Timothy pulled his cock out of my pussy and we lay coiled around one another, panting and sweating, almost one hour since we had started. I had never imagined I could last that long with a man. But my lover has proved to be a marathon fucker every time we met.
I am a serious woman; married for seven years to the first man I ever loved. In time our lovemaking had become little more than functional, and after the children were born, a rare event sparked by him every single time. He would touch my breasts for a bit, kiss me fleetingly before I would feel his thick pole against my thigh. Within no time he would climb atop my body, having pulled my legs apart and thrust himself into my pussy. Thank God I have always gotten wet at a moment's notice otherwise he would have been hurting me. I learnt not to expect much and instead derive pleasure from running movies of my own making through my mind so that I could get some pleasure from the monotonous pumping that seemed to be his only expertise.
I would imagine a man I admired was touching me up, pinching my nipples or kissing me. I got wet on the instant. As my husband progressed, I would picture this other man, who could be a workmate, or someone I met recently and liked, doing naughty things to me. I felt his warm mouth on my tits, driving me higher and higher. As my husband inserted his thick cock into my vagina, the other man would be sucking my clit and inserting his invading tongue. When I cried out my husband no doubt thought he was being very expert, while in fact I was feeling my other lover's tongue in my pussy. When my movie reached the point when my lover stuck his fingers inside, I would come, screaming as if a sharp knife had pierced me. My noises and the increased juices in my cunt would inflame the thrusting husband so that within three or so thrusts he too would come, stiffening like a corpse.
"Knock, knock". I looked up from my desk to see Grace at the door. Her face was twisted as if in anguish.
"Come in!"
She sort of shuffled her feet as she approached my desk.
"Good evening!" she spoke in a shy voice that was at odds with the intensity of feeling betrayed by the look in her eyes.
"Good evening," I responded wondering what could have brought this quiet woman to my office. Grace was head of the documentation section. She came to us from college, having grown up and gone to school in her home area, a village in the coastal region some 700km from the city. She didn't even seem to have gone to the nearest town, Mombasa, during all her time there. She had apparently finished her schooling and come to college in the city. She always seemed uncomfortable around her male colleagues, even though she already had two children with her husband, who was said to be from the same district as herself. Her awkwardness with the opposite gender made me wonder if it had been an arranged marriage, something I was told was still quite common among people of the Giriama tribe.
"I have a problem," she began. "There is a man whose actions I do not understand, one of our customers."
'Does she still have unrealistic expectations of men,' I thought, 'as if she expects people in the city to behave like those of the village she came from? I wonder what her time in college was like, with all those hot-blooded young men?'
I waited for her to continue, a sympathetic look, or at least what I hoped was one, on my face.
"There is a very tall man who comes here quite often to research but his treatment of us female staff is very bad. I think you should tell him we are not happy with his behaviour."
"Who is that? I asked, even though I had a vague suspicion of whom she was talking about.
"He signs his name as Timothy." I was now sure she was talking about one of our senior members who had been with us since before the library had moved from the small wooden building where it had been ever since its establishment in the colonial era. "Whenever he comes in he greets everybody in an overfamiliar manner as if we were his subordinates and he the boss. I particularly detest how he looks at me all over as if I were his possession."
"That is shameful!" I tried to sound sympathetic. "Has anyone else complained?"
"Madam, you know us women have a sixth sense about these things. Last week he embarrassed me horribly within sight of another colleague. He handed me a white envelope looking like it contained a card. Sarah, sitting at the customer care desk saw this action. I am sure she felt like me that he had now gone too far. I could only leave it on top of the desk without touching it. Later in the afternoon, Carol came to speak to me and saw it. She asked me if I had found a new admirer, though I could tell she was using that mocking tone to hide her own horror at such a thing. Madam, you really must put a stop to this. He seems hell-bent on tainting all of us!"
I could hardly believe that she had made such a long speech! By now tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. Despite everything, I first had to deal with her distress.
"I am sorry that this has happened to you. Coming to me is the most sensible thing you could have done. You resisted the urge to discuss the matter with the other women who are your friends. I too have seen the man here in the library and thank you for bringing his behaviour to my attention. Do you want me to talk to him about your concerns so that he does not repeat such an act?"
"That would get him off my back, Mrs Ngure. Thank you."
"I will call him into my office next time he comes in, and tell him of our concerns over his behaviour and ask him to keep it out of the library. Please go back to your work and leave it all in my hands."
I watched her leave while I pondered on the best way to approach the matter.
Two days later I heard his voice at the door of my office without any prior notice.
