Cocaine Librarian

This time I take my part of the deal all in one sniff. "Whew," I say but this time my hand only stroke my nose a couple of times. I glance at the mirror over the tables. I'm looking great, but my pupils are wide dark circles.

I leap back on the bed, adopting the doggy position, my arse hanging over the side and my head down.

"I want you to eat my arsehole," I tell him.

"The deal was to fuck it," he replies.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you get to skip out on foreplay," I tell him. "Eat! Dine!"

He buries his head between my cheeks. At first, it's all I can do not to giggle as his beard tickles the sensitive interior. But when his tongue meets my sphincter muscles, I let out a little more. "There we go," I say.

"You like that?" he asks.

"Keep going and we'll see."

In reply, he slaps my arse simultaneously from both sides, the slap turning into a hard squeeze, and then he pulls my butt up even further, increasing the intensity of the licks as he does.

"Oh, Daddy," I moan. For the first time that either of us has said it, it doesn't sound ridiculous.

"If you like that," he says, standing up. "You're going to love what comes next."

"No! More! More!" I plead.

He unzips his bag and I try to crane round to see. "What's that?"

"Foreplay in a bottle," he replies.

He's liberal with the lube. He holds it over the top my arse and squeezes it down the cleft. I feel him beat his cock against my arse cheeks and then he rubs it all the way round my bottom, spreading the oil across both him and me. I hear the slap of hand meeting cock. It was fully hard just now, so he can only be getting the lube spread evenly. Then I feel pressure against my hole. I'm not sure if it's his dick or a finger.

"Wait," I say.

"What is it?" he asks. There's a tone in his voice that suggests he's not going to stop even if I ask him to.

"Am I a slut?" I ask.

The answer doesn't come at once. When it does, it feels like he's given the matter due consideration. "Yes. I'd say so."

"Good," I say. "I want to you tell me. Not now. During."

He wiggles my arse with his hands, left and right, pushing inside me against the motion. My body resists and I gasp, but then a second later, he is inside me. It was his dick, after all.

"Oh, Jesus. Fuck. Motherfucker," I yell in pain.

"Good girl," he says.

"No, I'm serious, that's god-damn painful," I tell him.

"It's okay," he says soothingly. "You can do this."

"Yeah, I know I fucking can. Just...ouch."

He's eased up and taken his hands off my arse, but his cock is still deep inside me. My arse muscles are clenching hard down it trying to force it out. The pain is sharp, but it's also a rush. The swearing as well. Suddenly it feels good to swear.

"Fuck me, you cunt," I order.

He obeys, starting to take me in earnest. The first stroke I just grunt. The second and the third, I shout "Oh, fuck, ow." But with the fourth one, I manage a "Fuck, yes." As he sets an energetic pace, I start to yell "Harder."

It hurts. But the fact that it hurts and I'm doing it anyway feels fantastic.

He grabs my hair and leans forward. When he tells me "Take it you slut," he can't see the grin dance on my face.

"Is that all you've got?" I taunt him.

He tries to ram me with even more force.

"Thought so," I taunt. "Fuck me properly."

"You're a good little slut," he tells me.

"The best," I reply. "Does daddy like fucking this little crack whore slut in the arse?"

"Actually, crack is...oh, forget it, yes, you know I love my little slut."

"Oh, stop right there. I'm notyour slut," I inform him. "I'm my own. In the morning I'll be gone and you'll never see me again."

"Is that so," he says. "Here I was...thinking...this was the beginning...oh fuck...of a beautiful relationship."

"Nah, a bitch could get addicted if she's not careful."

"Indeed," he says. One hand reaches out to my shoulder and the other reaches down, grasping my pussy firmly. Fingers poke inside, then slide to the top of my slit roughly attacking my clit. It's no more a pleasant sensation than what is going on in my other hole.

But it's going to get me off. I am so getting off on it.

"Oh, fucking Jesus," I say, but this time it's pleading more than complaining.

"Good slut," he tells me.

He takes his hand away for just a second and I immediately reach back to grab it, almost losing my balance and collapsing as I do so.

"Don't you fucking stop," I tell him.

"I wasn't..."

"Finger fuck me," I tell him.

But he does more than just fingers. I can't see, but I'm pretty sure he gets down to his wrist. Hammering two holes in this position needs a certain amount of contortion and a moment later he makes a decision, pulls out of both, grabs me by the arse, and flips me over. My legs are up in the air, his cock is back in my arse, and he now has free access to my cunt. His thumb goes over my clit and the other four figures bury themselves inside my snatch.

Pleasure and pain fight for dominance over my orgasm. There's so much going on in my lower erogenous regions that it's impossible to say what is bringing me to the boil, but when it hits, it's like nothing I've ever experienced before. My legs don't just spasm, they flail, my fists lift the sheet clean off the bed, my eyes clamp themselves shut and I suddenly feel spurt after spurt of liquid leave my body.

When it subsides, when I open my eyes, I see he is drenched in my fluids. It's running down his chest. He's looking directly at me and he's laughing. Not at me, I think, but with the joy of life.

"You know, it is true what they say," he tells me. "All the best sluts are squirters."

"Well, I've certainly never done that before," I reply.

"You weren't a slut before."

That has a certain logic to it, I suppose.

"Your turn. You want to cum?" I ask him.

In answer, he pulls me up. I kneel on the bed. He jerks his cock inches from my mouth.

"Give it to me," I tell him. I say it because it's the slutty thing to say, but I do want it. I don't know why I want it. Cum is gross, and I've already been fully satisfied, but somehow taking his seed again would be the perfect end to the evening.

"Oh God. Oh fucking God."

When he says that I know he's close. Without thinking I clamp my lips around the head. It tastes different and it takes me a moment to realize it's lube. I'm committed now and anyway, I don't even care. I continue to suck hungry until I feel a blast of cum hit the back of my throat. It misses my tongue so I only get the hint of the salty taste but a moment later my mouth is flooded with more spunk and I'm overwhelmed with the gooey and salty taste.

I get up, rush the the bathroom, and spit it into the sink.

As I look up I see the girl in the mirror. Her face, her hair is a mess. She's clearly been badly abused. But that's not me. I know I've had a great evening.

When I return to the bedroom, he's rooting through his bag again.

"Here," he says offering me a pill. "Take this."

"Aspirin?" I ask.

"Benzo," he replies. "It'll make coming down easier."

I crack open a bottle of mineral water and down the pill.

Ten minutes later, I'm fast asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur.

I remember a voice asking me some questions and then opening my eyelids. I must have answered okay because I remember the sound of him getting dressed and the door shutting.

When I wake up properly, I stagger to the shower and wash thoroughly. By the time I'm dressed, I'm surprised to find it isn't nearly as late as I thought it would be. My room came with a complimentary breakfast. I end up staring into a bowl of cornflakes, slightly confused that my world is again a boring one that contains such mundanity as cornflakes and orange juice.

I find myself wandering around the shops in Nottingham. Somehow I end up with practically a whole new wardrobe. I'm not sure any of it is me. That's okay, I trust that whoever is doing the buying knows what they are doing.

Then, I'm home in an empty house.

Then it's Sunday and I'm on the phone to my mother discussing the state of her azaleas.

On Monday, I stop by the pharmaceuticals section of the library and pull out a few books on narcotics. I sit and make notes in my journal. I write the same thing so often, I invent a new acronym that goes in the margins every few lines -- A.B.S. for 'absolutely bloody stupid'.

And yet. And yet and yet and yet...

In almost a blink, it's Friday night again. I'm in the pub drinking a glass of dry white wine. The admin girls are laughing like hyenas around me.

"So, Becks, tell us about this new bloke of yours," says Jane.

Becky launches into the greatest romance ever told. Her fella, Keith, is a new Ph.D. student who is a bit older because he's had a bit of work experience before continuing his studies. He popped into the office to ask about gym subsidies and left with her telephone number.

"What about you, Cath? Anyone on the horizon?"

"Oh, erm, no," I say. "Not really."

And just like that, the conversation flows away from me again. I tune it out.

I've been sitting here and I've made a realization. No, not a realization, it's a crystallization of everything I've been thinking these past few months.

These people are awful. It's not me. Most people are incredibly tedious. They are barely worth bothering with if you can avoid it. They have tepid, insignificant lives and there's is no reason for me to be here. There is no reason for me to even bother trying to fit in. Faking it has never even brought me one step closer to making it. I'm never going to enjoy this.

I reach into my handbag and bring out a paper tissue. I dab it genteelly against my nose.

"You okay there?" Becky asks. "Starting a cold?"

"Yeah, maybe," I say. "I've had sinus trouble all week that I haven't been able to shift."

Life is all largely pointless - romance, career, the pursuit of happiness. As existence goes, the library is fine. I like the books and the students don't bother me overly. Perhaps I'll meet someone nice someday. It's not impossible. If they are anything as bad as Keith sounds, I'll probably throw up first before ever agreeing to go on an actual date ever again.

"We were thinking of going out clubbing tomorrow. A new place down next to the ice rink has just opened up. You up for it, Cath?"

I smile in the knowledge that I've pretty much got my life back under control.

"Oh, no. I'll pass, thanks. I think tomorrow night I'll just stay in with a good book."