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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2013.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Book Store
by Adrian (no address provided)

***

A teenage boy is caught and punished for a suspicious 
act by the proprietor of a book store. (Mm-teen, nc?, 
spank)

***

The bookstore was nearly empty, and probably about to 
close. I was wandering idly through the stacks near 
the front of the store, where the rare and expensive 
books were kept in locked cases. First editions, with 
crabbed signatures scrawled on the fragile pages. I 
studied them through the glass, wondering why the same 
books cost so much more here than in the paperback 
umpteenth editions in the back. 

I craned my neck, leaning on the lever that would open 
the case if it weren't locked. Unexpectedly, the latch 
slipped, and my chin bumped against the glass door.

He was on me in the next second, seeming to tower over 
me as he shouted, "What are you doing? It's after 9 
and we've been closed for ten minutes!" He held me by 
the collar of my shirt, shoving me back against the 
other bookcase. The back of my head cracked against 
the shelf and his eyes bored into me. 

"What's a punk like you doing here with the first 
editions anyhow?" He jiggled the broken latch, and 
then slapped me. He patted down my pockets, reached 
inside my jacket. "Didn't you have time to take 
anything, kid?" 

I was too scared to speak.

Not finding any books with that cursory search, he 
shoved me into a back room and locked the door behind 
me. It was a workroom, full of broken and half-bound 
books, with a long, high table of scarred wood running 
down the middle of the room. There was knife on the 
table, small but sharp. I had almost made up my mind 
to take it and fight him when he returned. 

"OK, punk, the store's empty and the door's locked, so 
I have time to look for my merchandise and call the 
police." 

I backed away from him slightly. "But I haven't done 
anything wrong! Really, sir, I wasn't going to take 
anything... I was just looking... I didn't know the 
store was closed..." 

He stopped me with another slap. The edge of the table 
bit into the small of my back, and I couldn't retreat 
anymore.

He unzipped my jacket. "I don't believe you. The 
police won't believe you either." 

I let him take my jacket, then my sweater. 

"They're cracking down on shoplifters these days. You 
should get at least a few weeks in Juvenile Hall." His 
tone was almost casual as he fished my wallet out of 
my pocket, looked at my driver's license. 

"But you're a bit too old for Juvie. That's too bad." 
His hand was relaxed, he knew the back pockets of my 
jeans were empty. "A kid like you could have a rough 
time in prison, even for a weekend." 

I shivered, pressing back against the table, pleading 
with him. "Please, sir, don't turn me in. I didn't 
steal anything. You know I didn't. And I never will. 
Really. Please let me go." I was almost in tears.

"Maybe I will let you go," he finally said. 

My heart leapt. 

"But not yet." He stepped away from me, opened a 
closet that seemed full of tools. "Take off your jeans 
and hand them over." 

I protested, not very coherently. He cut me off 
impatiently. "I know you're not hiding books in your 
pockets. Just do as I say. You're still getting off 
easy, you know." His eyes sparked dangerously in the 
dim light. 

I kicked off my sneakers, and gave him the jeans. The 
eyes raked over me as I blushed and looked down, 
noticing a hole in my sock.

He was very fast. He turned me around, lifting me by a 
handful of cloth at the back of my T-shirt, forcing me 
against the table. "Grab the other side of the table! 
Hold on with both hands." 

I had to stretch across the table, my toes barely 
touching the floor, my weight balanced painfully on 
the bones of my hips. His hands were almost gentle as 
he pulled down my underpants. I started to cry. 

"Remember, Adrian, you're getting off easy. I could 
still call the police. In fact, if you let go of the 
table, or if you scream, I think I will call the 
police." 

He stroked my buttocks lightly. 

"And they certainly wouldn't believe your account of 
this little interlude. Though it might amuse your 
cellmates." A slap, not very hard, but frightening. 
"I'm sure they would find other ways of amusing 
themselves with you."

I was silent, biting my lips and clutching the wood.

I trembled on the edge of the table for a long moment. 
I didn't know what to be afraid of - rape, a beating, 
maybe even a camera. My breathing was ragged. "Please, 
sir? What are you going to do to me?" He was silent. I 
couldn't see him, but didn't dare let go of the table 
to look behind me.

Then the cane bit my flesh with a fierce heat. The 
blows were fast and hard, so overwhelmingly painful I 
could scarcely squirm under them. Sasha had caned me 
before, after erotic spankings that left me giddy with 
endorphins. This was different. It was punishment, and 
a brutal dare not to scream. I bit back all but a 
whimpering moan, tears already soaking into the wood.

My legs flailed helplessly, with no leverage as they 
dangled from the edge of the table. I had lost count 
of the blows, my whole bottom was on fire, I must be 
bleeding already. 

He paused a moment. Was he going to stop? Taking pity 
on obvious suffering? The cane came down again, 
striking deep along the curve at the top of my thighs. 
I jerked against the table, biting my lip and tasting 
my blood. He struck the same place, hard. The shriek 
tore past my clenched teeth.

He stopped. His voice was teasing, almost gentle. "Too 
bad about that scream. I did try to go easy on you." 

I heard the rustle of cloth, through my gasping sobs 
and the pounding blood in my ears. His hands were 
rough, forcing my buttocks apart. My feet left the 
floor entirely.

Sasha has never been able to rape me convincingly. No 
matter how rough the scene, no matter how intense the 
role-playing - the recognition is too strong and the 
implicit consent is too deep.
 
END

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is 
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in 
real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real 
life" can look forward to many unproductive years 
getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their 
local prison system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 78