Quiet in the LibrarybyScheherazade73©
From time to time he returned to it. He was always somehow comforted by its steadfast austerity. In the fifteen years since graduation the world as a whole had gotten faster. The outside had changed. But here, inside, things were mostly the same. Sure, the old card catalogs were gone, replaced by the sleek kiosks of the electronic information system. And a few years back there had been some minor furniture changes. But for the most part, it was the same and he depended on its sameness.
In his day there had been three librarians at the circulation desk and so there still were; an additional librarian, it seemed, had been stationed at an information desk. This was new; he'd been there just the month behind and the information desk wasn't there. He tried to remember what it had replaced. A seating area? Potted ferns? No matter; in a library, except for the books, one thing was the same as another. He scanned the circulation area again. One of the librarians who had been a middle-aged woman when he was a freshman was still there. She was no doubt ready for retirement, though she showed just as much calm pleasure in her job as she had when she was helping him and his classmates use the card catalog. Her hair was white now, but she was essentially the same. The other two librarians at the desk had appeared the way new librarians do, quietly and seamlessly absorbed into their new post. The fourth, though, was a mystery. Only the desk showed itself.
Out of habit he went to the periodicals, where the newspaper sat unmolested on its shelf, passed over by the students for sports journals and fashion rags. He wondered idly when the last newspaper would be printed; even he, not an old man but certainly more dedicated in many ways to tradition, caught his news on TV or from the internet. He picked up the paper and shook it out, then spread it carefully on the table in front of him. He's gotten as far as the front page fold when he saw her.
She looked out of place in the library the way a peacock looks out of place on a farm, though she was very clearly a librarian. But she was younger than the others, considerably younger, perhaps late twenties or very early thirties. She was smartly dressed, wearing a skirt, which delighted him (good-looking women always seemed to wear pants to work these days, which was a shame) and a cardigan with minimal jewelry. Her shoes were not a librarian's shoes -- no fashionable shoes could be considered such. They were sleek Mary Jane pumps, with a heel just high enough to give her calves that lovely stretch he looked for, and modest enough.
But her hair was a sonnet to sin. In the natural sunlight of the first floor it blazed, making her the focal point. It was a cascade of curls, the kind that can't be brushed out, burnished copper, and fell nearly to her waist. She had it tied back, of course, but he imagined it loose and just that brief flash in his mind had him hard as a schoolboy.
From his vantage point he could keep an eye on her while he pretended to read the paper. He felt a bit like a stalker -- truthfully, he always felt a bit creepy being back at school, although the amount of begging the alumni association did for his hard-earned cash gave him the right, he felt, to visit as often as he wished. Still, he hoped she wouldn't notice him, not today.
He breathed deeply, his erection subsiding a bit after she strode out of sight. He couldn't get her out of his head. His pulse quickened and he thought madly about when he could get back there to see her again. He didn't want the library to close. He didn't want to leave his table. She strode back into sight and he was transfixed, his cock aching in his khakis. He watched her smile graciously when the young man she had helped carry a tower of books bowed his head respectfully to her, thanking her in his heavily accented voice. Her smile was all dimples and a flash of very white teeth. His eyes followed her movement back and forth to the circ desk and over to the reserve room and back again, her calves flexing and hips swaying as she walked and just the slightest jiggle as her ample breasts bounced beneath her clothes.
He had an insane urge to grab her, to take her to some secluded place in the stacks and just bury his face in those tits. He hardened unbearably as he imagined them -- pale, translucent globes with small, pale pink nipples. Small nipples, small areolas, and perhaps just the lightest sprinkling of freckles across her chest.
Christ, he had to stop. He was pleasantly horny, maybe more than he had been when he'd watched girls from a distance there as a young and inexperienced boy, but he couldn't enjoy it with all the bored nineteen-year-olds milling about. He daydreamed that it was closing time, that she locked the doors and they were alone. She dimmed the lights and did a slow striptease for him in the periodicals. He envisioned her shaking out that scandalous hair, then slowly unbuttoning her sweater to reveal those sumptuous breasts clad in a lacy bra. She slid the straps down her shoulders, first one, then the other, and then reached behind her back to release the bra. Her gorgeous tits swung free, and she reached up to caress them and pinch her nipples while she looked into his eyes...
The fire alarm broke his reverie. For a moment he was too confused to do anything, until he saw students grabbing their laptops and backpacks and watched the librarians mobilize, efficiently herding the wandering students out the various exits. He shuffled along himself and made a point to go through her assigned door, hoping he could get a closer look at her outside.
His hope was realized and he openly ogled her on the lawn. She wasn't paying any attention to him, clearly concerned with the fire alarm and her own protocol. From just a few feet away he drank in her porcelain complexion, her startlingly clear eyes, the spattering of gold dust across the bridge of her nose. She was tall, especially with the extra inches the shoes gave her, and while no one could rightly call her a slender girl, she was soft, well-padded in all the appropriate places, rather than heavy. Her ass was positively squeezable in the navy pencil skirt, and for a delirious moment he thought of walking behind her and copping a feel of that glorious backside, though he came very quickly to his senses.
After nearly half an hour of firemen proceeding in and out of the building without clear reports of when they'd be allowed back in, though, he could no longer justify waiting around. He was surrounded by restless students and she had moved off to stand with her colleagues. Feeling slightly guilty about the newspaper he'd left on the table, he headed off to make something more productive of his Tuesday.
She appeared in his dreams that night. Soft and willing, she floated into his bed and spread herself out for him like a feast. Her fiery hair spilled across the pillow, and when she parted her legs for him the soft curls were the same astonishing hue. In his dream he merely touched her, running his fingertips over every inch of her like he was gentling a horse, listening to her soft sighs of pleasure.
In the shower the next morning he came violently, rope after rope of cum splattering against the tiles as he recalled the dream, the feel of her skin under his hands, her gentle curves. He recalled her hands around his cock as he touched her mouth, sliding his fingers down her jaw and straight down her body to the gingery wisps of hair concealing her plump pussy, slipping his fingers between them but not inside her. He remembered her impossible moist heat, her fingers curled insistently around his thick shaft. His dick hurt from so much abuse and he didn't care. He chuckled to himself as he dressed for work. It was like being a teenager again, this unrelenting lust.
He returned the following week to watch her again. This time he sat closer and heard her voice several times while tapping away at the keys on his laptop. He filed it away for future use. She had pants on this time, which was slightly disappointing, but her top was bordering on low-cut and when she leaned over her desk he caught a flash of her creamy tit, her lacy peach bra. He was immediately and painfully aroused.
Later that night he stroked his cock slowly, luxuriating in the memory of her slightly husky voice. His mind had her telling him how badly she needed fucking, how hot and wet her pussy was. In his dreams he cast her as he wished -- on her back, on her knees, on all fours. Astride him, her lips parted, her eyes needy, and that glorious jumble of copper curls tossing back as she came, moaning his name. He wrestled with his cock repeatedly in a delirium of sleeplessness, his sweaty t-shirt crusted with his own spunk when he finally tossed it into the hamper and collapsed into sleep.
He admitted to himself that he was obsessed but was certain he'd relieved himself sufficiently to sleep soundly without thinking of her. But he dreamed again, and this time he was buried face first in her sweet cunt, her knees bent and her toes on his shoulders. She thrashed and moaned as he pleasured her for what seemed like hours with his lips and tongue and fingers. It was so real that when he woke he passed his hands under his nose so he could be sure. He swore he could still taste her, even though he knew it had all been a dream.
Weeks passed before he got the nerve to approach her at the information desk, and it was a patent disaster. The student she'd been working with returned in the middle of his phony request and one of the other librarians jumped in to help. He'd slunk out of there like a criminal with some stupid photography book and a healthy dose of frustration. He was rubbing his cock raw on a daily basis thinking about her, and they'd never even had a conversation. It was insanity.
So it was an incredible surprise when he saw her at his favorite coffee shop. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and glasses and her hair was pulled into a sloppy bun, but it was definitely her. He watched her, tucked into one of the overstuffed chairs. Her feet were tucked up under her and she was drawing, it looked like, and taking occasional sips of her coffee. There was an empty chair across from her and fate was kind to him. He settled in with his steaming mug and she looked up at him and smiled, a genuine smile.
He introduced himself and asked if she was drawing and she slid the book away, looking slightly embarrassed, and told him he looked familiar -- was he a professor at the university? He had to admit that he was an alumnus who went there for the peace and quiet, and she nodded seriously. "Academic libraries are the last bastion of silence," she agreed. "It's one of the things I love best about the job. I mean, we talk to people, but we guard that quiet very fiercely." She smiled again, another flash of dimples and pearly teeth.
They chatted idly for a bit, clicking nicely and without the rushed nervousness he often felt when talking to women he liked. She was warm and easy to talk to and he already couldn't take his eyes off her, even in her frumpy weekend clothes that hid her breathtaking body. He got up the nerve to ask her to dinner and to his delight she accepted.
That night in his dreams they were alone in the coffee shop at night. He gently took the glasses from her face, untied her hair and stripped her clothes off until she stood in front of him, her pale skin aglow like the moon. He turned her around and buried his face in her silken curls, breathing in her scent, his cock hard and nudging against her ass as his hands roamed the peaks of her tits, feeling the pale pink nipples harden under his touch. She moaned his name and he bent her over the back of the overstuffed chair, his cock sliding easily into her velvet cunt. He stroked in and out of her exquisite clutch, willing himself not to cum too quickly as he squeezed the ample creaminess of her hips and delved into her again and again. Because it was his dream he made her cum three times before he finally spurted what felt like his entire life force into her.
When he woke his boxer shorts were soggy and he laughed. A wet dream, just like a kid. It was getting worse. But Christ, it was worth it. The vivid dreams of fucking this goddess were well worth some sticky shorts. He willed himself to fall back to sleep so he could enjoy her more, but he couldn't. So he counted the hours till Saturday night and got ready for work.
Saturday night was as easy and enjoyable as the coffee shop had been. She was dressed beautifully in a green dress that showcased all she had to offer and some naughty-looking strappy heeled sandals. They enjoyed their dinner and then took a stroll to the park, which was just a block away from their restaurant. He kissed her just as soon as her eyes asked for it, and she was luscious to kiss, better than his dreams. Her lips were soft and her mouth was eager and she pressed into him, her soft breasts grazing against his chest. He dared to cup her ass and she melted against him, her pelvis tucking into his. He wasn't even embarrassed for her to feel how hard he was. He wanted her to feel it, to need him and maybe even ask. It was too much to hope she'd beg like she had in his dreams. But he hoped she'd ask.
And then, impossibly, she was whispering in his ear that she'd always had a fantasy about being fucked in the library. Asking him if he would go, she had a key and they could go there. He nodded mutely and she giggled and took off the ridiculous shoes and they cut through the park to the brick building, which looked even more somber in the darkness. They slipped inside like thieves, and she led him wordlessly into the bowels of the stacks.
With the darkness obscuring his sight his other senses were heightened. He could hear her breathing, the soft swish of her dress around her thighs, the soft padding of her bare feet across the carpeted floor. He smelled the aged leather, that unmistakable smell of old books, and the faintest waft of her perfumed scent. When they finally stopped he realized where they were. There was a set of study carrels in the back, by a bay of windows, on the other side of the shelf where she'd paused. A very faint light allowed him to see her face, mostly obscured by the shadows, as well as her movements as she removed the dress and let it puddle onto the floor.
"I want to see you," he blurted, his voice unnaturally loud.
She shushed him and pressed her lips to his, taking another hungry kiss. "Quiet in the library," she breathed against his ear, nuzzling his neck, her tongue darting out to make electric contact with his skin. His head buzzed and his cock thickened and he had goosebumps. She fumbled for her phone and turned the flashlight on, and that combined with the light streaming through the windows was enough to really see her.
She stood in front of him as he had envisioned her so many times in his dreams, slowly pulling off her bra. Her tits swung free and he was pleasantly surprised that they looked much as he'd pictured them, except for very rosy nipples. The little tips looked like candy in the light and he was almost sorry when her hair obscured them as she bent to slide her panties down her hips. But the glorious sight of her, completely nude, was enough to take his breath away. His hand strayed unconsciously to his crotch, and she laughed softly and whispered, "Allow me." He had to grip the shelf next to him to keep his legs from buckling as she sank to her knees in front of him and began unbuckling his pants.
His cock sprang free before she had him all the way unfastened, and his breath caught as she reached for him. Her smooth, cool fingers wrapped around his aching prick and he groaned quietly as her tongue flicked across the head, stealing the drop of pre-cum that had leaked from him. She cut her eyes up at him and he was both shocked and grateful for the lust he saw there as she took him slowly into her mouth, inch by inch, savoring him and doing magical things with her tongue. He gripped the shelf more tightly as she sucked him in earnest, licking and sucking and all the while jacking him steadily in her fist. It was almost too much. He watched his cock disappear again and again into her pretty mouth, her swollen lips devouring him, completely engrossed in pleasuring him, and clearly in herself as well because she was moaning softly around his shaft as she worked him. He desperately wanted to finish in her mouth, but there was so much else he wanted to do with her and he tried never to be a selfish lover. So with great reluctance he pulled his cock out of her willing mouth and led her off her feet and to the study carrels. He sat her on one of the chairs and nudged her thighs open.
She was perfect, her pussy pink and plump and open to him like a flower. She had shaved everything except for a tiny muff of silky red curls on her mound and he reveled in the sight of her moist cunt. Her thighs quivered as she spread them open, and she jumped when he touched his fingertip to the prominent bud of her clit, which was pouting out from its hood and quite engorged. He savored the scent of her, musky and slightly tart, before he began lapping her with broad strokes of his tongue. And once he'd tasted her, he couldn't help burying his face in her wetness, painting his cheeks with her juices before he settled into licking her with delicacy, feeling her respond when he plunged his tongue into her slick hole and then replaced it with his finger while he busied himself suckling her clit. She was shaking and he slid a second finger into her wet channel, seeking her g-spot with both fingertips, and then he hit the right place and she cried out, twining her hands in his hair and nearly mashing his face into her pussy as she came violently, moaning his name over and over as the aftershocks of her climax took her.
His head was resting on one of her thighs as she stroked his head and steadied her breathing, but she hadn't forgotten his needs. In a moment she slipped to the floor and pushed him gently onto his back, straddling him and leaning over to kiss him. Her wet cunt soaked his stomach and his cock nudged insistently against her ass. He shifted under her and she rose on all fours, teasing him now, her warmth exciting him but her flesh just out of reach. She sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and nipped before nibbling again down his neck, and then she tucked her hips so that his cock was lodged in the slippery entrance of her cunt.
And then she took him slowly, sliding herself down his painfully erect cock, milking him as she enveloped him. He looked up at her and she had that same blissful smile as in his dreams. She was enjoying every inch of him, sighing happily and swiveling her hips as she rode him. Christ, but she was gorgeous. He played with her tits a bit, enjoying the weight of them in his hands, pinching her delectable candy nipples. She arched her back and he ran his hands down her soft stomach, slipped his thumb between himself and her copper-covered mound. Her eyes widened as he found her clit and slowly rubbed.
Her eyes never left his as he brought her easily to climax. She was panting and gripping him as he rubbed the hard little nub and he watched the flush spread across her chest, her creamy thighs quivering. He knew she was close and he was just as close. He hoped he could bring her off before he lost control.
She was making little cooing cries in her throat and gasping his name. He thrust into her harder and kept a steady rhythm with his thumb and she broke first, shuddering and crying out but never looking away. He watched her face as she came for him and he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He had given this goddess ecstasy and he swelled with pride even as his own orgasm raced ahead, bubbling up from his balls and jetting out of him into her warmth. He gasped and held her fast, thrusting into her, an agonizing and delicious release.