There’s something about bookshops, something inexplicable, something that ignites a throbbing almost primal desire to be dirty deep within me. It makes me want to wander and lose myself among those mazes of shelves, venturing further and further until I’m finally beyond the librarian-like scrutiny of the bookshop’s sentinels and the scratchy shuffling of its clientele.
Somewhere deep inside, I finally reach where I need to be. Impetuously, I sweep the shelf clear of its books. Dickens, Poe, James, Proust. Over the years the worthy words of all the greats have fallen open around my ankles. The smell of musty paper wafts from the open volumes. I inhale it deeply, closing my eyes, imagining the words condensing in my lungs.
And then a hand pushes into the small of my back, bending me over the denuded shelf, so my head and arms protrude into the adjacent aisle. I let my hands dangle, caressing the books in the shelves below me, the worn leather of antique books rough beneath my fingertips.
Moments later, the hem of my skirt is hitched above my waist. Instinctively I reach back to resist, but my arms are blocked by the bookshelves. Someone drags my panties down to my ankles and over my shoes, the sticky garment wantonly discarded on top of an open page of some literary masterpiece. A hand slaps my bum, hard, then pulls my legs apart, exploring the warm wet crevice in between.
And then I am thoroughly violated, right there in the aisle, deep within this maze of books. Just far enough away from prying eyes – yet so close to getting caught. Another stinging smack to my bum echoes around the bookshelves. The sound of my spanking might yet betray us, but that just adds to my excitement. My nostrils fill with the intoxicating scent of vintage books, mixed with the smell of sex and sweat.
That’s what I see when I pass by a bookshop, not a sophisticated repository of humanity’s collected brilliance, but the prospect of another musky-smelling carnal den, hidden somewhere deep within its paper labyrinth. A bookshop is somewhere to get lost, a place to discover nooks where one might be secretly disgraceful, observed only by the disapproving spines of the masters’ books.
And now, I’m standing all alone in a bookshop.
And I can hear my heartbeat in my ears…
Grimoire is another personal favourite. It is also the result of a challenge, to tell a tale about the spanking of a thief. I opted for the style of magic realism, those familiar with Borges’ Zahir will recognise the frenzied descent into feverish obsession, a longing that many who crave punishment will recognise. They say books are portable magic, so come, let me weave my spell.
What readers have said about this story:
“This may well be the most perfect story I have ever read. As a lifelong
bibliophile, the bookstore description is wonderfully evocative. I love
the sequence of imagined punishments for stealing the book. It’s far
more enticing to let the reader imagine all the possibilities. The
entire concept invites the reader to imagine more stories written in the
grimoire. Thank you for sharing this fabulous and tantalizing story.“
“This is so good it defies description. Your command of the language is
really awesome, and your imagination really, really beyond compare.“
is sheer perfection in style and content: I think if Jorge Luis Borges
had written a spanking story, this would be it, which is the greatest
praise I can think of. I am speechless, and cannot love this enough!“
“An incomparably written tale–gripping from beginning to end. The author
has a mastery of the English language that may be the envy of many.“
“Wow! Thank you. Amazing. I might not be reading it anymore, but it’s still playing in my mind.“
“Absolutely fabulous. I cannot decide if the author is French or not my
tentative conclusion is not. They are certainly cultured and have a
remarkable imagination and a real gift of writing. I had thought a
grimoire was a collection of unpleasant stories. Now I know better. I am in
“Superbly told, highly atmospheric, evoking the place, and the magic of
the both the book and the written, punitive word. The author brings a
great and detailed depth to what is from the start a brilliant concept.“
“I feel like this library is my own Grimoire, just as the book in the
story was. I read every night as she did and live vicariously though the
characters in the stories. This beautifully written story, obviously
spoke to me. This is one of the best I’ve read.“
What do you think?