Leather Bound

Suddenly, I realised that even as Lily was friend-yelling at me, I couldn’t take my eyes off her legs. The sound her stockings made against each other as she shifted her calves was seriously distracting me. How was it possible that I never realised what fantastic legs she had? It wasn’t that I didn’t find girls sexy. I did. It was just that I usually found guys sexier. Besides, Lily was my best friend and the co-owner of my business. There was no way I was going to get involved with her in that way. Again, I mean.

But watching the way that Lil’s legs were sliding over each other was focusing all of my brain on the heat between my legs.

What was wrong with me? It was as though since Davian had walked in the front door, I’d been nothing but a single ball of need, rolling around in lust gardens, snorting sex flowers. My own sex-filled version of the foolish lion in the poppy fields of Oz. Except I wouldn’t fall asleep. I’d be so filled with lust that I would kill myself with want.

‘Janine?’ Lil poked me with the toe of her shoe.

‘Hm?’

The silence that ensued from her was full of unasked questions. I dragged my gaze from Lil’s legs to her expectant blue eyes.

‘You were talking about fucking the sexy dark-haired man who landed on our doorstep a few hours ago,’ she prodded. ‘Or rather talking about not fucking him. No blow job, no book job, neither of which are decisions I understand.’

I got a hold of myself, shaking my head and focusing on the least sexual thing I could find, a blank spot of wall behind Lily’s head.

‘You were talking about fucking him,’ I countered. ‘I was talking about not taking him on as a client.’

‘Because you want to fuck him.’

‘Lil, you are not helping what is already a very bizarre situation here.’

Even though I wasn’t looking at her full on, I could tell when she grinned in that sly way she had, letting me know that her intention was the exact opposite of helping.

‘Um, hello, he was hot as hell,’ Lily said. ‘And you, my friend, have quite the rampant little libido. If all your little buzzers weren’t going off, I would have been worried about you. Besides, I know Kyle’s awesome, but you have the look of a woman who’s bored to death. So please please please tell me you’re going to go out with this gorgeous hunk of a man.’

Kyle. Was it awful of me to realise I’d almost forgotten about Kyle and his proposal while I’d been busy with Davian? Probably. But it was true. That was some kind of sign, wasn’t it? And what did she mean, ‘the look of a woman who’s bored to death’?

‘All my little buzzers weren’t going off.’

‘Liar.’

‘He had one of our promo cards,’ I said casually, knowing her well enough to know she’d follow the swerve in the conversation. I only felt slightly bad about using her curiosity to my advantage. ‘Our early ones.’

Those eyebrows went up again. ‘Our disaster cards?’

I nodded.

‘Odd,’ she mused.

‘Very.’

‘From where?’

I shook my head. ‘He didn’t say.’

Lily nodded, tracing the outline of the book she had tattooed on her forearm, the way she often did when she was thinking. It was one of her first tattoos, and was lightly faded, looking more like a natural part of her skin than a hand-drawn piece of art. Kyle had offered a couple of times to redo it for her, give it some more life, but she’d declined, saying it was a reminder to her. I didn’t know of what.

‘You know, I feel like I recognise him from somewhere,’ she said. ‘But I have no idea why. Or where.’

I waited to see if she had more. Like I said, Lily’s fantastic with faces. If you give her a couple of minutes, she’ll usually come up with the connection.

When nothing else came, I said, ‘If he was really looking for something, which I doubt, it wasn’t something I could have found. It was the right thing, turning him down.’

‘I trust you,’ she said. In a way that said she actually did trust me. Which I was grateful for, and was feeling like I didn’t really deserve. ‘Now, why did your face do that funny thing when I asked about Kyle?’

‘What funny thing?’

She made a face, scrunching her expression up so that it was all soured. ‘This funny face,’ she said, which came out as dish funny fashe.

‘I don’t ever look like that,’ I said.

‘I let you segue me with the disaster card bit,’ she said. ‘That was my one freebie. You’re not getting out of this one.’

Have I mentioned that Lily and I have known each other a long time? And once Lily had something in her craw, she didn’t let go of it very easily.

Caught under her stare, I relented. ‘Kyle and I are –’ I started, and then didn’t know how to finish.

What? Engaged? Unengaged? Not at all engaged? About to break up? That last one felt the most true right now. But I was afraid to voice it out loud, lest it become true when I didn’t want it to.

Lily didn’t ask what, but she’d dropped her feet to the floor, and was sitting straight up, watching me like a cat watches prey. Which meant I was pretty much the prey. For at least the second time this morning.

It was turning out to be that kind of day.

‘Kyle asked me to marry him,’ I spit out.

‘Whoa, wait. Back up, please. When did I miss this? And how? I thought you were just, you know …’ She made the universal sign for fucking with her fingers. Leave it to Lily to offset her perfect appearance with the regular use of vulgarity.

I told her the story, the down and dirty version, leaving out this morning’s laughter-filled sex, since she’d clearly already figured that part out when I walked in the door.

‘He asked me as I was leaving for work this morning.’

‘As you were leaving?’

I nodded.

‘That doesn’t bode well for anything,’ she said. ‘And you said…?’

‘I didn’t. I came here.’

‘Oy vey,’ she said. Lily’s Jewish upbringing comes out at the oddest times, considering that most of the time she’s the least Jewish person I’ve ever met. But this time I had to agree with her.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

We sat in silence for a moment. I refused to look at her legs. Or at her face. Or at the half-curve of a smile that I was sure was resting at the corner of her red-painted lips.

‘Did we have any other customers?’ I asked. While I was in here – what had she said? – puddling like warm chocolate.

Lily snorted softly. ‘It was someone actually looking for the sex toy store. Can you believe it?’

‘Today?’ I said. ‘Today, I can believe almost anything.’

* * *

Thankfully, we were busy the rest of the day. But even with customers and orders to keep my mind occupied, I felt antsy and restless.

Kyle. Marriage. Davian. Lust. A sex club. Mysterious non-existent books. All of these unanswered mysteries were eating at my brain.

All day, my fingers beat an odd rhythm across book covers when I checked people out. I found myself shifting from one foot to the other for no reason.

An hour or so before closing time, I actually snapped my gum so loudly I startled myself. Thankfully the store was empty of customers at that point, but it was the last straw; I’d broken myself of gum snapping when I was nineteen. I had to find something to do before I made myself crazy.

I came storming out from one of the aisles where I’d been trying to organise books. Lil was behind the counter, drawing something. It’s what she did when she got bored. Mostly she drew her own tattoos. Sometimes tats for other people. Sometimes she drew Webster stalking dust motes or secret caricatures of our regular customers.

I keep telling her she could make a good career of it, but she keeps telling me that she has a good career. Which, of course, is exactly what I want to hear. She’s smart like that.

‘Why don’t you knock off early?’ Lily asked, watching with a raised brow as I tried to throw my gum into the garbage while it was still stuck to my fingers.

‘Because, because, because …’ Of all the wonderful things he does, my mind finished, stupidly. A string of quiet swear words followed while I finally managed to get the gum into the garbage can.

‘Go take care of –’ she waved her drawing pencil through the air, not being dismissive, but generally telling me she understood there was far too much going on for it to be summed up in a few short sentences ‘– things.’

‘I’m OK,’ I said. ‘I just need something to do. Maybe I’ll change the window display.’

‘We just did the display,’ she said. It was true. Our front window was big enough to set up a whole scene in. It was one of the things I loved best about the place. We changed the decor for each new season, and we’d just done the fall version of a reading room, adding a couple of chairs, a fake fireplace and a big maroon cushion for Webster to curl up on.

No display then.

‘Maybe Webster needs his nails trimmed,’ I ventured.

We both glanced at Webster, who’d forsaken his big cushion for one of the chairs, where he snoozed, stretched out, his belly to the sky. Clearly, he didn’t need my help either.

‘Go do something,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve got nothing, and I mean nothing, going on outside this place right now. Besides, I like to have you in my debt.’

‘But –’ I started.

And then I stood there, uncertain what else I wanted to say.

The truth was I didn’t want to be here, because I kept thinking about Davian with an urgency that scared me. Every time his face flashed in my brain, I got wet. Every time I saw his hands touching his briefcase, or my desk, or the tickets, my lizard brain, the part of me that was all sex all the time, woke up, aching for something I couldn’t name.

I didn’t want to go home because I’d think about Kyle. Kyle, and his proposal. And then I’d have to think about what was wrong with me that I didn’t just say yes to this smart, funny, gorgeous, talented guy who wanted to spend his life with me. Wasn’t that what every girl dreamed of?

I definitely didn’t want to go to Kyle’s, because I wouldn’t just think about Kyle there; I’d actually have to talk to him. And probably come up with some answers that I didn’t want to give.

The only other places I ever went – did I mention I was an introvert? – were Cream, the coffee shop that our friend Stefan owned, and Cock’s Tail, the bar that our friend Jay owned. Both of those places offered comfort, but they also meant someone who cared about me offering sympathy and a listening ear. If I knew anything right now, I knew that I didn’t feel like talking.

I felt like hiding out in a dark room where no one could see me, and letting all of this go for a little while. Somewhere that I could hide in the dark and think and make some of this stupid sexual desire disappear. Somewhere that I could –

Suddenly, I knew just what I needed. And I knew just the place to get it. Dark. Quiet but not too quiet. Solitary but not too solitary. I grabbed my coat and practically ran to the front desk, where Lily was still hunched over her sketchpad, chewing on an eraser shaped like a robot. A mostly headless robot.

‘Hey, Lil, did you mean it when you talked about closing up?’

‘Nope,’ she said. ‘I changed my mind. You must stay here for ever and ever.’

She must have seen something in my face because she started laughing almost instantly and flapped her hands at me, headless robot included. ‘Go, please. I love you, but you’re starting to make me crazy.’

I leaned across the counter to kiss her cheek, and as I did so, I saw what she’d been sketching.

It was Davian’s face. Almost. Just a little off, although I couldn’t tell how. I tried to puzzle out what it was. The eyes, slightly off-kilter? No. Not the mouth either. Something else. But it was definitely him.

‘Guess I’m not the only one with the hots,’ I teased, tapping the edge of the drawing with my finger.

‘No,’ she said. Her tongue stud flashed silver between her teeth. ‘It’s just that I do remember him from somewhere. But not here, I don’t think. I don’t know.’

‘Well, if you do think of it, let me know, ’kay? And I’ll open tomorrow. On time, I promise it!’

‘Mm-hm’ was her only response as I slipped out the door.

* * *

Leather Bound is in a part of town that most people, locals and tourists alike, just call the Sweet Spot. It’s this little area – two streets, maybe six or seven blocks long, of mixed business and residential – that’s known for being a bit risqué. It’s not a gay district per se, just a sexy district.

Most of the smart businesses play up the theme, giving themselves double-entendre names, like ours. And it works. It’s safely naughty. So if you want to bring your best friend somewhere for her bachelorette party, you’ll probably head here. Maybe stop by Cream for a cup of coffee, then head to Lashes & Lace for toys, then on to Cock’s Tail or one of the other half-dozen nightclubs that offer a naughty ambiance.

I asked around before we opened Leather Bound here, but no one seemed to know why this area is here, or where it came from.

It’s a good place for Leather Bound. Although we’re not specifically focused on sex books, we definitely do our fair share of sales in that direction. Plus, the rent is cheaper than anywhere else, we get more walk-in sales and it’s easy to get to almost anywhere from the store.

Like to Lashes & Lace, which was just around the corner a couple of blocks and down the street. I practically ran there. Now that I had a mission, I had someplace to put all my nervous energy.

I slipped in the front door, the little bells tinkling to mark my entrance. As far as sex toy shops go, Lashes & Lace is high-end, deluxe and very, very lush. The walls are painted in a lovely crimson, and the lights are kept soft and dim. There’s more a sense that you’re walking into someone’s home. If that someone owned a couple hundred sex toys and had a fetish for leather paddles as wall art.

A woman I didn’t know was behind the front counter, her ample curves tucked into a leather corset dress.

Perfect. Anonymity was the key thing I was craving at the moment, and that made things so much easier. And sweeter.

Walking past her, I caught her eye and gave an ‘I’m heading to the back’ gesture with my hand. She nodded. Sometimes I loved wordless exchanges.

A wide black curtain hung at the back of the store, and I parted it to step through. Here, it was even more dimly lit, soft cream walls and flickering electric lights that guided you down a long hallway. Doors opened off either side. I wasn’t surprised to find many of the doors marked FILLED, even in the middle of the day. L&L was known for catering to couples and tourists who wanted a clean, safe place to act out their fantasies.

I slipped down the hall until I found a door that read EMPTY. I swiped my credit card and, when the door clicked open, I stepped inside.

The room was small but cosy. Three walls were covered with long roll-up shades. I knew from experience what lay behind the fabric: floor-to-ceiling windows. On either side, the windows were two-way. If you opened those, whoever was in the room on the sides could see you. Along the wall opposite the door was a one-way window. You could watch the action, but they couldn’t see you.

I know a lot of exhibitionists, those people who get off on fucking in front of people, and I’m thankful for them because I like to watch, but I’m not one myself. The thought of being in front of people, of having sex in front of someone else, makes me feel breathless and weak, as though my legs won’t hold me.

At a basic level, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to let myself go and enjoy it, knowing that someone was watching. It’s more than that, though. I just don’t know exactly what. Maybe it’s the introvert thing. Or a trust thing. Trusting them, trusting myself.

But to sit in a dark corner and watch someone else get off? Yes, please. When I was little I wanted to be Harriet the Spy or Nancy Drew, looking through people’s things for clues, watching through keyholes, discovering the forbidden. That desire has changed over the years, it’s grown up from secrets and clues to sex and lust, but it’s never gone away.

I pushed the button on the wall facing me. As the shade began to slowly rise, I settled into the chair that smelled slightly of antiseptic, anticipating the view.

L&L doesn’t advertise what shows are coming up or send out event listings, so you never know what you’re going to get. Sometimes it’s a couple, clearly into exhibitionism, loving every second of being watched. Sometimes it’s famous porn stars, working a whole room full of bodies, orgy-style. Once Kyle came with me and we watched a threesome, two laughing, giggling women lovingly suck off a man on his knees. It was fun to watch, and we’d fucked on that fantasy for days, but at that time I’d realised something about my voyeuristic tendencies: I like it best alone.

Last time I was here, there was a gorgeous man lying on his back, bound in cream-coloured ropes that contrasted with his ebony skin, his cock beautiful and erect. No one came in or out of the room while he was there, and he never moved or opened his eyes. He was like a statue, a bound, breathing man of stone, only his cock twitching, tiny movements that were almost impossible to see. It was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

This time when the shade slipped up, giving a small clunk as it hit the top, I sucked in my breath at the view. In the larger room, silhouetted by a single lamp that showed off her body but hid her face in the shadows, a woman sat in a small folding chair. Her long brunette hair fell about her shoulders in waves, and her hands were held, possibly bound, behind the back of the chair.

A tiny tattoo – the small shape of something dark that I couldn’t make out from where I sat – rested in the hollow of her throat. She wore a black button-down shirtdress that hugged every curve. It was open from her upper thighs down, showing off a pair of old-fashioned garter clips attached to seamless black stockings. Her chin was lowered, but her green eyes were raised, her gaze apparently resting on the man who stood off to her side.

He was mostly outside the halo of the light, but I could see he was fully dressed in an impeccably pressed pinstriped suit, the cut accentuating his wide shoulders. It was all very 1950s, right down to the hat he wore. The space he took up was larger than his actual body, a presence that was incredibly sexy even through the window between us.

He held a pair of long-handled scissors – the only shiny thing in the room – his hands already settled into the large black handles. As he brought the scissors closer to her, I realised that the reason her dress was open at the bottom was because he’d cut the buttons off; they lay littered about her feet on the floor. This time, he started from the top, aiming for the button that held the dress closed over the curve of her breasts.

My hand was already under my skirt, toying with the edges of my panties as I watched them. The suspense of his slow movements, her breath rising and falling as he opened the scissors over the button thread and held them there without closing them all the way, was making me feel breathless and on edge.

Slowly, slowly, he closed the scissors all the way, a sound I could hear in my head, the small snick of steel meeting steel. With a delay that seemed to take for ever, the button fell away, rolling and tumbling down the fabric and against her stockinged thigh to finally land on the floor.

Her dress had bloomed open, showing the paleness of her skin beneath the black, an alabaster hollow that was flanked by two beautiful curves. Her chest heaved softly as he guided the scissors to the next button, the movement arching her back just slightly so I could see her nipples peaked against the fabric.

The sight made me bring my free hand to my own chest, fingers slipping under my bra, tweaking one nipple softly. I tugged my panties to one side and slipped one finger along my cleft, stroking myself softly with my fingertip. My clothes were suddenly too restrictive, too cumbersome. I wished I’d taken everything off before I’d slipped the shade up. I wanted full access to myself, to pinch and tug as I pleased. The room smelled of my arousal, sweet and urgent, and I wondered what she smelled like, in that other room.

On the other side of the window, he brought the scissors to the next button, and he must have said something to her, because she looked up suddenly and shuddered, her legs pulling together just slightly. The button was quick to fall, letting the fabric slip away further.

Carefully, he tucked the closed scissor blades between her thighs, waiting until she brought her legs fully together before he let go. The scissors stayed there, upright, their sharp point buried between her thighs.

He ran his fingers over the points of her nipples, sending visible shudders through her with every contact. I sensed that this was a game of power, of how much pleasure he could give her before she opened her legs in want and pleasure, before those scissors went tumbling to the floor.

I closed my own legs, mimicking her, keeping one hand between them. The pressure angled my fingers into a new place and I moaned softly at the unexpected pleasure.

Bending down, he put one hand on each side of her dress, where the fabric had fallen open. In one easy movement, he pulled outwards. Under the strain, the buttons didn’t stand a chance. They went flying, tumbling to the floor, and the dress opened fully to reveal all of her, from her large, pointed nipples down to her lovely V of dark curls. The garter belt fitted the swell of her hips perfectly. I couldn’t take my eyes off the pale strips of her thigh that showed above the stockings, the way the nylon rolled just slightly as if at some point she had begun to roll them off and had been distracted. The scissors between her thighs were the only hard-edged thing about her.

His fingers played along both nipples, causing her to squirm and arch in her seat. My movements echoed hers, as though, by watching, I was gaining a synthesis with her. He held one nipple tightly between his fingers, almost pinching it, and then tugged it, elongated it until it was thin and tight. I could almost hear her gasp, the way her mouth fell open at the sensation. He did the same with the other until he was tugging both nipples as far away from her body as they could possible stretch. The muscles of her thighs clenched, shifting the scissors. He kept his stance until she was panting, uttering words I couldn’t hear.

I feared for a second that she would lose control and drop the scissors. I didn’t know what that meant for her, but I knew it wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to be very, very good for him. And at that moment, with my own hand clenched between my thighs, my clit pulsing hard and fast against the movement of my finger, I wanted her to be very, very good for him too. I wanted her to get her reward, whatever it might be, so that I could have it too.

He released her nipples, and they sprang back against her body, flushed and rosy. He touched each one again, a tender touch, a finger-kiss, to soothe the ache. Then he pulled the scissors from between her thighs. She shuddered again and let her legs fall open.

I was close to coming, but I didn’t want to, not yet, so I stilled my hand for a moment, watching. He slipped the scissors between her skin and one of the stockings, slicing down the front in irregular patterns. Then he did the other. The torn-open dress and the gashes in the material combined to make her look like she’d spent the night being well fucked, even though I got the feeling that the couple had just begun playing shortly before I arrived. The look was sexy on her, and when he let the scissors drop to the floor so he could catch her hair with one hand and pinch her clit with the other, I felt the first pulse of pre-climax slip through my body.

He stroked her, hard and quick, with two fingers, and I caught his rhythm, echoed it with my own, until an orgasm rose inside me, impossible to resist. I let the pleasure pull my eyes closed, let it pull forward the loud moans that rose from somewhere in my chest and sank into the walls. There was a calm in allowing the orgasm to wash over me like that, in allowing all of the stress of the day to slide away. The pleasure was lovely, but almost secondary to the release of tension that I’d been carrying in my body. I relaxed a moment, hand wet between my thighs, letting my whole weight rest against the chair.