The Bookstore

I've only ever won one fight with my parents, when I was 16 and saw the sign at Issac's Books: Help Wanted afternoons. 16+. Inquire Within

Momma didn't like the idea of me working at a secular bookstore, but Daddy had gone to high school with Issac and said at least he was a member of the church and respectable enough. He said maybe it'd do me good to have a little leeway. I'd been acting out and their attempts to hold me tighter had only backfired. I'd started wearing big camo fatigues from the thrift store instead of the long denim skirts Momma and Anna bought for me, and when they tried to take those away I'd shaved my hair into a halo of soft ginger fuzz.

Two years later I still loved working at the book store. I'd grown my hair back into a more styled pixie cut and started wearing plaid schoolgirl skirts in with my combat boots. I could tell my parents were still afraid I'd become a lesbian or a Democrat or something, but my grades were back up and I didn't talk back so much, so long as I got to spend a few hours after school at the shop. Issac always treated me with a kind of bemused generosity, letting me do my homework behind the register, rounding up my paychecks so I could buy my own clothes and still put a little away to move away for college.

On my 18^th birthday, I bought myself a pack of cigarettes but forgot to throw away the wrapper hidden in my pocket. Daddy said I was getting too independent and said maybe I should quit my job and come right home from school everyday. Momma agreed, but Anna, Daddy's first wife, said they should cool down and think about it for a couple days. I ran straight to the bookstore and told Issac everything. He nodded and smiled, eyes kind, dimples showing through his trim salt-and-pepper beard. "Don't worry. No one's gonna stop you being here." and gave me a hug.

A few weeks later, we were closing up the shop. He'd locked the doors after the last customer left and was counting down the register. I was unloading the cases of books that had arrived earlier that afternoon, laying them out on a well-worn waist-high glossy brown bookcase in the back room that we used as a work table. He breezed through to drop the money in the safe as I stopped to rub a knot in my shoulder. The left side of his mouth ticked up into a smile.

"Wait till you're old like me, you'll need your own assistant to lift these things" he said gliding over behind me. His expert fingers pressed into the knot, easing out the tension with a medical precision. I'd been fishing for just that response. Issac had been a physical therapist before he met his wife--a younger, high-powered surgeon who was always traveling. He'd opened the shop as a way to stay grounded and relaxed while she worked enough for both of them, but he'd retained enough practice to help me fix my shoulder after I hurt it playing volleyball at the stupid camp my parents had sent me to summer before Junior year. His massages were magnificent, he had a sort of avuncular bedside manner and the pain just melted away.

I went limp standing up as he pressed into my left shoulder, enough that he wrapped his big right arm over my collarbone to hold me in place as he ground out the tension from my body. I let out a satisfied moan and let my head flop forward. He pulled me back upright a little harder than usual, pressing my body into the point of his knuckles as much as he pressed his knuckles into my flesh. His chest brushed against my back, but he was careful to leave an couple inch gap between my ass and the front of his pants. Still, I felt myself blush a little from the closeness. I could feel his body warmth in the cool of the autumn late afternoon. It was starting to get dark out, and I hadn't really dressed for the weather to turn cold--my legs were bare from my knee socks to my schoolgirl skirt. My big leather jacket hung nearby but it wasn't long enough to cover the gap. I wasn't looking forward to the bike ride home. Heck, I just wanted this massage to go on as long as possible.

"Ugh that feels SO GOOD" I murmured, my neck still slack.

"That means it's working. Just relax." But Issac sounded a little...distracted? Pained? Nervous? I didn't get to think about it for long, because he used the arm one my shoulder to pull me back further, so he could work the stringy muscles of my neck, pressing my back more fully against his chest. Even with my combat boots on he was a full head taller than me, so his chin rested gently atop my head. He wasn't a large man--5'10, slender, bookish, with olive skin, wavy hair and a tidy beard--but I was tiny, skinny, and despite Momma's assurances I was just a late bloomer, losing hope of a last-minute growth spurt of either height or curves. His left hand cupped the back of my neck and kept gently working the muscles, but his right arm squeezed me in, hand on my clavicle, the V of his elbow pressing into my chest. The fingers of his right hand started working the shoulder muscles from the front. It felt heavenly. I trusted him completely.

As he worked though, I felt a little...embarrassed? I was flushed all over. Not just warmed by the steady mass of his body, but now radiating a heat of my own, from my cheeks and neck but also from between my legs. His grip around me tightened as his right hand worked down my left arm, pinning me gently and dragging his forearm ever-so-casually across my nipple, which stiffened under my thin thrift-shop t-shirt. I tried to relax but I felt self-conscious about my breathing, suddenly too hard. His fingertips spider-walked back up my arm, pushing out stored stress even as he created new tension in my body by squeezing the inside of his forearm more firmly across my tits. Momma always said I didn't need a bra,--my boobs were too small, it'd be a waste of money--and I hated how they felt. But now I wondered if he'd notice I wasn't wearing one, and think I was immature.

The hand on my back dropped down to dig a thumb into the dimple above my butt, the thumbprint-sized indentation where the muscle threads into the bone. Issac's hand wrapped around to get leverage, spreading his fingers across the crest of my hip. My breath caught, audibly, because my top had ridden up a little and my skirt had somehow ridden down while he'd rubbed my lower back, so his fingers squeezed into burning bare skin.

"Tell me if this hurts too much and I'll stop" He sounded a little out of breath too somehow.

Issac kept massaging me for what felt like hours, his hands darting a little closer to my ass, a little further around my front to my tummy or my breasts, trailing over the ticklish nape of my neck, but then always flitting away just before I could be sure it was intentional. I fell into a sort of trance, aching for more touch and rocking gently back towards him every time he let up pressure.

That was, until I realized his hands were not just incidentally brushing my breasts. He was massaging deep circles up my side with one hand and bracing my sternum with the other, but somehow his hands kept moving from the flat expanses of my body to, one finger at a time, cupping the small curve of my tit. I froze, but he didn't seem to notice, he just kept pressing, rubbing, moving, until his fingertips were circling my nipples on one side. Then the other.

Of course I knew I wasn't supposed to let boys touch me like this, but no one had ever mentioned that it'd feel so good if they tried. I was terrified he'd stop if I did anything to break the spell, so I didn't move. I barely breathed.

I could hear his breathing, though--harder and closer as he pulled me tighter against his body. I thought I might feel his cock against my ass. Then I was almost sure of it as he shifted forward against me.

His right hand dropped back to my hip, back to the dimple of my back, and the left crossed my chest to tease my right nipple. He tugged the waistband of my skirt, which pulled the fabric of my panties, jolting my clit as they shifted slightly. They stuck, wet against the smooth bare skin of my labia, and then skipped forward suddenly. I rocked my hips forward, then back, to squeeze the fabric deeper into my slit. My face burned, I was sure I was so flushed my freckles disappeared.

Issac's hips began to rock with mine, pressing his cock more and more firmly against my ass. This seemed to excite him, his breaths came even faster and his hand on my chest began to reach through the boat neck I'd cut in my vintage t-shirt. He wasn't pretending to rub my back anymore, his fingertips were light on my skin. But he kept up the rhythm of advancing and retreating, teasing forward another half in with each pass, tracing back, then even further forward, so there was no one moment when I could say he first touched my bare breast. He just came closer and closer until it had already happened.

Meanwhile, with his other hand Issac eased my skirt up around my waist, reaching below the hemline to tease my thighs and working his upwards from there. Pulling it up in back until I could feel the his tweed slacks against the back of my thighs. With the thickest layer of fabric between us gone, I felt the outline of his cock in much sharper relief, nestling itself into the most tender spots he could find.

When he loosened his pants in all this, I have no idea. He reached down the front of my panties, not touching my skin, just pulling them away from my body, tugging the wet fabric out of my slit. He stretched the cheap, loose cotton so far that his cock passed through the gap easily, brushing my bare cunt lips with a sudden shock. But at the same moment his fingers hit my clit for the first time and my mind went blank. I couldn't think about anything but wanting more. My hips chased his fingertips back and forth, humping his hand, and grinding on his firm cock, slicking it against my soaking wet pussy.

Issac shifted his thumb to tease my clit, freeing his first two fingers to slide between my lips and spread them open, pushing my labia to either side as he spread his fingers into a V. I couldn't see what was going on behind me, but it felt heavenly as the proud upward curve of his cock worked its way into the groove of my slit; back and forth, back and forth.

He tugged me forward by my nipples bit by bit, and used the hand on my cunt to push my hips back towards him, until I was on my tiptoes, bent forward over the waist-high shelf.

I knew sex was when a man puts the tip of his penis in you and pushes it all the way in, and I knew some of my friends stayed virgins by letting their boyfriends do what Issac was doing now--putting the man's cock between your lips and letting him do everything but, grinding away to orgasm without quite giving in to temptation. It felt as good as I'd heard, and I appreciated that he was doing the same for me, letting me stay a virgin.

But the same way he'd inched his fingers onto my nipples, his cock kept sinking deeper and deeper bit by bit. Most of it was still nestled between my lips like a hot dog in a bun, but the upcurved tip kept teasing deeper into my spread-open hole. With each long stroke he'd pull it out and drag it the full length of my slit, almost to my clean pink butthole, and with the next he'd push back forward, going a few millimeters deeper. At one point it hurt, a sharp little stab, and I jumped. He pulled back and the next few strokes were much more cautious, but his fingers on my nipples and thumb on my clit pinched me back just a little, mixing pleasure into the pain and a little pain into the pleasure. I ground my clit into his strong hand and in less than a minute he was already pushing past the point that had hurt, deeper and deeper. I was humping his hand furiously and he somehow ensured that meant I hard to grind harder and harder on his burning cock, easing it a little further into myself if I wanted to keep receiving his ministrations.

Finally, though, his strokes were coming so deep that his hips pressed against my ass. The two fingers spreading me open left their post and surveyed where our bodies met: tracing along the sides of my labia, his cock arced up gracefully, like a breaching whale. But where his fingertips met each other again, just behind my clit, the rest of his cock was...not there. There was my skin, stretched taut, and then the whole rest of the length of his cock, inside me.

I realize what that meant, and that it wasn't an accident.

"Is it...did you...?"

"I said you could tell me to stop if it hurt. Do you want me to stop?"

I froze, cold with a sudden fear and pinned under his weight against the shelf. His tone was gentle but he kept his cock buried hilt-deep and resumes subtly stroking my clit as he speaks. "I'll stop if you tell me to. But I don't think you want that. I think you wanted this. You could go play with boys from school and use you job as cover like a normal girl, but instead you head right here, every day, linger around after closing. I think you knew sooner or later something would happen"

His finger slowly circled my clit.

"Asking me for massages, for christsakes"

I shuddered, and discovered a new sensation--my pussy muscles could barely clench, because they were stretched too tight around his cock. It was like trying to close your jaw with a tennis ball stuffed in your mouth. I felt a wave of heat between my legs, as a gush of wetness mixed with just a little blood soaked out around his cock.

"It's ok though. I'll take care of you."

His fingers on my clit became more assertive, reestablishing their rhythm with a slowly increasing speed and intensity. The hand cupping my small breast resumed squeezing my nipples, one and then the other. I rocked my hips to keep my clit wherever he was touching, and find that meant I had to actively ride his cock. The pain was almost totally gone. My pussy still felt stretched too full, like being impaled by a watermelon, but I'd cry if he stopped.

Issac began to fuck me in earnest, carefully but relentlessly. I propped one foot, then the other, up on the lowest shelf, until I was fully lying face-down on the long bookcase with my dangling legs spread wide. He managed to keep one hand glued to my clit and gripped my hip with the other, driving his cock in to the hilt with each stroke. His balls swung forward with every thrust to spank the underside of my clit.

Animal instinct guided my movements, but I barely understood what was happening. My secretive attempts at masturbation had never felt anything like this, and I had only a hazy idea of what a man's orgasm might be like. But Issac made sure not to let himself come before I did, using the force of his willpower to steady himself until he could feel my pussy starting to convulse uncontrollably around him.

"Good girl. Goooood girlllll. I knew you'd like it. It's ok. Come for Daddy. Just let it happen. Squeeze me tight baby. Squeeze my cock"

His cock was jackhammering my cunt and his fingers were drilling my clit when I exploded. My legs began to tremble, then shake, and I was fully kicking into thin air as he shoved forward one last time, pinning me in place as his cock began to twitch inside me, jutting stream after stream of semen into the deepest part of my hole.

I couldn't stop cumming even after his orgasm subsided. Issac set his jaw and rode the final waves of my orgasm, holding me in place and working my clit as my too-tight virgin pussy clamped down on his hypersensitive dick.

Finally, I collapsed. His fingers spread my labia one last time as he gingerly withdrew his softening cock with a quiet plop. A little dollop of semen leaked out behind it, and he gently pushed it deep back into my trembling hole with the tip of his index finger, then slid my panties back into place.

Issac lowered me to the ground, pulled my skirt and t-shirt back in place, and turned me by the shoulders to face him.

"You can't tell anyone we did this, ok?"

I nod.

"If you do, we won't be able to do it again, and we'll both be in a lot of trouble"

I nod again.

"Trust me" And then, to my surprise, he kissed me. He was still a little winded but his lips were soft and dry. The kiss was tender, and I lingered a moment longer than he expected. It was my first kiss, after all.

"Good. Now go bike home. Your parents are going to be wondering where you got off to. I'll take care of everything"

So I did, riding home through a gentle rain, my freshly deflowered cunt sore against the seat, Issac's semen and my juices squishing in my plain cotton panties. I realized I'd have to wash them in the bathroom sink to be safe. I was alarmed to see Issac's car in the driveway when I got back to the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Fornication?" I heard Mamma's voice from the dining room as I let myself in through the garage. "Our Ashleigh?"

"Yes ma'am, I'm afraid so" came the reply, in Issac's unmistakable baritone. "I'll spare you the details but I'm afraid your daughter tried to provoke me into engaging in procreative acts with her, irrespective of the bonds of wedlock. Said she does it all the time with boys from school. I thought you should know.

And I wanted to talk to you right away, because I'm willing to...remedy the situation, and I wouldn't want to get off to a bad start with my new in-laws."

"Well this is a surprise!" said Daddy. "I'm so sorry my daughter behaved in such a shameful fashion. But I gotta say, the way she's been dressing and acting out, I was worried we wouldn't be able to keep her in the community, or that we'd never find her a husband if we did. And I know she's awful fond of you. You're welcome to her. Now, I hope your wives won't give my baby girl too much trouble?"

"Oh Jessica adores Ashleigh. And she's been telling me for a while now we should think about adding another wife. And our second wife, Cailyn, used to have Ashleigh's job, you know. She's off at college now, literature major. I think they'll really get along. I paid for everything once she had her first born, and I'd do the same for your girl."

"Well then it's settled. We'll bring her by in the morning. And thank you for not...thank you for not taking advantage of her. She's a good kid, just a little impulsive. I'm glad you found her and not someone who'd use her and toss her aside."

"Oh I promise, I won't ever get tired of that girl."