This continues my stories in the "The Stacks" series. Hope you enjoy.
I heard the alarm going off, but I didn't want to get up just yet. Reaching out I pushed the snooze button and silence returned. My hand found it's way back between my legs, back to my wet pussy and resumed tracing a line up and down my slit, to the base of my clitoris. I was reliving my sex-in- the-library tryst with Natalie and Sarah over and over again in my head. Two weeks had already passed, but I could still smell Natalie's perfume and the odor of sex from her pussy. I could feel Sarah's lips on my wetness, her tongue in me and as my mind replayed the scene, my fingers replayed the sensations. Within minutes I was arching my back, my weight on my feet and shoulders. I could feel my vaginal muscles contract around the fingers buried deep inside as the waves of pleasure started rolling over me. A little bit later, as my heart beat was slowing and my breathing returning to normal, the alarm sounded again. 6:30am. This time, I was ready to start the day.
As I showered and got ready for work, I mused over the events of the past couple of months. I'd gone from being a relatively sedate, thirties- something librarian to voyeur, exhibitionist and semi-public masturbator. And finally, member of a female sexual threesome who found the library a congenial place to fuck. What would mother think?
The last week or so, though, things had slowed down quite a bit. Natalie and I had gotten together twice after the late-night library threesome; Sarah and I once. But without the risks we had taken in our library escapades, it just wasn't the same. The sex was good, but something was missing - that element of risk plus the voyeurism, Natalie's control of things. What a friend would call the MSG that makes the recipe so much more flavorful, so much better. Anyway, the magic wasn't quite there and our big night seemed to have come and gone, if you'll excuse a bad pun. They hadn't called me and I hadn't called them. Natalie, I knew was out of town for several weeks on business. And Sarah, according to her sister, Katie, a friend of my daughter Julie, had started the clinical portion of her masters program in child psych, so it was just as well. Neither would really have had time for me, and this way, I wasn't pining away for them. Still, those months, especially the last couple weeks had been truly exciting and terribly erotic.
Julie was already in the kitchen making some breakfast when I got down stairs. Her school bus normally came about 7:30 so we had time to eat together and talk a little. We get along well for mother and teenaged daughter and we seem to be able talk frankly about most things. That ability had been strained a little a week or two earlier when Julie and Katie had raided my "toy drawer". They borrowed two vibes and a couple cassette tapes without my permission for a Friday evening's entertainment, and had been found out. Of course I didn't say anything to Jules in front of her friend, but later she and I had a heart-to-heart talk about what was and wasn't allowed when it came to rifling through mom's drawers. I did let her keep one of the vibes - she's almost 15 - which probably eased the strain a little. And we both seemed to have come away from the episode with a better understanding of the other's privacy needs. So on balance, a positive experience. One more milestone for her on the road to womanhood and for me on the road to an empty nest.
That morning I left at the same time as Julie, heading my car out onto the expressway and towards the university. I got there about eight and soon was bound up in the day's work. Any thoughts of Natalie and Sarah had pretty much vanished from my head by the time we opened the doors at 9:00am. The university was going through a belt tightening exercise and I had been given the job of reworking the budget and collaborating with the grants people to find new sources of money. The work wasn't easy, but it was interesting and more important, it took me out of the three-weeks-on- days/one-week-on-nights rotation. I didn't mind working a little longer and harder each day to finally have most of my evenings at home.
Just before lunch, I walked back into my office from a meeting and saw the mail flag up on my computer. Opening the inbox, I found a note from someone calling herself "watcher". The email simply said:
"I saw what you did in the stacks."
My mouth was suddenly very dry, and for a second things seemed to swim in front of my eyes. I wondered who this was and then, in the same instant, realized it had to be Natalie or Sarah, but most probably Nat, having a little fun with me. No one else had been around, I was absolutely certain of that. So I replied:
"I saw what you did too, Natalie dear, and I loved it!"
The rest of the day flew by without any more strange emails, professional problems or opportunities for wanton sex in the library. And I got to leave on time for a change. As I walked out of the door, I looked forward to a quiet evening at home.
Julia was already there and, surprise of surprises, had dinner almost made. Of course she wanted something, but I didn't mind a little blackmail if it meant I didn't have to cook. She'd made a tasty spaghetti carbonara and a nice Caesar - my favorites - so I knew she really wanted whatever it was she had in mind. But after a nice dinner and a glass of merlot, I was receptive, at least to anything in reason. Turned out to be a permission form to have her ears pierced again, for a second set of earrings. Grateful that she didn't what to pierce anything more sensitive than her earlobes, I signed the slips just as Katie and her mom arrived to pick Julia up. Suddenly, I was alone with my merlot and the dishes.
After cleaning up, I went up my room to draw a bath, naughty thoughts bouncing around in my mind. I'd just taken off my clothes and starting running the water when the front door bell rang. I don't usually have unannounced visitors in the evening, and I hesitated for second; then the bell rang again. Turning off the tap, I pulled a decidedly unsexy robe around me and went down stairs. Hooking the security chain, I opened the door a little and looked out. No one was there, but a little brown paper-wrapped package was laying on the step. Opening the door fully, I went out and got it.
It had rained earlier in the day and there was a little rain water still standing on the porch. Whoever had left the package must have propped it against the door, but in her or his haste, not noticed that it had slipped down into the water. Something had been written on the wrapping paper in blue felt tip pen, but the water had caused it to run, making the words illegible. Going into the kitchen, I stripped off the wet paper and found a video cassette. No title, nothing affixed to it, just the manufacturer's brand label. I was, to say the least, intrigued. The thought crossed my mind that it might have something to do with the note I had gotten that day from "watcher".
I walked up to my bedroom and went to the computer in the adjoining sitting room I use as a study. I logged onto the university system and checked my email. Nothing. If "watcher" had sent the videotape, she hadn't emailed me about it. Going back to the bedroom, I popped the cassette into the VCR at the foot of my bed and turned on the television, wondering what I would see.
The screen remained dark and then lightened up as a young female voice, a familiar one, but one I couldn't quite name said:
"Baby, I know you don't think you can be interested in me the way I'm interested in you, but maybe this will change your mind."
I felt a little jolt in my puss. The screen continued to lighten and I realized that someone was backing away from a video camera. As she moved backward, she started to come into focus and I saw that it was a young woman. On the edges of the screen I could make out furnishings - a bookcase, a desk with a computer and then in the center, behind the girl, the foot of a bed.
She continued to back up until she touched the bed. Then she sat down and scooted back so she could raise her feet and rest them in front of her, letting her knees and legs fall open. She leaned back against one of those large stuffed, tufted backrests people use for reading in bed, among other things. The girl was wearing a Mardi Gras mask that covered most of her face and hair. She was also wearing white athletic socks. And nothing else. She was delightful.
At first I watched in disbelief, but as her hand found its way between her open legs and started to caress her downy covered pussy, I felt my pulse start to quick, my wetness start to run. Slowly moving her other hand over one of her small, but exquisitely beautiful breasts, she said:
"Watch me, baby, watch me. And think about your hands touching me here, touching my breasts, my pussy. Think about your fingers inside me, making me wet, making me cum. Think about me touching you, too. If you can watch me do this, and think about me doing it to you and you doing it to me, and not get wet, not want me. Well, I won't bother you again, sweetie."
My eyes were fixed on the young beauty on the television screen. As she finished speaking she wiggled her bottom and scooted down, pushing her pussy out towards me. Even though she must have been four or five feet from the camera, I could see the glistening pinkness of the delicate petals of flesh between the swollen outer lips of her vagina. I could feel my own lips swelling, feel myself opening and starting to drip as I watched her. The familiarity of her voice made the scene even more erotic. I knew this girl, I was sure of that. My nipples were hard and begging to be touched and I dropped my robe and sat back on my own bed. One hand rubbed my left breast, while the other stoked the fires between my legs. I could smell myself, I could almost smell her.
The girl on the screen was now squirming and emitting little sighs of pleasure, her head back against the cushion. I imagined her closed eyes, the dreamy expression on her face behind the Mardi Gras mask. Her right hand was busy between her legs, two fingers rubbing up and down, sliding silently between her cleft. It was teasing her, stopping just short of her button which was barely visible at the top of her puss. The creamy, hairless flesh of her swollen lips invited kissing and I imagined my lips brushing across them, my tongue dipping between them. My fingers were moving up and down my slit, slowly, fighting the urge to push deeper, moving softly, slowly, building my own need as I watched the girl satisfy hers.
