This week, I have been back to my frisky, good natured, helpful library girl self. Most of all– my smile is back and when I smile, I flirt.

My confession this week–I have been playing on Craig’s List. I have refrained from such behavior since December. That was a long stint away from the instant gratification Craig and List can provide. I posted an ad and I responded to an ad. There is just something about getting a shit ton of email from eager dripping cock that make the days at the library fly by and it has seemed to keep me in a state of perpetual horny–ok so it doesn’t take much, but this week has again proven–my pussy is insatiable.

At my library this week, rather than the drug addict homeless population we normally serve, there seemed to be a slew of hot city boys, in all shape and form in need of service. So many adorable, sizzling, time on their hands, lost the library city boys. Melting from my pussy out, at the thought of all those men milling about aimlessly, in need of cute librarian help.

“How may I help you,” and you, and you…?

I am the kind of woman that can find attractiveness in all. I love brains, brawn, brutes, gangsters, scientist, underdogs, and nerds. While you may not be physically the most handsome, or your cock might not shatter in girth and length…you are still a man with drive and desire; and it is this, which propels my urgent pussy to be a flirt.

The multiplicity of men that came in this week set my mind on wanderlust. I started to imagine one of these boys could be you. Then I thought, well– I better be on my best behavior, just in case you ever do stop by. I want be on my game, my best vixen conduct. Sweet, helpful, deliciously teasing am I, lead by my insatiable cunt.

Flitting around the men in the room, I slowly shelve lowering my body here and there. Feeling the heat of yours next to mine. Is it you? As I bend at the waist, to slyly place an item on the shelf that your lower body is blocking. I offer a gentle touch on the shoulder, a secret rakish smile…
“excuse me—no…no, your fine–stay where you are, I can work around you.”
Lowering myself toward the shelf, my cheek getting closer to your cock. Do you twitch? Do I fluster you or do fluster me?

The contemplation begins…the taste of you, of your reaction as my hand slides over your thigh across the progression developing. What would the removal of your pants be like? Teasing? Slow, as my hand explores what is about to be reveled? The unbuckle, that anticipation, the sound the metal makes as you are about be released and realized. The pulling out of the strap from the loops one at time builds to the beat of my cunt.

Thoughts start circulating more than the library material. Will your eyes close as my mouth lowers towards your throb, will your head sink back as my lips pass over? Or will you watch every lust filled move I make? Will you let a soft moan escape as I breathe in the scent of your boxers and cock? The smell of clean laundry and sex encompasses. Will your hands grasp my head or will your fist tangle in my hair as I lower the fabric from your body?

The thoughts begin to make me pulsate and I sense the wetness beginning to materialize between my thighs. Here I am again, wet a work, my daydreaming becoming reality, as my panties get damp. Squatting, in my tight little corduroy skit with winter thigh high socks, shelving on the lower unit, I spread my legs apart slightly. I can see the point where the socks end, thighs begin and can smell the mild scent of the subtle whore I am.

And I drift…
How would it feel if your fingers slid through the slit of my lips?
Would you create even more of the sticky gloss to flow?
As the crown of you dick brushes my lips would I liberate my own moan of want?

Originating a pool of saliva my lips finally slide around your tip, as my hand reaches around to grasp fully at your base, cradling your balls, anticipating the downward sink of my mouth around your beam. The place I want to stay. Your cock lodged in my throat, actions that can seem so aggressive and violent turn to utter tenderness and purity, as I slowly rise back to the crown and then–right back down.

As the cock strolls in and out of my little wing of the library, I ponder each one. Would your cock be too large for me to take or would I be able to devour you with ease? Would you idle and let me worship or would you impel my mouth on to your pounding substance? Face fuck. Do you moan, grown, howl, breathe that heavy breath of yearning? Do you command me with words? How do you thirst for your cock to be sucked?

My wants range from swallowing and gulping your substance as it glides down my throat Swirling it around, keeping your still twitching cock between the tight grip of my lips. Do you want to pull it out and cum all over my civil servant face, my glasses, breasts, belly? Maybe you want me to bring you to the point of almost bursting, stroking as my eyes glue in anticipating of your spurting all over me, leaving me a messy sticky girl.

“How may help you, Is there something I can do for you”

or you, or you, or definitely you?

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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.

oblige Me–and I you
power shifts

grab Your gear
smoldering blaze
oozes from my thighs

hook Your chain
bonds fixed and fluids mixed
drive it home

lacerate me with your bone
forced plummet
scathe past lips
parted in foreseen ambitions