The Bookshop Owner Chapter 1
THE BOOKSHOP OWNER -- CHAPTER 1
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The clear silicone dildo attaches to the shower wall on the first attempt, with the suction cup making a satisfying noise against the bathroom tiles. I've only just moved in and I guess accessorising the new flat with sex toys is my top priority.
I turn the shower on and take my underwear off, as I wait for the water to warm up. I switch my phone to video mode and prop it up against a roll of toilet paper on the toilet tank. The shower glass will fog up just enough to hide the details and it will make for hot video material to send to potential hook-ups.
I test the water with my fingers and step in. Finally, after weeks of planning, moving, carrying, cleaning and organising, I can spend the weekend relaxing instead. I am still not used to the new shower. It's so much more spacious and the water pressure doesn't even compare to the old electric shower at my previous place. I guess that's what you get for moving out of London -- years of cramped, windowless bathrooms suddenly make this regular shower feel like a 5-star hotel.
I start lathering up my torso with some body wash, my bicep still a little sore from all the boxes and luggage I had to carry for the past week. I move down and linger a little longer around my crotch, massaging my dick and balls, before moving on to my ass cheeks. I spread them and let the warm water flow down my lower back, down my cheeks and my legs. My hole puckers up, relaxes and puckers up again, in a pleasant cycle. I have been so caught up with the move that I have barely had time for a wank, let alone ass play.
I turn around, squeeze some lube on my hand from the bottle next to the body wash. I place two fingers on my wet hole and start fingering myself, noticing that everything still feels comfortable despite the dry spell caused by the move. I pump some more lube on my hand and start applying it liberally to the dildo. Before the splashing from the shower starts to wash it away, I swiftly place my ass against it, feeling the slippery tip on my hole. I move backwards, relaxing my muscles and letting the tip of the dildo slide inside me. Gradually, my ass lips wrap around the shaft. I continue to push down until my cheeks reach the wet tiles. It feels so good to have something finally filling my ass.
I got this clear dildo because you can see your hole fully opened up once it's inside. Not many guys I've hooked up with have been able to resist the sight of my gaping hole, bright pink edges, wrapped around the clear silicone. It comes out great on video, too, when I decide to record some of my private sessions. I am starting to move up and down the dildo now, enjoying the warm jet from the shower and the slight tingle from the tip hitting my prostate. The feeling spreads all the way to my fingertips and toes, in waves that follow the rhythm of the dildo penetrating me. My dick is hard, asking for release and leaking thick strands of precum. I reach down and touch my foreskin with my finger. Droplets of precum gather on my fingertip, which I bring to my mouth. My dick twitches as I taste it -- I know it won't take me long to reach orgasm.
I push down harder on the dildo and wrap my hand around my dick. Using the remainder of the lube that hasn't already washed off, as well as more of the precum, I start sliding my hand up and down, with my foreskin stimulating the sensitive tip. As expected, I'm in such bad need of release by this point that it only takes a few strokes for thick white cum to start shooting all over the shower door and then gradually down my hands, balls and thighs. The post-orgasm bliss is made even sweeter by the warm shower. My hole feels stretched and satisfied, although this will only do for so long. This shower is big enough for two after all...
*
My face is still a little flushed from my shower session as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror to dry myself off. I grab my phone and stop the recording, setting a mental reminder to edit the video later. I start getting ready to head out, so I can explore the new neighbourhood. As I grab my wallet on the office desk, I inadvertently move the mouse and wake up the screen of my laptop. The half-finished draft of a manuscript pops up and it almost feels like it's staring at me in disappointment. I roll my eyes at the thought, slam the computer shut and head out.
There are few new places I want to pop into, including the local bookshop -- maybe as a way to pretend I am actually working on my next project. The city is quiet; something to be expected from a small town on a Sunday morning, but I'm still not used to it. The bookshop is only a 10-minute walk from my new apartment. Its small entrance faces a largely pedestrian area near the historic centre, surrounded by several restaurants with outside seating.
I glance at the small window with a handful of bestsellers on display, before making my way in. It's spacious inside, with bookshelves covering every wall and three more displays at waist height in the middle of the shop. There is also a mezzanine that holds more books, presumably reference volumes and books from more niche genres. I can't see anyone, customers or staff. I start browsing the latest releases, without too much interest. I pick up a novel by an author that I think I've heard of. I flick through some of the first few pages, then skim the back cover and put it back on the pile.
As I try to locate the poetry section, the sound of a metal trolley comes from the back room behind the till. A blue trolley loaded with brand new books comes out, pushed by a tall, muscular man. He tilts his head forward slightly, as if he is used to doing it several times a day, to avoid hitting the doorframe. He notices me and gives a quick nod as a welcome, before continuing to push the trolley to the opposite side of the shop, starting to reorganise the books on his trolley.
I quietly shuffle to the poetry section in the corner and grab a familiar volume. I open the table of contents, trying to read, but still thinking about the beefy shopkeeper. I turn around and, now that he has his back to me, my eyes linger on his broad shoulders. His overshirt fits him well, showcasing the well-built physique without being too tight. His salt-and-pepper hair makes me think he must be in his 40s.
I try to go back to my table of contents, but my concentration is short-lived. He squats down to reach the lower shelf of the trolley and I catch a glimpse of his lower back, between his shirt and beltless chinos. Part of me wants to continue to stare, but the less horny (and thankfully more rational part of me) decides it's probably best not to creep on the guy, so I turn towards the bookshelf again. I feel my dick starting to perk up. In an attempt to focus on literally anything else, I put the book back and start looking for the volume I came in to buy. I start going through the alphabetised authors and crouch down until I reach the letter W. The collection I need isn't there.
"Can I help with anything?"
Mr. Broad Shoulders is facing towards me, holding the now empty trolley with one hand, as he carries it back behind the counter. Even from the other side of the room, now that I am crouched down, he towers over me in a way that almost makes me blush.
"Uhh--Y-yes, maybe? I'm looking for a specific, uhh, Whitman collection. Walt Whitman, I mean"
As I trip over my words and the embarrassment kicks in, I stand up and move towards the till.
"Do you want to show me which one? I can check for you on the system" he says, squeezing behind the counter.
"Yeah, I have a screenshot saved somewhere, just one sec."
I grab my phone from my pocket and unlock it. As soon as I do that, the video recording I just took of me in the shower automatically starts playing, miraculously without sound, but still within eyeshot. I clumsily close the app as quickly as I can, mentally reprimanding myself for not checking earlier. I muster up the courage to look up, ready to apologise, but I'm relieved to see him looking intently at the computer. Only then he turns to me. "Have you got it?" he asks, seemingly oblivious to the fact I've just played several seconds of a video of me riding a dildo in my shower. I open my screenshots and turn my phone to him. Did he really not see anything?
His face is inscrutable has he looks at my phone, then back at the computer screen.
"Yeah, it's not in stock, but I can order it for you" he says.
"That'd be brilliant, thanks" I reply.
"It'll probably take a few days. If you give me your email, the system will notify you..."
I give him my email address and bury my phone deep into the pocket of my trousers.
"Thanks" I say finally, "I will... wait for the confirmation then. Have a good one"
He says goodbye and I start walking out, my hand still in my pocket and my dick pulsing hard from inside my underwear.
-- END OF CHAPTER 1 --