It was my favourite bookshop, tucked away down a narrow alley just off the main shopping street. If you didn’t know it was there you would never have found it. A little gem known only to those who wandered from the usual retail route, the shop was nothing more than a permanently dusty window and a faded green door set into the burnished brickwork. No neon lights, no fluorescent BOGOF offers in the window, not even a sign above the door to indicate what lay behind it. But for anyone who turned the faded brass handle and stepped into the shadowy room beyond, a world of possibilities awaited.
I love books, and by extension I love bookshops. Doesn’t matter to me whether it’s one of the big chain stores or a smaller independent place – I just adore anywhere that offers me the chance to buy something new to read. You could say I’m addicted to the written word, amongst other things.
But this bookshop was one of a kind. Almost every other one I’d visited was well lit, with manicured displays, comfortable seats, defined areas for the various genres offered, coffee machines, fancy biscuits – I’m sure you know the type of place. Here, it was nothing like that. There was no attempt to enhance the ‘customer experience’ beyond offering them books to buy, and boy, the shop certainly did that.
That green door never opened fully, because there was a pile of books behind it. You had to squeeze into the little entry vestibule beyond it, because there were more piles of books against the walls. Step into the main body of the shop and you were greeted by row upon row of shelving, all of it sagging under the sheer weight of books that lay on each one. At the end of the shelving rows were yet more piles of books. On top of the shelves again more books. Piled up on almost every spare area of space were books. No walls were visible, as columns of books stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The navigable space between the books was so tight that often you had to turn sideways and crab-walk your way gingerly through, nervous that a careless knee or shoulder would topple one of the piles and a domino effect would bring the many tonnes of tomes crashing down. There was no obvious attempt at organisation; if you wanted something you had to hunt for it.
It was my heaven.
And that was just the first room. At the back of it, beside the counter where the same little old lady always sat with her face in a book, never acknowledging your presence until you were ready to pay, was an open doorway (framed with piles of books, of course) that led deeper into the building via a narrow corridor made tighter still by the books that lined it. The whole place was a maze, with rooms and stairways and passageways going hither and thither, no clear thought behind the layout. As you will have guessed by now, books filled every room, every passage, and half of every tread of every staircase.
On that afternoon, I carefully moved through the building, picking up random books and flicking through them. I was browsing, but I also had a specific area I was making my way towards. The shop was, as usual, quiet. I crossed paths with a couple of other shoppers, having to squeeze past each other in the tight space. One of them was a woman, a few years older than me, a little flustered that I chose to work my way past her with my back to the wall, so that my chest and crotch brushed against her back and backside. I inhaled her scent deeply as we squashed by each other, deliberately letting her hear me do it. I’m an imposing man, and using my size to intimidate people (male and female) is a guilty pleasure of mine. I felt her tense as my cock slid over her ass cheeks and I exhaled onto the bare nape of her neck. We had both been sidling past each other until that point, but I stopped dead, silently offering her the chance to do the same, thinking we could share a moment, but she continued on without pausing. I smiled to myself, gave my cock a regretful squeeze, and moved on.
Eventually I reached the top floor and entered the room that occupied that entire level. It was easily the biggest room in whole place, and the only part of the shop that offered any seating; four hardback chairs sitting in each corner. The rest of the room was filled with the usual shelving, laid out in a grid pattern, about twenty rows in each half of the room, separated by a passage than ran through the middle of them. I saw that my usual chair was empty and headed over to it, intending to spend a contented hour looking through the half-dozen or so volumes I’d collected on my way through the building.
I’d just settled in when I heard a male voice from somewhere towards the centre of the room, the speaker hidden from view.
“Why don’t you go sit down?” the voice asked. “I won’t be too much longer, then we’ll go for lunch.”
I looked up from my reading, irritated that someone would break the near perfect silence. Like I said, my chair was one of four in the room, positioned in a corner so that it faced out along the row of shelves that ran closest to the wall. At the end of that row, on the opposite side of the room, was another chair that faced mine.
“I’m not waiting all day, Mike,” a female voice replied, obviously irritated. “Fifteen minutes, then I’m going whether you come or not.”
She appeared from the middle passage than ran down the centre of the rows, turning left and heading to the chair opposite mine. White summer dress with a floral pattern falling to just above her knees, red heels, brown curly hair cut to shoulder length. I took her in quickly, appreciating the shape of her legs and ass, watching her hips as she walked away from me. She looked good from behind.
Reaching the chair, I heard her tut, saw her hand slip into the handbag she carried. There was a plastic, rustling sound then her hand re-emerged, this time holding something white. She bent at the waist and proceeded to wipe the seat and back of the chair.
It was a wet wipe! Obviously the chair was much too dusty for this fussy woman to grace it with her backside without giving it a thorough wipe down first. Still, I enjoyed watching the back of her dress lift a few inches, revealing more of her pale thighs as it did. I lamented at the forty feet or so of distance between us, knowing that if I was closer I might be able to bend down and catch a glimpse of her knickers. Ever since I was a kid women’s knickers, panties, smalls, – call them what you will – had been a powerful kink of mine. The pretty, feminine lightness of them, the thin material wrapping round the most secret of body parts, the heat and scent that they held within…
I felt my cock begin to react to my thoughts, reached into my lap and gave it a squeeze. She turned to sit as I was doing it, stopping with her arse hovering over the chair as she caught me in my seedy act. Her shocked stare darted from my crotch to my eyes, and I held her gaze, still working my cock through my trousers. She was clearly caught in two minds, unsure whether to stay or go back to the safety of her man. Then slowly, almost carefully, she sat down.
My pulse ratcheted up a few beats, the blood filling and swelling my cock until I was fully erect. A new game had just begun, and I was hungry to see where it would lead.
I placed the book I had been reading on a pile of others to the left of me, sliding my thumb and index finger along the sides of my shaft as I did, pressing the material of my trousers around my cock to make the shape and size of it as obvious as possible. It was difficult to be sure with the distance between us, but I thought I saw her breathing quicken, her chest rise and fall more clearly.
I opened my legs wide and pointed at her, indicating that I wanted her to mirror my action.
She shook her head, a slow, almost imperceptible movement.
I smiled.
I’ve been told that my smile is attractive, but can sometimes look cold, cruel almost. This was information given to me by some of the women I’ve dominated. I enjoy submissive females, but it’s always better if they’ve got a core of resistance running through their character. I like that they feel the need to maintain control in the beginning. Breaking them down and setting them free has forever been one of my passions.
I stand, and this time I can definitely see her body tense. I guess that she’s somewhere in her mid thirties, her features fine, lips and nails painted to match her heels. For a few seconds I don’t move, just allowing my size to fill the space, maintaining eye contact with her. Then I begin to walk towards her, slowly and deliberately, closing the space between us.
Her eyes widen, she shakes her head more firmly. I continue moving towards her.
I reach the midpoint of the room, crossing the passage that halves the rows. To my left I’m vaguely aware of a man standing reading. I’ve no doubt he’s her partner, but his presence causes me no concern.
Her hands grip the sides of the chair, her knees press hard together, a primal instinct to protect what she assumes I want. And although I would enjoy what lies between her legs, I want much more than that; I want her mind.
I hold her gaze until I’m a step away from her. She’s a rabbit caught in headlights, her instincts no doubt telling her to flee, but frozen there by something even deeper within her. Her neck is slender, her breasts small. She opens her mouth but is unable to form any words.
I stop when I’m right in front of her, and I press my leg between hers, feeling her knees open. My cock is level with her face and I know she can probably smell me from this distance. Her breathing is harsh and ragged. Her inner thighs are pressed against my leg, and I stay there until I feel her open wider, feel her resistance fade. I’m not looking at her now, we’re much too close for that. Her perfume hangs delicately in the air.
I stand there looking at the books on the shelves above her head, towering over her, firmly implanted in her personal space, and I just… breathe. Deeply and slowly, in and out. I emphasise my breaths, and eventually hear her own breathing begin to slow down to match mine.
It’s what I’ve been waiting for. I want us to be together, to fully share the experience. Without asking, I place my hand on her chest between her breasts, causing her to gasp lightly. I press it into her flesh, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to know that when I remove it the outline of it will remain on her skin for a few seconds, like the world’s briefest tattoo. It’s the gentlest form of branding I know of.
After a full minute of feeling her heartbeat I pick a random book from the shelf, turn, and walk back to my chair, sitting down.
I’m pleased to see that she hasn’t closed her legs, but they aren’t wide enough that I can see her underwear. I point at her again, and open my legs. This time she complies, her dress falling between her thighs as she parts them. I mime lifting invisible material, she grips the hem of her dress and lifts it.
Her panties are pink. I think I can see a darker dampness on them, but can’t be sure.
“Darling?” It’s her partner. “You okay?”
I watch her get herself under control before answering.
“Fine,” she says, staring at me the whole time, her legs remaining spread wide open.
“I won’t be long,” he says.
“Take your time. It’s okay.”
I can hear the tension in her voice, but he seems oblivious to it.
I stand again, holding my hand out with the palm facing upwards. I lift it, and she obeys, standing slowly on legs that are trembling.
I hold one finger up and make a circular motion in the air. She turns on the spot, quickly.
I shake my head, and repeat the motion but this time I move my finger deliberately slowly. She turns again, this time taking her time doing so.
“There are some really excellent books here. Honestly, it’s like a treasure trove!”
I can hear the excitement in her partner’s voice. He’s no more than a few feet away from both of us.
“Good,” she replies. “That’s really good.”
I repeat the motion of lifting an invisible skirt. She hesitates. I have no idea if it’s guilt or some other emotion that causes the hesitation. I hope it’s guilt. Such a delicious emotion. I tilt my head to the side and frown, silently chastising her. She lifts her dress, revealing her knickers again.
I take a single step towards her.
I take another step. Then another.
Her chest where my hand was just moments previously is flushed red, her eyes are wide.
I take another step, circling my finger in the air as I do. I don’t tell her to lift the back of her dress as she turns, but she does it anyway showing me a tight little backside wrapped in the soft cotton of her underwear.
“Good,” I say quietly. “Good girl.”
I reach the centre of the row and cross the gap. From here I can see her panties more clearly, can see that they are indeed damp, and can even see a little indented line where the material is slightly tucked into the lips of her pussy.
She drops her dress back down and shakes her head. I’m pushing her beyond where she’s comfortable being. A little bit of showing is okay, but that’s as far as she wants to take it.
I keep closing the distance. She puts her hand straight out in front of her, as clear a ‘Stop’ indication as you’ll ever see. She shakes her head harder, her curls bouncing.
I could stop. I could stop right there and then, and we could still have fun. I could pull my cock out and masturbate for her, let her watch me reach climax and spurt onto the floor. I could silently instruct her to reach into her panties and stroke herself as she watches, forcing herself to keep completely quiet as she does.
I could do all those things, but I want more.
I walk up to her until her still outstretched hand is flat against my chest. I stop there. Her fingers are shaking; I feel them through the material of my shirt.
I lift my hand to her face, her eyes following it every inch of the way. I touch the sensitive skin behind her ear, then slowly drag my fingertips down the side of her neck, along her shoulder and down the length of her outstretched arm. Gripping her hand I turn her round until she’s facing the wall. I let go of her hand, place one of mine on her hip, the other between her shoulder blades and press until she bends over.
She instinctively places her hands on the back of the chair to avoid toppling over, which is exactly what I wanted. She turns to look at me, but I take hold of her head and turn it back until she’s facing the wall again, holding her there for a few seconds until she gets the message – no looking.
Her back is slightly too curved for my liking, so I place one hand on her stomach, the other on the small of her back, and manipulate her pose until her position is correct.
I step back to admire her.
Legs and arms perfectly straight, heels accentuating the curve of her calves. Back now likewise straight and proper, head facing forward.
She’s the perfect pupil, and I would enjoy seeing how far I could take her, but I’m aware of the lingering presence of her partner, browsing books in the same room. We won’t have long. It’s now time to step up the intensity.
I reach under her dress with both hands, grip the waistband of her panties and pull them quickly down until they fall around her ankles. Unzipping my files, I pull my swollen cock from my trousers, stepping into her and pressing the length of it between the cheeks of her arse, but over her dress.
She wriggles her bottom slightly, pushing back against me, making it evident what she wants.
I lift her dress over her back, hold my cock by its base, and slip the tip of it between her legs. A gutteral, animal sound of longing escapes her.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please fuck me.”
I clamp my hand over her mouth as I find her wet hole and drive my entire length into her, feeling her tightness stretch around me, her arse shuddering against me. She’s expecting me to continue, to thrust in and out of her, but I don’t – I fill her and then stop, the muscles of her pussy clenching and unclenching around my cock. She moans a muffled complaint at my lack of motion.
“Jessica?” Her partner calls, the question clear in his voice. “You okay?”
I remove my hand from her mouth. Her entire body is trembling, a sheen of sweat beginning to form on her back.
“I’m fine Mike,” she manages. “Just look at your books.”
I bang my hips harder against her, can feel her juices running down my balls.
“I’m finished,” he says back. “Just gathering everything up. Let’s get that lunch, eh?”
I slam into her again, once, twice, three times in quick succession. She arches her back in response, completely lost in the intensity of the moment now, ready to fuck to orgasm whether her partner catches her or not.
But I’m a bit of a bastard.
I pull out of her, bending down, scooping her knickers up and tucking my still hard cock into my trousers in one swift motion. I lean in and whisper into her ear.
“Be here next week, same time, red panties.”
“No!” she begs, but I’m already walking away.
“What?” the man asks, closer now. “I thought you said you were hungry?”
I turn into the passage that runs down the middle of the room, almost bumping into him, his girl’s juices still wet on my shaft and balls, her knickers in my hand.
“Sorry,” he says automatically, standing to one side to allow me to pass.
The delay should give her just enough time to sit back down. Maybe the man notices her flushed complexion, but that’s not really my problem. I walk past him without saying a word and out of the room, licking her panties as I leave.
I’ll be back again next week, and I’m sure I won’t be the only one.
This sounds amazing 😋😩. Thank You