The Librarian

Stan Parks parked his battered pickup in the parking lot at the back of the two-story library building in the town of White Oak, Missouri. He had driven that evening the thirty miles from the campground where he stayed in a miniscule 14-foot camping trailer. He had started work the previous week for a construction company in the area, helping to frame houses in a new subdivision – the job should last several months, allowing him plenty of time to explore the library's genealogical section. One set of his grandparents had grown up in White Oak, and he hoped to learn more about his heritage in the free time he had each evening and on Saturday.

He entered the marble building and approached the front desk, asking for the genealogical section. The librarian was tall, at least 5'8", with waist-length brown hair, green eyes, beautifully plain features and a well-proportioned figure. She indicated a small room in a far corner of the main floor marked History/Genealogy and Stan moved off to begin the search for his heritage.

He had been browsing through a book listing marriages and divorces over the past 50 years when he let his mind wander back to his own divorce.

Stan had been a construction foreman for a road-building company in central Florida which required him to be away from home most of the week, home only on weekends. He and Jill had two children, 2 and 4 years of age. One week, when he was feeling especially lonely, he worked late on Thursday, turned everything over to his assistant, and headed for home 100 miles away. He arrived at the house shortly after midnight, letting himself in quietly, though he saw the light come on in the master bedroom down the hall as he closed the door.

He walked quickly past the children's rooms and stepped into the doorway of his own bedroom just in time to see Jill wrap a terrycloth robe around her naked body. A slightly disheveled man was sitting up in the bed, looking sleepily at Stan, and then back at Jill. The man looked to be a salesman type, maybe real estate, Stan mused as he looked him over. Jill had her eyes locked on Stan's and he saw they were defensive, as if to ward off the coming accusation.

"How long?" he asked, watching her closely to see if she was going to lie to him. The look of defense turned to one of misery before she looked down at her hands.

"Three or four months," she said softly, unwilling to look back at him. He looked at the stranger in his bed again and saw the man was becoming aware of his vulnerability.

"Don't tell me you haven't slept around also," Jill said, interrupting the pregnant silence, and challenging him with her eyes.

"Never," Stan replied, letting her see the hurt that he felt from the betrayal. He turned then to leave but stopped at the doorway. "I'm going back to work, you see the lawyer and get the divorce papers ready. Call me when they're done. I want the pickup and camping trailer and no child support payments. You can have the house, kids and credit card bills."

"Stan, can't we . . ." her voice trailed off as he raised his hand to her.

"The only other way is for me to shoot that sorry little wimp over there in my bed, and that wouldn't help any of us – especially not the kids." With that he turned and left the house, driving through the night back to his work site.

At the divorce signing he kissed and hugged the two children. "Daddy has to go away now," he told them. "But Mommy has a new Daddy for you to take my place." They both nodded and moved to their mother, each taking a hand. Stan stood up and looked at the woman he had loved and married, and was surprised he felt nothing – no sorrow, no anger, no pain . . . just numbness. Then he was gone.

Stan broke from his reverie to see the attractive librarian looking nervously in his direction every few seconds as she knelt, placing books back into the right place on the shelf across the room. He looked around and saw there was no one else in the library. The clock showed it was five till nine, almost closing time. The woman looked up at him again, almost fearfully, and he realized he must have been staring in her direction as he replayed the divorce scene in his mind.

The next time she looked up he smiled, and she gave a brief smile in return and went back to work. Stan gathered his papers and was stuffing them in his briefcase when the woman walked past him. He should ask what their Saturday hours were for tomorrow.

"Wait," he said, and the woman froze almost in mid-stride. She turned slowly and he saw something in her eyes that he could not quite identify, something that bothered him. "Can you tell me what your hours are tomorrow?" he asked.

"Nine to six," she answered, and stood quietly looking at him as if waiting to be dismissed. That was it! She had the same look in her eyes as a dog he once saw get kicked by its owner. The animal had no idea what the owner wanted so it just stood there with that obedient look, and got another kick. Submission. The woman was being totally submissive.

"Thank you," he said, and she turned toward the books on a nearby table, stacking them on a rolling cart. Submission. Stan had talked about dominance and submission once with a co-worker who was into BDSM with his wife and some others. "It is like a permanent state of hypnotism," the man had explained. "A truly submissive person will obey any command given them, regardless the person giving it." Stan looked at the librarian thoughtfully. He couldn't picture her into BDSM; maybe she was one of those people who developed a submissive personality in their childhood.

"Come over here, please, and get these books," he said calmly, meeting her eyes with his own as she looked up questioningly. She glanced at the books, back at him, shrugged and pushed the cart to the table he had been using. When she was only an arm's length from him, he spoke again. "Stop right there." And she did, watching him curiously as if in an out-of-body experience.

"Unbutton your blouse," Stan said softly, almost in a whisper. He saw fear shoot across her face, replaced quickly by a resigned look of compliance as her hands slid to the top button while he continued to hold her eyes. She paused after the third button and he looked down to see a good deal of cleavage showing over a fashionable black lace bra.

"All the way," he said, watching her breasts rise and fall with each breath. She resumed unbuttoning the blouse until it fell away from her chest, leaving him with an unhindered view of her bra-covered breasts. He looked into her eyes and the fear was gone, replaced by a puzzled, yet curious, expression.

"Now drop your bra straps." She did so, hooking first one and then another finger under a strap and sliding it off her shoulder. As the second strap fell, her breasts dropped about an inch, no more. What a set of boobs, he thought. They were full and hanging, but were not sagging. The woman was in good shape.

"Now pull your bra off your breasts," he said breathlessly, and gulped as she revealed two very beautiful breasts, full and resting on her chest. The nipples were erect, probably from nervousness and the air conditioning. Stan reached out and stroked each breast and nipple in turn and the woman made no move to stop him, but just watched his hand on her body.

"How many men have seen and touched you naked?" he asked, watching her for any hint of deceit.

"None since college," she replied.

"How many in college?"

"Just a couple of times, I spent most of my time working because I didn't have a scholarship."

Stan watched the woman as she talked. He loved the sweet sing-song lilt of her voice, and the way she blushed as she told her story.

"Did you go all the way with them?"

She shook her head.

"Neither of them?"

"No, but I did give one guy a blow job once . . . all the way."

Stan looked at the clock. It was 9:15. She should already have been closed, but he was entranced by what was going on.

"How old are you?"

"28."

And you're still a virgin?" he sounded almost unbelieving.

"No."

"I thought you said you didn't go all the way with anyone."

"I said no man." Stan thought that one over for a second.

"Okay, tell me."

"The woman who ran the campus library had this plastic penis with a strap that she wore around her waist. She said she was teaching me how to make my husband happy."

Stan considered all he had seen and heard. It was like a fairy tale to him. And he was not going to let the fairy tale end just yet.

"Finish those books!" he said authoritatively and she returned to her work, her pendulous breasts swaying gently as she bent over to pick up the books and place them on the cart. When she was finished she turned back to him.

"I should be closed by now," she said quietly, asking for permission to do so with her eyes. Stan nodded.

"You can let me out by the front door." As he reached the door he turned back to her, feasting his eyes on her nudity.

"Do you live with anyone?"

"No."

"Then when you lock this door, I don't want you to do anything with your clothing; leave it just like it is. After you finish locking up I will be waiting out in the parking lot and you can follow me to my place."

He held his breath as she considered what he had said. Then she shrugged and nodded, closing the door and locking it, before climbing the stairs to turn out the lights.

She came out the back exit and walked slowly and gracefully across the parking lot, her gorgeous breasts shifting slightly from side to side on her chest with each step. When she reached the car, he took her keys, and unlocked and opened her door. As she stepped into the car he told her to leave her breasts uncovered and to follow him. Thirty minutes later they pulled into the campground and parked in front of his trailer.

After helping her out of the car he walked her to the shower/bathroom across from the trailer, opening the door to the Men's Room for her. She raised her eyebrows but preceded him into the room. She took the stall he indicated and he could hear her peeing as he stepped to the urinal. When she came out of the stall he escorted her to the trailer, unlocked the door and helped her up the two stairs into his tiny abode.

Stan had lived in small trailers for years, staying onsite with his construction jobs to keep down theft and vandalism. He had fixed his small trailer up with a computer cubicle, a table and sink and a large, comfortable bed across the end.

"What is your name?" Stan asked softly.

"Sandra."

"Well, Sandra, I want to make love to you tonight. Not just have sex, but have it in a way we can both enjoy it. Will that be okay?" She nodded, and he thought he saw a glint of excitement slip across the back of her compliant eyes.

"For that to happen I am going to need your help first," Stan continued. "I have not had any good sex for several weeks and am as horny as hell," he saw a slight smile cross her lips. "I am sure to come in just a couple of minutes the first time, so I want you to undress, sit on the edge of the bed and give me one of those 'all the way' blowjobs so I will last longer when we are together in bed."

She had obediently slipped out of her blouse and bra before he was finished talking. She quickly slipped her slacks and panties down around her ankles with one move and stepped out of them, straightening up to stand totally naked in front of him. He looked her over closely motioning her to turn around, which she did slowly, smiling slightly at the look on his face.

"You're a damn Greek goddess," he said, whistling softly. "How could you have gone this long without a man hitting on you?"

"A lot of men have hit on me," she replied quietly. "You were just the first one with a voice like my father's." He looked into her eyes and saw she was not teasing.

"Did your father abuse you?"

"Not sexually, but he spanked my and my brother a lot . . . and real hard. He made Momma do everything he demanded, and if she didn't he would tie her up and do painful things to her sexually. He also would have other men come over and do things to her. My brother and I saw a lot of it looking through the keyhole or cracks in the wall."

"And what did your mother say about all that?"

"She said she loved him, and that was just the way he had of showing his love."

"And what do you think about that?"

"I loved my mother; but I don't know about my father."

Suddenly Stan was not sure he wanted to go through with his plans, and said so to the woman. She just shrugged and reached down to pick up her clothes.

"You would hate me for forcing you, and I may want to get to know you better," he said lamely, watching her pull her panties from the legs of her slacks. She looked at him, startled at his words.

"You aren't forcing me," she said simply. "You are just asking me."

The two people stood face-to-face, searching each other's eyes for any sign of dishonesty. Stan broke the silence, with a slightly husky voice.

"You better put those clothes down and go sit on the edge of the bed," he said. She did, and unzipped his pants when he stood in front of her, pulling out his once-again-erect penis and taking it in her mouth. Stan was right: it took less than two minutes for him to come, and the woman swallowed it all.

Stan disrobed and pushed the woman onto her back on the bed, spreading her legs as he did. He slowly traveled the length of her body with his tongue, finally resting in the cradle of her civilization, gently caressing her clitoris as a finger probed her vagina, finding her G-spot and building pressure on it. She came almost as quickly as he, and then he was above her and in her and the two were driving to their second orgasm in rhythm, she coming first after about five minutes followed by his own orgasm a minute later.

The muscular construction worker rolled off the curvaceous librarian, breathing deeply as he began to drift into sleep.

"I will have to work tomorrow," Sandra said quietly.

"Fine."

"I will need some fresh underwear."

"I'll give you a pair of mine," he said sleepily. She smiled at the thought, but said nothing. Stan rolled onto his side and pulled her body to his, spooning with her and wrapping one arm over her waist with the hand cupping her breast.

"You have got the best set of tits I think I have ever seen," he said huskily. "In fact, your whole body is worth dying for."

"Thank you," she said, a shy smile spreading across her face. Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

The next morning Stan gave her a pair of his boxer briefs and she smiled as she pulled them up over her hips. He stood back and looked at her, smiling himself, and then held out a mirror for her to see herself. They then laughed together, as she finished dressing.

That night they went out to eat after the library closed and then spent the night at her house, making love three times, once on the kitchen table.Two weeks later Stan parked his trailer behind her garage and moved his things into the house.

The relationship had gone on for nearly two months when Stan finally realized what was bothering him. He wanted to ask the girl to marry him, but realized that she had never initiated sex in all the time they had been together. She always did what he asked, but never asked for anything herself – in fact she never expressed her opinion or anything else in his presence, but rather just responded to him. He did not want to become her father all made over, so he called his friend in Florida who had BDSM experience.

The next Saturday night, she came home to find a kitchen chair sitting in the middle of the living room floor. She looked at it and then at Stan carefully. He knew she recognized its significance, but said nothing. When he told her to sit down she did so, but with a slight frown on her face. The frown increased as he cut four lengths of rope and bound her ankles and wrists to the chair.

Stan then just sat on the couch and watched her, and she returned his gaze, with a slight hint of fear behind the curiosity. A few minutes later a knock came at the door and Stan rose to usher in four members of his construction crew; all muscle-bound and with hungry eyes as they looked at Sandra. The fear was now very much evident in her eyes.

At Stan's nod the four men walked to the chair and one of them pulled out a huge knife. Stan could see misery in Sandra's eyes as she realized she was now at the mercy of the construction workers. The leader cut the cords binding her hands and he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his hip pocket, securing her hands together in her lap. He then cut the cords securing her feet to the chair and two of the men stood her to her feet and walked her to the front door.

When they turned her around she looked at Stan briefly, but not with pleading or begging in her eyes – only resignation. She had seen what men like this could do to a woman. They fastened a strap to her handcuffs, tossed it over the door and secured it to the outside doorknob, but not before pulling it so tight she was standing on her tiptoes, her bound wrists and hands supporting most of her weight.

Two more men pulled sharp pocket knives from their pockets and proceeded to cut her clothing from her body, until she hung totally naked before them. Stan got one glimpse of her glazed eyes before one of the men covered her face with his, forcing his tongue into her mouth. Two others began to suck and nibble on her breasts while the fourth knelt, spread her legs, and buried his face in her crotch. From time to time the men changed places, ravaging her with their mouths and hands, inserting their fingers into every body orifice.

At last, at Stan's instruction, they stepped back leaving the woman hanging limply by her arms, her eyes closed and her body covered with sucker marks. All four men had shed their clothing by then, and as she opened her eyes she saw them all standing there leering at her and stroking their dicks. The look she turned on Stan was not accusing, just sad – and resigned to what would happen next.

He rose, walked to her and took a knife from one of the men. When he cut the strap holding her up she slumped into him, and he held her until circulation came back into her feet and ankles. He did not look at her face, however, ashamed at what he was subjecting her to. Finally she was able to stand on her own, and he pushed her against the door and stepped back.

"The rest of the night is yours," he said to her evenly. "Whatever happens is totally in your control . . . if you want it to be. I will give you 60 seconds to determine what is going to happen next; if you do not give instructions, then these guys get to say what happens next. Do you understand?" She nodded, but did not say anything.

Stan had been looking into Sandra's eyes all the time he was speaking, and saw them fill with confusion right from the beginning. She had resigned herself to enduring everything she had seen done to her mother many years before, or everything she had heard men like to do in situations like this, but she had not considered she would have input into what would happen.

Her lover walked to his seat and sat down, watching the seconds click down on his watch.

"Thirty seconds," he said, hoping the woman would take control of the evening, but doubting that she could, or would; submitting, rather, to things she clearly did not want to happen.

"Fifteen seconds." The watch kept ticking.

"I want to give you a blow job," she suddenly said breathlessly, afraid the time was out. It was, by about ten seconds, but Stan was not going to say anything. He looked at her and nodded and she came to him, kneeling at his feet and began unzipping his jeans. The four men crowded around as the beautiful naked young woman passionately made love to her man with her mouth. Stan was not turned on by the events of the evening, and had never had an audience in such a private moment in his twenty-eight years. No matter how hard she worked, he was not going to have an ejaculation. After several minutes he raised her head from his semi-erect penis and called it off.