Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Pervertable - Part Two

Pervertable - 
Part Two
Read Part One Here

So NaNoWriMo is done and I am 52,229 words richer than I was October 31st. In celebration, I thought I'd share the story I wrote in 2010 that inspired my 2013 NaNo novel Brought to You By. As always, please enjoy!

* Warning: While there are shades of kink in this story, it is at its heart a lyrically erotic, rather mainstream story told from a vanilla perspective.

The woman turned, curious as the man strode forward past her, shoving the spoons at her absentmindedly. As if a hallelujah chorus was playing as he walked, he stopped—awed—in front of the new holiday display featuring the matching three-piece bamboo cutting board set. Reaching out, he grabbed the small, rectangular cheese board by the handy, lightweight handle—swinging it slowly like a Ping-Pong player in a pool of water—then, with a bit more excitement, the medium-sized bread board, and then finally the large, ten-by-fifteen inch cutting board—hefting the light, but awkwardly weighted tool in one hand. The tall, sweater-vested man turned, the boards all clutched tight to his chest, looking like a ten-year-old at a toy store a week before Christmas. He looked at the woman, his mouth set in a silly, simply charming pout and his eyes shining with want.

The woman, who’d cleverly snatched a store basket, held it out for him with a amused, maternal nod, welcoming the set along with the spatula and spoons.

With an absolutely evil grin, the woman slung the basket over her elbow and reached for the set of decorative wine bottle stoppers. Dana had always thought they looked like cork-bottomed bishops that belonged more on a chessboard than a wine bottle, but apparently the woman saw something entirely different as she fingered the tapered stopper, running her fingers up and down its smooth, rounded curves and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at him.

The man paled and froze—horrified—before he backed away shaking his head determinedly. 

The woman, undaunted, followed wagging the palm-sized piece at him tauntingly.

Dana fought a giggle of her own as she watched the woman in chunky, four-inch heels chase the indignant man in his sweater vest through the aisles.

Reaching the grill section, the man grabbed the black silicone handle of a chrome meat lifter, wielding the short, squat pitchfork with a devilish gleam of revenge that matched the glint the overhead lights cast off the lifter’s long, sharp, near indestructible prongs. 

With a shocked squeak, the woman stopped suddenly, the now forgotten stopper falling from her hand as she reached out, grabbing her own tool, a pair of meat handlers that she slipped on her knuckles like claws. She growled at him with a playful swipe, brandishing them like a comic book hero or a horror film monster.

The man turned to run again until he noticed that the woman was more intrigued by the handlers themselves—the design, the shape, the smooth, slightly sharp feel of them—than she was in chasing or dueling him. He watched as she ran the claws, blunted but hard, along the bare length of her arms. His gray eyes widened as he caught the shiver that slid slick down her spine. Grabbing his own pair, he fit his large hands in the handles, gripping them in his fists before running them teasingly along her shoulders and back, eliciting a throaty chuckle from her as she arched her back like a cat into the tool’s touch.

With a satisfied grin, he pulled the handlers off and slid them into the basket. Smirking back at him, she slipped her own pair with their other purchases too.

With a slightly panicked thrill, Dana saw them head toward the counter. Quickly, she slipped in through the employee door into the back office, her heart pounding as she wondered how she could possibly look the couple in the face—much less ring up their order—after all that. 

But she was the only associate on duty, so when she heard their basket—full and heavy—plunk on the glass countertop, she sighed and resignedly pushed through the door. Plastering a friendly, Catered Cook smile on her face, she asked, “Did you find everything all right?”

The couple smiled and gave her a knowing look. With a little laugh, the woman purred—her voice strangely familiar, “Absolutely.”

Feeling a fierce blush flush her cheeks hot, she began to scan their items, swiftly transferring their purchases from the basket to a sturdy, embossed bag. Trying to sound as casual as possible, she told them their total and took the shiny, silver credit card the woman handed over. She rung them up, only belatedly noticing that she’d not only just made and far surpassed her shift’s revenue goal, but that she’d stayed a full fifteen minutes past her shift’s end. 

Handing them their things with a robotic thanks, Dana stood in front of the counter and watched the couple link arms and walk out of the store, eager to test out their new tools. She stood there long after they’d left the store—the door’s electronic bell tinkling tinnily. Long after they’d turned the corner past swiftly closing stores and out of sight, she just stood there blinking, replaying the last half hour.

Stiltedly, she started toward the front doors to lock them and pull down the gate. That done, absently, she walked back, passing by the bakeware, even though it was the roundabout way back to the cashier’s counter.

Pausing in front of the forks and spoons and scrapers and spatulas, she reached out haltingly, her hand hovering over the buckets for a hesitant moment. Taking a breath, she picked up the same wide, metal, flat-head spatula the couple had just purchased. 

She gave it a wave, feeling its weight differently—as if for the first time. Slightly off-balanced, cutting through the air easily with a light whoosh.

She thought of her boyfriend—the odd bookstore acquisition. She thought about his long, lanky limbs and the way he bent low at the waist to reach for books as he stacked. Curling her fingers around the top of the wide head, she thought about his gusto and his abundant appetite. 

She bent it back, feeling the taut tension along the turner’s long neck. She jumped and let go as she heard the cleaning crew’s vacuums rev. Breathing heavily, she felt the tool reverberate in her hand, the shudder traveling through her hand, up her arm as it shot through to her spine. 

She looked around—her head whipping one way and then the other—before she tucked the tool into her smock pocket and headed back to the cash register. I’ll purchase it before I shut down the computer for the night, she decided. After all, she could always use another spatula and didn’t use her associate’s discount near enough.

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  1. Love this idea! Think how much you could save on sex toys!

    1. I love the term "pervertable;" it's my favorite kink term. Personally, I find found toys far more fun than the store-bought ones, if just for that ah-ha/ha-ha discovery moment. To me, they are the epitome of kinky play!