DISCLAIMER:
Any and all breath play portrayed in MY stories should not be attempted by the inexperienced! EDUCATION is key concerning experimentation within the breath play fetish as is CAUTION and PRECAUTION and a TRUSTWORTHY PARTNER!
*****
"You never got his fucking number?" Stew asked in disbelief, "And you never gave him your fucking number?" He stood leaned against the bookstore checkout with a hand on his hip and dumbfounded look on his face.
Rosangela shook her head then grabbed a box of books. She numbly replied, "I don't wanna talk about it right now." She left the checkout.
Stew frowned, throughout the years he and Rosangela were friends and co-workers he never saw her in such a state.
He leaned with his elbow on the counter and rested his chin against his hand. He watched her sluggishly stroll away with the load of books. He huffed, knew immediately that his friend likely had fallen for the author in those short few days.
Stew's observation, Rosangela was desperate to deny to herself. She wanted to believe it was impossible to want more from something that wasn't meant to be more than just fucking. And that's how she tried to keep it.
Rosangela continued with her daily life and as it continued, she saw not one glimpse of the author Victor Hardway except on the back inside of his books still on her shelf and on the shelves in the bookstore.
Bit by bit, day by day she perked, became her old cocky self but no matter what, those three days remained always at the back of her mined.
Yet, though she perked up, something changed.
That last evening with Victor Hardway was the last time she experienced her secret fetish. She found no energy to pull the suitcase from under the bed. She seemed to lack the desire to bring herself into breathlessness because it seemed solo play no longer was part of her.
Yes, there were moments she found herself within the memories of those few days and couldn't resist stimulating herself into a mediocre orgasm which only frustrated her sexual side.
And, so, she went on with a pierced lip smile. Her friendship with Stew remained the same as did her job at the bookstore.
The days moved by and reached into months. Or course she thought about the author and at moments, she wondered if he thought about her.
Was he writing his book that 'starred' her? Had he finished his painting that was of her? Would her image join the wall with the other painted women? Would her photos be displayed somewhere in his loft apartment?
Or, perhaps, he had found a different muse that lacked the complications she gave him?
Then after nearly six months that particular erotic author and artist managed to creep into her life, again.
Rosangela arrived at the bookstore and helped open it up with Stew and their boss Al. It was delivery day and that meant new books would be displayed throughout the store.
The delivery man arrived with four boxes and Al signed for them as Rosangela and Stew prepped their registers.
Al thanked the delivery man after the boxes were stacked behind the check out. The middle aged man chimed, "About time!"
Rosangela smiled as she counted the cash in her till.
Al stated, "Make sure these are put in the display window, will ya?" He turned and headed for his office.
Stew shouted, "Yes, boss!" He stepped to the boxes and grabbed the inventory sheet. His eyes frowned at first then slowly widened. He stood silent as his eyes shifted and looked to Rosangela.
Rosangela has this odd feeling Stew was likely staring at her. Without looking at him she questioned, "What?"
He slowly swallowed then reluctantly announced, "We just received a shipment of the latest Victor Hardway novel."
She froze, felt her heart skip a beat as she held her breath. She shrugged then crammed the money into the till and said, "Okay."
He glanced at the inventory sheet, read the book title then stated, "Yeah, um, January."
"What about January?" she asked then glanced at him.
"Um," he mumbled then explained, "Yeah, that's the title. January."
Her eyes frowned with question then suddenly snatched the inventory sheet from Stew's hand. Her eyes darted and quickly read the title of Victory Hardway's new book. Her face twisted in all sorts of directions of emotions. She mumbled, "What the..."
He was confused and questioned, "I thought he was supposed to name it after you?"
She quickly ordered, "Open the box!"
He leaned back in response to her snippy demand then grimaced.
She slammed the inventory sheet on the counter then grumbled. She shook her head then snatched a box cutter from under the counter and stepped to the boxes. She slit the box cutter across the clear tape seal then pried open the box. The padding foam was jerked back and her eyes looked to the brand new books.
Her eyes frowned with confusion and question. She snatched up a book and eyed the cover. In deed the title was January but the image she saw was a depiction of her.
She stood there staring at the book as Stew leaned closer eyeing the book as well.
Stew nodded with approval as he saw his friend and co-worker in a very detailed kinky image. He commented, "Nice, he did you justice."
Her head darted and eyes narrowed the moment they were on Stew. She allowed the book to drop from her hand and thud atop the others.
His eyes shifted and saw the disapproving expression narrowed his direction. He spread his lips into a wide innocent grin.
She held her glare then stated, "Just for that, you're setting up the damned display." She watched his mouth gape then she pleasingly smiled.
The day went on and, yes, Stew had inventory duty with Victor Hardway's latest book. By himself, he set up the window display which included a ten times blown up image of the book cover and the latest black and white photo of the author.
Rosangela avoided the books as much as possible. But eventually customers entered to purchase their own personal copy and she had no choice but to come face to face with each and every purchased copy with her likeness on the cover.
She avoided eye contact with the customers as she rang up their purchases, those with the book. Yet, there was no avoiding comments such as, "She kinda looks like you." and questions such as "Is that you?" And each time, she denied their suspicions.