Usually I go into the bookstore down the block around three-thirty to four o'clock on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, and then sometimes again from around nine until a little after noon on Saturdays. It's a quiet place. The owner, Anson Martin, greets me and keeps me up to date on new literature in my field, which is medieval history. He's usually there on Friday and Saturday. His daughter Maureen, a pretty little thing who is very quiet and has a sweet and mysterious smile, is there the other times. She always dresses quiet modestly. I sometimes wonder what she would look like if she dressed to go out on an elegant date. I think she'd look exciting, but of course there is no way that I'm going to find out. We rarely spoke, although her smile for me was always easy and happy.
As usual, the bookstore was quiet. The occasional footfall on the bare wood floor, usually very light, was the most frequent sound. An occasional dropped book, or even more softly, a turned page or two, also were moderately frequent sounds.
Normally there would be anywhere from one to five or six other customers in the place. Anson and his daughter made the place one in which patrons could browse or even spend time reading for hours, if they wished. Patrons rarely addressed each other, giving each other the privacy of their own evaluations and interests.
This particular Thursday afternoon, however, I actually made contact with another patron. I'd been browsing the history aisle for perhaps twenty minutes when she appeared at the end of the aisle. She hesitated when she turned into it, apparently hesitating because of my presence. I glanced up and noticed a beautiful woman, very slender and with the impression of height, although her form probably gave her more height than a measuring device might have. I could not determine her age, but I guessed somewhere in her twenties or early thirties. Her straight hair was jet black and hung down the back of her head and between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were a piercing blue, sharp and intelligent. She was wearing a sleeveless dress that came several inches below her knees. It seemed to be made of some thin, soft material, and although it seemed to be rather modest, it looked as if it should have been diaphanous in the right light. She seemed to have little in the way of curves. There was a scoop neck, which if she'd had any cleavage to show would have revealed it to a small extent. I was impressed by her appearance, evaluating her as uncommonly and naturally beautiful.
I stood from where I was browsing on a lower shelf and moved toward the front of the store, to the table where my pack was. I moved slowly, checking titles on other shelves. The woman followed me, moving unsuspiciously closer but not crowding me at all, until we were separated by not more than six feet. By that time I was at the end of the row. I took a book I'd selected and walked slowly to my table and sat down, facing the aisle I'd just vacated.
The woman glanced at me as I sat, then turned back to the shelf. I felt a sudden and unexplainable growing lust for her. The fabric of her dress swished gently around her thighs as she moved slowly out of the aisle and headed for my table. She stepped to a place at my side, eying a shelf that was behind me. Now she stood less than one foot away, her thigh very close to my shoulder.
My next movement seemed to originate from some place other than my mind. I simply reached my arm to my left and placed my hand on her thigh. She never flinched. Rather, she seemed to lean into the pressure of my hand, light as it was. She felt soft, feminine, desirable. I felt heat in my groin and a slight but definite thickening of my pecker. I maintained that contact for what must have been a very long minute, then lightly moved my hand down her leg until it reached the hem of her dress and pressed the palm of my hand directly on her calf. She stood firm, doing something at shoulder height nat the shelf behind me but not moving away or discouraging me. Now that I felt her flesh with mine I slowly slipped my hand upward under her dress. Moving very slowly and not stopping I felt my way up her leg, past her knees onto her thighs, I felt her shift and spread her thighs ever so slightly. Her skin felt so very soft, warm in the way that silk or velour can, lush and inviting. She turned slightly to her right so that my hand eventually came to caress the curve of her posterior mound. She was small there but obviously nicely shaped. My pecker was firmed up fully now. She slowly turned left again and my fingers now brushed around her upper thigh until I felt my fingers in the crack of her slit. I was a little surprised that she wore no underpants. I never lifted my head to look at her, nor did I sense that she turned her head to look at me. At that point I heard the only sound she made up to that point, a very small and soft exhalation of breath, what seemed to be a sound of pleasure, almost of invitation.
The tip of my fingers felt that her wetness. I toyed lightly with her slit, moving my finger up and down the crack. At some point I must have touched her clit, because she did give a slight start, then pressed more firmly against my hand. My index finger found its way easily into the fold of her naked slit and entered her vaginal canal. I wiggled it there slowly. A moment later I pushed my middle finger in with it and wiggled both of them more or less independently. I felt her interior muscles respond. She turned more squarely to present the front of her abdomen to me. I stood, keeping my hand in place between her thighs, and looked up into her bright, honest eyes as she locked onto mine. She had a small, amused smile. I cocked my eyebrows, and she nodded. With my free hand I reached for the handful of books she was carrying and laid them on the table, then I reached down and gathered the hem of her dress in that same hand and pulled her dress up her legs, baring her almost to her navel. She made no resistance. We were fully exposed to passersby, if there happened to be any, as the table was in the front of the store by the front door. Maureen was behind the counter doing some sorting of something or other there, and I noticed she was watching us. I continued to pull the woman's dress upward, exposing more of her body slowly, demonstrating that in fact she wore nothing else at all—no panties, no bra, no slip or chemise, nothing, nor any jewelry. She had larger breasts than I'd anticipated. My impression of her was that she was nearly flat, but it seemed that she perhaps had about a 34C pair of mounds, firm, only barely drooping in a very erotic placing, with pale brown nipples beautifully centered on them showing signs of mild arousal. Her face showed no offense taken at my unexplainable boldness, but rather a welcoming demeanor.
I shook out her dress after I pulled it over her head and folded it, laying it on the table. Then I undid my trousers, unzipping my fly and exposing my pecker, which was quite rigid. She glanced down and grinned happily, then looked back into my eyes and beamed, nodding. I stripped my shirt off and now as naked as she, sat back down in my chair. I pulled her toward me, my hands around the back of her tush, and squeezed her backside with my fingers as I fastened my lips alternately on her nipples. I sucked on them. She almost mashed her breasts against my face, seemingly happy with what I was doing to her. Her arms were around my head, pulling me firmly between her breasts. After several minutes I kissed my way down her rib cage, pausing briefly at her navel, then downward to her slit, where I tongued her for several minutes. I could feel her excited tautness, her anticipation of approaching climax.
