Rare Copy

My phone crackled and hissed every few paces as I stepped onto the sidewalk from the hotel. These new phones never seemed to be able to clean up the audio from an old stick in the mud who insisted on using a rotary dial model. "Mick. Man, are you sure you want to do this?" The voice of my long time friend and private investigator.

"I know this great place down in the Caribbean where the girls will act out any fantasy you got, provided that it's not anything weird like snuff films or donkeys right?" His hard boiled humor always leaked through the friendly warnings.

"You Jersey boys always have to put a little extra death and destruction in your jokes don't you?" I chuckled with my response. Jimmy had been watching my back at the publisher's request for at least the last five years. Writing gave you a certain amount of stalker attention, especially when your name landed on the best sellers list and there was always some fan that would take it just a little too far at book signings and the book shop "meet and greets". My stories were particularly gruesome murder mysteries with conniving wives and angry jilted lovers. "Sickness and Health" had been my breakthrough title, landing me a good spot on the middle shelf of most newsstands and book shelves. The critics seemed to love poking at me in general lately. Questioning my mental stability and whether or not I had learned these acts of murder and revenge from personal experience or some torrid voyeurism with the macabre.

Their opinions didn't matter to me much. So long as I had the royalties coming in with enough to pay for my favorite sport.

Gentle mist threatened to turn into rain overhead as I made my way down the slick pavement. Brightly lit windows from the cafés and boutiques looked like the images from the satellite view that Jimmy had sent me earlier.

"Give me the details again Jim. I'm looking down this street and all these old store fronts look exactly the same. For fuck's sake! Did they all get built by the same company?"

"You should really think about drinking this Kava-kava tea I got here in the office Mick, it calms you right down...." He was deflecting. "Name of the store Jim? And her name is Stacy right?" Putting him back on track when he wandered off was a full time job.

If it weren't for the golden intel he could deliver on short notice, I'd replace him in a heartbeat.

There was a pause and an awkward silence. "Come on old friend, remind me why I pay you so much by the hour."

Jimmy sighed and started to rattle off the details of a young woman he believed to be just under the age of thirty, an employee at one of the oldest book stores in the historic district. Her posts to various fan groups and a couple of websites, different screen names and the details of her fan fiction about meeting the lofty Mick Sebring and what she fantasized about doing to him in those secret meetings.

"I gotta tell you man. She looks like a genuine nut bar to me!" I grinned as Jimmy gave me his assessment. The crazy ones were always more fun.

This one appeared to be deeply involved with a love affair with her ideal of me. The hunt had just started. My heartbeat quickened as I glanced up and noticed the swinging shingle with the store's name. Rare Copies, this was my destination. My other spotter had called ahead of time and asked if they had various first edition books and signed memorabilia from other well known authors. A young lady named Stacy had answered the phone and cheerfully rattled off the inventory or expensive and prestigious items they carried.

Per his instructions, he said that he would be sending someone authorized to buy for him today at around four PM. I had to admit a bit of anticipation and eagerness when pursuing this one. Her stories of meeting the author she enjoyed so much were delightfully graphic and highly sexual in every detail. I was willing to wager that she would have several copies of old paperbacks in her purse. In one posting to another female fan, she had mentioned a discrete sex toy that she kept in her hand bag for reading those "steamy sex scenes with the detective in every book". She was practically gift wrapping that pent up erotic energy for me. My skin flushed and tingled as I passed by the window, catching a glimpse of this "Stacey" through the old leaded glass panes.

I eased into the front door and slowly pressed it open, placing my thick rimmed glasses on my face. A quaint jingle from a lone brass bell overhead gave me away as I wiped my feet on the mat.

"We can have these for you in about three days if you want to pay for the express shipping....No, there has always been an extra charge for that service Mr. Donaldson....You can try to get it through the shopping mall if you want, go ahead. You know you're going to end up paying twenty percent more for each of those books?"

Stacey was obviously in the middle of some debate with a long time customer on the other line. She hardly noticed me as I passed the front display of travel magazines and tabloids. The layout was impressive to say the least.

The ornate wood carving on the shelves dated them to at least 1900 and the central display case looked like something from a general store in pre-industrial New York from the 1800's. Even if she turned out to be a lame duck, conquering a woman in this store alone would be worth the effort and time.

My eyes lingered on the spines of various titles, looking at none of them really but maintaining a disguise as an interested customer. The smells of old leather and floor polish came to me in a rush. There was something intoxicating about these old locations. Most of my crime scenes had taken place in abandoned warehouses or museums specifically for this captured essence of humanity. My stories tended to blend the antique with modern themes as a sort of personal fetish.

Then there was Stacey, diligently on the line with this old man who continued to give her grief. I began to inspect her work space for clues. The canvas bag with a logo from the local community college was obviously hers. As was the brown leather purse in the far corner near the register. I wondered if that was where she kept her favorite toy, for pleasuring herself while she read my sex scenes.

Her occasional glances in my direction showed that she had noticed me, but was unable to pull away from the business line long enough to acknowledge me. I took note of the simple gold chain around her neck. Something was tucked into the pale blue sweater just above her breasts. Locket with an old portrait? I would make it a point to take it as my trophy. My gaze lingered at the exposed skin around her collar bones, the supple curve of her breasts beneath the fabric. She had a pleasant, olive skin tone. Her hair was pulled back into a simple bun with a pen holding it in place. The wave and tell tale curls gave her away as being part Italian. "Sicilian mistress" I recalled from Jimmy's report of the various screen names used to submit her devious and clever erotic fantasies.

"Damn! I swear, more people should just come down here so I can explain how this shipping actually works!" She exclaimed as she finally hung up the phone. She showed some spirit, I like that in a woman.

My smile was approaching a hunter's grin when I turned to face her. Soft scents of exotic fruit and lavender fabric softener were reaching me like teasing wisps from her direction. She smelled sweet and delicate. "Mister Pembrook told me to come by and speak with...Stacey?"

Her large brown eyes brightened as she recognized the name from yesterday's phone call. "Oh yes! The gentleman who wanted some pretty exclusive things....I'm Stacey" She said as she bounced from behind the counter to come greet me.

Her handshake was firm but feminine. Fingernails gleamed in the dim lighting of the store as she released my hand. Well kept hands from hours of idle time in this old shop, no doubt. Her skin was pleasantly soft to the touch. I watched her eyes behind those flimsy wire framed glasses. She was catching little glances at me here and there, the way a woman does when she likes what she sees but keeps herself from outright staring.

"So, these books and autographed pictures, can I see them?" I tried my hand at a little charm and humor. She turned and gestured for me to follow. "Right this way Mister....I'm sorry I didn't catch your name." She looked over her shoulder as she led me through the crowded shelves. "Call me Michael. Everybody else does." I winked at her and followed along.

"Well ok Michael, you'll find all of those things on your shopping list in this back room, under lock and key." She giggled and showed me the way to the private reading room. This was perfect! I couldn't have staged this setup better if I had written it myself. A single mahogany door opened to a small room, filled with elaborately carved cases with locked doors, hiding their precious and expensive cargo. Stacey seemed very pleased as she showed off the exclusive editions and autographs. My excitement was also building, but for a very different reason.

This back room was perfect for what I had in mind. It was out of view, away from the prying eyes of anyone who would wander into the shop. I noted the curve of her thighs and buttocks as she swayed this way and that, pressing obviously firm flesh against her skirt while she bragged about their selection. She had the lower body of a woman who exercised regularly, but not so much that she lost those lovely hand holds just below the waist. I could already picture her naked and she was proving to be a delicious treat for the taking.

I had what I needed now. It was time to let her have a bit of a shock. "Why are all of those terrible horror stories so close to this back section?" I smirked and nodded towards the shelf of Mick Sebring titles.

She stopped in her presentation at once. "Woah! Hold on there. We sell a lot of those stories to all kinds of people. Personally, I think it's great that he writes from the killer's point of view. Who goes that far these days Michael?" The defensiveness in her tone was the last clue I needed.

This was definitely the Stacey from the message boards and author of those "anonymous" fan letters that were filled with desire and lust.

"You sound like you've read a few?" I grinned and flexed my toes inside my shoes. Her energy was infectious. It was all I could do to keep from pouncing on her then and there. I imagined that sweater tearing down the center, exposing her perky breasts to the lamplight and glimmer from the display cases.

I walked over and snatched one of my earlier works, "Death is a Maiden". She looked me over nervously as I thumbed through the pages. "Do you like this one? It got some pretty heavy handed reviews from the New York Times."

Stacey's eyes narrowed a bit as she came closer to get a better look at me. "Have we met somewhere before Michael?" Her tone was cautious and overly friendly.

"You certainly seem to think so..." I let the silence hang in the air for pregnant pause. She was staring at me now, nervous and excited. "How did you put it? That's right...Reading those scenes where the detective finally gets the girl makes me dream about having his hands all over my body, touching me in ways that make a girl stay a little too long in the shower if you know what I mean." A direct quote from one of the letters she sent to my publisher in hopes that I would read it.

Those beautiful brown eyes of hers went wide and she clapped her hands over her mouth. She flustered and managed an excited shout, "Oh my fucking...no way! Get out! I mean...I don't mean get out of the store but, you're Mick!"

I tossed her the copy of the book and stepped back into the private reading room, closing the door behind me. I pressed my finger to my lips and winked.

"What are you doing here? Why...do you have a book signing downtown or something?" She was almost giddy as she accepted that I was standing in front of her. My overcoat slid easily from my shoulders as I made myself comfortable. "No books, no events, nothing like that Stacey. I came here to see if you're half as brave as you make yourself out to be."

She stared at me and began to blush. Her eyes darted to the closed door behind me looking for some escape or an excuse to leave the room. She opened her mouth a few times, trying to find words of protest but failed.

Sensing the critical moment to strike, I closed the distance to her in a couple of steps. I swiftly grabbed the front belt loops of her skirt, pulling her towards me. She slammed into my chest and dug her fingers into the fabric of my button up shirt. Her pink lips quivered as she stared into my eyes with anxious passion. Tiny droplets of sweat appeared on her forehead and neckline just above the sweater. "You're so much prettier in person Stacey. Why didn't you ever send me a picture hmm?" I grinned and ran my hands up her back. She wasn't wearing a bra and I suspected that she might have a thong beneath that tight skirt if she was wearing anything at all.

She pulled at my belt, trying to decide if she should scream or give in to the moment completely. I enjoyed this stage most of all. Up until now I had been the aggressor. She would have to decide to give herself to me and when she did, I would claim my prize.

She leaned into me and struggled with her emotions. "Damn...ok!" With this admission she drew me into a deep kiss. Her tongue searching mine as she whimpered and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of my head. This was the "green light" I needed.

I lifted her, wrapping her legs around my waist and pressed her against the nearest display. My own bloodlust was rising, making it hard for me to think of anything more than tearing into this woman like a pit bull who stole the Christmas turkey. She was mine! She released her kiss and gasped for air, letting me at the soft flesh of her neck. I half kissed and probed her with my teeth, dragging across the throbbing artery below the surface. I braced my knee under her so she would rest on my hips, feeling how excited and hard she was making me.

She stifled a moan as I raked my teeth across her ear lobe and ground my cock into the side of her thigh. She was sweating enough to make her shirt moist to the touch. Her glasses caught on my shirt collar and clattered to the wooden floor. "Come on! I want you to take me!" she whispered into my ear as she ground her hips against me. She pressed away and started to work the top buttons of my shirt.

I laughed softly at this new enthusiasm. "Oh no you don't!" I hauled her away from the book case and set her on the reading chair. It was a gaudy red leather seat with a sloped ottoman built in. I had noticed it earlier when she showed me the room. It was surprisingly modern for the antique fixtures, but it would serve well enough.

Slamming her down into the chair, I reached down and slipped one of her shoes off, noticing a thigh high stocking held with garters as her skirt slid up her supple thighs. Her eyes were filled with lust and longing. She bit her lower lip as I explored the hem of her stockings. "You like that don't you?" She giggled and reached for the zipper of my slacks. I caught her hand and pinned it to the arm rest. "I do..but there's something else I like a lot more."

"Relax Stacey, you're in good hands tonight." I smiled warmly and brushed the stray hairs from her cheek. She kicked her other shoe off and startled at the noise. "Oh my god! There's a book club meeting in the room next to us."Her words were scared and worried.

"I've got that under control sweetie." I soothed her as best I could. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled a silk necktie and showed it to her. She looked at me questioningly at first and then grinned as she realized what I intended to do with it. The broad section of fabric was just wide enough to cover her mouth completely and tied nicely behind her head.

Sitting back and pushing the ottoman away, I grabbed each leg and snapped the garters loose, tugging her stockings away and gently draping her thighs over each arm rest. The nylons held firm but not too constricting as I tied her legs down to each side.

She wasn't wearing any panties under the skirt. I could see her exposed pussy plainly as she leaned back and removed her sweater. "Naughty girl!" I laughed as she hiked her skirt up higher. Her ass was perched perfectly on the edge of the seat, legs spread in front of me and dangling from either side. I slid my fingers over the moist flesh between her legs. She was soft and inviting, her lips gave way to my fingers as I stroked across the hood of her clitoris and pressed the opening below. She strained and twisted in the chair as I probed her slowly.

I leaned over her and whispered in her ear. "Do you taste as sweetly as you smell?"

Her eyes met mine and she seemed to be begging me to find out.

Letting her guide me, I knelt in front of the chair and kissed the inside of her thighs. Her fingers worked through my hair and gave me hints when I hit a spot she liked. I was careful with the little pearl at the top of her soaking wet pussy lips. Parting the skin and rolling it back with my lips. I could work her clit with ease in this position. Her breathing quickened and I could hear her stifled sounds beneath the silver silk I had tied across her mouth.

I suckled slightly and massaged the flesh around her clit with my lips as I slipped a finger into the slick opening. Pressing a bit further and reaching upwards with the tip of my finger I could feel the tight bundle of flesh, that mysterious spot that made women writhe and quiver.

Her muffled cries strained against the covering on her mouth. She squeezed my head with her thighs and raked her fingernails into my scalp. I could feel her pussy throbbing around my finger as her abdomen convulsed. She was coming in waves, one tiny orgasm leaning up against another. Her salty juices drenched my mouth and poured over my chin. The taste of a woman is something you never forget. Like sweat, and a hint of the rushing blood beneath your tongue. Sweet and musky at the same time.

She released me and allowed me to sit back. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve I took in the view of this seemingly delicate woman in front of me. There she sat, tied to the chair, topless, her breasts heaving in the soft light as she gasped for air. Her arms dangled behind her head and swayed idly over the back of the red leather. I stood up and stepped towards her, straddling over the chair. She opened her eyes and stared me down like a wild beast. She tore the necktie from her face and pulled me towards her by the crotch of my pants. In a flash, she undid my belt and had my pants and boxers around my thighs.

She didn't say a word or waste any time as she greedily took my cock into her mouth, leaning forward in the chair and pressing me down her throat, her tongue stroking the shaft as she rocked back and forth in the leather chair. This wasn't merely sex. She was trying to suck the very soul from my body and she was welcome to whatever dark remnants she could discover.

With a slow retreat she pulled back and worked the head of my cock with her tongue, her fingers dug into my hips and she let out a muffled whimper as I took hold of her hair. Her left hand slipped down to the base and stoked me gently as she pressed the tip against the roof of her mouth.

She opened her eyes again and looked at me, begging me to finish in her mouth. This was the second "green light" that I needed.

Gritting my teeth and pushing her head onto my cock, I slid deep into her throat and gripped the back of the chair.

My knees shook as I came in the back of her mouth, her hand stroked the base of my cock furiously urging me to come until there was nothing left.

Dizzy and dripping sweat down my back, I stepped backward and looked at the private reading space. She grinned at me and wiped her mouth. It was difficult to tell which one of us was the predator and which was the prey in that moment.