Sometimes we put things out into the universe and they happen, and they do so for a reason.

Of course I have my library fetish. Ever since a geeky jr. high girl who used to hide in the stacks during lunch–looking at pages of; deformities of the human body, grand master paintings, pop art, circus side show performers, and poetry — have I had these fantasy of being taken in a library. My position within a library institution, I always felt, was a coincidence, a pleasing twist of fate that has helped shape the woman I am today.

For about the last five years I have invited only a handful men to meet me at the place I hold so dear, to stalk me in the stacks, another mild fetish of mine also since jr. high (the real stalkers are never as good as the imaginary stalkers). The imaginary scenario would always start out innocent; a question at the reference desk that would then lead to a material search in the stacks and would culminate with me on my knees with a cock in my mouth.

Yesterday’s fantasy was a simple email, one I have probably sent variations of –on more than one occasion. My fantasy was in actuality a request, but it took the right person to see it as that and to seize my words and make something happen. I put it out in to the technological cloud and it came back in the form of flesh, blood and hard cock.

“I am at my reference desk now, imagining you walking in, or walking beyond me, but in my view–making me aware you are here and that you want me–maybe demand me– with no words ever spoken between us.

It would only take a glance and a phone call for someone to relieve me of my reference desk duties–so that I could meet you in a secluded section of books going unread.

I went bare legs, no tights to get in way of your hands to my flesh.

intrigued by you and want to make you swell.”

Yes, I guess that is a rather inviting, but I had not with deliberate intention meant for it to be, I was not even really wearing skirt with bare legs, it was just part of the tease, part of the work drift fantasy that was happening in my mind as I sat at the reference desk. Or was it?

I sensed it instantly, the moment you passed my eye I knew who you were, even though we had never laid eyes on each other.  My heart began to thump and my breath became spontaneously erratic, yet heavy as I watch you approach my space. Sex charged, bold and in control–you walked straight up to the desk feigning a question that requires my full attention, that demands an escort to help you find what you are looking for.

As we walk the magnetism between us is powerful.

“You should really give a girl a warning, I am not even wearing a skirt.”

You tell me you believed my email to be an invitation, which I now believe to be true as well.

My section of the library is small, secluded, closed off, and always filled with patrons, but one can still can hide lovers behavior. In between the row of self help and poetry,  we touch, learn, embrace, kiss. I can feel your cock, before I even actually feel your cock. I have never been this brazen in my place of work, and really did not care, I was lost into you–your tie, your suit–I wanted to undress you–I wanted you to use that tie in other ways.

Stroking your cock over your pants I needed to taste you. Lowering myself to the bottom shelf my mouth so close, so hungry I run cheek along the shaft of your cock. I become that other women. Slightly submissive and all cock hungry. I can smell you, I can feel you harden on my cheek, by my lips and my cunt begins to throb in need.

“Would you like to come to the fourth floor with me.”

Art and Music is on the forth floor, I love this area, one can really get lost–in the seclusion, in the art, the photography, the past works of great of lives are held up here. Taking you by the arm, proud to be yours, I take you to 759.4, the isle between LPs and master painters. The fervor we felt on the first floor is boiling. Your hands lock into my hair, pulling me in–our eyes, our bodies pulled together, your lips to mine. Our first kiss and I want more. You grab my hands at the wrist place them on the sturdy metal shelves, my fingers bruising against Cezanne, my body feeling your weight.

“Put your hand down your pants, then in my mouth I want to taste you.”

I comply eagerly, slick I pull them out and into your mouth, then back in, so I too can have a taste. My fingers coated in me fill my mouth– becoming a mix of our lips, tongues, and fingers. Again, your hands lock around my strands of curls, forcefully you guide me to my knees, to your cock and that feel, that laden need consumes my body, my mouth. The want is painful and almost scares me–and still does.

“I need your cock.”

You comply, giving me what I need. The twitching, throbbing red head of your cock passes my lips, my tongue tasting your drippings. That is the moment when your cock became and extension of me. I refused to let it go, whether in my mouth, hands or thoughts.

We walk, our bodies tightly connected. I see patrons looking at me, they can see it, they know I have just had cock in my mouth, they can smell the pussy. 779.092, photography.

Gone. My need at that moment are about your cock, about my cunt, about this need. When I get in this space, I feel everything fragment around, like all else crumbles around me except this one exclusive moment.

My hands find your cock inside your pants, your dripping, viscose strands from my fingertips to the head of you cock the fabric is not even absorbing it anymore. To my knees I drop, my mouth loving your dick. You begin to feed me, thrusting slowly, filling my mouth, pulling me by the hair into you. Pulling me off and taking step back you taunt me with you cock, so red and blatant pointing at me the row of books. My mouth hanging open in needy want. I am so turned on, all I want you to do is bend me in half and plunge, stab, fuck into me. Not caring who is watching, wanting them to watch, wanting them to get hard, touch their cocks while they watch me fuck you and while you fuck me.

Begging, with my lips, you oblige and give me more, and my pussy continues to thump. I stand turning my ass to your cock, your hand works down to the back my jeans and into my pussy and you administer a sweet finger bang. I have to stop you, I need to gain control of the situation.

In my ear you whisper, “are you going to have an orgasm right here?”

It was a question and a command at the same time. In my mind I thought– no way, but his fingers where pulling it out of my tiny little hard clit. I did come; as I held tight to your body hard, strained, with barely a audible sound.

I had to return to my post, I beg you to come back next Wednesday.

The remainder of my shift my cunt stayed wet, with every move I could feel my full and needy pussy and I drifted around in some sort dream–not sure what had just happened even happened.

I wish it were it were Wednesday again.

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© Copyright 2010Library Vixen, All rights Reserved. Written For: Library Vixen