Lesbian MILF Seductress: Librarian

"I can't imagine we'd have that book," I said; it sounded like porn.

"Your search engine says you do," she disagreed, handing me her phone.

I looked and was surprised to see we did indeed have that book. Perhaps it was a research book... although the title sure didn't sound like it.

I looked at the Dewey number and pointed, "It's up on the second floor, Philosophy and Psychology."

"Can you take me?" she asked.

"Sure," I said, giving just the faintest of sighs. Obviously this girl could find the book herself and was just trying to rattle me.

I led the way to the elevator as she asked, "Did you enjoy my gift earlier?"

"No, it was completely inappropriate," I answered firmly before adding, "please don't do that again."

"Do what?" she asked. "Return a book?"

"Put anything inside it," I answered, getting really annoyed by her smug attitude.

"I thought you'd appreciate it," she said as we arrived upstairs and I looked for her book.

"Well I didn't," I said, as I found it. I pulled it off the shelf and handed it to her, "Here!"

"Thank you," she said politely, which surprised me.

"You're welcome," I said, before automatically asking and then instantly realizing it was a terrible question to ask her since I'd just opened up an opportunity for her, "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes please; drop to your knees and service me," she requested deadpan.

"Young woman, that is enough," I responded tersely.

"What?" she asked. "I was just answering your question."

"You knew what I meant," I responded.

"How can you know what I thought you meant?"

"Whatever," I sighed, this conversation already going on way longer than I'd like. "I need to return to work."

I'd begun to walk away when she called out all sing-song, "I'll see you soon, Justine."

I sighed again, this time deliberately loud enough for her to hear, before going back down to my office.

I don't know whether she actually signed out the book since I stayed in the office for the last couple hours of my day. I was heading out and said goodbye to Emily, who headed up the evening shift.

She responded, "You too," but with what oddly sounded like a moan.

I paused and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," she said, although looking at her more closely, I noticed her cheeks were quite red.

"You sure?" I asked, "you look flushed."

"Oh," she moaned. It was definitely a moan.

"What's wrong?" I asked, walking back around the wide desk.

"Nothing," she answered, now avoiding eye contact as I approached her.

It was then I could see she was wearing nylons... and not just nylons, but thigh highs, since I could see the entire lace band on her upper left thigh, as her skirt was hiked up very high. Nobody was between her legs though, or I would have seen them. Yet something had to be going on down there. Something to do with Bree?

It can't be.

It has to be a coincidence.

Doesn't it?

I wanted to ask yet I refrained, left and let her be. Yet I couldn't help but wonder if Bree had seduced Emily too. It seemed unlikely and I was probably reading something into nothing, but it was obvious this pervasive girl was affecting me and my work.

.....

MONDAY

I arrived at work and found a pair of thigh high stockings lying on my desk still in their packaging.

Who put them there? I'd already deduced the why. Bree either had a nylon fetish (which one of my exes had back in high school... and since him I'd worn them very rarely: funerals, interviews, etc.... never here at work, where I wore businesslike dress pants and a blouse) or perhaps she used it as a symbol of ownership of her stable of women, or perhaps both.

I sighed.

There was, of course, no way I was putting these on.

I started working, and a couple hours later I found a folded piece of paper between two books I was restocking: It was a picture of an older girl with her hair in a bun who was on her knees licking a clearly much younger girl, with the caption: JUST GIVE IN AND YOU'LL FEEL BETTER WHEN YOU DO.

How did that even end up here?

I crumpled it up and tossed it in the garbage. This young woman really needed to be dealt with, but that seemed difficult when she controlled the Dean... my boss.

Returning to my desk to grab my purse, it was time to go get a coffee, I found another folded sheet of paper on my desk.

I considered just tossing it away without even opening it, but it could have been from someone else, something actually important and, truth be told, I was kind of curious, so I opened it.

It was a picture of a very pretty teen who was naked except thigh highs and a strap-on cock, with the caption: WE NEED TO TALK!

God, she was relentless.

And although I couldn't explain it, I felt a shiver go up my entire body when I read the caption and felt a slight tingle down below.

I wasn't a lesbian.

Why would this barrage of insinuations turn me on at all?

Fuck! (And now I'm getting so flustered I'm beginning to curse!)

I crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage, and went to get my coffee.

In line for the coffee, I couldn't help but feel a bit of wetness in my panties, which only added to my frustration of the past few days. Her actions affecting me this way made no sense at all.

I returned to my office with a nice warm cap of java which always made me happy, and I found yet another inappropriate picture and caption in my office... this time taped to my computer monitor. Not folded, but in plain sight if you went around to my side of the desk.

I quickly snatched off the picture of a woman on her knees looking up at a cheerleader, with the caption: IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE YOU'RE ON YOUR KNEES.

Jesus Christ!

I gasped and crumpled this one up too. And now a lesbian scene was revealed playing on my computer!

I fumbled to close the browser as quickly as possible.

Fuck!

This had officially gone too far.

Now I was angry.

I stormed out of my office and scanned the large room for Bree. Not seeing her, I asked Sandra, "Did anyone go into my office?"

"Not that I know of," she answered, as I glanced down and saw she wasn't wearing nylons, which provided me a sigh of relief. I wasn't positive that nylons were a symbol of women's obedience to Bree, but I sensed it was, based on my limited interactions with her and with people around her.

"Someone went in there while I went for my coffee," I said.

"No idea," she shrugged. "I've been sorting these books for the last few minutes, and no one came to sign out a book."

"Okay," I said, a little skittish.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lied, knowing I couldn't tell her what was bothering me. "Just a little tired."

"Oh, okay," she nodded, turning away from me as a student came to check out a book.

"I got it," I said, so she went back to sorting the books that had just been returned.

I signed out the book for her and went to fetch my coffee, when I saw yet another picture taped to my computer monitor!

What the fuck?

Who?

How?

I was right here!

I went to crumple it up, but again felt compelled to read it for some reason. A picture of a pretty redhead with her legs spread open to show off her shaved pussy, with the caption: ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ADMIT WHAT YOU WANT!

And yes, once again there was porn playing on the screen. This time it was a girl getting fucked by another girl with a strap-on.

I again quickly shut it down just as a voice startled me.

"Someone is asking to speak with you," Sandra said.

I turned back, likely looking extremely guilty and praying she hadn't seen the porn playing, and happy the volume was off, "Oh, okay."

I tossed yet another crumpled picture into the garbage and walked to the front.

It was Ashley. She was a regular in the library, "Hi, Ashley," I smiled, letting my guard down a bit.

"Hi, Mrs. Parker," she said, looking incredibly nervous. Instantly my guard was back up. That lasted like five seconds; Ashley was almost a friend.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, knowing she was working on her Master's, and often needed me to borrow books for her from other colleges if we didn't have them.

She looked around before leaning in and whispering, "I'm supposed to ask if you're wearing the nylons she left for you."

"Pardon?" I asked, even though I'd heard her words... I was both surprised and disappointed to hear them coming from her. I couldn't tell with the counter in the way, but I assumed she was wearing nylons.

"Are you wearing the nylons?" she repeated, once again furtively looking around.

I asked, "Why are you asking?"

"I was ordered to," she whispered, her cheeks bright red.

"Ordered?" I asked, really trying to wonder how a shy but academically determined girl like Ashley could get into a situation where she was bossed around and assumedly was a sexual submissive to another student.

"Yes," she admitted, before whispering again, now a bit urgently, "so please tell me, are you?'

"No, I'm not," I admitted. Then added, "Why do you do what she orders you to?"

She looked around again before replying, "If I don't, she punishes me."

"Punishes you? How?" I asked, suddenly very concerned.

"She just does, I'd rather not say how," she answered before adding, looking at me with pleading eyes, "please, go put them on."

"Why should I?"

"Or she'll punish me," she blurted out, getting a little wild-eyed.

"Come back to my office," I suggested as a student came up to sign out a book.

"I need to go," she said with so much urgency she was literally dancing in place, "please, just do it."

Then without another word she scurried off. I noticed, as I had assumed, she was wearing nylons.

I shook my head and turned to the student.

Twenty minutes later I returned to my office, assuming I'd see another inappropriate picture.

I did.

Except it was a picture of someone I knew: Ashley.

She was lying on the floor (at least not naked or anything) licking a pair of nylon stockinged feet, with the caption: A PET WORSHIPS THE ENTIRE BODY OF HER MISTRESS.

I wondered if those were Bree's feet or someone else's.

I then thought, If it's not Bree, then why give this photo to me?

I sighed as I crumpled and tossed yet another inappropriate photo in the garbage can. At least my computer wasn't playing porn this time.

I headed out for lunch. It was Monday, which meant I was meeting my best friend Angela at our favourite restaurant.

I considered telling her about my surreal situation, but I wasn't even sure how to begin bringing it up.

Yet, it was becoming obvious to me that Bree's constant incursions were having an impact on my life: our server was wearing pantyhose and therefore my first thought was, Is she a Bree slave too? Of course that was ludicrous; all the waitresses here wore pantyhose.

I returned to my office expecting to find something... and was surprised to see nothing.

I was thankful... yet although I couldn't explain it, I also felt a slight sense of disappointment. Which just went to show how Bree was continuing to get into my head even when she wasn't doing anything. Clearly I needed Vic to give me a really good fucking tonight.

The afternoon was uneventful even though I was constantly on my toes.

Upstairs as I reorganized a shelf that had been disorganized.

When I went to the washroom (going out of my way to avoid the one on the fifth floor).

When I started arranging a display for classic literature.

It was at that time Bree arrived spouting the words, "I hope you're including 'A Tale of Two Titties' or 'To Lick A Muffpie' or 'Romeo in Juliet' or 'Licker in the Rye'."

"This has got to stop," I said, turning around to see her in a one-piece red dress that was way too nice for going to the library.

"What does?" she asked innocently.

"How did you get into my office?"

"I've never been in your office."

"So who put those inappropriate pictures there?"

"Perhaps your fairy lez-mother," she shrugged.

"Just stop," I said.

"You understand I don't take No for an answer."

"What are you, a frat boy?" I shot back sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm a lot more demanding and rewarding than any horny thirty-seconds-and-come frat boy," she bragged.

"Whatever. Just leave me alone," I said.

"We both know that isn't what you actually want," she said, moving to stand right in front of me.

"You think you know what I want?" I asked. It was meant to be sarcastic, but somehow it didn't come out that way, and based on the earlier photo captions, I'd just opened up another opportunity for her to probe my defenses.

"I not only know what you want," she said, her lips just inches from mine, so close I could smell her perfume, "but I know what you need."

"What I need is for you to leave," I said, even though for some reason I didn't move away from her. No, I did know the reason: it would have meant backing away from her, which she'd perceive as weakness. So in order to appear strong, I was stuck standing here trying to look defiant. I didn't think she was buying it.

"We both know that's what your brain may be telling you," she said, not at all intimidated by my social paralysis (duh) or put off by my constant rejections, "but your body tells my perceptive eye otherwise. Your body is begging you to climb down from your moralistic high horse."

"You mean I should stop being faithful to my husband and doing my job?"

"I mean you'll be happier once you let your natural submissiveness out to play and start obeying me."

"My natural submissiveness?" I questioned, even though deep down my fantasies had always been about being a submissive fuck toy for someone... although always to a male... Vic unfortunately was too gentle of a man to catch on to my many hints over the years. Actually, the last time a man had dominated me, it was an ex back in college who'd always expected me to be in nylons... an irony I just caught up with as I glanced down and saw Bree's legs in nylons.

"I can see through your façade of propriety," she said, "just like I could Dean Wilson's, and dozens of others. It's my gift."

"Your gift?" I repeated, as I kept allowing this ridiculous conversation to continue when I should have nipped it in the bud before it even started.

"I see the inner lust in women even when they don't know they have any," she answered. "They don't know, but their panties do."

"That's ludicrous," I said.

"Is it?" she asked. "If I put my hand inside your old grannie pants and I imagine old grannie panties, would I find them dry?"

"Of course," I replied, even though I realized that was somewhat of a lie... they were definitely damp.

"You can lie to me all you want," she said, "but your body can't."

I didn't have an answer for that.

"And tomorrow I expect you to be in thigh highs and a skirt," she concluded, then turned and walked away.

"Not going to happen," I called back, as she kept walking. You know that helpless feeling you have when you desperately call out the perfect retort to someone's back while they continue walking away paying you no notice? Yeah, it was just like that.

I shook my head as I turned and resumed working on the display, even as I noticed excessive wetness in my panties... wetness I couldn't explain.

I didn't head back to my office until my day was almost done. I was expecting to find something in my office, but not what was actually there.

A smallish box. It was a white gift box, but no wrapping paper. Anyone could just lift the lid off.

I probably should have tossed it in the garbage without even opening it, yet I was curious.

I opened it and inside was a vibrating egg, which I only knew because the package said so.

I sighed for the... I don't even know how many times today.

As I was holding the clearly labeled egg package in my hand, Emily startled me, "Hi, Justine."

"H-h-hi," I stammered, as I tossed the toy back into the box and slapped the lid back on, not at all discreetly.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yes... well, no," I admitted. "It's been a long day."

"Mondays," she said.

"Mondays," I agreed, looking down at her pantyhose-clad legs. I decided to ask the question I'd been wondering about since I noticed her wearing them on Friday, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why do you wear a skirt and pantyhose to work?"

She paused for a few seconds, long enough for me to know her answer would be a lie, "I like to dress up nice, and I like the way my legs look in nylons."

"Oh, okay," I said, even though I didn't believe her and was even more convinced of my theory that she too was a pet of Bree's, and the thigh highs... not pantyhose... on her legs were a symbol of pet ownership.

"But a better question would be why you aren't wearing any," she added.

"Pardon?" I asked, wondering what she meant.

"You likely have great legs, and a pair of sheer hosiery would really accentuate them."

"Oh, I guess," I said. "I've never been a big fan of nylons."

"Trust me," she said, "you'd get lots of attention wearing them."

"Why would I want to draw attention here?" I asked.

"I didn't mean here particularly," she said, before adding, "although I'm not going to lie, it's fun to see geeks and nerds checking me out."

"But you're married," I pointed out.

"Doesn't mean I don't like attention," she explained. "And anyway, I get more attention here than I do at home."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, even though I realized that was true for me too... even before the whole Bree thing began.

"Don't be," she shrugged. "Try them on for a day or two, and I think you'll see it's kind of liberating."

"Maybe," I said noncommittally.

"Either way," she shrugged again, "I should probably get to work."

"And I should get home," I said, glancing at the clock.

"Have a good night," she said.

"You too," I said as she headed out.

I grabbed the toy, stuffed it in a desk drawer and headed out, thinking maybe I was wrong about Emily. Maybe she wasn't another casuality of Hurricane Bree.

.....

TUESDAY

I woke up, showered, and although I considered putting on nylons, Emily's rationale seemed logical to me, I didn't want Bree to get even an inkling of a thought that I was wearing them because she'd told me to.

So I ignored Bree's orders of thigh highs and a skirt and headed to work dressed as usual.

I was driving to work when my phone buzzed three times.

I didn't check until I pulled to the side of the road a couple blocks later. Usually I'd wait until I got to work, but three texts in a burst was rare, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't something urgent.

It wasn't.

It was three texts from a number I didn't recognize.

I clicked on them.

The first picture wasn't inappropriate like the ones yesterday. It was two lines from my favourite poem 'Fatima' by Alfred Lord Tennyson overlaying a pair of red feminine lips: With one long kiss my whole soul thro' my lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

I thought, Who sent this?

What a nice way to start my day.

I flipped to the next one and gasped.

It was the same quote.

And again a pair of lips, but this time they were a pair of wet pussy lips, visibly dripping slightly.

Bree!

How did she get my number?