11 - Cuckqueaned by the Bookstore Owner #3
The kiss ended. I heard them separate, heard Sam’s ragged breathing. When I opened my eyes, Charlotte was looking down at me again.
“Don’t lie to me, Molly.” Her voice was soft, but there was iron underneath. “I can always tell when someone is lying to me.”
I nodded. My throat was too tight for words.
“Would you like to keep serving me?” She stroked my hair, gentle, patient. “Would you like to make me happy tonight?”
The question hung there. I knew what saying yes meant. I knew I should stand up, brush off my knees, laugh this off as some strange moment that got out of hand. I knew my husband was kneeling inches away, watching me decide.
I nodded again.
“Say the words, dear.”
“Yes.” My voice came out broken, barely a whisper. “I would like to keep going.”
Charlotte’s smile spread slowly, warm as sunlight. “Such a good girl.”
She stood. I had to tilt my head back to keep looking at her—this woman who was now standing over me like she’d always owned me. The pearl earrings caught the light.
“Help me out of these, honey.”
My hands were shaking as I reached up. I rose to my feet, legs unsteady. The cardigan came first—I fumbled with the buttons, one by one, while Charlotte waited with patient amusement. Beneath it, a silk blouse the color of cream. More buttons. My fingers kept slipping.
“Take your time,” Charlotte said. “We have all night.”
The blouse fell open. Beneath it, a simple white bra, her skin golden against the fabric. I reached around her to find the clasp, my face inches from her belly.
As the bra came loose, Sam leaned in and pressed his lips to Charlotte’s shoulder. Then her collarbone. Then the curve of her breast as I revealed it. He was kissing each part of her body as I unwrapped it—like I was presenting her to him. Like this was my gift to give.
I unzipped her slacks. Slid them down over her hips while Sam’s mouth traced lower. White lace underneath, simple and expensive. I hooked my fingers in the waistband and pulled them down, too.
Charlotte stepped out of the pooled fabric, completely bare except for the pearl earrings.
Her body was exactly what I’d expected and nothing like what I’d prepared for—lean, yoga-toned, a faint tan line at her hips.
She stood there without a trace of self-consciousness, like being naked in her own bookshop was the most natural thing in the world.
“Now help your husband out of his clothes,” Charlotte said.
She turned to Sam and pulled him into a kiss. Deep, slow, her naked body pressing against his clothed one. His hands came up to her waist, her back, pulling her closer.
I stood there for a moment, watching them. Then I moved toward Sam and reached for his shirt buttons. They didn’t break the kiss. I had to work around them—reaching between their bodies, fumbling with buttons while Charlotte’s hands roamed Sam’s back. It was like I wasn’t even there.
The shirt came off. I had to tap Sam’s arm to get him to release Charlotte long enough to pull the sleeve free. He barely acknowledged me. His mouth found hers again immediately.
Belt. Button. Zipper. I kneeled to pull his pants down, working around their intertwined legs. Charlotte’s hand was in his hair now. Sam made a sound against her mouth that I recognized—that hungry groan he used to make for me.
I tugged off his boxers. He was hard, straining, inches from my face. Neither of them looked at me.
I stood, clothes in my hands, while my husband kissed another woman. They touched each other like they’d been waiting years for this. I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know where to look. Standing felt wrong. Interrupting felt impossible.
So I returned to my knees. It was the only thing that made sense.
The movement caught their attention. Charlotte broke the kiss and looked down at me. Sam followed her gaze. They both studied me—kneeling on the hard floor, waiting, obedient.
“Well, look at that,” Charlotte said softly. “She knew exactly where to go.” She smiled. “I think you should spend more time on your knees, honey.”
My stomach dropped. I could barely imagine how soaked my panties were.
Charlotte settled into the wooden chair. The old wood creaked beneath her. She leaned back, let her knees fall open, and gestured me forward.
“Now, honey.” That warm smile. “Show me what you can do.”
I shuffled toward her on my knees. The floor was hard, unforgiving. I’d done this before—a few times in college, fumbling experiments with roommates and too much wine. But that was different. That was girls figuring things out together. This was something else entirely.
My mouth found her. The first taste was sharp, unfamiliar, overwhelming. I didn’t know what I was doing. My tongue moved without direction, searching.
“Slow down,” Charlotte said. Her hand came to rest on the back of my head, not pushing, just guiding. “There’s no rush. Just feel what I respond to.”
I slowed. Tried to pay attention. When my tongue moved one way, her thighs tensed. When I tried something else, her breath caught. I was learning her like a language I’d never studied—finding the vocabulary through trial and error.
“That’s it,” Charlotte murmured. “Right there. You’re doing so well.”
The praise washed through me. I wanted more of it. I wanted to be good at this, wanted to hear that voice tell me I was doing the right thing. My tongue found a rhythm that made her hips shift, and I stayed there, focused, devoted.
“Oh, honey.” Her fingers tightened in my hair. “You’re a natural. Such a good girl.”
“Sam,” Charlotte said, her voice steady even as her breath quickened. “Come here. Kneel beside me.”
Sam moved into my peripheral vision, lowering himself beside the chair. Charlotte turned her head and pulled him into a kiss, her hand finding the back of his neck. Her other hand stayed in my hair, holding me in place.
I kept working. Above me, I could hear them—the wet sounds of their mouths, Sam’s low groan, Charlotte’s hum of pleasure that vibrated through her whole body. I was serving her while she kissed my husband. The thought should have made me stop. Should have made me stand up and walk out.
Instead, I pressed deeper. Worked harder. Tried to make her moan into his mouth.
Charlotte’s thighs began to tremble around my head. Her hand tightened in my hair, pulling me closer. The kiss broke—I heard her gasp, heard Sam whisper something I couldn’t make out.
“Don’t stop,” Charlotte breathed. “Right there, honey. Don’t stop.”
I didn’t stop. Her hips lifted off the chair, pressing against my mouth. Her whole body tensed, and then she was coming—pulsing against my tongue, her fingers gripping my hair hard enough to hurt. She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a cry, her thighs clamping around my ears.
I stayed there through all of it. Tasting her. Serving her. Feeling her shake apart above me.
When Charlotte’s body finally stilled, she loosened her grip on my hair. I pulled back, my jaw aching, my lips wet. Charlotte was looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite name—satisfaction, yes, but something softer underneath.
“That was lovely,” she said. She stroked my cheek with her thumb. “You did so well, honey.”
I stayed on my knees. I didn’t know what else to do. My whole body was thrumming, untouched, desperate.
Charlotte turned to Sam. He was still kneeling beside the chair, hard and aching, his hand resting on her thigh.
“Stand up, sugar,” Charlotte said. Then she looked at me. “Make sure your husband is nice and hard for me.”
Sam stood. I shuffled forward on my knees until I was in front of him. His cock was right there—familiar, mine, but not mine tonight. I took him in my mouth.
The taste of him grounded me. This I knew. This I’d done hundreds of times. But it was different now—I wasn’t doing this for us. I was preparing him for her. Getting him ready. The thought sent a pulse of heat through me that made my thighs clench together.
I worked him slowly, thoroughly. Lost in it. The weight of him on my tongue. The way his breath changed. The way Charlotte had told me to do this and I’d obeyed without hesitation. How good it felt to be commanded. To have a purpose.
I barely noticed Charlotte move. When I finally looked up, she was standing beside us holding a rolled yoga mat.
“Lay this out, honey,” she said.
I let Sam slip from my mouth and took the mat. My hands were shaking as I unrolled it on the floor between the shelves. Behind me, I could hear them—the soft wet sounds of kissing, Charlotte’s murmur of appreciation, the slick rhythm of her hand on his cock.
Charlotte lowered herself onto the mat, her body stretching out against the dark fabric. She looked up at Sam and extended her hand. “Come here, sugar.”
He went to her. No hesitation. No glance back at me.
I couldn’t remember the last time my husband had made eye contact with me. He was completely under Charlotte’s control—moving when she beckoned, kneeling when she guided him down, positioning himself between her thighs like he’d been doing it for years.
He’d never looked at me the way he was looking at her. Never followed my lead so mindlessly, so eagerly. Not that I even knew how to give orders. Not that I’d ever tried.
Charlotte wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer. I watched from my knees as she reached between them, guiding him to her entrance.
“Watch, honey,” Charlotte said, her eyes finding mine over Sam’s shoulder. She held out her hand toward me. “Come here.”
I crawled to her on my knees. Her fingers intertwined with mine, warm and certain, and she pulled my hand to rest against her chest. I could feel her heartbeat beneath my palm—fast, strong.
Sam pushed inside her. Charlotte’s grip tightened on my hand as her lips parted, her back arching slightly off the mat. My husband made a sound I knew—that low groan of relief and pleasure—but he was making it for her.