In the library

I’ve been sitting in my favorite carrel, writing all day. I like it because it’s deep in the stacks on the third floor – where they keep the maps of Mesopotamia and other books no one ever reads. The carrels are three-across under a high window. A box of light crosses the floor and climbs the wall as the day wanes, and on the floors below: shuffling papers, the soft thud of books, the occasional whispered conversation. It’s the best kind of quiet, and I lose myself in words. Footsteps below come and go until a single pair of feet mounts the narrow staircase up to my floor. I ignore them. An unwelcome distraction, but most who venture up here wander around for a few minutes before going down again.

You reach the top of the stairs, looking for a quiet place to read. It’s noticeably warmer up here. Dusty. You’re inclined to turn and head back down where it’s cooler and brighter, but you’ve come all the way up, so you wander the rows of stacks to the back, where there’s a narrow space under a high window. I’m in the corner hunched over my laptop in a short row of carrels. Dark hair and a blue tank top, a sheen of sweat on my tattooed shoulder. I type a short burst on my keyboard and hook my ankles round the legs of my chair. Leather boots laced with purple ribbons, my bare calves flexing as I shift around. You decide to stay. There are two empty seats, but you take the chair right next to me in the carrels. I don’t look up.

Seriously? A whole fucking library and you’re going to sit right next to me. I feel the urge to grab my shit, shove it in my bag and leave. Goddamnit, I was rolling. I hate people. I steal a glance as you shove your bag to the back of the carrel desk and open a book, stretching out your stupid long legs, crossing them and leaning back in your chair like you intend to stay awhile. Despite my irritation I can’t help but notice your body looks strong, and your hands on your book are a shade of honey I tend to find particularly tasty. I don’t mean to, but I wonder about the size of your cock. Your fingers and long, a good sign, I think. My mouth waters. I imagine standing up, taking the book gently from your hand and laying it aside, the surprise on your face as I straddle you, settling myself on your crotch. Would you freak or get hard for me? Would you push me away or slide those lovely hands up my thighs, grab my bare ass under my skirt and pull me closer?  Shit. Now I’m distracted. People should not sit next to me.

You try to focus on your book but you’d swear there’s actual heat coming off me. My skin is glistening; I’ve been up here for a while. Some salty tang in the back of your throat makes you very aware of your tongue in your mouth and you think, ‘Can I smell her?’ You imagine the taste of me, you want to run your mouth from my shoulder to the back of my ear, to bite my neck until my head drops to one side and my eyes close. You're sitting a bit behind me; you have a better view of me than I have of you. But I am looking. You’re sure of it now. I think I’m slick but my eyes keep flickering in your direction. You shift in your chair, invading my space a bit. You watch me freeze, and you smile.

Did you just move closer to me? I squirm in my chair, opening my knees and imagining you can smell my wet pussy. I’m hot, my clit is swelling and my cunt has that empty I-want-to-get-fucked feeling. I consider whether I might run to the bathroom and bring myself off quickly so I can focus again, so I can get back to work, but instead I decide that now’s a good time to plug my laptop in. I have plenty of charge, but that’s hardly the point. I lean over and dig in the backpack next to my chair, extending my leg in your direction, letting my skirt creep up my bare thigh. I retrieve the cord and sit up to unravel it. All the outlets are under the carrels, so I push my chair back and crawl under. I take my time, feeling the air on my moist pussy, very aware that I’m presenting my cunt to a stranger like an alley cat in heat. I accomplish my mission and start to back out from under the carrel when your chair scrapes back—fuck, I’ve scared you off—but then you move over and sit down in my chair, trapping me underneath. You unzip your jeans.

Your cock is rock hard now, and I know exactly what to do with it. I move between your legs and pull it out of your pants, place my hot mouth on you, licking and stroking from base to tip. When you can stand it no more you reach under the desk and grab a handful of my hair, pulling my head back and holding me still. With your other hand, you guide your cock into my mouth, and I begin to suck. You don’t let go, and I let you find a rhythm you like as you force my head up and down and I struggle to take more and more and soon you’re ramming the back of my throat and I’m moaning around your cock like it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. She loves it, you think, and you consider coming down my throat but instead you stop me, catching your breath before you yank me out from under the table.

I'm pulled to my feet by hair, my jaw slack with wanting, my eyes half closed. You were about to come--I could fucking taste it--but now you hold me there in front of you, my head forced back, and look right in my eyes before you plant your mouth over mine, giving me all your tongue and I melt, lost, and ready to give you everything. You let go and turn me around roughly, push me down over my desk as I shove my books and papers aside, spreading my legs and arching my back for you to enter me. In the moment before you take me I listen hard for the sound of someone on the stairs, but hear only the murmur and drone of the studious souls below. I'm desperate for your cock and you know this, but instead you lift my skirt and slip your fingers inside me, making me moan. God, I want it, want all of you inside me and I push my hips back, contracting my cunt around your fingers. You stroke me into a frenzy, and I’m fucking your hand, your cock all but forgotten until you say, ‘Come for me,’ and I do. 

My pussy’s so hot and wet, every muscle rippling inside as you withdraw your fingers. My upper body splays across the desk; I’m breathing hard. You can see everything, my tight asshole, my wet slit. And you’re not finished with me yet. You slip your thumb in my ass and I gasp as you ram your cock inside me, all the way. Then you slowly slide out to the tip until I mewl and beg, ‘Fuck me, please.’ You give me one sweet stroke, hard and fast, and I cry out. A hush falls over the entire building. You lean forward, your mouth in my ear. ‘Shhhhhh,’ you say. And then you thrust inside me, hard and fast, knowing someone will be up the stairs any moment. You grab my hipbones, pounding me until you come, exploding inside me, and I’m right there with you, coming again, and again, my legs trembling.

You leave me there and step back, your belt buckle clanking softly as you zip up. You return to your own chair, and I slide back into mine, running my hand through my hair. Footsteps on the stairs beyond the stacks as I pull my laptop close and pretend to look at it. Semen drips deliciously down my thigh, and you pick up your book, as if to read. Behind us, an old man shuffles by.