You step out of the cold and into the warm welcoming used bookstore. The air smells of hot tea and old paper. Low ceiling, soft lighting, and books in every conceivable location. Cautiously you step between old furniture and paperback piles making your way through the cozy shop.You spot a boulder of a man behind the counter watching you over his wire-rimmed glasses. His bearded Cherub face turns slightly red and then back to the leather-bound book in his large hands. The beige cable knit sweater hugs his round belly and as you admire his thick form you catch him looking back at you. Before you can stop yourself you give him a wink Escort Beylikdüzü and a slight suggestive smile. His face is practically scarlet now, sternly considering the tome he holds. You decide to peruse the collection and maybe get a better look at the man.You find yourself in a makeshift aisle of bookshelves. A vintage magazine in your hand. Artistic nude portraits of men fill the fragile pages. Being so engrossed in the images you don't hear the front door lock. You do however hear a soft and low "excuse me" from the bookseller.He makes way down the aisle toward you with a paperback in Beyoğlu escort hand. His towering figure stops directly behind you and he places one heavy hand upon your shoulder. His belly pushes up against your back as he reaches above your head. He meticulously places the book in a spot you could not have noticed.Your back involuntarily arches and you feel his bulge press firmly against your backside."A perfect fit," he says and you don't think he's talking about the book.*He leans you into the shelf. The hand on your shoulder has made its way to your chest and found your nipple. His other hand is Bomonti escort bayan already at your fly, his mouth in the space behind your earlobe. You hear your belt buckle clunk and rattle on the floor as his hands explore your body. The pressure of his mass has you panting into the now forgotten magazine and your body pressed against the shelf.In a haze you find your back arches further, his hands pulling at your clothes. Your pants around your ankles, your shirt balled in his hand. His thick moustache rubs against your ear."I want to fuck you right where you stand," he grumbles."Don't stop," is all you can manage.A second clunk of a belt hitting hardwood floors. He pushes his cock between your exposed cheeks, grinding against your entrance. Your hole is warm and sticky, wet. One hand at your waist, he pulls himself back. You hear him spit, and then your hole is probed by one of those thick fingers, gently spreading you open.