In the Library

I made my way to the far end of the Memorial library to my favourite waiting place, down on the ground floor. Along the west side of the library there are a series of floor to ceiling windows looking out over a wide expanse of grass and then down to the band of trees by the river.

The windows catch the afternoon sun, which streamed in on this beginning of winter day, warming each bay. Inside, the windows are separated by tall stacks, double sided, mostly filled with older reference books but also some of the library's collection of art folios. Within each private space there is a single high backed chair which can be moved around and angled for the best motes of sunlight.

I would often come down to this place at the end of a long day in the upstairs stacks, researching or writing for course work. Today was no different: I had a bundle of books I intended to borrow, a mind buzzing from study, but an hour or so before the library shut to watch the sun go down and the shadows lengthen, so this would be a quiet time before the long walk up the avenue to the halls.

I made myself comfortable in the chair, angled it slightly to catch the sun. Outside I could see the shadows and light shift and move - a quick sun-shower threw some splashes of rain against the window and then passed by, golden light shining onto the carpet before me.

I reached to the shelves and found an art folio - a collection of art deco prints and paintings, objects and curios. The colours of the paintings had the strong block colours of the 1920s and 1930s, and the figures were stylised and futuristic. The men and women stylish and svelte, women wearing low cut backless dresses, short bobs and jewellery.

Here's a painting named Le Modele - a nude girl facing away from the viewer, creamy white skin sinuous down the centre of the painting, her left leg pushed slightly forward tilting her lovely rounded ass down to the left. The minx, she's wearing just a pair of silver shoes - clearly getting dressed or undressed slowly and in an unusual order.

She's leaning forward on her boudoir table, hand held mirror lying on its top surface, a vase of calla lilies, white and phallic and pudenda both at the same time. She's got just a string of pearls around her neck and some large stone rings on her left hand, nude and naked together, accessories only. Someone has just entered the room and she is lazily turning her head over her shoulder to see who it is. Her eyes are closed as if she is dreaming, and I can see her bright red lips and a single loop of hair on her cheek.

We have just come in from a long night partying and she has gone to make herself comfortable for bed, and has got most of the way through undressing and then just lost herself in a dream. She's delectable. I want her to keep her hands where they are on the table, but to take a step back with both feet, spread them apart a pace, so I can see the dark cleft between her legs, dark hair, shadows.

And here's another painting, The Perfume of Ecstasy. Wow, this girl is getting off on something, she's kneeling in front of a burning byre, fumes wafting up and swirling all around her. She's a slave girl or servant, or maybe the youngest daughter of the vizir, bare feet, loose purple pants tied with a flowing green coil of cloth around her hips.

Large bangles on her ankles and wrists, she's arching her back in desire, thrusting her firm breasts high, nipples pink and rosy and erect, both breasts cupped in her hands as if offered up to a god. Her head is thrown back, eyes closed, red lips pulled back in a sigh of desire, white teeth showing, her neck long and proud.

I'm roused from my own reverie by another spray of rain on the glass in front of me, but it's as if time has slowed. The rain slowly patterns on the glass, and I realise the whole building is really quiet, a preternatural hush in the air. I hear a tap tap tap and it is a currawong out on the lawn, tapping on the glass. That's strange, I've not seen that before - the glossy black and snowy white bird, trying to get my attention? Tap tap tap.

And then through the silence I hear a squeak of a wheel on a library trolley. One of the librarians is doing some late book returns.

I hear the trolley stop in the bay adjacent to mine, the swish of stockinged legs (so she's a lady librarian) as books are taken from the trolley and I hear the clunk of books as they are re-shelved. So just a minor interruption. I turn the page of the folio in my lap, just as the trolley wheel squeaks again, and then it must be at the end of the stack sheltering my bay. Books to go on these shelves then, I hope this doesn't take too long. I'm quite enjoying this collection of paintings.

Her shadow passes over the book as she moves to the small step ladder at the end of the stack, three small steps to reach the top shelves. I glance over at her and my heart stops and a pulse starts deep.

She is all shapes and curves, shapely calves sheathed in white laced stockings, small black ankle boots with a row of tiny buttons down the sides with a three inch heel maybe (just like the girl in the painting). Her legs rise to a tight black skirt slit front and back, tight over her glorious ass full and rounded, strong thighs. The skirt is tight and I can see the lines of her stocking garter up the back of her legs, making a ridge under the cloth.

Her waist is tiny, she's an hourglass and time is running out. She's wearing a white blouse, short sleeves, buttoned at the front, slits of cloth stretched by her magnificent full breasts, god they are full, barely contained by the white cup of bra that I see peaking inside her silken covering.

Startlingly, she's got a thread of black pearls resting on the pale almost translucent skin, that delectable triangle at the base of her throat. Her long throat, milk- white, and god that is a face to paint a thousand paintings. She is quite exquisite, a pale heart shaped face, full heart shaped lips, pale blue.

Her eyes are dark dark dark. And her most starling feature is her silver hair, cut in a crisp bob, with a long blaze of black, jet black hair on one side of her head. She is all black and white, crisp solid shapes of contrast in her clothes, but her skin, where it shows is almost luminescent, almost transparent, ethereal.

She has some books in her hands, and takes careful steps on to the small ladder, reaching up to place the books on the top shelf. As she stretches her skirt rides up her thigh and I see a delight of bare flesh at the top of her stocking, the thin ladder of her garter ridged under the cloth of her skirt. She is on the top step now, legs apart to keep her balance as she reaches for the top shelf. I see a dark cleft up between her legs, but cannot tell if it is shadow or dark hair nestling between those splendid thighs.

It is just as well I have the folio in my lap, as my cock is pulsing with this vision of black and white chess set loveliness. Time has stopped, and her movements are slow and languid. She turns towards me, strong gaze from her eyes commanding me to look. She raises a finger to her lips, ssshhh, we're in a library, don't talk, don't make a sound.

Her skirt remains high on her thighs as she delicately and teasingly steps down the three small levels and bends down before me, breasts almost spilling out of her blouse. She lifts the book from my lap, lightly brushing the rise in my pants, and places the folio on a low shelf, bending low. She turns back to me and places her finger on my lips, god her finger is startling cold, and then edges the tip of her finger between my lips.

Even if I wanted to speak I am speechless, and she is commanding. With her finger slowly thrusting into my mouth she one at a time undoes a button on her blouse and then a button on my shirt so that our flesh reveals together. I am now sucking on her finger urging warmth into it with my tongue and the heat of my mouth.

Icy cold she pulls on my tight nipple and twists it between her finger and thumb. The bud of my breast is hot and pointed, a nerve connected directly to the base of my cock which pulses, still tightly bound. I arch my ass off the seat, urging towards her body, but with a stern pressure from both her hands she pushes again into my mouth and palms my whole breast so that the ice of her hand almost burns my skin, forcing my body down into the chair.

Moving her head down now she darts her tongue to my burning nipples, tasting from one to the other. Her tongue is now hot but her lips are cold and her teeth nip the buds on my chest to hard peaked points, almost painful. Her hands are now on my belt, skilfully un-notching its buckle, and now she wants me to lift my ass from the seat so she can pull my pants down my legs, trapping my ankles on the floor.

She is kneeling now, her curving thighs straddling my shins, her skirt pushed higher, her full breasts grazing the tops of my thighs as they sway below her body, milky veins showing like sinuous threads just below her skin. I reach for her back, my fingers stumbling to undo the hooks, and her breasts tumble free of her bra and they too are cold against my flesh, her nipples tight blue nubs, as long as the end of a finger.

My cock is now straining against my briefs, and with a strange warble in her throat, the first sound she has made, she pulls the cloth back and my cock rises free and is encased in the cleavage of her breasts. It is as if a hot poker has touched ice, both of us hissing back with a burning pain and then forcing the flesh to contact once again.

My brain is numbed and I cannot think but she is a succubus and I am succumbing she is pulling the life heat out of me but I cannot resist. Her ice palm closes around the crimson heat of my shaft, and the nails of her other hand gently pinion my balls and pull them down from my body. I feel five sharp points holding my balls, every now and then a gentle pressure, as if in warning, don't move.

With one dark eyed piercing gaze she looks into my eyes, stilling the back of my brain and commanding me, be still, this is my cold you are my heat I want your heat, let your heart beat your hot blood. And with a swoop her cold mouth is down onto the head of my pulsing cock. Her tongue swirls over the purple helmet of my prick, and I feel her teeth nipping the delicate flesh.

Her hand starts an aching slow grip and slide on my shaft and her palm tightens on my balls. The heat of my groin is burning, my nipples are tight and erect, my muscles are shuddering tight as she strokes and sucks and licks and bites pulling my heat into her mouth. My cock is rigid now, harder than iron, hotter than hell, her hand twisting and pulling on the shaft while her tongue, hot now, and her lips now red with burning heat velvet suck on the head.

Her hand tightens over my balls, squeezing and massaging them deep between my legs and a slow burning heat is at the base of my spine and building within my body.

She is inexorable, sucking my shaft deep into her mouth, cheeks sucking inward as she pulses and throbs my burning cock and then her tongue narrows and tightens and lengthens and twists itself around the head of my cock and I am building deep heat deep in the shaft and my cock is throbbing pulsing purple crimson heat her hand grips tight her lips rich ruby red are burning with my heat and then my spine arches as I feel her tight dagger tongue pierce down inside the opening of my cock and a thin blade of heat pierces down the centre of my cock as her demon tongue pulses into the centre of my being to taste the rising semen as it first boils and churns at the base of my belly and then spurts lunging up my shaft and deep into her throat and she sucks on life itself as my orgasm explodes my throat arching silently, my mouth open in a soundless sob of ecstasy as I come and come my creamy semen cascading down her throat and I hear her moan, "it burns, it burns, come burn me alive."

I am spent and speechless, lying wrecked in that library alcove, while this nightmare beauty stands up tall and proud, legs still straddling mine, her full magnificent breasts thrust with nipples rich red tight above me.

She pulls the half cup bra down over her breasts, deftly reaches behind her back and clips the strap. One at a time she buttons each pearl button into its loop, slowly unrevealing her voluptuous breasts and with a slight shudder she steps back and away from me. Holding my gaze firmly she again forbids sound and her magnificent black and whiteness, mouth and tongue rich with redness and heat fades behind me, her silver hair now threaded with a wider band of black.

I hear a single squeak of the trolley wheel once again and it's as if the library has awoken. I hear the hum of the air-conditioning and another spray of light rain against the window and the shadow of a flutter, and the tapping bird has brushed its wings against the window and is gone. Stunned and cold myself now, I shiver.

My cock still aches, lies shrinking between my legs. In heaven and hell where have I been, what has this been, who is this woman? Questions unanswered swirl in my head as I dress myself, then I just lie collapsed in the chair until the bell tolls and the library is cleared. I stagger home to the halls, but a drug is in my veins, haunting me and entrancing me and drawing me back in time and mind and lust.