Stacs

Being a librarian won't exactly make you rich, and the mandatory Masters' degree comes with a mountain of student debt. I make a virtue out of necessity. Shopping the vintage stores, I pour my curves into pencil skirts, thigh highs and kitten heels. I wear cat's eye reading glasses on a chain around my neck. My style is flirty and retro, with a touch of sass.

The money saved hunting for deals on clothing has steadily shown up as ink on my body. What started as a prank when I graduated from library school - a tattoo of a book, with a long-stemmed rose curling into a line of poetry -- has become a full-fledged obsession. A mass of swirling colour decorates my back and hips. Little do the library patrons know that under the pin-up girl clothing, my body is covered in technicolour tats.

The library where I work is a college library. Each of the library staff claims one evening shift a week. This week I was in on Thursday.

Thursday nights are usually quiet, the undergraduate students all out doing Jager shots in the campus pubs. My coworkers were out doing much the same, celebrating the upcoming wedding of our resident history specialist in a hail of jello shots and gold stripper shorts. But here I was, stuck in the stacks, dragging out dusty volumes for an absent faculty member.

Typically, the book of 19th century agrarian records I was searching for hovered on the very lowest shelf. Too vain to actually put on my reading glasses, I got down on my knees to read the call numbers, carefully tucking my skirt under.

Crouched down so low, I heard a strange sound. I thought it came from the other side of the stacks. It was a sort of liquid, rhythmic sound. Only when it was followed by a deep moan did I look to see what caused it.

Peering between the volumes, I could see directly into the next bay of books. A beautiful young man stood there -- tall, slim, with lightly bronzed skin and curly dark hair. He leaned against the shelves, knees bent, head thrown back. Faded 501's were popped all the way open, with a muscled stomach and a tattooed celtic knot exposed just above his hipbone.

In front of him, on her knees, was a girl about his age. She was leggy, with long blonde hair, and a sweatshirt plastered with the college logo on her back. I watched fascinated as she dragged her tongue all the way up the length of the young man's cock and swirled her tongue back down. Both of her hands were wrapped around the base his cock, fingers glistening. Cheeks hollowed out, she dragged her lips right up to his tip and then swallowed him back down in a rush. When her lips again reached her hands at the base of his cock, she hummed around him. I heard another deep moan.

There were always rumours about sex in the library stacks. Undergraduates who lived at home with their parents, professors avoiding their wives, the occasional lonely student getting off all on their own. The staff heard all the stories. What no one ever said was how hot it could make you. Need shot through my whole body, ending with an insistent ache between my thighs. I was always a sucker for a man with beautiful hips -- seeing that tattoo made me want to take a bite. I could practically feel the silky skin of his cock against my tongue. When the girl hummed, my nipples went hard. It was like the two of them had a direct line to my clit.

The man's hands went to the girl's head, and he tangled his fingers in her hair. He started to move his hips like he just couldn't help himself-- at first a gentle, rhythmic pumping, gradually building up to a thrust. Soon he was pushing hard enough that when he bottomed out in her throat, she'd give a little grunt. I could hear her drag air in when he pulled back, and then the liquid sound when he glided back into her mouth.

With a low growl, he said "Baby, take it all." Her head was moving fast, his hand fisted in her hair. With one final thrust he held her still. She swallowed hard. When she opened her mouth and slid off, a shudder ran through me. Lapping at his cock and balls, she gently cleaned him up, and then tucked him away.

The young man gently kissed her on the forehead when she stood up, and wrapped his arm around her. They picked up their knap sacks, grabbed their coats and were quickly gone. I watched as they walked away.

Still kneeling, I squeezed my thighs together and felt a shudder ripple through me. Giving myself a shake, I looked again at the call slip, grabbed the book off the shelf, and holding it tight against my chest, walked away.