Urban Fantasies: the Librarian

I am.

Powerful words, those, and not many people aware that when they speak them they claim to the world -- "I am!" and pronounce vow to whatever follows.

I comprehend them with intimate detail.

And I am here to tell you that I am beautiful. I am witty. I am average. I am crazy. I am neurotic, and some-what young having recently entered my third decade of life. I am a person who's made mistakes and paid the consequences; who's learned from past lessons by tearing apart both sides of the argument.

I believe I am more than a writer, and merely an 'author in waiting.'

I can at least but hope.

I am also a sexy, deviant, fiend. I am a well-learned eroticist with claim to many experiences under my belt in almost all things defining that category; writing, visuals, vocals, experimentations, etc... This is not to say I am an exhibitionist, for I am not. Not really. Only sometimes. Maybe.

I am bored; the interesting men in my life are miles upon miles away, and those close too afraid or intimidated by me to make a move; or making some lame attempt to play me as if I don't understand their game better than they do, and strategize with perhaps a bit more skill.

Some flirt, and it is innocent fun. After all, spoken word games mean nothing but sensual, delicious licks of flattery to those of us having already mastered the art of fanciful expression.

But why am I boring you with this?!

How truly, splendidly awful of me! Yet even now I smile with wicked delight knowing you have been drawn into my delicately woven web.

I know why you are here. Do you?

To be seduced by words -- my verses.

So, for now, I consent myself as your storyteller and you as my audience.

Prepare yourself for desire. I hear I have never failed to supply it to those that devise me appealing, and it is my deepest, darkest yearning that you find a fondness for what follows.

Let's the stories begin, shall we?

Once Upon A Cock...

Urban Fantasies: The Librarian

I feel the spine of the book beneath the pads of my fingertips as I shelve it back in its proper place. My right arm is hooked at my side, weighted by the hefty burden of six more tomes. All of them need to be replaced in their designated residence of repose.

I love libraries. They are one of my absolute favorite places in the whole world, where ever I manage to find my feet. The smell of books and the sounds of whispered calm -- the clack of computer keys; the sometimes rattle of a cell-phone someone had forgotten to silence, just do something for me. Soothe me. Relax me.

So when I noticed one no more than a block from my new apartment I decided to volunteer. Of course they let me. Who turned down free help in a place this size?

The library itself is one of the bigger ones in the community, sporting three levels of flooring to house the massive amount of books that have accumulated over the past couple of centuries.

And these last five -- I'd just settled another in its rightful spot -- I know belong on the bottom floor. I never go to the lowest floor -- not in the past three months that I've been 'working' here.

One last thing about the basement of the library: It's a Restricted Access area. As in, no children allowed. It's where all the really good novels, magazines, artworks, et cetera are kept, and if I'm being honest with myself I'm more than a little anxious as I make my way across the length of the library to reach the stairs down.

Up until this point I've avoided it.

It was like, I don't know, Forbidden Fruit or something. I'm a good girl. At least, I want to think I'm a good girl; the dozen or so men I've slept with during my budding post-high school years would have a lot to say on the contrary. And not a whit of it would be lies.

I smile at Sam as I walk closer. Sam is the guard that makes sure no one under the age of eighteen sneaks down these steps, the lighting from two side wall-lamps giving ample glow to make for an easy descent.

Sam is also old enough to be my father's father. What little hair he has is grey tufts on his head, and his weathered flesh hangs about his sagging face in a wrinkled smile that curls the lines etched into the corners of his eyes. The rest of his body is just as comfortable beneath the loose uniform he wears.

I know I remind him of his grand-daughter; he'd mentioned it only a million times since he's first seen me and called me her name - Angel.

"You be careful, Miss Angel-Lee," he said as I stroll past.

"Don't worry about me, Sam. I've just got some stuff to put away," my lush lips wear a wide smile, "though I might take a moment to see what's actually down here now I'm going."

He laughed. "You do that, Miss Angel-Lee. You do that."

As I slowly make my way through the thin rows of shelves, I take a moment to familiarize myself with the coding system down here, nestling a few novels back in their snug spots as I pass them. Not much different from above, but condensed. Which made sense -- from the titles I was reading this place was slut-central.

And, okay. Maybe I should have worn panties today instead of going the usual commando. Pretty soon the gentle scent of my natural, slick reaction to this den of adult sin was going to hang around me like my personal cologne.

And, okay. The thought of that is turning me on. Enough to make my nipples peak against my padded silk bra beneath the cotton of my black, picture-less t as I replace the second to last book; that left one to go.

I'm turning the last corner into probably the darkest, most secluded part of the library when I see him and pause before he can notice me.

His hair is a bunch of dark black curls cut in a moderate length around his face and head; his skin a soft, light tan. He's wearing a t much like my own and loose jeans, but not so loose they hang below his ass. From the profile I can tell he isn't bad on the eyes, though I can't pick out the color of his.

Who the fuck is this guy? And what the fuck is he doing here?

He's kind of standing there, not even looking at the books, just gazing down the aisle as if he's waiting for someone.

For me? a voice in my head asks. My pussy getting a little wetter. No way.

"Um," I clear my throat, rounding the corner. I still have to shelve the volume, "Can I help you?"

He turns to me and it seems the sound of my voice and presence do something to him. Or, okay, maybe it's just me as I get nearer and catch a huge, aphrodisiac whiff of him, but whatever.

The stranger got taller and the smile that's wreathing his face is more inviting than any I've seen in a while. As I get closer I notice his eyes are green -- vividly so.

Fuck; my pussy muscles clench.

I love green eyes. Especially on a man that can't be older than mid-twenties.

"I've been waiting for you. I was hoping you'd be the one to come down here to shelve it!"

It took a moment for what he said to register because I was trying to figure out how to get out of here with my dignity; his deep, bedroom voice was helping to heighten my sexual awareness tenfold.

Lamely, I held up the book in a kind of daze -- "You mean this?"

He nods emphatically.

"Yup," plucking it out of my hands and returning it to where -- I assume -- he had pulled it off, "that's the very one."

"Um," I lick my lips and look up into his eyes. I never was one to back down from a challenge, though my being meek and shy isn't really a pretense, "How'd you know it'd be coming back today? Or that I'd even be here to shelve it today?"

I cross my arms just under my breasts, in the same moment giving a 'hands-off' signal as I stuff my lovely D's more firmly under his scrutiny, tiny nipple points aching against the padded bra I don't really need except to hide the awareness of my almost-always aroused nipples.

My cleavage goes to here and back without it, thank you very much.

I watch as he makes no bother to disguise his stare on my breasts. I wiggle my thighs together to ease the ache him and this situation is making me feel; of course my big globes jiggled a bit with my flexing.

It's just flirting, I tell myself. You can imagine all you want that he'll turn you around and fuck you right here, but that doesn't mean it's going to happen.

Happen?! my conscience shrieks -- you shouldn't even be thinking such openly perverted things! What if he's married or -- I tell the voice to shut up, firmly clamping its prudish rubbish with a gag.

That stick-up-the-ass voice never brought me any fun. Never.

And dammit, I want some naughty or I wouldn't be down here!

Thus the stories my ex's could tell you. The truth that though, yeah, I carry the façade of a nice, innocent, homely girl, I'm really just as horny, naughty, and succulent in my own way as the next woman.

I just hide it better.

He's looking at me funny, a goofball of a smile on his face and a bit of compassion in his eyes. It's as if this stranger knows my mischievous secret and is eating it up.

That's when I became aware of that fact that I'd totally lost the conversation.

"I was wool-gathering," I say quickly, "What did you say?"

I know that he knows I'm trying to cover my tracks.

"Does it matter how I knew? Why?"

"Um..." What are we talking about again? Is he reading my mind?

"Want to know why you're here?"

"I thought it was to put the book away."

He's shaking his head while laughing quietly -- I barely catch the sound of it, and then only because he's coming closer.

His hands are oddly possessive when they reach a distance where they can grab my hips and persuade me to walk towards him. Then our hips meet and I feel the hard, long length of him.

He's looking down into my eyes, green on blue, and states plainly -- "Miss, you're here because I want to fuck you. And I've decided I'm going to. I know your type -- with your swishing hips and your tight shoulders and your off-handed smiles.

"You want to be fucked, hard, by this cock of mine." He rubs it in the crevice of my legs, the action pushing my short, polyester skirt further up my thighs, "You just don't know how to ask for it; or where to look for it. But I've found you now and you're not going to escape me until I've at least stuffed you once."

His hand is fisting in my hair, short as it is cropped around my scalp and face, pulling my head back and holding it securely in place so he can nibble little kisses along my jaw and throat.

I just moan.

Fuck. This is hot.

Okay, so my head hurts and I wish he wouldn't pull my hair out of my skull, but whatever. He's some strange guy and we're going to fuck in the basement of the library.

Not if. Are.

I'd already decided.

"So why aren't you inside of me?" I query on a light moan. He had to know I was willing or else I'd have been screaming for Sam a while back.

He pauses in surprise while drawing away from me and letting go of my head, meeting my gaze in fascination.

"What?"

I lean against the shelf, which leaned against the wall, and paid no attention to the books behind me. Pushing the loose-flowing fabric of my skirt out of the way, I bare my naked, shaved puss to his view.

And he's sold.

Lifting my left leg I let my toe touch down on the opposite shelf, opening my blushing little twat and engorged female cock to his eyes.

Reaching between with my opposite fingers I slide two members inside of myself and begin to stroke my hot, wet pussy.

Fuck yes, this felt good.

It'd been too long -- Danny wasn't it? -- since I've done something so... public. It was getting my juices flowing.

Liquid that's now being swallowed by this stranger's throat while his tongue laves and whittles along my nether lips and clitoris.

So I take out my fingers and burrow them in his hair, holding his head in place, toe still precariously positioned on that opposite shelf, and allow that sweet rapturous tongue of his to eat me out until I am a shuddering mass of orgasm in his firm palms, flexing around the white cheeks of my ass.

I can't tell you which one of us was enjoying the sweet scent of my cum-cunt more; me or him.

Without releasing me he stands up and throws my back against the shelf, though it doesn't hurt me at all. I don't know when he'd pulled his cock out, but it was throbbing against the glistening open of my recently ejaculated cunt, forcing its fat head through the gated entry.

My legs wrap about his waist; his hands are still pretty locked on my ass.

Yup. Are going to fuck; not if.

Then he's inside of me and I let go of thought and enjoy sensation. The spreading fullness that is the breadth of his cock giving me more pleasure than any of the men I'd fucked in the past.

I rock against his hips with my own, taking that fat, hard cock into my sloppy, snug cunt with the practiced ease of a well-versed woman of sexuality. With my hands and arms I cling to his shoulders and neck, ringing my moans of pleasure into his ear even as I attempt to keep the volume down.

"That's right, slut, fuck that cock... mmm," his words whispering into my ear as he hammers me again and again.

My orgasm builds right there, where his cock is invading me. With each stroke he blasts another shockwave of over-whelming bliss into another, and another, until the construction of it causes my whole world to explode from behind my eyes.

My pussy took over, flexing and roiling and swimming around him even as my thick, female ejaculate coats down the length of his still ramming man-meat.

And I keep fucking him back, exposed, naughty slut that I am.

Until he's dropping me unceremoniously on the floor, the cheeks of my bare ass coming into contact with the hard wooden surface.

"Oo!" I squeak, thinking something along the lines of 'what the fuck' even as I hear him mumbling something about 'no bastards.'

Then he's waving that cock of his before my face and I can tell he wants me to suck it.

So what the fuck?

I wrap my right hand around his dense shaft and start handling him up and down even as I bring my lush tiers to the glistening tip of his cock.

Opening my mouth I take him inside, my tongue moving along the bottom and lapping up the tang of my own cum. Yum. I taste so fucking good when I'm cumming off cock.

I'm incredibly in to the stroking and the licking; flicking my tongue around his tip. Not to mention the heavy suction I'm known for -- more powerful than a popular vacuum cleaner brand, or so I've been told.

I could feel his cock expand in my hand a moment before his cum is pouring its salty stream down my ravenous throat.

It's some work, but my throat muscles manage to swallow wad after huge wad of his streaming, spurting cream until his flaccid, limp dick is flopping out of my mouth and I'm wiping the corners to remove any lingering evidence.

I stand, straightening my skirt over my bare ass and fucked cunny.

He's already pulled up his pants, zipping and buttoning away his cock.

Shame, I'm thinking, he's more take than give, and having received his desserts he doesn't seem up for more play.

Pity.

Neither of us speak as we head in different directions.