Masked Girl

PART I

Browsing, in any form, can be the best way to spend a morning in an unfamiliar city.

It didn't look like much from the outside. A couple of tattered books on a weathered shelf by the front door. The sign resting atop didn't read in English but I could tell it was open despite the shopkeeper's best efforts to let the place fall to hell. I had to use my shoulder to nudge the door open and immediately I got hit with that familiar smell. Doesn't matter where the hell you are in the world, just about every used bookshop smells the same; cool and a little damp, maybe it's the moisture sucked right out of the pages, a little bit of the ink and cardboard mixed in.

Somewhere in the back I could here the shuffling of books, probably the owner reorganizing. I stepped carefully around the waist-high piles of books crowding the entrance. The shop seemed small with only a handful of aisles. I headed toward the other side of the store, away from the sound of ruffling pages.

I made my way down an aisle running my fingers lightly over the bindings, the thump of each finger skipping from title to title. I didn't read them, just let my fingers find the way. It was dark in the store and it darkened more as I approached a poorly lit back corner. The window above the wall-length book shelf was completely crowded by books. I turned the corner to head back up the next aisle, and just as I did I caught a glimpse of another customer. I hadn't heard anyone else come in. She must have been there before me. I didn't catch her face but I saw her hand linger on the back of a shelf, just as I had, before she turned the corner to go up the aisle next to me, leaving a little perfume in her wake.

I ducked a little to see between the tops of the books and the bottom of the next shelf. They were packed so damned tight I could barely make out what was on the other side. I moved a little down the aisle. Her fingers playfully tapped the tops of the books on her end of the shelf as if she were counting. I stayed still and held my breath to see what I could hear.

The boards creaked underneath her with each step she made. Then she stopped. I thought I heard a little laugh, but I couldn't tell over the sound of my own steps. Now I could see through to the other side, though I could barely make out the charcoal gray color of her shirt. I caught the curve of her breast as she turned to her side. She held a book up to the light so she could more easily read the fading title, barely visible on the spine. Her arm lifted up elegantly; in this light her soft olive skin contrasted greatly with the darkness around her. She faced away from me. I leaned in using the palms of my hands to slowly lower myself closer to the book shelf. Now she had her arms by her side, gently pushing in at the tops of her breasts. For a moment I imagined what it would feel like to run my lips across the top of her chest.

I hadn't taken a breath yet. I opened my mouth wide so I could exhale deeply without making too much noise. Her arms pushed together a little more as she continued to study the book. I watched as the smoothness of her chest gave way to her swelling breast. The ring of her top moved mockingly with each incantation of her breath. One hand held the book open while the other hand glided up and down her neck. I could see her chest begin to turn flush. The arch of her breasts faded delicately into her shirt, between them, her shirt pulled tight. With each breath her shirt grew tighter, her breast revealed in greater detail. Slowly, two perfect nipples began to harden. They rested gently on the very tops of her tits.

I envied her steady deep breath increasingly. My head spun a little under the weight of the circumstances, and I could feel my heart knocking about for some more air. I quietly drew in an even breath. She let her shoulder strap fall to her side. I shuddered - the near bareness - the corner of her shirt held-up entirely by the protruding breast, dangling on the edge.

My hips moved forward slowly, uncontrollably and I pushed up on my toes, tightening damn near every muscle below my waist. My calves turned to rocks under the pressure.

With a slight touch of her fingers she slipped the remaining strap over the crest of her shoulder, allowing it to slide down her arm. In the eternity of that moment, my legs found ground and I f***ed the swelling at the base of my shaft; flexing, I felt the muscles thicken, the tightening of my pants around it, the pressure of my jeans massaging me as I tried to push through, and I could feel it reaching farther down my leg.

Her skirt twirled and she sauntered down the aisle. I watched through the books as she turned the corner, her hand, again, caressing the corner of the bookshelf. She lightly placed the book atop a stack at the end.

It's darker still around the next corner. I had to steady myself along the wall of books with one hand, with the other I stole a good strong choke and pushed it around to find more room.

I moved toward the very back of the store. The ceiling was much lower and a single lamp left on the floor shed light down the aisle, books s**ttered about, some in piles as tall as me. From where I stood I could barely make out her figure moving even farther back. Her shoulder straps still swung at her sides to the rhythm of her step, and I could see her bottom shift through her skirt.

I turned the corner to find her there, tucked away in a little nook, sitting taught upon a stack of ancient books. Her back kept straight so as to keep her blouse from dropping, the top now hanging from little more than her nipples, teetering with the same screeching desire I felt beginning to drip inside me.

My face turned to stone as I squinted, trying to finally make out the features of her face. The lamp, far behind me now, only worked to cast dull shadows. But I could see her hands, her fingers making alternating bunches of her skirt. I watched each handful, her fingers stretching out to grab the next bunch, and the next as she slowly revealed herself.

Taking the bunches into one hand she let the other fall between her legs, which were now tensing arrhythmically with the anticipation of the moment. She let her fingers, almost lifeless, graze the delicate pubic hairs now becoming sopped, black but gleaming. She dug lightly to find her clit, to drag it up under the curve of her finger, allowing the folds to swell and push away from each other, with greater ease as the wetness dripped out of her and onto the stacks she sat upon.

She leaned back into the book shelf behind her; the small nook was lined with them, and they did well to dampen the sound of her breathing. I rested one arm along the entrance, the other slid down to let loose my belt.

I thumbed the button through the whole and dragged the zipper down; the cracking, uneven texture of metal grinding against metal, such a distinct sound when taken with care, when appreciated in each tiny, crackling promise of anticipated ecstasy. I watched her there, beginning to writhe silently, as her top began to loosen from her breast.

I hadn't worn anything under my jeans this day, preferring the freedom to get hard uninhibited. I think she liked the look of it as I pull them down; there's an immediacy to it: the flap of the jeans hanging down by the weight of the button; first, the base of it; she catches a glimpse of its width, the bulging vein leading from the top; I'm pushing my jeans lower and I can feel the harsh stitching riding down the side of it; I can feel the coolness running over the smooth skin; they drop lower still; then, the slight pause right before I pull them past the tip. I let out a slow drip onto the s**ttered books below me.

My jeans just above my knees, my arms drop to my sides. I could feel my hands thick and warm with bl**d, the veins pushing out of my arms, my pulse in my neck, as she slipped down from where she sat and moved toward me.

I hung in the air before her while she placed a hand on my leg. Her other hand came up along the side of me. She was hidden completely in my shadow, I felt her breath travel down along the length of my cock; she was underneath it now, enveloping me in her hot breath. She let her hair fall down on me like a thousand finger tips. I began to make out the ridge of her lip between the alternating coolness of each breath drawn in, and the hot, wet exhale. She let it touch the middle of her tongue just before she brought her lips around me, my body crushing a little.

I felt the pinch of her teeth as I unexpectedly thickened inside her mouth. She sucked me tight and slow as she drew me out of her mouth. With one hand I felt her pull back hard on my skin, a dull pressure, and I fight it, flexing with as much power as I can. She lets loose as she slipped her lips around me, starting from the very tip, over the crevices and down my shaft, over where I'm most thick, but not all the way down. She waited before getting the whole cock wet in her mouth.

END PART I
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Posted by Signmeup1
2 years ago    Views: 184
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2 years ago
Great story!! Have to say used book stores are my favorite places in the world. I can walk into one and feel as if I am being embraced.

Thank you for sharing,
Skye