The Bookshop - part one
I've arranged to do a reading one evening in a quiet bookshop. It could be any bookshop, but somewhere ideally that had a small performance space tucked away amongst the bookshelves, somewhere in which authors can conduct readings with their fans in which their are no distractions: simply the author sat at the front of the room, a half circle of chairs surrounding him that's maybe five or six rows deep, and bookshelves lining the room. A wonderful, quiet little space.
It would need to be a progressive bookshop of course, one which wasn't afraid of the idea of hosting readings from erotica. It would be an evening of quiet decadence: a reading of selections from my erotica, perhaps including wine and nibbles. Something small, intimate and rather special.
Attendance would be strictly women only. No men would be allowed, even amongst the minimal bookshop staff helping to host the event. It would be promoted discreetly - in here, of course, and also through a small notice pinned up in the bookshop. "An evening of erotic readings by Roger Steiner" - something like that. It would, of course, be a tickets only event, perhaps thirty or forty attendees at most. Including you.
I'd be there to greet you as you came in. I'd offer a charming smile, give a gentle shake of your hand, and indicate the refreshments to you, encouraging you to say hello to the others attending, since you all have me in common. I've been a secret pleasure for all of you for some time.
You might giggle and blush as you discussed your favourite stories with the other women there, talking about what you were hoping I'd read that evening... but it would all be very polite, none of you quite mentioning that you masturbate to my words, none of you quite admitting it. But the unspoken implication is there. As you finally take your seat amongst the other women, glancing across to them as they also make themselves comfortable, you know with certainty that all of you have been reading me secretly at the dead of night. You know that every other woman in this room has reached orgasm to my words, over and over again.
There's already an unspoken sexual tension in the room as the evening's entertainment begins. You know your usual reaction to my stories. You know how wet I've made you in the past, when you're read me alone, there in your bed, or on your couch, or at your desk. You know what my words usually do to you.
And here I am now, right here in this bookshop with you, perhaps another thirty or so other women also watching me as I take my seat at the table, smiling across at you as I open the latest collection of my stories, ready to read for you.
I begin with quiet reassurance:
"I'm delighted that you came to join me this evening. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. I'm going to be reading some of my most popular stories from the blog, the ones that I know you really love. I'm anticipating that these stories will arouse you. I'll be reading with the specific intention of arousing you, reading them slowly and sensually, so that you can enjoy my words, so that you can feel them, so that you can experience them a little more directly.
"Please don't be embarrassed if you find yourself responding to my words. Please don't be shy if you find yourself becoming wet. I want to make you wet, that's what this evening is all about. That's why we're all here. If it all gets a little too much, if you feel the need to touch yourself as I read for you, please go right ahead. What happens in this room stays in this room. Just settle back and enjoy."
And I smile again, a gentle, reassuring smile. You glance around the room a little nervously, thinking about what I've just said. Surely he's not expecting anyone in here to masturbate, in front of all these other women? No-one would do that, would they?
And yet the sexual tension in the room is sky high. You know that you almost certainly would, if perhaps someone else started first. You don't know any of these women here. You'll probably never see any of them ever again. The thoughts tumble through your head as the lights are turned down low, and I begin to read...
The first story is simply a gentle tease. Nothing too explicit, just a little playful, sexy story to help you relax, to make you giggle disgracefully, to ease you into the evening ahead. You're surprised by the slow, sensual rhythm to my reading, by my soft voice, by the way I savour each word, allowing you to picture the images, to experience so directly what I'm describing. As the first story concludes, half the audience lets out a long breath, and a mutual ripple of gentle laughter follows. You're all feeling it.
"Okay," I say, smiling again as I watch a few of you adjust yourselves in your seats, some of the women blushing slightly, some smiling secretly. "I think we're all a little more relaxed now. Let's try something a little more intense."
And I start to read again. It's a long piece this time, one you've read many times before, alone in your room. You wonder if I'll read the whole story, knowing just how explicit it becomes, knowing it's certain to turn you on, knowing precisely which part of it usually makes you come. Surely I'll stop before I reach that point, won't I?
But I continue to read. The story gets more and more intense. As the fantasy becomes more explicit you can already feel your body wanting to surrender to my words. You're exquisitely wet, and I'm not stopping. I'm clearly going to read the entire piece. There's no way you're going to touch yourself, even in this low lighting, it feels way too public, and yet... was that a soft gasp you just heard, a few feet away?
The words become more explicit. My voice is inside you now, the rhythm of the words driving you on. In the fantasy, we're fucking each other intensely, and you can feel it, you can feel my cock sliding deep inside your cunt, you can feel that pulse as we move together, you can almost taste me... and despite yourself, you start to squeeze your thighs rhythmically, trying to be discreet, trying not to be too obvious about it, but you're so damn wet now, and it's becoming so hard not to touch yourself. There's another soft sigh towards the back of the room, and a gentle, exquisite moan. You're not the only one feeling it, the other women are caught in the same rhythm, and the scent of sex is in the air.
Somehow you make it to the end of the second story. There's another giggle from the audience, and some breathless sighs. Somebody whispers: "My god...". You look right at me, studying my face. It's clear to you that I'm equally as aroused. My voice is softer, but with a sensual edge to it. There's the hint of a little sweat on my forehead. The room is distinctly warmer now. You find yourself wondering if I'm erect, and you're sure you're not the only person wondering. And of course, I am.
I clear my throat softly, taking a sip of water, and smile. "Would you like to hear another?" Somewhere at the back of the room, someone says "Hell yes!" and the room giggles again, some shifting in their seats.
And I turn the page, beginning the next story.
to be continued...