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Subject: The Curiosity Shop M/F - Celeste Xmas contest entry
===========================================
This story contains words of a sexual nature
and should not be read by juveniles. If this
means you, go away and read something else; you
shouldn't be here anyway. This is a work of
fiction and in no way portrays real life - if
you can't hack that, go lie down in a dark
room; the bad feelings will go away.
===========================================
The Curiosity Shop - Celeste Christmas story entry
By Sven the Elder
It was an old shop in a new part of town - an anachronism,
a dim and musty place of knick-knacks and old things. I loved the
place. I liked the atmosphere, and I loved browsing its shelves
for old artifacts. I also liked teasing and flirting with the
owner's wife. Her husband was as old and fusty as the shop itself;
his wife was... well, unexpected. For a start, she was from the
Continent - Dutch, judging by the accent. He was in his sixties,
if not seventies; she was much younger, perhaps in her late forties.
No matter - she dressed in the old style, to fit in better with the
tourists that the shop 'fleeced'.
Oh boy, did they fleece the tourists! This was a tourist
town. The Castle, a part-time seat of the Monarchy, was only just
up the road, and everything about this small town was about parting
the tourists, the "grockles" in local parlance, from their money.
The trouble was, for me, that they were very good at it - extracting
the money, that is. As a local - from the next town anyway - I had
to bargain pretty hard to get the odds and ends that I wanted at a
sensible price. It helped to speak in a local accent, to be sure,
but even then it required quite a bit of persuasion. At Christmas
time, it was even worse.
I was visiting the shop for the second time in a matter of
a few days, because I had spotted a rather nice rose-quartz Buddha
and I had come back for it - that and another chance to tease Jo.
We had been on first name terms for some months, a fact that left
her husband less than pleased. He just called me 'Mr', a term that
in this country borders on insulting. Myself, I couldn't have cared
less. I would have put up with a lot more than that minor insult
just to chat up the vivacious Jo.
That wasn't really her name, just the opening few syllables;
the rest defeated my tongue, so "Jo" it had become. Like everyone
else, she just called me "Sven". I describe her as vivacious, and
she was, but in an older, more comfortable way. Her family had all
grown up and left home. I think I had seen a daughter in the shop
once.
There is a joke about inheriting a father's looks and a
mother's brains; she certainly had her father's looks. If she had
her mother's brains, she was lucky. Jo was sharp - by that I mean
quick. Quick-witted, quick in business - she was the boss. But
she was clever; the old man thought he was in charge, and she was
content to let it be that way. She was also "comfortable" in that
she didn't worry about her figure. She was not unattractive, just
nicely in proportion - not thin but, in fact, unremarkable.
But enough of the gossip. My purpose had been not so much
to buy the Buddha, which I had in mind to do, but rather to see if
amongst the other detritus there was a second one. An old friend
collected such items. If I could find just such a pair, and at
Christmas, I would be more than happy. Mind you, if I did find
them, Jo would know the greater value of the pair, and she'd have
a damn good go at fleecing me.
So I was enjoying myself, completely oblivious to the time,
the weather (it had been damp and drizzly, with a little fog or mist
off the river when I had come in earlier), and the gathering dark.
I was at the back of the shop, well away from the front, and, to be
truthful, part of my mind was still taken up with the sight I had
been presented with about half an hour earlier. Jo had been behind
a display case when I had asked about an item that was close to my
edge. She had leaned over on tip-toe to get a better look, and I
had been gifted with the most wonderful close up of a chest that
stretched to breakfast time. She was wearing a loose blouse and,
as I now knew, no bra. Nothing! Zilch! As she leaned forward, the
most beautiful pair of breasts were there, exposed to my gaze, with
nipples a little firm from the attention of the blouse. They were
magnificently framed by the rather fetching tinsel Jo was wearing.
She had been decorating the shop for the Christmas festivities and
had had a string left over; she had decided it looked better on her
than on the window.
She noticed that I had simply stopped speaking and was
frozen still with my jaw dropped. I mean, flirting was one thing,
but this?... Well, hell's teeth, we were both married, and my wife
was two doors down talking to her boss, and her husband was... well,
he wasn't here! Jo looked at me and burst out laughing.
"You men, you're all the same! One flash of tits and your
mind is a blank!" I'm afraid all I could do was splutter and, at
the same time, go all colours at the red end of the spectrum. She
stayed, toying with my mind for several seconds more, and then moved
back to a rather more decorous position. I had totally lost the
plot and given up, I have to say, rather embarrassed, and had moved
off to the back of the shop. Jo was still giggling some time later.
Humming to myself, I turned round and ended up, off-balance,
in Jo's arms. She had come up behind me, and I had failed to hear
her while my mind was still far away, mesmerised by those gorgeous
charms. Now I was pressed against them. Panicking, I moved
backwards, catching my heel on something low down, and fell flat on
my back, clutching at Jo as I did so. Fortunately I failed to make
contact with her and just ended up in an untidy heap. Any thoughts
of flirting - appearing suave, debonair, or whatever - became lost
in the stars I saw as I hit my head a hell of a whack on some unseen
object behind me. Great, really great - here I was hoping to have
a little fun, and I ended up looking a complete prat - just my luck!
As my head cleared, I became aware of Jo, very concerned,
kneeling beside me in the semi-darkness that now pervaded the back
end of the shop.
"Sven, are you all right?" she said softly.
"Of course I'm all right, Jo," I replied, but thinking to
myself, 'You dickhead! What a cack-handed way to appear, just when
you were trying to impress!'
I sat up and ended up nose-to-chest with the cause of my
downfall. Jo put her arms gently round my head and quietly pulled
my head to her breast.
"Easy," she said, "you've just banged your head quite hard.
Don't move for a moment."
'Jo,' I thought, 'if this place caught fire, I would happily
end my days with my nose in your cleavage.' Out loud, I just sighed
a little, my nose about two and a half inches from the nipples that
were close to heaven. She continued to hold me to her, even as I
moved my head slightly to one side. I felt her nipple stiffen and
grow as my cheek rubbed against it. Turning slightly, I put my lips
against it, through the material of her blouse, and suckled gently.
She moaned lightly, and pulled my face tighter to her breast. I put
my hand up and cupped it slightly, as she shivered gently at my
touch. She moved a little as I moved my other hand down across her
stomach, softly rubbing a circle as I went. Rising on her knees a
little, she pushed forward against my hand, as, through her skirt, I
now rubbed her very centre.
She gave another little sigh and moved one hand from my head
down across my front, brushing the crotch of my jeans, now bearing
witness to the effect the closeness to her breasts was having to me.
"Sven!" she said, with a little note of outrage in her
voice, which was quickly lost in a groan as I rubbed her breast a
little more firmly. She let go of my head and, moving back a little
from me, opened the front of her top, and then moved my head back
towards her. I licked and teased her nipples, first one, then the
other, and marvelled as they grew hard and firm. She gasped in
pleasure as I nibbled them gently, so gently.
I moved now to a kneeling position and kissed her full on
the mouth, nibbling her bottom lip as we kissed passionately, lost
in the moment. I felt her hands back on my jeans, undoing my belt
and then the snap and zipper, allowing her hands access to the rigid
evidence of my, by now, intense arousal. Now it was my turn to gasp
a little as she ran her finger nails down the shaft and across my
thigh.
Taking her lead, I ran my hand under her skirt and up the
front of her leg. I was totally taken aback to run into, not
panties, but a very damp mass of pubic hair covering the open mound
at the top of her legs. My fingers slipped inside easily and she
moaned more loudly and squirmed as I found her sensitive spots. I
slipped my fingers back out and brought them to my lips and sucked
that beautiful nectar from them.
She pushed me gently back onto the floor, leaned forward,
and took me in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head.
Realising the sensation was almost more than I could bear, she
gathered her skirt and, holding it out of the way, hunkered forward
to either side of my legs. She gently lowered herself into place,
and I nearly lost everything as her hot lips swallowed me in. She
leaned forward and dangled a breast to my lips and I nipped at it
gently. She contracted on my penis as I did so, and I thrust up
into her. She met me eagerly, and we consummated our lust quickly,
without finesse, both jerking to orgasm, lost in each others
passion. She fell forward, still holding my shoulders, and we
breathed deeply, trying to regain control of our respective
heartbeats.
First to recover, I said, "Jo, what if--".
She stopped me with a finger to my lips and said, "I shut
the shop before I came back. That was what I was coming to tell
you, that I was closing up."
I tried to get up and help her off, but she giggled that
lovely giggle again and contracted her muscles on me. As she felt
me move inside, she said, "Oh good - I can never get Frank to manage
more than once. You'll have to come back again for your Christmas
present."
And do you know what, my friends? I did, and I have once
or twice more since that rainy December afternoon.
The End
(c) Sven the Elder
December 97
"Long may you want to - may you want to long" - old celtish wish.
Sven the Elder official Website & archive is now at
ftp://asstr.ml.org/pub/Authors/sven/index.html
With much thanks for the help and advice from Sandman.
--
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