Into the Curiosity Shop

Chapter 1

Christopher had opened the store two years ago after a successful run at a software company. His friends thought he was crazy for opening a sex shop, but he told them it would be different - in a decent part of town, well lit, friendly.

He wanted to people to feel comfortable in the store, and he liked to consider it "upscale" in the sense it was tastefully decorated. He had everything from basic sex toys to very high end erotic costumes, latex, leather, boots and literature.

There was a young woman who lately kept eyeing the store on her way to school. He guessed she was still in high school by the uniform. There was something about her he couldn't get out of his head. She looked the clean cut type, all-American girl, but she was definitely very, very curious about the contents of the shop.

Alison was only allowed to walk in respectable parts of the city, per orders from her parents, who were not particularly keen on her walking at all. She found there was little of interest to find in those neighborhoods, though she still preferred it to the monotonous bus ride or subway travel. And so she always got off stops away from her home so she could travel a few blocks and experience the city.

But there was one route she found she took every day. It held the one shining dark pearl of interest on her walk, in her day, maybe in her life. It was like something you couldn't help coming back to, an itch that was polished by your touch. A shop that hinted at things she didn't know about, but felt instead.

Today as usual, Alison slowed as she reached its window front. She was dressed as any girl at her school, in a tartan skirt, dark gray tights, a white blouse with no neckline at all. Being as school was out, the sleeves were rolled up, revealing her dark skinned arms, and her hair pinned up in a messy bunch with two sticks. Her low-heeled shoes clicked slower as she gazed into the window, intrigued by what she saw and what she knew she wasn't seeing.

Christopher didn't usually open the store until 4, but he liked to get in earlier to review the inventory. He simply didn't get much traffic during the day, and he didn't mind the evening hours and in fact had employees to manage the store late into the night. Today he noticed the school girl again, walking even more slowly than usual. He considered his attire for the day, jeans and a white button-down Brooks Brothers shirt. What was it about her? He felt guilty for even thinking sexual thoughts about her, guessing that she was about 18. At 42, he was old enough to be her father. Still, what was the harm in saying hello to a pretty girl standing outside your store? He opened the door as she approached, and in his warmest, friendliest smile said, "Hi there."

Alison jumped as the latch opened, her heart suddenly racing, fear in her stomach as if she had just been caught at something. Her reverie broken, she turned from the window and looked at the man standing in the doorway. The dark passion his window had stirred in her was still visible in her eyes, a brief window into her soul before she gathered herself. Blushing she smiled nervously. "Hi," she muttered and ducked her head, ready to move away.

"You'd be surprised you know," he said, the smile in his voice trying to wash out any hint of aggressiveness.

She only took one step before he spoke. What did that mean, she asked herself, stopping and turning to him once more, first seeing her reflection in the storefront window. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" she asked politely, sounding like the high school queen she was.

"I can guess what you think it's like inside. And I can guarantee you it's not that." He liked her poise, confidence, but something about her vulnerability too. He could tell her curiosity was strong. "I used to run a software company, believe it or not," he said, appealing to her sense of ambition. She's probably a straight A student. "Started this store as a hobby, and now do quite well. We don't open for another hour, but I'd be happy to show you what's inside. You'd be the only customer - the whole place to yourself."

She wondered at first why he was speaking to her. But a look into his eyes and she remembered, remembered seeing him before, through the window. Her face grew hot as she realized he must have seen her looking before, noticed her. What must he think of her? Alison opened her mouth to brush him off but something stayed the words. He already knew, he already knew who she was, that she was the type to look in his windows, day after day. And here it was, her chance to step into that world that had been pulling on her for years. Before even she knew about this store. "Okay," she answered in a small but steady voice and she felt things click as if she had just switched tracks, or crossed a chasm.

"Great," he said warmly, and though he'd been confident he would get her into the store eventually, was pleasantly surprised to hook her on the first try. "I'm Christopher," he said looking directly into her pretty eyes and extending his hand. She was polite and well mannered and would expect a handshake. God, she was beautiful. From inside the store, through the glass, he could tell she was pretty, but this close she was stunning, without a stitch of makeup on. She smelled clean and natural, more soap than perfume. "Come on in."

His pleasant, polite response both reassured and worried her. It suddenly seemed so normal, so pedestrian as she shook his hand and readied to walk into the store. The door, well, no the window, had always seemed like a dark portal, partly mirrored, into something fantastic. She knew the something was really dark and fantastic deep in her own mind, but all the same. To shake hands and step into it like this . . . "I'm Alison," she answered him, perhaps more honestly than she should have. Her eyes glanced away at the street, wondering if anyone was watching this exchange, and what they would make of it.

He opened the door and followed her into the store. "Alison, this is probably a whole new world for you. Keep your mind open to possibilities. I've found that my customers are some of the most intelligent, creative people I've ever met. They might have a different perspective on things, but it's just different, not good or bad. Now -- my apologies for the lecture. I'm going to let you explore for a while. Take a look around and then ask me anything you'd like. Ok?"

Into the rabbit hole, the phrase came to her mind unwittingly as she stepped into the dimmer interior. While the tinted windows kept out the bright sun, she was surprised to see it was rather well lit inside, clean, spacious, not at all sleazy. As long as you ignored the displays, the objects, the artwork. Alison froze a few steps in, her heart racing, hearing the door close behind her, knowing that they were alone, the two of them in this world. She really didn't listen to his lecture, only to the tone of his words. She avoided looking at him at first as she stepped, in her school uniform, past some displays, glancing inside.

The angle of her upper body, leaning forward from the waist but her feet behind her, reminded him of some Disney adaptation of a fairy tale from his youth. He couldn't remember which, but thought, she does look like a princess. The act of leaning forward also revealed a certain athleticism he hadn't seen before, and without her looking he imagined what her body must be like under that uniform. "Go ahead, don't worry . . . it's just you in here . . . no one will see you."

She glanced at him at the sound of his voice, her dark eyes meeting his and then looking away. She realized what she had been doing and laughing nervously stepped into the shop some distance, glancing around to either side. No one will see me, I should be worried about that, one voice inside told her. And it wasn't that she had no concerns about the man. Look what he did for work. She knew she really was not worried because she wasn't sure she didn't want him to do something. Isn't this what this was all about, that there was something in her that had drawn her here, that she couldn't tell anyone else about. "Will you show me your wares?" she asked politely, turning those dark eyes back on him.

He could see from the rising and falling of her chest that she was breathing a little heavier, and her cheeks were flushed. He suddenly wondered if she'd ever had sex, if she'd watched porn, if she masturbated. He hadn't really thought about her in that way before, that level of detail, but he pondered these things as he watched her, and felt his own pulse quickening, remembering an Updike quote from Rabbit is Rich, something about any time a man is alone with a woman, regardless of place, age, he was always wondering if they would have sex.

She looked over at him, waiting for him to answer her question. She found his eyes on hers and there was an electric current between them. She stared at him for she didn't know how long before she realized it had been too long. She turned quickly away, trying to busy herself with whatever was in front of her. A sex swing the description said. She felt the blush spread, as if turning into something more, across her chest, her breasts, into her stomach, between her legs, her thighs feeling hot in their tights.

It took him a second to realize she'd asked a question. "Oh, um, well, yes, I'll show you around. "How much do you know about any of this? Down this first aisle are basic sex toys . . . used mostly be women . . . dildos and vibrators, that type of thing. Do you know what those are?"

Alison breathed again as he began to talk and broke the reverie. She looked away from the swing, pulled her eyes away from the illustrations on it and looked where he gestured. He spoke as if it was a grocery store. But it wasn't, it was like some medieval apothecary, selling mysterious potions to change your life. The dildos and vibrators, they were lewd, sexual, some crude or enticing but they didn't hold her gaze for too long. She kept glancing away, knowing there would be darker things here. "Yes, I know about those," she said politely. She had a vibrator, from her sister, but she'd never much taken to it.

"Down this next aisle is our erotic literature and the aisle beyond that are videos, though these are of exceptional quality - they're art more than . . . porn. Not the type of thing you would find online. Only the most attractive women . . . models, really." He'd provided this overview to countless customers nonchalantly, and though he tried to keep it light, with this beautiful young woman he was trying his best to keep her relaxed but interested, gauging how much she wanted to see.

Alison nodded, wondering at this man who would so nonchalantly tell a high schooler about his porn offerings. She believed what he said about them, the shop oozed of a kind of high-end art. It gave a luster to the desires it embodied, the desires she possessed, that she'd never considered before. She knew there was video available online, even of the things she imagined in the dead of night. She had tried looking once or twice. But it had been too much, she had felt herself out of control looking at it, just reading about it. She'd had to stay away, her stroll by this window her only descent to this world outside of her exertions in her imagination late at night. "You make it all look very nice," she said, feeling she should make a comment, a compliment, sounding like a girl on a field trip.

He smiled, charmed by the compliment, curious what was running through her head. "The last aisle contains fetish wear. Do you know what that is Alison?"

He couldn't help notice her freeze in her tracks as he said that, like a rabbit seeing a shadow pass over. She could feel blood rushing in her head back and forth, back and forth, pumped by her heart, athletic, in the prime of life. "Y-, yes," she answered him, turning to look at him. And in that moment she felt she stood revealed somehow, that just her simple response, her eyes, the way her body felt, it was all transmitting a message to him about what kind of girl she was. It was something she didn't understand but she knew it was true, and that it was wrong and that she should never have come in here, but that coming in here was all that she wanted. She turned, her head moving slowly as if drawn inexorably towards the aisle to the items on display. To her they were not so much offered up for sale but for adulation, worship, sacrifice.

Her answer confirmed his very first opinion of her and he might have smiled too broadly at her reply. Yes, she was very curious indeed. And if she was that curious, he could take her places. He felt his response in his jeans, the swelling. Every once in a while he had some of the "tough girls" older than Alison stop in, as if on a dare, to prove something to their friends. But Alison, standing her in her private school uniform, perfect teeth, and, he was guessing, her perfect body, to show her - to bring her into this world, he felt his throat suddenly dry. Swallowed, "Good . . . I'm glad you know. These are very high end." He pointed to a pair of high, shiny, soft black leather boots that laced all the way up, six inch heels. "These boots are $1,000 . . . from Italy."

Alison's eyes darted sideway at his comment, that he was glad. She wondered briefly what he meant by that, wondering if what she was reading in his eyes was true. But she was easily distracted by the items on display, by the boots he showed her. She supposed she should be impressed by the price, by the origin. But it was just the boots themselves that intrigued her. They were tall, so tall she knew they would wrap tightly around her calves, all the way to her knees. They would be like wearing a second skin, not a boot, if it weren't for that heel, tilting her body just so. And what a skin it would be. She didn't think before reaching out and stroking the leather. She wanted to lean in and smell it but stopped herself, glancing over at him and blushing some more. She didn't trust herself to say anything. He had a sudden flash in his mind of her standing in those boots, beautifully toned, tanned thighs, the heels accentuating the curve of her firm young buttocks. "You like them Alison? Would you like to try them on? Come on -- just for a laugh, it'll be fun," he said warmly, as if she were trying on a new pair of running shoes.

She did, she did want to try them on. She wanted to feel the leather encasing her legs, tighter and tighter, her body tottering on those heels. She glanced at him, a bit unsure, knowing she would need his help. The tone of his voice was even, bright, treating her perhaps as he thought she was, a teen girl with for whom this would be nothing but a lark. Maybe he didn't know, she thought to herself, and part of her thought that was better. Part of her was disappointed. "Yeah, sure, I could try them on. When else will I wear anything so expensive," she joked lightly, trying to meet his tone.

"Excellent." He reached up to get the boots for her, reminding himself to take it slowly. He didn't even know how old she was. For now, whatever feelings he was having toward her he mustn't show them. Keep it light, he kept saying to himself. And despite this, he could feel his body reacting to the thought, just the thought, of her in the boots. "The laces will take a little while, but I can help you. There's a chair here you can sit on while you put them on."

Alison took the boots from him, paying less attention to him now, as if he were just a guide, a figment of her imagination even, bringing her into this world. No, her senses were focused on the boots in her hands, feeling the leather, the weight of them as she took them. She sat down in the chair he pointed out to her, setting each boot on the floor where it flopped over, without her leg to give it shape.

She bent over her knees, undoing her school shoes, unable to see him as her hair fell about her face.

This was turning a corner, he thought. It was one thing to have her look around the store, but this girl was brave. There was something beyond the straight-A student good girl that she was hiding, and he felt it was now almost his duty to bring it out in her. For a moment he saw her neck exposed as she leaned forward, and he stood above her. He kneeled down in front of her, and her face was suddenly closer than he intended it to be, and he could smell her shampoo. "Need some help Alison?"

Alison looked up in surprise, her reverie having made her oblivious to his sudden nearness. When she lifted her head her face was right there, inches from hers. She smelled as any good girl would, of shampoo and lip gloss. Only the dark pools of her eyes hinted at something beyond all that. She looked down, blushing a bit, at her bare feet on his store floor. "Sure, probably," she said, realizing she was a bit unsure how to do these, other than putting her foot in first, which is what she did.

"It's up to you Alison, but to get the full effect you might want to take off your tights first. There's no way quick way to get these on. You have to unlace them first, and then put them and lace them all the way back up. If you take one, I'll take the other."

Alison looked at him, kneeling next to her. She knew what that would mean, to sit here and bare her legs and let this man lace these boots up them. She felt that thing inside her which she tried to keep caged away coming loose at the thought. "Sure, well, might as well do it the right way," she said lightly, sitting up straight again. "Just . . . turn away for a minute," she said, heat in her cheeks as she prepared to slide her tights down. She was keenly aware suddenly of just the two of them in this whole building.

" Of course," he said without hesitation. He glanced over at the mirrored wall behind the register and could see Alison's reflection perfectly clearly. Still, he only watched out of the corner of his eye. It felt like she was taking off more than just her tights. His words were resulting in her actions, and even though it was just tights it was the same process if she were starting to undress completely. He was feeling a connection to this girl, alone together in his store, and he was glad that he hadn't turned on the security cameras. Whatever happened this afternoon he didn't want anyone to have a record of it.

He pictured her delicate hands on the waistband of her tights, and couldn't help but wonder what kind of panties she had on underneath. White cotton to match the good girl image? Cartoonish? No, doesn't seem the type. A thong? Maybe she didn't wear any. He felt like it was something he needed to know.

She felt him turn away and she stood, every rustle of her clothing seeming loud in the quiet shop. Doublechecking to make sure he was facing away, Alison reached under her school skirt, having to hike it up before hooking her thumbs in the waist of her tights and pulling them down. The sound of her tights sliding down her bare skin was almost obscene, the only sound in the room, so clear to the both of them - the teenage girl and the fetish shop owner.

Alison found her heart pounding so hard she thought he might hear it too, and was embarrassed to feel the heat rushing to her crotch. She knew she would be wet before she finished stripping off the tights, and she was, laying them on the floor next to her shoes in what suddenly seemed like the most lurid display. Sitting back down, feeling suddenly different with only her pale blue cotton panties under her skirt, Alison pressed her knees together. "Okay."

The first thing Christopher saw when he turned around were her tights on the floor. They weren't quite folded, and they weren't in a crumpled ball either. The next thing he noticed were her feet, and their nakedness surprised him. Well manicured feet of an athlete with just the slightest hint of what had been an ankle tan. He could see calluses. His eyes traveled quickly up her bare legs into those eyes. So close. "Ok, you start unlacing this one," he said, handing her one of the boots, "and I'll start on this one." In the silence, each focusing on their task, he could feel some kind of tension building, and he debated about trying to fill the quiet with conversation. "You'll be the first," he said.