Librarian's Liberation

She bit her lip again, went from pink to pale and back.

He was serious now as he said, very softly and intensely, "Sarah, there is absolutely NOTHING you could possibly have done, including stripping right down bare-naked in front of me, that would have turned me on so thoroughly as you did by coming back braless. God! It was like being hit squarely in the solar plexus and crotch simultaneously, but pleasantly. Incredible!"

She flushed, glanced at him for a second, and muttered back "Oh? Really? I guess I should be pleased..."

Loren agreed that she should be, and then resumed. "Well, lady, as you were sitting there you reached back and adjusted your hair with both hands. Your armpits are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and they simply flattened me! That, and how they fit with the curve of the base of your neck and the undersides and insides of your upper arms. Absolutely stunning, and the most incredible turn-on of my life!"

Sarah was flabbergasted, and couldn't even begin to reply. Armpits? Who would ever have thought it? And then Loren kept on. "That and, of course, your calves, which I spotted just walking across the room. Beautiful, white skin, nice and taut. You've been a dancer, haven't you?"

She nodded, said "For over fifty years now. Still am. Classes three times a week."

He sipped his coffee again, then lifted hers for her and said "No fair just one of us having coffee-breath... besides, coffee is a lot nicer than, say, toothpaste. So long as it's mutual and fresh."

She smiled and sipped, then flushed again when she thought through the implications of what he had just said. Oh REALLY?

When they first sat down, she had tugged her dress upwards so that her knees were uncovered. Now, beneath the table, their naked knees were pressed solidly together. He looked at her speculatively, then said "Before we get started on business-stuff, can I ask a very personal favor? Apropos of the way this conversation seems to be going?"

Sarah's insides quivered, and she took a long time to finally nod, silently. Then before he could start, she said "If, of course, I can decline to answer!"

He reached for both of her hands, held them: cool gave way to hot instantly. "Seriously, you have to understand, Sarah, that taking off your bra yesterday was just about the single sexiest and most wonderful thing any woman has ever done for me in my life. I don't know why you did it, but I loved it, and love you for doing it. It took guts... unless, of course, it's your normal mode?" He grinned at her, she just shook her head in wonderment at herself, and denial of the normalcy of it all. He understood.

"Would you go to the ladies and take off your bra again for me?"

He looked at her.

She felt as if she had been hit in the chest, too. And something interesting was moving about in her belly, making feelings so intense she was almost nauseous. Time seemed to stop. Would she? This was a completely unprecedented, unexpected proposition. Would she? Her insides said YES, her brain said NO WAY. At least, it said so for a few seconds. Then she whispered "Not my normal mode, Mister."

He thought it was a turn-down. Wrong. A second later she stood. He continued to hold her hands as she slid out to stand beside their table. Looking up at her, he said "Undies too, please?" It was part question, part demand.

She just looked down at him for several very long seconds, then flashed a faint grin and whispered "We'll have to see about that!"

In the small restroom, alone and with the door locked behind her, she leaned on the sink, studying herself in the mirror again. Her insides were boiling. No indeed, this was NOT her normal mode, not even vaguely. Not once in all these faithful years with hubbie had she felt this internal lurching when faced with another man. It was alarming, yet awfully nice, to know both that she could still generate such a strong male response, and that she herself was still equally capable of response. So what was a girl to do? If she acceded, what did it mean? Nothing perhaps, everything perhaps. She studied her crotch: it had to be dripping wet, a sensation she hadn't had for years. Very definitely pleasant.

Abruptly, she wondered what Loren's response was, anyhow, that he had been so happy about? Hard-on? Probably! High-school all over again? She giggled, recalling oh-so-clearly her first encounter with that particular "boys' problem". It was so long ago! She shrugged out of her bra. Then, quite deliberately, she put one foot on the edge of the toilet and removed her thong. She was right – it was distinctly damp.

What to do with them? She hadn't brought a purse. No pockets. She took a single paper towel, folded them inside it - a very small package. She studied it- perhaps an ounce? Certainly over $100 – undies at $1600 the pound –minimum!- and she wasn't even wearing them any more! She grinned, shook her head at herself in the mirror, squared her shoulders, and returned to the table, nipples gone to pebbles again. She sat, then placed the little package on the table.

He looked at it, and she slid it towards him.

"Christmas in July?" he muttered, smiling at her. She said nothing, kept a perfectly straight face. He opened it very discreetly, counted visibly but silently "One, two!" and then looked up at her as he raised the packet to his nose and inhaled deeply. At that, her insides seemed to turn positively inside-out.

He folded the packet back together, put it into his tee-shirt pocket. He reached for her hands, pulled her towards him slightly, and eye to eye he said "Please?"

She knew what he wanted, bent forward enough to let her scoop neckline droop away and expose her chest to him. Again. Very different this time, however, with the openness and deliberation. His eyes dropped and he muttered "Beautiful!" The hardness of her nipples spread to include first her areolas, then the entire hanging mass of each breast. A female version of a male erection, perhaps? She started, returning to awareness of where they were, looked around. Alone, private – more or less. Thank heaven.

Beneath the table, she felt his naked foot on her arch, then working its way gently up the inside of her calf, rising slowly to her knee, pushing, gently insistent. Stroking, tickling. Maddening indeed. Thank god for tablecloths, she thought.

He pulled her forward more, whispered "You ought to sit right on the edge of the seat, as far forward as you can manage."

She felt as if she would happily follow any orders he might issue: she nodded, then scooted, tits waggling slightly and making shivers of happiness.

Loren's foot instructed her knees and they obeyed, wide, wider yet. Then his toes were on the inside of her thigh, caressing. She was biting her lip again – it was getting to be a regular habit around this man. Her pussy was gushing now, definitely a wet-spot coming. She held her breath – surely she should stop him? Why wasn't she? She tried to will herself to it and failed utterly.

The toe touched her wispy pubic hairs, combing gently, she spread her knees even farther apart, almost urgently, providing access. She nearly screamed aloud as the toe-tip found and fondled her clit. An amazing jungle drumbeat of pulse filled her engorged clit, toe in perfect time with the clit's internal rhythm. He was good. Who would EVER have thought of toes as equivalent to well-trained fingers in this business? Human capabilities, amazing!

She could FEEL how wet she was, the gentle frictionless glide was maddening. Then, with a small wriggle, the whole of his great toe was pressing itself into her opening, and she was gasping with delight. The toe-knuckle found her clit, the ball of the toe gave her pussy something to clamp on, and in half a minute she came, hard, silently, pupils dilated and locked onto his. Twice. Thrice.

He was nice enough to retreat (Damn him anyhow!) and let her come down to breathe. While she fought for air and tried to maintain reasonable silence, he smiled and said "Not my own normal mode, either, Sarah. But I'm delighted to be of service. Give me your foot." One hand left hers, disappeared beneath the table, took the ordered foot, placed it squarely atop his crotch. She studied and wiggled. Not the least doubt about the effect she was having. She was inordinately pleased with herself.

Loren seemed quite happy with what she was doing. Then after a minute or two, he sighed deeply and asked "So... If this is neither of our normal modes, I guess it's something extraordinary. Let me ask a silly question – would you be missed if we were to stay out through lunch, until say mid-afternoon or so?"

She studied him – that was a loaded, carefully phrased question, wasn't it? She shook her head no, she wouldn't be missed. Her silence left it up to him to continue.

"Have you ever thought... that is, would you perhaps be interested in spending some very personal time together? Either at your place, or mine, or perhaps at some neutral ground?"

There.

It was genuinely out, wasn't it? What she had both feared and expected and wanted right from the moment he walked through the door yesterday.

An Oh My God moment if ever there were one.

Forty-how-many years?

He seemed to understand her inner turmoil, held her hands gently, waited for a long thirty seconds, then whispered "NO is a perfectly acceptable answer, Sarah. But we are both cut loaves, you know, and they say nobody ever misses another slice gone from a cut loaf."

She smiled wanly across at him, then said "Not much has been being sliced off this loaf lately, Mister. Precious few slices and very thin indeed. My personal loaf may have gone stale on me for all I know. You might be disappointed!"

Beneath the table, his foot gently insinuated itself between her thighs once again: she dropped them wide to accommodate, without the slightest hesitation. The great toe flipped slowly back and forth between her sopping lips, making lightning again. He grinned at her, and replied "Nothing stale down here, Sarah. Quite the contrary, I do believe. Maybe a loaf that isn't often sliced is just new territory, waiting for the right instrument?"

Sarah took a very long, deep breath. And decided. "What 'neutral ground' could there be?" He squeezed her hand, wiggled his toe, and told her of the rental hot-tub place just off campus – she had to have driven right past it hundreds of times, yet had literally never noticed. She took yet another deep breath.

And agreed.

Membership card appeared from the depths of his wallet, money changed hands - getting in was painless. A clean, friendly, well-lit place, nicely decorated, high class, nothing motel-sleazy whatever. And not cheap!

Inside their private little room, her belly and knees went simultaneously wiggly as the door clicked shut behind her. He turned her gently, looked at her for a long moment, then said "You can always leave, if you wish... And whenever you wish. But if you choose to stay, you have to do the honors and lock the door."

She had decided in the car – she shot the bolt without hesitation, and then stood there literally trembling.

He stood before her in the dim glow of the tiny ceiling light, took her face between his hands, and leaned forward. Two seconds later she was convinced that she had made the right decision – even that very first kiss was precisely right, as if custom-tailored to meet her needs. Moments after it began, his hands slid gently down her sides and cupped her bottom firmly, as if taking possession of her. He pressed her towards him: the bulge of his erection made a long, gentle dent in her belly.

Then Loren broke the kiss, stepped back from her, and dropped his hands to his sides. "Take the dress off for me. Please? And very, very slowly. Would you?"

She looked at him, raised her arms to begin lifting the dress over her head, and he paused her. "Stop. Right there. For just a second." Arms crossed over her head, holding the top of her dress, she complied, puzzled. He grinned at her, said "I told you what turned me on back there at your desk, so..."

He leaned forward, nuzzled her smooth-shaven pit, then licked gently up along the entire length of it, nipping and sucking as he went. Sarah nearly died – no inkling ever in her life that there might be erotica buried in that locus: how thoroughly uninformed she had been! Her belly, even her armpits themselves, swarmed with goose bumps – she didn't know that pits could HAVE goosebumps! And her nipples were the biggest goose bumps ever, unconstrained and aching for attention beneath their flimsy layer of cloth.

He changed sides, made things symmetrical, then stepped back again, motioned for her to continue. Slowly she raised her dress, the hem inching gently upwards, slowly revealing her calves. Loren squatted before her, watching. She was happy she had shaved yesterday, even though she was one of those women who grew less and less hair as they aged – she hardly needed to shave legs and pits now, and only once in a great while was there any reason to trim her thinning bush. Just before the rising dress covered her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Loren's face as he studied her calves and knees – he was obviously rapt, and that made her belly quiver.

Loren was hidden from her gaze as she kept on raising the dress. Mid thigh now, her pussy about to come into view – and she nearly panicked. She had very long, protruding inner lips, so pronounced that she used to think of herself as definitely deformed until that women's movement business had published their book of pussy-pictures. But still, she hadn't been on overt display more than once or twice in her life, and a couple of the males' reactions had been – well – less than enthusiastic. She paused, knowing full well exactly where the hemline was, then pulled upwards again to reveal herself. She stopped with the hem at navel-level. And what would he think of these little, gravity-affected boobs that were coming up next?

She needn't have worried.

His hands cupped her buttocks again, she felt his breath against her belly, then moving slowly down her precise midline, stirring the hairs of her pussy. Loren muttered just loudly enough so she could hear it clearly "God, what a beautiful set of lips! Absolutely lovely – just about as sexy as anything I've ever seen in my life."

Before she could respond, he slid her feet apart and buried his face against her vee, inhaling the lips, fondling and sucking. Nobody had ever done such a thing to her before – when she played with herself, she would often spend long intervals on just the lips, but her men had at best gone straight down between them in search of her clit. At best. Then she wondered, what did she mean, "at best"? Pretty arrogant of herself, that thought – since only one of her men had actually tried such things at all. It had been interesting, but he hadn't been overly enthusiastic or – she suspected – very practiced. Today, in the here and now, the new and unknown loomed. With her arms still overhead, she shivered and waited.

Eventually, Loren did make his way to her clit, after she had become so insanely wet that she was worried she might drown him with her juices. His fingers pulled the lips wide apart, his entire mouth sought and found her clit directly, and a fountain of golden fireworks exploded wildly inside her belly and head. Shivering and shaking, she came hard, repeatedly. Never before had she ever come standing up, it provided a much different sensation. Better, not just different.

Then he was keeping his mouth on her pussy, so wonderfully active down there, reaching up with his hands to help free her entirely from the dress, It slithered to the floor. She looked down along the gunsight of her midline just as he looked up, just as his hands slid over to cup her breasts – breasts so achingly hard and so aroused they were on the knife-edge of pain. He cupped, stroked, pinched, rolled. Intense pleasure replaced the near-pain, washed over and submerged her. She closed her eyes happily – he LIKED them! Then his mouth was on her nipples, more than nipples, sucking each entire breast into the warm cave for separate-but-equally whole-tit massage and she didn't notice when he stood up to make that possible, because his fingers were working wonders between her legs and she was going off again and again and again... would she EVER be able to breathe once more? Did it matter? Surely it wouldn't literally kill her, this level of pleasure – if she passed out (was she supposed to pass out?) her reflexes would take over, she would start breathing again. Wouldn't she?

She didn't care.

Dimly through her shakings she felt that she had forgotten something important, finally realized what it was. Loren was still fully dressed, she was now naked. An obvious imbalance that must be corrected. As he nursed, she fumbled for his tee-shirt, tugged it free of his shorts, pulled upwards. Together they orchestrated the removal with an amazingly small loss of contact. Then she was scrabbling madly at his belt – she was excruciatingly READY, and NOW please... No more dilly-dallying permitted.

He had to help her – the buckle was a handmade oddity. As they undid the belt, they went back to kissing - God but they were good together at this kissing business!

Loren handled the buckle, but she could do zippers by herself, thank you. It purred down, but his erection was trapped inside. She couldn't believe how brazenly she reached in through his fly, no by-your-leave whatever, just take the place by storm, a frontal assault. With (for?) a friendly weapon. She was TOTALLY out of character now, wasn't she? Thinking such thoughts, the Staid Old-Lady Librarian indeed! Or, she thought momentarily, perhaps she was FINALLY actually IN character? After all these years? She preferred that interpretation.

Her fingers found him – something odd here. No pubic hair! She set that aside for later discussion, tugged until his cock sprang free, out through his fly. No underwear, either. Interesting. Had he invited her to coffee expecting this to happen, even perhaps planning it? Was she that easy, predictable, what? Or was that just his normal mode? More discussions, also later!

Then, before she could unsnap his waistband and drop the coarse canvas shorts free, he was turning her around, putting her knees against the edge of the bed, spreading her feet wide, stepping in behind her, between her legs. The canvas rubbed against the backs of her open thighs, rough, incredibly erotic. Wasn't he going to take them off?

He put her hands down on the mattress in front of her, did a slight squat, pressed forward, cupped a breast in one hand, slid his other hand's fingers to her clit, and slithered the head of his cock once, all hot and solid and engorged, down the entire length of her slit. She reached between her legs to grasp him, placed the head just exactly so, and together they engulfed him full-depth on the first stroke, which took nearly a minute.

It was like the calm eye in the middle of a hurricane. Between them, they figured out exactly the right angle and did so by the middle of that very first stroke. She had never fucked this way, not standing, not with a stranger, not with a half-dressed stranger at that, never with anyone who so instinctively knew her body. She came on his cock, hardly noticing his finger deep in her butt at the same time. He invited her to ride, she stripped him and then lay down willing and ready – he hadn't come yet... but an oddity loomed for her – he claimed that she was going to get another orgasm, right here and now! Or perhaps ten! Did those orgasms-to-come have edges, were they separate countable items? She rather thought not. It was amazing how easy it was, squatting atop him, to find the right pressures and rhythms. She bit her lip and came again. He held her still, pulled her chest forward until he could nurse, then pressed her clit motionless against his pubes and nursed hard until she climaxed as if a grenade had gone off in her belly.