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.