The Bookstore Stranger [fsub] [fm] [rough] [semi-public]

She was ten minutes late. Fucking bus. Mary wanted to send a text message to Eric and let him know, but she also kind of wanted to make him squirm to see what he would do, so she kept radio silence. The bus was two stops away from the book store now. She was the only person on it, and the rain outside hummed against the windows. When she got on the bus a dozen miles ago, the bus driver, an ugly man in his late 50s, looked at her like she should be ashamed of herself. She was wearing a strange outfit, but that’s no reason to stare at someone like they aren’t human. She tried pushing her skirt down a little bit. She felt the rough bus seat scratching the skin just below her ass.

She took out her phone, turned on the camera, and made sure her makeup was all right. Bright red lipstick. Winged eyes. Rain hadn’t messed it up too much. She contemplated wearing no make up at all, but she was bored, and wanted her face to match the outfit. A ripped band t-shirt. A pencil skirt. Black combat boots. Black leggings.

On her phone, she switched to Tinder and looked at Eric’s pictures. Real dorky ones — he took a lot of them too close to his face, like all guys in their 30s do — but he looked like the type of guy to roll his sleeves up to reveal forearms, so she decided to meet him. He’d been funny enough in their small chit chat. That, and Jeff broke up with her three weeks ago and she wasn’t sure what she was looking for, and she wasn’t really even sure why she got on the bus today, or why she spoke with Eric, or why she downloaded the app, or why Jeff broke up with her. She felt nothing much inside her self, except for a desire to feel anything, and Jeff hadn’t made her feel anything in such a long time.

Worst case scenario, she could buy a new book. A mystery romance. Best case scenario, she thought, she would find someone to make her feel something again.

The bus stopped. She stood at the exit for just a moment. Should she meet Eric? They’d only sent a few texts back and forth, and they’d been vaguely sexual from the start. Maybe he was a serial killer. Maybe he was as boring as a fucking doorknob. Maybe she should stop being as passive as she thought she always was. She stepped off the bus and into the rain. She ran toward the book store, which was four stories tall and all brick.

Inside, she wandered the fiction section. She looked at every person like they might be Eric. But he wasn’t here. Did he leave after she was late? Did he stand her up? She wandered to the romance section. Covers all black and red and men with muscled chests, no faces. She picked one up, flipped through it. She’d read others by this author and the mystery was always better than the romance.

“Total first date material,” a man said.

Mary looked up. Eric stood there, smiling at her. He was taller then his pictures implied, and fitter, but still a bit chubby. He had a dark blue shit buttoned down and tucked into ironed khaki pants. A trimmed beard and long hair. Black Chuck Taylor’s contrasting the business casual. Of course his sleeves were rolled up to revel colorful tattoos lining his arms.

She looked down at the book. “I didn’t know you did model work,” she said.

He laughed and took the book from her, skimmed through it.

“Do you believe in these?” he asked. “That someone can be saved by a good fuck?”

“Have you ever read one?” she asked, taking it back. “It’s more than just a fuck.”

“Ah, you caught me. I haven’t. I’m more of a Haruki Murakami guy. You ever read Wind-Up Bird Chronicle?”

“No,” she lied. She loved Murakami, but didn’t want Eric to know her that well. Not yet.

“Best sex scene ever,” he said.

“You say that, and yet you’ve never read a book with a literal sex god on the cover.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I am that model,” He said, laughing.

She set the book down.

“Want to grab a coffee?” He asked.

“Sure.”

They walked toward the cafe in the middle of the store. The place was crowded and loud. Mary felt nervous around so many people in an outfit she normally wouldn’t wear. But she also felt good with Eric. He had a good smile. She hadn’t even thought about her ex boyfriend for thirty minutes. Progress.

“Oh, check this out,” Eric said, picking up a book from the novelty section. A dozen feet of rope hung wrapped around it’s side. “I was in the boy scouts. They really taught me a lot.”

She smiled at him. “I was in the girl scouts. Tie me up and I can make you cookies after,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Goddamn I think I like you,” He said. “You ever feel like you know someone after only a few words?”

She nodded, “Sometimes trust works that way, doesn’t it?”

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

She paused. No. Not really. Maybe.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Have you ever been here?” He asked.

“Nope. I live a town over. I haven’t even been into this town.” And then she remembered that he might be a murderer. Or a rapist. “But I have some friends here, I was going to meet them later down the road.”

“This book store is the best,” he said, smiling wider. “There’s a hidden section. Do you like rare books?”

“Maybe. But I love hidden areas.”

“Let me show you,” he said, taking her hand, and leading her up a stair case.

***
He opened the velvet rope to rare book section for her, like an invitation. He smirked at her.

“After you,” He said.

She went in, feeling him stare at her ass. The room was small and dark. A dainty red couch sat in the middle. Books lined the walls. They looked ancient and rare and full of knowledge. It was quiet up on the fourth floor. They
passed hardly anyone on the second floor, and no one on the third, and the fourth looked just as empty and dead.

“It’s amazing,” she said.

He touched her arm lightly, turned her toward him.

“I’ve wanted to get you alone since I saw you,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “So you could read to me?”

He leaned in and kissed her soft. She tasted pomegranate lip balm and felt something in her stomach flutter. She pulled back.

“I wanted to kiss you all day,” she said. Not sure if it was the truth. A half truth. “And get you alone.”

“How so?”

“I wanted to see what you’d do with me.”

He pushed her against the wall, her back hitting the books. He kissed her again, rougher. One hand held her arm against the wall, and another moved behind her neck, pulling her head closer to him. She wasn’t scared at all. She had never even been kissed in a public place, not like this.

He then let her arm go, and rubbed her breast through her shirt, her bra. Strong fingers, curious. She felt her nipples jump, wanting to be touched. He moved his mouth from her lips and licked her cheek completely, moving toward the ear. She let out an unexpected moan.

“Jesus Christ,” she said.

“Be quiet,” He whispered in her ear. “But not too quiet.”

And he took a little nibble of her ear lobe.

“You’re fucking hot,” she said, and meant it. She moved her hands toward his pants, and felt how hard he was already through his khakis. “And fucking hard.”

His hands moved from her tits and down her stomach, to the skin between her skirt and shirt. The soft skin there, almost ticklish under his touch. He kissed her soft on the mouth, then pulled back. He smiled, a little sinister grin.

He pulled the rope from the his back pocket.

“You like to be tied up, don’t you?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

She turned around and got on her knees, without question. Without thinking. Jesus. He made her do that with such ease. She held her arms behind her, and he tied her hands and arms tight. She struggled only a little. She turned back around and looked at him, curious what would happen next.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he said, admiring his work.

He kneeled down and cupped her face in his hands, looked her in the eyes. She hadn’t noticed his were so green.

“You’re a fucking slutty angel,” he said, “That makes me so fucking hard.”

“I want to see,” she said.

He stood up and dropped his pants to his ankles. His dick stood erect in front of her. Thick and gleaming with precum. She went to put it in her mouth, but he took a step back. She looked up, confused.

“Ask nicely,” he said.

“Please,” she asked.

“You have been good so far.”

“I want to feel your cock in my mouth.”

“Good,” he said. “Come.” She scooted forward, the thick carpet scraping against her knees. Once she reached him, she leaned in and let his cock fill her mouth. She leaned forward, with no arms to stop her. Bound. On her knees. With a stranger’s cock in her mouth. In a town she’d never been. It made her wet. Her panties felt moist in the air below her skirt.

“God that feels so good,” he said. “You like my cock in your mouth, don’t you?” And she moaned against the shaft of his dick. He pushed her head further down his cock, and she thought she was going to gag, but she calmed her throat and focused on the feeling of being full of him.

He pulled her head back and cupped her face in his hands.

“God you’re so dirty. I fucking love it.” He kissed her hard.

“I want you to feel how wet you make me,” she said.

He pulled her up from the arms, and pushed her backward on to the couch. She fell into it, her arms still tied behind her. It was Velvet and warm against her skin and nothing hurt. He lifted her shirt, and pulled out her breast above the bra. He sucked on her hard nipple. The cool air licked it after he stopped.

He trailed down, lifted her skirt and rubbed his hands along the inside of her thighs, pushing her pussy together through her leggings, but not touching her any closer than that.

“Look how fucking wet you are,” he said, and she felt his warm breath against her. His deep voice vibrating the air between them. “Tied up in a room with a man you barely know. Tell me how much you want me to make you cum.”

“I need to,” she said, and she felt it.

He grazed a finger or a tongue across her clit, lightly. Teasing. God. She needed him.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Please,” She said. “I want you to lick me until I cum.”

He tore a hole in the leggings, and pushed her panties to the side. He paused a moment, and then slid his tongue from her slit, slowly, up to her clit. Once there, he sucked lightly, slowly, flicking with his tongue. She breathed in deep. She pulled against the ropes at her back. Her tits in the air, her pussy in his mouth, helpless. Helpless. His tongue worked in circles with her.
She felt a finger slide into her, then another, pushing inside her, and just as she was about to cum, her breath getting faster and deeper, her toes about to curl, he pulled his tongue away, slid his finger out of her and and put it in her mouth. She tasted herself. Sucked on his finger. She wanted to pout.

“You can’t cum yet,” he said, getting on the couch with her, between her. He put two, three fingers in her mouth so she couldn’t do anything but stare at him and nod. He pressed his cock against her thick pussy and rubbed it.

“You want this cock in your tight pussy?” he said, rubbing more. She thought she could cum from just him rubbing on her, but she held back. She gyrated her hips against him and moaned yes. Before she could say anything, if she even could, his fingers still in her mouth, he slid into her, her wetness making it easy. They moaned together. He leaned into her, slowly, and talked into her ear.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he said.

She closed her eyes, and felt her tits bounce back and forth as he sped up, and went harder. She opened them again and looked up at him. His shirt was still buttoned, and he made eye contact with her. She wanted to keep it, to stare in his eyes as he came in her, to see a stranger do it, but she wanted to feel her face pushed against the velvet couch even more.

“I want you to fuck me from behind,” she said.

He got off the couch, and pulled her down so her knees were on the ground, her tits and body bent against the couch. He got behind her, ripped her leggings more, and pushed deep into her. slowly. She couldn’t move forward or backward. Even more helpless than before. Stuck between him and the couch, bound.

“I want to feel you cum on my cock,” he said, and slapped her ass, loud enough she wondered who would hear them. But before her mind could get lost in the voyeurism, the exhibitionism, he reached around and danced his fingers along her clit.

She bucked against him and his his cock filled her. She came quick and fast and surprised herself.

“I’m your dirty fucking slut,” she said, face in the velvet couch, not even aware of what she was saying. “Fill me up.”

He grabbed her tied hands, pulled her hips into him, deeper.

“Tell me you want me to cum in you,” he said.

“Please,” she said. “Please cum in me.”

He came in her hard, grunting with each thrust, and leaning his weight against her.

When he pulled out, his cum dripped down from her and into the carpet. She felt it against her thighs, her torn leggings. She wanted to feel bad about possibility staining the carpet, but all she felt was good.

“I do think it’s true,” she said. “That a good fuck can save you.”

“We should at least buy that book then,” he said, untying her, and kissing her softly. “And then you can make me cookies like you promised.”

She slide a finger in her self, coated her finger with his cum, and then tasted it, wondering if she could make cookies as sweet.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/eup67g/the_bookstore_stranger_fsub_fm_rough_semipublic