by Raelluyn ©
"Why aren't you here?" he typed.
She looked at the screen for a second with raised eyebrows. Subtlety was lost over online conversations. "You didn't ask me."
"I shouldn't have to ask."
"Don't be a fucking idiot."
Susannah was getting tired of this game. She hated the passive-aggressive approach that Matt always took. She hated always having to be the one who went to him; who kissed him first; who pulled him off the couch and into the bedroom. It wasn't that she didn't like being in control - occasionally - it was just that every once in a while she wanted to be pushed up against the wall, an insistent mouth on hers and a hand roughly hiking up her skirt.
It had been a long time since she had simply been taken.
There are advantages to casual-sex relationships. It's a way to assuage loneliness, or horniness, and it can sometimes be a relief to be free to touch a friend in any way that you want. However, the iron-clad rule of fuck-friendship is that you only take a fuck-friend if they are so damn good at giving you what you want that you don't care that there's nothing else in the relationship.
Matthew, on that count, was falling short.
They had both been drunk the first couple of times they had slept together. Sexual tension had been building in their friendship for a long time, but neither had been ready to act on it. Getting drunk was an excuse to not think too much about what they were doing. They had spent a great deal of time talking about it afterwards, honestly and openly, and had decided, in a fairly clearheaded manner, that sex could be a part of their friendship. Neither wanted more - well, at the beginning, Susannah had wanted more, but pride kept her from saying anything.
Now, with Matt angling transparently for her to come over and seduce him, Susannah was quite certain that it was time to find something - someone - else to distract her.
She went offline without saying good-by and got dressed. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. In honour of National Masturbation Month, which will never be officially recognized by the government, she and Matt had taken the day off to stay at home, separately, and read erotica. One of the requirements of "taking a day off to stay home and read erotica" is that you do it naked - and Susannah had complied, sprawling on her living-room floor with her copy of Susie Bright's "America's Best". She left the shades up, in the hope that someone else might walk by, peer in, and be inspired to go celebrate National Masturbation Month as well. As a courtesy, she had kept her eyes away from the windows, so that fellow would-be wankers walking by wouldn't be embarrassed.
It was a cold day for May, and Susannah, upon leaving Matt high and dry, decided that it was necessary for her to wear the most complicated, severe outfit she owned. It had been an investment in her sex life during the time when there wasn't a whiny Matt-figure lurking in the corners. Recently, the merry-widow-and-black-stocking-ensemble had been relegated to the corner of her closet. It took fully three minutes to do up all the snaps and ribbons. Her small joke to herself was to wear an all-black corporate Calvin Klein-esque cat suit over top - a minimal, straight-lined affair that denied any possibility of sexy underwear underneath. Thus attired, flat-shoed, her hair in a waterfall of sensible straight brown down her back, she walked out of the house and drove to the public library.
One of the most fabulous things about large city libraries is that there is always a section on the top or second-from-the-top floor where the aisles are far too narrow and the lights are fickle and sullen. The librarians don't bother spending a lot - or any - of their time there. It's always a good idea to make some noise when approaching these sections (that is, if you're really interested in looking for a book) - otherwise, you will probably disturb research into academic sexual practices.
Susannah had no intention of making noise.
In this particular library, the rendezvous-appropriate section, on the 12th floor, was made up of bookshelves devoted to the study of highway construction. Most of the books were thirty years out of date, but no one had bothered to replace them because highways are no longer thought of as works of art. Susannah had secreted a small number of more titillating reading material in the back row, and she bee-lined for it, smiling at the bespeckled boy sitting in front of the elevator.
The elevator was empty by the time she reached the top floor. Undoing the top three buttons of her shirt and slipping off her shoes, she padded quietly to the back of the silent room, crept between two of the shelves and settling cross-legged against the wall. She pulled out a dogged-eared copy of Anais Nin, intending to wait the requisite ten minutes or so until something happened.
Instead, a piece of paper fell out of the book.
Tell me how you want to be kissed.
"How I what?" Susannah echoed, incredulous.
Tell me how you want to be kissed. Tell me how to bite your lips, how to suck on your tongue. Tell me where your neck is most tender and where my fingers, on your collarbone, will make your breath catch.
Her breath had already caught. She turned the paper over. There was nothing on the back, nothing else written on the front. The writing was precise and neat, the ink thick. The words slanted deeply to the right. Susannah realized she was holding her breath and let it out. Her heart was pounding. Carefully, she lowered her head and peered under the edge of the shelf in all directions. There was no one else in the room.
Tell me how you want to be kissed.
Susannah settled back down against the wall. "How I want to be kissed…" she murmured.
I don't want you to ask, she wrote back. Pull me up, hold me hard against the wall and kiss me without asking how. Move your hands first. Don't let me give you instructions. Don't let me say no.
She tucked the note back into the book and walked quickly back to the elevators and out of the library.
The next day was Saturday. Matt hadn't called - either he was sulking about being hung-up on the day before or he was in someone else's bed. Susannah didn't care. She showered quickly, dressed quickly. Because the merry widow was the only satisfyingly sexy outfit in her closet, she opted to go underwear free, a decision which meant an extra five minutes in the bath shaving carefully.
She was too nervous to smile at the elevator patrol-boy on the way up.
The bottom two floors of the library were hectic, but, again, by the time she reached the 12th floor the elevator was empty. When she stepped out into the stacks, the silence seemed thick and musty and ominous. It took a moment for her to pull off her heels. By the time she had walked to her corner, it seemed that the room was deserted. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.
But the Anais Nin book was gone.
"Damn!" she swore softly. And suddenly, she realized that someone was standing behind her.
"Are you looking for this?" and a hand held the book out to her.
"Yes." She started to straighten and the lights cut out. The book fell and hit the floor. Susannah's heart was racing. Fingers wrapped around her waist and pulled her up, pushed her back to the wall. A hand grabbed her wrists and pulled them high above her head. "No instructions" the man whispered, and his breath was hot against her ear. Fingers began tracing their way over her jawbone, down her neck. Her earlobe was caught between a pair of teeth. She moaned.
"And no noise either." His voice was cinnamon-deep. A tongue began to move across up and down the edge of her ear. The hand had moved down her side, skipped her breasts, glided over her hips. It moved back up slowly, moved under the edge of her shirt, began tracing figure eights on her stomach. Fingers whispered across her hips and Susannah whimpered.
"I said no noise."
"I'm sorry." Her breathing was ragged.
The man leaned his body against hers, pushing her tight against the wall.
"Do I have to keep you quiet?"
"I," she reminded him, a little shakily, "told you not to ask for instructions."
A mouth was lowered to hers. A tongue reached out and darted around the shape of her lips and flicked into the corners. He bit her lower lip between his teeth. He let go of her wrists in order to use both hands to pull her hips tighter against his.
One part of Susannah's mind registered the fact that this was a dumb idea, an entirely dumb idea - that she shouldn't have come to the library; that this man could be a murderer, could have a million diseases; that the only person she'd ever indulged in casual sex with was Matt and she preferred stable relationships.
She started to pull away.
"And I'm not going to let you say no." he said.
Her hands were pulled up again. He backed away from her a little and pulled off his belt.
"Oh God." Susannah whispered.
He used the belt to tie her wrists together. There was a hook on the wall where a cable had once run and he secured the loop of the belt against it.
"Do you normally rape women in libraries?" she asked, thinking she should be a little angry.
"Is this rape?" He was smiling. He leaned in to kiss her again. The kiss wasn't gentle.
Susannah felt herself flush, felt her body tense and coil and her cunt throb. His hands were moving up and down her belly, sliding a little higher each time. He finally reached the bottom curve of her breasts, and his fingers stayed there a long time, stroking the soft skin with the pads of his fingers, with his nails, pulling his palm up over the skin and purposely missing her nipples. Her arms ached as she arched her back.
"Please…" she whispered.
"Shut up." The hands left her body and the shock of them leaving was painful. She was kissed once more, quickly, before a piece of cloth was pushed into her mouth, and another piece tied across it and around her head. Her shirt was unbuttoned and pulled off. The hands fell on her breasts, on her nipples, the mouth moved against her neck, bit its way down to her breasts. A tongue snaked around the tips of her breasts, flicked them hard. Teeth scraped over the nipple. Hands tugged off her skirt.
"I," he purred, moving back up to her ear, "am going to take you. I am going to lift you onto me and push into you hard until you can't help but move against me. I'm going to use my fingers on you at the same time and you will be sucked into your body. Nothing else will matter. You won't be able to scream, or moan, or gasp."
And he did. Susannah felt herself lifted. She braced herself on tiptoe as his cock hovered at her lips, pulled back, hovered, pulled back. She tried to push herself down onto him, but he anticipated her and moved down with her, out of her reach. He put one of his fingers into her mouth and then down to her clit, moving it with the skill of someone who knows what they are touching, knows how it moves and lives and how to stroke it carefully, quickly, lightly, until the world narrows to that one small space - until that one small part of the body expands to become the universe, becomes large enough to live in. He pushed into her and Susannah felt the shock of being filled by something a little too large. He moved in her and continued to flick her clit and she did feel herself sucked into her body, out of her mind, out of any possible mental space that had room for her to analyze what was happening.
And then the world started to tunnel and she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, her hips moving of their own accord, her hands pulled too tight above her head, his mouth on her breasts, his hands riding with her as she condensed and condensed and condensed until something imploded and her body registered the shock-waves.
And he too was moaning against her and grinding hard into her and Susannah realized that he must have put on a condom because she didn't feel the bitter hot spurt of semen and in a moment of clarity was thankful that it wasn't quite as reckless a situation as it could have been.
The world rushed back into place and she realized that her wrists were hurting fiercely from the leather belt. He was still crushing her against the wall, his breathing slowing. She realized that he hadn't bothered to take off his shirt, and that his pants were simply pulled down far enough to give him room to move.
The man pulled out of her, adjusted his clothes, unhooked her hands, leaving them tied, and disappeared. Susannah collapsed. The lights were still out. Alone in the dark, she struggled to get her hands out of the belt, then pulled off the gag and stepped back into her clothes. She replaced the book on the shelf, grabbed her shoes, and felt her way through the dark to the elevator. On her way down, she looked at her watch.
She'd only been on the top floor for fifteen minutes.
The elevator boy looked at her curiously when she stepped out.
"You're not finding what you're looking for?" he asked.
Susannah grinned. "Oh, I found it. Thanks for asking." She walked out into the late afternoon sun and the world was suddenly worth dancing down the sidewalk for, underwear-less and deliciously sore.
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