back in the stacks
I was new in this town, and had been coming to their library to unwind after work, researching the geography and history of the strange city I would be calling home.
I've always found a certain mild mixture of euphoria and calm among the clean, paper-and-ink smells and blissful quiet of libraries. But I was soon checking out something that had precious little to do with books, or quiet, in the back aisle marked "Landmarks".
She was a tall brunette, lustrous hair pulled back into a ponytail that reached the arched part of her long lower back. She had big round, brown eyes behind black frame glasses that kept slipping down the bridge of an aquiline nose. High cheekbones. Alabaster skin that seemed to glow when it flushed red.
A pleated cream skirt showed off her high bareback-rider ass; pert, tiny cantaloupe tits bobbed beneath a thin black necktie and frilled white blouse, which had become partly untucked from her hard work reaching to replace book-returns on the tall shelves.
There’d been an exchange between us earlier, where my Japanese sandals made too much noise for her taste, slapping at the marble tiles between the book stacks in the back room where all the obscure titles were organized.
“Thwack, thwack!” went the thongs, as our paths crossed at the “Geography” section.
She’d put a slim forefinger to her luscious red lips, parted in a half sneer of thinly veiled lust, checking me out even as she dissed me.
Her other hand rested on her super-model hip cocked at a jaunty angle, one long white-stockinged leg crossed over the other, her cute pumps folded in a lamppost stance. She looked good like that. Real good. Too good.
“Shhhhhhh”, she’d said. “If you have to take them off to be quieter, sir please do so.”
Her voice was girlish and demure, with a slight aristocratic east coast accent-- Hamptons, or maybe upper-crust Pennsylvania.
I had basically let her little comments slide, but now I continued to shadow her from a not-so-discreet distance, as she hurried on with her rounds, in and out, back and forth from the various aisles, slender arms laden with books.
I watched, as she watched me watching. I watched as she got more and more flustered, more turned on by the second.
She was on a rubberized mini-ladder stretching with both arms up to the topmost stack, no more than ten feet from me. The tight coconut mounds of her incredible ass stuck out like a stripper bending back from a stage firepole.
One look at this, and I had to catch my breath and close my eyes for a second. When I opened them, I could see the ladder jiggle as she raised up on tiptoes to get at a tough shelf spot; and she lost her balance then, tilting quickly toward the floor with a small strangled cry.
I was quick to act, and caught her in my arms with a move like Dennis Rodman scrambling to grab an elusive rebound. She gasped, clung to my back and wrapped her long legs around mine.
Her glasses had come off, and startled, foggy doe-eyes darted back and forth, playing up the helplessness angle for all it was worth. I decided to switch tacks, go all fatherly and gentle on her, see where that took us.
I nuzzled her neck whispering "Shhhhh, you'll be alright baby. Easy now." The nametag on her lapel said "Sarah."
Then it was my turn to be startled-- at how things progressed from there.
It turned out her glasses had slid across two aisles, and could not be found with a cursory search. I could also tell she was nearly blind without them. This was rapidly accelerating her fear-arousal further, beyond her capacity to control.
I fed on this, too, getting more aggressive, quickly abandoning the kind fatherly thing. I grabbed her whole hot wet box beneath the skirt like a firehose nozzle, twisted and squeezed. She gasped, squealed, and started to breathe steady and hard in my ear.
“Gonna shhhh me now baby? Am I making too much noise still?“ I grabbed her ponytail and pulled, hard, heard her cry out in pain, pleasure and fear. She swallowed hard, and said nothing. I could feel her heart pounding through the thin white shirt.
She clung to my neck, her breath coming in little stutter-start puffs, hot and insistent like a steam train chugging. The area around her breastbone was flushing bright pink.
My cock responded by pushing hard against the inseam of my office slacks, and she ground her soft squirming hips against mine, the skirt rising higher and higher, like a cummerbund around her slim waist.
I looked down at her bright blue panties twisted in a dripping tangle around her trim. “Please,“ she cried, “Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t--“
‘Please don’t’ meant ‘please do’ in my book, and I was about to oblige. But I wasn’t going to hurt her. Far, far from that. I was going to make her feel good, real good, and maybe in the meantime announce to every bookworm in the vicinity just how good.
Instinctively, I covered her mouth with mine, kissing her deeply to cover her increasingly insistent moans. My hands reached down to pinch and caress her ass cheeks.
In this way she no longer needed to hold onto my neck, and her clutching hands fumbled frantically with my belt, trouser snap and zipper.
Within seconds she had my throbbing stick out, and expertly guided it straight past the pushed-aside panties and into her hot twitching cunt clamping down so tight I groaned and cupped Sarah's ass with a two-fisted white-knuckle grip, backing her into a bookshelf, fucking her as hard as I knew how.
"This how you like it?," I gasped in her ear. "Feels good now huh?"
Her mouth clamped on the back of my neck, nearly shattering my eardrum with her shrieks that came out like a car alarm as I thrusted harder, ever harder and quicker. "Fuck me!" she moaned. "Fuck me bastard Ohhhhhhhh, FUUUCCCKKKKK...."
I could tell she was truly getting off on the anonymity of the situation, had been from the very start-- the fake coyness, the distinct possibility of being seen now by patrons and co-workers, maybe even caught by her boss. It was all part of the tweak, part of the kink. Mine as well as her's.
Her eyes were shut now, and she bit her lip until it bled. I got her ass onto an opening on one of the bottom bookshelves, bearing down now at a better angle, grabbing handfuls of blouse around her shoulders spasmodically as it quickly ripped down to join the skirt tangle on her tummy.
She was braless beneath the work shirt, and my mouth immediately went to those beautiful tit buds that were like dew-soaked strawberries. I sucked the nipples to their full half-inch length, as I bucked into her writhing box like a maniac, her tight-clamped bouncing snatch matching my pace thrust for thrust.
We were close now, both oblivious to the rumble and shake of the stacks-- books beginning to rain down on us as Sarah dug her nails into my back and spent her umpteenth climax in a squealing, clinging frenzy.
I groaned as the whole bookshelf began to come down, and I shoved Sara back into it to break both our falls-- as I came, blasting my nuts back into her shuddering pussy as the shelves crashed and we rolled on the floor, covering our heads against the last of the books flapping down like shore birds in the sun.
Well, I live in another city now, but my baby-doll Sarah is still with me.
Our sex life is still great, but we try to be a little more discreet when we spice it up with some public sport fucking-- not wanting to make quite such a splash as in our first meeting there, "back in the stacks.”
