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The Last Bookshop - Possession
By
TheTravellingMan

The Last Bookshop - Possession

Harry's misplaced confidence leads him deeper into the secrets of the book.

He could almost hear the screeching of brakes as his mind jarred to a halt. A prickly jangling terror chilled his body and brought beads of sweat to his brow.

Sitting at the table, he looked down to his coffee cup. Its once heady aroma smelt rancid enough to make him feel bilious. With a trembling hand, he put it down gently. Bone-chilling horror soaked into every muscle, he closed the book and pushed it away. A growling in his stomach churned it over and he felt his nausea rise.

The smug self-congratulation for fucking another man’s wife felt a lifetime away. He reached the final full stop of Chapter Fourteen as this realisation unfolded before his disbelieving mind. Chapter Fourteen described last night’s events precisely as a one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old premonition.

The gentle ebb and flow of a bizarre sensation washed over his stilted mind. Automatically, the recollection of that evening burst forth, and vivid images of precise clarity dazzled him like flash photography. Sounds and intense sensations surged forwards with the power of the strongest narcotic. An alien intoxication flooded through him with the vehemence of a waterfall. Overwhelming his anxiety, he enjoyed its ethereal weightlessness. From the top of his head through to each of his toes, the burden of his cares fell away.

He shuddered and pushed back with his mind, its seduction felt so enticing. Struggling to cling to reality, his punch-drunk self-awareness lurched from a carefree indifference to blind panic.

For a moment, he stopped flailing;and his intuition calmly informed him that last night was no accident. A soothing embrace eased his conflicted mind. Determinedly, he appealed to his inner self, a serial monogamist by preference, yet the compulsion to fuck her and cuckold him consumed him absolutely. Instantly, it compelled him to do it again immediately – he had her phone number and now would be as good as time as any.

The abject fear returned and he clung to it as his saviour.  He might be young and capable but these thoughts felt wholly unnatural. Clawing at any semblance of himself, he felt the weight of its encumbrance return as he forced down gulps of coffee to stay alert.

Sweating profusely and mentally exhausted, he compelled himself to act normally. His limbs complained about the motive force he commanded from them. He shook his head to dislodge the outlandish thoughts. Lethargically, he stretched out his arms to gird them with strength.  He occupied his mind with trivia, anything except last night and that book. He cleaned, tidied and refused to procrastinate any longer on the chores long postponed. It worked, he felt calm and collected, and he tested the agility of his mind.

“Eight Twelves?”

“Ninety-Six.”

“Fourteen Elevens?”

“One-hundred-and-fifty-four.”

“Sixteen Nines?”

“One-hundred-and-forty-four.”

Despite the physical reminders of last night, the soreness from the scratches, and the tired muscles – he felt calm and poised. Carefully, he sat back down and stared at the book. Immediately, that ominous compulsion attacked his psyche again.

He rose from his chair in conflict, turned his back to the book, and felt chastised in his own home. Running his fingers through his hair, he struggled to explain his thoughts. Justifying himself, he was tired and read too much into it. Neglecting himself, he needed to eat something. Everything being equal, the simplest explanation would be the right one; it was a panic attack, nothing more.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Finishing off some eggs, bacon and toast, he felt better. Staring at the book again, he pondered the chapters he read. Salacious and well composed, the intensely erotic scenes carried the power to arouse him fully. He toyed with the idea of being a character in the book and felt a sense of wonderment at what the other chapters contain.

His mind turned to last night and the beautiful evocative women that tended to his every sexual whim. His narcissism, pride, and vanity tore through his flimsy moral code. Drawn like a piece of flotsam into a vortex, the curiosity of the book’s knowledge pulled him in.

With the skill of a pickpocket, it stole his resistance and fear. His soul demanded the power of its words. He found himself bargaining with his conscience and played chicken with his mind. Last night, he wanted to walk on the other side of the street. Last night with his senses saturated in exultation, he felt unstoppable.

He felt sure he would not freak out this time. He fought back once against it and won - he could do it again. He was not some weak-minded simpleton.

Prepared for it now, he reached for the book and picked up where he left off. Studiously, he began to read, and the decadent sensations returned instantly. Words, sentences, paragraphs seeped into his consciousness with a vigour that compelled him to read more. He ignored their corruption as its deviancy did not shock or appall him. A profound sense of arousal took hold with a voraciousness that had no frame of reference.

He stopped at the words that finally made the most sense. He felt the groundswell of that familiar panic again rise up in him. Confident, when he prompted his mind to fight, it capitulated and refused to. Belligerently, he tried again, turning the key in the starter to fire up the full power of his mental faculties - nothing happened.

Bellicose with anger, he closed the book, squeezed his eyes closed and appealed to dispassionate logic to climb out of this affliction.

“Eight Twelves?”

He paused, his mind felt blank and he pressed on determinedly.

“Eight times ten? I need to fuck… EIGHT TIMES TEN? Eighty. Eight twos? The warm wet heat of her cunt as you impale it... EIGHT TWOS? Sixteen. Eighty and sixteen? The intense release of your sperm onto her body and the delicious warmth of your orgasm… EIGHTY AND SIXTEEN? Ninety-six. EIGHT TWELVES ARE NINETY-SIX! THANK FUCK!”

Panting for air, fevered and hot, he slumped into the chair. Pressing on, he kept going as his thoughts struggled through a mire of lust and arousal. Feeling the ache of exhaustion, he endured as he strained his muscles and blood to fight back.  Refusing to cower to it, he compelled his mind to expel its grip. Every avenue of thought reached the same conclusion. An explosive compulsion to purge himself brooded heavily inside him. With one last weak challenge, he surrendered. His thoughts calmed until he felt the tender comfort of his intuition.

Pausing for a moment, his mind felt clear.  He compared the rational thinking of old with that of the new.  Indiscernible, he pondered the values he held dear to assess how intact they felt to him.  He smiled and it grew wider on his face until he laughed. Liberated deep bellyfuls of laughter followed, there was no trickery because he knew he had no integrity. Brimmed by the incitement to take action, it competed with the compulsion of his lungs to take their next breath.

He walked to the tall mirror in his hallway and stared at the devilish smile of adventure on his face. He was handsome and only lacked the courage to go and get who he wanted. The realisation of what made last night possible struck him, he was innocent then, so innocent. Now, he was not and he wanted to walk on the other side of the street.  He would be that risk-taker and devil-may-care hedonist.

He bargained that as long as he did no harm to anyone, they were all fair game. He felt a feeling from the core of his ability to think - his intuition.  Permission granted, the compulsion to do something possessed every single thought. He wracked his brains to arrive at an idea on how to salve this need. It came so quickly and brilliantly, he sat down in relief.

He must procure an escort - a prostitute. No harm and no foul, it did not disturb him because its logic felt perfect. A professional in the field would be the perfect foil. His thoughts fired rapidly, a cascading chain reaction to achieve so simple an objective. He was particular; she must be slim, tall, and redheaded with pale skin and great breasts. His fingers skipped over the keyboard of his laptop, he peered at them with a determined lust.

Restless for two hours, he executed his plan. He showered again and preened himself such was his impulse to fulfil his purpose. He did not waver, he felt no doubt, he carried simple lightness of spirit – the overwhelming desire to fuck.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Opening the door, she looked upon him with a cocky insolence. Indeed, she looked every part of the pictures he saw only she moved and breathed. She smelt good, she looked beautifully kempt and not at all like a harlot in need of her next appointment.

Inside his abode, she maintained her aloofness and demanded payment upfront. A discreet envelope, left open held the correct amount. Accepting his invitation of champagne with a surprised nod of her head, he retired to the kitchen to allow her to count the money if she chose.

Accompanied by a deep pop of its cork, it smouldered a little from its neck. Charging her glass with aplomb, he handed it to her and gazed into her eyes. Accepting his toast, he could read her mind like a restaurant menu and he picked the tastiest dish. Only her thoughts provided the details of the recipe and its ingredients too. With moonstruck eyes, she reciprocated his lascivious smile – he knew then that she did not stand a chance.

Leading her to his bedroom, he smiled at her silent relief that he looked handsome. Emboldened, he slowly undressed her with tender care. Removing each garment, he softly kissed the skin it revealed. He did the same for each piece of lingerie and placed it down gently. She yearned for a man that would honour her as fellow human being rather than a three-hundred pound an hour whore. As she did the same to him, he enjoyed the rising fever in her mind as she lived out her simplest fantasy.

Cautious with all the inexperience of a novice under complex tutelage, quickly he assumed its knowledge. Together they stood there naked as streams of natural daylight shone off her flawless skin. A powerful surge of confidence filled him as her thoughts revealed her admiration of his athletic body. She did not flinch when he gently caressed every curve. When he kissed her, it was soft and tender with a perfect vacuum that did not linger for a second too long.

She fell to the bed as he guided her there. Prone on her back, he felt her willingness to accept a nondescript missionary fuck as his intuition began to speak.

Studiously, Harry unlocked everything she craved and gave her everything with a deftness of touch that drew out one surprised gasp after another. Through a little trial and error at first, he modulated his actions until he found perfection. Supine to his attention, her superfluous words narrated his actions in the past tense. Before she had time to complete her next thought, he was there upon her.

Effortlessly, he led her through the delicate onslaught of everything she craved. Using her thoughts, Harry unfolded years of compounded fantasies. Reading through their complex layers, he understood what defined her ultimate fuck.

Her passivity disappeared and she started to respond in kind. Strong in body, he levered her into one position after another. His hands upon the places she loved to be touched, his lips with the right pressure kissed and sucked where she craved their caress. He impaled her with a tempo she relished.

He placed her where she liked it most. Knelt before her with her hips at a slight offset angle and one leg in the air, he penetrated her slowly. The snug warmth of her sex engulfed every fat inch he possessed. He clutched her outstretched leg for purchase as the full tumult of his girth grazed over that precise spot. Sweeping against it repeatedly, instinctive groans eased softly from her lips. He sawed against it with meticulous accuracy and her moans grew louder in the quiet air. She squeezed her eyes closed and he watched as her body flex with a needy yelp many times. Opening them, she looked upon him with dilated eyes that bristled with pleasure.

Working her body in the perfect compromise of man upon woman, she began to communicate physically in a way that only an intimate lover would understand. Avidly, he watched her response as her thoughts sang to him. With a self-restraint that belied his age, Harry stoked the passion inside her to match his own.

He felt her rising confidence as they moved in perfect unison. Rasping for air, she pulled him on top to have him all at that immaculate moment. Flexing beneath him, she arched her back and gripped him tightly with embracing arms.

Whispering soft words into his ear, he pressed on remorselessly as her moans fell silent. Tightening in ever diminishing contractions, her soft breath faded against his damp skin. Harry squeezed his length against that place in slow, measured thrusts. She clung to him in fear of losing this exquisite leverage. With quiet conviction, he told her that she was going to climax – the first of many.

Wild eyed, she looked at him in astonishment and nodded weakly. To a rattling groan of relief, she shuddered from the deepest part of her body. Her lips open, her heavy-lidded eyes closed as she exhaled deeply with a wavering groan. Convulsing beneath him, a sloshing noise punctuated each thrust as a soaking wetness flooded from her body. Unperturbed, Harry kept at her, the blunt tip of his length tormenting that spot again and again.

Still wretched from her climax, he flipped her over and lifted her taut hips. From behind, he took his pleasure as her body and mind eased into a slow, soothing recovery - just how she liked it.

Harry met all of her craven needs with the vitality of fully requited love. No longer did he feel a stranger as she felt the pleasure that nobody ever granted her. She wanted to watch him climax and rolled over with her legs fully splayed to invite him in. To an unhurried rhythm, they reached the pinnacle of this expression together. With her incredulous eyes and soft whimpering voice, she announced her release.

Panting on the point of hyperventilation, the frantic sounds of her body echoed loudly against the bare walls. Desperately, she clung to him and writhed with enough force to clench and squeeze the essence from him. Harry pressed on as her body quivered and then convulsed in a savage fit. He denied her, just how she wanted it, to enjoy the rich depth of intense climax and a man to fuck her completely through it.

Soaked in sweat, Harry groaned unevenly and laboured as his body seized. He knew she could feel him at his zenith and he murmured he was ready. Withdrawing, she took him in hand and savoured his reaction when he roared in blessed relief. Venting out the hot muscular spasms, his sperm splattered in long white streaks from her abdomen and up to the broad curves of her full breasts.

Sated, he crumpled onto the bed as the surge of endorphins left him paralysed. In the musk-scented bedroom, the white noise of rushed breathing interrupted the silence. To an immense sense of calm, he closed his eyes. Liberated from his body, he witnessed them both prone on his bed from above.

From her sculpted calves and strong flanks to the confluence of her thighs and the pink rash on her freshly fucked pubis, he savoured the view. He admired her hourglass figure in perfect proportion to that magical ratio, from her broad shoulders, to the flare of her breasts and the swell of her hips. Flushed in her feline cheeks, she stared up at the ceiling with a look of disbelief on her face.

Her contented purr roused him into his body. Now he understood, the book was no trick and silently, he embraced it completely. Sipping on champagne, there was no awkwardness in their laughter as they exchanged pillow talk and idle chitchat.

Looking to the bedside clock, he smiled; the hour was up fifteen minutes ago. She sat up, looked into his eyes, and shrugged at the clock. With a slight crease of her lips, she scanned down his naked body and her light fingertips followed suit.

She cajoled his penis with her mouth to stiffen him again; Harry smiled wickedly at her lewd thoughts. His body responded instantly and she held his full erection to her cheek. She muttered a compliment to his stamina yet her scrutinising look carried a doubt that he could do that again. The surge from his intuition cast the doubt aside; he would show her so much more.

They began to fuck again with all the familiarity of seasoned lovers.

One hour turned into two as she whimpered and groaned her way through a fucking that no man had ever given her. So perfect was his attention to her needs, she gave herself completely.

Her sobs of pleasure punctuated her ecstatic thoughts that finally she felt so complete and whole. Harry felt every single emotion as their bodies seethed with passion. Contorting their bodies, he matched her every desire until she trembled through one effortless climax and into another. His ardour blunted now, he turned all her passionate thoughts into the actions of their flesh.

He kissed away the saline tears from her cheeks as her body instinctively responded to his flawless attention. At the pinnacle of their tumult, she demanded it from him when she shook violently - he joined her. Loud and turbulent like the final seizures of a collapsing building; they would hear their guttural sobs next door.

Exhausted, they lay silently together in contentment. He took her silent confession as a torrent of sentiment spilled from her bliss-stricken mind. He suppressed a smile when she pondered if he had a girlfriend. He knew she had no further appointments that night. They embraced for what felt like hours. She wanted to relax here against him and pretend she was secure with a man who loved her. He felt her abject loneliness in that moment. Holding her tighter in consolation, she silently reciprocated.

They chatted a little and amongst their many words, she gave a solemn remark that he was a sublime fuck. Acting with faux surprise, Harry faked a reluctant acceptance of her compliment. She told him that he should find himself a girl and he detected no alternative agenda. Certain of his purpose, he opted to tell the truth that he enjoyed fucking too much to settle for one woman. Laughing, she ran her fingers through his hair in an act of genuine tenderness. He kissed her as she returned to his embrace.

They finished the champagne and he looked out of the window to the deepening grey of dusk. She announced that it was time to go, he could sense her reluctance as she slowly drew herself off the bed. Looking into her eyes and taking in her naked beauty, Harry felt her sense of serene calm. He savoured the disappearing view of her naked body as she dressed back into her lingerie and then into her clothes. Instinctively, he nodded to the bathroom to straighten herself out.

She returned and she looked as if nothing had happened today. Her expression told him otherwise, a smile of rose cheeked light-heartedness revealed her true emotion - happiness.

She kept the money, he knew she needed that, and in exchange, she gave him a plain business card with her phone number. Her request to call him was heartfelt, if he was in need of some extra cash; his talent commanded a substantial fee in her line of work. Offering him an unusual kind of partnership, Harry demurred and smiled impishly.

He led her to the front door, dressed hastily in his bathrobe. Her eyes widened as he kissed her cheek.

“Goodbye Tamara.”

“It’s Laura really.”

Harry deferred with a wry smile, “Well, Goodbye Laura, really it was wonderful and you are wonderful too.”

Laura stiffened her back at little as Harry felt his words inflate her self-esteem.

“Goodbye Harry and give it some thought, we’d make quite a team.” she sealed it with a tender kiss and left.

Turning his back to his closed front door, he revelled in a deep-felt sense of jubilation.

“Six Twelves?”

“Seventy-Two.”

“Thirteen fives?”

“Sixty-Five.”

“Twenty-three sevens?”

“One-hundred-and-sixty one!”

He deferred and shrugged to himself, he sensed no ill, only tranquillity. Picking up the book, it no longer alarmed him and mentally, he welcomed it.

The musk of sex carried in the air of his bedroom. Pulling the sheet over his body, he breathed in the floral notes of her expensive perfume.

Opening the book where he left it at Chapter Thirty, it made perfect sense:

“I rose from such a restful slumber after that first tawdry experience and awful realisation hit me. The full horror of what I had committed struck me hard and I felt nothing but a crippling panic. The tumultuous conflict inside me would not abate, I ate the forbidden fruit, and whilst I took only a bite, it was already too much.

I fought and fought, it would not let me be, and a preacher’s son too. I struggled and appealed to all the good graces I possess yet its grip of my soul was merciless. It appealed to my deepest hidden vices, buried secret lusts, and the solely confidential attractions I held. It turned me upside-down, inside-out until I could not tell right from wrong.

Now, I hold a simple conviction, I do not feel sullied by it, I entertain no grounds for apology or regret. It plucked out my unwieldly conscience and replaced it with a certainty that I savour as if it were life itself.

I am the son of Aphrodite made flesh; I find and lay with women on nothing more than the fever that girds my loins and a simple look upon their countenance. I have them in the palm of my hand as a reflection of my own predicament. I release their repression; I grant them the awakening from their guilt and unlock their passions.

They give themselves completely and ably, unencumbered by society’s mores and fuelled only by the base desires I reveal from them.

I know how they think, I know what they want, and I give them everything and something of myself too. It is the most honest of transactions, free from morality, guilt, and judgement. It is not wrong, it is a thing of the most profound beauty, and I am their liberator.

The Cremorne, Chapter XXX.”

Placing it on his bedside table, he rested into a freshly plumped pillow and closed his eyes. How could the book be self-referential? What possessed the preacher’s son if it was not these pages? He pondered that for a moment until his conscience balmed his mind with sedate warmth.

Heavy on the mattress, his body sank into its comfort. In his mind, the sound of lapping water and the warmth of a summer sun bathed his body. A rich contentment filled his soporific senses as his thoughts petered out towards the blissful darkness of sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Copyright © © 2017 by The Travelling Man. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of The Travelling Man.

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