If Mr. Dillon noticed as they headed for the cab that Claire’s cleavage was more visible than usual, he didn’t give any sign. He gave their destination to the cabdriver and then sat back in his seat. Claire arched her back in what she thought was a subtle manner and tried engaging her superior.
“You said that we were meeting a widow named Lepin?” she asked. “The name sounds familiar.”
“Yes, her husband was one of those television chefs,” Mr. Dillon said. He turned to look at her, and Claire noticed that his eyes dipped down to the swell of her dark breasts.
“Oh! You mean Jean-Paul Lepin? I used to watch his show on the telly in college. I didn’t realize he had passed away.”
Mr. Dillon’s eyes were fixed on her chest. “Yes, apparently he died last spring. He willed his erotica to the collection.”
Claire smiled and crossed her skirted legs in a slow, easy manner. “Jean-Paul had a collection of erotica?”
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“Not just a collection,” Mr. Dillon said. “He used to brag that he had written an erotic book himself, but his agent and network contracts forbade him from publishing it. In certain circles, he had bragged that ‘Succulent Sutra,’ as he called it, would be the world’s greatest book of erotica.”
“A little presumptuous, wasn’t he?” Claire said. “He was a great chef, but what made him think he would be a master of erotica?”
“Ah, Ms. Currie, your naivete can be refreshing, although it is a poor quality in a librarian,” Mr. Dillon said. His insult rankled — until he placed a hand on her knee. He lifted her skirt and brazenly moved his hand to her thigh. He gripped her hard, his fingers sinking into her flesh.
“Ms. Currie, cooking is a lot like great sex. There is preparation; there is the careful measuring of vital ingredients; and there is the unrelenting attention to your dish. Skills that one develops in cooking apply readily to sex and vice versa.”
As if to punctuate his point, Mr. Dillon squeezed her thigh harder. Claire looked up to see the driver’s eyes reflected in the rear-view mirror. He was watching, and she knew with certainty that his eyes were drawn to her spilling cleavage as well. Whether he could see Mr. Dillon’s grip on her thigh was something she couldn’t tell.
“If you are going to attempt provocative cleavage, Ms. Currie, then you should really undo another button,” Mr. Dillon said.
She blushed at the suggestion but then gasped as his gripping hand cruelly pinched the skin on her thigh.
“Do it now, Ms. Currie.”
She nodded and reached up to her blouse. The taxi had stopped at a light, and the driver was giving her his full attention. Claire’s fingers fumbled with the button. It was one thing to attempt to seduce Mr. Dillon, but seducing this stranger was going further than she had attended. She undid the button and then pulled her blouse together to prevent any indecent flashing.
“No, no, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon scolded. “In for a page, in for a chapter, I always say.” He reached for her blouse and pulled the shirt open as far as the button would allow. He even tucked the blouse behind her large breasts to fully display them.
The cabdriver’s eyes were as large as 60-point type. Claire shifted in her seat to avoid his gaze, but Mr. Dillon resumed his grip on her thigh. She wasn’t going anywhere.
She blushed even more deeply when she noticed her hard nipples straining against the material of her bra.
“Mr. Lepin had quite the reputation as a charmer of women,” Mr. Dillon continued. He spoke as if he were lecturing a class, not speaking to his nearly topless assistant while she was being leered at by a cabdriver. “It was rumored that above every restaurant he opened was a private kitchen where he would prepare meals for his latest romantic conquests. He often bragged that in these secret kitchens, he could make any woman’s cunt taste as sweet as icing or as rich as a fudge. I imagine that being a chef, he preferred oral sex above any other kind, but this is just speculation on my part.”
Claire didn’t respond. She was too concerned with the cabdriver. He kept looking at her in the mirror. Mr. Dillon continued to squeeze her thigh with a firm grip that told her that the punishment would be swift and brutal if she tried to move. It reminded her of something, something dirty and tawdry, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“This is a scene from ‘Laura’s New York Adventure,’ isn’t it?”
Mr. Dillon’s hand tightened on her thigh. “Yes, it is. And do you remember what happens next in that book?”
Claire swallowed. “Laura gives the cabdriver a blowjob in order to pay her fare.”
The driver’s eyes widened.
“Very good,” Mr. Dillon said. “And that is exactly what is going to happen unless you can tell me where in the Nin-modified Dewey system that book would be found.”
Claire closed her eyes. It was a cheap book, produced in the late ’50s, she recalled. It had a typical female slut lead and was in that class of erotic books distinguished only by their settings in certain cities. It included many stereotypes of the period. Claire did recall that it had no lesbian sex, although it did include a sex scene involving an uncle.
“It would be in the 730s with a .4 designation,” she said.
Mr. Dillon was quiet. Claire felt a moment of terror, doubting herself and remembering what had happened to Laura. Would be she be sucking the driver’s cock? Would he fondle the tits that he had been staring at? Would he abuse her mouth and come in her hair? The questions made her thigh tense even more tightly under Mr. Dillon’s grip.
“You are correct, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “You may button your blouse back up.”
A sigh could be heard from the front seat.
Claire buttoned her shirt quickly. She noticed that Mr. Dillon didn’t remove his hand from her thigh. She felt relieved that she would not be required to perform oral sex on a stranger, but that relief was slowly replaced with something else as the drive continued. It wasn’t till they exited the taxi that she realized what that something else was. It was regret that she had missed out on an adventure, as if she had forever lost her chance to read a certain book.
Being a librarian was changing Claire in ways she had never anticipated.
To be continued.
4 Responses to “Fiction: Succulent Sutra Part Two”
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Ah, very interesting!
Relief was slowly replaced with something else as the drive continued. … It was regret that she had missed out on an adventure, as if she had forever lost her chance to read a certain book.
I know the feeling.
Bella- Thanks :)
wordslut- I think we all know that feeling.
Jesus fucking christ on a cracker, the call number designations… I think i’m going to cry from the mental stimulation. I work in a library! Why can’t my boss train me like this? And the posing device from your first librarian story. You are wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, and I love you.