My days can be varied at the library. Hectic always, life altering once in awhile and life threatening some of the time. I have had patrons take a swing at me, drool on me, spit on me, bleed on me, ass grab, curse and verbally abuse me from every which way to next week. It is all just a days work in a big city library. How do we, the library staff, cope? Well, we are all probably kooks–kooks who stick together. We rely on each other, I make it a point to greet not just my immediate co-workers, but my secondary co-workers as “my library family.”

We are honest, for the most part– kind to one another, we make each other laugh. I love to make people laugh, with my dirty open book sense of humor. We blatantly flirt, we touch, our bodies graze. Yesterday I was a a robot, a library girl machine– automated. The music plays in the buds and I do my thing, blocked but aware, moving from this side of the building to the other with a book truck, like a choreographed musical number, I load material from one truck to the other then glide it across the atrium floor to where it lives on the shelves.

He walked by, his wet lips dragged across the back of my neck. A shiver shot though my spine, instantly my temperature rises, my face burns and my ass–under her own cognitive natural behavior– backs into him. He smells good, he is smooth, dark, handsome, with a smile that could awake a dead woman. We flirt. I pull the bud out of my ear as he whispers something, I don’t know what because I am steal hearing the shiver in my spine. With his lips that close to me my cunt begins to ache.  My ass is so close to his cock. Does he know I am wearing my jeweled ass plug today?

I have often wondered what his cock is like. He’s a boaster, a city talker, a San Francisco boy. Like me, but different, he says things and can get away with it. I could reach my hand around and feel his cock for myself. The moment starts slipping away and I let the shiver run its course, slither out of my bones and through my skin and I start to think of  Erykah Badu…

I want somebody to walk up behind me
And kiss me on my neck and
breathe on my neck

The day was long, I continue to flirt with many men after this incident. I go above and beyond librarian service for particular men. I fill their informational needs and wants, thinking of only how they might fill me. I do this for the rest of my shift. I hide in the bathroom, pushing my jewel further in, while slipping my fingers into my wet pages– drifting into his image, and that ones smile–his cock, or his curve. That ones hungry tongue, his eyes as they look down on me while his cock thrust slowly into my word hole. Those words are not necessary now. My fingers filling I can feel the steel in my ass from inside the walls of my full pussy. Your cock  filling my mouth so right, like my jaw is unhinged and fully accepting-saliva dripping around your beam and off my chin.

Fuck my mouth, please.

When my fantasy begins to take the most of me, I yank the jewel out,  and stars mash into the top of my skull, my pussy pounds, but I refrain. No coming. I pull my fingers from my pussy-they are glossed. I taste.

~

My “out in the world” day ends at the gym, where I continue to behave like an automated machine. I stare intently at the woman on the treadmill in front of me, with her young round firm ass displaying the Victoria Secrets Pink logo, curved and stretching around her plumb cheeks, with each stride they drop lower and lower revealing her string thong, which becomes completely exposed– and her tramp stamp peeks out under the hem of her tiny white tank top. I look around to see if any one else is staring at her like I am–simultaneously hungry and envious of her body. Nobody is, or at least they are not as lecherous as I in doing so. I consider snapping a photo for a friend, but that is grounds for dismissal, and I cant’ have that.

I get home late, do those things one does when first getting home from a long day–mail, wine, meal, unwind…

Clicking the blue glow to on, I see the Architect has emailed me. We had a hot, but all too brief love/fuck affair–he moved overseas  and stayed in his sexless marriage, now our few times together are only memories. He is poet, he make me wet with words that are left out, implied by traces. We fuck online, and he, unlike others makes me come like I mean it, like I want to be fucking him, not just because  I want to come, but because I want to come for him, with him. He is a naughty cock, a sort of lost heart with a cock that curves and drips and impales me in all the right ways.

We chat about regret, what we wish we would have done. How he should have slowly slipped his long cock into my tightest space, how there should have been more nights of fucking while the rain came down, scotch warming our bodies  and cigarettes in the fog. I ask about his naughty cock.

“It’s hard, I am stroking it to you, I am watching you, fucking your needy cunt, your face–mouth–lips parted in want, you slut.”

Words I love and I tell him. The vibrator is set to a low rumble on my pussy, I tell the Architect I am running it along my wet slick lips. He ask me if I will fuck my ass for him. Responding, I ask how he would do it?

“Slow, easy, take my time.”

I slide the vibe, wet from my pussy, slowly into my ass, the plug from the day has me open, accepting.  My pussy instantly reciprocates in appreciation of my ass being filled. I grow full and plump, wetter than before–dripping even. I know I will come soon, it has been an all day build up. I stand, bending over my desk and with a steady rhythmfuck my own ass, as my fingers and palms open up my pussy petals, my cunt feels like a nectarine with a bite out of it. I plug some letters out onto the keyboard, not comprehensible, but completely understandable.

“Come for me, while I fuck that ass, come on my slut… come for me.”

Propping one foot up on the chair,  I back my ass into each plunge. My muscles grabbing around the vibe– crushing around it, my pussy wholly pumping full of blood matching the pounding of my heart beat. I come hard, collapsing my head on the desk, my ass still jutting out, body spasms run their course, fingers still buried in my cunt, vibe still rumbling in my ass. Sitting– I regain, but leave the vibe in. I can type again. I want to make him come, he wants to make me come again, I tell him I want to and I can, my pussy being so willing and wet. Professing, confessing my need for his dripping cock to fill me, to take me, for a brief moment we may have actually been lost in one another despite the technology between us. As his cock filled me for the second time,  my pussy soaking around my fingers–my ass rocking on chair pushing the vibe deeper, I come in that all consuming blast of white static slamming against my scull that disperses into those tiny explosions of stars that blur my vision, then slowly comes to view. I have dripped into my palm and onto the  chair. He comes with me–our words intangible,  drift and drop across the screen. For that split moment we are connected, he is coming in me and I on  him.