tagLesbian SexWatcher in the Stacks

Watcher in the Stacks


This continues my stories in the "The Stacks" series. Hope you enjoy.

I heard the alarm going off, but I didn't want to get up just yet. Reaching out I pushed the snooze button and silence returned. My hand found it's way back between my legs, back to my wet pussy and resumed tracing a line up and down my slit, to the base of my clitoris. I was reliving my sex-in- the-library tryst with Natalie and Sarah over and over again in my head. Two weeks had already passed, but I could still smell Natalie's perfume and the odor of sex from her pussy. I could feel Sarah's lips on my wetness, her tongue in me and as my mind replayed the scene, my fingers replayed the sensations. Within minutes I was arching my back, my weight on my feet and shoulders. I could feel my vaginal muscles contract around the fingers buried deep inside as the waves of pleasure started rolling over me. A little bit later, as my heart beat was slowing and my breathing returning to normal, the alarm sounded again. 6:30am. This time, I was ready to start the day.

As I showered and got ready for work, I mused over the events of the past couple of months. I'd gone from being a relatively sedate, thirties- something librarian to voyeur, exhibitionist and semi-public masturbator. And finally, member of a female sexual threesome who found the library a congenial place to fuck. What would mother think?

The last week or so, though, things had slowed down quite a bit. Natalie and I had gotten together twice after the late-night library threesome; Sarah and I once. But without the risks we had taken in our library escapades, it just wasn't the same. The sex was good, but something was missing - that element of risk plus the voyeurism, Natalie's control of things. What a friend would call the MSG that makes the recipe so much more flavorful, so much better. Anyway, the magic wasn't quite there and our big night seemed to have come and gone, if you'll excuse a bad pun. They hadn't called me and I hadn't called them. Natalie, I knew was out of town for several weeks on business. And Sarah, according to her sister, Katie, a friend of my daughter Julie, had started the clinical portion of her masters program in child psych, so it was just as well. Neither would really have had time for me, and this way, I wasn't pining away for them. Still, those months, especially the last couple weeks had been truly exciting and terribly erotic.

Julie was already in the kitchen making some breakfast when I got down stairs. Her school bus normally came about 7:30 so we had time to eat together and talk a little. We get along well for mother and teenaged daughter and we seem to be able talk frankly about most things. That ability had been strained a little a week or two earlier when Julie and Katie had raided my "toy drawer". They borrowed two vibes and a couple cassette tapes without my permission for a Friday evening's entertainment, and had been found out. Of course I didn't say anything to Jules in front of her friend, but later she and I had a heart-to-heart talk about what was and wasn't allowed when it came to rifling through mom's drawers. I did let her keep one of the vibes - she's almost 15 - which probably eased the strain a little. And we both seemed to have come away from the episode with a better understanding of the other's privacy needs. So on balance, a positive experience. One more milestone for her on the road to womanhood and for me on the road to an empty nest.

That morning I left at the same time as Julie, heading my car out onto the expressway and towards the university. I got there about eight and soon was bound up in the day's work. Any thoughts of Natalie and Sarah had pretty much vanished from my head by the time we opened the doors at 9:00am. The university was going through a belt tightening exercise and I had been given the job of reworking the budget and collaborating with the grants people to find new sources of money. The work wasn't easy, but it was interesting and more important, it took me out of the three-weeks-on- days/one-week-on-nights rotation. I didn't mind working a little longer and harder each day to finally have most of my evenings at home.

Just before lunch, I walked back into my office from a meeting and saw the mail flag up on my computer. Opening the inbox, I found a note from someone calling herself "watcher". The email simply said:

"I saw what you did in the stacks."

My mouth was suddenly very dry, and for a second things seemed to swim in front of my eyes. I wondered who this was and then, in the same instant, realized it had to be Natalie or Sarah, but most probably Nat, having a little fun with me. No one else had been around, I was absolutely certain of that. So I replied:

"I saw what you did too, Natalie dear, and I loved it!"

The rest of the day flew by without any more strange emails, professional problems or opportunities for wanton sex in the library. And I got to leave on time for a change. As I walked out of the door, I looked forward to a quiet evening at home.

Julia was already there and, surprise of surprises, had dinner almost made. Of course she wanted something, but I didn't mind a little blackmail if it meant I didn't have to cook. She'd made a tasty spaghetti carbonara and a nice Caesar - my favorites - so I knew she really wanted whatever it was she had in mind. But after a nice dinner and a glass of merlot, I was receptive, at least to anything in reason. Turned out to be a permission form to have her ears pierced again, for a second set of earrings. Grateful that she didn't what to pierce anything more sensitive than her earlobes, I signed the slips just as Katie and her mom arrived to pick Julia up. Suddenly, I was alone with my merlot and the dishes.

After cleaning up, I went up my room to draw a bath, naughty thoughts bouncing around in my mind. I'd just taken off my clothes and starting running the water when the front door bell rang. I don't usually have unannounced visitors in the evening, and I hesitated for second; then the bell rang again. Turning off the tap, I pulled a decidedly unsexy robe around me and went down stairs. Hooking the security chain, I opened the door a little and looked out. No one was there, but a little brown paper-wrapped package was laying on the step. Opening the door fully, I went out and got it.

It had rained earlier in the day and there was a little rain water still standing on the porch. Whoever had left the package must have propped it against the door, but in her or his haste, not noticed that it had slipped down into the water. Something had been written on the wrapping paper in blue felt tip pen, but the water had caused it to run, making the words illegible. Going into the kitchen, I stripped off the wet paper and found a video cassette. No title, nothing affixed to it, just the manufacturer's brand label. I was, to say the least, intrigued. The thought crossed my mind that it might have something to do with the note I had gotten that day from "watcher".

I walked up to my bedroom and went to the computer in the adjoining sitting room I use as a study. I logged onto the university system and checked my email. Nothing. If "watcher" had sent the videotape, she hadn't emailed me about it. Going back to the bedroom, I popped the cassette into the VCR at the foot of my bed and turned on the television, wondering what I would see.

The screen remained dark and then lightened up as a young female voice, a familiar one, but one I couldn't quite name said:

"Baby, I know you don't think you can be interested in me the way I'm interested in you, but maybe this will change your mind."

I felt a little jolt in my puss. The screen continued to lighten and I realized that someone was backing away from a video camera. As she moved backward, she started to come into focus and I saw that it was a young woman. On the edges of the screen I could make out furnishings - a bookcase, a desk with a computer and then in the center, behind the girl, the foot of a bed.

She continued to back up until she touched the bed. Then she sat down and scooted back so she could raise her feet and rest them in front of her, letting her knees and legs fall open. She leaned back against one of those large stuffed, tufted backrests people use for reading in bed, among other things. The girl was wearing a Mardi Gras mask that covered most of her face and hair. She was also wearing white athletic socks. And nothing else. She was delightful.

At first I watched in disbelief, but as her hand found its way between her open legs and started to caress her downy covered pussy, I felt my pulse start to quick, my wetness start to run. Slowly moving her other hand over one of her small, but exquisitely beautiful breasts, she said:

"Watch me, baby, watch me. And think about your hands touching me here, touching my breasts, my pussy. Think about your fingers inside me, making me wet, making me cum. Think about me touching you, too. If you can watch me do this, and think about me doing it to you and you doing it to me, and not get wet, not want me. Well, I won't bother you again, sweetie."

My eyes were fixed on the young beauty on the television screen. As she finished speaking she wiggled her bottom and scooted down, pushing her pussy out towards me. Even though she must have been four or five feet from the camera, I could see the glistening pinkness of the delicate petals of flesh between the swollen outer lips of her vagina. I could feel my own lips swelling, feel myself opening and starting to drip as I watched her. The familiarity of her voice made the scene even more erotic. I knew this girl, I was sure of that. My nipples were hard and begging to be touched and I dropped my robe and sat back on my own bed. One hand rubbed my left breast, while the other stoked the fires between my legs. I could smell myself, I could almost smell her.

The girl on the screen was now squirming and emitting little sighs of pleasure, her head back against the cushion. I imagined her closed eyes, the dreamy expression on her face behind the Mardi Gras mask. Her right hand was busy between her legs, two fingers rubbing up and down, sliding silently between her cleft. It was teasing her, stopping just short of her button which was barely visible at the top of her puss. The creamy, hairless flesh of her swollen lips invited kissing and I imagined my lips brushing across them, my tongue dipping between them. My fingers were moving up and down my slit, slowly, fighting the urge to push deeper, moving softly, slowly, building my own need as I watched the girl satisfy hers.

The girl's finger was now circling her clit on every up swing and I could see her back arching, just slightly, as she came closer and closer. Her left hand tugged at her nipples, pinching them, stretching them, pulling them away from her puffy pink aureola. I longed to take them into my mouth, suck them all the way in, fill my mouth with that pretty creamy flesh. The girl was moaning audibly now, as her head moved slightly from side to side. As I watched, the hand at her breast dropped down and found the other. They came together and cupped her mons, squeezing it, her palms pushing down on her clitoris which had to be straining upward, aching for her touch. Moving her butt back and forth, she slowly ground her palms into her cleft, her legs coming together and squeezing tightly, grinding against her hands.

I sensed that she was about to orgasm and I picked up the pace of my own masturbation wanting to cum at the same time as the girl on the screen. Pushing two fingers inside of me, I starting curling and uncurling them, stroking the inside of my pussy walls, trying to reach deep into me. My thumb pushed and rubbed at the base of my clitoris. Looking down I could see it, straining up towards my face, its redness gone almost to purple. I longed to rub it, flick it with my nail, but not yet. Not yet.

The girl was writhing against the cushion, her head back, so far back that I could make out the light brown, almost reddish hair under her mask. Hair that was shorter than most young girls - my mind somehow grasping that fact through the sexual haze clouding my brain. Two fingers of her right hand were digging deep inside of her, then coming back out, glistening with her juice and plunging deep again. The middle finger of her left hand rubbed the side and base of her clitoris, swooped down for moisture from her slit and then returned with increasing speed and frequency. Perspiration glistened on her neck and her sides, while her thighs glistened with the other moisture from inside her.

I was close now, too. Fucking myself with three fingers, my vaginal muscles clamping down on them, trying to hold them inside, while other fingers rubbed my button, lubricating it, teasing at it just like the girl on the screen. I didn't even know that I had closed my eyes until I heard her moans and yeses turn to little screams and then shift into a higher register as she started to cum. I felt the spasms in my tummy and willed my own orgasm to wait while I watched her. This pretty girl, writhing against her hands, her hips bucking up, her back arching, arching so far, that she almost pushed the backrest over. Making herself cum, fucking herself and making herself cum. Watching her, hearing her, I finally let myself go and felt my contractions start down there, deep down, in there. I felt the waves radiating out from the liquid center of me, running through me, pushing everything out of my mind but the pleasure as wave after wave broke over me and carried me up and up and up.

I lost track of everything and let the feeling take me along, until I felt the spasms start to grow weaker and then finally subside. My insides were like jelly. I hadn't had such a powerful orgasm in weeks, perhaps since the first time I had watched Natalie. As my breathing slowed and the ringing in my ears faded, I had been dimly aware that the girl had been speaking, but that now she had stopped. Sitting up, I saw that the screen was black, though the tape was still playing. I reached for the remote and found it, getting it sticky from the wetness still coating my fingers. I pointed it and played the tape back, stopping where the girl seemed to be recovering from her orgasm. I pressed the play button and watched the heaving of her breasts slow, saw her sit up and then seem to shake herself a little. Finally after several deep breaths, she looked at the camera and said:

"Tell me, Jules, that I didn't turn you on. Tell me that I didn't make you want me to do that for you, to you. Just tell me that, Julie, and I won't bother you again."

Then, getting up she walked toward the camera. For a moment the screen was filled with her legs, her sticky thighs, her bare, swollen, glistening pussy and then it went black.

Suddenly, my mind was a mess of confused, and confusing, thoughts and feelings. The tape had been intensely erotic, had turned me on like few other things that I had ever seen. But it hadn't been meant for my eyes, she had made it for Jules! For Julie, my daughter. I rubbed my eyes and felt the wetness and smelled the odor of sex. I realized that my hands, my thighs, my pussy, just like my mind, were all were a mess. I got up and walked into the bathroom, turning on the tap. I sat on the side of the tub and as it filled tried to think what to do.

My first thought, as I slipped into the tub, was that I should destroy the tape. Pretend it never existed. If Julia didn't approach the girl, she might take it as a sign that Julie wasn't interested. On the other hand, the girl said Julie should tell her. Maybe she would approach Julie. Presumably Julia knew this girl was interested in her sexually. Julie knew! BANG! The thought suddenly exploded in my mind in large letters. That was more than I had ever wanted to know about my daughter. But I did know. And I had to figure out how to handle this. I knew I couldn't decide about this girl for Julie, shouldn't decide for her. But I still didn't know what to do.

I soaked in the bath for what seemed like hours until I heard the front door open and Julie's voice. I told her I was in the tub and would be right down. Instead she came bouncing through the door of my room into my bathroom, wanting me to see her earrings, to tell me that it hadn't hurt too much. I oohed and aahed and laughed with her and then shooed her out so I could dry off and get into a robe. Walking back to my room I noticed the smell of sex still hung in the air, I wondered if she noticed, too.

I went downstairs and we talked for a while, I had another glass of wine while Julia had a coke and told me tales about the other girls that made me laugh. And I wondered which girl it had been. When we both finally went upstairs to our bedrooms, I popped the tape out of my VCR and put it in my closet, in the safe where I keep my jewelry. Then I went to bed, still wondering what to do. And I dreamt about a young woman with short brown hair, hair that was almost auburn.

I had an early day with the grants people, so I was out of the house before Julie had even caught the school bus. I'd given her a quick kiss, admired her new earrings again and then driven away, still wondering about the right thing to do with the tape. I wasn't any farther along in my thinking by the time I got to the university.

Work has a way of driving other things out of my mind and it was not only an early morning, it was a busy one. After checking my email and clearing a few things off my desk, I left my office to get on with the day. Between discussions with the grants staff, some hurry-up jobs for my boss and the normal budgetary insanity, it was almost noon by the time I got back to my desk. The mail flag was up on my computer screen and I opened it. There was another note from "watcher". It said:

"I'm not Natalie or Sarah. And I've got your panties."

I thought for a second that my heart had stopped. There was a jpeg attachment and I clicked on it. A photo opened up. There were a pair of panties and what looked like a thong laying on a table, just like the tables back in the stacks. Suddenly my mouth was very, very dry again. Still, my mind said:

"It's probably just Natalie or Sarah fooling with me. Those panties could belong to any one!"

Somehow, though, I didn't think so. Getting up from my desk I walked out into the library. I asked the grad student if any one was in the glass room and he told me he thought it was still locked. I grabbed my keys to the room from the drawer in the research desk. Going back into the stacks I went to the room and unlocked it. Going to the rear, where I could see the little niche Natalie and I had used, I looked around and found one of the wheeled ladders. I rolled it to the place where I had stood that night, and climbing up, looked at the top of the book cases. There was nothing up there but a thick layer of dust. Dust every where, except for what looked like a little streak of cleanliness. A trail through the dust like you might make by dragging a damp cloth across a small area. A damp cloth or a damp pair of panties.

When I got back to my office, the MSN messenger icon was flashing. I clicked it and it said that "watcher" wanted to be put on my list of contacts. I clicked OK and almost immediately the icon started flashing again. I opened it and it said:

"Watcher says: Your panties, they weren't there, were they."

"Cwork5 says: No. How did you know I looked?"

"Watcher says: They weren't there because I have them. Check your email."

"Watcher's" icon suddenly went offline and my mail flag popped up again. Opening it, I found another note from "watcher":

"This is how."

There were several more jpeg attachments and I clicked on them one by one. They were black and white pictures. The first was a picture of Natalie, sitting in the study karal, her legs spread wide, her head back, her fingers deep inside her pussy. The photo was grainy, and taken from above her, but it was Natalie. The second shot, also very grainy, was of three women, bodies intertwined on a couch, like the one in the reading room. Only one face was plainly visible: Sarah's. My heart was pounding as I clicked the third icon. The picture popped up, no better than the rest, but clearly a picture of me. A picture of me, shot from a little above head level. I was leaning against a book shelf, one hand under my skirt, the other on one of my exposed breasts, which were peaking out from under my pushed- up sweater. There were what looked like a pair of panties lying on the floor next to my feet. There wasn't any doubt about what I was doing.

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