The Good Librarian

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It’s quiet as usual in the library as I put the returned books back in their rightful places on the shelves. It’s Sunday evening, just before closing and I allow my mind to wander, knowing the building is, and will likely remain, vacant.

I always find it amusing to imagine the person who checked out each book. I select Maximum Ride from the cart and immediately think of a purple haired goth girl in red lipstick and manga mascara.

I laugh to myself, shaking my head, and pick up War and Peace imagining a pompous college student pretending to be clever.

The next one stops me momentarily and, I stand staring at the last book on the cart, Fifty Shades of Grey.

The library doesn’t list this book, there was a big deal made about it a few years ago and the good people of the city held a meeting, voting to have the book added to the banned list.

“You’ve read it many times, though, haven’t you,” a voice deep inside me whispers.

Creeping closer, my unsteady fingers reach hesitantly to pick up the book, noticing a slip of paper peeking out from between the pages like a bookmark. I pull free from between the pages, seeing a folded piece of notebook paper in my shaking hand.

Lying the book on the cart, I open the slip of paper, revealing a small, messy script and the words that are written makes the nerves in my stomach twist and my heartbeat accelerate.

“Tonight, you are mine.”

Reading the note again for the third time, my body snaps to attention and my resolve begins to focus. I fold the note, placing it in my pocket of my long skirt, and pick up the salacious book.

Quickly, I hurry through the library, turning off lights, grabbing my purse, and head for my car, locking doors behind me. I squeal tires out of the parking lot and fly through the streets without a thought or care of the police, that thankfully never appear.

Arriving at my destination I hop out of the car, leaving my purse inside and the keys still in the ignition. With a one track mind, I practically run up the walkway to the little house and let myself inside.

In record time, I remove the long tan skirt and blouse that have become a sort of uniform for me at the library, folding my clothes and placing them on a tiny, wooden table by the door. Last, I slide the lacy panties down my legs, and place them on top of the pile.

Completely naked, I slowly sink to my knees, placing my hands on my thighs, and close my eyes to quiet my mind.

I’m not sure how long I wait there like that but, all the time I spent calming my questions, nerves, and heartbeat was a waste, my control fleeing the second the door opens.

He doesn’t speak, or acknowledge my presence, I open my eyes but, keep my head down, seeing a pair of men’s black leather shoes moving in and out of my vision.

Along with his footsteps, I hear what sounds like keys clinking in a glass bowl, and a jacket being removed.

I catch a whiff of his cologne every once in awhile, musky and seductive, as he moves about the room.

My body feels alive and aware, taking in every detail and committing it to memory. When I finally gather the courage to look up, he’s standing in front of me, and my heart stops, as does my breathing. I feel suddenly light-headed, as my eyes span up from his, now, bare feet to long legs in black boxer briefs and a naked, rippled chest covered in a splattering of golden, manicured hair. I don’t dare look into his eyes, instead allowing my eyes to roam back down his body to those sexy feet.

“Tell me you want it,” he says softly, his voice rough but melodic. “Say it.”

“Tonight, I am yours,” I tell him, sincerely.

“Show me,” he commands.

I reach forward with both hands, tucking my fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them over his hips and down his muscular legs.

Stretching up, further onto my knees, I swipe my tongue around his balls, sucking one into my mouth, then the other.

He presses his thumb at the top base of his massive erection, pushing it down to me. I open widely, allowing him to rub the tip along my lips, before forcing its length down my throat, and then pulling out to smack against my cheek. I stay as still as possible, wanting him to use me, for his pleasure is mine.

“Stand up,” he says, holding his hand out to me.

He leads, me walking behind him, to a large black leather sofa in a living room. Sitting, he pulls me onto his lap, his skin warm and soft, the muscles under hard as rocks, allowing his erection to cushion against my thigh and his strong arm around my waist.

“Watch,” he orders gently, using the remote control next to him to turn on the television.

Images of a man and woman come to life on the large set, the man holding the woman’s feet in the air as illegal bahis he plunges into the apex of her legs, igniting a bubbling charge of excitement inside me.

His fingers tickle beneath my knees, forcing me to squirm against him, squeezing my thigh and making my back arch, suckling my nipple causing my toes to curl, on and on he plays my body like a puppeteer, he pulls the strings and I react.

“Turn over,” he says huskily.

Carefully, I turn in his arms, on my knees, lying my chest on his legs, my ass high in the air.

I rest my cheek against the cool leather of the sofa, still able to see the television, where the man now has the woman on her hands and knees, taking her roughly from behind.

As I watch, I focus on the sensations of his fingers leisurely stroking my pussy and ass, sometimes at the same time but not always, sometimes he spanks me, pussy and ass, again with no apparent rhyme or reason.

My eyes eventually slide shut, the sexual sounds of the television man and woman become the soundtrack of my arousal and the smell of my own desire fills the room. Ripples of pleasure sear a hot trail over my skin, the tender assault tampering with my sanity.

Wrapped in a web of need, I wait for what he will do next and, again, I am surprised.

“Come on baby,” he croons, patting my bottom.

I stand awkwardly, my legs shaking wildly and struggle with my lust.

Confused and aching, I take his hand, when offered, and resolve to patiently follow him to the kitchen.

Dinner has been set on the kitchen table, two plates with steak and baked potatoes, a candle burning in between. We eat in nervous silence, unchained wild, delicious feelings, keeping me from enjoying my food.

I’m finished before him, pushing the leftovers around my plate with the fork and sulking.

“On your knees, under the table,” he commands.

“Better your mouth be around my dick than frowning like that.”

Without a word. I slide off my chair and crawl under the kitchen table, positioning myself between his feet, his protruding manhood before my eyes.

I cannot see his face, or even his torso as I lick his cock with consummate skill. Sucking him into my mouth and swirling hotly. He tastes of heat and honey and I long to make him moan in pleasure but, no such sounds escape his lips.

I hear his silverware clatter on his plate, and then he’s pulling me to my feet, effectively ending my fantasy and I pout yet again. He drags me by the elbow to the dining room, sweeping me up onto a large wooden table, similar to the smaller one in the kitchen.

“If you simply must have something to suck on, you may have this for now,” he says, glaring as he opens and hands me a cherry flavored lollipop, the kind with a fat circular candy on the stick.

I lie back, shivering from the coolness against my back, putting the sucker between my lips, closing my eyes and pretending it’s his hard cock.

I feel him watching me and I want to put on a good show for him, make him proud of me. An acute surge of passion has me especially bold and I suck heavily on the lollipop making slurping noises as I writhe on the table top.

Opening my eyes, I look into his as I pop the cherry sucker out of my mouth and circle my nipple with the sweet candy. Down my stomach I trail the stick until I reach my entrance, pushing it inside and pumping a few times.

Taking the breast, sticky with cherry syrup, in my hand, I bring the large breast to my mouth and suck eagerly on the stiffening nipple until it’s clean.

Slowly i pull the lollipop from my pussy and place it back in my mouth once again, tasting myself and moaning.

During the entire scene, his expression never changes nor does it now when he speaks.

“Very nice show, my very bad girl,” he speaks quietly.

“Did I tell you to fuck yourself?” he asks, his voice still low and controlled.

“No,” I answer hesitantly, removing the sucker from my mouth.

“And now you will be punished…,” he says, reaching for the lollipop and emphasizing every word, “…to the fullest extent of… my imagination,” he finishes with a chuckle.

“Stay put,” he orders, disappearing back into the kitchen.

My mind races with possible punishments, my pussy leaking onto the wood when he returns holding a large cucumber.

His face serious once again, he pulls a chair, at the head of the table, right between my legs, and sits down, making himself comfortable. Then, grabbing me by the ankles, pulls me toward him, my ass at the edge of the table and my feet in the air.

With my blood humming in my veins, he buries his tongue in my wet heat, swirling his tongue in the sweetness. He teases relentlessly, tonguing my center and sucking my clit, coaxing me to complete abandon. illegal bahis siteleri Feeling the cucumber at my entrance, I brace myself for the intrusion just as I feel it stretching me as it glides in my core in one swift motion.

Swirling spots appear on the ceiling, floating before my eyes, as he pumps me deeply. My heart pounds in my ears and goosebumps form on my skin. Every push inward produces a grunt from my throat as his clever hands bring me to a cry of release. My senses shut down on the long, slow road of delight, tiny explosions erupting from my core as my pussy tightens in spasms around the cucumber.

My orgasm had barely receded when the vegetable is removed and I’m pulled to my feet, my head swimming from the quick motion. His arm wraps around my waist to steady me and I’m pulled to a bathroom. With the lights turned low, he places me into a tub that he begins filling with warm water before stepping in as well and sitting us with my back resting against his chest.

The water rushes and bubbles around us, warm and comforting as it envelopes. The sound of it running from the spigot produces a roaring hum, giving an illusion, for the moment, that the two of us are alone in a peaceful world.

One of his hands scoops up the bubbling water, pouring it over my ample breasts, the other holding me tightly in place.

“I’ll hear your confession now,” he whispers in my ear.

Sighing, I bite at my lip and weigh my words. After a moment of consideration, I gather my courage, speaking softly, as I lie my head back against his shoulder.

“I had a sexual fantasy today about a man who came into the library,” I begin.

“He was very handsome, broad shoulders and big blue eyes but, it was his voice that made my panties wet,” I explain.

“Continue,” he instructs impatiently, teasing my nipples between his fingers.

“His voice was velvety clear and calm, with a slight southern accent that flowed with sensual harmony,” I finished, my description ending on a dreamy sigh.

“I see,” he agrees nodding. “Is that all you wish to confess?” he questions.

“Yes sir,” I answer, the words forced out on an exhale as he roughly pinches my nipples. My entire body responds, tingling and tightening even as he releases me and soothes the tender, puckered flesh with light, circular rubs of his fingertips.

“Up,” he directs, motioning for me to stand and, I do so carefully, not wanting to hurt him in any way.

He stands as well, handing me two towels from the shelf behind him. I use one to quickly rub the beads of water from my skin and toss it into the hamper. The other I unfold and use to dry him, beginning with his head, neck, and shoulders, moving down and around his body with care and thoroughness, ending by squatting to dry his feet, and kiss the top of each in devotion.

He takes me by the arm, leading me to a small office with a large desk, holding a computer and piles of papers.

“Let’s get you dressed,” he says cheerfully, rummaging in one of the desk drawers.

Having found what he was searching for, he stands, one side of his mouth lifted in a wry, lopsided grin.

He crooks his finger in a come hither motion and I step in front of him. In his left, he holds a set of nipple clamps and a small butt plug.

“Arms behind your back,” he orders, lying the plug aside.

With my elbows at my sides, I fold my arms behind me, clasping my hands. The position pushes my chest out, my breasts heaving in anticipation. I hiss as he attaches first one, then the other, aligning the cool metal rods aside my nipples and screwing the metal circle up, causing them to pinch and attach.

He uses a generous amount of lubrication on the plug and I place my hands on the desk, bending at the waist. Applying pressure as he twists, the plug is inserted into my ass. The stretching is uncomfortable for second until my body adjusts, settling into wicked pleasure, warm and pliant beneath his skilled hands as he wiggles the toy inside my ass.

“Are you ready for your punishment?” he asks, rubbing his hand across my ass.

“Yes,” I force out, both nervous and excited.

The first smack raises me up on my toes, my ass tightening around the plug. He uses his nails, scratching lightly down my back, my body tightening, my chest pressing into the desk, mashing my clamped nipples. Fire rages through my body, igniting long hidden desire. The next four smacks come in rapid succession, without warning, and sound much worse than they feel. He takes care to land the blows in various areas of my bottom to avoid bruising, then tenderly rubs the heated flesh with the palm of his hand, soothing the skin.

My lust hazed brain wouldn’t focus as he pulls me up and along behind him to a den with comfy looking oversized canlı bahis siteleri furniture, leaving me standing, breathless, in front of a huge, suede chair.

A moment later, he reappears, positioning a video camera, sitting on top of a tripod, until he’s satisfied it’s set at the perfect angle. He walks to me, stepping around and behind my back, blindfolding me with a black scarf and helping me to sit in the chair.

“Get comfortable,” I’m told.

I recline back in the chair, scooting my ass down and anchoring myself with my knees bent and feet flat on the edge and try to relax, concentrating on breathing in and out my nose and feeling the warm wetness between my legs. The clamps on my sensitive nipples keeps them hard and stimulated, the plug in my ass shifting slightly with my breathing and making my clit twitch.

“Squeeze your breasts,” he rasps. “Imagine it’s my hands as you focus on your nipples, pinching hard enough to make yourself moan,” he commands, his voice raw and needy.

I do as he says, pinching my nipples over the clamps until my cry of painful pleasure echoes about the room, feeling that nerve come alive and burn with fire, running from my breasts down to my dripping pussy.

I hear movement in the room then his footsteps and a dildo is placed in my hand.

“Put it in your mouth and suck it like it’s my cock,” he orders.

I envision his cock before me, like in the kitchen, taking the head into my mouth and slowly working it down my throat, letting my mouth and tongue do most of the work.

“With your other hand rub your pussy,” he instructs, breaking me from my fantasy, his voice closer than before.

With the flat of four fingers, I massage my clit, the gesture moving the plug in my ass, adding to the sensations bubbling to the surface as I press and rub in circular motions as I continue sucking on the fake dick.

Suddenly I feel his hands, again wiggling the plug, rocking it back and forth as he pulls it free and I cum all over my damp, quivering thighs with a cry of release and the clamps are removed, prolonging the pleasure.

I feel as if I’m floating on a cloud, counting the stars spinning around my head. Hearing his voice from far away, I open my eyes to find him hovering, worry creasing his brow. Upon seeing that I am perfectly fine, he ushers me up and out of the den and into the bedroom.

Tossed on a large fluffy bed, I bounce, breathless and giggling. I watch him as he draws near, his hard cock fisted in his hand, pumping leisurely.

He climbs onto his knees atop the bed, grasping my knees and easing them apart, aligning his manhood at my entrance. Carefully he lowers himself over me, I see the onslaught of raw, physical desire in his eyes as his greedy mouth takes full possession of my own, enforcing his control by weaving his fingers through my hair and tugging tightly.

I make every effort to get him inside of me and, although, I feel his cock jump a few times, I fail in my efforts. Breaking the kiss, he wraps his hands around my wrists and pins them above my head on the mattress.

“Say please,” he demands, his honeyed voice intense.

“Please,” I choke out in a hushed whine.

At once, he releases my hands, and our bodies fuse together, mine rising to meet his, and nothing, not one single thing, compares to the way he feels. I set the rhythm, taking him to the hilt and he sets the punishing pace with driving hips that take me to unbearable heights. My hands free to roam his sexy body, feeling the flexing muscles in his back and legs, heat and power radiating through him as we writhe in mutual passion.

I can taste the salty layer of sweat on his skin as I nibble his neck and shoulders, smelling the heady scent of our mingling arousal, watching as he withdrawals and slides in again rapidly, the sounds filling the room, vicious and wicked.

Pain mixes with pleasure and my eyes glaze, my body freezing, momentarily, like the calm before the storm.

“Scream my name,” he says menacingly, his voice not entirely steady.

And I do, I scream out my release until my throat is dry, my voice shrill, and my exhausted muscles go limp from exertion. Unable to move or think, I flutter like a leaf in the wind, feeling my body, though relaxed, still spasm and my sore pussy ache so pleasantly. “I take it, you liked that,” he says, his voice softer, bringing me back to the present.

“Mmmmmm, yes,” I agree, stretching and curling closer to him.

“Was it everything you imagined?” he questions, brushing the matted hair from my cheek.

“Even better,” I answer, using one finger to trace the outline of his sticky, softening cock.

Contented silence fills the room, my body melts, heavy with exhaustion and my mind wanders, replaying our evening, when I’m shaken from my dream.

“And your confession…the man in the library?” he asks suddenly.

“It was you…,” I say sleepily. “It’s always been you.”

I feel his smile against my breast as we drift into peaceful slumber.

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