She'd been coming into the bookstore I managed for a long time, always heading directly to the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section. She looked like a typical fantasy-freak—someone who spoke fluent Elvish and could quote chapter and verse from every Star Trek/Star Wars script and Harry Potter book ever written. She wore glasses, brown hair in braids on either side of her head; a black tank-top, baggy jeans and Doc Martens. If you looked more closely you might notice the full breasts under the tank-top and wonder if the rest of her figure was as nice beneath the jeans, but chances are you wouldn't because she always had her face buried in a book.
I wouldn't have noticed her myself except that I suspected that she often left the store with more books than she was paying for.
And today I was sure of it. She always waited until closing time to pay for her purchases. And sometimes from my raised position behind the counter, out of the corner of my eye I'd seen her duck behind one of the free-standing shelves with a stack of books while I'd been ringing up the last-minute rush of customers. It was usually just for a moment but often it seemed that when she emerged she was carrying fewer books than before. Today, without appearing to, I'd kept tabs on how many books she was carrying at any given moment, and sure enough when she did her disappearing act she reappeared without the new hard-cover William Shatner Trek adventure she'd been carrying.
She was the last one in line, as she often was. I waited until all the other customers had paid for their purchases, and when she had placed a couple of cheap paperbacks on the counter and had her purse open, I held up one finger and said, "I'll be right back."
Then I quickly stepped over to the door and locked it behind the last departing customer, and pulled down the shades for both the door and the display-window. She stared at me as I walked back towards her. Instead of stepping back up behind the register, however, I walked past and then behind her. Sure enough, outlined beneath the back of her tank-top, there was the missing book—stuck into the waistband of her jeans.
In one continuous motion I jerked up the back of her shirt and plucked the book from her waistband. And when she gasped and whirled to face me I reached into her open purse and deftly removed her wallet, which I carried back behind the counter with me.
I pushed the paperbacks to one side and slapped the purloined book down on the counter. "Well, let's see," I said, unsnapping her wallet and extracting her driver's license. "You're name is Ellen Norvald, you live at 128 South High Street and you're..."—I glanced down at her date of birth—"Oh yes, I'd say more than old enough to go to jail."
Her eyes were blank behind her glasses, and she seemed frozen in place. She said nothing... not until I actually turned and picked up the phone. Then she said, "No!" but it came out as little more than a strangled squeak.
I put the phone back on the hook, turned back and rested my hands on the counter, looking down at her. "No?" was all I said.
"I...I'll pay for it, okay?" Her voice was closer to human but still seemed to tremble.
"Hmm..." I looked idly through her purse. "No credit cards..." I remembered suddenly that she had always paid cash. "...And, let's see...five, six, seven dollars." I looked at her and raised my eyebrows questioningly.
"I'll write you a check!" Her voice had gone squeaky again.
"Oh, I don't think so, Ellen—you've proved yourself so trustworthy already."
I turned back towards the phone, provoking a gasp from her, but I had already decided what I would do. I stopped as if struck by a sudden thought and turned back to her. "I'll tell you what, though—you could work off what you owe me."
"Wh-what do you mean?" she stammered through trembling lips.
"Well, there's a lot of stuff that I usually have to do here—vacuuming, dusting off the tables, general straightening up.... You could do that."
"That's... that's all I'd have to do?" She seemed to relax a fraction and I saw some hope come back into her eyes.
"Yes, I think that would about do it. I'll be watching you, of course, to make sure you do a good job..." She nodded her agreement eagerly. "And..." I pointed at her for emphasis, "...you'll be naked."
A long silence. She stared at me, eyes wide behind her glasses. I waited for her to protest, to plead with me, but instead the expression in her eyes gradually changed to a look of consideration. She seemed to be looking at me, not as the guy behind the counter, but as a person---as a man.
The faintest hint of a smile began to play around her lips.
"Okay," she said softly, and pulled her tank-top over her head.
I was taken aback, first by the suddenness of her acquiescence and then by the loveliness of her breasts as they appeared, nestled in a black brassiere, from beneath her shirt. She tossed the shirt carelessly onto the counter in front of me. Then, after a glance at the door and window to be sure the shades were fully down, the brassiere was added to the heap.
She stopped for a moment, standing with her arms at her sides and looking up at me with that same crooked little smile, as if gauging my reaction. Then she slowly bent forward, her breasts barely changing shape as she reached down to unfasten her shoes. She pulled them off, followed by her socks, leaving them on the floor in front of the counter before straightening up again.
Somehow in the middle of this the sense of control seemed to have changed hands. I suddenly felt, not as if she were doing what I had told her to do, but as if she had arranged the whole situation for her own pleasure and was enjoying making me stand there watching.
This sensation was heightened when, holding my gaze, she unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, pushed them down over her hips and let them fall to the floor, where she stepped out of them and kicked them carelessly aside.
Her panties were black as well, but with some sort of pattern that I couldn't make out from where I was standing. It looked sort of like big, silver polka-dots, but there was something odd about their shape. There was some kind of lettering as well, also indecipherable to me. She saw me staring at her panties, looked down and then quickly back up and grinned sheepishly, looking embarrassed for the first time since she'd started taking her clothes off.
She stepped up behind the counter and stood in front of me with her feet apart and her hands behind her back, giving me a closer look. It took me a moment to tear my eyes away from her breasts, now so fetchingly presented to me, but when I did look down what I'd thought were polka-dots resolved into a pattern of spaceships—specifically, the Starship Enterprise. And the lettering—some sort of futuristic font, printed in what appeared to be glow-in-the-dark yellow—formed a downward-pointing triangle just over her pubic region. It read:
TO BOLDLY GO
WHERE NO MAN
HAS GONE
BEFORE
Distracted as I was by everything else that was happening I had to smile at this example of first-class geekdom. She smiled back, then froze my smile in place by hooking her thumbs in the elastic of her panties and dropping them to her feet, stepping out of them, picking them up and handing them to me. She was now completely naked, but I barely noticed because she immediately reached out and began unfastening my belt. My mouth dropped open... and her panties hit the floor for the second time in under a minute.
She had that same little crooked smile, and she looked into my eyes and not at what she was doing, enjoying my stunned expression as she unzipped me and pulled my pants and underwear down around my knees. Only then did she glance down to examine the erection bobbing in front of her. After a moment she nodded to herself as if satisfied and turned to reach into her purse.
She came up with a small bottle of hand lotion. She squirted some lotion into her palm, crouched down in front of me and began applying it liberally to my cock and then my balls, her expression now focussed as if on an important task. I stood completely still, gripping the counter behind me with both hands as she worked, breathing as quietly through my mouth as I could, not wanting to do anything that would distract her.
It was a very strange experience. She was very matter-of-fact about what she was doing, not at all trying to be sensual, although the sensation couldn't help but be pleasurable to me. And the moment I was lubricated to her satisfaction she took her hand away, leaving me gasping.
I had no idea what she was up to when she reached past me and grabbed my wrist—until she pulled it forward and proceeded to gently curl my fingers around my cock. She guided my hand slowly up and down the shaft a few times then let go, glancing up at me expectantly—and in her glasses I saw reflected twin images of my cock, glistening with hand lotion and with my hand wrapped around it.