The Rules

However, it was the warmth that really got to me. I don't know how he did it: his hand was moving fast now, pumping the shaft and squeezing the glistening round head, swollen and fierce and so close, but somehow never quite touching my face. But I could feel the heat from it, as if it was glowing, incandescent with libido. I could feel it radiating against my upper lip, and the tip of my nose; a tingling, teasing sensation that promised a touch that never came. It was the heat that drew me, imagining it's burning heat against my own cool hand as I slipped it inside his underwear to cup his balls, imagining nuzzling my face deep into the coarse, pungent hair.

It was only when I shifted my leg slightly that I realised just how turned on I was; my briefs were sodden. Without noticing, my terror had switched into electrified arousal. The pale skin of my exposed chest tingled, longing for the feel of rough hands. My tightened nipples grated against the stitching of my bra as I changed position. My clit throbbed, desperate for attention, and I had to clench my fists tight to keep them at my side.

But his cock, thick, hard and burning within an inch of my face, his cock filled my mind completely. I was filled with a desire to take him into my mouth. I imagined how it would feel, that I would pause just a moment to savour the taste of the tip against my tongue, and then push deeper, taking every inch, right to the back of my throat. My body screamed against me as I forced myself to hold still.

A drop had gathered at the tip of his cock, fat and glistening as he worked himself onward. All my attention became focused on that one drop of clear, warm nectar. My lips parted of their own accord. Ever so slowly, as if it were a shy creature that might be startled if I moved too suddenly, my mouth pursed towards the shape of a kiss, the tip of my tongue lifting behind in anticipation of the forbidden taste. Just one taste. Just one...

It was such a shock that I thought for an instant that he had hit me. His left hand pushed firmly around the back of my head behind my right ear, and tightened to grip me by the hair, pulling me half upright, twisting my head upwards to look at him. It didn't hurt, but I let out a strangled sound, half a gasp, half a cry of surprise, which seemed to fall oddly flat in still silence. My mind reeled with fear and guilt, a swirl of horror at what I had almost done. In an irrational moment of panic, a crazed explanation exploded into my mind — this was all a test. Jon had engineered all this to test my devotion, test how well I could follow The Rules. And I had failed. Hadn't I? Was the sin in the act or the intention? But if he had snatched me from my moment of weakness, what then — was it some kind of lesson? To take me to the point of breaking and no further?

But Phil's face gave the lie to my frantic search for meaning. His gaze was locked on me not with some sadistic triumph at having broken my spirit — I am sure now, he had barely noticed the cracking of my resolve — but with a hunger that seemed to empty him out. Looking back, I might have felt afraid of that ravenous expression, his eyes glazed and half closed, his mouth twisted into a snarl, panting breaths hissing between his clenched teeth; but instead I felt something like disgust. He was enslaved to his own desire, his need for my submission. For a moment, although he held me in place, he was dependent on me. He was, in some small way, within my power, and I held him in contempt. His hand in my hair balled to a fist and shook, his eyes rolled up and closed, and as if demonstrating a final inferiority to my beloved, he seemed to lose control.

His semen splashed against my bared chest in heavy spurts. The hand that grasped his own cock was steady now, aiming it down upon me; some other muscle deep inside him had taken over with it's own rhythm. Two, three, four... Even in the cloying warmth of the stacks, the soft white skin of my breasts was cool, and the heat of each spatter of cum seemed shocking. It was a copious load, and had sprayed across my front. Most of it clung to the curves of my exposed chest or had begun to slide slowly into my cleavage, but some drops had bounced from the force of his orgasm up above my collarbone, and even on to my neck. His convulsions subsided, and he let out a long sigh, looking down on me with a satisfied smile. His hand stroked his shaft once more, gathering one last thick drop of fluid at the tip of his cock. He lent forward and wiped it off, directly from the head, onto my chin. It was the only time he touched me with it; not for the first clear drop as I had craved, but the last milky white clot. I half expected there to be some static shock, but there was only the soft smudge of his flesh against mine, and the tingling warmth of his cum, daubed casually onto my face.

He leant back against the bookshelf and regarded me with smug pleasure. I was still reeling with emotions, and could only slump to the floor and stare up at him blankly. I was dishevelled; my hair out of place, my blouse pulled awkwardly open. One bra strap had slipped from my shoulder, and a crescent of pink areola peeked over the edge of the cup. I felt for all the world like a crumpled and discarded tissue, and spattered across me in fat, cloudy drops was his thick, warm semen.

"You are a good girl, aren't you." he said softly, tucking himself back into his trousers and straightening his clothes. "Well, I need to get back to work, but there's one more thing I need you to do..."

My expression must have shifted, because he paused in amusement, his smile widening across his face. Instinctively, at the mention of new duties, my face had lifted expectantly. Jon's careful training was deeply ingrained now; the fear, disgust and degradation were momentarily pushed aside by this new opportunity to serve.

Eventually, Phil spoke again. "I need you to take... this..." he gave an encompassing gesture with his hands, as if he was trying to include everything about my situation, "...back to Jon." His stare hardened for a moment. "You do understand me, yes?" He added, slowly. "All of it. No cleaning. No wiping away. No tasting."

I nodded slowly, my round, obedient eyes never leaving his.

"Good girl," he said, and tousled my hair gently. He swept up his bag, and was gone, his soft footsteps padding away from me. The unseen creak of the door opening, and the loud thump as it closed behind him, plunged me into solitary silence.

For a long time, I sat where I had been left, drained of the energy even to move. I dread to think what might have happened if some other library user had found me in that state, dazed, abused and abandoned on the floor, but I remained alone to think about the long journey home and the longer wait for Jon to get home. Each thick drop weighed heavily on my skin, tingling as it cooled from hot against my skin to chilled droplets, the slight movement as I breathed in and out picking out every spot. I was suddenly aware of the smell, that rich, unmistakable mixture of sweetness and decay. It was at once arousing and repulsive. I cursed Phil for his last "no tasting" comment. Surely that would never have occurred to me otherwise, but in spite of myself, sitting there breathing in the miasma of his cum, I was filled with a morbid curiosity. How would his cum taste? I clenched my teeth shut, but my mind still swirled with a mixture of memory and fantasy, the feel of a smooth round cock between my lips and the moment when the tension gives way and my mouth is filled with warm clots of salty-sweet...

I shook myself back to the present with a wince. My wandering thoughts had brought me back to that uncomfortable moment where I had almost given in, had come so close to breaking The Rules. I gathered myself up, carefully trying to straighten by bra and button up my blouse without disturbing the disgusting and precious fluid that was now mine to carry. It was already starting to liquify and dribble towards my cleavage and soaking into the underwiring, his ejaculation no longer marked out with white ropes but clear, glistening streaks. Most infuriating was the drop on my chin. The impulse to wipe it off, even just with the back of my hand, was maddening; it seemed to itch and burn. Several times I had to catch my hand, instinctively moving to brush the irritating smear away. No cleaning. No wiping away.

Finally, I felt composed enough to venture up out of the stacks. The library would still be as empty as it had been. I would walk out through the foyer, never closer than ten feet to another human being. No one had any reason to spare me more than a glance as I passed, and a mere glance would not show anything amiss. At worst, a few drops of sweat on a summers day. Then it hit me, as I put my hand on the door to the staircase. "Fuck," I hissed, my composure scattered in an instant; "fuck!" Wildly I fumbled for my phone to check the time. "Katje!"

I sometimes wonder whether the boundless love and acceptance of a big sister has limits. One day, will the familiar course of our conversations and arguments eventually tire her? Somehow still, when I first catch her eye, there's always that bright flash of recognition with a beaming smile that tells me she's still everything she ever was to me: part bully, part bodyguard, confidante, teacher and friend. Does it flicker now, as she picks her way lightly to the table? Will it be another in long line of intractable arguments about self worth and consent and "I'm all for sex-positivity, but really, can you not see..."? Or will this be the kind where I quietly nod and smile and listen to Katje's concerns and anecdotes until her conversation runs dry and we part ways again? A drop of cum touches the edge of my bra, the icy tickle of it's long, shivering path finally bursting like a bubble into a small, spreading dot of cold dampness in the cotton lining, uncomfortable for just a moment before it becomes the new normal.

The first thing she says tells me everything about how it will go. "Oh, you've got something on your..." She speaks brightly, her fingers brushing her own chin, miming the action my fingers have craved for what feels like hours. Her words falter as she takes in my demeanour, cowed and awkward. "Is that..." her voice lowers to a whisper "...is that what I think it is?"

I don't answer. Something deep inside me almost has the energy to feel offended. What could she possibly think it is? In the warm summer air, what had started as a fat, obvious drop must have reduced to an unidentifiable clear streak. It's only the fact that it's me that has caused Katje's tedious vanilla brain to leap to the most outrageous thing she could imagine. But even as I feel indignation swell the implication, it is immediately smothered the stark fact that she is, of course, entirely correct.

I suddenly see myself as she must see me; tawdry, shameful and disgusting, complicit and unrescuable. I can't force myself to meet her eyes, but I can feel her taking me in, finding confirmation in all the details: the remnants of sticky splashes still visible above the neckline of my blouse, the spots of oily dampness where I couldn't stop the fabric making contact. Can she smell it on me? I sometimes catch the smell, rich and damp, rising from between my breasts; could the offensive scent travel across the table? I wonder if she thinks that she's the intended audience for this performance, that I deliberately came here to parade my filthiness in front of her. And, after all, is she? My mind flits back to Jon in the morning, weighing up whether to cancel this meeting, whether to spare me this moment of intensest shame, whether to spare Katje from being involuntarily ensnared in our sex play.

She says nothing. She sips her coffee as the long uncomfortable minutes go by. I'm frozen, as if I'm being held taut between Phil's contemptuous grin as he wipes his dripping cock on my face and tousles my hair like a child, Katje's silent disgust and patronising disappointment, and Jon — Oh, Jon — so strong and in control, patiently waiting for me at the end of it all. She's standing. She says something, but I don't really hear it. She'll give me a call some time, I guess. She leaves. After a while, I leave too.

Jon wasn't waiting for me when I got home, but I didn't have to wait long. I stripped down to my underwear and lay down on the bed, looking down at the remains on my chest, gradually transitioning from sticky to crusted, in numb silence. More of Jon's words from the morning came back to me: "a colleague I owe a favour to". Once again, uncertainty started to creep over me. Phil's words also echoed through my mind: "I need you take this back to Jon". The more I thought, the more Phil seemed to have sneered as he spoke. Fear began to swirl in my mind. I imagined some unknown rivalry between them, that Phil's intent had been to ruin me for Jon. Staring in horror at the fetid trails streaking my body, staining me as indelibly as my blouse and brassiere, it seemed inevitably that he had. All I could do was clutch on to Jon's last words: "Just stick to The Rules, and you'll be fine."

He seemed to appear in the room as if I had conjured him. I hadn't heard his keys in the front door. My eyes turned towards him in the doorway, wide and fearful. I saw his eyes sweep the room, registering every detail in turn; my clothes, left where I had stepped out of them; my body lying stiffly on the bed; the streaks of Phil's dried semen on my chest; the fresher streaks of tears on my cheeks. In three graceful strides he was by the bed. His right hand went to my head, slipping beneath my neck and holding my warmly and firmly. His left hand slipped between my thighs, swiftly rising to the top, stopping with his fingertips pressing the fabric of my briefs firmly against my crotch. His touch threw off embers of arousal, and my body shivered uncontrollably with the mixture of fear, doubt and desire. He leaned his face close against mine, his expression calm but serious, his voice low but clear.

"Are you still mine?" he asked solemnly.

I was so choked with emotion from his touch, I had to gasp for air in order to speak. "Yes!" I finally managed, my voice hoarse with effort.

The change that spread across his face was like the sun appearing from behind a cloud, his smiling eyes fixed on me with a burning intensity. His thumb drew firmly across my chin, crumbling the mark into dust and sweeping it away. His fingers deftly slipped my briefs aside and parted me, landing firmly against my tenderest skin, and then followed that line up, expertly laying his fingertips on my clitoris. My whole body was alight with the fire of his touch, and I came at last, right there in his arms, and not for the last time that night.