The Confession of Cindy Bush

I really shouldn't be writing this, much less slipping these pages into one of Grolier Library's copies of Labelle's Erotic Photography. But I can't help myself. It was an erotic dream come true, and the thought of someone already aroused by Labelle's photographs coming across my story...it puts a juicy cherry on the top of my double scoop sundae.

Besides, I'm the librarian everyone has to come to if they want something from the shelf which holds Labelle's book or any of the other well thumbed, well loved books, full of pictures and drawings and all those deliciously naughty, dirty, wicked words.

"You want _that_ shelf," said Mrs. Permstir. Mrs. Permstir is the senior librarian, though she's only forty and would look really sexy if she'd wear something other than that brown sack she comes to work in every day. Most of the time she's a bitch and would be happy if she could get rid of all those pesky readers who mess up her stacks and enjoy life. She especially hates those poor guys and girls she suspects of having a sex life. Wanting something from _that_ shelf means you are doubly guilty.

"Ms. Bush will help you," she said coldly, turning and waving her hand at me irritably. I was already on my way. My ears are especially attuned for the phrase 'that shelf' and the extra edge in Mrs. Permstir's already icy voice. As I slipped up beside her, she was already launched into her speech, same as usual. The poor guy, a handsome devil, in his late twenties in a white t-shirt and nicely short shorts, muscularly well built, was turning a very cute shade of pink.

"Ms. Bush will be helping you because I refuse to be dragged down by any association with such filth as this," declared Mrs. Permstir in a voice better suited for addressing a large church. The guy looked around, embarrassed. He was lucky - there was never anyone around in the late morning.

"But I'm an artist-" he tried to say, but Permstir was red hot today.

"All this material is good for is vulgar lusts and encouraging lewd acts. I've taken my concerns to the library board and told them what kind of degenerates would be attracted by such a depraved collection." She gave him such a withering stare I was afraid he would give up and walk out, so I smiled at him quickly and winked.

"But I was over-ruled," Permstir continued. From what I hear the collection was donated from a major contributor to the Grolier Library. Permstir didn't have a chance. "Ms. Bush, however, perhaps due to her fickle youth-" I'm twenty-six for Christ's sake! "-has chosen to facilitate these transactions." She virtually spit 'transactions' out of her mouth.

Mrs. Permstir turned and walked with her head held high into her office, shutting the door behind her. I knew from past experience she wouldn't come out till the schools let out and the little urchins starting pawing her precious tomes with their grubby hands.

The library was mine to do as I pleased.

I turned to the guy, his mouth was open with astonishment. No wonder so many people turn to the internet for their private pleasures! Leaning over to look at his book request slip, I let my blouse fall open slightly to catch his attention. The slip said, BARTHELM'S SEXUAL POSITIONS. I looked up. I had caught his attention.

"Call me Cindy, no one calls me Ms. Bush." Well, almost no one.

"I'm Trent," he managed to say.

"Don't mind her," I whispered, placing my hand on his. It was large and rough. "She's just jealous of healthy men and women."

As he struggled to say something intelligible I came out from behind the counter. Whatever he had to say, he swallowed.

I'll tell you what I wouldn't have to say in person. I dress to please, to tease, to drive men as wild as I can without slipping my hand down their trousers and stroking their cocks.

My tops vary but are always tight whether a sweater, a blouse or a t-shirt. Today was a purple silk blouse with buttons that I could pop very easily, just by taking the right kind of breath. I liked the feel of silk on my nipples, binding my round ta-tas, but still letting them bounce in a way men just couldn't take their eyes off them.

My skirt, I always wear skirts at the library, was tan suede with a white frilly fringe that reached just below my knees with a slit high up one side. The suede brushed my legs and made a soft purr as I walked.

For contrast I had white stockings that went halfway up my thighs. If you looked hard and I hope you did, you could see the black elastic band that held them in place and the white porcelain of my skin through the slit in my skirt as I walked.

"Follow me, Trent," I said walking towards the back of the library, the most secluded spot in the whole place. "I'll need your help if you want Sexual Positions." He was quickly on my four inch high heels.

"Oh yeah. I want them all right," he muttered. I looked back and he smiled like he had said nothing. I continued walking, feeling his eyes exploring my body as I walked slowly down the narrow rows of ceiling to floor bookshelves.

The library was completely still, the books blocked out any outside noise. There was just me and him. My skin tingled with excitement. I could hear him breathing. Most men follow and get to look, but this time seemed different. It reminded me of the evening that started me off in my naughty behaviour: my clothes and my eagerness to help people to _that_ bookshelf.

One night just as I was about to lock up, I had already turned off all the lights, the phone rang and, in a voice husky with sleep, I answered. The line was silent. I repeated my greeting, not able to stifle a yawn as I did.

"Can I help you?" I could faintly hear someone take a breath.

"David?" David was my boyfriend at the time, before I caught him giving a music lesson to one of his students in the nude. He'd often call and check when I was coming home; now I know the reason why.

"Is that you David?" I gave another yawn. "I'm ready to come to bed now..."

There was a soft moan and then to my surprise I could hear the purr of a zipper being drawn down. Oh, I thought, so David wanted to play.

"Mmmm..." I murmured. "I'm so ready to slip off my little red dress and kick off my heels." I cradled the phone on my shoulder and hopped onto the check-out desk. I shook out my long blond hair from its tight bun. "You know I can't stand having my bra on any longer that I have too. I unclasp my double D holder and let it fall to the floor. Would you help me with my panties?"

The breathing was heavier now and I could the soft impact of a hand hitting a lap. God, David had never done this before.

"Yeah, smell my panties as you pull them off me. Oh, I'm so tired...you're not going to pull me into bed and take advantage of me are you?" There was a pause and then the breathing got heavier mixed with grunts. "Please take advantage of me," I pleaded.

I was getting really excited now, sitting on the check-out desk my hand had been brushing my panties, but hearing the excited grunts on the phone my fingers slipped under the cotton. I spread my legs and found myself wetter than I'd ever been. It was even better then being with David in person!

I was rubbing my clit furiously and almost matching the rapid guttural gasping on the other side of the phone for volume.

"I'm such a baby when I'm tired," I said in my little girl voice. "I'm lying in bed all ready honey, but I need something to suck. Do you have something I could suck?"

The soft impacts of hand on lap had become rapid thuds. I could see in my mind's eye his big hand stroking up and down his shaft. He sounded bigger on the phone! I was trembling, my hand coated with my pussy juice.

"Oh baby, give me your big dick!" I cried out. "Let me wrap my lips round your dong. I want to slurp! slurp! slurp!"

I was thumping the desk with my heels, the heavy breathing was gasps and suddenly it just all came and I was crying out.

"Yes! yes! Make me suck you! Push me apart! Fuck my horny, wet snatch!"

There was a beautiful liquid sound, clear as a bell, like he was shooting cum into my ear, big pumping jets. I lay back on the desk, my panties soaked between my legs.

"Oh David, that was wonderful," I sighed.

"That's good, you hot little telephone tramp," said a strange deep and gravely voice. "But I'm not David." He was panting. "Fuck! that was the best wrong number ever."

"Oh no! I thought you were David." I couldn't believe what I had done; I was so ashamed.

"I think you like to get strange men off, and you're very good at it. Maybe you should go pro!" Before I could protest, even though under the shame there was some sort of excitement, he hung up.

My face was red and hot, but my pussy was wetter than ever. I never told David and tried to forget that I could be such--such a slut. But every time the phone rang I started listening for heavy breathing. Another 'wrong number' never came but my desires kept on dialing my number. Finally I couldn't take it any more I changed my conservative clothing for wild chick wear, let down my hair and volunteered to be the keeper of the erotic bookshelf. But those who wanted a book from that shelf had to satisfy my desires too.

So Trent's heavy breathing was music to my ears. I stopped abruptly and he collided with me, his hand caressing my ass for a moment and then releasing me like I was scalding hot. I pretended not to notice.

"Sit there." I pointed to a long red plush couch that sat underneath the erotic bookshelf which was ten feet up, where only officially sanctioned hands could reach it.

I unlocked and rolled the ladder over to the shelf, sliding it so the steps were right by Trent's head. He was trying not to watch me too intently, at least when my eyes weren't watching him. I stood in front of him and slipped the key to the ladder back around my neck, letting it's red ribbon cord fall back between my breasts. He couldn't help but watch that and then he found himself being watched in turn. I kneeled in front of him, between his knees that were akimbo. Was he trying to make room for whatever was making him shift uncomfortably?

"You're not an artist, are you?" I asked. He grinned.

"No, it's my girlfriend, she likes-" I reached up and touched his lips.

"Is she pretty?" He nodded. "Is she as sexy as me?" I trailed my hand down his jaw, his chest. He shook his head slowly.

"That's the right answer." I got up. "You sit right there and make sure I get you the right book."

My heart trembled as I gripped the ladder. I had done this before, but usually I played it straight, let them think it was an 'accident'. I'd never teased a man so. I was getting worse and worse and loving it!

Being careful in my heels I went up the ladder. Step by step, past the tamer books to our x-rated section. There was a small gold plate: The T. Tamer Bookshelf. I thanked the generous donor, the shelf attracted exactly the kind of men I desperately needed.

I could feel Trent's eyes on my slender legs, the white cotton stockings were irresistible, but that was only half of my usual show. Big hunky Trent was going to be different, I could feel it. I'd reached the top step and could see the books, they were bound in leather with fiery gold lettering. I leaned my bottom back and spread my feet a bit further apart.

"What was the book you wanted?" I asked, looking down. There, as I expected, was Trent, his mouth open looking up my skirt--up, up my suede skirt to see my busy little beaver, wet with the anticipation of feeling his eyes. He didn't say anything, he just stared.

I'd started trimming my bush since I started showing it off to these horny men. It was a pretty little blond diamond with full red lips, rather than the unruly patch of cum soaked fur it had been in the beginning.

Trent's hand was on his crotch, squeezing himself.

"Trent?"

"Oh, I wanted..." His hand and his eyes never wavered.

"Was it..." I turned back to the shelf and looked at the titles, spreading my legs further. I was really wet. "BIG PRICKS AND HUGE HOOTERS? Or THE HORNY HOSPITAL?" There was a giant one that I loved called THE BEST OF ASSM, but I never lent that one out - I used it too much myself. My free hand glided between the slit in my skirt and began to play with the curls of my pussy. Trent moaned.

"Oh yeah," I cooed. I looked at more titles. "How about JOHN OR JENNY: CONFESSIONS OF A FORCED SHE-MALE or BUSHWHACKING or THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF EBONY?" My fingers began to trace my pussy lips. I sighed. "Oh! Here it is SEXUAL POSITIONS." I pulled it from the shelf. And as I did Trent's hands gripped my hips.

"What are you doing?" I moaned. With a sudden lift he turned me around on the ladder and pushed my skirt up, revealing my wet pelt, glimmering in the light.

"I have to taste," he growled and then buried his face in my pussy. I was so juicy and my lips were already parted, so his tongue, rough and big, slipped into me. I gasped with the pleasure, clutching the book with one hand and Trent's head with the other. There were cum stains on the cover.

"Is, is this - oh, oh, is this the book you want?" He was noisily slurping me, his tongue slipping up and down my lips, finding the nub that was my clit and tickling it, sending me into paroxysm of pleasure, and then going back down to my pussy lips again. The bastard kept me so hot, letting me rise almost to orgasm and then licking me down and then up again and again. I arched my back and filled my lungs with air, my blouse burst open, my boobs bouncing with each impassioned gasp.

He looked up, his mouth covered with my juice.

"Yeah, that's the book, with its pretty book holder." He tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to the couch. His hand found the zipper on the back of my skirt and he roughly pulled it off and then my blouse. I lay back on the couch feeling the softness of the red velour as he stripped in front of me.

"This is just-" he pulled off his t-shirt, revealing bulging bronzed muscles "-what I need. My girlfriend is driving me fucking crazy." He pulled off his shorts and his cock was so beautiful, a big vibrating fire- hose. I gave a hoot of pleasure. "I need me a nice little librarian!" he said, swooping down on me.

His sex pushed my legs apart and went into me like a bull goes into a doe. He was rutting, fucking me oh so hard. I cried out - the pleasure so intense, my nails bit into his shoulders, which flexed and released as his cock pleasured every inch of me.

My eyes were wide as I opened and enfolded his dong. Suddenly I spotted another pair of eyes watching us. They were female, with long lashes and as wide as mine where being fucked by big old Trent. Was it Mrs. Permstir? But then Trent shoved me down and all I could do was take him. The next time I could look up the eyes were gone. If they were somewhere else I didn't see them - I didn't care, I wanted everyone to watch.

"You fucker! You rock-hard fuck!" I writhed under him. He grabbed me by the shoulders, his hands squeezed me, his cock flexing and expanding. I went into a spasm of orgasm, thrusting myself up and down his shaft and he began to fuck even faster and deeper and faster. And he throbbed and began to shoot into me, I could feel his hot cum filing me up. We kept going for a full ten minutes.

After, he lay on top of me gasping. I could feel the cum and pussy juice begin to ooze out of me, a large pool under my bottom. Trent grunted and slid out; his cock head popping with an overwhelming pleasure as it freed itself from my snatch. The cock was at half-mast after any other man's would be all milked out. He looked down at the pool on the couch and grinned.

"We should clean up," he said. He pulled a towel from his pack, wiped up the pool and then turned me over and gently toweled my ass and my pussy. I sighed. Then he took me by the hand and led me to the ladder. He climbed to the top rung and sat facing me. His cock gleamed with cum and pussy juice.

"Now your turn, Cindy." He pointed to his cock.

I smiled and leaned myself against him, my boobs on his thighs, my pussy tickled by his toes. I opened my mouth wide and slipped his meaty cock into me. The taste was so odd on my tongue. I've tasted both men and women, but to have myself mixed with Trent and then to suck it was new and delicious. He began to stiffen immediately and as I began to slowly bob my head, he took a book down from the shelf and began to read to me. The book was THE LOST ARABIAN NIGHTS, tales so pornographic even Richard Burton hadn't been able to find them for his translation. He read a tale and spurted all over my face. Then we switched and he ate me out as I read in a voice that rose and fell as he lapped me.

It seems only fitting that I leave this story on the same shelf that gave me such pleasure. Enjoy.

-FIN-