If I told you about my day you'd never believe it. No, I'm not exaggerating. No one ever believes me. My mother has threatened more than once to have me committed. She says I'm a compulsive liar. When I tell her I'm not a liar, everything I say is the truth, scout's honor. She tells me than I must be hallucinating or losing my grip on reality. She also thinks I'm dangerously obsessed with sex. I ask her what girl wouldn't be in my position and she just bites her lip and gives me her worried look. I've stopped answering her calls so often.
My friends have all stopped coming by. They think I'm constantly trying to one up their stories. I can't even answer the question "How was your day?" without being accused of nefarious intentions. It makes having any kind of social life difficult.
What's that? You still want to hear? You're just like the others. You think I'm lying and have a sick desire to see how far I'll go. Fine, I give up. I'm tired of arguing. I'll tell you the truth and you can decide for yourself.
I woke up this morning at six o'clock to the blaring of my alarm clock. The sun was barely peeking above the horizon but it was time to start the day. I hopped into the shower ignoring the tentative tap of tentacles on the drain cover. The thing that lives down there knows not to bother me until I've at least had a cup of coffee.
When I emerged warm and slick, the room was filled with fragrant steam. The mirror had fogged over and the poltergeist had left me a good morning message in dripping letters. I wiped it away quickly and blow dried my hair. I applied my makeup and started deciding what to wear today. My wardrobe was getting incredibly thin, I reminded myself to plan a shopping trip this weekend. When I was finished primping and preening, I noticed it was nearly seven. Coffee would have to be to-go. I called out a farewell to the other denizens of my apartment and made my way out the door.
I work in the city where apartment prices are sky high so I had to settle for a more affordable place on the outskirts and a longer commute. When I first rented the place I thought the train ride would be a great time to catch up on my reading. After a few days I learned better. I don't bother bringing books or headphones anymore. There's never time to sit down and enjoy the quiet moments.
The subway train chuffed into the station and came to a rumbling stop at the platform bringing with it the smell of ozone and grime. I picked an empty car and climbed aboard settling comfortably in the molded plastic seat. At the next stop, a biker gang boarded and made their way to my car. They were tall and tough. Each one had broad shoulders and flexing muscles beneath the dark lines of their tattoos.
Their president wore his blond hair slicked back from his face. His eyes were soulful in the harsh lines of his masculine face. He told me their story. They were on the run from corrupt cops and a sadistic man who conspired to take over their club. They weren't good men but they weren't bad men either. Now they were looking for a heroine to help them take back their club with her quick wits and sultry good looks. I told them I was sorry but I had to be in to work by eight. I didn't have time today.
The president nodded sadly before peeling off my blouse. His fingers found the clasp of my bra and unhooked it with practiced ease. He turned me around and pressed me against the door. The window's glass was cool on my aching nipples. Startled commuters watched as we passed station after station. He bunched my skirt up over my hips and tore my panties away with an animalistic growl.
The straining head of his cock probed against my entrance. I could feel that he was rock hard already. Slowly he pushed into me, spreading me inch by inch around his huge cock until he was buried inside of me completely. He began to fuck me, slowly at first, with short, shallow strokes that rubbed delicious friction against my walls. I bucked my hips back towards him urging him to give me more. Give me everything. He moaned deep in his throat and pistoned himself forward faster. His hips ground against my backside and his fingers clenched around my hips as he drove into me again and again. With each brutal thrust I was pressed against the glass. I could smell leather and exhaust when he pulled my hair.
The heat and hardness of his cock speared through me, knotting in my belly and spreading through my core. He rode me with wild abandon, fucking like an animal lost in lust. Lost in the essential need to bury yourself in a wet and willing female. I could feel the steady rhythmic slap of his skin against mine. The other bikers watched as their president took me from behind and used my body. When we came, it was in unison, our bodies clenching and twitching against each other as he filled me with his seed.
I told him I hoped he found his heroine as we parted at the station and he thanked me.
I began the three block walk to the bookstore where I work narrowly avoiding a pack of cowboys on horses riding down the street. A firefighter came running up to talk to me but I waved him off. I was already late for work and knew I was in deep trouble.
The bookstore looks small and quaint on the outside but inside it rivals the library The Beast presented to Belle. Its high ceiling stretches up into darkness. Shelves are jam packed with beautiful leather bound books, oddities and knick knacks. It smells like old leather, aged wood and the spicy scent of paper. It's my home away from home although I never even crack the bindings on anything for sale here. They're all stocked with ancient and arcane knowledge best left unexplored.
My boss is the owner. He's also a billionaire although I'm not sure how he came to be so wealthy. Everything about him is a mystery. He moves with the sleek grace of a black panther. His black hair is always swept away from the sharp lines of his face. His eyes are black pools, totally unreadable. His golden muscular body is covered with tattooed runes, origin and symbolism unknown.
"You're late." His voice rumbled like thunder. A dangerous warning.
