She needed to be seen. “Hold very still,” he whispered. “You’ll be fine.” Unable to take a deep breath, she attempted to school her breathing, slow and steady. ‘Is this what an asthma attack feels like?’ she wondered. ‘Like drowning slowly on dry land?’ She could feel her pulse beating in her ears, in her fingertips, and in her pussy. The men’s voices come closer. “What’s under there?” “A special project,” she heard Lor answer. “Something I’ve been asked to see to. Soon it’ll be ready to unveil.” She tried wrap her mind around why that phrase made her so aroused. Why did it start a slow trickle of juices from way up in the delta of her vagina? A project, unveiled. Suddenly the dynamics of the situation changed. The books wobbled and she clenched her muscles, she tried to stop the slow flow of tears leaking out of her cleft. Gritting her teeth, she fought the urge to buck her hips, to climax. ‘Maybe the parchment paper *was* a good idea’, she thought grudgingly. Perhaps a Hefty bag and half a dozen hand towels would have been even better. She began to fantasize about being squished, flattened, pressed; advanced between the rollers of a huge printing press. Minutes ticked by as she teetered on the knife edge of a looming orgasm. Finally, the men said their goodbyes. One set of footsteps retreated, another approached. The sheet was whipped off. He squatted down and looked into her eyes through his thick lenses. “How are you doing? Need a break?” he asked. “Fine,” she squeaked. “But thirsty.” Like a conjurer, he produced a Dasani bottle and a straw. He waited patiently while she sucked down water. “OK” she gasped, “continue.” He set up his shots and snapped away. It occurred to her how similar the crack of the camera shutter sounded to a pair of sharp scissors shapping shut. Each slicing sound cut deeper at the nub of her desire. Lor began unloading her burden. “No!” she gasped fiercely. “More books. More stacks on my legs, on my head. I want to be crushed by books!” Lor stood back and considered her carefully. “Fine, but we can’t leave this many on your back.” He began moving quickly, shuffling books like giant cards. Dashing down the hall, he brought back more wide books of maps. Then stacking, piling, placing, propping, he erected a city of tomes atop her calves, thighs, bottom, back, shoulders, neck and head. The pressure and breathlessness were now exponentially more intense, yet she welcomed the sensations. She stared at her reflection in the shiny, black eye of the lens and saw knowing, contentment, and ecstasy. A fantasy she hadn’t even known she wanted, brought to life by the most unlikely of characters, in the most mundane of places. He saw her, understood her, got her. *This* was being seen. To be continued...
Posted on: Wed, 14 Aug 2013 14:55:29 +0000
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