Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch 11

Single, middle-aged and bespectacled Angelina Lione may look the part of the prim, proper and sexually repressed, buttoned-up librarian, but she's most definitely NOT your father's librarian - at least not in private. Blessed with a ravenous and unquenchable sexual appetite, Angelina's orgasms are so intense that she's been known to faint during the throes of passion. Using her vast store of feminine wiles, Angelina negotiates about her lovers' hearts, minds and bodies as deftly as she navigates the Dewey Decimal System, manipulating the infatuated men for her monetary and personal gain.

High fashion and high maintenance, Angelina always models the latest designer threads - oftentimes accentuated by any one of her dozen pairs of high-heeled dress boots. Her sophisticated look even extends to smoking accessories. The haughty diva wouldn't dream of smoking a cigarette if it wasn't filtered through her long, black holder. More of a cigarette holder sucker and stroker than a smoker, however, Angelina seductively works the black shaft with her mouth, tongue and fingers as if it was a penis proxy; the effect that playing with the long, stiff holder has on would-be lovers is like snake charming. Under the sexy siren's magic spell, they're entirely at her mercy; powerless to resist the temptation to pleasure her - as if they really would.

Young romantic suitor Tom Bailey has been in love with Angelina since he was a 13-year-old student of hers, drawn to the librarian's sexy boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobish personality. Over the past nine years his feelings - like his fetishes - for the femme fatale have only grown stronger. But in order to win Angelina's hand, he'll have to fight off Harry Seymour, his former principal, and the man who she once carried on a torrid affair with. Following an extended absence, Harry's emerged from Angelina's past to right his wrongs and convince her to spend the rest of his life with him.

After a long dryspell that saw her doubt that she'd ever be with a man again, Angelina suddenly has two men competing for her affections. The amorous woman is in sex heaven - reliving her youth, when men lined up around the block to date her. Preying on Tom and Harry's intense physical attraction for her, Angelina gleefullly bounces between the two men's beds.

It's youth, vitality and inexperience vs. age, (relative) wealth and history. At stake is the love and lust of the feral Angelina, a woman whose libido knows no bounds.

November 14, 1987

"Come out, Vonder Voman. And don't try anysink funny, or your dear Major Trevor gets it!" Harry Seymour barked in an absurdly stereotypical German accent at the closed bathroom door outside his bedroom.

Slowly, the doorknob turned, the door swung in and out from the darkness of the bathroom into the neon mercury light of the bedroom stepped the first lady of female superheroes.

"I'm sorry, Harry, darling, I just don't really feel into this," said Angelina Lione, as the costumed Wonder Woman.

"Stop!" Harry said in annoyance, breaking character. "I don't understand, Angelina. Remember how much fun we used to have when we'd play 'Wonder Woman and the German General? You'd seduce..."

"I know, but that was ages ago. I guess I didn't think you'd still be into this Wonder Woman phase of yours. Is Wonder Woman even on in reruns anymore?"

Angelina paused and pulled at the cups of her tight Wonder Woman corset to stretch the fabric out and give her more room to breath.

"The only loose part of the outfit is the flowing dress," she complained. "Even that's so short that at my age I feel somewhat self-conscious wearing it. It's barely long enough to cover my privates.

"I guess I've put on a few pounds since I last wore it. It isn't nearly as easy to get into or as comfortable to wear as it used to be. And in order to be in character like you want I can't wear my glasses. I'm afraid, my dear, that like my figure, my eyesight hasn't improved with time either. I almost bumped into the bathroom wall on my way out the door. I just don't feel as attractive in this outfit as I used to."

"Nonsense. You still look incredibly sexy, baby," Harry said with calm reassurance.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. The corset gives your breasts a very pointy look. And those red and white, spiked-heeled boots still look magnificent on you. Honestly, if your hair was longer, you could be Lynda Carter's stunt double. You look magnificently fit."

"I do?"

Yes, you do. Now, lets try it again, shall we? I promise, I'll make it worth your while in the end. I always did, didn't I?"

"Yes, you most certainly did, darling. Well, ok."

Angelina retreated back into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Ready? Harry asked.

"Just a moment, darling?" Angelina responded, while adjusting her tiara in the mirror. "OK, ready."

Harry cleared his throat and paused - re-focusing for his return to character.

"Come out, Vonder Voman. And don't try anysink funny, or your dear Major Trevor gets it!" Harry repeated.

"Okay, General Von Erecter," Angelina, now also in character, as Wonder Woman, replied with resignation from behind the door. "You win."

Angelina opened the door and emerged from the bathroom.

"A vize decizion, Vonder Voman," Harry said, slapping his riding crop on the side of his World War II-issue, German army general's black boots that were tucked into his blue-gray trousers. "But now, you will have to pay for...

"...wait. What's that, Angelina?"

Breaking character again, the annoyed elderly man pointed the index finger of his brown-leather glove at his lover's face.

"What's what?" asked the costumed librarian incredulously.

"That thing sticking out of your mouth."

With her left hand, Angelina slipped the long, black shaft with the dry Virginia Slim attached to it, out of the left corner of her mouth.

"You mean my cigarette holder?" she asked, as if she didn't know the answer.

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," said her irritated lover. "You know very well that Wonder Woman doesn't smoke."

"Well, darling, lets talk about this for a second. It's been patently obvious to me since we had our affair when you created this whole kinky role-play scenario, that you have a thing for Wonder Woman...and maybe even Diana Prince and Lynda Carter. And that's okay. There's nothing wrong with that. Everyone has their little sexual fantasies. I, for example, have a particular romantic fantasy involving Frank Sinatra. I'm watching him perform at an intimate nightclub in Manhattan. While he's singing 'Strangers in the Night,' he spots me at my table and saunters over to light my cigarette in a holder. Our eyes lock in passion. No words are exchanged, but there's an obvious, immediate sexual attraction. During a break before the encore, the maitre d' comes by my table and hands me a note - an invitation to meet Frank backstage after the show. I'm escorted back to his dressing room, where Frank greets me. He's still in his tuxedo and looks so suave. He invites me in, pours me a glass of champagne, lights another one of my cigarettes in a holder. The sexual tension between us is now building to a climax. He leans in close and blows in my ear. I quiver with such power and excitement that I orgasm and faint in his arms. He picks me up off the couch and carries me to a corner of the dressing room, peels back a ceiling-to-floor curtain, revealing a beautifully made up heart-shaped bed, with red-silk sheets. He places me gently on the bed and revives me. We kiss with such passion that I faint again. Again, he revives me. We proceed to make slow, tender love until finally, flush from exhaustion and passion, I faint into a deep sleep that takes me to the next morning. I awaken to find a dozen red roses and a 14-carat engagement ring, compliments of Frank, next to me on the bed."

"Wow, that's some fantasy. I had no idea you harbored such attraction for Sinatra," Harry said. "You don't even know old blue eyes, but I feel REALLY jealous of him right now. I hope for my sake that you never actually meet him."

"Well, now you know the way I feel about you and Wonder Woman, darling. Don't get me wrong. I never minded playing along to your fantasy. It made you happy and if you were happy that made my sex life VERY happy. But now that we're dating again, I think I need to start asserting myself more and not just going along with things, just because you like them.

"I just don't want you to lose sight of who you're with. Even though I'm dressed like Wonder Woman, it's still me, Angelina Lione, underneath this costume and in these spiked, knee-high red and white boots. And just so you don't forget, I like to smoke my holder durng foreplay. It makes me feel sexy and in control."

"But the cigarette holder just ruins the whole scene for me; it's not true to the character."

"I'm sorry, but no cigarette holder, then no role play. And that means, no sex."

"Oh, c'mon, Angelina. You can't wind me up like this and then put the brakes on. I'm aching right now."

Angelina struck the classic Wonder Woman pose, planting her hands confidently on either hip.

"Darling, did I tell you that Thomas took me to Delmonico's last night for an exquisite romantic evening?"she said haughtily, omitting the part of the night when her young lover self-destructed in the face of Angelina's overwhelming sex appeal. "Lets not forget you have competition for me now."

"No need to threaten, Angelina. Lemme think how this can work," Harry said, taking his lover's not-so-subtle hint, scratching his chin with a gloved hand. "Hey, I know. How about you play the evil villainess, who's stolen Wonder Woman's identity? Sexy, evil villainesses always smoke from holders."

"Hmmmm. Now, that's more like it, daaarling. Here's my lighter."

"OK. Well, let's take it from the top. Guess we'll ad lib and see what happens."

Angelina nodded her approval. Turning back around, the legally blind sexpot cautiously reached her arms out and felt along the wall. After making her way to the doorway, Angelina ducked back into the doorway and closed the bathroom door.

Harry paused for a few seconds to collect his thoughts, then resumed his fantasy.

"Almost ready, Fraulein Lione?" Harry asked. "We're due at Gestapo headquarters in one hour."

Once more, the bathroom door swung open and out stepped Angelina, long black cigarette holder again protruding seductively from the left corner of her mouth.

"Brilliant, just brilliant," Harry said, as he circled the female super hero and eyed her sexy, toned body. "You could pass for Vonder Voman's doppelganger! Once we spread the propanda photos of you, as Vonder Voman, aiding the Nazi cause, the real Vonder Voman's credibility will be compromised. Ka-put! The Allies beloved Vonder Voman will be finished!

"There's only one thing, my dear: Vonder Voman doesn't smoke. Remember?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot," Angelina said, after removing the holder from her mouth. "But right now, vill you be so kind as to give me a light, please?"

"Of course, my dear."

Harry removed Angelina's lighter from his pocket, flicked it until a flame emerged, then held it up to his lover.

Angelina placed the cigarette holder back into her mouth, then moved it to the fire, puffed once, puffed twice, puffed thrice, then drew in. A moment later she removed the long shaft from her mouth, closed her eyes and let forth overhead an almost orgasmicly-satisfying exhale.

"You know, my dear, I have an opening on my staff for a voman vith your special talents," said Harry, as General Von Erecter. "We could vork very closely together, if you're interested."

Angelina pointed her cigarette holder at Harry's crotch.

"Vhy, general, I'm flattered, but do I zense zhat your interest in me is zomewhat more zan professional?" she asked with an air of bemusement, before lifting the holder slowly back up to her parted lips, inhaling and turning her head slightly to the left to blow the smoke out. "Your little zoldier zeems to be standing at attention, yah?"

Harry gazed down at the tent his arroused wood was pitching in his trousers.

"Vy zo it is," he said with a laugh. "And yes, ve could verk and play togezher."

"Zorry, general, but I don't fool around vith married men anymore."

"I'm not married, my dear. I'm a vidower."

"Vell, I also don't foolz around, just to foolz around. I'm too old for zhat."

"Who zays I vant to just fools around? I've admired you for za long time, Fraulein Angelina. You're unquestionably one of za party's top spys. A voman of zubstance and depth, as vell as great charm and beauty. I could zee us being a most delightful romantic couple."

"I don't know, general. I'm currently zeeing zomeone."

"And who vould zhat be, my dear?"

"He's a junior officer in za party."

"Tell me, Fraulein Angelina, can your junior officer offer you zeenic yacht rides on za Rhine or zummers in Bavaria?'

"Vhy no, general. He's not zhat influential."

"That's a shame, my dear. Because az my lover, you vould accompany me to those places - and many more. You vould enjoy a carefree life of luxury. But... if you choose to forsake those to stay vith your junior officer and vacation vith the masses and dine at beer halls rather zhan 4-star restaurants, that's your decision. Well, let's get to headquarters, shall ve?"

Harry turned his back to Angelina.

"Vait, General," she said. "I do have a thirst for za finer zhings in life. And, I've always been very attracted to powerful men, like you."

With a sly, smug smile, Harry turned back around; Angelina stepped closer to him. Invading his physical space, the 5'7" librarian in her three-inch booted heels towered over her 5'6" former boss.

"Excellent, my dear," he said, eyeing her pointy breasts. "Vell, since ve find each other mutually attractive, my little zoldier needs a warm place to stay for za night."

"Now, general?" Angelina asked. "But vouldn't ve be late for za meeting?''

"I'll call ahead and zay we're still vorking za kinks out of Operation False Vonder Voman."

Angelina reached down to Harry's crotch with the hand that wasn't grasping her cigarette holder.

"I can most zertainly vork out zis kink, general," she said, with a devilish glean in her eye.

"Please do," Harry said, and raised his eyebrow.

Angelina popped the cigarette holder back into her mouth. Then, with both hands, undid the zipper on Harry's trousers and extracted his erect penis. After just a few soft strokes of her long, graceful fingers with the blood-red nail polish, any possible degree south of 90 in Harry's dick was history. His cock now as stiff and rigid as the spiked heels of the sexy pair of expensive new white Gucci leather dress boots he'd bought for Angelina earlier that day, Harry moved in close to his lover and placed his hands on either side of her red-corseted waist.

Angelina released her loose grip on Harry's penis, raised her cigarette holder up to her face at the near-exact angle as his erection stood and brought it to her lips. Content merely to taste the holder than smoke it, Angelina slowly and sexily swirled her tongue around the black mouthpiece. Closing it momentarily around her delicious red lips, she released it and a small puff of gray smoke rolled out from her mouth.

Even Harry, who was now almost as militantly opposed to smoking as the Surgeon General, couldn't help but be aroused at the sight. His mind flashed to the countless times he'd lit her cigarette in a holder during their affair years and, it finally dawned on him: Angelina's smoking habit was her unspoken way of telling her lover - maybe even advertising to the world - that she was doing so only because at that moment she couldn't have what she REALLY craved: a man's delicious dick in her mouth. It all made sense to him now - why she smoked through a holder. It wasn't just for aesthetic purposes, although given her conceited nature, how she looked with a stylishly long, black holder between her fingers was no doubt a factor in her preference. A plastic holder was also more practical than directly smoking a flimsy cigarette; its hardness made it easier to manipulate in her mouth. The way she behaved with a cigarette holder - stroking it with her fingers and sucking the shaft in her mouth - was how she conducted herself during his blowjobs. Angelina didn't just smoke her cigarette holder, she made it a sexual experience. The act of actually smoking was secondary to the phallic pleasure of having something long and hard in her mouth.

Harry was right. Underneath her skimpy, blue skirt dotted with gold stars, Angelina's thong was rapidly filling with vaginal secretions. Her heart pounding heavily, Angelina yearned to have Harry's big dick work its way between her legs to her pussy.

Setting her hands on Harry's chest, Angelina slowly began walking them up until they reached his ears, then brought them behind his head. Harry could feel the mild heat from her cigarette holder warm the scant tuffs of hair behind his right ear. Even hotter now was the burning look in her brown eyes, as Angelina opened her mouth, leaned down and moved in to give her man a full, open-mouthed kiss. Harry joined in and the two began passionately French kissing; each of their tongues furiously wrestling to see which one could extend the furthest down the other's throat.

Breaking off the kiss to come up for air, Angelina flung her arms around Harry's neck. Feeling his erection dig into her thong, as his mouth hungrily worked up and down her neck like it was a buttery ear of corn, she rested her chin on his left shoulder, smiled contentedly and closed her eyes. Re-opening her baby browns moments later, the farsighted woman squinted and trained them on a three-inch long gray object in the corner of Harry's bedroom. Mistaking one of her lover's dress socks for a mouse, in horror, Angelina's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, then, just as quickly, snapped shut in a dead faint, her entire body subsequently becoming as limp as a noodle.

"Hey, stand up a little bit more, would you, baby?" asked Harry, taking a momentary pause from nibbling on Angelina's neck when he felt her body lose all strength and begin to collapse into his arms. "Angelina? Angelina?"

When no response came, Harry propped the unconscious woman up against the wall to stabilize her.

"Well, Seymour, you haven't lost your touch!" he said aloud with a self-satisfied smile when he saw Angelina's face with the eyes still closed, assuming that - just like old times - his sex appeal was responsible for knocking her out.

With several years of firsthand experience under his belt (so to speak) from Angelina fainting during the throes of passion, Harry didn't bother to make the fruitless effort to revive her. Instead, he bent down and allowed the unconscious woman to fall forward over his shoulder, held Angelina by the back of her boots, then lifted her up. Turning around, he walked a few steps before gently placing her limp body on his king- size bed.

Breathing heavily from the effort, Harry looked down upon the sprawled out, unconscious Angelina and a glob of pre-cum bubbled up from his old, yet rock-hard dick. Harry's affair with Angelina sparked a long-dormant boot fetish - tamped down by a marriage to a frumpy woman, who never wore shoes with a heel high enough for an ant to crawl under them - that became so intense that it sustained him throughout their relationship. The physical attraction he felt toward his school's librarian when she sported her favored choice of footwear helped Harry look past Angelina's numerous character flaws; namely, her oftentimes superior-than thou, prima donna attitude and occasional sexual dalliances with other men. His boot obsession also allowed him to neatly sidestep the guilt he had toward betraying his wife.