Quiet, Pleased

In fact, she heard a voice ask someone if they'd seen her book cart. Bibi pushed the cart down the aisle and out towards the lobby. More people were out there, but she was covered. She just couldn't surrender the cart just yet... and she hadn't yet softened one bit.

She rushed as much as social etiquette would allow her to do within the library. She approached the front desk, hoping to load up this cart with more books, or perhaps find one of the carts that didn't squeak. Instead of Febreze, could this place buy some WD-40 instead? Maybe she could take the elevator up and get to the less occupied upper floors...

But bad luck struck once again. Someone passed behind her and entered the office, the door closing right behind Bibi. The hook-shaped door handle, the kind that were mandatory in public buildings for accessibility reasons, swung just past her and hooked on the bobby pin that was the only thing keeping her skirt together. The force of the door closing ripped the pin out. Bibi's skirt slipped away from her, hanging from the doorknob like a flag on a still day.

Bibi didn't even dare stopping to try to recover it. She just pushed the cart away from her, the way rascals play with abandoned shopping carts. She was exposed for less than a second as she ducked behind the front desk and into the comfortable office chair of the main help desk. Where the secretary had gone, she didn't know. But for now, she was once again perfectly obscured.

But now she had to deal with the line of people who had been waiting to be served in the real desk clerk's absence. She took a deep breath and set away the Back in 10 Minutes sign, asking how she could help the first person in line.

They only wanted to know where they could find books on Zoroastrianism. She directed him to the religion section, BL-1500 to 1590.

Bibi sighed. This wasn't so hard. If every question was about that, what was so stressful about sitting here all day? The clerks probably didn't have the Library of Congress system memorized, but... maybe they should. She only wished she had an emery board to file a nail as she ignored the needs of her co-workers. THEN she'd have the true desk clerk experience.

The second customer asked where the lavatories were. She pointed to a nearby pair of doors, looking to them longingly, as though they led to Heaven itself. If only she'd just taken that one book in the lavatory, she could have taken care of this minor problem and THEN been immediately terminated for masturbating in the bathroom. At least she would still have her skirt...

The phone rang about seven times before Bibi realized it was probably her responsibility to answer it. The person on the phone asked about an event that was allegedly happening on Saturday. This was one aspect of the library that she never had any contact with. The stacks of books kept them plenty busy.

She shrugged and said that the event had been canceled because storyteller had come down with bursitis, and quickly hung up.

A woman came to the desk and confessed she had forgot to return a misplaced book for over a year. She didn't know how much the fine would be, and neither did Bibi. She suggested a dollar per day seemed a logical amount. The woman scoffed and left the book without paying the fine. Bibi accepted that. At least they had the book back.

The phone rang again. Bibi held it to her shoulder and pretended she was the automated line at a movie theater, reading off movie titles and start times. A modern movie theater would probably not be showing Toy Story 2, but it was the first movie she could think of. The customer quickly hung up, and so did Bibi.

A man turned in an umbrella he had found in the bathroom. It wasn't raining today, so Bibi wondered how long it had sat there before being discovered. She set it behind the counter, unable to take it to the appropriate Lost and Found box without exposing her situation.

The phone rang again. It was probably whoever it was who had 'reached' Moviefone a second ago and thought they had dialed the wrong number. Bibi picked up the receiver and put it back down without looking at the handset, the way tempestuous latchkey kids would while watching their favorite daytime soaps.

Bibi wished she could take back what she had thought before. Being back here was more stressful than she imagined, especially when one was still worried about exposing your big shameful erection to all the clientele. Then again, most of her coworkers probably weren't worried about that. Sure, she was sitting down, but she was trapped in this little box like the exotic fish in the nearby tank.

The normal desk clerk woman returned, asking what Bibi was doing in her chair, and if she could stop clowning around, please. Bibi had to do something to get out of this...

From the old continuous feed printer below the desk, Bibi grabbed a strip of green-and-white paper and held it over her crotch. She pushed away from the desk in the chair, riding it out of the desk area, pushing it along with the umbrella like an oar. The continuous feed paper fluttered behind her like a long streamer. Get to the elevator, she thought. Just get away from here.

Once she got close, she jumped from the chair and into the open elevator doors, abandoning the long ribbon of paper behind her. She slammed the Close Door button and the button to the fifth floor, the building's highest and least populated floor.

Once the elevator doors closed and began to ascent, she sighed. Finally, a moment of real privacy. She couldn't stay here, of course. Even if she hit the emergency stop button, she'd still have to be rescued from here... and now she didn't even have a skirt. It was surprising how chilly it felt without her skirt, the cold feeling climbing her abs and ever upward...

Bibi stared down. Her cardigan was unraveling. Part of it must have gotten caught in the door on the first floor. Now it was disappearing thread-by-thread like a typewriter in reverse. She tried to grab the thread, stop the disassembly, break the thread with her fingers or her teeth, but nothing worked. By the time she reached the fifth floor, her lovely sweater was now two hundred feet of stretched yarn. She huffed as she picked up her pen from the floor of the elevator and set it behind her ear. She really loved that sweater... how many knitted sweaters had breast pockets, anyway?

The elevator door rang, and Bibi peeked her head out, looking both ways. She jumped out and pressed against the wall. She was now bottomless AND topless, wearing nothing but her shoes and stockings. (Her braless condition was not a wardrobe malfunction. Her breasts were no more than large handfuls, so she simply didn't wear that particular undergarment at work. She was more comfortable without the restriction those chest shackles provided.)

Now she was really in a pickle. There might be fewer eyes up on the fifth floor, but the quieter atmosphere just made her heart skip every time she heard the slightest noise, as if someone would discover her at any moment. The elevator hummed as the car dropped away, the number at the top counting down to the floor of its next occupants.

Bibi made tracks away from the elevator before someone else stumbled upon her. In her haste, and against the tile floor, her heels made sharp percussive sounds like tap shoes. She stopped at a decorative plant and unhooked the buckles from her shoes, tucking them behind the planter. Nobody would steal them anyway, unless they wore a size-five woman's shoe.

She took one step out onto the tile with her stocking feet... and her foot slipped away from her as though she'd stepped onto an ice rink in a ballet slipper. She kicked her feet around, trying to spread them apart to keep her balance. Bibi had slightly more success staying upright than Bambi had, but she really didn't want to be naked AND sliding around like a drunk person at a roller derby.

Leaning up against one wall, she rolled her stocking off her left leg. Her bare foot planted onto the tile with the stern grip of a rubber sole on a tripod leg. At least she had control of something right now. She unrolled the other stocking and put both stockings in her shoes. It's not like the little semisheer things would hide her shame...

And yet, releasing the stockings, shedding that last piece of clothing, made her feel even more vulnerable. Now she was entirely nude, but for her glasses. It was hard to make the excuse that she spilled coffee on her shirt, or her pen leaked in her pocket, or she threw her undergarments on stage at an aging rock-and-roll band's show... all at the same time.

She could claim she got caught in the rain... she had the umbrella. It might be big enough to keep all her nudity concealed. But walking around behind the open umbrella like a tortoise shell... that might draw even more attention.

Without her shoes, Bibi could at least tiptoe around the hardwood floor with almost no sound at all. All she could hear was her ever-pounding heart, reverberating through her erect cock. There must be an unoccupied lavatory somewhere on this floor. Sure, it didn't magically stitch her jumper back together, but at the very least, she could wait for her erection to fade. Maybe she could just stay in there until a coworker found her, where she could call for help in the seclusion of the stall. She could claim to have come down with a stomach bug and she needs a change of clothes, maybe even a coat left behind in the lost and found. It might have to be quite a long coat...

A door a few feet away from Bibi flew open with a surprisingly loud thump, the hinges squeaking a bit. It may as well have been a mousetrap, but one that had not yet snapped onto her. Bibi jumped back and reached the wall just as students poured out from the doorway. That was the rear entrance to this auditorium! Why would any student go out that way?!

Maybe they were looking for the vending machines that were inexplicably out this way. Maybe the designers thought the sounds of cans opening should be in the most secluded part of the library to avoid disturbances. But that was a solution to a problem that scarcely mattered, as Bibi was up against the wall, literally, and heads were nanoseconds from turning and seeing her. She had to hide...

Bibi jumped behind the large potted plant where she had left her shoes. Hiding the shoes was simple, but hiding herself behind a strange exotic tree with a trunk that was barely thicker than her own penis... she felt like she was playing hide and see by standing behind a stop sign pole. Even bending one of the branches to extend its thin leaves across her shame seemed inadequate. It was like trying to 'hide' behind a screen door.

The crowd turned the corner, their soft chatter and footfalls feeling louder than a police siren. Bibi held as still as she could, but her cock wobbled with every beat of her heart. She didn't dare move anything to steady it, one arm already holding the willowy branch vaguely over herself. If only this was a fig tree, the plant designed for all-natural censorship. Then again, she'd not seen a fig leaf that would suitably cover herself. The Renaissance era artwork rarely depicted anyone as... endowed as her.

Bibi let out a breath as the last person passed and the soft chatter faded away. Maybe this branch was more opaque than it looked, like a mask made of pantyhose. The immediate danger was over, but it could return at any point.

Maybe she was overwhelmed by this situation. She just had to think calmly and logically about her problem. Yes, she was still naked at her workplace with essentially no chance of finding something to wear. Maybe she could sneak into that auditorium to look for a recently lost garment, but the professor was probably still in there, perhaps clapping the erasers or attending to the questions of a formerly napping student. Maybe she could steal a coat from a chair or coat rack, but there was no guarantee anyone was wearing one in the lovely warm weather of finals week. If a professor was so arrogant to wear a white lab coat and somehow leave it behind, Bibi would welcome it like the finest regalia.

Being naked was not Bibi's biggest problem at the moment. It was staring her right in the face... pulsing and dripping a bit of clear fluid. If she wanted out of this predicament... she had to get rid of this erection.

Unfortunately, this library wasn't in possession of a pornography section. She didn't dare try to enter the computer lab in her current state, where the Internet might provide her with anything she needed. (If only she had her phone on her! She criticized her coworkers for their phone habits, but now she understood why they all kept them so close to hand.)

She searched her mind and thought through where everything was in this enormous library, and where she could go to find a sufficiently stimulating image. The magazine periodicals section was on the second floor, and was unlikely to have the kind of magazines she wanted. The library's manga section was on the first floor. Even with Japan's more open perspective on naughty media, any manga that made it into the library would likely be pretty tame. They did have those Japanese books of hundreds of nude poses that were used as a reference for artists... and the art section was on the top floor.

Bibi headed there... but ever so carefully. She put her back to the end of every stack and peeked around the edge to be sure nobody was around before darting between them. Every time she put her back to the stack, she nearly froze. She had to move to the next stack, but she hesitated... but the longer she hesitated, the more likely it was that an entire economics class had packed into the aisle to explore the works of Trygve Haavelmo. Go. Go. Just go!

Bibi jumped between aisles, peeking to see if the coast was clear, and jumping to the next one. Distant footprints echoed in her ears, impossible to tell where they were coming from, and how far. The carpet she stood on dampened approaching footprints as well as her own. Someone could be in the nearest aisle and she wouldn't hear it until it was too late...

She finally reached the shelf where the art reference books were. At least if someone found her there, she could say that she was advertising to find an artist to pose for a life painting. Not that she really wanted that. The notion of a single piece of art bearing her nudity made her heart pound.

Bibi quickly scanned the art reference books. Among the tall, weirdly magazine-like glossy reference books that were the style of their periodicals... the only one available was a series of men and women making poses in kimonos and other traditional dress. It was probably very useful for someone wanting to draw the flowing garments accurately, but had no erotic value. All the other ones were probably checked out by someone who took them home to masturbate.

She wanted to mentally curse on the insensitivity of these dumb perverts... but she was looking for it for that exact reason. Bibi was more on the side of appreciating art rather than creating it.

It was this spirit that led her to look at the next aisle over, carefully tiptoeing over while making sure nobody was there. This was the aisle that contained all the fine art reference books. The one thing that was ever-present in art history was a fascination with the nude form.

Bibi selected the book of classical paintings and thumbed through the pages, feeling where some jerk had flattened the book to photocopy it and deformed the book's spine. She knew that if there was an image that someone wanted to duplicate, it would definitely interest her.

Opening the book to the distressed page showed her a two-page spread of Grande Odalisque, the most famous painting from Jean-August-Dominique Ingres. The painting shows a reclining nude facing away, head turned over the shoulder towards the viewer.

Bibi set the heavy book against the shelf, supporting it with one hand... as her other hand went to her cock.

There was no going back now. Maybe she should have just taken that book into the lavatory and masturbated in relative privacy. Now, she was completely naked and attempting to do it out among the stacks. But she was so painfully aroused, and every moment she spent strutting around her workplace naked made her more excited. If she could at least rid herself of this erection, it wouldn't be quite so shameful to walk around... but the idea of being seen in such a compromising condition was what made her so hard in the first place.

As a library technician, Bibi felt it was in her job description to help people learn. Today... Bibi learned that she was kidding herself when she insisted that all the public nudity porn she had downloaded was just because she liked nude women. Nor was it the fantasy that a lovely nude body could march by her at any point and disrupt a boring day at her job. Such a sight would leave her in her current predicament... though she would probably still have her clothing.

No, it was undeniable. Being nude in public, and even playing with herself with the threat of exposure at any moment... it was intense, thrilling... and deeply embarrassing. How could she let herself lose control like this? She just had to let it out and she'd be good...

Here she was, overburdened with excitement about public nudity... and she was stuck here jerking it to that most private form of nudity: the boudoir.

Bibi swallowed involuntarily, trying not to breathe too hard and give away her location. She was a little too used to the intense detail and instant access of Internet nudity. The painting was alluring, but it didn't show any real naughty bits. The lovely side boob slightly obscured by the extended arm, and the contrived rumple of sheets that obscured the buttocks... it gave the allegedly scandalous picture a PG-13 vibe.

The woman's back was emphasized, so emphasized that scholars believe was deliberately distorted and elongated by Ingres, painting a woman as he wished they existed. Even today, people complained about exaggerated physiques represented in comic books and other contemporary art, as if the artist wasn't aware of their own artistic license. At least nobody who interrupted this would ask Bibi where her organs are. It's right there in front of her. No artist had to exaggerate anatomy to make it look bigger.

The term 'odalisque' was often conflated with the more familiar term 'concubine.' The words were similar, but 'odalisque' referred to the subset of art of exotic reclining nudes of which this painting was an excellent example. How liberating it would be to have nudity as part of her job. All those sheets to roll up into and get comfy, sprawled out proudly across the pillows.

If Bibi had painted this... she knew what feature she'd like to see. She could picture this woman rolling further onto her back... pointing her cock into the air like a sundial.... spraying ejaculate into the air, soaking those priceless silks and filling the chambers with that lovely perfume. She could smell it...

She really could. Bibi had lost control, forgotten where she really was, and had decorated the odalisque's soft body with a huge amount of splattered ejaculate. Not only had she just masturbated at her place of work... she had destroyed a book to do it. And here she was, complaining that someone had damaged the spine of a book to photocopy it. What a hypocrite she really was...

The book made a horrifying squishing sound as Bibi, face burning red with shame, closed it and returned it to the shelf. She had cemented those two pages together forever. Nobody else would get to look at that classic painting ever again.

Bibi looked down to her hand. It was slick with her ejaculate, strands hanging between her fingers. With a soft grunt, she wiped the hand on her flank. It wasn't as effective as using a T-shirt or pajama leg, as her side was now slightly shiny and rather sticky. But her hand was allegedly clean now.