by Jones, Tara
Dominated by the Librarian
Male Submission: Surrender to your Desire
by Tara Jones
“Excuse me, but we are closing now,” a voice informed me in a rather bored tone, which tattled of that it wasn’t the first–nor the last–time that she had to show visitors to the door.
“Of course,” I said and replaced the Swedish thriller I had been considering lending on the bookshelf. It was getting close to nine o’clock in the evening and the library was open late only on Thursdays.
I came to the library after work mostly because I wanted to avoid my own empty flat that was decorated with soulless stylish IKEA furniture in white and grey, however for a small library in one of London’s suburbs it had a surprisingly good collection of various digital art magazines that I liked to browse through without having to pay for them.
I worked as a graphic designer at a small, but still rather profitable web agency that had survived during the last up-and-downs in the business and it never hurt to be ahead of the game. My job wasn’t as trendy as it had been perhaps ten years ago of course, but it paid well and I guess I enjoyed it at some level, although with a carefully hidden mild disinterest.
I admit that I wasn’t really looking forward buy groceries and then go home to my empty flat to a new evening consisting of a microwaved ready-made dinner and yet another BBC documentary. There is just so much of Sir David Attenborough or Neil Oliver that a man can digest. Perhaps I should livened up my life a bit and spend a couple of fruitful hours in front of the computer instead? I pondered. Go wild and crazy and watch YouTube videos for the rest of the night, I added sarcastically to myself and stifled a small sigh.
“Excuse me sir, but you put the book back on the wrong shelf,” the woman behind me said in a slightly irritated voice and interrupted my chain of thoughts.
I looked over my shoulder and turned around to face her. She was around twenty-five years old or so, and short. Short enough so that she just reached to my shoulder. She seemed vaguely familiar. I realized that I had seen her at the library before and that she must be one of the librarians. She certainly looked the type, dressed neatly and sensibly, and she was wearing glasses too, of course.
“Oh,” I said and looked down on her. In an exaggeratedly polite tone I added, “I’m truly terribly sorry.”
I didn’t mean it really and I let her know that I thought she was being rather prissy as I retrieved the book from where I had put it.
“Well, I’m happy to hear that, sir,” she said and emphasized the “sir”, so that it was clear that she was in fact everything else than happy about it. “Now put it back where it belongs.”
She pushed up her black glasses which had slid down her little nose and raised her eyebrow at me, waiting for me. She was clearly rather annoyed with me.
I must admit I was starting to get a little bit amused about this little woman and her attitude. She had fiercely red, curly hair pulled back with a girlish hair bow, which made her look like Alice in Wonderland’s eloped cousin. If Alice in Wonderland had a nerdy cousin who liked tweed that is, because of course she was wearing a tweed jacket with the mandatory suede elbow patches, which was matched by a brown checked skirt in the same material and a cream-colored rather frilly blouse. She was however, surprisingly enough, not wearing the pair of broad ugly low-heeled pumps I had predicted, but instead she wore a nice pair of black high heels that actually looked pretty good.
In fact, I realized, I found her rather sexy in a mind-boggling way, although of course she wasn’t my type at all, since I preferred tall and slim brunettes. Not anorexic photo model-skinny, but the slim female type with long legs. The librarian in front of me was quite the opposite, but still I found her oddly attractive. She had an hourglass shaped body and was curvy like a pin-up girl from a 1950ies calendar, with well-rounded breasts and nicely shaped ankles under her the boring knee-length tweed skirt.
She was also, however, getting more and more irritated because I hadn’t put the book back on its right place, and that only made her cuter.
“Do you mind hurrying up a bit? I don’t have the entire night, you know,” she said. To emphasize her comment, she deliberately turned her wrist to look at her small golden watch.
I looked around. The library was more and less closed. The lights had been switched off at the end of the room without that I had noticed it, and the last of the visitors were just leaving. The automatic doors closed behind them, which meant that it was only the pretty little librarian and I left in the building.
“Well,” I said teasingly and smiled down at her. “I have the entire night, if you know what I mean...”
I usually don’t try to seduce tweed-dressed librarians, but she was without doubt quite appealing with her red hair, tweed jacket, high heels and all.
It had been roughly three weeks since I had woken up in a dingy flat somewhere in Soho entangled with a sleeping and naked art student who didn’t look a day older than twenty after getting more than a little tipsy during an opening evening at a gallery.
The web agency where I worked had been responsible for creating the website for the event, so naturally we had been invited to the opening evening together with a throng of other hipsters and trendy people, and one thing had led to the other. Seducing art students was really all too easy; all you had to do was pretend to be interested in their art and not fall asleep when they discussed their inner meaning of their art.
I had left the flat quietly, not even bothering leaving my phone number behind or to say hello to her flatmate, who had given me an icy and disapproving look on my way out.
And it had been more than two month since Christine broke up with me. Christine had been my latest girlfriend, but it had turned out that she had had a rather strict opinion about how much flirting a man could get away with and still call himself faithful. Not that I had been unfaithful, at least not in my opinion, although I guess it didn’t look too pretty when she had found out that I had had a short fling with Josephine, one of the new trainees at work. However, she had refused to listen to my explanations and now I was single again.
Not that I cared much, I concluded. I was free to do whatever I wanted now, and that included trying to seduce the red-head librarian in front of me just for fun.
“What do you say, darling?” I asked and smiled my most charming smile.
I knew that a lot of women found me attractive. I was in good shape for being thirty-two years old, which was mostly a result of good genes and possibly that I worked out at least occasionally, and not my lousy diet or hectic life style. And it wasn’t really a disadvantaged of having large brown eyes for women to drown in. The rest: Designer branded clothes and expensive hair cuts came with the job, more or less. You couldn’t work at a web agency in inner London without being a little bit vain.
Still, I knew that I was fairly good-looking, and that when I wanted to I could be quite charismatic in a way that most women seemed to fall for.
This time, however, it seemed not quite to work as well as it should.
“I say ‘get hell out of my library’!’” she growled. Not really the response that I had hoped for, but God damn, she was even cuter now when she was getting cross! Like a small hissing cat.
“And if I refuse?” I raised an eyebrow and smiled my best crooked smile, teasing her. It was impossible to resist playing with her a little. “What are you going to do then?”
“Please, sir. This is not funny anymore,” she said. “I must ask you to leave immediately, or I will...�
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“Do what?” I interrupted and leaned against the bookshelf so that I was blocking her way. I gently touched her red curls. “I like your hair, by the way, it’s...”
But I never had the opportunity to finish the sentence, because before I had time to react, two times happened so fast it felt like they occurred at the same time.
The first thing that happened was that her arm shot up, and with a surprising efficiency, she twisted my wrist hard to one side. The instant pain made me drop the book I had been holding and I uttered something that I wouldn’t like to describe an unmanly whelp exactly, but something very close to it.
The second thing that happened (or if it happened at the same time; as I said I’m not entirely sure), was that when I tried to turn my body away to escape the painful pressure at my wrist, she swept her foot easily in under my knee, catching me perfectly out of balance.
I went down hard on the floor, and before I had time to figure out what had happened or what to do, she had twisted by arm behind my back and straddled me, placing a sharp knee at my lower back.
“What the hell!” I managed to say, my face firmly pressed to the carpet. With my newfound close-up of the worn moss green carpet, I couldn’t fail to notice that the cleaning of the government-funded libraries in England was somewhat amiss.
“Do you think women like to be treated that way?” she hissed in my ear and increased the pressure on my twisted arm when I didn’t reply fast enough. “Well, do you?”
“No! Listen, little lady, you’ve made your point! I’m sorry, okay?”
“Oh, are you then?” she snarled. “You know, I think you are just the kind of man who take advantage of women and treat them like rubbish. Am I right?”
“What...? No! I’m not like that! Look, I’m sorry, there must have been a misunderstanding! I thought...”
“Thought what, exactly? That I would like a man leering at me and giving me sleazy compliments?”
Leering? I didn’t leer! And sleazy? Now that was just rude! I was being charming, for God’s sake!
But another twist of my shoulder promptly brought me back to reality, as pain raced along my arm.
“No! Okay, okay. I said I’m sorry! Please let me go!” I wished that that last sentence had sounded a little bit more resolute and not so much like begging as it sounded in my ears.
“And if I refused? What are you going to do then? Hm?” she said, repeating my own unfortunate comment, but thankfully she didn’t increase the grip on my shoulder.
And then everything went a little bit crazy.
“What if I won’t let you go?” she whispered, and to my complete shock, I felt her hand touching me. Her fingers glided slowly along the outside of my lower thigh. I’ve no idea why, but it instantly turned me on.
“Miss? Eh, Miss...” I started to say, my mouth going dry.
“What? Don’t you like it?” she said softly, her voice full of mock pitying. I felt her rounded breasts brushing against my back when she leaned forward to whisper in my ear. Her hand continued to stroke my thigh up and down, teasingly. I was suddenly incredibly grateful over that I was laying down flat on my stomach, because certain parts of me were more than enjoying the sensation. In fact, I felt myself grow instantly hard as her fingers slowly started to stroke the inside of my thigh.
“I...Eh, that is... I think...” I started to say, but words failed me. All I could do was concentrating on not pressing my hips towards the floor or spread my legs for her to easier reach down between my legs.
All of a sudden, all of my senses sprang to life. I could feel her touch, but also the soft flesh of her curvy leg against my side, and I smelled her perfume and her hair as she bent closer. My heartbeat increased and all I could think of was her touching, but I refused to let her know how much it affected me.
She already thought I was some kind of creep and there really wasn’t any reason to let her confirm her suspicions because by God, I was getting incredibly and unexpectedly turned on. And it wasn’t only perhaps a result of that she was touching me rather naughty way; it was also because she was pinning me down on the floor, I realized vaguely, but I instantly rejected the thought to the back of my mind.
“Are you getting turned on?” she whispered in my ear, while her fingertips were slowly getting dangerously close to my most intimate area.
I swallowed hard and licked my lips. “No,” I denied. “Of course not.”
“Really?” she asked in a teasing voice and her fingertips gradually climbed higher, reaching just the edge of my tight balls.
“No, I-I-I... That is to say,” I managed to say before my mind went blank as she cupped her hand around my balls and reached down to gently surround the base of my erection.
“I think you are lying,” she whispered and added, “It doesn’t feel like that at all.”
I felt her shift her weight and press her hips against me. She still held me down, pinned to the floor, and when I struggled to get free, she only laughed softly and increased the pressure on my shoulder until I lay perfectly still. She didn’t twist my arm so much that it hurt, but it was enough to make sure that I didn’t move unless she allowed it.
“Good,” she whispered. Her fingers spread around my erection and surrounded me, and she lazily stroked me up and down slowly. “It’s not for you to decide what happens next, is it?”
“No,” I agreed breathlessly and tried to moan with pleasure.
I would tell her anything as long as she continued, I realized. I licked my lips and experimentally arched my back the slightest against her moving hips. No renewed pressure on my manhandled shoulder told me that I was allowed this kind of movement. In fact, I felt her press herself a little bit more firmly against me.
The whole incident was so utterly unreal. I had never been the kind of guy who likes stronger women or who was turned on by leather-clad vixens holding whips. Well, all right, toned girls wearing tight fitting leather outfits, sure. But hey, what kind of guy doesn’t get turned on by that? But whips and handcuffs and stuff like that weren’t really my thing.
Except, now apparently, as I was being held down against my will by a red-head girl who reached my shoulder and who had showed me that this time, she was unquestionably and without any doubt in charge.
And it turned me on. Severely.
My breathing became more and more irregular as she pressed herself against me and continued to stroke, touch, and tease me. If she continued doing that, I knew I would come, probably ruining both my trousers and the carpet. But at that moment I couldn’t care less. I had never been so turned on, not since that summer when I was seventeen and had my first girlfriend, although admittedly I had never felt so exposed either.
The whole situation was absurd, but that didn’t damper my libido or my erection, which by now was fully hard.
“I want to ride you,” she whispered and all I could do was moan eagerly in reply. I think I would let her do almost anything to me at that point. “If I let you go, do you promise to do exactly as you are told?”
“Yes! Anything,” I instantly agreed.
“If not, I’ll have to call the police and report you,” she threatened playfully. Or at least I hoped it was meant as a joke.
“I will do anything, I promise”, I assured her a little breathlessly.
I thought she would release me, however she only allowed me to move over to my back and then she swiftly grabbed my wrists behind my back. As she straddled me, she pressed my wrists slightly upwards against my shoulder blades so that I couldn’t pull free. I moaned softly as I felt her thighs brushing against my erection and I licked my lips involuntarily. Although this new position didn’t really hurt, it was still a little uncomfortable and it left me feeling vulnerable and exposed, but she quieted me with a kiss.
It wasn’t a gentle or soft kiss that I would had expected from someone who I never had had sex with before. It was demanding and full kiss. Desperately I answered her, kissing her back deeply as much as she would allow m
e, pressing my pelvic against her so that she could feel how hard and ready I was.
“You will do as you are told,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question. “Keep your hands behind your back all the time.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I was being rather distracted by the sensation of her straddling me. Her tweed skirt had been hitched up and I could see the edge of a pair of white cotton knickers. Even the sight of them turned me on more. There was something so entirely wrong about the whole thing and I didn’t know what to think.
Luckily, my lower region had its own agenda and I could tell that she could feel me through the thin layers of clothes that separated us. She tore off the clothes on my upper body and pulled down my trousers and boxers to my knees, while I tried to lay as still as possible as she had told me to. Then she removed her knickers, unbuttoned a few the buttons on her blouse and pulled down her bra. She was still wearing her skirt, but took off her tweed jacket and let her curly red hair down. It fell around her shoulders, wild and unkempt.
“Kiss them,” she said and with a firm grip with one of her hands around my wrists, she grabbed me around my neck with her other hand and guided my head towards her breasts.
The soft fabric from her blouse brushed my face and greedily I licked the pink nipple that was offered to me. I licked and sucked it and felt it grow small and hard, and I heard her sigh with pleasure which made me even more exited.
Her breasts were soft and round, and they were large enough that they didn’t fit entirely in my hands. She pressed herself against my full erection, clearly enjoying herself as she moved against me rhythmically without actually letting me enter her. I very soon moaned with her as I turned more and more desperate. It was no longer a question of that I wanted her–I needed her!
I could feel her getting more and more excited too as I continued kissing her breasts, and I felt that she was getting moist and ready against my naked erection. I had to fight to keep my hands behind my back as she had told me.
She still held my wrists with one hand, but I think that it was more a sign of her control over me than an efficient grip. In fact, I was quite sure that I could probably get loose if I wanted to, however I had the dreadful feeling that if I didn’t obey her, she would simply stop, so I clenched my jaw as she continued with her lustful form of torture. She was clearly enjoying herself, letting me kiss her breasts while she rubbed herself against my hard erection. I growled softly, which made her laugh. My nails dug into the flesh on my wrists, leaving small half-moon marks that I only discovered later.
