Invisible Pt. 02 - The Library

It was pretty fun, being invisible.

The Sunday morning atmosphere was palpable on campus; the usual Sunday Market was on, with students selling unused textbooks, badly-baked confectionery, and art work that would be generous to describe as 'practice pieces'.

It was a shit-show, but it had its perks. Namely, the Sunday Market usually drew a bit of a crowd, including the stressed-out students who were working in the library just off the quad, taking a break from their panicked essay-writing to buy a brownie slice and browse the paintings.

The distance from my building to the University was, at most, about a ten-minute walk, and the experience of being outside whilst people were around, completely hidden from view - from perception - was... enthralling. I pushed past people near bus stops, and they just frowned and looked at the empty space behind them; I swore loudly at a guy drunkenly stumbling out of a pub at 1pm, and he didn't hear me; a gorgeous woman in yoga pants jogged past, and I was able to cop a feel of her luscious behind, and all she could do was look in confusion around for a culprit who wasn't there.

It was amazing.

For so long I had been the fearful little guy who did nothing - and now that I was no one, I could do whatever I wanted. And what I wanted was to do more of what this morning had given me.

I was still trying to keep my heart rate down, in all honesty - doing what I had to Brit, fucking her like a willing whore as she moaned and came on my cock... it was addictive. And, while it had been fun, I was planning something bigger next, and it would involve a little extra input.

As would surprise no one, the main target of my affections was Olivia - the beautiful girl who didn't know I existed, and yet whose pictures brought me to orgasm almost every night. As part of my, admittedly, obsessive behaviour, I knew where she lived, where she frequented to drink, and how to find her. I also knew that she had a paper due soon, and that she had been out last night - if I made my way to the library, she might not show up yet, but I knew she'd show up eventually. Between then and now, I would just have to kill some time.

The market was only just getting started when I rocked up, but there was already more than one fuckable artsy girl there, setting their clumsy stall of charcoal sketches. I set my eyes on a bottle-redhead, with a ring lip-piercing, headphones on and wearing black jeans and a t-shirt with a black cardigan over it, bobbing her head to whatever music she was listening to.

There were a few people around her, but she wasn't running the stall - not really. People wandered past, barely paying attention to her. Even the guy who seemed to be with her had wandered off a minute ago, maybe off to get a coffee or something, leaving her oh-so-alone. The early-afternoon air was crisp, but the sun was coming out, and I could feel opportunity was about to present itself.

I slipped between the stall tables, knocking slightly against one of the printed collages that were laid out on the table, next to the pricing list, and came up behind the artist. She was a bit older than maybe, at maybe 23, and there was something... intriguing about her. Maybe it was the baseless confidence, or the complete ignorance of the world around her as she went about adjusting paintings and replacing emptied spots - apparently they had managed to sell some of these things.

Maybe it was just the way those jeans hugged her arse, or the way her t-shirt clung to her chest as it strained for release.

Testing the waters, and if nothing else just to check the rules were as they had been with Brit, I tried to get her attention.

'Hello?' I said, my voice comically meek. I was annoyed at myself, but she didn't hear me; not that she would, with those headphones on, anyway. I followed the wire that travelled down her curves, attached to her phone in her back pocket, and with deft fingers I plucked the wire out.

'Shit,' she muttered, looking straight away for where the swinging bottom of the wire had escaped to.

'Hello?' I said again, this time making my voice strong. Dominant.

Again, she didn't notice.

For a moment, it stung, but I had to remind myself that this was the point. I didn't want to be noticed. I wanted to be invisible. Unseen.

And, I had my ideas of what I wanted to do with this power.

So, without further ado, I slid my hand across her hip, beneath her t-shirt, and felt the smoot of her skin.

For a moment, she jolted, and then she relaxed. 'Hey,' she purred, before turning to see no one was there. Her eyes widened as she turned, not seeing her boyfriend - or anyone else, for that matter.

'Janie?' she asked the air. Of course, there was no answer - even though she was now facing me, there was no one in front of her.

I watched the thoughts play out on her face - doubt, annoyance, fear, all of them scorching past in a moment of micro-expressions. She thought she was just imagining things, and went to turn around.

Couldn't have that, could we?'

So, I pressed my hand against her crotch - the soft, warm spot of denim. It was, honestly, really awkward. But I stayed there.

She froze, eyes wide. Her hand went to her phone, in her back pocket. So, I moved my hand, just shifting a finger against her.

I very quickly realised that, without it being an already-sexual situation, this was going to be hard to do. Getting Olivia in the zone, as it were. But, again, that's why I was here - to hone my skills, and to become the best sex-ghost there was.

I shifted in the tight space, positioning myself next to her, so my wrist had more room to move, and slid my hand up. My fingers were at her waistband when she moved, a shiver going through her, and she just made a move for the gap between the tables. It was a quick movement, one born of adrenaline and panic, and whether it was a conscious decision or not barely mattered - it was a 'do now, think later' kind of moment.

Which told me that she was, above anything else, scared of me. Which was a pretty shitty feeling.

Then, after a moment where she seemed to dispel that fear. There was no one there - why should she be scared?

So, I watched as she convinced herself that it was fine. Took a breath. Plugged her headphones back in.

And then she joined me back in the stall.

I took a moment to let her relax, but it didn't seem to happen - she kept looking over her shoulder, and her once-bobbing head was now on a bit of a swivel.

Cute.

My goal, though, wasn't to scare her - not at all. What I wanted was to see if I could turn on this stranger with nothing but my actions. Not my person, not my charm or anything like that.

So, as a student approached with cash in-hand, and began chatting to the art student, I saw an in. She started to chat to the guy, loosening up as she allowed herself to forget about whatever just happened.

So, as she bent over the table a little, I came up behind her, and just started to... touch her.

I started this time lower, at about the base of her knee, crouching on the floor beneath her. Just a fingertip, that's all.

And then, two fingers.

Moving upwards.

Up the base of her thigh, I travelled, introducing more fingers - before heading back down. It wasn't much, but I knew that, to her, she would likely be on high-alert right now. To me, of course, it was just kind of... hot. There's something about a woman's legs in jeans, and the softness of that part of the body, that made me feel like I could have spent the day down her, worshipping this stranger's legs.

Or, as I travelled upwards, worshipping her warm sex, through the thin-enough denim. As my thumb traced up the inside of her leg, the art student's hips shifted - the first reaction from her that wasn't outright fear.

I backed off, before starting again at her knee, this time on the other leg.

Up, up, up, I went, until she reacted, shifting her weight. I heard the soft clink of coins being swapped, and heard a mumbled, 'That's great, thanks,' before she stood up straight. I backed up, conscious of the fact that she could, if she reacted badly or in a way I didn't anticipate, feel me there - in fact, I backed up until I was pretty much hidden beneath the stall table behind her.

I watched her feet as she shifted her weight, turning on the spot - but not running. Which told me she wasn't scared.

And that begged the question - what was she feeling right now?

So, without worrying too much about the sound I knew I was making, yet she couldn't hear, I scrambled back up to standing, popping up just to her left. I could see her face as she turned, and the red in her cheeks which made me think that she wasn't exactly panicked or scared anymore.

So, I went back to her backside, using those light-touches to trace the shape of her arse, watching her face as she closed her eyes. Her reaction was small, and I could tell she didn't want another outburst like running from nothing. But, equally, there was something there. She could feel it.

Touching her so... softly...

I could barely believe I was touching a woman like this, in public - out in the eyeline of so many random people. It was... wrong. And yet, I knew that I was making up for lost time. And I had to forgive myself a little bit of a splurge after such a shitty time.

So, I moved up a little - over the waistband of her jeans, feeling the small of her back. I felt the art-student suck in a breath as my fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her t-shirt, her body twisting sideways as she looked down. Honestly, if I wasn't sure that the ring was on my finger, she could have convinced me she was looking dead at me - her eyes seemed to secure on me and linger... before moving on, unfocused.

I slid my hand under her t-shirt, letting my palm slide over the soft of her stomach, and I couldn't help but enjoy the warmth of her body.

My other hand went to her hip, and I found myself standing basically right behind her, until I was touching her like a lover. It was... intimate.

And public.

It was hot as fuck.

Another customer came up, a female student with dyed hair and a smile on her pretty face, and she started asking questions about the art shows - and in answering, the student whose stomach I was fondling bent forwards to talk over the table to her.

All of a sudden, her arse was pressed up against my crotch - my hardening cock trapped beneath my own invisible clothes, suddenly was pushed up against her jeans-clad rump. My hand was pulled off her front as she bent, so I wound up basically holding her by the hips as she bent over before me.

So, before I had even really thought about it, I started to pull her back onto me, grinding my length against her as she spoke with the customer.

'So this was, uh,' she stumbled, looking at a portrait painting of a man in abstract, 'a, uh, piece by me, of my partner.'

'It's very... erotic,' the customer said, a smirk on her face. She came down to the art-student's level. 'He's a good looking guy.'

I pushed forwards, softly humping into her as she spoke, and let one hand slide down from her hips to the top of her thigh.

'Yeah, he's... '

'Do you mind, like, people buying pictures of him?'

'No, I don't mind,' she said as my fingers crept closer to her sex, my cock dragging against her through our clothes. 'It's... he's-'

'He's hot,' the customer laughed. 'And I will definitely take one.'

'Amazing!' the art student smiled, as my fingers teased at her mound, before pulling away as she straightened to exchange money with her.

'Thank you very much,' the customer chimed, before walking off with her print. The art student, now left alone, turned to lean against the table, and I found myself face-to-face with the subject of my experiments.

'What the fuck,' I heard her whisper, wiping her face. Her hands, semi-casual, wafted through the space I was in, making me stumble back to avoid her, and she quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen her acting so strange.

I, however, was getting a little annoyed. It wasn't a convenient spot, and the fact that there were so many people around meant that there wasn't much I could do without drawing too much attention to her. As such, I was happy to slip out of the stall while there wasn't a customer in the way, and began to make my way over to the library - only to almost bump into a tall guy with a skinny frame, and jet-black hair.

'Rachel,' he said with a nod as he approached, and I stepped out of the way as the redhead perked up, bouncing happily over to him, and pulling him into a deep kiss that, quite frankly, brought more attention to them than I figured she was after.

'Wow,' he muttered, clearly surprised by her, as he set her down.

'Can you man the stall for a bit?' she asked, not waiting for an answer before she rushed off - also towards the University.

Intrigued, I decided to follow, chasing after the lithe bottle-redhead as she jogged towards the looming glass-covered building.

The lobby doors slid open for us, inviting us into the clean, white-and-silver-and-blue area designed for study and research; to the left was the elevators, and stairwells going up and down the spine of the building; before that, straight ahead of us was the front desk, with the turnstiles that let students scan themselves in before they get to go up to the upper levels, or the basement archives; to the right was the more 'public' space, with pay-to-use printers and study desks open at all hours.

The art student - Rachel - turned right, into the public area, and I followed on her heels, interested to see what, exactly, she was up to.

And, then, I was following her into the women's bathroom.

I slipped into the room behind her, noticing with a sort of adolescent disappointment that the room was almost exactly the same as the mens - all blue-tinted tiles, flickering fluorescents and sinks that could do with more frequent washing - before watching as Rachel made her way to the last stall on the right. She was too quick in getting in for me to sneak in alongside her, but a quick check told me that the other four stalls were all empty.

And, as I stood there in the room, I remembered that the... form I was in wasn't actually me. Or, it wasn't only me.

If I ever saw that flat-cap man again, I made a point to ask him about that.

Either way, I wondered if this not-me body was... stronger. Or more agile. And, if I would be able to test that idea here.

So, I piled into the stall next to hers - the second from the end - and clicked it shut, locking it behind me quietly. With surprising ease, I was able to stand up onto the toilet lid, and put a foot up onto the tank. I pushed up, and was able to see up over the top of the stall wall - and was gifted the view of Rachel, sat on the toilet, her jeans and panties around one ankle, the other foot hooked up, as her hand played with her sex.

I gaped for a moment, seeing what my actions had done to her - how I had made her so wet, to the point she needed to sneak away from her boyfriend - I assumed - to sort herself out.

The gap between the top of the stall and the ceiling was wide enough to fit a person, but the space around Rachel wasn't massive. But I couldn't pass up an opportunity like this.

So, I pushed up, finding it eerily easy to lift my weight up onto the thin plastic-like wall, and swing my leg. I lowered one foot first, resting on the tank just by her head as Rachel - ahem - enjoyed herself. I stayed against the wall, swapping my footing, and hopped down onto the tile between Rachel and the door, standing between her open knees as she used her fingers to draw herself towards a, frankly, unashamed orgasm.

I watched, frozen for a moment at the sight of it - she was, of course, gorgeous, and a woman in desperate agony while chasing a climax is, as I have learned from porn, a specific kind of delicacy. But I wasn't here just to watch.

So, as though to announce my arrival, I reached out and stroked a fingertip against the back of her held-up leg.

Rachel stopped, freezing in place, as my finger became a hand, stroking the underneath of her thigh.

'Oh,' she muttered, probably a million thoughts going through her head. I could see the fast rising of her chest as she panted, swallowing her moans as her fingers began, again, to play with herself - less desperate this time, and more teasing.

I flattened my hand, and pressed her up-leg out, spreading her open. She gasped, and closed her eyes - there wasn't much for her to look at anyway, after all - as I touched her, stroking her sensitive skin, before deciding enough was enough.

I dropped to my knees, ignoring the gross floor of the bathroom - though, thankfully, it was much cleaner than the men's - and gripped her beneath the thighs, at the hips, pulling her forwards. Rachel yelped a little as I tugged her until her cheeks were at the edge of the seat, and I had ample access to her.

I stilled for a moment, just taking in the sight - her wet flower, spread open, pink and slick, dripping with sex as she awaited the pleasure I was going to give her. She was different to Brit in so many ways - paler, smaller, and neater - but it simply made me more eager to try her, too. For comparisons, if nothing else. For science.

Then, I dove in.

I tasted her slick slit, sucking her mound until her clit presented itself, coming out from beneath it's hood, which rewarded me with a half-swallowed moan before she was able to pull up her t-shirt and bite down onto it.

My hands around her thighs, I watched the indents of my hands on her skin shift and move; I wondered if, to her, it would look strange to see the folds of her pussy moving of their own accord - being pulled out into the air, licked and sucked by nothing as I ate her.

'Fffffuck,' she hissed through her teeth, still biting on her t-shirt, and I wondered if, were I to make her cum, this would end. I didn't want it to. If nothing else, I had literally never had sex twice in one day, never mind with two different women. And, quite frankly, none of the women I'd been with before today had looked anything on the level of Brit, nor Rachel.

This was too good not to enjoy.

So, before I let this art-student beauty cum on my face - which, frankly, was ridiculous for me not to want to have happen - I pulled away. Rachel let out a sigh, somewhere between relief and frustration, before opening her eyes. I think she was expecting me to have suddenly appeared - the being who insisted on giving her pleasures she never asked for, but was now desperate for.

I smirked as she looked around, just as confused and unsure as she had been in the stall, before I tugged down my trousers.

It was interesting that, if I wasn't myself when I was invisible, I was still wearing jogging bottoms. Lots of questions to ask the flat-cap man, if he ever showed up again.

Either way, I stood, and Rachel's position of being sat on the toilet, pulled forwards, wasn't doing me any favours; so, I decided to test this 'form' - it was more agile than my usual self, so I wanted to see if it was stronger, too.

I moved, gripping her beneath her back, my face close to hers, and lifted her.

'Oop!' she chirped as I lifted her with ease, my strength clearly more impressive than as my usual self, and brought her up against me, standing on her tip-toes.

'Wait,' she muttered, and I paused automatically. 'You can... you're real, right?'