Autumn came quickly to Portland this year—seemingly overnight, the city was beholden by fiery hues of red and orange. The treetops now gave the appearance of being warmly ablaze, a welcome heat to counter the chill that now nipped at her petite ears and bare fingertips.
The cool air and crisp leaves brought her comfort, an opportunity to indulge in the art of keeping cozy—hot ciders and clove, cocoa and dark coffee brimming with thick, sweet cream, mulled wine, over-sized sweaters, black swing coats and woolen stockings pulled taught and snug against the supple flesh of her milky thighs.
She was a creature of habit, asleep by 4am, awake by 10am. Fresh faced and bundled up, to make the trek to the cozy little coffee shop. She enjoyed solitude those mornings, accompanied only by the tinkle of Chopin’s feather-light fingers on ivory keys or perhaps Rachmaninov’s heavy thrum resounding from her earbuds. Her breath formed in light, little clouds before her small wine-colored lips, dew clung to spiderwebs and what remained of the flowers, rosebud remnants from summertime, sweet with decay.
But, of course, the most delicious part of her ritual traverse was an excuse to peruse the contents of the Black Cat Bookstore. As she approached a case adorned beautifully in mahogany and leaded glass panes, her tender heart began to lilt and quicken. Her one true love in life, forever and ever—books. Cracked spines and hardcovers, yellowed pages sweetly scented with the vanillin of age...even with her worn leather satchel already heavy with literature, she could never resist stopping to admire the contents of the curio... and, more often than not, would come away with a new volume tucked under her arm—the promise of soon-to-be discovered adventures and friendships held tightly to her tender breast.
Little did she know, the curator of this particular bookstore, an older, handsome and refined gentlemen, had taken notice of her and now looked forward to her little visits to his collections of literate curiosities. He would often peer quietly from behind his heavy curtains and gaze—charmed and bemused— as this petite, wide-eyed, dark-haired little stranger so lovingly handled the treasures he had lain out to behold.
Upstairs, behind a heavy door, he kept an ultimate treasure—a private library, the span of an entire story, lined ceiling- to-floor with shelves upon shelves of the most beautiful, exotic, rare and even erotic, texts. He had pondered for some time and decided that the next time she ventured near, he would invite her in.
A few days went by and again, her soft steps penetrated the dewy grasses at his stair, as she approached the Black Cat Bookstore. The gentlemen crept out his back door and entered at the storefront, approaching audibly behind her, the sound of his black and shining boots heavy on the gleaming wood. She gave a little start and turned slowly, one earbud held aloft and met his gaze.
A shock of luminous dark hair atop his head, his musculature visible but not overbearing. His dark eyes gleamed and glittered as his lips turned into a soft smile, his demeanor was that of experience and a virile sensuality. "Anything good today...?" She felt a little pulse between her legs and her cheeks displayed a hot crimson blush, betraying her immediate attraction... she smiled shyly and peered at him through her thick brunette bangs...
"Oh, it never disappoints..." He found her trepidation charming. "There are a lot more where those came from in the library. If you’d like, I can show you." All of the warnings she’d recalled from childhood about accepting invitations from strangers swirled between her ears, but...in the end, the heat reverberating between her legs, the tingle in her nipples and the lightness in her belly, won over and she decided to follow the handsome stranger inside. He led her outside and up the mossy cement steps, through the heavy wooden door, into his warmly lit library. A fire blazed softly in the stove. She heard the lock click behind her. But, instead of fear, she felt only further arousal.
His boots clicked heavily and methodically behind her—each step reverberating throughout her body and deepening the pulse between her thighs. She followed him up another flight of stairs and into a room filled with the most splendidly crafted books she had ever lain eyes on. Her heart jumped up into her throat, she inhaled deeply and the smell of antiqued paper filled her button nose. She turned to gaze at the man, he nodded her onward "help yourself, kitten." She blushed and stepped lightly forward.
On tip-toe she stretched and ran her small hands along the spines of the many volumes bound beautifully in black, red and dark green leathers, scripted heavily with gold-leaf, her dress rose as she reached higher, exposing first a lace-trimmed stocking and then the backs of her smooth thighs. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her—purposely, she allowed her dress to rise ever-so slightly, flirtatiously exposing the bottom of her bare, round, succulent ass. She could feel now, her heartbeat throbbing between her legs—growing wet and warm. She pulled a volume of vintage erotica from the shelf and turned to meet his gaze.
He sat comfortably on the leather Davenport, watching her, bemused—his dark eyes glistening, his lips whetted with arousal. He patted the seat next to him "Come, read to me." She obeyed, rapt by his command...gracefully she moved towards him and draped herself, belly down across his lap. She arched her back and as her dress rose above her bare ass and exposed her dewy labia, she began to read, softly, the enchantingly arousing words of Anaïs Nin. She felt his strong hand gently graze the elastic of her stocking, his finger slid along the edge and it gave a little snap.
Her voice trembled as his fingers crept softly upwards, along her silky thighs, to the small of her back, down again he made little circles tracing the dimples above her ass...she could hardly breathe, let alone read. Her bare pussy dripped and flowed with warm, luminous, viscous fluid. As he drew his finger along her swollen outer-labia, she bowed her head and bit softly into the hard cover of the text...a soft moan escaped her mouth. The man responded with a low, satisfied growl.
She arched her back and pushed herself against his hand, her small feet dug fervently into the leather of the sofa, her body begging him to enter her. He slid his finger betwixt her soft, juicy lips and grazed her swollen clit. She writhed and whimpered with wanting. Never in her young life, had she felt so wild with wanting. She reached down between her legs and felt for the clasp of his belt, she slid off of his lap, to her knees and took his hard cock in her small mouth hungrily—his hand lost in her thick brown locks he pulled her hair hard, beckoning her upwards towards him. She struggled a little, winding and flicking her tongue from base to tip before succumbing to his grip.
He pulled her up by the hair, she met his eyes. She was wild, mad with desire— his other hand clasped tight on her firm little ass, his cock erect—she pulled him between her legs and with one graceful motion he entered, hard and fast and smooth into the hot, wet core of her body. Together, they inhaled and released, she shook with pleasure. Her body grew hot and flushed as she rode him frantically, harder and deeper with each thrust until her small body became so rapt with ecstasy she could no longer contain it and together, all at once, they released their pleasure in oceanic orgasm
