The Librarian

She sat quietly behind the circulation desk, gently tapping her terminal screen with a pencil. She seemed almost the stereotype, with wire-frame glasses, fair skin and red hair cut in a pageboy. Her blouse was gray, with puffed out sleeves and collar so high that you cold see almost none of her neck. Her long, plaid skirt was woolen, though it hugged her hips in a most sensual way. Her jewelry was plain, only a single gold band worn on her left hand. So engrossed was she with her work, that she barely noticed my approach, not even looking up until I stood almost above her.

As she looked up her blouse parted, and for an instant I caught a glimpse of her breasts, full and tightly confined within her overly tight, green lace bra.

Such an incongruous picture, the high-collared librarian wearing a push-up bra. Normally a woman who wears such an item wants to be seen, with low necklines and skin-tight blouses. But not this woman. She dressed as if she feared her passion, or needed to keep it tightly leashed. Or perhaps a secret reserved for her husband.

"I was looking for the diaries of Anais Nin," I asked. "The computer says they're in stock."

She smiled and, and innocently flapped her eyes in feigned innocence. "We do have that item, sir, but keep it behind the counter. There are so many who think such things do not belong in a library. And there are the teenage boys."

I smiled and nodded. Reverend Phelps's decency crusade strikes again. Phelps opposed anything that mentioned sex in any form, much less in the more exploratory passions of Anais with Henry and June Miller. Nor had I forgotten my teenage years. Such a book would have been shown to my friends, and quickly become dog-eared as we thumbed between 'good parts'.

Of course I had not lost my interest in the 'good parts'. But as a man I had learned the virtue of sexual tension, that a furtive glance, a finger tracing the length of ones spine, or parted skirt could do to fire the mind. And while this woman kept her voice low and eyes down turned when she handed me the volume, her fingers lingered upon it, and slid across mine as she placed it in my grasp.

I thanked her and headed back to my kiosk, located deep in the third floor stacks. There I began to read, and take notes, comparing the life of Anais Nin to those of her characters. What a shocking libertine she must have seemed in her day, so free when women were not permitted the pleasure of touch. And as I read, I grew hard, my penis swelling with desire.

Lost in my notes, I almost missed the sound of someone in the stacks. It was my librarian, quietly putting books away. And yet I caught her stealing glances in my direction, casting me a Cheshire smile. I am not a beautiful man, but work has hardened my body, thickened my arms with muscle. My hair is long and graying, my chest is broad and sprinkled with hair, some of which jutted from my shirt. And so when I knew she was looking I stood, so she could clearly see the bulge inside my jeans.

Her eyes widened and she smiled shyly before turning back to her books. I watched her long fingers wrap around each volume, and carefully place it back in the stacks. And soon she looked again, head held submissively low, but her eyes locked in upon mine. She did not move when I stood and walked over to take her hand.

"Come," I whispered and she followed, eyes delightfully downcast. I knew of a restroom in the back, small and well hidden. So I took her to that room, it's walls painted in the promises and fantasies of gay men. How many men had used this room as I intended to? Her chest was heaving as the lock clicked shut behind us.

"I shouldn't," she whispered, but her voice was laughing and her fingers traced my hip. I took her hair in my hands, and pulled her head back, covering her mouth with mine. Her lips were soft and wet and she opened them in invitation. I traced the outline of her lips with my tongue before pushing it deep inside. My thigh slid between hers and she clamped her legs about it in hunger. Her breasts were milky white, and seemed to swell beneath her bra. Pressed by time, I did not dawdle. Each button seemed to take forever until her blouse fell away, and she opened her bra for me.

Her nipples were pale, and stiff, but they quickly darkened between my finger and thumb. She moaned softly as I pinched them, her mouth sucking hard upon my tongue. I could feel the closeted animal insider her breaking free, as slowly she humped my thigh. Her fingers squeezed my bottom as she thrust herself against me.

I was hard, my penis flooded with blood, trembling and tense, rubbing against her belly, I broke our kiss and slid down to take her left nipple into my mouth, and bit down, pinning it for my tongue. I heard he cry softly, clamping her mouth shut to stifle the noise. But she reached down to help me when I went for the clasp of her skirt, which fell with a shimmy upon the floor beneath her. Her bare sex was easily visible beneath her sheer green panties. The fabric seemed to pull her lips apart, pink and glistening. My fingers slipped beneath the waistband, and my index finger parted her labia.

Her hips moved in semicircles, gently thrusting and her hands lifted her breasts in offering, trying to force them deeper into my mouth. She was wet, slick and her pussy sucked my fingers inside like a vacuum, one then two, and she clamped down upon them as I twisted them inside her. I felt her pussy convulse and she pressed her mouth against my hair to muffle her cries of joy.

I took her then and turned her back, turning her toward the radiator. She placed her hands on the cool metal and bent over, raising her bottom in offering. I felt her shiver as my fingers unlatched my belt, and slid down my zipper. I pulled on her hair and kissed her again from behind, as my cock slid upon the crack of her ass. And then I asked her if she was ready to be fucked.

She looked back and smiled as I unwrapped the condom, raising her hips in invitation. And I came to her, and slipped myself inside.

She was slick and hot, and she moved her hips with fury, pushing against me as if more cock was the only thing that might keep her alive. I pulled her hair and tongued her ear. At first she whispered, whimpering gently, and then grew more insistent, asking me to take her harder. I could not help but comply, for each stroke took a bit more of my control, sucking me into the stage where lust turns all men into animals.

I took one of my fingers, still moist with her juices and began to caress her anus. She cried out sharply, and then pushed back against me. My finger slid inside, and it was in that position that we reached our peak, fighting hard to keep the noise down.

Quietly I wrapped my arms around her and we rocked together as I grew soft and finally slipped from her sex. She turned and knelt before me, licking me clean like a kitten, before stuffing me back in my pants and zipping up.

She stood and brushed herself, redoing her skirt and bra, buttoning up that high collar. A quick freshening in the mirror and then she leaned back, legs provocatively parted. "If there are any other books you require, sir, you must request them now. I'm afraid the library will close shortly."

"If I need another book, I will tell you tomorrow."

"Yes," she hissed. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will want more than a finger in my bottom. Or better yet, tonight after dinner."

She kissed me once, slipped out the door, and quietly resumed putting her books away.