The bell above the door chimed cheerily as you stepped into the bookstore. It’s a cozy place, with faded carpeting, books stacked beside overflowing shelves, handmade signs noting genres. You glimpse an orange tail of a cat disappear behind the Mystery shelf. Every inch of the small store seems infused with care and love.
You’ve always liked bookstores, and this is a particularly nice one.
“Can I help you?”
You startle, glancing to your right and seeing a young woman perched on a stool, tucked behind an outdated cash register and precarious stacks of used books. There’s an obscenely large book open on her knees, more a door stopper than a novel. She has a smattering of freckles splashed across her nose, and offers you a polite smile.
“The, uh, rare and special editions section?” You asked, like you had been told.
The clerk blinked, bright eyes looked you up and down, and her smile widened.
“In the back, to your left,” she said, and nodded through the narrow aisles. “First door past the bathroom.”
You nod, and she looks back down at her book. If you had looked over your shoulder as you walked down the narrow path through the shelves, you might have noticed her rising from her stool and flipping the door sign to ‘Closed’. But you don’t, so you didn’t.
Past the science fiction and fantasy section, past the discreetly placed erotica section, past the small garden gnome that held a basket of bookmarks. The door is where the clerk promised it would be, nondescript and unmarked, and opens noiselessly when you grasp the knob.
The room is small, lit dimly by a vintage lantern set into a nook in the wall. Barely an arms length from the door, there’s a patterned wall with a hole set at waist height – although as you step close and shut the door behind you, the dim light reveals something more.
The wall is covered in a wild smattering of cut-and-pasted quotations and naughty images – heaving busts and spread legs and open, painted mouths. There’s whole passages of smut torn out of yellowed books, particularly blood-raising sentences circled and underlined in red pen. One quote in particular catches your eye, and you hear your heartbeat in your ears.
*Pleasure’s a sin, and sometimes sin’s a pleasure. – Lord Byron*
You startle from examining the wall when there’s the quiet noise of a door shutting on the other side. A few other noises of movement, and then the rap of a knuckle on the wall.
Realizing with a blush that was your cue, you hastily unzip your pants, freeing yourself from your boxers. You’re nursing a generous semi from mere anticipation, but you take a moment to stroke yourself before drawing a deep breath – and slipping your cock through the gloryhole.
Your stomach flutters at the muffled murmur of appreciation.
You shiver when her tongue traces over the shape of your cockhead, delicate as if tracing the drips of an ice cream cone. She takes her time, teasing you to full hardness, until your hips press forward eagerly, and there’s a laugh – like the chiming of a bell.
And then – the heat of her breath, the wetness of her mouth proper.
You gasp as she takes you deeper, her lips nearly wrapping around you to the root. Your hands flex, tighten against the wall. Now she sucks you like she’s ravenous, like there’s nothing else left in the world. Yet despite the hunger, there’s a carefulness as her hand finds your heavy balls, rolling them between her fingers.
Your forehead is pressed to the wall beside a scandalous pin-up, but your eyes close until there’s nothing more than her mouth and the scent of old pages.
The pleasure peaks like the climax of a well-written book – beautifully, brilliantly, and you know you’ll never forget it. You try to bite back a groan, and fail.
Her mouth lingers on you, taking every last drop you have to give. When you exhale with a shudder, there’s one final kiss – an epilogue, on the sensitive head of your cock.
When your legs stop shaking and you exit the small room, the clerk is perched on her stool, flipping through her book. She smiles at you when you purchase two books, when you bend to pet the tabby cat that winds between your feet.
You always knew you liked bookstores.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/hmd3cj/rare_and_special_editions_mf_gloryhole_oral
Nice!
I liked that a lot!