

Aaron didn't answer, he just grabbed the bookshelves on either side of him for balance as she dragged his pants down around his knees, while still pumping his cock with her other hand.

He knew they had to make this fast, and so did Chloe. She leaned forward and engulfed his shaft with her mouth, and within seconds was bobbing quickly back and forth.

Her lips were wrapped around his cock as she slid up and down his length, and she moaned as she felt him growing stiffer.

Aaron's breathing was ragged and his head was spinning as he fought not to moan out loud. He had an ear open for the telltale jingle of the bell above the door, which would let him know Emily had returned, but in the silence of the bookstore the sounds of Chloe sucking his cock seemed deafening.

Stifling a groan as she pushed him toward the edge, Aaron went to put his hand behind her head, and as he moved it a paperback tumbled off the shelf.

Chloe started at the sound and pulled her mouth off his cock, gasping for air. She looked up at Aaron, her eyes filled with lust as she pumped her hand up and down on his spit-covered shaft, and said, "Your cock is so fucking huge!"

Aaron simply nodded and, holding her head between his hands, his fingers wrapped through her wavy blonde hair, slid his pole back between her lips. As he pumped away, fucking her mouth, Chloe felt how full his balls were and knew he was about to come.

Even though she looked up and nodded to let him know it was okay, Chloe's eyes still widened in surprise when Aaron groaned and filled her mouth with cum.

His own mouth was open in a silent moan and he felt as if his knees were going to buckle as Chloe swallowed his entire load. She let out a satisfied sigh as she kept sucking his cock, hoping for more.

He pulled his shaft from between her lips with a wet pop, and as he pulled up his pants and did them up she licked her lips and whispered, "That was a big one!"

Aaron walked out from the aisle, glad that Emily hadn't returned yet, and spotted Miriam sitting at her computer less than fifteen feet from where he'd just been sucked off.

He'd been so focused on Chloe's oral skills that he hadn't even heard her return from the back of the store. He had no idea how long she'd been sitting at her desk, and wondered what she'd heard.

Miriam glanced over her shoulder when she heard them coming out, and the look she gave him let him know she'd heard everything.

And if she had any doubts about what he and Chloe had been up to in the aisle, they were erased when she came around the corner licking her lips, tugging her shirt down and giggling at Aaron.

The bell jingled at the front of the store and Emily walked in with three teas, she'd conveniently forgotten Chloe's.

She smiled as she handed Aaron his tea, but the smile disappeared when he turned to Chloe and gave her the first sip, telling her they could share it.

Emily didn't see the two of them again until the end of the night, when she was paying Miriam for her nightly stack of books.

As he helped Chloe on with her coat, Aaron said, "Did you want to go get something to eat? Or, if you don't feel like going out, we can go back to my place and I can cook us something?"

"Mmm, sounds delicious," she said, her eyes traveling down his chest toward the outline of his cock, "but I really have to get going. Thanks for the tea...and everything else."

Chloe said goodbye to Miriam and Molly and left the store, disappearing into the night.

As the door swung closed, Emily said, "I thought you already had plans for tonight?"

Aaron had forgotten that Emily had already asked him out earlier. "Oh, yeah, my friend bailed," he lied.

"Well, it's not that late, I wouldn't mind getting something to eat."

Aaron glanced at the door, and said, "You know, I really do have to get an early start tomorrow. But maybe we can go out next week?"

Emily smiled, and said, "That would be great." But then the smile faded from her face. "Crap, I forgot -- I won't be here next week. My brother is coming by to talk about some stuff. Maybe the week after that?"

"Sounds good." Aaron wished both of them good night and made sure to pet Molly goodbye, but as he headed out the door and the bell jingled above him, his mind was on Chloe.

* * *

When the bell above the door rang a week later to announce Chloe's arrival, Aaron dropped the books he'd been sorting and headed out to greet her. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, and had been kicking himself for not getting her cell number.

Her lips curved into a smile when she saw him and, after greeting both Miriam and Molly, she followed him through the red curtain.

As soon as it swung shut behind them, she spun Aaron around, locked her arms around his neck and crushed her lips against his.

The kiss had caught him by surprise, but he soon recovered and wrapped his arms around her waist as they explored each other's tongues. His head was swimming from her kiss when she took his hand and put it on her ass, underneath her skirt.

As he squeezed the firm flesh, kneading it with his fingers as she moaned into his mouth, he realized she wasn't wearing any panties.

Sliding his hand between her legs he felt the soft, slippery folds of her pussy, and as he rubbed his fingers back and forth she ground herself against his stiff cock.

Aaron broke the kiss with a gasp and stepped back, his heart pounding. "Let's leave early," he whispered, "and go back to my place."

Chloe stepped close and rubbed his prick through his pants. "Why leave?"

Aaron knew Emily wouldn't be in tonight, but there was still Miriam and the odd customer to worry about. "We can't do anything here."

"Are you kidding?" she said. "Why do you think I made sure to wear a skirt this week."

She reached for his belt and was undoing it when he pulled her hands away; the curtain opened and Miriam peeked in.

"It's slow tonight so I thought I'd grab us some coffees." Miriam half smiled at the two of them, as they stood so close together that they were touching, and she couldn't help noticing that Aaron's pants were undone. "I'll make sure to lock the door so that no one disturbs your...sorting...until I get back."

When she heard the door lock, Chloe went back to work on Aaron's pants, pushing them down around his ankles along with his boxers.

He knew they didn't have a lot of time, so he pushed her up against the shelf, his mouth pressed against hers.

As they kissed, Chloe worked his cock and balls with both hands while he pushed her top up.

He lowered his mouth to her breast and was teasing her nipple with his tongue, when she said, "We don't have much time -- fuck me."

Aaron grabbed her ass and as he lifted her up with his strong arms, she locked her legs around his waist. Holding her with one hand, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, he reached underneath and guided his stiff pole to her opening.

Chloe moaned as he lowered her onto his shaft, and the shelves behind her rocked as he bounced her up and down on his cock.




Booklovers



Aaron couldn't believe how good it felt to be inside her, she was so wet, so tight. But he didn't have the strength to fuck her for long like this and she knew it.

As he let her down, she grabbed a two-high stack of boxes and bent over for him. He moved behind her, pushed her short skirt up around her waist, and slid his cock back into her pussy.

"Oh, fuck...that feels so fucking good!" she groaned. No one else was in the bookstore; she knew she didn't have to be quiet. Moaning enthusiastically, Chloe begged Aaron to fuck her harder, fuck her faster, as he pistoned his cock into her from behind.

Her cries of pleasure echoed off the shelves, the books the only witnesses as Aaron's hips slapped against her ass, driving his cock deeper and deeper. She grabbed the shelf beside her to steady herself as his piledriving action threatened to knock her forward, and moaned as his pounding pushed her over the edge.

Aaron looked down and saw that she was coming all over his cock, and he knew that he was about to come too.

Then he heard the curtain open.

Chloe's moans had been so loud, and he'd been so consumed by his own passion that he hadn't even heard the bell above the door.

Aaron looked over his shoulder just as the tray with the three teas tumbled from Emily's hand.

As they hit the floor and exploded all over the unsorted boxes of books, Aaron pulled out of Chloe and scrambled to pull his pants and underwear back up. "Emily, what are you doing here?!"

She didn't answer. Her mouth was open in shock as she looked at the two of them. Aaron was frantically trying to tuck his cock back into his pants, but Chloe was still bent over with her skirt above her waist, and laughed when she saw the look on Emily's face.

Turning, she ran toward the exit.

"Emily, wait!" Aaron cried, but it was too late, she was gone.

"Let her go," Chloe said. "We're not finished, you didn't come yet."

But then they saw Miriam coming through the door with a tray with three coffees in her hand. As Aaron ran out to talk to her, Chloe sighed in disappointment and pulled her skirt and top back down before fixing her hair.

"Why is the door unlocked?" Miriam said.

"Emily was here!" Aaron said. "She saw us..."

"Oh no," Miriam said, not even having to ask. "I forgot I gave her a key before so she could come in and do some extra sorting. She texted me when I was getting the coffee to say that her meeting was over and she was coming to the store, but I didn't think she'd get here so soon." 

"She wasn't even supposed to be here this week! How was I supposed to know she'd just walk in like that?"

"Well, the text said she was coming to meet you; you told her last week you'd take her to dinner."

"Oh, fuck. I thought she said we'd do that next week."

"I'm sure she doesn't want to do it at all now, but you should still talk to her and apologize."

Aaron was nodding his head in agreement when the bell jingled and a customer walked through the door.

As soon as she saw him, Chloe gasped. "Oh my god! Mark, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, hon, I dropped by the meeting and was surprised to see you weren't there. They said you hadn't been coming by lately, and one of the women said she saw you coming in here?"

"Yeah, the -- the meetings just weren't working for me," Chloe said. "I needed a break, so I've been coming here, volunteering to sort books."

Forcing a smile, she turned and said, "This is Miriam, the owner of the store. And this is Aaron, one of the other volunteers."

Stepping toward him, the man said, "Hey, I'm Mark -- Chloe's husband." 

The sentence hit Aaron like a bullet to the brain, but he instinctively reached out and shook his hand. As Mark introduced himself to Miriam, Aaron realized why Chloe was always in such a hurry to get home. 

He glanced at her and her eyes pleaded with him for understanding, but he turned away and saw Miriam was also watching him to see his reaction.

"Is that what you wore tonight?" Mark said, eyeing his wife's short, sexy skirt.

"I left my coat in the car," she said, tugging her skirt down and praying that he didn't discover she wasn't wearing panties, or notice that she wasn't wearing her ring. "I'm actually done for the night. We should go."

As she followed her husband toward the door, Chloe looked back and said, "Goodnight Miriam, 'night Aaron."

When he replied, he saw her husband glance back over his shoulder at him with an untrusting look.

After they were gone, Aaron turned to Miriam and said, "I've just made a huge fucking mistake."

Miriam handed him his coffee and said, "I could have told you that even before we found out she was married."

* * *

When Aaron showed up the next night, the first thing he did was head to Emily's aisle to see if she was there. He was surprised to see Chloe kneeling by a box, sorting books.

She was wearing the same skirt as the night before, and as soon as she saw him she leaped to her feet and tried to wrap her arms around him.

Pushing her away, he said, "Where's Emily?"

"She called Miriam and said she can't help sort anymore, so I'm taking over her aisle. Now we don't have to worry about being interrupted," she said, and went to rub his cock through his pants. 

Aaron grabbed her hand and stopped her. "Chloe -- you're married."

She pressed her body close to his and whispered, "Don't worry, baby, he doesn't suspect a thing. We're not going to get caught."

Aaron stepped back. "You think that's what bothers me -- getting caught? Chloe, I would have never touched you if I'd known you were married. When I shook your husband's hand last night...only minutes after you and me had been...I felt like the biggest piece of -- "

"It's not like that," she interrupted. "I don't even love him anymore. The only reason Mark and I are still together is for our kids."

"Oh, great, you've got kids too. All that matters to me is that you're still married, and you should have told me that."

"Aaron," she said, and as she tried to move toward him he took another step back. "I want to be with you. Mark hasn't touched me in months, and if he tried to I wouldn't let him; you're the only man I want to be with. Please, he'll never find out about us."

"Chloe, I don't know about other guys, but I can't be involved with a married woman."

"Then -- then I'll talk to Mark, and tell him I want a divorce."

"Look, Chloe, what I'm really trying to say is, I can't be involved with a woman who would cheat on her husband."

The instant he said the words he could see how deeply they'd hurt her. "It's not like that," she whispered, "I love my husband, but I love you too."

"Chloe, I -- "

"Please, just let me talk. The reason I come to the bookstore on Thursday nights is because that's the night I'm supposed to go to my meetings...my A.A. meetings. Honestly, the first time I found this place I wasn't even looking for it, I was looking for somewhere to get a drink.

"When I'm at home with my family, with my kids, all I used to want to do was get drunk. But now that I've met you, I don't get those urges anymore; you're all I think about."

"Chloe, I'm glad that you're trying to deal with your problem, but it sounds like you're just replacing one problem with another. You and I can't be together -- not now, not ever. I hope you beat your addiction, but you're only going to find a way to beat it at those meetings, not in this bookstore."

"Maybe -- maybe we can just be friends? I can come by your apartment, and visit?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a good idea."

" I think I'd -- I think I'd better go." Chloe tried to wipe away the tears that rolled down her cheeks, but there were too many. Grabbing her coat, she hesitated before turning to Aaron and hugging him tightly. "I'll never forget you," she whispered.

He hugged her back and, kissing the top of her head, said, "Go to your meeting, and good luck."

As she left the store, and thanked Miriam for everything, Chloe took one last look back at Aaron and, smiling through her tears, waved goodbye.

* * *

When Aaron returned to the store a week later neither Chloe nor Emily were there. When he went to her row he saw a new sorter there, an old man. 

Miriam introduced him to Harold, the sorter that he'd originally replaced, and said, "Try not to chase him away too." 

Aaron tried to throw himself back into the hunt for first editions but his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't stop thinking about Emily and wondering why, after the mistakes he'd made, it was her being punished. She was the one who loved books, not him.

Aaron passed Harold as he headed toward the counter, and when he got there Miriam was trying to quiet Molly, who was barking madly.

When she finally got her to stop and made her lie on her dog bed, Miriam said," I don't know why this damned dog always barks at poor Harold, I think she's getting crazy in her old age. What did you need, Aaron?"

Aaron smiled at Molly, who was quietly growling in Harold's direction, and said, "I've been thinking...and maybe I shouldn't be coming here to sort anymore."

Miriam's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? You chase away all my other sorters and now you're going to leave me too?"

"But that's the reason I'm leaving. You can call Emily and tell her that I'm gone, and then she can come back here. She loves this place."

Miriam sighed. "You don't have to leave, Aaron. Just go talk to her, tell her you made a mistake and that you're sorry."

"You -- you really think she'd listen to me?"

"It can't hurt. I'm sure she can't like you any less than she already does."

"Thanks, that really makes me feel better."

"Go talk to her, but no matter what she says I still need your help sorting. You can't leave Molly and me alone here with Harold." 

After Miriam gave him Emily's address, Aaron left the store and drove over to her house. Night had already fallen and stars littered the clear winter sky. Aaron shivered as he walked down the street; a cold snap had hit the area recently, and temperatures had fallen so low that Miriam had been forced to bring space heaters to the store to try to keep it warm. 

Aaron found the address he had been given, an old wartime house, and he was surprised when he knocked and a man answered the door.

"Umm...is Emily home?" Aaron said.

"Yeah, who are you?"

"Uh...a friend from the bookstore."

"Oh, great," he said, rolling his eyes, "another booknut. Emily, there's someone at the door for you!"

As he was waiting, Aaron looked down the hallway and saw boxes lined up along the wall as if someone was packing to move. Emily came around the corner, wondering who could possibly be looking for her, and when she saw Aaron the smile left her face.

"What do you want?" she said.

"Hey, I just stopped by to -- sorry, but I have to ask, is that your husband?" Aaron said.

Emily was surprised by the question. "No, I'm not married, but I wish I was so I could divorce him...that's my brother."

Aaron breathed a huge sigh of relief. He could feel the warmth from inside the house and, shivering on the porch, he said, "Can I come inside to talk?"

Emily half-closed the door so all the heat wouldn't escape and shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh...well, I just came by, I mean, I was just wondering why you haven't been at the bookstore." As soon as he said it, he knew he couldn't have said anything stupider.

She glared at him. "There's nothing there that interests me any more."

"I just wanted to let you know that...Chloe's gone."

She paused. "Why would I care if she was there or not?"

Aaron rubbed his hand through his hair. "Well, I just thought, maybe -- "

"Like I said," Emily interrupted, "there's nothing there that interests me anymore. You should leave now, I have to go."

"Wait," Aaron said, and put his foot out to stop her from shutting the door. "I know the way I treated you was wrong, and that's why I'm here -- to apologize. I totally understand why you don't want to be friends any more, but I just wanted to let you know that if you want to come back to Booklovers you can, I'll leave. You won't ever have to see me there again."

Emily didn't answer; she just stared at him. Aaron moved his foot from the doorway, and when he did, she said, "I'll never come back to that store again," and shut the door.

* * *

Aaron didn't want to go back to Booklovers either; the memories of what had happened with Chloe and Emily were too fresh, too painful. But he didn't want to disappoint Miriam too, so he went back to sorting, back to endless boxes of James Patterson novels. 

He hadn't had any luck finding first editions, and was convinced that the book gods were punishing him for his actions and that sorting through box after box of junk was his penance.

Opening one box, Aaron discovered a stack of old Nancy Drew novels from the forties. He wasn't sure if girls even read this type of book anymore, and knew he'd have to ask Miriam what she wanted him to do with them. He was pulling them out when a photo slid out from the pages of one of the books. It was an old black and white photo of a middle-aged woman, and on the back "Aunt Mabel" was written in pencil.

He flipped open the front of the book and saw an inscription: "To Cathy, Merry Christmas 1946, Love Aunt Mabel." 

He looked in each of the books and saw that Cathy's aunt had given her one as a present every year for eight years. She must have been too old for Nancy Drew when the last book was given, but the collection was a snapshot of her childhood. 

He could picture her lying in front of the Christmas tree, in the years before television, eagerly turning the pages and being swept away by the adventure within. He wondered what had happened to her and how the books had ended up here. And then he remembered Emily and the photo that had tumbled out of her book, and the way she'd lovingly taken the broken book home.

Miriam was surprised when she saw he wanted to buy them. "I didn't know you were such a big Nancy Drew fan. I've got boxes of them if you're interested."

"No, thanks, just these ones," Aaron said. 

He drove over to Emily's house and saw that her brother's car wasn't there. So he left the books on her porch and rang the bell, running away into the dark like he was ten years old again and playing nicky nicky nine doors.

He watched from hiding as Emily opened the door and, surprised to see the stack of books on the doorstep, curiously picked one up and opened it. When the photo fell out she caught it before it could hit the ground, and then, carefully sliding the photo back into the book, picked up the stack and took them inside.

Returning to Booklovers the next night, Aaron rifled through the boxes of unsorted books with a renewed enthusiasm. But this time he wasn't looking for first editions, he was looking for photos, bookmarks, flowers -- anything that may have been forgotten inside of a book.

And over the next few days he found a marriage certificate, forgotten between the pages of a worn copy of War and Peace; a handwritten poem in a collection of poems by P. K. Page; an old postcard in a book of fairy tales; and a hotel cocktail napkin with a name and a room number on it tucked inside a copy of Tropic of Cancer.

Aaron left all of these, one by one, on Emily's porch, along with numerous other books with flowers, feathers, leaves, baseball cards, photos and locks of hair hidden between the covers.

Every time Emily opened the door and found a new book, Aaron was already out of sight. But he watched from hiding as she hunted through the pages to find the treasure within, and even from far away he could see the joy in her eyes as she lovingly clasped the book and its contents to her chest and took it inside.

On a Thursday night in early February, Aaron was hunting through the boxes for another book for Emily when a folded letter fell out from between the pages of one. He was tucking the letter back inside the book to give it to her, when out of curiosity he opened the old letter and read it. He scanned through the simple love letter and thought it would be perfect for Emily, but he froze when he reached the end and saw the signature: "J.D. Salinger."

Aaron was stunned. He knew this was it, the treasure he'd always hoped and hunted for; if this letter was authentic, it would easily be more valuable than all of the first editions he'd ever found combined. 

Miriam had gone to get coffee, so he went to her desk to use her computer to check the signature. Molly brushed against him, sniffing at his jeans, and he petted her. 

Aaron googled the signature, and as he searched through the pages he heard Molly barking at the back of the store. He turned around and realized he'd left the gate open; she'd wandered out and started barking as soon as she found Harold. Checking to make sure the front door of the store was closed and she couldn't get outside, Aaron went back to his search.

As he scrolled through the pages, he found images of other Salinger letters and saw the signatures matched -- the letter was authentic! Aaron securely tucked the letter back in the book, and as he did he heard Molly, barking and barking at the back of the store.

"Leave Harold alone, Molly" he yelled. When she wouldn't shut up, he turned around and realized she wasn't barking at Harold.

An orange glow was coming from the far aisle, and as Aaron watched an ominous tendril of smoke curled around the top edge of the bookcase. He ran to the aisle and as he looked around the corner he flinched back from the heat, the row was engulfed in flame. 

"Fire!" Aaron cried, and ran to the far aisle where Harold was still sorting books. "There's a fire! You've got to get out of here!"

After making sure that Harold was safely out the front door, Aaron ran back behind the counter and grabbed the fire extinguisher Miriam kept there. But as he turned and saw the wall of flames consuming the far aisles he knew it was too late, the fire was out of control. And then he realized he didn't hear any more barking. 

"Oh fuck, Molly!" Aaron ran through the burning red curtain and headed down Emily's aisle, the farthest from the blaze. Once he reached the far end, he headed toward the fire, searching for the half-blind dog. 

The heat was indescribable and as he hunched over, coughing and choking from the smoke, he found her huddled in a corner, cringing in terror from the flames.

Aaron swept her up, and as he did she whimpered and crawled into his arms for safety. He headed back the way he'd come, but as he looked down Emily's aisle he could see the flames had swept across it, blocking his path; he'd have to find another way out.

Violently coughing from the thick smoke, Aaron held Molly tightly as he headed toward the rear of the store. He'd never been back here before, but knew there had to be an exit. 

He spotted it between stacks of unsorted boxes, and as he burst through it into the cold night air the flames roared behind him.

Aaron fell to his knees in the back parking lot, his eyes stinging and his ears ringing as the fire alarms in the neighboring stores blared.

"It's okay, Molly, it's okay," he said. The frightened dog whimpered as she licked his chin and cheeks and Aaron, still coughing from the smoke in his lungs, headed toward the front of the building.

Miriam spotted him as soon as he came around the corner and rushed toward him; tears of relief streamed down her face.

"I'm okay, we're okay," Aaron said, as Molly scrabbled into the outstretched arms of his owner, who squeezed her tightly and kissed her over and over.

"I was so scared when Harold said you were still in there." Miriam leaned against Aaron's chest, and he hugged her and Molly against him as she sobbed her thanks.

"Is this him?" a paramedic said, and took Aaron away to examine him.




Booklovers



Miriam turned as they left and, with the book-fueled flames bathing her and Molly in a fiery orange glow, watched as Booklovers and her dream burned to the ground. 

Aaron, seated on the back of a paramedic truck and wearing an oxygen mask, also watched as the flames snuffed the life out of the bookstore. And he realized that his dream of finding buried treasure inside was also over.

In his panic to get Harold to safety, he'd forgotten the Salinger letter on Miriam's desk and it had been destroyed in the fire. But that wasn't Aaron's only disappointment.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to find Emily any more books with mementoes hidden between their pages, and he wouldn't be able to make amends for what he'd done. Booklovers was the only place she'd ever been happy; he'd taken that away from her, and now it was gone.

* * *

The story in the papers the next day called Aaron a hero for saving both Harold and Molly from the fire, but he knew it was his fault that the store had burned down. He hadn't shut the gate when he was using Miriam's computer, and Molly had wandered out, half-blind, and knocked over one of the space heaters.

Aaron went to her house and apologized to Miriam, but she refused to let him blame himself for the fire. The store had only cost her a dollar and she was just thankful that no one had been hurt.

"I still feel terrible about it," Aaron said, "I know it was always your dream to own a bookstore."

"And I achieved my dream," Miriam said. "I can always find another bookstore, but I could never find another Molly."

With her beloved cocker spaniel sleeping nearby, Miriam kissed Aaron on the cheek and said, "Don't worry about me, and don't forget Emily."

Aaron couldn't forget her; he'd gone by her house to talk to her, but in his guilt over the fire he hadn't been able to work up the nerve to knock on her door. While there, he'd also noticed a For Sale sign on the lawn, and wondered if it was his fault that she was moving.

Aaron figured the fire was a sign. In his greed to profit from the letter and his lust for Chloe, he'd destroyed any hope he ever had with Emily. His only wish was that he could give her one last memento. 

He went home to his small apartment and as he sat in his chair, staring out the window at the falling snow, he glanced at his bookcase and saw a book lying on its side at the end.

It was the copy of the Pearl that Emily had given him, and as he opened it and looked at the Valentine card inside he knew that she should have it, one last gift from Booklovers.

As soon as it was dark, Aaron went to her house and crept up the front stairs to leave the book near the door. He was just reaching for the doorbell when the door opened. 

Emily stood in the doorway, framed by the light within. "I knew it had to be you," she said.

"I just couldn't let those books go to some stranger," Aaron said, "and I knew you'd take care of them."

He picked up the copy of the Pearl and gave it to her. When Emily saw the cover, she said, "I gave this to you as a present. You don't want it anymore?"

"You should have it," he said. "Booklovers burned down."

"I know, I saw the picture of you and Molly in the paper. They said you're a hero."

"I'm not a hero, the fire was my fault. And now that the books are all gone, I wanted you to have this one so you'll remember Booklovers...so you'll remember me."

"Aaron, I love every single book you brought me, and every time I look at them I'll think of you. Are you sure you really want me to have this one?"

"Yeah, you know me, if I keep it I'll probably just end up selling it on Ebay," he said.

Emily opened the book and smiled when she saw the card inside. As she pulled the old valentine out and admired it lovingly, she said, "Is this for me?"

"Yeah, the book, the card, it's all yours."

"No, I mean, is this my Valentine?"

"Huh?"

"You do know what day it is today, don't you?"

In his hurry to bring Emily the book, Aaron had completely forgotten -- it was Valentine's Day. After what had happened with Chloe and her, he hadn't even thought about the day, knowing he'd have no one to spend it with. But as he looked up and saw the smile on Emily's face, he realized he'd been wrong.

"Uhh...yeah, Happy Valentine's Day," he said. "Did you -- I mean, would you go out with me? You know, for Indian food or something?"

Emily smiled as she closed the book, the card inside, and hugged it against her chest. "I thought you'd never ask."

The food was delicious and as they ate they talked, the first real conversation they'd ever had. They shared their love of books, their favorite authors, and discovered they had more in common than they'd ever suspected.

And as Aaron held her hand and walked her back up the snow-covered path to her front door, Emily said, "I had a great night, and I love my present, but...if there's really something happening here, you know, if you really like me, can we just go slow? I'm not Chloe."

"I'm glad you're not," he said. "Am I allowed to ask for a kiss good night?"

"It's a little forward," she joked. "But seeing as how I forgot to get you a valentine, I guess I owe you one kiss."

Emily stood on her tiptoes as Aaron leaned down and kissed her. As their lips melted together, he pulled her body tightly against his and the two of them forgot the cold, lost in each other's arms.

When they both reluctantly ended their passionate embrace, Emily gazed up into his eyes and whispered, "It's cold out here, I think you'd better come inside after all." 

Once inside the warmth of her house, Aaron saw the boxes lining the hallway and remembered the For Sale sign. "Are you moving or something?"

"Yes...but I don't want to. My mother left the house to both my brother and me, and now he wants to sell it. I don't want to leave. I don't want to have to find another home for me and my books."

As she saw Aaron turning into the living room, Emily warned him, "You were right before, I am kind of a hoarder."

His jaw dropped as he stepped into the living room -- there were books everywhere. But it wasn't like with other hoarders, there were proper bookshelves from floor to ceiling and all of the books she'd found were lovingly stored on them. And as he moved room to room, he saw the same shelves on every wall, in every hallway; thousands and thousands of books lined every inch of Emily's home.

"I thought you weren't a collector!" he said.

"I'm not, but each one of these books is special. Every one has a special memory, a special memento in them."

She led him to a shelf and as she ran her fingers fondly across their spines and turned to look at him, he could see the love in her eyes.

"My dad was in the army, and we moved all of the time when I was young. My mom knew how tough it was for me to make friends, only to lose them as soon as we moved again, so she'd buy me books and tell me they'd be my friends.

"But one year, when I was a teenager, we had to move yet again. And when I went home to pack my books they were all gone. My father had donated them, saying that they were too heavy to keep moving from town to town. He didn't understand why I cried so hard, and promised to buy me new books when we got to our new home. But the books would never be the same, I'd hidden mementos inside the pages of every one so I'd remember the places I'd lived, the friends I'd known. And now they were all gone.

"So every time I find a book with a message or a memento inside I keep it, just in case a young girl like me comes looking for her books one day, so I can give them back to her."

A tear rolled down Emily's cheek, and Aaron hugged her against his chest.

"But my brother is selling the house now, and wants me to get rid of all my books again," she said.

Aaron kissed her soft, brown hair, and said, "I don't want you to have to get rid of all of your books, but the girl who owned those Nancy Drew books is never going to come back for them, and I'm sure she didn't want them to end up here. Her aunt gave her the books for her to enjoy, and I'm sure she'd want another little girl to enjoy them like she did.

"Books are supposed to be read, Emily, not hidden away."

"But these books are special," she said.

"No, they're just books, it's what's inside them that's special; the mementoes, the memories. And they need to be shared with others, not hidden away here. Maybe another aunt will see the inscription in the Nancy Drew books and buy them for her niece. Or maybe someone will find the postcard left there, and be inspired to go on a trip. It's great that you saved all these books, but don't save them to keep them here, save them so that someone else can enjoy them as the people who loved them before did."

"I'd like that," she said, "but can we discuss it some more tomorrow? Valentine's Day isn't over yet."

Emily led Aaron by the hand upstairs to her bedroom. He was surprised to see that the only books in her room were the ones on a small shelf above her bed -- all of the books he'd left her on the porch, with the copy of the Pearl and the valentine that had been hidden inside leaning against the end.

Emily slid her hands beneath his shirt, and as she slid it up he lifted his arms and pulled it over his head. She trailed soft kisses across his chest as he undid her jeans and slid his hands down the back, feeling her smooth ass as they kissed.

After they'd completely undressed each other, they crawled into the warmth of her bed.

Aaron moved beside Emily and saw the nervous expectation in her eyes. He kissed her softly on the lips and then moved down her neck, trailing soft kisses toward her breasts.

The soft flesh yielded to his touch, and her nipples grew erect against his tongue. Sliding under the blanket, Aaron planted kisses down her side, and when he kissed her on the soft spot just above her hip she squealed in delight.

"Don't! I'm ticklish there," she said.

Aaron smiled at the sound of her laughter. "Let's see where else you're ticklish."

He disappeared beneath the blanket, and Emily trembled with anticipation as he moved between her legs.

She gasped at the first touch of his tongue, a gentle flick against the soft folds of her delicate pussy, and leaned her head back on the pillow.

After the first few tentative licks, Aaron's tongue delved deeper, parting her lips until he found her swollen clit.

Emily closed her eyes and arched her back, moaning as his mouth sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her body.

Aaron spread her thighs as he teased her pussy, softly flicking the tip of his tongue against her tiny clit. She tasted wonderful, and as he savored her sweet juices he listened to the music of her gasps and moans as she came against his mouth.

When he moved back up her body she grabbed him and kissed him hard on the mouth, her tongue as deep inside as his had just been in her pussy. Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard, the waves of pleasure from her orgasm still not having subsided.

Emily reached her hand between his legs and, when her fingers wrapped around his stiff shaft, stroked him fast. "I want to suck you," she whispered.

"Not yet," Aaron said, and moved between her legs.

As his hard shaft pressed against her opening, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Emily quickly nodded yes, and Aaron entered her.

She gasped as his thick cock parted her lips and slid slowly, so slowly, into her tight pussy.

Once he was a couple of inches in, Aaron waited, letting her get used to his size. Emily lifted her head off the pillow and looked between her legs so that she could see how good it looked, having his beautiful cock buried in her pussy, and then nodded for him to keep going.

Emily moaned as he pushed his length inside her, his thick shaft stretching her tiny hole wide. She wasn't a virgin, but she'd never felt like this.

As Aaron slowly pumped his cock in and out, Emily tossed her head from side to side on the pillow, a second orgasm flooding her body.

He could feel how tight her pussy was, but she was so wet that he fucked her easily, rocking his hips and giving her long, full strokes with his thick shaft. He loved watching her face as she came and knew he was close to coming too, but he didn't want their night to end yet.

Aaron pulled out of her and fell on his back beside her, wanting to change positions.

But Emily immediately slid down his body and wrapped her mouth around his cock. She'd wanted to suck it for so long, ever since she'd first felt it against her ass when he pressed up behind her in Booklovers.

His big dick stretched her tiny mouth, but she loved the feel of it as her lips bobbed up and down his shaft. And she could feel his hand behind her head, letting her know exactly how he liked to have his cock sucked. As her tongue teased him, Emily could taste the juices from her pussy that coated his length, and as he got even harder in her mouth she wondered what his cum would taste like.

But Aaron didn't give her the chance to find out. Placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her, he whispered, "Come here."

Emily reluctantly let his beautiful cock slip free from her mouth, and gave it one last lick before turning around.

"Get on top of me," Aaron said, and as she straddled him he pulled her down to kiss her again.

After breaking the kiss, Emily looked between her legs as Aaron lined up his cock with her pussy. When she felt his tip against her opening, she lowered herself, shuddering in pleasure as his cock filled her again.

Emily kept her head down, watching his thick cock disappear between her legs as she rode it. Her small twin-sized bed, the same one she'd had since she was a teenager, squeaked as she bounced up and down; Aaron was the first guy she'd ever shared her bed with.

He grabbed her beautiful, round ass and rocked her back and forth on his pole, and Emily cried out in pleasure as he fucked her even faster, even harder. He felt his balls tightening and knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"Can I come inside you?" he said.

"Yes...oh, yes," Emily moaned.

Aaron groaned as he released inside her, and Emily collapsed against his chest, a third orgasm surging through her as she felt the warmth of his cum flooding her.

As she lay exhausted against his chest, Aaron kissed her soft brown hair and whispered, "Happy Valentine's Day."

* * *

When he woke up Sunday morning, Emily was curled up against him and sleeping soundly. A ray of sunlight peeked in through a part in the curtains and illuminated the bookshelf above their heads.

Aaron looked up at the old valentine that Emily had pulled out and left propped up against the books. He smiled, thinking that a valentine's card that had brought love to someone sixty years before was now bringing love to someone again. He remembered the inscription: "For Esme..." and then it hit him.

Quickly sitting up in the small bed, careful not to wake Emily, Aaron grabbed the card and looked at the back: "For Esme...from Jerry."

It had been over a week since he googled his signature, but Aaron instantly recognized the handwriting and realized who Jerry was -- Jerome David Salinger. And now he knew why the name Esme had sounded familiar; Salinger's most famous short story was, "For Esme -- With Love and Squalor."

Emily was still sound asleep as Aaron padded naked out of the room. If the card had been in the bookstore, and the letter that had been destroyed had also been there, could there have been more? 

As he went downstairs, he remembered that the copy of The Pearl that the card had been in was the Modern Library edition. The book he'd found the letter in had also been a Modern Library edition. He searched Emily's bookshelves, his eyes sliding across the spines, seemingly arranged with no rhyme or reason. And then he found them all together on the same shelf, ten Modern Library classics; right beside the first edition of Travels with Charley that Emily had refused to let him buy.

Aaron pulled down one of the Modern Library books and as soon as he opened it he found a letter, signed, "J.D. Salinger." He pulled down each of the books and there was a letter in every one.

After the first letter had been destroyed in the fire, Aaron had searched the Internet to find out what it might have been worth. He discovered that over a decade ago nine letters from Salinger had been found and sold for nearly one hundred thousand dollars. But rumor had it the letters were given to Salinger, and he destroyed them. 

Now Aaron had found ten more letters and a valentine card signed by the notoriously reclusive author. With Salinger deceased, and if they were written to the real Esme from the story, Aaron knew this collection would be priceless.

He also knew that Emily had found the letters, that was why she'd bought the books, but she had no idea who they were from or how much they were worth. 

This was what he'd always been searching for, the holy grail of all first edition treasure hunters. He knew he could take them and she'd never know. There were thousands of books in her house; she had no way of remembering what was in each one. The letters were worth a fortune, and he knew he couldn't put them back. 

Aaron went to the hallway and hid them in his coat pocket, and then tiptoed back upstairs to get his clothes.

After dressing, and with Emily still asleep, he found some paper and wrote her a note, starting with: "Emily, I'm sorry..."

When he finished the note, he carefully left it beside her bed and, just before he left, he took back the old valentine card he'd given her.

When Emily woke an hour later she was surprised to see Aaron was gone. But as soon as she read the note, she knew why. 

A pang of sadness struck her when she noticed he'd taken the valentine too, and she wandered downstairs to her books, wishing there was some way to keep them. But she knew what Aaron had said last night was right, she had to get rid of the books, had to make sure they could be enjoyed again.

She picked up the copy of Travels with Charley and flipped it open. Inside there was a napkin from a road side cafe, signed, "Janet, so nice to meet you -- John Steinbeck." She knew the note was probably worth a lot of money, but she couldn't bear the thought of selling anything in her collection.

Emily closed the book and knew it would be the first one she'd get rid of; she'd give it to Aaron. Her fingers wandered across the Modern Library books beside it, and she realized they were out of order. She always put similar books in alphabetical order, and she wondered who'd been looking at them. She was about to pull one down when she heard a car pull up outside.

She opened the door and saw Aaron and another man coming up the walk.

"Morning, Emily, this is my friend, Matt. Did you get my note?" Aaron said.

"Yes, you said you were sorry you couldn't be here when I woke up, but you'd be back in a few hours. I'm actually surprised you're back so soon. Where did you go? To get coffee?"

"No, I had to go see Matt to have him look at something. And now I'm back -- to let you know that you're rich!" 

Emily blinked in surprise and laughed. "Did I win the lottery or something?"

"Basically, yes! Matt's an expert in first editions and correspondence. I found some letters in your books that were all written and signed by J.D. Salinger, and they're worth a fortune!"

"But they're -- they're not mine," Emily said. "They belong to whoever left them in the books, we have to find them and give them back."

"I knew you'd say that," Aaron said, "so I searched the Internet while Matt was looking at the letters and found out some information about the woman the letters were sent to -- the real Esme. She lived near here and died childless a few years ago. All of her possessions were donated -- the letters are yours Emily."




Booklovers



She put her hand to her mouth, and Aaron saw her eyes welling with tears.

"Sell the letters and you can keep your house, buy your brother out," he said. "All of these books can stay here if you want them to.

"And if you sell the letters to a museum, everyone can read them and remember the woman who was the real Esme. Because you saved her books, she'll never be forgotten."

Emily nodded and wiped away a tear. "I'd like that, but there's someone else I want to help too." 

* * *

Three months later, the neon sign flashed to life again. Aaron and Emily smiled when they saw the word Booklovers reflected in the glass.

Emily felt Molly brush against her leg, and reached down to pet her as Miriam came out from the back and walked across the new, spacious, brightly lit store.

"Are we ready to open?" she asked.

"We are," Emily said, and smiled as she looked around the store and saw all of the books she'd collected lining the walls, ready to be loved by a new generation of readers.

"Molly and I can't thank you enough for this, for letting us be part of your new bookstore," Miriam said.

Aaron stepped forward and hugged her, knowing she was about to start crying again. "Miriam, we keep telling you this store isn't ours, it's yours. Emily and I are part-owners, but this bookstore belongs to you, and Molly of course."

Before Miriam could protest, Emily said, "You wouldn't let us give you the letters back, but they belonged to you too. And that's why we used the money from them to buy this building and reopen the store, to give you your dream back."

"But you should have used the money to keep your house," Miriam said.

"I didn't need to. With this store the books have a new home, just like I have," Emily said, and squeezed Aaron tightly.

"And by working here, I can keep hunting for first editions in any collections we buy," he said.

Emily ran her hand lovingly across one of the glass display cases near the counter that contained all of the mementoes she'd found hidden between the pages of her books. Now they, and their memories, would be preserved forever.

Miriam unlocked the door and a small line of friends and old and new customers walked in to congratulate the three of them.

After a short time, their very first customer brought a book to the counter. As Miriam rang it up, he looked at the neon sign and said, "Booklovers? Did you name if after the store that burned down?"

She smiled and nodded at Aaron and Emily, who were hand in hand on the far side of the store as they chatted with Harold. "No," she said, "I named it after them."



Books



Bending over the paper-littered desk, surrounded by stacked book cases a bespectacled Becky reached behind her to spread her ass cheeks as the devilishly handsome fellow behind her sank to his knees. Her skirt was pushed clumsily above her waist, revealing a slick black thong, matching stockings and suspenders which streaked across her thighs to a frilly band stretching across her hips. Biting her bottom lip, she peered over her white blouse shoulder, where mere moments before male hands had unbuttoned her top to play with her black-bra encased breasts within. Her globes halfway pulled from their cups, nipples stretched over the tight rims which still tingled from his tweaking and sucking. 

"Oh yeah, Johnny," Becky murmured, as he lifted her thong from its snug position, her reading glasses resting awkwardly on the bridge of her nose, "eat my pussy!"

His response was muffled through the folds of her wet flesh as his tongue wormed its way deep into her dripping orifice. 

"Fuck, that feels soooooooooooo good!" she groaned, thrusting her ass back into his face, feeling his nose prodded into her asshole. With her painted fingernails she clawed her buttocks, pulling them further apart, allowing him deeper access into her silky, wet cunt. His tongue lapped and licked and fucked her mercilessly, a seemingly ceaseless mechanical piece of taut flesh.

Drawing his tongue away from her cunt Johnny lapped at Becky's asshole, tickling her there, slurping the taut, brown rose. She let out a gasp of surprise, not used to having her anus licked, the sensation knee-buckling. She gripped the desk and clawed the edge, shoving her ass back into his face. Johnny grasped her hips and tongue-fucked her asshole, his salvia oozing from his lips to mingle with her literally dripping pussy-juice.

"Gonna fuck you good, slut," he promised her, getting to his feet and taking off his black t-shirt. Becky, her legs still tingly slowly turned round to face him, admiring his tight, rippled body. Her eyes spied the big erection bulging in his jeans. Taking off her glasses and placing them neatly on the desk behind her she was upon him immediately, caressing his prick with hungry fingers.

"You're not going to let me suck your cock?" she asked him, pouting, before she softly kissed his mouth, licking his tongue. Her fingers unzipped his flies, she reaching within to take hold of the hot, rigid flesh. She squeezed her prize, slipping it from his jeans and, still sucking on his tongue she gently shafted the circumcised erection.

"In time, baby," he told her. "I want you to suck your cunt-honey off my prick."

"Yummy!" Becky purred. "I love tasting my juice off a fat cock!"

Johnny took hold of her shoulders and spun her back round, so that her ass jutted out invitingly. He hungrily tore off her skirt, she kicking it to one side; her thong he tugged forcibly down her thighs. Spreading her stocking-thighs, she felt him nuzzle the bulbous tip of his purple dome against her silky-wet lips, before he slowly pressed forward, penetrating her. Becky gasped aloud as the fat prick filled her tight cunt, further and further still until she felt the full, thick length of him within her, balls-fucking-deep. Ye Gods, but he had a big cock!

"Like that, slut?" he growled into her ear.

"Fuck, yeah!" she moaned, feeling him slowly withdraw before sliding it into her once more. She moved back to meet his motion, her pussy slippery with honey. She could have sworn she felt his cock-veins throbbing inside her. 

Johnny smothered her perfumed neck with passionate kisses, he also taking hold of her right breast and squeezing it in his palm. Between his fingers he tweaked her engorged nipple, her body now shaking, her titties wobbling as he built up a steady rhythm, his cock sliding in deep, withdrawing, pounding within her, balls swinging deliciously beneath.

"Oh yeah, fuck me, fuck me!" Becky panted through closed eyes, her tongue licking her lipstick-thick lips. His grip on her breast released, she felt him grip her hips as his pace quickened, his steel-like member piercing her each and every time he thrust deep into her honey-coated cunt. She threw back her hair, thick locks flaying her shoulders, and, letting out an orgasmic-charged groan came hard, her body rattling with climatic pleasure. Her clit felt as if it were on fire, yet Johnny did not stop. His magnificent cock continued plummeting away, harder, faster, harder, faster ... God, he could fuck!

Then, he withdrew, his cock slipping from her, the sudden absence momentarily unsettling. "Time to suck cock, you nasty whore," he told her.

"Oh yeah," she murmured, getting to her feet to face him. They swapped places, Johnny kicking off his jeans and briefs before leaning back on the desk as Becky sunk to her knees in front of him. Taking hold of his honey-sticky cock, she squeezed him between her fingers before lowering her head and lashing out with her tongue. Their eyes locked, Becky swirled her pink tongue around his purple dome, she lapping at pre-cum that oozed in a silver pool from the cock-eye. She gently nibbled upon it, and then drew her tongue down the thick length of his shaft. 

"Want me to take you in my mouth?" she asked him, whorishly, as she slapped his mushroom knob off her out-stretched tongue.

"And suck it, you fucking slut," Johnny grunted, peering down at her through lust-crazed eyes. Slowly yet surely Becky drew him into her mouth, onto her tongue, wrapping her lips around him, his cock pulsating wondrously in her mouth. As she allowed his cock to slowly melt onto her tongue, she could taste her cunt-honey drip from his throbbing cock like treacle down her throat.

"Delicious," she said, or try to say, with a mouthful of cock. And the she felt Johnny's hands upon her head pushing her down upon him, the tip of his prick nudging the back of her throat. She gagged, coughing onto him, snorting through her nose as he thrust deep into her mouth. Balancing herself on his muscular thighs Becky allowed him to fuck her mouth, he pumping as eagerly into the back of her throat as he did her pussy moments ago. He then released his grip on her, she coming up for air, a thick trail of pre-cum and saliva coming with her, splattering her lips as she spat him from her mouth.

Johnny took hold of his cock and smeared the tip across her face, wiping pre-cum and spit onto her flushed cheeks, her chin, across her exposed tongue. "Like sucking cock?" he asked her.

"Oh yeah, I love sucking cock," she replied, letting him rest on her tongue before he slid his fat prick into her mouth once more. He let her to her own devices, she now bobbing her head back and forth as she greedily gobbled upon him, slurping noisily, sluttishly.

"Goddamn, Becky," he groaned, peering down upon her, Becky now shafting him with one hand as she cupped his cum-heavy balls with the other. She sucked the tip of his cock between her lips and continued, her eyes never leaving his. 

"I want you to fuck me," she said, her breasts wobbling hypnotically within her bra as she pulled on Johnny's thick prick. "Fuck me hard!"

Within seconds Johnny had Becky on her desk, she laying across with her legs to each side, Johnny pushed up against her, his cock embedded in her sticky cunt, balls shoved up next to her. The desk rattled precariously as they fucked like this, Becky's breasts shaking loose from her bra, books once in piles toppling to one side and spilling onto the floor. Her white blouse was now a tangled mess wrapped around her arms and shoulders 

"Oh yeah, oh yeah fuck me, you bastard, fuck me!" Becky groaned, feeling his powerful hands on her breasts, gasping as his fingers pulled on her nipples, shuddering to his pussy-melting kisses upon her neck and throat. His thick, muscle-bulging thighs brushed against her stoking-thighs, and through closed eyes she felt his balls bash repetitively against her ass.

He lifted her right thigh into the air, a streak of black aiming skyward. Here he fingered her clit, she squirming against him, the pleasure almost unbearable. Now and then he would bite her, sinking his teeth into her shoulders, gently nibbling the exposed flesh. Her blouse was stained with his saliva.

"On your knees," he commanded her, withdrawing from her gooey cunt and helping her onto all fours on top of the tornado-strewn desk. 

"What have you got in mind, Stud?" Becky inquired, saucily.

"I'm gonna fuck your ass, slut. You know you want it."

"Oh yeah, baby," she purred, excitedly, "Fuck my ass! I want to feel your big cock in my ass!"

Johnny pressed his bulbous dome to the mouth of her asshole and pressed home. Becky hissed, but surprisingly his prick slid effortlessly into her anus. He withdrew, but thrust homeward again, this time to the hilt, his balls pressed against her pussy. Becky reached under to knead his testicles, eagerly fingering them.

"Oh fuck yeah!" she cried, as Johnny now fucked her, his cock sliding in and out of her ass in long, deep strokes. "Fuck my ass! Fuck me!"

Through gritted teeth the fellow did as he was told, throwing his cock deep into the sucking mouth of her asshole. Her ass was tight, so fucking tight, the sensation excruciatingly good. With her fingertips now fingering her clit and grazing his pumping prick Johnny knew that he wouldn't be able to hold off for long. Becky came once more, screaming her pleasure, her body wracked with climatic joy, her fingers twiddling her clit in a blur of motion, she concentrating solely on the incredible feeling of Johnny's gorgeous cock in her ass. Her climax was toe-curling-fucking-awesome. 

Feeling his orgasm building up inside him, from the tip of his toes to the very depths of his balls he told Becky in no uncertain terms that he was going to cum.

"Don't shoot in my ass," she warned him, "cum on me!"

Withdrawing before kneeling over her, Johnny shafted his ass-sticky prick as Becky spun round to face him. Here she cupped his balls to aid his climax, telling him to come all over her, that she wanted to bathe in his cum and whorishly licking her lips, wanting to taste him.

Nothing loathe, Johnny let out a grunt before his body moved forward, a great series of salty jets spurting from the tip of his cock. It went everywhere -- plashing Becky's breasts, her tummy, her neck, shooting as far as her forehead and hair, a few sporadic blasts decorating the desk and books around her. Giggling sluttishly Becky reached forward and gently sucked the twitching knob into her mouth, swallowing the small pool of silver cum that poured from his cock-eye. She released his prick from her mouth, admiring his magnificent orgasm. 

"Wow, Johnny," Becky said, suddenly letting go a girlish giggle, "you can work off your overdue library fines with me anytime!"

Fin  



Books and Boys



She hated Barnes and Noble. There was a lack of dust on the books and too much sunlight. It smelled like lemons. She wanted her stacks with cobwebs and musk. She wanted the air to reek of burnt coffee and parchment. She wanted single beams of light to conjure puppet shows on the walls- romantic tales of star-crossed lovers dancing in the dust-particle rain- while she meandered through rows with old books in lopsided piles spilling from the floor. 

But those bookstores were gone. All she had was that pop-culture commercial castle with bistro tables and nerdy college boys. At least one of those things were worthy of her time. She'd stop by the store in the afternoon, with one thing on her mind. She'd come dressed to kill, short skirt, tight shirt with lots of cleavage. She'd curled her hair in platinum ringlets that fell just short of her unconfined nipples. She was sex in mary jane heels. 

She'd walk through the store, casually at first, scoping her prey. She liked quiet boys- the shy types that hid behind their plastic rimmed glasses, track jackets and sci-fi novels. The kind that had heads full of dirty thoughts which were played out with their palms each night. 

She found her target sitting in an oversized sofa chair. He looked to be 19 or 20, with mousy brown hair and wiry glasses. She took a seat catty-corner from him, at a tiny table at the end of the cafe. She placed a stack of books near her feet while she pretended to thumb through another atop the table. Of course, he was already staring at her. Sometimes, they made it so easy. She uncrossed her legs, letting the left one fall to the top of the hardcover tower she'd built just moments before. Slowly, she spread her knees, inching her scandalously short skirt even higher and revealing the pantiless paradise that lied beneath.

She smiled as she watched his book fall. Watched him glance about to see if anyone else was watching the same porn that he was. Watched him shift uncomfortably as he tried to hide the erection tenting in his jeans. She let her hand slide down to her knee. Let it caress it's way up her thigh. Her fingers slide silently into her crevice and she moved them for him. It was her personal sign language. She wondered if he'd understand.

She let the scene play out for him. Let his mind wander through the endless possibilities before him. Of course, he'd never made a move. Guys like this never did. When she thought he was ready, she ripped the last page from the book before her and pulled out a pen. She scribbled a note, before walking to him and dropping it in his lap.

Follow me to the family restroom.

He entered the bathroom behind her and she turned on him, quick like a cat, boxing him between her arms. He started to stammer, no doubt to share his name, his favorite comic book, or some other benign fact. She lifted her finger to his lips to shush him before replacing it with hers. She moved one of his hands to her breast and the other to her ass before bathing him with her tongue. She scattered kisses and bites along his jaw before leaning into his ear to whisper, "What are you waiting for? Fuck me."

She reached down, grabbed his protruding cock and squeezed. He pressed her against the wall as he unbuckled his pants to expose his cock. She was impressed with his size, but more impressed with his initiative as he reached past her to the child changing station, opening it quickly before grabbing her ass and lifting her atop it. 

She bit her lip and held her breath. This was the moment she wanted. That first second where a new cock rested at the entrance to her cunt. She wondered how he'd feel- would he fill her up? Stretch her hole? Would his cock curl into her? What rhythm existed in his hips? What would he sound like when he came? Could he make her cum? 

The exhilaration mixed with the lust to form a tsunami inside her. Just as she was about to grab him, he plunged into her ocean. He fucked her with wild abandon. He was a boy in a candy store stuffing his face with jelly beans before his mother could find him. He moved in and out, his cock swelling more inside her as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. She could tell he was reaching his climax as his moans gained momentum and magnitude. 

"Cum on my hand," she demanded. He pulled out, obeying her orders and depositing his viscous syrup over her fingers. She brought one to her tongue, rolling a tiny ball of cum over her taste buds and memorizing him. 

"Now lick me clean, but don't swallow," she implored. She glued her eyes to his as used his tongue as a mop for her messy digits. She leaned in, stealing back his bubblegum cum and swallowing it. 

She jumped down from the changing table and laid her lips upon his one last time. Her lips curved in a grin, her parting gift to him. She walked out the door, leaving him dazed and flaccid behind her. 

She stopped for a latte on her way out. She fucking hated Barnes and Noble, but coffee, books, and boys were a combination not even commercialism could ruin.



Books and Roses



Jeff absently straightens his tie as he climbs the wide, glass-sided staircase to the second floor of Borders Books. It is a weekday and near closing time. Few customers remain. 

Finally he is going to meet his mystery lover. After weeks of exchanging steaming correspondence, fantasies, and near-pornographic propositions over the Internet, they have arranged to meet for late drinks at a nearby restaurant, a "blind date." He checks his watch again - still too early. With time to kill he has decided to browse the bookstore, one of "her" favorite places. She mentioned that Borders offered an excellent selection on human relations and sexuality, joking that he could "study up."

Finding the section he begins distractedly scanning the titles, not really seeing them. He checks his watch again. He feels that flutter in his stomach, that tingling anticipation of meeting someone for the first time, a conflict between nervousness, excitement, and curiosity. What would she be like?

Over the net she has been alternately passionate and tentative, bold and reserved, a complex and smart woman with a sometimes offbeat and depreciating sense of humor. She is a writer, someone who likes to be inventive and play with words. He wonders - how inventive and playful is she in other areas of her life? 

The photos she has e-mailed are slightly out of focus, products of a bad digital camera. He knows that she is tall with long auburn hair, a generous full figure, pale skin, and a nice smile. A couple of poses hint to a daring streak in her personality. She seems willing to be adventurous, he speculates, though with a degree of uncertainty. He worries - will the attraction they felt over the net translate into reality? Brighten and flare like a fire beginning to catch, or, like so many other dates he has had, fizzle like a sputtering candle?

Impatiently he snaps shut the book he has been holding and re-shelves it, again checking his watch. Then he feels the slightest of touches on his shoulder, like a leaf brought down by the summer breeze. He turns, and there she is. It has to be her - who else could it be?

She is impossibly tall for a woman, right at 6 feet, but holds herself with none of the self-consciousness and embarrassed stoop that many larger women display, but proudly and with confidence. Her eyes are caramel brown, alert and intelligent, her features clean and crisp. The flowing black dress she wears makes her seem even taller, playing to the abundant curves of her body. The color enhances her moon-washed skin and russet-tinged hair. He can definitely see reflections of the Irish ancestry she claimed. Is that a red lace bra peeking out from the plunging neckline?

She holds a single red rose. Jeff has never really felt his pulse "skip a beat" before, but finally understands the phrase as he sees her smile..... 

A lively smile of straight white teeth, an easy smile, a ready smile, a smile that promises secret mischief and a hint of things to come. 

In a low voice she says, "Hello. I'm Nicole, and you must be Jeff. I recognize you from your photos. I thought we were meeting at the restaurant?"

"I was early," Jeff replies, surprised, his gut tight and anxious. "You told me about this place, so I thought I'd come over and take a look around."

That smile again. "Ah, and I see you found my favorite section." She pauses. "I was early too, and nervous. The books, well, they have a calming effect, I think." Another smile, smaller, more self-conscious. "She's the type who analyzes the situation before letting her full guard down," Jeff realizes, his own apprehension melting. 

Diffidently, she proffers the rose in one manicured hand and holds out the other. Sunset red nails, matching her lipstick, the rose, the peeping bra. "This is for you. I'm delighted to finally meet you face-to-face." 

Jeff accepts the rose and takes her outstretched hand. A sudden warmth floods him as he touches her flesh. "I think I'm the one who's supposed to bring you flowers."

Another flashing smile from Nicole. "I like being different, doing the unexpected. I hope you don't mind." 

This time a smile from Jeff. "Not at all." Still holding her hand, he squeezes it gently. He hesitates a moment, then, tossing caution and decorum to the wind, says, "However, I think I'd like something more than just shaking hands."

Grinning and with a quick laugh, Nicole says, "You don't believe in wasting much time, do you?" She leans toward him and draws his hand close to her body, closes her eyes, trusting, and tilts her face up to his. Softly, he kisses her cheek first, then slowly proceeds to her mouth. A butterfly touch, his closed lips delicately brush hers, then open slightly and linger. "Her lips are as soft as the rose petals," he thinks. His free hand moves to rest lightly on her waist. He feels a stirring in his groin, the first suggestion of arousal. Uncertain, he believes he can feel her trembling slightly. 

Slowly they part, hands still clasped. Nicole reaches up and traces Jeff's lips, rubbing mildly. "You have a lipstick smear." 

"That okay," he tells her. Her fingers touching his lips have excited him further. He shifts uncomfortably, hoping she hasn't noticed that he's getting an erection. 

For a moment they just stand, gazing at each other, saying nothing. Jeff is starting to feel very warm, and is glad he left his coat in the car. Can she tell that he is beginning to sweat?

Loudspeakers announce that the store will be closing in five minutes. 

"I guess we'd better go," Nicole reluctantly states. "Can we please take the elevator? I'm ashamed to confess that I'm afraid of heights, and the bookcase here is too open. It makes me dizzy."

Jeff is thinking he'd like to make her dizzy, make her tremble and shudder and moan and call his name out in ecstasy, but it is much too soon, so he mentally slaps himself. Still hand-in-hand, they silently make their way to the elevator. Nicole has a couple of books under her arm. Jeff can't see the titles, but he's pretty sure they're sex books from the way she is trying to hide them from his sight. "She still has a shy streak, after all," he muses. 

The door closes, and Jeff starts to pull Nicole closer, but the elevator gives an alarming lurch and comes to a halt. Startled, Nicole drops her books. Concerned and putting his arm around Nicole protectively, Jeff presses the emergency intercom button on the control panel. After a moment of static, a man's voice comes through.

"This is the manager. Yeah, we know the damn thing's stuck again. We were hoping nobody was on board. How many people are in there?"

"Just the two of us," Jeff responds. "How long is this going to take? Can the elevator slip? Should we be bracing ourselves or something?"

"Nah, you'll be fine. It freezes up like this all the time," reassures the manager. "We just called the repairman, but it'll take him half an hour to get here and maybe another 30-45 minutes to get you out. Just hang tight. Hopefully you've got some books in there with you. You'll have time to read 'em. Sorry." Click.

"Well," Jeff says, his arm still around Nicole, comforting, "we're going to be here for a while." He points toward the spilled books and teasingly says, "I guess we could study those." 

Nicole, cheeks coloring slightly, ducks her head and mumbles, "Perhaps we ought to think of something else?"

Now Jeff pulls Nicole close, his left arm encircling her, his right hand playfully sticking the rose through her hair. He cradles her chin, raising her face up so he can look into her questioning eyes. He can smell the fragrance of her hair, lightly scented with vanilla musk, and he finds it intoxicating. He leans in to her ear, conspiratorially. "I can think of something we'd rather do," he whispers. 

Again, that smile. Nicole lets Jeff tighten his embrace, her lips meeting his again, tenderly. Her tongue cautiously emerges to probe his mouth. He lets her take the lead, his tongue gently coaxing and encouraging. Their kiss becomes forceful, deep, their tongues searching. They break for a moment, breathless. "You taste so good," Nicole says, her voice low and thick with passion. She begins to kiss Jeff's neck, slowly at first, then rapid-fire kisses, her tongue darting in and out like a serpent. He feels her teeth teasingly graze his skin, and an electric shiver runs down his spine. 

She backs up and smiles again, impishly. Then her smile slowly dissipates, and she thoughtfully looks at him. "It's almost like she's sizing me up," Jeff thinks, "and making some decision." 

Imperceptibly nodding to herself, she looks him directly and defiantly in the eyes, loosens his tie, tosses it aside, and unbuttons his shirt. Jeff smiles widely and tries to hug her, but Nicole pushes his hands away, pushes him flat against the wall. Bending, she runs her tongue lazily down his chest, with frequent stops to kiss and nuzzle. One hand moves to grip his shoulder, fingers of the other softly caress his chest with a silken touch. Finding his right nipple, she wisps her tongue over it, then gently sucks. Another shiver travels through Jeff's body, and he groans low in his throat. She leisurely makes her way over to his left nipple, tantalizing it. 

Suddenly Jeff's mouth is buried in her neck, kissing, sucking, licking,tasting. His arms crush her to him, his erection rock hard and pressed into her crotch. Nicole whimpers under her breath. No doubt now, Jeff can definitely feel her tremble. His own heart is pounding in his chest, the blood rushing in his veins, his desire intense and building. 

He slips one side of her dress down, and yes, there is a red lace bra underneath. Pulling the strap low over her shoulder and arm, he manages to reveal one ample, pale breast. Even before his mouth hungrily cover the rosy bud he finds it already rigid with her excitement. She moans in delight as he licks and sucks her. 

She tugs his shirt out of his slacks and begins fumbling with his belt, clumsy in her urgency. "Please," she begs, her breathing fast and shallow. "Please, Jeff, I want you. Don't make me wait anymore. We've been leading up to this for forever! Please?" Her tone is pleading, and she bites her lower lip in frustration as the zipper on his trousers refuses to cooperate. 

He carefully backs her into the corner, then pulls up the hem of her dress. A red lace garter belt, mate to her bra, secures dark stockings. One arm goes around her waist, holding up her dress and supporting her. The hand of the other falls between her legs, to discover two surprises - her inner thighs are slick already with the moisture pouring from her swollen pussy, and she has no underwear on.

"No panties?" 

"T-Too w-warm tonight w-with stockings t-too," Nicole manages to stammer out. 

By now she has dropped his trousers and freed his throbbing cock. She wraps her arms around him, one grasping his ass, the other under his open shirt and around his torso, urging him closer. "P-Please, Jeff...."

"Soon, love," he whispers. 

He wants to explore her. Holding her, kissing her neck, he revels in the feel of her naked breast pressed against his chest, her nipple marble-hard. His fingers, drenched with her sweet juices, brush and fondle her opening, tormenting her, each stroke rewarded with a moan or whimper. He gently slips one just inside her. She gasps in pleasure and he feels her body tense. He withdraws and starts to rub her, slowly and gradually increasing the speed and pressure. She is panting, shaking, moaning, her head inclined forward and resting on his shoulder, her arms clutching his body desperately. Her hips began to move, grinding her vulva against his hand. 

"Come on baby," he whispers softly, nuzzling her hair and holding her even tighter, strong fingers dancing over her clit. "You're so close, Nicole, so close. It's okay to let go with me, honey." 

Abruptly Nicole throws her head back, eyes closed, face taunt and flushed. "Oh, God!" she cries out loudly. She goes rigid for a moment, holding her breath, then Jeff feels her begin to shudder violently. She is nearly yelling his name now. "Jeff!JEFF!!"

He continues to gently massage her sex, quietly repeating her name and kissing her neck, until her contractions subside and she collapses against him. By now Jeff's cock is granite, his desire burning, his need to be inside her undeniable. He pulls her closer, clasps both arms around her waist, bends his knees slightly, at the same time bending her backward into the wall. Her arms come up to encircle his neck. He kisses her deeply, his rod-stiff member aching to plunge into her. But no, Jeff wants to savor every intense moment. He slowly, deliberately, enters her. 

She is molten, liquid heat. He gasps now as her hot recesses swallow his pulsing member. He begins to move inside her, a delicious, steady rhythm, an unhurried pace. Nicole's breathing becomes ragged again. 

"Jeff," she whispers huskily in his ear. "You feel like velvet....iron....fire, all at the same time." She begins to moan in sync with his thrusts. His mouth locates her neck again, biting gently, tasting salt. She threads her fingers in his hair, tugging slightly. "Harder," she pleads, barely audible. 

Jeff increases the force of his motions. "You want it hard and fast, Nicole? You want me to make you scream again, honey? You want to cum in my arms? Is that what you want? Hmmm?"

"Yes," she groans. "Yes, yes, yes!" 

Her hips begin to rock, meeting his thrusts, asking his body to sink his cock deeper and deeper into her. She seems to want as much of him as possible, and wraps one long leg around him. He is pounding her against the wall like a pile driver now, her nails digging into his back, both of them moaning in abandon. As Jeff feels himself pass the point of no return, a surge of heat radiates throughout his body, every nerve ending seemingly ablaze. He erupts like a volcano, spewing lava cum inside her. Nicole is shuddering again, the first waves of orgasm washing over her. All thoughts of time and place are gone for both.

Which is why neither of them notice that the elevator is moving again.

Just at the peak of pleasure, with each screaming the other's name,the doors open. As awareness returns, Nicole opens her eyes to see a shocked manager, his assistant and staff, and a grizzled repairman all standing outside the elevator gaping in amazement. A gray-haired matron turns deathly white and promptly faints dead away, two young male clerks catching her just before she hits the floor. 

"OH--MY--GOD--JEFF!" Nicole exclaims, and disengaging from him, frantically starts to pull her clothes back into place. Jeff turns, blanches and utters "Crap!" and starts dragging his pants back up, mooning the stunned observers in the process. Within seconds, both are racing for the main door, books, as well as Jeff's tie and the fallen rose from Nicole's hair, forgotten on the floor. Behind them, their impromptu and appreciative audience begins to clap and hoot.

Just before reaching the exit, red-faced but grinning from ear-to-ear, Nicole turns with a flourish and bows to the applause, then follows Jeff out into the street, her laughter pealing through the air. 

The manager (who did not clap or hoot) starts to rant at the repairman, "That's it! We're closing this elevator down and you are fired!" Spotting the discarded books on the elevator floor, he stomps off, growling, "We're moving the sex section next to the register where I can keep an eye on it from now on!"

One of the clerks, grinning broadly and fanning the awakening senior citizen, turns to the assistant manager. "Hey Mark, think the hidden security cam caught all that?"

Mark, still chuckling, replies, "God, I hope so. They're going to be the featured attraction at my next keg party. I may even charge admission!" 



Books and Their Covers



Being top of the class isn't all it's cracked up to be. I mean, I'm vain, so I sort of needed to be. Plus the fact that I need scholarships. Anyways, with my intelligence level, being so high, it is often difficult to find someone of equal, or at least almost equal, intelligence. As the saying goes, geniuses live a solitary life. Or something like that. 

Also, people are intimidated by my smarts, and so they tend to excerpt their powers on me. Often resulting in the classic battle of brains against brawn. This is real life, not the movies. Brain loses. Long story short, I've ended up with a lot of bruises and doing a lot of homework that wasn't mine. And between their homework and mine, work, and housework, I don't get much sleep.

Also, teachers, no matter the subject, want me to help students who...aren't quite there. So this detracts from my class work time, meaning I have more homework. And ends ups often giving me extreme headaches. But I am polite and answer the halfwits questions and explain molecular physics the best I can to their limited intelligence.

One such halfwit is Talulah Carter. She is the head, or captain I mean, of the Girls Basketball team and the volleyball team, which are both the best in the state, six years running, and her sister was captain before her, and her brother was the equivalent on the football and basketball team. In short, she is the main 'jock' of the females. She is rude, arrogant, and impulsive. She just barely is holding her head above the C- watermark in Calculus, the only class I share with her. She is rich; her father owns the Carter Leather and Shoe Company, meaning she is practically famous in the town, and a total snot most of the time. But I had to admit, she is gorgeous. Her mixed African and Mexican heritage gave her smooth skin the color of coffee and cream and rich, voluminous black hair with enough wave and shine to turn heads everywhere. She has thick, soft (or at least they looked that way) lips surrounding perfect white teeth she flashed at any boy who looked her way. Or teacher; she is a horrible kiss-up. She has the build of a Greek goddess, I swear. She is a perfectly sculpted nineteen year old with a firm, flat stomach, thick, muscled legs and arms, a great rack, and a wonderfully large, firm ass. I'll admit, she is the subject of many of my midnight fantasies. 

But I knew that's all they will ever be. She would never want a pale, pudgy nerd with glasses and crooked teeth, muddy hazel-green eyes, short frizzy brown hair who was socially awkward and weird. Plus when you compare my economic status to hers, there was totally no way. I made most of my own clothes, worked a shit job to pay for rent, the phone bill and food. I had ditched my parental units the over the summer as soon as i was "legal," so I was on my own.

But one day, while working on a particularly complex equation, Mr. Galthrup, my calculus teacher, came up to me, tapping me on the shoulder and breaking my train of thought. I tried to pull the fragments together and solve the equitation, but the answer was lost to me now. I sighed and turned to the aging man.

"Yes?" He scratched the back of his neck nervously and I inwardly grimaced as dandruff fell onto the shoulder of his sweater. 

"Ms. Teppers, may I talk to you at lunch today?" I nodded and returned to my math problem, and he, understanding he was dismissed, creeped back over to his desk. Seeing as lunch was after fourth hour, I simply lingered after class as the other students rushed off to the hell of the lunch lines, or to their lockers to grab their sack lunches. Well, most students. Talulah remained as well. I had a bad feeling about this. A short while later a tall dark man walked into the room, and my bad feeling deepened. Somehow offending the biggest, and most wealthy, name for several counties in any direction, was not a good thing. 

"So," the big black said, turning to me. I self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pulled my books a little tighter to my chest. "You're Ms. Teppers." He looked my up and down, and I blushed under his scrutiny. "You're awfully short for a senior." I frowned and reined in my temper. 

"Excuse me, but I am a junior. And my height is irrelevant to my capability." I managed so say tersely, my hand twitching at my side. His eyebrows shot up and I let a small smirk slip between my lips, before pulling it back in. "So may I inquire as to what you wish to talk to me about? I have places to be." I said flatly. Talulah snorted beside her father.

"You? What, got a chess club meeting? Or gotta go meet up with Terence?" She sneered. Terence was the local dweeb. No social skills, always sick, thick, gummy glasses, horrible fashion sense, the whole ten nerd yards.

"If you must know," I griped back, "I have some homework I have to finish up, something you apparently don't know much about."

"I finish all my homework at home!" She snapped, stepping foreword and crossing her arms.

"Yeah, but you still don't understand the material, so what good does it do you?" I quipped. It was at this point that her father stepped forward. I had forgotten about him.

"Which is why I am here to talk to you. What is your opinion of Talulah?" the way he said her name, it sounded like a rebuke, and Talulah seemed to take it as such, stepping back and looking down. I hesitated as I debated my reply. 

"I believe..." I started slowly, weighing my words. "That she is determined, and...reasonably intelligent. However, it is probable that her brain is...heavily right oriented. Meaning her understanding in subjects such as English and history are likely higher then it is in, say, math, languages, and sciences. She also lacks the focus needed to fully comprehend subjects, such as calculus, that she does not find relevant or interesting. It is quite likely that she barely passed in previous years, and, math and science being classes that build on each other, now she finds it difficult to understand the present material." I only spoke of her academic qualities really, seeing as my opinion of her...other habits and behavior seemed irrelevant in this case. He seemed to debate my response, but seemed satisfied by it. Talulah looked at me somewhere between confused and relieved, probably that I didn't insult her, or that I didn't rat her out.

"As you mentioned, she needs help with her grades, calculus especially. Her grade is falling below the requirement, but she needs to get it up if she wishes to stay on the team, and pass this class. I would like you to tutor her." My jaw dropped a little before I caught it.

"Me?" I asked. Mr. Carter raised an eyebrow before Mr. Galthrup cut in.

"Yes, I recommended you. You seem very patient with the students, and they often seem to understand things better with your help in class, and you never seemed to mind helping, in fact you seemed to enjoy it." He explained, and my face felt hot. I raised my chin, not acknowledging whether or not that was true. 

"Well, I've got work after school. I don't think-" I started to say when Mr. Carter, cut me off, much to my annoyance. 

"Quit your job. I'll pay you." I looked down, debating it.

"How much? I asked hesitantly, glancing up at him. 

"Twelve dollars an hour. All week." He offered. I wasted no time before responding.

"Alright!" I said with a bit of a grin. Waitressing was not a good job, especially since they could pay you less than minimum wage, because of tips. And drunkards were horrible tippers. And clumsy and rude. "I can start Thursday if you want. Am I coming over to your place or at the library?"

I could tell both Carters were a little shocked by my change in attitude, but the prospect of that much money... It was a game changer. With that I would be able to save up for a truck sooner and I could maybe get some food that wasn't canned and get a new pair of shoes instead of duct taping this pair again and get presents for people on their birthdays and Christmas and fourteen other things I couldn't do before! If I worked five days a week, three hours a day, that was a hundred eighty dollars, instead of a hundred, if I was lucky.

"Uh, my house?" Talulah offered. "I don't like libraries." She seemed a little dumbfounded. I suspected she didn't think that I would agree to tutoring her. We weren't know for getting along. Quite the opposite actually. In fact, she was one of the kids who beat me up occasionally, and I had done her homework more than once. As far as I knew, I was the only one she seemed to pick on. I have no idea what I did to her, but I never really saw her as a kind person anyways.

Anyways, that was how I ended up standing here, in front of Carter Manor. I pounded my fist against the side of my head, mad at myself for being bought up, but I had little choice, or so I keep telling myself. I mean its not like I want to spend more time with this rude, arrogant, beautiful prat, and look at those beautiful eyes and waste time being around her and teaching her something she'll never get and maybe she'll see that I'm not all that bad and... Yeah it had nothing to do with any of that. I was here cause it was a good paying job.

There was a bored looking man at a little kiosk beside the wrought iron gates and so I self-consciously moseyed over to him.

"Excuse me," I said and he looked down at me, then flashed me smile. 

"How can I help you, little missy?" I blushed a little. He was cute, in his early twenties/late teens, and he had pretty blue eyes.

"Um, I'm Kira Teppers, I'm here to tutor Talulah?" He laughed. 

"You got your work cut out, she's had tutors before, none have stayed very long. I'll just open the gates for you miss." He hopped up from his little stool and pulled the keys off from his belt. I smiled at him and scurried in once he finished unlocking the gates. "Good luck!" He called after me and I waved back at him to say thanks. Apparently he buzzed the house or something because a butler was at the door waiting for me by the time I made it to the front doors. 

"Ms. Teppers," he said with a small bow, startling me and making me blush, but grin, because that was so darn cool! "May I take your coat and scarf?" He asked, I think trying to hide his smile as we stepped in to the foyer. I wore my silver and black scarf and a thin grey cardigan that I had unbuttoned. Under it I had a sleeveless green top and a green plaid kilt skirt. I suppose he was just following protocol or something. I mutely shook my head and headed into the main house. I stopped and my jaw dropped. This house was immense. Ornate ceilings arched above me as I gazed up. I looked to the left and several beautiful Corinthian columns made up the main supports for the large foyer. I couldn't help scurrying over to a vase on a small table to the right, and gasping in amazement.

"Oh my gosh, is this real?" I whispered, awestruck at the Grecian work before me. At closer inspection I found that was indeed authentic! I gasped in surprise as I felt someone tap my shoulder. I whipped around and saw a smiling Hispanic woman. I could tell right away by the way she carried herself and the clothing, that this was Mrs. Carter.

"Sorry ma'am," I started, bowing slightly. "I didn't mean to intrude, I was simply admiring the-" she raised her hand and I stopped abruptly. 

"No need to apologize. Great art is meant to be seen." She said. It was not loud, nor quiet. Her voice rather reminded me of a song birds. I was not particularly keen on it. I nodded to her comment as she seemed to be awaiting a response. She seemed satisfied with this and spoke again. 

"You are young Ms. Teppers, I presume?" I nodded.

"Yes ma'am. If you could direct me to Talulah so I could start, I would much appreciate it ma'am." I said politely, gazing down slightly. I jerked as she grabbed my chin; her hands were cold and damp feeling. I kept my face neutral, but it was not a feeling I liked.

"Never look down when you're talking to someone, look at the person you're talking to. Talulah is up the left staircase, third door on your left." She said a little flatly. I think I annoyed her somewhat, whether from looking down or pulling away, I knew not. I made a mental note to not do either in the future. 

"Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am." I said quickly, glancing into those hard black eyes before hurrying away. 

As I turned to my right, having scaled the beautiful stairs, I saw another beautiful woman standing before me. I steadied my knees and headed over to her. 

"So where we working?" I asked simply.

"So she gets a ma'am and I get nothing?" Talulah sounded rather put out about this. 

"Well yes." I replied matter-of-factly. "Ma'am comes from 'madam' and seeing as she is the lady of the house, that title belongs to her, and that is the polite way to address her."

"Well then what's the polite way to address me?" She had her hand on her hip, the other supporting her weight on the door frame. This pose showed off her wonderful figure, although I tried not to notice. I thought for a moment before deciding on the proper term.

"'Miss,' I suppose." I said with a shrug. She smirked before opening the door and beckoning me in. As I walked past her she whispered in my ear.

"Perhaps 'mistress' would fit." She stated, finish by trailing her tongue along the edge of my ear. When I whipped around to face her she had her usual skeptical eyebrow raised and dramatically waved me in. "Coming princess?" She asked sarcastically. I shook my head and scurried in. I must've just imagined it. 

I looked around her room, looking for a place to work. I saw a desk, but it was covered in clutter. Otherwise there was a vanity covered in makeup and the like, a tv and Xbox, and a giant black and red bed. I swallowed nervously and looked behind me. Talulah remained leaning on the door way, and I could've sworn she was staring at my butt. She noticed me looking at her and pushed herself off, sauntering towards the bed. She hopped on it, the swirling wire frame bouncing a bit, the sateen sheet rustling beneath her. I tried not to stare at her ass noticeably. I bit my lip as I crawled on the bed beside her. I glanced at her, then laid down as she had. I took a breath, took off my scarf and pulled out my calculus book.

"So when did you start getting lost?" I asked her, opening the book. 

"Chapter one, section six." She answered. I sighed; we had a long way to go, three chapters at least. 

"Alright." I opened the book and flipped to the section. "See, what is saying here is that..." I explained the method to her in rather simpleton terms, using lots of metaphors. Or similes. I get the two mixed up.

We worked through several problems and moved onto the next section. She sighed loudly.

"I'm tired!" She threw up her arms exasperatedly, letting one flop on my back. I blushed and rolled my eyes.

I glanced at the time on my phone. It hadn't felt like that long. I sighed.

"I guess we can take a break. You've been working very well." I stated, picking up my phone and starting to unlock it, but I froze with her next words.