Librarians in Heat

Librarians in Heat

A short story by jokermon (J.K. Ermon)

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction, presented for the entertainment of adults only.

It is not meant to reflect any real-life people, events or medical conditions.

If reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don't read it.

If you are not old enough to legally read this according to your local laws,

don't read it.

This story features explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content.

If that's not your bag, don't read it.

This story is copyright the author©2008.

Michelle Campeau hated being surrounded by books.

She stood at the counter of the MacKenzie Memorial Public Library of Oyster Creek, Texas in her best mini-skirt and tank top and waited impatiently for the place to close. She looked at her watch. The extravagant digital readout read 6:05 PM. She made a moue of disgust. She was meeting friends in an hour for sushi and clubbing. She hoped this stupid place wouldn't make her late.

She wasn't here for a book. She was here to collect a paycheck.

The thought of her taking a book out was hilarious. Michelle was never much of a reader. If she needed a book, she had the money (or her parents did, anyway) to buy one; she certainly had no desire to borrow one from a Library, and be subject to idiotic fines and the like. Furthermore, the place just creeped her out. The warm colors of the walls, the persistent beige carpeting and the incessant quiet reminded her of a mental institution. At eighteen, she was way too young for this place. She needed noisy crowds, loud music, bright lights, life.

She hated the fact that she worked here.

Her formal job title was Library Assistant. Her parents inflicted this summer job on her as punishment for wrecking her mother's favorite Porsche in a drunken Prom Night escapade. They'd also cut off her allowance, and had the accountants suspend her Trust Fund payouts. This job was her only source of money for the summer break. It sucked ass.

She'd found a way around that, though. She was glad she only had to set foot in this place once every two weeks to pick up her check. Thank God she no longer had to do any actual work here.

Except for now, when she had to grind her teeth and wait for the Head Librarian to shoo out the last of the children, straighten things up and finally get around to handing over the envelope. She thought longingly of all the cute boys waiting for her down at the beach-front clubs. Oyster Creek sat a stone's throw from the Gulf of Mexico and on a humid Friday in July like tonight, the nightlife in Surfside Beach would be jumping. It was a good thing the banks were open late on Friday.

There she was now, the freaky cow. Helga Jaeger, the fortyish head matron of this nuthouse. And as usual, dressed like a seventy-year-old: boxy cardigan, brown hair up in a scream-tight bun and her glasses on a chain around her neck. The skirt went down to her ankles, practically, and was so baggy the only thing you could tell about her figure was the breadth of her hips. Her clothes gave the impression of asexual stoutness. Michelle smiled to herself. She knew that wasn't the case.

~~~

Helga Jaeger put the last of the Nancy Drews back on the revolving wire racks in the Young Reader's section and hummed a Stephen Sondheim tune. It had been a light day, and she was looking forward to a night of DVDs, online chatting, and perhaps opening a bottle of wine to curl up with that new Kathy Reichs novel. She glanced over at the check-out counter and her pleasant mood curdled.

Of course. She'd forgotten it was a payday Friday. There she was, the Campeau bitch, leaning against the counter and checking that expensive watch Daddy gave her on her last birthday. She felt her blood begin to boil.

Look at that hussy. Tossing a lock of her vanity-length blonde hair and tapping her pricey high-heel-shod toes like she was a real person with places to go and work to do. Wearing her expensive sunglasses indoors, and in a perfectly evenly-lit room, just to make it clear how far above all this she was. And with a mile of leg and cleavage on display, no less.

Helga stared at Michelle's bared thighs. Her tight, miniscule skirt looked pasted to her hips. The diamond in her gold navel-ring winked. She felt her teeth grind.

I suppose it would be too much to ask her to change into her Active Slutwear after she'd picked up her wretched paycheck, Helga thought. Not wasting any time on a full night's tarting around, I see.

As Helga watched, Michelle tugged at one of the shoulder strings of her cropped tank top and her considerable bosom wobbled. It contrasted with the rest of her, which stood slim and firm. Those breasts are the only thing about her that isn't fake. Lazy little sow.

Helga strode over and went behind the counter without a glance at Michelle or a word of greeting. She opened a drawer and tossed a brown municipal pay envelope on the counter. She turned around and went back into the office without watching Michelle take it. She didn't want to see her smirk, or endure her gloating. She was dangerously close to tears as it was.

~~~

Earlier that summer, Michelle received the shock of her young life at the library. She promptly turned it to her advantage.

For Helga's part, the library had needed a full-time assistant for ages, and she was delighted when the town council finally gave her one for the busy summer months. Her initial delight quickly staled when she realized that the post was an excuse for Councilman Campeau to foist off his recalcitrant daughter on MacKenzie Memorial for two months. Michelle quickly proved more of an irritant than an assistant.

She was an unwilling employee, often late and always surly. She made it clear from the start that she did not want to be there.

Michelle had no interest in books or literacy programs. The preservation and fostering of reading, which was such a passion in Helga's life, did not move Michelle at all. The girl would do what she was told, but only if you stood over her while she did it. If you turned around for an instant, you'd find her lying back yakking on her cell phone, usually complaining about her father, her shitty job or her stuffy boss.

In the beginning, Helga had welcomed her and tried to be pleasant. Michelle responded with sarcasm and disdain. She was uncooperative and sullen, and as an employee the girl was worse than useless; Helga had gotten more work done without her.

Looking back, Helga realized that she had worked too long alone. She had become accustomed to a certain amount of privacy. She would lock up the library for an important personal break around 10:30am, and put up a sign saying 'back in 15 minutes' - this was the slow period between the morning returns and the lunch-hour rush. No one came to the library then, and the lull could last as long as an hour. This break had become a ritual with her and she saw no reason to stop because of Michelle. That was her mistake.

She had given Michelle a job shelving books that she reasoned should keep her busy for about an hour, then retired to her office and locked the door.

It never occurred to her that her new Library Assistant might try to interrupt, or failing that, spy on her through a tiny gap in the louvers covering the door's old-fashioned glass window.

Michelle was unable or unwilling to wrap her head around the Dewey Decimal System. She had come back to Helga's office to ask for help, or perhaps an easier job, and halted at the sound of deep breathing from within. Curious, she knelt down (hating the knee-length skirt she had to wear here) and put her eye to a space between the blinds.

Helga's cardigan and skirt lay draped over the couch. That was the first thing she noticed. Helga's bra and panties (much skimpier and sexier than anything Michelle would have ever imagined her wearing) lay beside them. Michelle's arms instantly went all goose-pimply.

Michelle panned left, and there stood Helga, leaning against her desk, stark naked except for an lacy old-fashioned garter belt she wore with white stockings. Her skin was pale and smooth as porcelain.

Michelle let out a stunned, whispery gasp.

Helga held a paperback open in one hand. The book was one that Michelle was pretty certain she'd never seen on their shelves: the cover featured a smiling girl in a bikini and a cowboy hat, and bore the title Cowgirls in Heat. Helga was reading it avidly.

But that wasn't what made Michelle feel like she might faint at any second. Nor was it her boss lady's astounding voluptuous beauty, although that was amazing enough; Helga's breasts were nearly twice as big as Michelle's own generous C-cups, and jutted out every bit as firmly. Her areolas were as wide as the mouth of a pint glass, and a pale pink that stood out from the blue-veined whiteness of her breasts. Their fat mauve nipples stuck out at least an inch. Her hips spread dramatically from a tiny waist, and her tummy lay as flat and tight as Michelle's own. Freed from its tight bun, Helga's brunette hair flowed with surprising length and richness over her shoulders, and her face, freed from her granny glasses and habitual stern expression, had an unexpected warmth and sensuality.

It was Helga's other hand though, the non-book-holding hand that floored her. It was wrapped around an enormous penis that had absolutely no business springing so arrogantly from between the thighs of an otherwise normal woman. She stroked it with a firm, knowing, loving grip as she read her smut paperback.

It wasn't a dildo. There was no well-endowed man standing behind her sticking his cock between her legs. The penis was a flesh-and-blood part of Helga's body, and it throbbed and oozed with virile life. She had a neatly-trimmed triangle of light-brown pubic hair at its base, and there was no break in the smooth, flushed skin where it joined her pelvis.

Michelle's mouth dried up. Her eyes widened, and reason fought a losing battle against their input. This isn't real, a part of her brain yammered repeatedly, you're asleep somewhere, dreaming. But her dreams were never so vivid, so...detailed.

Helga had oiled her prick up with something, and her hand slipped up and down with well-lubed ease. The wet outer skin of her penis moved overtop its ropy bump-map of veins in time with her hand. She was circumcised, and her truncated foreskin alternately bunched and smoothed as her fist traveled back and forth.

It was, Michelle's overtaxed brain noted, the largest penis she had ever seen, and also the silkiest, smoothest, and most finely shaped one, too.

At its root, a huge pair of testicles rested in a long, hairless sac. They bounced as her strokes grew faster and more forceful. As Helga began breathing harder, they swelled visibly and drew up snug against the belly of her prick.

As Michelle watched, stunned mute and immobile, Helga set her book aside and began stroking with both hands. She was easily long enough to accommodate both of them. She closed her eyes and her mouth opened in a smile of unabashed pleasure.

She's beautiful, a tiny voice in Michelle's mind marveled.

Acting of their own accord, her hands brought up her cell phone and she began taking pictures. Some part of her was still rational enough to want proof that this was real.

Helga gasped, her penis expanded and then spat out a huge volley of white fluid. Her first shot flew across the room and hit the glassed portion of the door with a loud splat, less than a foot from where Michelle crouched. She nearly dropped her phone.

Holy shit, her mind screamed. The sight froze her tongue to the roof of her mouth. If the door hadn't been there, she would have caught some of that barrage in the face.

Helga spurted with astonishing force and volume. She splattered a glistening trail of translucent semen across her tile floor, from the door to her stockinged feet.

Michelle stared until she thought her eyes might cramp. She realized that her phone had taken all the photos it could, but that her thumb was still stabbing the camera button reflexively. She forced herself to be still.

Helga squeezed her now-drooping penis, and Michelle was absurdly reminded of a woman wringing out a dish towel. A few final ounces of sperm oozed out, and Helga groaned softly. The sound sent shivers down Michelle's back. In her own sex life, she'd made those exact same noises a few times herself. Not during any exaggerated moany performance for a boyfriend, either; she recognized the unrehearsed and involuntary sounds of a deeply satisfied woman.

A flushed and happy Helga stretched, and began cleaning herself with tissues from a box on her desk.

Time for me to go, Michelle's brain prompted her. She stayed, though, and watched in fascination as Helga first cleaned away the oil and semen from her penis, and then rubbed it with some kind of moisturizing cream from a pump dispenser bottle on her desk next to the tissues.

Helga plucked a few more tissues, and then knelt down to begin cleaning up her semen from the floor. Michelle could hear her humming one of her show tunes. On her hands and knees, she turned this way and that, catching all the errant splats of her seed, and Michelle was simply awestruck by her physical beauty. Her breasts swung fetchingly, nearly reaching the floor, and the explosive flare of her hips and buttocks brought a lump to her throat.

Helga turned again, unintentionally pointing her ass at the door, and Michelle nearly fainted.

Helga's balls hung low, relaxed from their recent exercise, and her dick, still very long but now soft and flexible, swung about below them like a pink elephant's trunk. Above them, framed by the little curls of her brunette pubic hair, a very real and moist vagina lay nestled in its puffed folds. The line of its perineum led up to a very pink and pretty anus, partially shadowed by the big spheres of Helga's buttocks. Her vagina and anus were exactly where they should be on any normal woman, and the veiny, dangling tissues of her scrotum flowed neatly down from the plump cheeks of her labia majora like they had a perfect right to be there.

It was too much. Michelle covered her mouth with her hands lest she burst out screaming or laughing hysterically, and backed away from the door, waddling in her ungainly crouch.

At a safe distance, she rose to her feet. She turned, and nearly jumped out of her skin to find two ten-year old schoolgirls staring at her curiously. They were identical twins, which added another weird note to this strange day, and they stood with books in hand at the check-out counter.

Oh, perfect. Just what I needed.

"God, just take them," she snapped, waving them away. "Go on. Quit school, smoke crack, worship Satan. Fuck off."

With reproachful looks, they left. Michelle didn't give a shit. She went out to the rear employee parking lot, which was all of three paved slots in a sea of green, and smoked a well-deserved joint. It soothed her, gave her a mellow detachment that she desperately needed just then.

Holy Christ, she thought, what was that? I've never...she stopped. There was nothing in her life, nothing in her entire frame of reference that could account for what she had just seen.

She's a woman...a real woman...with an enormous cock. What the fricking hell?

She puffed deeply and took stock of herself: her pulse was still elevated, her nerves all jangly, and to tell the truth, she was aroused as hell. This last thing disturbed her the most. She didn't want to be turned on by Helga Jaeger, but there it was. She kept on flashing on her cock, red and swollen and angry, spitting its endless streams of sperm across the room while Helga's face twisted in pleasure. She felt a twinge deep in her vagina.

I never dreamed Helga could be so...hot.

She smoked her joint to a smouldering nub and threw it away. Helga would probably smell it on her, but fuck it.

She went back inside and stared blankly at the bookshelf she was supposed to be organizing. God, she hated being around all these dusty old books. They weren't exciting, like people. A book was written and the words were just there, they couldn't change, there was no interaction, not like with a person. She couldn't fathom why so many people would willingly throw away so much of their lives reading and writing books. They weren't fun. After work today, a boy she met last week had promised to take her off-roading on the back of his motorcycle. That was fun.

She gnawed her lip. Despite the weed, she was still tense, and full of nervous energy. She looked around. Helga still hadn't come out of her office.

"Fuck it," she muttered aloud.

The library's small basement was clean, well-lit, and most importantly had a good-sized storage room with a lock. Michelle went down.

The library stored its old furniture down here, including a big, overstuffed Victorian armchair that they hadn't gotten around to throwing out yet. Michelle stripped off her skirt and panties (now very wet and sticky) and folded them over the back of the chair. She sat down, licked her fingers and began masturbating.

She closed her eyes and let Helga Jaeger's huge cock and womanly body flow through her mind. She recalled the way the veins and tendons of her penis bulged just before it shot off, and the look of heavenly pleasure on Helga's face. Her mind lingered on the way Helga's breasts shook with her hands' jerking movements. Michelle recalled every nuance of that spectacular orgasm in loving slow-motion, and felt her own heat rise.

Without thinking, she drew her cellphone out of her breast pocket, flipped it open and stared at the pictures she had taken.

My God. She shook her head in disbelief even as her pulse sped up. There Helga stood, real as life and twice as outrageous. She cycled through the photos, breathing hard with her mouth open. She licked her fingers again, and rubbed her clitoris in quick little circles. She stared at Helga's working hands, the unfeigned joy in her expression and the oozing, red-pink plum of her swollen glans.

Oh yeah, Helga. Stroke that thing! Stroke it good.

In the last photo, Michelle had managed to capture a blurred coil of Helga's semen flying straight at the lens. The sight made her gasp. Her phone shook. Her other hand worked harder and faster between her legs, and it began to feel really good.

She floated up into that flushed and boneless state of pre-orgasmic excitement, and her eyes misted over. She put her cell phone down so she could open her blouse to squeeze and tug on her nipples. She closed her eyes again.

The pictures in her mind were different now. Suddenly, she was in the room with Helga, just as naked, and kneeling before the older woman. Michelle's hands were wrapped around that broad, hot stalk and stroking up and down, while she licked her lips and anticipated the creamy onslaught to come. Feverishly, she imagined herself licking Helga's cock, peppering it with adoring kisses, even taking it into her mouth and sucking for the finish line. She imagined Helga's moans of joy as she pleasured her. She pictured herself fondling Helga's balls; could she bring herself to reach underneath to touch Helga's vagina? She'd never done that with another woman, ever.

Her heart pounded, and another more powerful sexual rush claimed her, sweeping her toward climax. She knew then, with a sudden horny certainty that not only would she touch Helga's vagina, she would lick it and suck on it just as lustfully as she would her penis.

Oh, Christ!

With that image burning a hole through her mind's eye, Michelle's toes curled. All her muscles contracted and then released in a phenomenal orgasm.

Ooh!

She panted, and couldn't catch her breath for a long time. Delicious little after-bursts kept quaking her.

Oooooh...

Languid and satisfied, and with a much calmer mind, Michelle slumped down in the big chair. She took her time sucking her fingers clean. She loved her pungent, bittersweet flavor.