Near the back I shelve the non-fiction DVDs, the 300 section, the Social Sciences, everything ranging from Heavy Petting Lesbians to Cutthroat Gangster Killers (I’ll take one of each). From this vantage point I am able to survey whenever  someone comes into the room, just in case I want to be a slutilicious flirt.

When you walk in I cannot help but spontaneously biting my lower lip, crinkle my nose, clinch my cunt, and my mind begins its perpetual wanderlust…hmmm he’s kind of cute, kind of disheveled, what’s up with that messy hair, wonder what section he is looking for, I wonder what he’s going to checkout, I wonder if he likes naughty French films, I wonder if he needs help, I wonder what his cock is like? Can I tell, can make the outline of his cock beneath his pants, Mmmm, I wonder what it taste like, smells like ? How hard can I make him? Does his pre-cum taste sweeter than his cum? How many times can I make him cum with my just lips, mouth and tongue? These thoughts orbit around like a smoke halo of questions swaying through my dirty little mind.

My eyes follow you as you walk over to the row directly in front of where I am shelving, the biography section, strange, but perfect for me! From this view; I can look between the rows the space which separates.  Cock level. I grab the stack of material that belongs on the lower shelves and squat. Watching you there, flipping through the DVDs, in your somewhat loose fitting jeans. From this squatted position my pussy opens up and appears to be reading my mind again and begins her restless twitch and trickle.

I start my gaze at your thighs and work my way up to the outline of your cock, which I can easily make out. There is nothing like a well packaged man, needing to be unpacked. I lick my lips– in a naughty library girl wants kind of way— pull inward on my kitty, spread my thighs wider and am even so bold as to bend further down to get a better look.

When you catch me sneaking glances, I grow slightly flush a heat spread across my face, but you like this. You like the reddened cheeks of embarrassment. Your response is to slyly rub your hand across your cock and you sort of grabbing on, making the outline even more revealing to me.

Inconspicuously stroking your  curve right at my eye level and everything else fades away. Hiking my skirt up so you can get a better view of my flesh thighs covered in black tights. I stare up and fix my eyes to yours, my glasses framed face looks up with cock want.  My curly mop top ready for your hand to roughly pull my mouth into you. To feel you rise behind your pants, to smell that scent of arousal. To unbuckle that buckle getting one step closer to my want, which is rapidly becoming a need.

I have tripped, into that other space, where the my surrounding fragments and I in my own fiction, around me has faded and I am in my own short film with you, about to taste your cock. Waiting for your hand to drop to the back of my head, to feel your want guide me to where it needs to be.

I have a handful of online male companions, whom I speak with, flirt with, cyber sex with, and pass my time at the reference desk with. It’s fun, relatively harmless sexy virtual activity. There are some I share pictures of my ass and other parts with, some I cum with via IM, and some who I have deep fulfilling conversations with–about, love, poetry, art, music, film and of course fucking. Well we all want to talk about fucking. It always comes back to the loins.

My newest cohort has been naughty fun and not all just sexual, but we talk about life and the dailies of life. But, well– you know me, I always return to my wet kitty. Today I was waiting for an appointment, emailing via my blackberry, telling my invisible cyber man what I was wearing for the day. This always sets his mind to spin.

Not long after receiving my email he responds back with an “assignment” for me.

“Your assignment for the day is to get to work safely and on-time, but at 4:30, when I am leaving for the bus to go home and paint my office, you are to find a quiet place in the stacks, remove the undoubtedly cute panties, and slip them in to a book that is big enough to hide them, but one that will be checked out eventually, maybe not today, or this week, or even this month, but you will know that someday, someone will open up that book and a little bit of you will spill out….”

Wednesday at the library is always mild, I don’t get there until late, work until closing and it is my supervisor’s day off, so the setting is relaxed. I email him back asking if there is any particular book he thinks I should put them in. Should it be science, art, automotive, or the obvious sex? He responds with the Dewey decimal call number of 391.42, now I know my Dewey’s and know this is sexual in nature just not exactly of what naturere. I decide not to look it up and be surprised, well actually at this time I was not even sure I would be going to go through with his antics, but I was excited by the idea. It runs through my mind that I could just tell him I did it, describe enough to get him excited and turned on. The thoughts linger on my way to work.

Once there and I see just how mellow and slow the day was, I decide to go through with it. Once the decision was made, I began to get wet and excited; I could feel my freshly waxed pussy lips slick together with each step of friction the closer it got to 4:30. I am scheduled on the reference desk from 4-5, so around 4:20 I ask a co-worker to cover the desk for me, claiming I had to make an important phone call. Leaving the desk I stop into our small sorting room, door open to all who work there, yet still somewhat private, but anyone could walk in at any moment. I move away from the door and slip down my pale orange decorated sheer panties, slip them over one boot then the other. Once off, I see the small wet spot I have left in my excitement, bringing them to my nose I sniff. Nice sweet musk, mild and clean. Folding them neatly I slide them into my pocket, fix my skirt and head out the door with purpose.

Choosing the public elevator, so that none of my co-workers will see me, I head to the third floor. Once the doors open I take the long way around avoiding the reference desks, checking out the cute library pages on the way, winding around to the 300 section—320, 350, 370, 380, 390, where sign is placed “the 390 are shelved on the 4^th floor.”

D’oh! how ridiculous, back to the elevators. The fourth floor is far trickier, Art and Music, I am up here all the time, plus my department was relocated here for a short time. I know everybody, I am almost sure to run into someone who knows me. Performing the same maneuver as on the third floor, around the back, I avoid the reference desk, winding my way to the appropriate section, my pussy wet with eagerness and freedom. I get to the section having only run into a few new staff member who do not know me, but I would sure like to get to know them.

390’s, 391.40, 391.42, found it! All the way at the bottom, I squat, my thighs spread apart, my lips open, unbound—the scent of excitement is easily detected. There are only two books though, the rest, undoubtedly, kept in the reference section as theft prevention, I choose 391.4209 A Brief History of Unmentionable. Rising, I turn and place the book on the shelf behind me out of view of passerby’s, as I flip through the history of panties. Choosing an appropriate page, holding it open I pull my panties from my pocket, dropping them between the pages, refolding them so they are contained within the boundaries of the book, and then I close the unmentionables. Once, it is hardly detectable that there is a sheer lace obstruction between the pages. It’s perfect. Squatting back down I re-shelf the book in it’s appropriate place, admire my completed assignment, spread my thighs a little, bounce back up, and head to the elevators, wetter than before. Back to my department, back to the shelving, back to the patrons, and back to the reference desk with my naughty little secret and my bare ass under my skirt.