In the Stacks - Part One
She’d seen him come in before, always heading directly to the current periodicals, sparing but a glance for the attentive staff. He had the look of a professor, given the context, but she was sure that had she met him in a dark street he’d look like a pirate, a daredevil of some sort. She allowed her mind to wander there for a moment, imagined herself turning a corner to find him loitering under a streetlight. Their eyes met suddenly, a spark of electricity arcing between them.
Trite. It’s been done, she thought.
“Miss?”
Oh!
“Yes? How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to find Mathematische Zeitschrift from 1947. Your catalog says you have it, but I don’t find it on the shelf.”
“Ah, yes. Bound journals dating prior to 1982 are on the opposite side of the library, on your left as you head back.”
She watched him walk away, thinking suddenly of the long, dim hallway that held the older publications – over a century of scientific experimentation, philosophy, failure and progress. She felt herself aroused, of a sudden, at the thought of that face, that body, having a mind equal to those dusty tomes.
“Miss?”
Yes…
“Sir? Can I help you with something else?” Did he see that her smile showed more than she’d intended?
“I’m sorry to be such a bother. I must be quite dim, but I still can’t find it.”
Odd. They’re alphabetized in that section.
“No problem at all. We’ll go find it together, shall we?”
She felt her hips swing a bit under her skirt, was conscious of the movement of her arse as she strode quickly in front of him. Was he watching? Had he seen the faint stain of a flush on her cheeks as she’d risen from her chair? They were almost of a height, a minor rarity for her and she’d thrilled as she met his eyes for a moment before turning away in front of him.
Down the aisle to the back of the room, turn left past the maze of study carrels - empty at this time of morning - then into the corridor the library had annexed a few years back. It was narrow, poorly lit, the shelves filled floor to ceiling with large, heavy old books in an effort to economize space as best possible. Not enough room for two to walk abreast, and she felt him closer behind her as she slowed her pace, reading the titles distractedly.
Philosophical Transactions of… no, too far! She stopped suddenly to turn around but he hadn’t been watching the titles, either, and stumbled against her when she stopped. She’d been against the impact.
He didn’t back away. She was frozen, transfixed, her pulse escalating at the knowledge of his body, just the fabric of his clothes brushing hers.
He took a step forward. Just a few inches… She felt firm texture of bindings under her hands, the warmth of his chest against her back.
“Hold on. I think I see it down here.”
He crouched behind her. Was that…? His fingers on her ankle, just under the hem of her long skirt, began to inch upward.
She felt her whole body flush, knew of herself that such a reaction invariably brought a rush of moisture to her sex. He was so close! Could he feel her temperature rise? Smell the sudden warmth of her sex? Oh, please… she turned around, allowing her thighs to part a bit more as she stood on trembling legs, grateful for the solidity of the shelves behind her.
Oh, the texture of his hands! Broader, ever so slightly rougher than her own, the pads of his fingers moved inexorably up her calves, her thighs, on a path of inevitable discovery of her smooth, moist, and completely bare labia.
She felt his fingers first. Her head was thrown back against the shelves, letting her body feel, not watching, for once.
Taste me.
She felt his breath against her secret lips, warm, rushing, and then… yes, oh yes, please don’t stop your tongue, yes, oh, oh, yes…
With his fingers he parted her silken labia but his mouth was quick to intrude past the opened gate. He must have opened his mouth wide to enclose her in that way, her outer labia further moistened by the inside of his mouth, her inner lips, her secret depths probed deeply, invasively by his tongue. She felt herself melt against his mouth. Felt her body lower a bit to envelop his face with her sex. Breathing… yes…
His tongue, his tongue found her clitoris, rising, plump, and eager. He flicked against it and she gasped, trying to contain her sounds. She’d make a fool of herself if she didn’t stop but please, yes, lick me don’t stop. He sucked her swollen clitoris into is mouth, drummed his tongue against it twice, firmly, four times, and she heard herself whimper – silence! He pulled away.
“After I make you come for my mouth I’m going to fuck you – right here, as hard as I can. Don’t make a sound.”
To be continued...
Trite. It’s been done, she thought.
“Miss?”
Oh!
“Yes? How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to find Mathematische Zeitschrift from 1947. Your catalog says you have it, but I don’t find it on the shelf.”
“Ah, yes. Bound journals dating prior to 1982 are on the opposite side of the library, on your left as you head back.”
She watched him walk away, thinking suddenly of the long, dim hallway that held the older publications – over a century of scientific experimentation, philosophy, failure and progress. She felt herself aroused, of a sudden, at the thought of that face, that body, having a mind equal to those dusty tomes.
“Miss?”
Yes…
“Sir? Can I help you with something else?” Did he see that her smile showed more than she’d intended?
“I’m sorry to be such a bother. I must be quite dim, but I still can’t find it.”
Odd. They’re alphabetized in that section.
“No problem at all. We’ll go find it together, shall we?”
She felt her hips swing a bit under her skirt, was conscious of the movement of her arse as she strode quickly in front of him. Was he watching? Had he seen the faint stain of a flush on her cheeks as she’d risen from her chair? They were almost of a height, a minor rarity for her and she’d thrilled as she met his eyes for a moment before turning away in front of him.
Down the aisle to the back of the room, turn left past the maze of study carrels - empty at this time of morning - then into the corridor the library had annexed a few years back. It was narrow, poorly lit, the shelves filled floor to ceiling with large, heavy old books in an effort to economize space as best possible. Not enough room for two to walk abreast, and she felt him closer behind her as she slowed her pace, reading the titles distractedly.
Philosophical Transactions of… no, too far! She stopped suddenly to turn around but he hadn’t been watching the titles, either, and stumbled against her when she stopped. She’d been against the impact.
He didn’t back away. She was frozen, transfixed, her pulse escalating at the knowledge of his body, just the fabric of his clothes brushing hers.
He took a step forward. Just a few inches… She felt firm texture of bindings under her hands, the warmth of his chest against her back.
“Hold on. I think I see it down here.”
He crouched behind her. Was that…? His fingers on her ankle, just under the hem of her long skirt, began to inch upward.
She felt her whole body flush, knew of herself that such a reaction invariably brought a rush of moisture to her sex. He was so close! Could he feel her temperature rise? Smell the sudden warmth of her sex? Oh, please… she turned around, allowing her thighs to part a bit more as she stood on trembling legs, grateful for the solidity of the shelves behind her.
Oh, the texture of his hands! Broader, ever so slightly rougher than her own, the pads of his fingers moved inexorably up her calves, her thighs, on a path of inevitable discovery of her smooth, moist, and completely bare labia.
She felt his fingers first. Her head was thrown back against the shelves, letting her body feel, not watching, for once.
Taste me.
She felt his breath against her secret lips, warm, rushing, and then… yes, oh yes, please don’t stop your tongue, yes, oh, oh, yes…
With his fingers he parted her silken labia but his mouth was quick to intrude past the opened gate. He must have opened his mouth wide to enclose her in that way, her outer labia further moistened by the inside of his mouth, her inner lips, her secret depths probed deeply, invasively by his tongue. She felt herself melt against his mouth. Felt her body lower a bit to envelop his face with her sex. Breathing… yes…
His tongue, his tongue found her clitoris, rising, plump, and eager. He flicked against it and she gasped, trying to contain her sounds. She’d make a fool of herself if she didn’t stop but please, yes, lick me don’t stop. He sucked her swollen clitoris into is mouth, drummed his tongue against it twice, firmly, four times, and she heard herself whimper – silence! He pulled away.
“After I make you come for my mouth I’m going to fuck you – right here, as hard as I can. Don’t make a sound.”
To be continued...
posted by Inconsistent Allumeuse at 4:32 PM
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