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  • Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 01

Meek Shall Inherit Ch. 01

12

Warning this story contains graphic depictions of anal sex. Please proceed with caution.

I have always been a weak boy. Growing up I was picked on every day by almost everyone, as everyone was stronger and faster - even the girls of the neighborhood. I was short for my age at any age, too thin to be chosen for any team. Gym teachers would ask me to jog laps rather than put me through the humiliation of forcing a basketball through the air. I took their pity with gratitude; I did not want to be the team captain.

My interests lay in the arts, in expanding my mind. Science fiction, fantasy... these were my sports. From the earliest grades till high school the actors changed but the story was the same? As my body grew and progressed towards adulthood my weight remained the same. I had no girlfriend, I needed none. Every day in school I would stare at the wall, eagerly awaiting 3 o'clock. I would rush down the hill from school and through the doors of the library, where I was greeted with familiarity by everyone who worked there. Librarians knew me by name; they'd smile politely with a hint of pity and ask "Hello Petey how was school?"

I would give them some made up reason, and keep moving by their desk. Deep in the stacks was my home, buried in the unique smell of slowly decaying paper and binding glue. Until closing every day I would stay, walking out of the doors of the library with the staff, just another long day. My mother and step father were glad that I had a safe place to hang out, and by senior year it became like I was just another staff member - part of the crew.

They finally hired me, and I could not have been happier. This library was my world, my salvation from the bullies that hunted me. Here I was safe, here I knew everyone and everything. I had favorite reading corners where the sun would hit the page just right, I knew which of the water fountains was the right temperature - I had sensitive teeth. To be paid for the things I already did every day voluntarily seemed unnecessary, but I humored the head librarian, Mrs. Wendell. She found me in the basement, perched atop a book ladder.

Looking up at me, she said "Petey, you're here every day and we all love you - would you like a job?"

I could barely contain my excitement when I swallowed and said "yes ma'am, I would."

Working behind the scenes gave me access to areas I never knew existed. I was given the door code to the staff cafeteria, where the staff swapped stories of sick children and angry parents. I discovered the unused book dumb-waiter, a small elevator that I was just able to fit my body into. I even snuck into the boiler room, where John the custodian sometimes slept overnight - our secret. On the day of my high school graduation Mrs. Wendell introduced me to the life changing catalyst that would end up altering the world - the Special Collections.

In the rear of the children's auditorium was where the library kept the proceeds from both infamous and anonymous donors. Framed letters from long dead politicians, ancient manuscripts carefully pressed in vellum, books dating back to the founding of the library itself. I was allowed to browse this room at first with her supervision, and as my trust with the staff grew, so grew my access to the Special Collections. One late night John gave me a gift, a silver key cut on his personal lathe in the basement.

"Kid," he said with a hint of alcohol on his breath "I know how much you love these old books. Here's a key, you can go in there any time after hours." Smiling he added "It'll be our secret."

I hugged that old janitor, hugged him like I would hug my father had he stayed past my first birthday. With my face buried in his blue coverall I whispered "Thank you"

Almost every night after closing, I would slip into the dark wooden door at the rear of the auditorium and carefully peruse the collection. I wore dust gloves and turned the pages with a pair of stolen cooking tongs to prevent any contamination. By the light of the overhead fluorescent bulbs I stared into the past, absorbing words, handwriting, etchings... it was all pure to me, the breath of the past. John would poke his head in and shake it lovingly, spotting me hunched over some yellowing tome or another, mouth unconsciously forming the syllables.

Here in the temperature controlled stacks I came across a simple book, thin and easy to overlook in between the bindings of its massive leather and gold brothers. The book resembled one of those pocket bibles in cover texture, black and age hardened. The front cover was unmarked, as was the back when I flipped it over out of habit. Smiling, I slowly opened the book, carefully lifting the cover in my white gloved hands. The inner cover was marked with a single symbol, a glyph of sorts.

At first I took it to be an ampersand, then a hash sign. With a puff of breath I carried it from the darkened stacks to the viewing table, peering down at the page. As I neared the light clamped to the glass topped table, the symbol resembled a backwards letter e, with the cross bar placed oddly high. Pinching my eyes shut, I placed the book on the table, careful to hold the stiff top cover gently open. Opening my eyes, I looked again in the light of the yellow incandescent bulb. The glyph now resembled a rune, something you'd expect an artist to scrawl along the hem of a magi's robe or perhaps line the helmet of a Viking berserker. The glyph-rune now called to mind an uppercase R, overlaid with an oddly drawn menorah.

The longer I let my eyes attempt to comprehend the lines inscribed on the page, the harder it was to pull a meaning from. I began to impossibly see layers to this symbol, now atop the R and the mangled menorah I could discern something that I would call an E, backwards with the lines drawn too close to the center.

The spell that the glyph was laying on me was broken by the sound of the janitor, John, beginning to wax the floors upstairs. I stared back towards the door, feeling strangely protective of this small, gnarled manuscript in book form. Something in the back of my mind whispered, hinted that this book was not how... not how this writing always appeared.

Smiling to myself I stood up from the desk, feeling and hearing my spine pop as I did. I carefully gathered the small black book in my gloved hands, carefully closing the cover. My eye was drawn to the symbol on the page, and as the cover blocked it from my view I could swear that the symbol was no longer flat on the page, almost as if the vellum page had depth. I needed an aspirin, I realized. My head was aching on the right side, a gentle throb that made me think of home and bed.

Every day afterwards I would make a point to stare at that old book, never daring to look past the first page. Something superstitious inside me warned me not to. I felt that if I did without gaining some understanding of the first strange, ever changing rune, I would ruin something sacred. Popping aspirin at the rate of two every four hours I would stare at the yellowing page, attempting to learn this rune-glyph the way I learned every other written word I encountered. It refused to be categorized, resisted memorization. The symbol carved into the thick pulp paper was closest to an optical illusion; the eye struggled to comprehend the shape etched into the animal skin page.

I was forced to give in when late one winter night after an exceptional marathon of "rune staring" as I began to call it; I felt a sharp pain and heard from inside my head a moist popping sound, somewhere between and behind my eyes. Struggling to control my heart rate I replaced the book on the shelf and slipped out of the back door, breathing heavily. Walking home all I could do was replay that moist sound that began and ended inside the most intimate part of my anatomy. It wasn't until I got home that I realized my nose was bleeding, and when I attempted to wipe that my left hand was shaking. Fearing a stroke, I lay down and prayed for mercy, letting thoughts of god carry me into sleep.

That night was filled with strange dreams of running through endless stacks of books searching for one book that I could not find. In these dreams I knew the name, but not what it was supposed to look like. Or I knew what the book looked like, but could not recall the name. I woke up in a cold sweat, still struggling to recall the name and appearance of the book that haunted my dreams. I remember the shock and horror when I rubbed my mouth and chin, only for my hand to come away damp and sticky. In the night, I bled once again - the blood soaking my shirt, pillow and sheets. In the middle of the night I must have had some sort of hemorrhage, the sheet near my head was ink black with congealed blood. After cleaning up and trashing the sheets, I went to work like usual - just another day.

That night I decided not to visit the book room, thinking about the book caused my head to throb on the left side. Besides, I don't think waking up in blood soaked sheets is normal by any means. These days have been weird, my head feels pressured inside. I feel like everywhere I go, people can see me. They stare, watching me as I move. A part of my brain thinks that it is paranoia, that no one is watching me. I'm not special; I keep reminding myself as I walk to the library, trying to avoid the eyes of other pedestrians. I'm not special, and yet it seems to me that the more I think this, the more I try to convince myself that no one is looking at me, the more they do. Remember that scene from the Matrix, when Neo is following Morpheus down the street in that training simulation and everyone is parting like the red sea? A little bit like that.

I get to work and greet the head librarian, Mrs. Ito. A beautiful Japanese woman in her early forties she tries to hide her body from me but from day one I've always noticed. She never shared with me her first name, but a quick look at the time cards revealed that her first name is Akiko. Akiko Ito reminds me most of the Japanese porn star Fuko, a woman who has taken up more than her share of space in my daydreams. Mrs. Ito is married, and has been for more than twenty years to a stern looking man who I've only seen once here. Their quiet exchange was brief but they seemed to be happy.

"How are you today, Peter?" Mrs. Ito asked politely. I noticed the same strange look in her eyes that I've seen mirrored in everyone's gazes today, a mix of curiosity and attraction.

"I'm fine Mrs. Ito, just feeling a little under the weather. How are you?"

Akiko smiles, nodding her head demurely. Brushing the hair from in front of her right ear and tucking it behind her ear she says "I am well, Peter. If you are not feeling well, perhaps you would like to use my office to rest?"

I am taken aback by this question, in the many hears that I've been working and before that as a patron I've never been offered the use of her office. I try not to register the shock on my face as I smile and say "Yes, thank you Mrs. Ito. I would like that very much. I did not sleep well also night and a small nap might help."

She gives me a smile that I cannot quite place until I have my hand on the doorknob to her office.

I think Mrs. Ito was nervous.

******

Current day

I walk into the convenience store casually, taking in the people waiting inside. Just as always, the drink shelves line the rear of the store, followed by three shelves of snacks. The checkout counter is to the left as you enter the automated doors, staffed as usual by Dave, the partial owner and daytime clerk. In line in front of him are three people; a beautiful blonde, about my height with a younger girl - could be her daughter. Behind her is an overweight man in a stained undershirt, sneaking glances at the blonde's firm backside when her daughter (sister, cousin?) turns her head.

I smile politely at them, and they barely notice me as I pass through the automatic doorway. I understand how they feel I would react the same way. Nothing about me is extraordinary, dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt. I smile at the blonde pleasantly as I open the small side door that leads behind the counter. The counter clerk, Dave, barely acknowledges my presence as I pass the mounted plaque "EMPLOYEES ONLY" he only begins to undo he belt with his free left hand as he leans forward, continuing his conversation with the blonde in earnest. I walk behind Dave and reach over his shoulder to grab a Slim-Jim from the display next to the register. I stand up, rip the top off the wrapper of the Slim-Jim and take a bite, chewing slowly. Dave pays me no attention, and instead begins to work his way into asking the blonde out.

"You are very pretty," Dave says with a smile. "I see you come in here every Tuesday with your..."

"Sister" the blonde says curtly. "She's my baby sister and we really need to go."

I smile as I slide my grey sweatpants down, wiggling my hips to get them to drop past my knees. Dave does his own hip wiggle and lets his worn jeans fall to the floor, followed by his yellow stained underwear. He gives them one final push with his free hand, letting them pool around his ankles and covering his sneakers. No one notices me now; I have fallen from their attention span, right off their radar.

From the moment I passed the EMPLOYEES ONLY boundary I willed myself from their minds, using mental muscles that I still don't fully understand.

Dave says to the blonde "So, if you aren't doing anything..." as he reaches under the counter past his arched hips without looking. Still facing forward he passes me back over his shoulder an unopened jar of petroleum jelly. With a wide smile he continues "...maybe we can go out for lunch, or dinner?"

Standing behind Dave I lean my head to the right and peer over his shoulder at her face, I'm interested in her reply. Dave hasn't been on a date in months, he could use something besides the job to occupy his time. I open the small container of lubrication and cover the first two fingers of my right hand before setting it on the counter. Standing behind Dave I place my left hand on his left shoulder blade and wait, listening for her reply.

The blonde frowns and says "Well, I don't know. What did you say your name was again?"

Dave and I let out a collective sigh. "Dave, beautiful. My name is Dave. So what do you say?"

I think he pushed a little too hard, if you ask me. I slide two fingers in between his ass cheeks, and into his anus. Dave relaxes unconsciously, allowing my fingers in past his sphincter. The blonde's eyes flicker, dancing to the air behind Dave's head.

"Is something... is something back there?" She asks, confused. "I could have sworn..."

Dave smiles "Nothing back there but the wall, baby. Now about Saturday night..."

She cuts him off, clearly disturbed by something. I pause in my motions, alarmed. Something isn't right, my heart begins to race. It has been months since I've been seen when I did not want to be seen, and this is... new and exciting. The sensation is different, and because it is so out of the ordinary it is very thrilling.

The blonde strides away towards the entrance, the automatic eye slides the doors wide for her. Dave, the overweight man and I watch her go, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The little girl trailing behind says "Bye mister" and for a second, I could swear she was talking and looking at me.

Dave smiles sadly and says "Bye sweetie" then turns to the overweight man. "Next."

Despite the pounding of my heart, my erection has not diminished. I shake off the weirdness of the moment and guide my stiff member forward into Dave's rear, burying it deep inside his anus. Dave says to the overweight man "I almost had her man. She was feelin' the Dave."

The overweight man snorts and says "You had nuttin'. Lemme get a pack of lights." I slide myself in and out of Dave's asshole, building up to an orgasm. As I ride this middle aged man in public, my mind begins to wander back to the blonde. 'She almost saw me,' I think to myself. 'I have to know for sure. Dave said he sees her in here every Tuesday. I know where I will be next Tuesday.' I begin to pump a little harder, bumping Dave into the counter in front of him.

I reach around to Dave's cock, hard and leaking from all the prostate stimulation. He gives the overweight man his change, and closes the register. I wrap my left hand around his short, thick member and begin to stroke in time with my thrusts, using his precum as a lube. Dave pulls a newspaper across the counter and rests his head on the heel of his right hand, turning the pages slowly.

As I begin to climax I release his cock and with both hands grab Dave by the face from behind. His eyes try to remain glued to the newspaper as I pull his head back and slide my index fingers into his nostrils, one for each side. Dave switches to mouth breathing without thinking, still trying against all logic to read the newspaper - his mind not fully comprehending the reality of his situation. With his mouth gaping I slide the ring and pinkie fingers of both hands into his mouth, allowing my middle fingers to rest under his nose and on his top lip.

With this firm grip I begin to thrust roughly, slamming my straining member forward and up into Dave's rear end as I pull his head back. The motion knocks his cap off, a weather worn trucker cap that once had a logo but is now just a memory. Dave reaches to the side and plops it back on his head as the blonde reenters the store, the door making a pleasant "Ding" sound.

Surprised, I release my grip on Dave's face and pull my wet, brown stained cock from Dave's ass. I rest it between his skinny ass cheeks, staring at the blonde with an open mouth. She walks up to the counter, staring at Dave eye to eye. He begins to say "Hey sweet-" when she cuts him off.

"I don't know what is going on in here, but I got the strangest feeling of being watched just before - are you recording us?"

Dave grins and says "Of course little lady, we are all on candid camera. Look." He waves his right hand at the dome mounted camera in the ceiling, center of the store. Smiling at the dome he sings "Hellooooo", before turning his attention back to the beautiful woman in front of him.

"Nothing to worry about though, we wipe and reuse the tapes every week." Lowering his voice he says "It's for your safety."

Unconvinced, she begins to look around over his shoulder. She looks past him, past me, up at the ceiling behind us both.

"Up there," she gestures with a hand "You got any cameras up there?"

Dave peeks over his shoulder, past me at up at the wall. I wiggle to the left a little, the sweatpants around my ankles making it hard to move.

Dave replies "Nope, no cameras there. Only thing back there is the supply room. Why, what is up?"

The blond shakes her head, confused. She glances through the glass doors at the little girl, who is stepping back and forward, making the automated door open and close. "Nothing, I guess before... I felt something. Like I was being watched, or filmed."

Dave senses an opening and asks "Hey, what did you say your name was again?"

The blonde looks from the girl to Dave's smiling face "Erica. My name is Erica and I'm sorry to be rude, but I can't go out this Saturday. I have a daughter to take care of whose father decided to skip town, again."

Dave is not one to be defeated, as I slide my blood laden cock back into his anus he grunts and says "Erica, a pleasure to meet you. I hope you have a wonderful day."

Erica glances around the store, spooked. "Yeah, likewise. I gotta go, see you around Dennis." She walks back through the doors, grabbing her daughter by the hand and moving away towards the gas pumps.

"It's Dave. Not Dennis. Dave." he states, as I bury myself to the hilt inside body and ejaculate, the pause for Erica's return only serving to increase my need to cum. Holding Dave's hips tight, I hold my pulsing member inside his rear until the spasms stop, then slowly let it fall from his body. Without much effort I direct him subconsciously to pull up his underwear and jeans. As Dave buckles his belt he walks to the door and flips the WE'RE OPEN sign, and then returns to the space behind the counter.

12
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