It was one of those cold wintery days, as only the deep south and the Georgia coast experience every so often. The rain was pouring down, the deep hollow winds blowing the rain like a scythe, cutting a path side-ways. I was standing at my bookshop window looking at the empty parking spaces and contemplating on adjourning for the day, leaving my books to the dust mites and moths. Retiring to my recliner at home to read a good mystery novel and quench my thirst with several glasses of Merlot. Perhaps masturbating. My wife crocheting, probably.
Hopefully, I could get some sleep by going to bed earlier than usual. I was exhausted.
Thursdays were slow anyway, I don't know why. They have always been for the Printed Page Shoppe. I was turning off the 'OPEN' neon sign in my widow and lowering the shades, as the door open.
The little bell attached to to it clanged, and she walked in, followed by the blustery wet air, and a soaked wet pinion of a bird. Perhaps predicting things to come?
I was really in need of sleep. Maybe I was maxed out, stressfully on edge. My wife telling me that I had dark circles around my eyes.
She (perspective customer) looked like a water logged sponge, underneath her hat a few strands of red hair pasted to her face. I could see her green eyes. They looked like polished jade, the color of freshly cut mint, that I used in my ice tea.
I almost laughed but held back my merriment. After all, I needed customers and the rent was coming due. She was wearing one of those black slicker-long raincoats. It looked like leather, but smelled like the tires on my Japanese imported car, made in Kentucky.
"Do you have books on the occult, or the novel Ghost, something to give me a thrill," she asked.
She talked with an accent, Northern Yankee, I was thinking. I thought she said cook. Like a book with recipes type of book. Something of that nature, or home craft maybe. Cooking with rice in a double boiler type of book.
Did I look like Martha, whats-her-face!
I wore a hearing-aid and may have misunderstood her moving lips. Sometimes my devise would short circuit in damp air, and vapor lock. That was a running joke I used many times, but sure some of my regular clientele were now immune to it. My wife was, for sure.
"Witchcraft maybe, or Voodoo, I'm open for suggestions. May I smoke?"
She reached in her purse and pulled out a pack of long slender pink cigarettes. Anatomically correct of a small penis without testicles, she lit it and inhaled. Grinning.
Exhaling a blue cloud she walked down aisle three and smiled at me. Swaying her hips, applying her pinkish tongue to her Carmine template lips.
Removing her rain-slicker and letting it fall to the floor as I became hard and entranced on her nakedness and voluptuous body. She sashayed beneath the florescent lights as my dry mouth tried to swallow, in my nervousness.
I could do nothing. Like a fixed statue on a dais I stood silent as the winds and rain stopped, without my recollection.
Her legs and thighs incased and accentuated in black lace hose, with flowers of roses with green stems sewed in. As if she wasn't tall enough, she was heighten by black patten leather platform stilettos, that transposed her into a heavenly temptress.
Around one wrist a small bracelet with a tiny ampule dangling, like green opal it glowed.
On her back a body mural from her shoulder blades down, to the top of her hips. A tattoo depicting a golden Fleur-de-lis entwined, with multi-colored red roses on a clinging vine.
I was thinking, "where are the bees!"
Why are the petals closing?
God! I must losing it, thought.
Classically proportioned as if chosen by Ruben himself, she perused the occult books as if browsing in a public library.
Oblivious to her own nudity and my salivating, I could feel the wetness in my underwear as my cock was soaking my trousers from my own liquids.
"Do you believe in disambiguation, Sabadicus?"
Befuddled, I looked at her and ask, what karma had to do with the occult or witchcraft?
Then was thinking, how did she know my name, but there it was embroidered into my sweater. My mom thought she was Betsy Ross.
This was my first experience with a nude woman customer. Ever! I swore to it.
Her breasts perfectly balanced, her nipples displaying the length of a couturier’s thimble, as they swayed when she walked. Pierced and with what looked as if miniature golden red roses, dangling half way down her torso, like the 'Hanging Gardens of Babylon.'
Juices seeping and running down the my right leg, I shook it, hoping nothing would fall out from my trousers.
She stopped in front of a shelf, and as if she was going to check the firmness of tomatoes or a cantaloupe at a grocery mart, gave the squeeze test. Then pulled the selected book out from between other titles, she grinned and blew the dust away. Her breath a silent echo, as if the wind called Mariah was in a cave seducing me.
The dust appeared to sparkled and float, suspended in animation, and like a find mist fell to the floor.
Before the last bit of frigging dust hit the hardwood, I had an epiphany. I could say epiphany, but I couldn't spell it.
I actually felt and envisioned a 'speech balloon'
over my head with a (?) mark.
What if! My wife where to walk into the shop, as some naked bitch was galloping around swinging a rubber chicken around her head, and the chicken was wearing a yarmulke. There is no-way she would believe me, if I told her I had called for a carry out from KFC.
My wife would defy the logic of a nude Liberian also.
She started to incant as if she were hypnotize, her green eyes staring through me. Sanitizing me with her spiritual eyes. I think she was daring me.
I took out my hearing aid and shook it. Then put it back in my ear.
Her words all sounded mumbo-jumbo to me.
"Tróne mouní mou."
"Tróne mouní mou."
"Tróne mouní mou."
"Lady, I can't understand a thing you are saying. It's Greek to me.""Tróne mouní mou."
"Tróne mouní mou."
"Tróne mouní mou."
"What is that gibberish?"
"Greek," she winked and whispered as if a Cheshire Cat.
"Eat my pussy," she said.
She removed the small ampule from her wrist and raised it to her lips, as if taking a sip of one's favorite brandy. Her eyes became transparent as if a special effects scene in a movie, but without soul. She spat at me with a spray. Immediately I became light headed and caught myself before falling.
It had the aroma and taste of rose oil, as I licked the spatial from my mouth, on my sweater sleeve.
As if my body became her tool I was floating and spun several inches off the floor. I felt a like top, only dizzy.
I rotated at warp speed, my clothing flying off, as if a stripper on stage in fast forward. The clothing floating and falling in slow motion to the floor.
I could feel the throbbing of my cock. My racing pulse, as my precum sparkled, as if the dust on my tomes, that had fallen moments before.
Drawn to her like a magnet, naked and with my cock at full staff, all I needed now was the national ensign, then saluting. Playing taps for my ass, because I was a goner, for sure.
"Kiss me Sabadicus."
This was no time for second guessing, but unless I was insane, sounds of giggles were emitting from the next row over. Behind the shelves. Where books of the demons and fairies stood.
Our mouths joined as if locked and compressed, from a plumbers helper, one you may have for a stopped up sink. I felt her tongue. It was as if the antenna of a large insect or a tentacle caressing the inside of my mouth. She was tasting me. I was thinking of a louse.
Her long fingers had me by the nucha of my neck as I struggled to be free, my feet kicking and passing through her transparency. I was choking on her and on my unheard screams.
Feeling the vessels in my eyes erupting and melting like lava, running down my terrified face, I must have died several times from strokes.
The heat in my head felt like it was boiling my brains. I could hear them steaming and running over the edge of my dying mortality.
She laughed as lactate shot forth, like a fountain from her tits. It curdled on my chest.
My cock pressed against her groin, feeling her cunt juices spraying over my purple helmet, as if she were watering her roses.
Uncoupling her mouth from mine she whispered,"Look down Sabadicus."
I lowered my sightless sockets as her pussy spread open. Almost on command, her forked clitoris reached out and twisted around my cock, as if a python snake. It was at least the length of a yard stick and masturbating me with slow even strokes, but firmly. My body trembling my leg suspended, I swooned. I screamed.
Her clitoris took on more length, and as if lassoing me, grabbed me around the cheeks of my ass. The clit felt like if had a thousand legs as it meandered toward my asshole.
I was thinking the seven dwarfs marching to work.
"Tell me what you wish"?
I did, as she fucked me and I exploded as her clitoris massage my prostate gland. Milking my penis, as I was out of breath, impaled on her clit.tróne mouní mou"
She gave me but a moment, long enough to uncouple and for her to lay down on her back.
Laying atop my abandoned clothing she spread her legs, with her legs bent and her feet flat on the floor, I lowered my mouth to her flooding cunt. Her pussy dilated as I kissed it and like a suction took my face in up my ears.
"What do you see Sabadicus?"
I could think of only one thing.
Show me the way to San Jose.
I was never good at geometry, but I'm pretty sure my body was at a right angle, perpendicular, muff diving. Her vulva choking me as my cock exploded jism.
The Lights went out in Georgia. They flickered, and came back on.
She was gone but on the cabinet beside me sat several miniature testicle characters. Their small legs dangling over. Like Humpty Dumpty they sat. Giggled and recited.Give us our daily bread,
without sleep you feed
Give us our daily bread,
without sleep you feed
The lights once went out with a pop, and the shop became dark, as the giggles faded.
I stood still and waited.
My wife entered the shop as the bell clanged, and the lights snapped back on.
In the middle of the floor a small puddle. A puddle that left too long would attract mosquitoes type of puddle. Shortly after, you would have a fuckin' gazillon friggin' baby critters. The type that navigate to a puddle in a damn bookshop type of puddle. They would have babies, and they would grow into heathens with wings. I hate mosquitoes and calamine lotion. If there is one thing that annoys me, it's insects.
"I have your prescription for insomnia," she said.
Insomnia (sleep deprivation) can cause hallucinations
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/supernatural/our-daily-bread-1.aspx">Our Daily Bread</a>