The Librarian of Badness

She's one of those stunning sweet temptresses,
Less brazen than those fashion princesses
Who steal our glances with a cunning look,
Behind whose gaze dangles an empty hook,
For your pocketbook - who shine like Vegas
Lights and glitz; revealing, in outrageous
Outfits, quite enough to be appealing,
Still can not conceal their finest breeding.

No, she's a shy, coy bit of a stunner
With a body like a machine gunner
Gone berzerk when she cums under fire
Dry mouthed and tense, but filled with desire.
She can kick off a firestorm of lust
When you touch her gently and then adjust
The rhythm of seduction with such words
Of skill and playfulness as finds lovebirds.

Her nights are spent alone for her shy heart
And hours primping hair has turned an art,
Like she’s pimping herself out secretly -
Her guards and librarians tacitly
In collusion with her sordid daydreams:
Like raising up her skirt and other schemes
To advertise her supple flesh for sale
Or just to flirt as if a Southern Belle.

She walks down the long aisle at her work
pushing her cart of books, with a slight smirk
As she imagines stepping in the stacks
To mystery arms thrust from the racks
Of books, hugging her roughly, greedily
Tugging those places she too readily
Covers; but more arms with more hands are thrust,
At long last, she rubs herself where she must.

There’s no one around for her to get caught
As she plays out her own nightmare in thought.
"Nooooo-" she coos quietly to be betrayed
By her own slender fingers that have strayed;
An erotic force of nature to flirt,
Below the collared and buttoned men's shirt
That guards her chest beneath her wool sweater
like a plate of armor to block her fervor,

And she lifts her skirt to pull at her thong
And slide in her fingers, slender and long.
She can barely think an entire thought
As her mind is filled to bursting with not
But the dream of those lurid, grasping hands
That press her against the shelves as she stands
Then splay her arms like she's nailed to a cross
Until her legs can cry tears of sweet loss.

She’s salivating like a wild bitch
In heat, and she tries to tame her itch
While she’s bent over her library cart,
Hugging it tightly with pulse pounding heart.
And her beautiful brown hair falls tangled
In a muss of slobber pools that dangled
Off the pile of books she pushes into
With burning tears of shame and guilt so true.

Faster and faster, she trys to command
A muffled scream into her one free hand
Her thong, still pushed to the side and riding
Tight, is damp as grass in dew drenched morning
Gonna cum! Gonna cum! So hard! What thrill!
She stroked herself raw in that icy chill
But froze up in fright as footfalls echoed
Closer than she liked, like a secret code,

It sent a fright down her throat and she gasped
With heart pounding raucously, guilt unclasped.
She opened her eyes to the brilliant lights
And the empty library floor six flights
Up, she alights every day, with her cart
Full of books as she shimmys like a tart
Lewd and lascivious, but only in thought
Her clothes tight and protective; curvy hot.

"Oh God!" she gasps to cum and realize
She’s not alone. "Oh fuck! Oh God!" she cries
As you place both your palms on her bare ass
That’s been chilled by the vents pounding the lass
And you soak up her scent and you two grind
Warmly as if in a slow dance. You wind
Your fingers past her swollen pussy lips
Into her hot box as she bucks her hips

Like a bronco bucking at a rodeo
And you hold on for dear life or a slow
Ride to heaven as she keeps her rhythm
Of grunt and grind with her leggy lissome
Frame and pliant shoulder bones that hoisted
And heaved her like an acrobatic kid
Over her sturdy cart, raising her butt
Spread eagle as you eat that horny slut!

Then she collapses, of course, exhausted –
Slouching, her prim and proper act busted;
Her careful ensemble in tatters torn
And dripping both your goos, like some hot porn
Star unleashed upon the world of bookshelves
At the local college. She sinks and delves
Into your lips, kissing and groping you
Her shiny black pushup bra presses through

Her crisp men's business shirt, missing buttons.
You suck at one another like gluttons.
She stays the whole time in her nylon
Hose and heels, her rayon skirt bunched upon
Her belly. Her bra looks like two army
Warheads nestled in a vest so shiny
And smelling like a new car - her nipples
Are electric and begging in ripples

Of motion that rub at your naked chest
For release - which is just what you do best.
Pink and pert - but she’s really very shy
And can not see she’s your Godess on high.
But she risks losing her job over you
As she goes down on you, moaning too,
Shoves her pussy in your face and spasms
As your love swells her into orgasms.

Then she leaves you fantasizing alone
While she retreats back to her safety zone,
Where she is the hottest girl in the stacks.
Her cold, clinical countenance that lacks
Expression or human emotion waits
For her lover to push past her floodgates
And find the slattern lost to the masses
Behind her leopard print horn-rim glasses.