Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch. 17

But what his mouth couldn't articulate, his loins could. Walking about the room, eyes locked on her man, Angelina couldn't help but notice the erection that sprung from his tan dockers.

"So I should buy this?" Angelina inquired.

Tom continued to gape open mouthed at his lover.

Satisfied with the silent review, she turned away from him toward the curtain to the changing room, smiled and before exiting, paused so he could get a glimpse of the v-shaped design that plunged to the small of her back.

Minutes later, she reemerged with an all-black number; a lace bustier, pearl-laced black garter belt and top and thong that rode high up and disappeared in her butt crack. This, too, elicited a raging boner from the easily aroused young man.

Angelina tried on a few other sexy evening gowns but in the end settled on the green balconette and black bustier.

"Just one more store, darrhhling," she said, donning her shades after walking into the midafternoon sunlight through the front door of Bergdorffs that Tom held open for her. "Bloomies, for boots!"

Tom's penis, which had only minutes before, finally lost its erection from Angelina's lingerie modeling, once again swelled with the mere mention of the footwear. Even though she had been wearing her crème-colored boots during the fitting, the thought of his sexy lover, the First Lady of boots, trying on new ones in his presence triggered his raging fetish.

After dropping two stores' worth of packages off at her car, the couple walked the short distance to Bloomingdales on 59th and Lexington and strode straight to the shoe department. Knowing exactly what she wanted, the self-assured Angelina wasted no time taking charge of the situation.

"Good afternoon, how may I help you today?" asked the pleasant sounding, 20-something-year-old, effeminate salesman.

"I'd like to see your finest knee-high, fashion boots in a size nine, please," Angelina demanded, promptly taking a seat on a bench and propping her right boot on the foot rest of the chrome, shoe-fitting stool in front of it. "And the heels should be no less than three inches high - with no ugly blocks! Any designer who puts a wedge block on a boot should be drawn and quartered."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll be right back," said the man, before scurrying away to fulfill his marching orders.

In less than five minutes he returned with a handful of boxes tucked under his arms.

"These are the best boots we have," he said, placing the items on the floor. "Care to try this one on first?"

Tearing the lid off the top box, the salesman held up an eggshell, crocodile-embossed right-footed boot with a 4.0" stiletto heel.

"Hmmm...it's lovely and original, but not what I'm looking for, I'm afraid," Angelina said, with a shake of her head. "It's not functional enough. You see, I love my boots so much that I wear them three seasons of the year. I practically live in them. They're my preferred footwear, so they have to not only be elegant, but most importantly, versatile. My boots must be adaptable enough to wear on nearly any occasion and go with nearly all of my outfits, from a dress or evening gown for a night out on the town; over trousers like I am today when shopping; or designer jeans when I'm at-home casual, like for intimate, romantic evenings in front of a roaring fireplace. Bottomline, I ask a lot of my boots because I DO a lot in my boots."

Standing in front of his girlfriend but behind the salesman, Tom gulped hard as a hard-on once again formed in his pants. He knew very well what she most liked to DO in her boots.

"Say no more," the salesman said, stuffing the boot back in its container and opening the next box on his stack. "How about this?'

"That has potential," Angelina said with a nod of approval, as she unzipped her right boot, the leather making a swoosh sound as it slipped neatly off her leg.

Taking the cue, the clerk replaced it by presenting a pointed toe, jet-black boot, which Angelina stepped into and then zipped up her calf.

"Now, this is what I had in mind," Angelina said, straightening her leg and raising it to nearly a 45-degree angle, before rotating the boot at the ankle. "Very comfortable, so far, and it'd go with anything in my wardrobe. May I try the other one on?"

The salesman promptly wrapped the other boot around Angelina's calf and over her trousers. Fully booted, the woman stood and looked down at them admiringly, before taking her maiden steps in them.

"Oh...this fit is like a warm bath," Angelina cooed with a relaxed exhale, sounding as if verging on orgasm, as she strutted some 10 feet away then pivoted and returned to the bench.

Tom was practically ready to orgasm, too. The slightly creased leather boots conformed perfectly to his lover's leg, and the 3.5"-inch stiletto heels seemed to push her foot slightly forward, accentuating the sexiness of the back of her thin but shapely calves.

"I'll take them," said a satisfied Angelina to the clerk, sitting down and crossing her booted legs. 'What else do you have?"

"This!" said the smiling-eyed salesman, holding up another pair of black boots.

"They're gorgeous," Angelina cried, taking them from him and caressing the black leather with her hands.

Seconds later, she was parading up and down the aisle in that pair, too.

"Don't you just love them?" he said. "It has a zipper, but there's also straps on the top, so you can pull them on, if you wish."

"I do love that feature," Angelina answered. "But they're still stylish enough to wear with a dress or evening gown. Unlike the last pair, the look of the leather is stiffer, but inside it's still very comfortable. They're a little higher than the other ones, and the heels seem a bit taller, too."

"Yes, the heels are three and three-quarters inches and the leather almost scrapes your knee caps, but they go really great with those pants."

"Thomas, what do you think?"

"Ummm...they're good. They're nice," her lover replied, uneasily, crossing his legs to hide his erection.

"I'm sold," Angelina said to the clerk. "I can afford one more pair. Anything else?"

"For a little variety, I chose this pair," said the man, excitedly, tearing open his last box to reveal a light green snakeskin-embossed boot.

"Oooohhh, I just have to try those on," Angelina said, eyes growing nearly as wide as her oversized, Diana Prince-style glasses.

Between the clerk and Angelina, the two quickly wrapped and zipped up the leather boots with the pointed toe, and 3.5"-high heels to her legs.

"These are so bold - but chic, elegant and conservative, too. I can wear them with jeans out for a casual lunch or with a gown when attending the theatre," she said, strutting about. "Thomas, do you have an opinion?"

"Great. Amazing," he said, as he fantasized about how "great" and "amazing" it would be to make love to Angelina in them later that night on her heart-shaped bed, as she smoked from her long black cigarette holder.

"He's a man of few words, but his non-verbal articulation speaks volumes," Angelina said with a laugh, tenderly touching his embarrassed red cheek with the palm of her hand. "Sold."

"Find everything okay?" the cashier asked, as Angelina placed the three boxes of boots that she intended to buy on the counter by the cash register.

"Oh, yes," she responded. "This was quite a productive shopping day. And I'll be wearing one of the paris of boots home to break them in."

Angelina stepped back from the sales counter, and stuck out her left leg, so the saleswoman could get an unobscured look at the first black pair of boots she selected.

"Oh, very nice. They look absolutely stunning on you. Just let me zap the tag on that."

Armed with a handheld barcode scanner, the woman emerged from behind the counter and held it up against the price tag dangling off the top of the zipper on Angelina's boot.

After paying for the boots with her heaving, exhausted credit card, the couple were about to leave the counter, when Angelina paused and snapped her fingers.

"Oh, darrhhling, I just remembered I think I placed my sunglasses on the bench," she said. "I'll be right back."

What the hell's keeping her? Tom wondered after 10 minutes had passed and she hadn't returned.

"Angelina?" Angelina? he asked, walking up and down the shoe rows.

"Thomas!" came a voice in the distance.

"Angelina? Where are you?"

"Back here, darrhhling," she answered. "In the ladies' dressing room."

Tom walked to the entrance.

"What are you doing?" he asked, talking into the curtain that served as the door. "I thought you were just going to get your sunglasses."

"Come back here."

"What?! No, it's the ladies' dressing room!"

"It's an emergency. Please."

Tom looked about to make sure no one saw him, then reluctantly slipped into the room.

"Okay, I'm in," he announced in a low voice. "Where are you?"

"The last stall on the far right," Angelina answered.

Following the sound of his girlfriend's voice, Tom walked swiftly past several rows of empty rooms until he came upon the only one whose door was closed.

"What's going on?" Tom asked in annoyance, as he entered to find his lover sitting bare naked and spread eagle in her sexy, new black boots on the stall's bench, stiletto heel of her raised and bent-at-the-knee left leg pressing against the back of her upper thigh. "What the...Christ, Angelina, what's gotten into you?"

"Just this, so far," the kinky librarian said seductively, gently inserting the mouthpiece end of her empty long, black cigarette holder about two inches into her exposed pussy, before sliding it back and forth. "Mmmm...divine."

Moaning with pleasure over the artificial stimulation, she slowly withdrew the holder, held it up to the light and examined the vaginal dip stick.

"I seem to be running about a quart low," said the dirty-talking Angelina, before putting the shaft in her mouth and sucking off the genital secretions that had collected on it. "How about filling me up with your oil and making my engine purr?"

Tom was at once turned on and put off.

"Are you crazy?" he asked. "We can't have sex here! People will hear us. We'll get in trouble."

"You'll really be in trouble if you don't make love to me," the horny woman responded, rising from the bench.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll scream."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me. I'd imagine whomever responds - be it the staff or store cop - will be on the side of the hysterical naked woman, wouldn't you?"

"You're not going to scream."

"You really want to call my bluff? Now, cut the talk and make love to your red hot mama."

"Here? In this cramped, little dressing room?"

"Yes. Let's live dangerously, darrhhling."

"It's too dangerous. Wouldn't you rather make love someplace more comfortable? C'mon, put your clothes back on. In 15 minutes we can make love in private in a comfortable bed in a hotel room; I'll even pay for it."

"No. I'm in the mood NOW. This is what I meant by 'breaking them in.' I want you in me, NOW!"

"No."

"How can someone so young be so much of a sexual prude? Some of the best sex I've ever had has been in risky and otherwise uncomfortable places - during school hours on the couch in my office and under Henry's desk...on the floor in his walk-in closet, while his wife slept in the other room. Sex on the edge is exciting and marvelous. Come now. I know you want to fuck me right here and right now. I saw how excited you were when I tried on those boots. I even based my sales decisions on the size of your erections."

"You what?"

"Why else do you think I asked you along today? Your penis is all the fashion sense I need. Now, make love to me."

"No."

"Then I'm screaming."

Fed up and angered at his girlfriend's sexual blackmail and browbeating, Tom dropped the boot boxes he'd been holding and advanced, pinning her to the wall with his body.

"That's it, get rough with me," she implored him with passion, meeting his aggressiveness by grabbing his shirt with both hands and ripping it open - the buttons flying about the room.

"Who's your boyfriend?" he intensely asked/demanded.

"You're so obsessed with that topic."

"Who's your boyfriend?"

"Good Lord. You are."

"Say it again."

"You're my boyfriend."

"Not your boy toy, right."

"What? No."

"Say it one more time."

"You're my boyfriend."

Finally satisfied with her conviction, the hyper-arroused Tom, who'd always been gentle with Angelina during foreplay, embraced her with an aggressive French-kiss that threatened to suck the tongue from her mouth.

In an impressive display of multitasking, as the two were engaged in vigorous lip lock, Angelina unbuckled his pants and slid his boxers down his legs.

His penis - teased and toyed with for the last several hours by his lover and her provocative wardrobe - was ready to exact revenge. Taking his erection in her left hand, Angelina continued kissing while guiding it into her moist vagina. With a few wiggles and a twist it was in the best position to achieve maximum stimulation of her pussy. And to ensure it wouldn't pop out, she curled her booted leg over his buttocks and pressed it closer to her body.

In the several dozen times he'd made love to Angelina in their on-again/off-again three-month relationship, Tom had never before engaged in angry sex - and the experience felt oddly liberating to him. It was love making stripped down to its core: pure animal, ferall lust. The kind Angelina thrived on; the oxygen that made her sex life come alive.

"Ahh...ahhhh!" Tom moaned, after coming for air from kissing, yet still enjoying the rhythmic synchronicity of he and Angelina's thrusting pelvises.

Pushed to perform by his lover's bossy attitude, Tom began to ratchet up the pace of his thrusts, plunging his dick deeper and deeper into his lover's inviting pussy with every movement. The lustful Angelina kept pace, but after a minute of such intense sexual energy, not even she could keep up. It was another minute before Tom opened his eyes to see that Angelina's were shut - overcome yet again from the passion of her climax. Turned on even more by the effect his lovemaking had on her - plus the physical attraction he had for her beautiful face, shapely body and boot and smoking fetishes that she so often exploited for sexual pleasure herself from him - Tom somehow pumped even harder on his girlfriend's limp body. Angelina was right. Sex out of his comfort zone was dangerously thrilling. What's love got to do with it? Tom didn't know; didn't care. All he could think of that moment was how much he wanted to fuck her brains out like never before.

Tom was doing all the work now, but he was used to that from the numerous times he'd fucked Angelina into unconsciousness. With erotic thoughts of her smoking from her cigarette holder while wearing sexy, high-heeled boots dancing in his head, Tom's dick finally struck paydirt. Rubbing against the sensitive spot on the "ceiling" of Angelina's vagina triggered the most pleasurable orgasm of his young life, one that kept his dick pumping and ejaculating semen into her mushy pussy until every ounce was drained. Had Angelina consciously experienced it, she'd have known that her metaphorical "engine" was now lubricated to capacity and be good for another 3,000 miles on her back - or whatever other sexual position she and Tom traveled on.

In the privacy of either his bedroom or Angelina's Tom would relax and cuddle her in the warm glow of a post-coital moment. There was no time for that, unfortunately. Now, he had to deal with the sobering consequences of his risky sex romp - what to do with his naked and unconscious lover.

"Angelina, please wake up," Tom begged, shaking the shoulders of the fainted woman, who was now slumped on the bench. "Just this once, you have to come to quickly!"

Failing to respond, Tom lightly slapped her cheeks. Still nothing. He wasn't surprised. He'd never had any previous luck reviving Angelina when she fainted either from the throes of love making or from some emotional trigger. Why should this time be any different? But what made this situation particularly stressful to him was the unpredictability of how long Angelina's fainting episode would last. At a minimum, he could count on her being knocked out for 20 minutes - and in some cases after he'd fucked her into unconsciousness, she'd been known to stay passed out for a good 20 more.

They'd been lucky up to now. Apparently, no one had ventured into the women's dressing room while they were making love. He couldn't tempt fate of going undetected in a busy department store for much longer.

Hastily donning his clothes - including the torn shirt Angelina had ripped off his body, which he concealed by zipping his coat over it - Tom set about the protracted task of re-dressing his "out cold" girlfriend. In ordinary circumstances, he'd have loved the opportunity to handle her boots. But now, as Angelina's personal dresser, Tom took no such pleasure in removing the new footwear from her legs, fitting her loose feet in them and zipping them back up once he'd accomplished the even more difficult chore of slipping the fainted woman into her thong and tight pants.

Finally, some 10 minutes later, Tom was done dressing his lover. He even squeezed her hands into her black leather gloves. Standing over the her, Tom knew his effort was still not good enough. It'd be obvious to anyone who saw her that she was unconscious, thus attracting unwanted attention. He needed to do something more. Then it hit him, reaching into Angelina's pocketbook, Tom found her sunglasses (confirming the "lost sunglasses" story was just an excuse for her to lure him back to the dressing room for sex). Tom slipped Angelina's dark sunglasses on her face, wrapping the "arms" around her ears to ensure they stayed on her head.

Great, he said to himself. Now, no one will be able to see her closed eyes.

For a final touch of authenticity, Tom frantically dove back into Angelina's pocketbook. Coming up this time with her gold cigarette case and long black cigarette holder. Inserting the Virginia Slim into the holder, Tom opened her lips and tucked the mouthpiece of the unlit holder between them, which promptly closed around it.

"Well, that's as good as it's going to get," he said aloud softly, watching the holder dangle from her lips. "Here goes nothing."

Picking up the three boot boxes and her pocketbook first, the muscular 6'2" young man lifted his fainted girlfriend off the bench and - in "Weekend at Bernie's" style - wrapped his right arm around her waist, held her up and proceeded to slowly carry the 115lb. woman out of the dressing room, undetected.

"Oh, good, you finally found your sunglasses," said the effeminate shoe salesman, when Tom and Angelina reached the checkout register. "I was beginning to think you'd lost them."

"Yeah, they were tucked away on a shelf," Tom said, while still walking. "Well, goodbye."

"Goodbye. And enjoy those boots, Ms. Lione."

Oh, that sassy bitch, the clerk said to himself, as the couple past him on their way out the store. I helped her for an hour and now she ignores me. What an attitude. But, oh, what fashion sense and taste in boots she has. And the self-confidence at her age to land a much younger boyfriend?! You go, girl!