We don't get a lot of customers at Logan Books. The store is a dusty affair with dark wooden stacks. Dust dances in the air when light shines through the dirty windows. A book called Kama Sutra sits open on the shelf in front of me. The photograph shows the woman on top, her back arched, hair swinging, mouth agape, nipples erect, suspended in pleasure. He cups her tits, he points his toes. If the image came to life he would explode on the page. I sit on a stack of old, hardcovers in the Sexuality section. I roll my swollen clit between my thumb and forefinger. I submerge three fingers in hot wetness and I picture Logan. I picture Logan, married, forty years old, taking me, an English student, twenty-two years old, here on the floor, sending this stack of hardcovers to the ground to make room against the stack as he pounds me mercilessly, as he grips my tits and as I grip the shelves, and then he'd cup his hand over my hot pussy, he'd gather the cocktail and make me lick it off his fingers, as he's done so many times before. A soft mist blankets my forehead. I tug my nipple and throw my head back. Oh god, Logan. A little moan pushes past my lips. Logan. My stomach muscles hardens and pussy juice spills down my legs. I'm coming....I'm coming...I'm...
The door to the back room swings and Maggie appears with a dozen books stacked at her hips. I jump and adjust my skirt. I put the book away. My clit throbs, my pussy is hot and wet. I try to wipe my legs. I try to walk.
Maggie's little tits bounce beneath her tank top. Maggie never wears a bra and her nipple ring pokes through the fabric, as if it's trying to escape.
I run behind the counter and busy myself with some paperwork. My fingers smell like orgasm.
"Elizabeth?"
Am I still panting? "Yes?" Can she tell?
"Could you shelve these for me, please?"
"Nah."
"Sorry?" Maggie asks.
"I hate shelving. You know that, Maggie."
"Just shelve the fucking books, Elizabeth."
"I'd rather not." I smile.
"Fuck, Logan's gonna be pissed."
Somehow I doubt that.
Someone comes into the store. The little bells above the door ring. A cute anachronism, but annoying on busy days. Then again, there were never busy days. Logan approaches the counter. He's drinking a caramel frappachino topped with a mountain of whipped cream.
Logan glances at the shelving cart.
"Christ, Elizabeth. What the fuck am I paying you for?"
I swallow hard. Maggie puts her arms behind her back and stares at the floor. I think I see a smile. Vindictive bitch. I know she's enjoying this.
"Maggie, how are sales?"
Maggie shrugs. "They're alright."
"Could you do me a favor?" Logan sets his drink down next to me on the counter and throws me a stern glance. "I need you to empty all the boxes in the back and stack all the books on the overstock shelves. Don't come out until you're done. Elizabeth and I need to have a serious talk." Logan clenches his jaw. Even Maggie looks worried. She nods and dashes for the back room.
Logan shakes his head and stares at me.