I'd been working at the bookstore for about a month. I got along well with the owner, Mrs. Johnson but she was pretty stuffy. She was friendly enough, but seemed very conservative. She wore dresses most of the time and they were almost always below her knees. She always addressed me as Mr. Barnett and though her name was Chloe, she insisted that I call her Mrs. Johnson.
Mrs. Johnson was an attractive woman somewhere in her 30s I guessed, and was married to an older guy who was just as stuffy if not more so. He owned another company as well as the bookstore. I assumed this was more of a hobby for Mrs. Johnson but it didn't matter, it paid well and was a good part-time job.
I liked working for Mrs. Johnson, she pretty much left me alone to do the things she asked me to do. She was very knowledgeable about literature, and I never heard her steer a customer wrong. She let me borrow books to read from time to time and I learned quite a bit.
We talked about lots of things; Politics, in which we differed quite a bit, and current happenings around the world or just here in the city, but mainly we talked about books. I had my favorite authors and genres, she had hers. We talked of writing styles but we always kept it on more or less a professional level. Mrs. Johnson was always very proper and I thought she could just about be called a prude.
We received a shipment of books from a publisher that had a lot of new samples of what they were pushing. Mrs. Johnson opened the box and started handing them to me to sort. history, novels, new best sellers, we commented on each one as to whether or not it would sell.
One book was a collection of erotica. She blushed when she handed it to me and didn't say anything. We didn't have a section for that in the store, so I put it aside and decided to just put it in the store room if she didn't tell me where to put it. We went through the rest of the shipment and arranged them all in the appropriate stacks for putting on our shelves, except for the orphan book.
Mrs. Johnson went back into the office to do some paperwork while I put the new books on the display racks and the shelves. I put the lone book on erotica back in the store room and decided that I'd read it that evening. Later on, I looked for the book but it was not where I put it. I smiled to myself and thought "Hard to resist this stuff, huh?"
Nothing was ever said and the next morning the book was back on the shelf. I picked it up and read through a few pages. It was more fun imagining Mrs. Johnson's reaction to the stories and poetry than it was reading the book so I left it where it was.
It looked to me like Mrs. Johnson had a great body underneath those long dresses and conservative suits. She wasn't really what I'd call "busty" but definitely not flat either. She wore glasses and her hair was up most of the time, you know... what you think of when you think of a librarian.
I loved watching her bending over and working at the shelves though, and imagined what might be underneath those conservative clothes. I thought of her more and more doing things like biting her lip as she read, furtively touched herself, or squirming in her chair as she fantasized about living some of the stories in the book.
I started to have fantasies of my own about Mrs Johnson which invariably left me as hard as a rock. I tried to think of her as Chloe, but somehow "Mrs. Johnson" just seemed hotter. I wondered which stories turned her on the most. There were several different genres in the book.
Was she intrigued about self pleasure? Was exhibitionism something that she thought about? What about watching as others had sex or pleasured themselves? Did she live vicariously through the women who met strangers or took part in a threesome?
My favorite mental image of Mrs. Johnson was her sitting in her living room, drinking a glass of wine reading the book and slowly undressing as she read. She would sigh and touch her nipples first through her blouse or bra and then she would gently pull at them after she was naked.
I pictured her as having near perfect breasts, with quarter sized nipples that were tilted slightly upward. I just knew that her bush matched her hair, a light brown color and that it was natural, not trimmed. She would sit back in her chair with one foot up in the chair and absent mindedly, lost in thought, caress her pussy lips with her fintertips. Quite often I'd have to force myself out of my daydream and get to work. More than once I'm sure Mrs. Johnson wondered why I was blushing in the middle of a conversation.
One day, I was stocking some shelves in the front of the shop and Mrs. Johnson was in the back organizing some shelves. She was up on a ladder when I walked in to get some more books but her dress kept me from getting much of a look at anything besides her ankles.
She was wearing a long, fairly loose dress that buttoned up all the way from the bottom to the top. She reminded me to put out some new editions of a classic we'd just got in and I replied "Yes Ma'am. I walked back out to the front and was busy swapping out a display when I heard Mrs. Johnson scream and there was a crash in the back room.
I rushed back to the room and found Mrs. Johnson laying on the floor out cold. I immediately went over to see if she was ok. She wasn't bleeding and she had a strong pulse but she was unconscious. I reached for my cell phone to call 911 and paused. She was laying on her back with one knee up. Her dress was hiked up around her hips and to my amazement she was wearing a sheer black thong. Her skin was pale but very smooth and she had some killer legs! I could see through her panties and she was as bald as a baby except for a small tuft. I knew I should call an ambulance but I hesitated.
It was as if my hand belonged to someone else. I reached out and touched her pussy. Almost immediately her lips seemed to swell. I rubbed them a little more and could feel the wetness begin. It took only a few seconds for her thong to get soaked through. I'd never experienced anything like it.
I was about ready to stop and make the call when her hips began to move. Mrs. Johnson lifted her hips as I continued to caress her. I stopped rubbing and dialed 911 on my phone. I was going to press "talk" but suddenly Mrs Johnson grabbed my wrist.
I knew I was dead. Fired, arrested and killed! I looked down and her eyes met mine and held them. She guided my fingers back down to her soaked thong and rubbed herself with them. Her knee lifted up higher and her hips continued to move. Mrs. Johnson moaned softly and let go of my wrist. Her puffy lips seemed to grow under my fingertips.
She softly whispered "Don't stop." I slipped a finger under her thong and caressed the slick wetness between her lips. I slid her thong aside and slipped first one, then two fingers inside her. She moved her hips in time with my fingers and squeezed her breasts through her dress. Her clit was swollen and I circled it with my thumb. It felt as though someone had poured oil on my hand she was so wet.
I pulled her thong down and off over her ankles. I slipped my fingers back inside her and she moaned "Oooooooooo yessssssssss" again.
My ring finger was sliding between her cheeks and I continued to tease her clit with my thumb. I wiggled my finger inside her pressing against the inside of her belly. I leaned down for a taste but she pushed me away and said in a thick voice "Just your hand." By now my hand was making squishing noises and her hips were gyrating slowly but sensually. I was so hard I could barely contain myself.
Mrs. Johnson's tuft was actually a perfectly sculpted heart. Her swollen lips were luscious and gripped my fingers tightly. Her body began to shudder and just as suddenly as she grabbed my wrist earlier, she squeezed her legs together, trapping my hand inside her.
Instead of arching her back, she sat up and held my hand in place by wrapping her arms around mine. She moaned deeply and screamed from somewhere very deep within. Mrs. Johnson came HARD again and again. Her fingernails dug into my bare arm and her muscles clenched around my fingers with each orgasm. She held me tightly and flooded all over my hand. Gradually, she relaxed and slowly released me.
She looked at me and whispered "Not a WORD."
Mrs. Johnson stood up. Her soaked dress fell covering up her beautiful legs that were slick with her juices. She bent over to pick up her thong, her eyes never leaving mine. She walked around the corner. I heard the door to her office close and then I stood up as well noticing for the first time the wet spot on the front of my pants.
I shook my head and hoarsely wishpered "WOW!" and licked off one of my fingers. "Who'd have thought it?"
I went into the bathroom and reluctantly washed my hands. I knew that I'd have to gather up my stuff and go. I debated on whether or not to take the book with me, but decided to leave it for her to enjoy.
I was packing up some of my things into a box when the door to her office opened and she stepped out. She was wearing different clothes and her cheeks were still red. I expected her to fire me on the spot so it was a bit of a shock when she simply said "Tomorrow, I want you to put up the new shelves."
I almost dropped the box I was holding. I smiled and said "Yes Ma'am." I let my eyes roam over her.
