The Sixth Floor

My feet quietly press against the raised gray circles of the outdated institutional tile as I methodically climb the stairs and arrive at the sixth floor. The bottom three floors of the university's library currently house a smattering of students that are studying and socializing before heading back to their dorm rooms to study and socialize more. The lack of seating and the building's unconventional architectural layout combine to leave the library's sixth floor nearly vacant after sunset though. Few students or facility members venture up the first three flights of stairs, down the long overly-lit corridor, and then up three more floors to reach the small annex that mostly houses under-read literary classics and fine arts memoirs.

I check my cell phone and notice that the hour is quickly approaching eleven and mentally note that I will most likely have the entire wing to myself. Besides the students on the first three floors, a smattering of people will seek the silent anonymity of one of the building's three subterranean levels. The negative floors, as the three sub-floors are euphemistically known on campus, infamously serve as the setting for many of the university's erotic acts. Young men and women either in search of the thrill of public sex or without another locale to satiate their desires quietly travel to the negative floors' hidden corners and vacant stacks.

Rumor has it that the library's management has attempted to curtail sexual activity on the negative floors multiple times but each campaign has been met with quiet but strong resistance from several powerful donors, each of whom vividly remember their sexual subterranean initiations and do not wish to deny the current crop of students these future carnal memories.

Although rarely spoken of in polite company, the majority of the members of the campus community have a special memory of a sexual coupling on one of the negative floors (and apparently often on one of the negative floors' floors.) These stories are seldom told but I imagine that few alumni return to campus on homecoming week without at least briefly thinking of a negative floor encounter.

The bespectacled and balding businessman who vividly remembers watching the sweet faced coed drop to her knees and eagerly take his engorged cock into her willing young mouth. The respectable housewife and mother who cannot help but recall the powerful feeling of the football player's tongue licking her pussy and expertly flicking against her excited clit. The ordinary married couple that silently acknowledge the collegiate days when they hungrily explored each other's bodies and began to form the boundaries of the people that they would eventually become.

As I pause at the top of the sixth floor stairs I remember my own negative floor encounter. Three years ago, I was a second year Ph.D. student and a teaching assistant instructor for a freshman level U.S. history class. I had arranged to hold several class sessions in the library in order to give the students a brief tour and introduce them to the joys of academic research. (You would be surprised how many students don't even know where the library is.) The librarian assigned to assist me was a beautiful and vivacious young woman with whom I incessantly flirted after the end of each class.

Over the course of several weeks I fought to appear professional while battling my increasingly strong desires. While my librarian helper was assisting my students I often snuck a quick peek at her dark coffee colored skin and her round ass and large breasts. Several times she caught me looking down her shirt or staring too long into her brown eyes, but she never admonished me or even acknowledged that my behavior had been discovered. Her failure to reprimand me only served to embolden my efforts and, although I attempted to remain stealth during class sessions, I became more aggressive when alone with her later. I would stay late to help her clean up and would discuss her personal life while walking her back to her office and sometimes her car. Our conversation topics would often turn to the sexual and I learned much about her wants and desires.

Under her quiet conservative librarian exterior laid a smoldering pool of desire. Her boyfriend had not been fulfilling her emotionally or sexually of late and her needs were beginning to overpower her. My girlfriend, at the time, knew nothing of my ever-growing infatuation and my thoughts were increasingly filled with fantasies about the desirous ebony librarian.

More and more often when I masturbated or fucked my girlfriend I thought of the librarian's dark skin and dark eyes. I regularly came while thinking of grabbing her long thick hair and roughly fucking her from behind. She and I increasingly inter-mixed the literary and the sexual into an academic courtship ritual that primed our minds and libidos and created an intoxicating bouillabaisse of the divine and profane. Both of us knew that we would eventually consummate our union but the tempting and teasing was too exciting to hastily end.

The sexual tension steadily built over the course of several weeks and our heightened desires proved too enthralling to quickly fulfill. My need for her propelled me through numerous days and my desires became increasingly base and animalistic. The intensity of my cravings reached levels that began to frighten even me a little. These were boundaries that I had never tested and limitations that I had never approached.

Finally, we were both so thoroughly pumped and primed that it threatened to damage our psyches if we did not act. So act I did, after class I took her to the graduate student carrel that I had rented early that day. The small isolated room was located on negative level two and she undoubtedly knew that I didn't really want her to see the copy of Inferno that I had left on the desk. Thus, she was not surprised when as soon as the door shut and locked I roughly pressed her against the barren wall and kissed her. As my hands caressed her face and my tongue explored her mouth the moment overcame me.

I was lost in her and the entire encounter still only consists of a series of jagged jarring snapshots and sensory inputs in my mind. The coppery taste of her mouth and the sweet smell of her sweat and perfume mixing. Goosebumps forming on her skin as I kiss, lick, and bite her ears, neck, shoulders, and back. The small bumps around her areolas as I lick and suck her chocolate nipples. The musky smell and sweet taste of her pussy as my mouth engulfs her. The feeling of her wetness covering my face as she grinds into my needy mouth.

Her beautiful dark skin against my paleness as I push her onto the desk and take control. Her sharp teeth piercing the sensitive skin on my shoulder as my cock shows her pussy no mercy. The uncompromising words that we scream; my cock invading her as weeks of desire and aggression propel me to unceasingly and ruthlessly pound in and out of her. The vile names that we call each other and the innermost fantasies that we confess even though many of them we had never acknowledged even to ourselves.

Her legs spread wide and accepting my every thrust. Her words encouraging my cock to beat and batter her pussy. Her fingernails clawing and digging into my back. The feeling as her pussy tightened around my cock as an orgasm sweeps through her body like an earthquake and several aftershocks overtake her. The sense of power as I do not let her rest but instead bend her over the desk and take her from behind. Forcing her to present herself to me and grabbing her hair as I ram into her sopping pussy. Yanking her hair and choking her neck as I harshly use her body. Watching my thick white cock ravage her pink pussy as I smack her darkly colored ass and make her beg me for more.

Two academics defying the cognitive and embracing the visceral. Feeling her orgasm again as her body send me over the edge and compels me to cum deep inside her. Pumping my seed into her accepting womb and marking her pussy as mine. The stunned and exhausted feeling of returning from another state of being and searching to understand what I had briefly become. Kissing and caressing her body as both of us feel a little traumatized but neither wanting to admit any weakness. Holding her naked body as emotional walls are rebuilt and personal boundaries reinstated. Watching her quickly dress as she embarrassedly tries to hide my cum leaking down her leg.

I now stand near the first row of library books entranced by the memory of that first night. My thoughts hurriedly turn to the nights that followed until she left our college town for a better job last spring. Never again did we couple somewhere on the negative floors but we did explore each other's bodies and limits in a variety of exotic and enticing milieus. My focus returns to the present day and I am awash in feelings of sadness and sexual hunger. I had forgotten how deeply connected I am to her and how much I miss her company and the feeling of sexual control and power that I felt while fucking her.

I walk down the narrow main aisle flanked by shelves of books on either side and attempt to snap out of the sexual daze that has engulfed me. Through my jeans I push my hardened cock down my leg and trap it my pants and my thigh. Doing this is slightly painful but makes it easier to walk and does not showcase my erection. I remind myself that I am here to find a copy of Lolita for class tomorrow but thoughts of work do nothing to change my demeanor. I am oversexed and I know that I will have to hurry home to masturbate soon.

I briefly consider sex Skyping my former lover but realize that the time difference between us means that she has been in bed sleeping next to her boyfriend for hours. I'm now angry and almost animalisticly excited as I start to look at the Library of Congress call numbers on the outside of the bookshelves. I peer down at the slip of paper in my hand and try to memorize the number written on it- PG3476.N3 L6 1955. I slowly and quietly advance down the aisle noting the loud buzz of the lights as I try to focus on anything except my sexual needs.

I soon locate the proper row of books and as I turn the corner I am momentarily startled to see a young woman with her back partially turned to me leaning against the midpoint of the bookshelves as she reads a red library-bound edition of Lolita. She does not notice me and I take a moment to look her over. She's tall, probably 5'10 or 5'11, has milky skin, and long black hair that is pulled back away from her face. I estimate that she is about 19 or 20 years old and is clothed in a low-cut white sundress that showcases her smallish breasts while also providing a tantalizing view of her pale legs. For me, her most striking accouterment is the pair of sexy black eyeglasses that sit atop her thin nose. As

Normally, at this hour of the night, I would make a loud shuffling noise as I walked, to announce my presence, and then I would say something pleasant to put my sixth floor companion at ease. In my hypersexual state I feel no need to appear unthreatening. Instead I slowly and silently make my way towards the middle of the row and begin looking for another copy of Lolita.

I say nothing and do not look towards my young companion; instead ignoring her completely, focusing my attention on the books in front of me and only learn that she discovered my presence when I hear her breath catch in her throat with an audible gasp. I retain my focus and wait to hear and feel her shuffle by me to the outer aisle and depart the sixth floor. No such movement occurs and instead I hear a page turn. Continuing to search for my book I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She appears to have taken little notice of me and instead seems to be enthralled by Nabokov's words.

I spot several other copies of Lolita on the shelf near her. I lean and reach between her and the stacks in order to slide my prize from its dusty home. As my hand presses into the gap between human and literature it slowly and softly brushes against her bare right arm. She shutters for a moment but seemingly wills herself to retain her composure and not move or concede my existence.

Her behavior only serves to enflame my excited state and offers a challenge to my already overworked reptilian brain complex. As my outstretched arm returns with Nabokov's classic in hand it smoothly and methodically rubs against her right breast through the fabric of her thin dress and again against her warm smooth arm. This time her body betrays her as she loudly gasps when we make contact. I look over in time to see her bite her bottom lip as she slowly and loudly inhales.

I stand rigid and straight as adrenaline and desire mix into a potent cocktail that emboldens me and propels me forward. My cock painfully strains against my jeans as I open Lolita and pretend to read. My quiet but also excited companion has returned to breathing normally but her stiff nipples are now easily visible through her light sundress. I force myself to read a passage as a means to reassert control and discipline over my being. I compel myself to gird and harness my passion and allow my desires to fuel my actions but not overtake them.

Nabokov's words jump from the page as I slow my mind and body. "All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh..." I read the sentence thrice, remembering the reason I came here.

Closing Lolita, I slide the book into my leather messenger bag that I place behind me on the floor. As I do, I turn and lower my head; maneuvering my mouth about a foot from her breasts and blowing a long slow burst of hot breath against her already stony nipple. As she moans and squirms I repeat my soft incursion again and again. Fighting my base urges and unattended desires, I force myself to meticulously tease and tempt her. Wanting nothing more than to take control of her body and mind.

Her back arches and her breasts push towards me as I continuously blow warm sensual air against her erect nipples. I briefly consider grabbing my bag and leaving my beautiful new acquaintance as frustrated as I feel. The idea of leaving her to ponder our encounter and to relive and fantasize about our scant moments together entices me. The thought of ending our tryst before I have even intimately touched her, here at the beginning of it all, when the encounter is filled with seemingly unlimited possibility, is mesmerizing in its dominant erotic possibilities. I can fuck her mind for weeks and months to come, if I chose to not touch her body. The slight minutes of this night could form the basis of her future fantasies and introduce her to desires that have long remained hidden deep inside her psyche. The briefest glimpse of me on campus could instantly excite her, causing her mind to reel, pussy to wetten, and legs to rubber.

I quickly discard any consideration of leaving. My cock throbs and reminds me of all of the nasty things that I want to do to her, while my right hand unencumbers itself from my thoughts and deliberately slides up her dress rubbing her smooth leg. She instinctively adjusts, opening her legs wider and giving me access to the most intimate physical parts of herself. I stare through her glasses into her light blue eyes as my hand rubs her thighs and my thumb brushes against the crotch of her panties.

Her face is filled with fear and want as I grind the palm of my hand into her, feeling her hot wetness through the thin fabric that serves as the only barrier between her pussy and me. I rub my palm deeply against her sex using her wet panties to create friction. I stare as she bites her lip in an effort to remain quiet as my hand sensually abrades her. Her breath becomes raspy and uneven as I overtake the core of her womanhood and she does nothing to stop me. Instead she thrusts her deprived pussy against my hand, acknowledging her submission to me.

Still peering to her eyes, I slide both hands up her dress and slowly pull her panties down her long legs until she steps out of her soiled underwear, leaving them bunched on the tile floor. My hand quickly finds her pussy and my long thin fingers begin to rub and stroke her. I watch her eyes fill with lust and pleasure as I caress and fondle her excited pussy. My fingers stroke her folds as my thumb delicately rubs her engorged clit causing her to thrash and moan.

I push her body against the bookshelf while I slide one and then two fingers into her tight wetness. Her hips thrust against my hand; my fingers press in and out of her. I push my long thin digits deep into her warm center faster and faster as the situation begins to overtake me. My other hand fondles her breasts through her bra and dress while my fingers fuck her, wanting nothing more than to push as deep inside her as is humanly possible.

While my index and middle fingers invade her, she manically humps my hand, having forgone shame or social conventions, instead concentrating only on pleasure. Her pussy grips me and I continue to assault her desperate neediness. I stare into her, my eyes penetrating her gaze as my fingers do the same to her body. I relish the feelings of having taken control of her body and of her submitting to my desires.

I use my fingers to control her body. In this moment I dominate her very being. Nothing else exists for her. No other thoughts. No other wants. No other needs. Only my fingers, her pussy, and her desire remain. She is completely mine and I want nothing more; only her. Likewise, the sight of her pale skin flushed red and her blue eyes enraptured in pleasure consumes me. Paradoxically, by submitting to me, she has also taken control of me. There is nothing I would not do to give her pleasure. I would do anything to fulfill her needs and serve her desires. One cannot control without serving and cannot serve without controlling.

My fingers continue to assault her pussy as I lose myself in her warm wet solace. Her pelvis pushes against my fingers as she lewdly groans and whimpers. Her mind and body so filled with need. Her legs open so wide and her pussy so accepting. In and out my fingers pound. The rhythm sending shockwaves through her. A corporeal beat that literally and figuratively touches something deep inside her. Her body both the audience and the instrument. Her being simultaneously enlightened and debased.

My companion becomes increasingly excited as I work to provide her release. Release from her pent-up desires. Release from the pressures of conformity and normality. Release from her daily existence. And even release from my current onslaught. I know that this encounter will only serve as a momentary reprieve from her daily stresses and drudgeries but I hope that it also can act as a balm for wounds old and new. I feel alive in a way that I have not in months and know that she feels the same.

Lost deep in the moment, I feel her body tense and her breath catch in her throat. I press my finger deep into her as her entire body shutters and he pussy clamps onto me. She cums loudly, bellowing viscerally from somewhere deep inside. I watch her face; her head thrown back and mouth agape as pleasure overtakes her. The orgasm seizes her like a giant wave that casts her to and fro, thrashing and battering her. Relief and terror mix on her face as she is at once both saved and lost. The feelings and emotions so powerful and unrelenting that she can hardly process them. After riding out the largest orgasmic wave, smaller but still powerful swells rock and shake her.

When her final orgasm subsides, I pull my fingers from her and lewdly suck some of her wetness from them. I love her taste and smell and deeply enjoy the fruits of our coupling. I offer her my fingers and she cautiously takes them into her mouth unsure how to react. The warmth of her mouth invigorates me as I enjoy watching her reaction to tasting herself. She coyly tries to hide how much she relishes her own nectar.