In the Library

Julie was new in town, just here a week. Her husband had taken a new job, one with more responsibility and, just as importantly, more pay. Today was his first full day at the job, and she decided to explore their new home town on her own.

She'd found the local market and picked up a supply of fresh produce. "Very good quality," she remarked to herself, pleased at the availability since she enjoyed cooking. Lunch in a local restaurant proved quite good as well, and afterwards, a bit of clothes shopping in some little boutiques. In one shop, she found a sheer purple scarf, lightly sequined, that matched the outfit she was wearing. She wrapped it twice around her neck, and found the look of it appealing. The feel was appealing as well; Julie liked the snuggness around her throat. At the desk, she had the clerk take off the price tag so she could wear it right away. It was three p.m. as she left the store; she had saved her favorite place for last, and she had plenty of time to explore it.

There were only a few cars in the parking lot when she arrived at the public library, and she hoped it didn't mean the collection actually was poor. The building was large and modern in design; reading was her passion, and she already had read that the library was supposed to be one of the best in the state.

Her fear of disappointment was dispelled as soon as she entered; the central reading room was spacious and filled with natural light, and rows and rows of full bookshelves radiated from the center to the farthest reaches of the building. She started in browsing, just wandering around, picking out books on the basis of a catchy title or an appealing spine design and glancing through them.

As she turned one aisle, she caught sight of a closed door with a simple black on white sign. "800.001" was all it said. She knew it was a Dewey Decimal number, for sure, but she'd never paid that much attention to the system of classification. Fiction was her choice, and it was always arranged alphabetically in the libraries she had frequented. She tried the door, but it was locked. That surprised her, and her natural curiosity kicked in. She made her way to the Reference Desk to ask about it.

The chief reference librarian was a man – common enough in universities, but something she hadn't seen in many municipal libraries – and he was good-looking. His sport jacket fit him well, hinting at a matching fit body beneath. He sported a full beard and a full head of hair, both with a bit of gray. Julie thought he looked about fifty-five or so, just about ten years older than herself. As he looked at her, it seemed clear that he found her as attractive as she found him. She blushed slightly, but was pleased that she had decided to wear the black skirt suit and purple silk blouse that she felt so pretty in. She wondered what he would think if he could see the purple lace bra and thong set that lay underneath her suit.

"Excuse me, Mister...er...," she paused as she noted his name on the desk plate, "Faolain, but I was wondering about a room I saw in the back of the library. There was a sign on the door that said "eight-hundred point oh-oh-one;" could you tell me what that is."

"Of course, Ma'am," Faolain replied, "That's the Dewey Decimal Number for erotic literature. We keep it locked so that only adults can access those books."

"Oh," Julie said, "I didn't know there was such a number; I've never seen it at any other library."

"Most local libraries don't include erotica in their collection," explained the librarian as his eyes wandered over the delicate lines of her face, tracing the beauty of its form and colors, "but we're more liberal here, and there seems to be a good deal of local demand for this genre."

"Hmm," thought Julie, "this town may prove more interesting than I expected it would."

The librarian interrupted her train of thought, asking "Would you like me to open it for you?"

"All right," responded Julie, "if it's not too much trouble."

"None at all," responded Mr. Faolain, and he led her to the room.

He held the door and then followed her in, giving her a quick tour of the shelves and showing her to one of the cushioned seats ranged round a massive teak table. Both the table and the chairs seemed antiques, more in a Victorian style than in keeping with the rest of the building and its furnishings. The room itself was darker than the main area as well; the window panes here were richly tinted and the natural light was well shaded.

"Feel free to browse the shelves, Ma'am," Faolain invited, "you can take any seat to read if you wish." Then he added, "We close at five; come get me when you're finished, please, so I can lock the room."

Julie thanked him and began to browse as he left, closing the door behind himself. She selected a few books and brought them back to the table to scan. It was a genre only slightly familiar to her, but she quickly grew fond of it, finding sex as arousing to think about as to do. She became thoroughly engrossed in her reading; so engrossed that she lost all track of time, and didn't even hear the closing announcement on the public address system.

Mr. Faolain thought about her for the rest of the afternoon, even wondering what kind of underwear a woman as lovely and sensual as she would wear. He remembered her eyes, her lips, her long, flowing hair, the sound of her voice, the curves of her hips and breasts beneath her clothes, her fragrance, even the shining sequins on the purple scarf that girdled her long neck. And he remembered also that she was still in the room as closing time came.

He ushered the library clerks and the few patrons out and then shut the lights as if he were closing. When the parking lot was emptied, when there were none left in the library but himself and Julie, he made his way to the 800.001 room and quietly opened the door.

Julie was so involved in the images which the words evoked that she didn't hear him enter, nor did she hear him steal up softly behind her. In fact she was completely unaware of his presence until he took hold of the ends of her scarf and pulled the loop snugly around her throat.

She gasped at the surprise, and then quickly froze. Her mind was lost in some dark recesses of sexual desire, and she hadn't a thought of what she should do.

"Stand!" Faolain said firmly, with an insistence in his voice, and Julie let go of her book and stood as he lifted the scarf to guide her upwards using it as if it were a collar.

Faolain tugged the scarf a little bit tighter as he kicked the chair aside.

"Now, off with your jacket."

Julie inhaled sharply, and brought her trembling fingers to the buttons, undoing them one by one. The third button open, she slid the jacket back over her shoulders and let it fall from her arms to the floor.

"Blouse!" was all he said now, and Julie slowly complied, her whole body quivering. Both of them gasped as her blouse glided over her flesh and then over her arms, she, perhaps because of the silken touch on her nervous skin, he, at the sight of the silken skin of her back and shoulders.

With the ends of the scarf still in his hands, the librarian laid his palms on Julie's shoulders and hooked her bra straps with his fingers. Slowly, very slowly, he drew the straps outward and then down, drawing the scarf tighter around her throat as he dropped the straps down to her elbows.

He let go of the scarf then, and grasped the outside edges of her bra, pulling the cups tight against her chest, tight across her breasts, tightly containing her stiffening nipples. He kept it tight, dragging the lace down roughly over her breasts until they burst free, bouncing slightly until the wave subsided.

Faolain's arms encircled hers, and he cupped her full, soft breasts in his palms, squeezing them firmly. "Unhook it," he ordered, and she strained behind herself to undo the hooks and let the purple lace fall forward on to the floor.

The librarian slid his hands down her sides, letting them come to rest on her hips.

"Cup your tits in your hands like I did," he ordered, and when she held them both firmly, he added, "Squeeze your nipples between your thumbs and index fingers."

"Now pull them out and twist them," was his next command. "Further out; stretch them 'til they ache. Twist them hard."

Julie obeyed, moaning and whimpering as she tugged and twisted her own nipples.

Faolain felt himself growing stiffer with each whimper, with each glimpse of her strained breasts. He ran his hands all over her naked back, from her hips to the nape of her neck and back again. He liked what he felt, smooth, hot, a bit of perspiration just starting to form, and his breathing, increasingly heavy, clearly showed it.

Julie didn't expect it at all when he grabbed her wrists and sharply yanked them down. She squealed as her nipples tore free of her grip and her breasts bounced and jiggled on her chest.

The librarian sighed deeply at her squeal as he brought her hands to the waistband of her skirt.

"Undo it," he said tersely, "Drop it to the floor."

Julie fumbled for the clasp on the waistband, her hands trembling in his grip. She struggled with it a moment before unfastening it and exposing her lacy purple thong.

He released her wrists and slid his hands around her cheeks as he stepped back a bit to admire her derriere and her legs, the white of her thighs contrasting with the sheer black stockings that sheathed the rest of her legs. Her ass was so tempting, so vulnerable, with its flesh bare on either side of the thong nestled in her crack, that he couldn't resist giving her right cheek a sharp slap of his hand.

Julie heard him gasp at her little cry, and she imagined the pleasure he was taking from her. She found the thought of him aroused at her distress was arousing her as well, and she felt her furrow begin to fill with fluid. Faolain stood there and smiled at the red imprint of his hand welling up on her ass.

He paused a moment, savoring the sight, and then quickly slipped his fingers under the thong and lifted it, all in one motion. The thong pulled tight into her crotch, right between her labia, and lifted her ass in the air and her feet off the floor. She began to fall forward, onto the table, but stopped her crash with her hands just before her face and chest could slam into the wood. Her cry of surprise was louder than any she'd yet made, and Faolain's cock jumped at the sound.

He held her feet off the ground for a moment; then the lace tore and she found herself standing firm on the floor once more. The librarian pushed her feet together with his feet as he undid his zipper and freed his straining organ. It was long and thick, but Julie couldn't see that; she only knew from the sounds -both the zipper and his breaths - what he was doing. He grasped his shaft with his right hand, then, and took hold of the two ends of the purple scarf with his left. He brought his swollen glans to her tightly-closed labia and pulled back on the scarf, drawing her onto him.

The wet head of his cock slid easily between her nether lips as he pulled her towards him, but the tightness of her entrance resisted his penetration for a brief, intensely pleasurable, moment before it burst inside her, stretching both the circumference and the length of her pussy. They both moaned loudly as he entered, and he held her close to him by her scarf collar for more than a full minute.

Now he slapped down on her right cheek again, not as hard as before, and he left his hand there. A deep breath, and he pushed her towards the table, sliding her off his shaft until his glans nearly popped out of her sopping hole. His left hand yanked on the scarf and drew her back down the length of his organ. Julie moaned again as the head of his cock drove down into her, pressing against her sweet spot and sliding onward, stretching her sheath to its full length.

Again and again he repeated the motion, and he and Julie began to moan and sigh in unison with each other and with the strokes. Her nerves grew more and more sensitive as the tension increased in her pussy, and she could feel the worn surface of the teak table as her swollen and stiff nipples were dragged across it with each pull and push of her body.

Shorter strokes, now, and faster, each one stabbing into the bundle of nerves in the roof of her pussy, until she and Faolain both stiffened and arched, a full sweat flooding from their backs. Her sheath spasmed rhythmically, squeezing up and down his shaft and enveloping his glans, and he erupted inside her, spewing jet after jet of white lava against the back wall of her distended pussy.

They thrust together, now, slowly, Julie sliding her sheath over his shaft, pressing right down to his root, and Faolain shoving his cock into her pussy until it could go no further. Her spasms subsided, his fluids drained, the librarian pulled his organ from hers.

Julie's torso lay on the table now, and Faolain took hold of the scarf to pull her up to stand. He turned her to face him with one hand, and drew her face to him, pulling again on the scarf. His lips pressed against hers, hard and hot, and she opened hers to receive his tongue. They held the kiss and its passion for a few moments before breaking it off.

"Get dressed," Faolain said curtly as he did up his pants. "And, honey... I really like your new scarf."