A woman’s stalker seduced

This is not a story about a normal Friday. I am a practical woman, world-wise, aware but not alarmed that I am single and approaching my mid-thirties. Marriage will probably happen for me one day. Children may or not. These aren’t concerns that drive my life.

I’m sexually confident and secure with my own body, but don’t I offer myself easily or lightly. The casual fuck has never held much allure for me.

In other words, I’m a hungry lover when I’m in a relationship, but otherwise I have different things to occupy my mind. And if I get the itch for some occasional sexual pleasure I have my own ways of satisfying my needs. So to say that what happened that Friday afternoon in July in the upstairs of a used bookstore was out of character is putting it, well, mildly.

The story actually begins that Friday morning. Just a random Friday in July. I’d taken the day off work for no particular reason, and in the morning I went to my health club for a workout. I did some weight and equipment work and then headed to the StairMaster for thirty minutes of aerobic exercise. Now, I work hard when I’m at the gym. I’m usually focused on what I’m doing, especially on the StairMaster, when I’m giving it all I’ve got.

That morning I was working hard but maybe scanning the room more than usual, and that’s how I became aware of the man on the treadmill along the opposite wall. I would have noticed him under any circumstances because of his dark hair and high cheekbones and because of the way his quads snapped into muscular definition with his every stride. “Cute,” I would have said to myself. Maybe even “Hot,” if I was in that kind of mood, which possibly I was. But the other reason I noticed him is that he was obviously noticing me.

He had thick black eyebrows over deep-welled black eyes that were looking my way with an appreciation that bordered on hunger. I have a good body for the gym, well defined, and I work out in lycra shorts, sports bra, and a loose tank top, and after I get warmed up on the StairMaster I usually shed the tank top.

It’s not the first time a guy has watched me work out, and I don’t mind: I like the way my body looks when I work out. Sometimes I like to play games, to flirt a little, but most of the time when I look back at them they look away.

I thought I might flirt a little bit with this guy, too, but he didn’t look away when I cut my eyes at him. Instead, I felt such a jolt of intensity in my gut when I looked at him that it was me who ended up quickly averting my gaze. For the rest of my workout I was aware of him every time he looked at me. I would feel his eyes on me, like sunbeams radiating out of twin dark stars. And even though I didn’t have the will to hold his gaze with my own, I wanted to hold his attention.

His eyes beamed hot reserves of energy into my pores and I worked that StairMaster harder than I’ve ever worked it before. I showed him how hard my body could work, what it looked like when I was at a physical peak, and at the end I was exhausted and glowing. He was still running, running hard, on the treadmill as I left the room, and I couldn’t resist walking by him on the way out, glancing up at him to smile and get a closer look. He was well worth it.

His dark hair was just beginning to show the first strands of gray, and up close his face showed more gentleness than it had from across the room. His lips looked soft, and tiny lines radiating out from his intense eyes indicated that he probably laughed easily. He smiled back at me. His eyes were kind but his mouth was hungry.

I felt very alive on the way home, both from the intensity of my workout and the dalliance I had had with the man on the treadmill. I wasn’t involved with anyone at the time. As I said before, being in between lovers doesn’t bother me, but that day I was sorry I didn’t have someone at home to help scratch the itch I was feeling.

Images of old lovers kept finding their way into my head. Memories of things we’d done. Our bodies pressed close together, the heat of touching. In the shower I spent more time than usual soaping my breasts, thinking of other hands that had touched me there, other showers where I wasn’t alone. When I washed between my legs I found my thighs wanting to part a little wider at the touch of my warm soapy fingers.

If I had just given in and masturbated there none of the rest of what happened probably would have happened. But I didn’t. Sometimes I enjoy being a little bit turned on, having it as my secret. But a secret’s no good if there’s no one to keep it from, so I decided I needed to get out of the house.

Not having any particular plans for the afternoon, I decided I’d catch an easy lunch outdoors. There’s an area of town whose old buildings have been converted into boutique shops and restaurants. It’s a wonderful place to shop, or to just sit at an outdoor cafe and people watch.

I threw on a lace bra and panties, a simple cotton sundress, some flimsy black flat sandals, and went out to lunch. I don’t want to blame what happened next on the attention of the sexy guy in the gym or on my own teasing of myself in the shower, but I definitely left the house that day with a warm buzzing glow on my skin.

The main shopping avenue was so crowded I had to park on a side street down from the corner of a used bookstore I enjoyed browsing in when I had the time. The sidewalks were busy with people shopping, walking, enjoying the summer. The sun was bright so I fished a pair of John Lennon sunglasses out of my purse to hide behind. I wanted to touch everyone I saw.

Well-kept wives of wealthy husbands looked beautiful with their shopping bags, their jewels and blond hair sparkling in the sun. Beads of sweat glowed on the foreheads of pinstriped businessmen. Rangy youths on skateboards, their oversized T-shirts flapping around them, zagged rudely by, brushing everyone with brazen teenage pheromones.

Hidden behind my sunglasses I was free to look at anyone and I liked that many of the men noticed me when they passed. Some gazed appreciatively at the way I moved underneath the sheer cotton dress. Others glanced up at the inscrutable reflection of my sunglasses.

In the midst of all of this I found the place I wanted. It had a few tables outside and even though it was lunchtime most patrons had decided to eat inside out of the heat. I sat down and refreshed myself with ice water that was immediately served by a bright-looking college girl on summer vacation.

Resting, I felt the heat glowing from my body. I was humid. I felt the moisture on my thighs when I squeezed them together. Sweat tickled my sternum. I found myself wondering how tantalizing the ice in my drink would feel pressed lightly against my neck, along the inside of my forearm, into the back of my knee. The thought caused a light touch of goosebumps to tighten my flesh in the July heat.

I ordered a Caesar salad and a bowl of fresh chilled fruit. The romaine was cold and crisp and the parmesan was newly grated. When I bit into the grapes and strawberries and pineapple chunks, their succulent juices burst into my mouth. I ate slowly, enjoying the day, savoring the refreshing food, watching the people.

The door to the restaurant opened and closed as patrons entered and exited. When the door was open it reflected the tables on my side, and once I glanced up as someone was leaving and saw in the door glass a man sitting at one of the tables behind me.

I felt a tightening in my crotch. He looked so much like the man I’d been trading attentions with on the treadmill that morning! But it had only been a brief glimpse before the door swung closed again, and surely I was mistaken.

I resisted the urge to turn around and look, but I began to feel warm on the back of my neck, like whoever this stranger was, he was looking at me with a heated intensity. It wasn’t long before someone else left the restaurant and I caught his full reflection in the door. This time I got a good look at him and there could be no mistake.

It was the same man.

The tightness in my loins increased and I felt myself subtly squirming in my seat. The rational part of my brain told me there was no way he could have followed me home and then here. It was just a coincidence. But another part of me said that these things aren’t coincidence: who knows what powers draw people to a certain place and time?

Whew! Was it ever hot! I drank some more water and the ice melted as soon as it touched my lips. A few more patrons came and went and I had time to see that he was dressed for a day off as well, in walking shorts and a T-shirt and sandals that strapped around his ankle. He looked relaxed and yet ready, as if he was biding his time expectantly.

He was eating something that looked like a wrap, drinking iced tea. I had time to appreciate the nice dark hair that covered his legs and the way he smiled at anyone he made eye contact with before my waitress brought my check.

I left cash on the table and walked out past him, braving a look from behind my shades. He was wiping his mouth and he looked up at me with the napkin still at the corner of his lips. He smiled conspiratorially, twin reflections of the sun in his eyes, and I was hoping my knees wouldn’t lock right there in mid-stride.

I had already come to know what it felt like when he looked at me, and I knew as surely as my heart was pounding that he was watching me as I walked away. I felt the cotton dress sliding over every inch and swell of my skin.

I told myself maybe I should just go home. Maybe if I just went home and took all my clothes off and found a nice sunny window to curl up in front of and touch myself and imagine it was him touching me until I came, then I could doze off in the sun and get over this spell.

I wandered away with more or less that intention in mind, but found myself pausing and window shopping, lingering over the items on sidewalk tables in front of the stores. Sure enough after a few minutes I saw him again, absorbed in a store-window display. I moved on a little farther, a little progress towards my car, was again distracted, and when I looked up there he was, a little closer this time.

He was talking to one of the merchants, making a beckoning motion with his finger. Was it just my imagination or was that the exactly same way he’d stroke my g-spot if his finger was inside me?

I had to get home.

This game of cat-and-mouse went on as I made pitiful progress towards my car. But just who was the cat and who the mouse in our game, I wasn’t quite sure. Finally I reached the side street on which I’d parked. The used bookstore was on the corner. The proprietress was a woman both ancient and kind.

The actual store was on the second floor, above a florist, in a space narrow and long and overcrowded with books of all kinds. I had spent hours just browsing, usually buying a book or two even if I didn’t find anything of particular interest because the woman was so nice and because the bookstore never had many customers.

She had been there forever and probably didn’t need my purchases to stay in business, but it made me feel like I was doing my part. When the weather was nice she took her cashbox outside and sat in the sun and informed you just as sweetly as sugar water that if you had any questions or wanted to buy anything, just please come back down and she’d help you out. I don’t know how she managed it, but she usually also had some tables set outside piled high with books.

That day she was outside as usual, sitting in the shade of a large umbrella and sipping lemonade. We smiled at each other and I stopped to survey the books, flipping the pages, touching them idly, uncovering the titles in the middle of the stacks. It wasn’t long before he showed up.

The woman greeted him and he said a simple, “Good afternoon,” the first words I’d heard him speak, and his voice was rich and sonorous, the voice of a narrator. He paused to browse at the tables, but I was certain now that he wasn’t paying any attention to the books. Neither was I. It was impossible to do anything but try and avoid melting in the heat and his closeness.

To the car, I told myself. Just walk to the car. So I wrenched myself away from the table and somehow the air was so thick, and I began walking. To the car, to the car. But I found myself moving instead towards the door inside the bookstore, walking past the kind old woman and up the stairs. I was almost dizzy as I climbed the steps. I hoped there would be other customers up here. I hoped the space would be empty. I hoped my stranger would walk away down the street. I hoped he’d follow me inside.

The interior of the bookstore was only dimly lit because of all the rows and stacks of books, and because the only real windows were at the front and rear of the store. I floated up the steps, along the length of the bookstore looking for anyone. There was no-one.

The interior of the bookstore seemed darker than usual, and like a moth, I sought the light. I reached the back of store, leaned up against a counter, and stared vacantly up into the sunbeams coming in through the window. It was hot and close in the bookstore, but still the sun felt good against my skin.

I had just begun to be able to breathe again when I felt a finger brushing lightly against the bare skin along my collarbone. I hissed a sharp, startled inhalation. I held it in, unable to let go until the rest of his fingers touched me in a light, caressing massage, and then I was able to let it out.

I hadn’t heard him come up the steps. Hadn’t heard him come up behind me. It could have been any other man except for the heat I felt against the back of my neck from his gaze. Nobody else had ever looked at me that way before.

He massaged me like that for a minute, turning all the tension into jello. I felt the buckle of his belt touch the small of my back. His breath was hot against my neck and then I gasped when he nipped me with his teeth. He pressed his hips closer, and I felt his weight against my back. I pushed back against him.

It seemed to be the sign he’d been waiting for, because as soon as I did it his hands left my shoulders tracing down my sides along the outside of my breasts and ribs and hips and thighs, and then one of his hands was moving just as easily back up the back of my thigh under my dress. He ran his hand lightly over the lace of the underwear stretched across my butt.

I could feel the heat of his fingers through the sheer fabric. I felt the heat building downwards as his fingers moved lower, and before I even realized what was happening I was sliding my feet across the floor and turning my heels out to open the way.

His hand was between my legs and I was already imagining how deliciously his finger would slip into me when he paused, cupping my mons lightly in his palm. He held it there, applying the gentlest of pressure with his fingers, as if he were palming a peach, feeling it for soundness.

I am hot, I breathed out silently into the air. Feel how ripe I am, how full of sweetness. I want you to taste me, to drink my juices, to peel me and eat everything you find inside.

He must have been able to inhale and understand those silent thoughts, because suddenly in one whirl of motion he was turning me around and sinking to his knees, pulling with both hands at the sides of my lace panties, sliding them effortlessly down my legs. He lifted one of my feet to slip the underwear off, spreading me even wider when he placed my foot back on the ground, and immediately plunged his face into my cunt.

“Ohhhh!” I moaned, the first audible sound made by either of us, as his tongue glided past my already slick vulva and into the nectar of my pussy.

He licked hungrily up and down the length of my sex, keeping his tongue as far inside me as he possibly could. He had split me open and my engorged lips sealed around his tongue as he moved it up and down. He was making grateful sounds in the back of his throat, the sounds of a parched man finally slaking his thirst.

After a minute he stopped probing my depths and lengths so insistently and his tongue instead flicked its way up towards my clitoris. He pulled the hood open with his thumbs, forcing my clitoris up and out. When his tongue first hit my fully exposed clitoris, it was like all those jolts of energy I had felt earlier in the day had come together and multiplied a hundredfold and zapped down out of the sky directly onto my clit. My knees buckled and I called out “Ahhhh!” into the gloaming of the bookstore.

I leaned backwards heavily and thankfully the counter was there or I might well have fallen all the way down. He sucked my clitoris into his mouth, rolled it around between his lips, and nipped at it with his teeth, each variation sending spangles of white light wheeling before my eyes.

After a minute of this intense teasing, I realized that what he really wanted to do was get his lips locked all the way around my clit, but even with my legs spread I was too short to provide an accommodating position. There was a stepstool parked by the counter and I reached out with one foot and hooked it, and when it was next to me I gave my surprise lover a much easier target by raising my leg and placing my foot on top of the stool.

He thanked me by accomplishing what he’d been trying to do and getting his lips tightly around me and sucking my clitoris into his mouth.

Ecstasy. I was in heaven.

And then, since he no longer needed his hands to spread my lips, he thanked me again by slipping one and then two fingers upward into my pussy all the way until their third knuckles were snug against the entrance.

He looked up at me then without stopping what he was doing. He smiled. His eyes were still hungry and kind and now I saw in them something else: the simple wonder of a young boy discovering a brand-new thing. I smiled back at him and ran my hand through his thick black hair, grabbing a fistful in each hand and pressing his face back into me.

The sunlight coming in from the window above us fell on my shoulders. I turned my face up to it like a cat, and the heat from the sun and the heat from my lover’s lips and tongue and fingers drizzled through my body in a fine incandescent mist.

In a strange unrelated thought, I realized why it had seemed so unusually dark in the bookstore. In my hormonal haze I had forgotten to take my sunglasses off when I came inside. I felt my delicious stranger’s fingers probing my drenched depths, sometimes working in tandem like a small cock and sometimes working independently, scissoring back and forth against the walls of my cunt.

Somewhere not far away my orgasm was forming, and as I rocked upward on the pleasure waves, I chuckled at the thought of what someone might find if they walked into the bookstore at that very moment. Me, leaning back against the counter, my head thrown back, face splashed in sunlight and ecstasy, still wearing my sunglasses, like a movie star, a rock star, a porn star, one leg hitched up on the stool, and in front of me, kneeling before me, a dark and handsome man, his face buried happily in my cunt, licking me and fucking me with his fingers.

Me being fucked by his fingers, giving him my clitoris to suck and lick and gobble like candy right here in the middle of the day in this public place, and the sun, oh, the sun, his fingers curling now just like I’d imagined to scrape my G-spot. Only this time beckoning me, my orgasm, rolling my g-spot between his fingers, his tongue alternating between flattening my clitoris, trying to smash it back into my skin, and pulling it greedily back into his mouth, the sun drenching both of us as the orgasm took me.

When I come, it usually begins right at the bull’s eye of my clitoris and spreads outward through my body from that central point, lessening in intensity as it ripples out through my toes and fingers. This one was just the opposite.

I felt it first as a tingling in my outermost extremities, coursing through my limbs, a million independent sensations beginning slowly and then racing through the trunk of my body and uniting all at once in a deeper focal point in my loins, bursting outward sunlight and heat like a supernova as his mouth clamped down on my clit and my cunt clamped down around his fingers.

I must have screamed. I don’t know how I could not have screamed, but I can’t be sure because all I heard was the roaring of blood in my own veins as my body twisted and curled inside out a few times before the beautiful orgasm that I didn’t want to end and yet could hardly bear finally coalesced into a comfortable hum in my gut.

My man was kneeling back away from me, looking up at me in wide-eyed surprise, as if the force of what had happened had knocked him backwards. “Oh my God,” I managed to say, and once he realized I was human again he rose and I kissed him openly and wetly and felt his arms encircle me.

I was drained, happily so, but I wanted to thank him for what he had given me, so I unbuckled his pants and curled my fingers around his cock, which was rock-hard and beautiful. I stroked it a couple of times, learning a little bit about the feel of it. Now it was his turn to moan. He had obviously been hard for some time.

I was preparing to kneel before him just like he had for me when his arms tightened around my waist. I looked up at him and suddenly his hands came up under my butt and he lifted me off the ground. My legs went automatically around the small of his back and he drew me to him. I reached behind me and guided his cock to my pussy as he slowly lowered me down. I was wet and open after everything he’d just done to me and he began slipping into me without resistance. Slowly, slowly, he allowed his arms to lower me.

Suddenly I felt the smooth length of him filling the spaces inside me until our pubic bones met and I could sink no farther. We rested like that a moment, joined. I pulled my head back long enough to look at him through my sunglasses. He held my gaze as if he could see right through the dark lenses. I smiled and he smiled back and playfully arched his eyebrows. I arched my eyebrows back at him and at the same time contracted my vaginal muscles around his cock.

He made a sound back in his throat and I gasped in surprise when I felt the smallest pulsing of his cock back at me. I squeezed him again and he responded again, a deep-space probe signaling home. Message received, I transmitted back to him. Welcome. We were making love in the tiniest places inside.

It must have started driving him as crazy as it was me because he moved me again, lifting me not quite as slowly as he had lowered me. I sighed out when he broke the seal we’d been holding. He lifted me almost all the way off his cock. My cunt clenched for him but all that was there was the tapered head, which slipped away. I moved my hips trying to capture him again and when I find him I thrust forwards but his hands limited my movements.

He was only in an inch or so. And then he fucked me in a maddening way like that, moving me only an inch up and down, just burying his cockhead before pulling me back up again. I was getting frustrated. I wanted him badly. Wanted him all the way inside me again, moving all the way in and out. I glared at him with all I had and made my mouth as pouty as possible.

He laughed then and said, “Say it,” in my ear, his breath as warm as his baritone timbre.

“God,” I said, and he started fucking me a little bit more deeply. “Fuck,” I gasped, and he went a little deeper still. “Fuck me,” I finally hissed into the close air of the bookshop. “Fuck me fuck me, FUCK ME!” and suddenly I was impaled again along his whole cock but he didn’t rest me there this time. Instead supporting me with his hands while he crashed his hips into me with all the desire he’d been restraining until now. He was grunting and moaning like a man possessed.

His balls were slapping against my ass every time he crashed into me. I was moaning and grunting, too. I scarped my cheek across his stubbled beard and buried my face against his neck. He smelled so fine I bit the muscles in his shoulders that were bunched up with the effort of his holding me while we fucked. I matched his force by jamming my heels against his back every time he split into me again.

His moans and grunts grew hoarser and suddenly converged into one strangled cry as he plunged himself deeply inside me and froze, his whole body frozen except his balls as they drew up against my ass in a tightening that continued through his cock, and I felt him again pulsing powerfully inside my pussy, only this time with each pulse he chanted out “Ah! Ah! Ah!” as he delivered his payload, coating everything inside me with his milky cum.

I suppose I could end the story there, and maybe it really is the end. The fact is that with our passions satisfied we weren’t quite sure what to do there in the bookstore that afternoon. We were awkward around each other as we fixed our clothes.

What, really, is the appropriate thing to say after something like that? I was hoping that would happen? What’s your name? Here’s fifty bucks?

He said about the only thing I wasn’t expecting him to say. He turned to go but then whirled back to me and kissed me in a way that turned my toes to butterflies. “I’ll find you,” he said, his words like rainclouds in my ear, and then he was gone.

It’s been six months ago now. It’s January and the rain is turning to ice as soon as it hits the ground. I haven’t seen him since that afternoon, but I feel him moving again out there in these long cold nights. A glass of wine, another log on the fire, a glow warming somewhere deep in my gut.

Perhaps the story I’ve just told you is only a beginning…