Tugging Reins: Part Two
By the time the actual munch started, Chris actually felt pretty okay about the whole thing. Couldn’t quite remember why he’d been so nervous before. He sat up at the head table with the mods. Talked with a bunch of new people. Even laughed and had a good time with Danielle.
He fiddled with his glasses before looking at her as she talked with another woman—a blond bombshell who looked like something out of Mad Men. It was like seeing Danielle for the first time. As if he’d never really gotten a good look at her before now.
Sure, Danielle was brazen, cocksure and full of swagger, but it was less grating outside of Cover To Cover. Out of the smock, her confidence was intriguing. Attractive, in the most basic sense. People were attracted to her. They were drawn to her.
He blinked, feeling her pull as well.
He realized that the feeling was familiar, as if he’d been experiencing it for awhile now and not ever really recognizing it. Never fully feeling its strength.
She turned and looked back at him, her wide, dark eyes lit with a laughing curiosity. A wondering joy. “You okay?” she asked him, reaching out to ruffle his short, unrufflable, red hair.
“Yeah,” he said with a nod, even as his stomach gave a little lurch at her touch. He sat back and straightened his shoulders. “I’m good.” Better than he could remember ever being.
———
Chris was nervous during his next shift, wondering what—if anything—he ought to say to Danielle. Sure, they’d had a good time at the munch the other day, but that was that world. This was the real world.
And he wasn’t entirely sure how the two fit together.
Was fairly certain they didn’t.
But, thankfully—maybe—probably—she wasn’t on schedule during his next shift. Or his next one.
Which wasn’t unusual. He worked nearly thirty hours a week; she couldn’t possibly work every shift he did when she worked a third of his hours.
And the further away he got from that day, the less odd and dramatic it all seemed. It wasn’t a big deal, he’d decided. So they’d been at the same munch. So what? It was like being in the same book club or something. It was an after-work activity that had no place in the store. He doubted it would even come up.
So when he saw her on his following shift, he ignored her. Breezed right by her as she was ringing up some single dad juggling far too many shopping bags and probably one too many kids.
It was the late-shift, so the store was all but empty with a handful of customers still left browsing the stacks, two workers, and a manager. Chris liked late-shifts. Sure, it meant closing down the store and restocking the shelves and storeroom, but he’d take that if it also meant limited customer interaction.
But, if he were honest and despite his earlier assertions, the idea of being in an empty store all but alone with Danielle…it gave him pause.
The first hour or so was fine. Chris let Danielle and Les—the manager on duty—handle the customers, while he began loading up carts with books to restock the necessary shelves.
So content with the state of his shift, he hadn’t even noticed when the store had closed until Les came up to him, tapping his shoulder as Chris bent down for another armload of books.
“Hey, Chris,” Les said, checking his phone, “my wife’s sick and the kids are driving her insane. Danielle’s up front, closing out the registers, and I’ve got the front doors locked and got the rest of the store looking decent enough; do you mind taking charge while you unload the boxes out back tonight? I wouldn’t ask, but…” He trailed off.
“Sure.” Chris shrugged. He could unload alone. It’d take longer, but he didn’t have work or class tomorrow until the afternoon. He could do it. “Sure.”
“Great,” Les said gratefully. “Here’s my cell number,” he said as he slipped him a slip of register paper. “Call me if you need anything and I’ll call and check in on you later. Thanks.”
After finishing the shelves, Chris headed back to the storage room, listening to the strains of Christmas muzak that still played. He ought to go to the manager’s office and shut it off, but it was nice to have some kind of sound—any kind of sound—in the empty store. He walked into the large, crowded room filled with towers of cardboard boxes all stacked on massive, metal shelves. He turned back to head toward the back loading door where all the boxes still waiting to be sorted and stacked sat.
He stopped and stiffened, his spine ramrod straight, when he saw her.
Bent over, her round, definitely full ass in the air, Danielle was cutting open boxes and sorting books. He swallowed hard as he saw her sink her cutter into the tape sealing the boxes, slicing through it easily as she moved gracefully to a strangely maudlin version of “Frosty.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his heart racing as he watched her muscles shift as she dug about in the box.
He almost laughed as she popped up in shock—would have, if her breasts that were no longer bound by the Cover To Cover smock hadn’t bounced as she took a surprised step back. “God, Carey,” she panted, “way to scare the crap out of me.”
“I thought you’d left,” he said, trying to lift his gaze to her face but failing. It was strange. Her breasts were smaller than he’d thought they would be. Pointed in soft peaks rather than full and round like her ass. With small, tight nipples that were outlined clearly through her soft cotton shirt. They weren’t at all how he imagined they would be—how he thought they should be all those times he’d pictured them in his head—but he couldn’t stop staring.
Couldn’t stop wondering how they looked bared or how they would feel and taste.
“Les said you needed help unloading,” he distantly heard her say.
His eyes drifted lower, visually tracing the line of those breasts to her nipped waist then to the jut of her wide, generous hips. Pear-shaped. He thought that was what the magazines would call her. Small, petite breasts with wide, weighty hips. But that seemed to imply a curvaceousness that wasn’t quite accurate.
Danielle wasn’t soft or lush. She was more angular, set in definite, determined lines. Though cruder and probably a bit harsher than he’d like, bottom-heavy seemed more accurate.
Yet his mouth still watered as he longed to take a bite. To sink his teeth in and slide his tongue along her flesh. To taste her sticky, sweet juices.
Danielle didn’t look like the Danielle from his fantasies—didn’t have the figure or form of the pin-up girls and porn stars he’d seen, didn’t have the polish or sheen of the commercial ad cover girls. It should have ruined everything. Should have been disappointing or at least been touched by some kind of disillusionment.
“Hey, Carey,” he heard her say, her tone flat and annoyed as she tapped her toe impatiently, “didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s impolite to stare at people’s naughty bits during normal conversation?”
His gaze shot up so fast to meet her dark brown eyes now narrowed with censure that his glasses sunk low on his nose as his face burned with embarrassment. He felt his knees wobble as he wondered if his own Cover To Cover smock sufficiently hid the rapid rise of his erection.
“Better,” she said with a twitch of those magnificent hips. “For a minute there, you looked like my Nana’s Great Dane about to sniff hello.”
Chris just grunted and pushed up the frames that sat too far down on the bridge of his nose as he grabbed his own box cutter and bent low to start unloading as the song shifted from “Frosty” to the one about this being the best time of year or something. He hunched in on himself and tried to concentrate on the lyrics, to drown his humiliated thoughts with the inane holiday cheer.
“I mean, jeez,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I know we’re kinky sexual deviants and all, but even we have manners.”
Chris dropped the cutter. Kicking his tripping feet out of the falling knife’s way, he choked, shocked. Did she just say that?
“Well, I guess we know your knife play needs a little work,” she tsked, shaking her head as she watched him retrieve his blade.
Knife play? His eyes widened as he blinked at her. Was she kidding?
Well, of course, she was; by her tone, it’d clearly been a joke. But she didn’t really think he was into that, did she? It’d always seemed a little extreme to him. A little further out there than he ever saw himself going.
Was she into that?
He looked up at her, curiosity now seeping through his shock as he tried to imagine what that scene would look like.
“Not your thing, huh?” she asked with a casual shrug. “So,” she asked with just as much everyday blandness, “what are you into?”
She asked it like she were asking how he felt about the beach or the latest blockbuster movie. As if it were nothing. As if she hadn’t just asked him about the sexual fantasies he wanked to.
He stared at her with an expression somewhere between awe and horror as elf-like children sang over the speakers. He couldn’t believe this was happening. That they were having this conversation. Here. Now. At all.
“What?” she asked, smirking at him. “Am I not allowed to ask?”
He flushed at the knowing look she sent him. “You already know what I’m into,” he grumbled, hating that every conversation with this woman left him blushing beet red—not the most attractive shade for a redhead.
He’d been at the damned munch, hadn’t he? He was into the same thing everyone there was into. “Kink and stuff,” he said with his own shrug, aiming for a nonchalance like hers while knowing it wasn’t terribly convincing with him continually alternating between flushing like a Christmas ornament to paling like a snow drift.
“Well, yeah,” she said, shaking her head, “I figured that one out all on my own; thank you. I meant specifics.” She grabbed a stack of randomly packed books and started tossing them into organized, if still messy, piles. “I mean, are you into bondage or role play or spanking or feet or cross dressing—”
Uh. “No,” he said quickly.
“No?” she asked, taken a little aback. “No to what?”
“I’m not a cross dresser,” Chris said with a scowling pout as his crouched back tensed. “And I’m not into feet.” Jeez. Was that what she thought of him?
Danielle just shrugged. “Too bad,” she said off-handedly, making Chris stop at stare at her. But, before he could asked her about it, she asked again, “Then what are you into?”
He shrugged and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He’d never really thought about it. He was into what he was into; wasn’t that enough? He’d never really had to go into detail about it with anyone. Had never even really said it aloud before. It was way easier to know what he wasn’t into than to think too hard on exactly what he was into.
He shrugged again. “Bondage, role play, and spanking are pretty cool,” he guessed, parroting her words. Truth was, he couldn’t quite think straight at the moment. Not with her here, talking about all this as if it were nothing.
She nodded sagely. “You’ve never done it before, have you?” she asked.
Was it that obvious?
He just shrugged his slouched shoulders, feeling that damned blush creep up again.
“It’s cool,” she assured him. “I’m pretty new at it still too. I’ve only been doing it for about a year now.”
A year?
A year?!
He turned to stare—all but glare accusingly—at her through his streaked glasses. How had she been doing this for a year?
“I’m the secretary of the local colleges’ kinky youth group, so I’ve worked with Donovan’s a lot. Especially with Max and Pip to help organize a lot of the educational workshops. I’ve never seen you at any of the munches before,” she said as she scooped up a pile of books, dumping some in one, others in another, before hauling them onto the storage shelves.
Stalling for time, he took off his glasses and wiped them on the edge of his smock. “It was,” he mumbled, feeling thirteen years old in the presence of this apparently oh-so-worldly woman, “my first one.”
“That’s cool,” she said again.
But it wasn’t.
In all the stories he’d read and all the movies he’d watched—in every fantasy he’d ever had—the man had always been the experienced one. Had always been the one in control. Who knew what he was doing.
It was the girl who was always the virgin. The inexperienced one. The newb. Or, at the very least, she never had quite as much experience as the guy.
But Danielle had been doing this for a year!
What the hell did he do with that?
He groaned internally as he furiously scrubbed at his even more streaked glasses.
“Do you want to try it?”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3y8ay6/have_yourself_a_kinky_little_christmas_part_two