The Sexy Librarian: A Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  After a few more moments of catching her breath, Esme popped up from the bed, turned around and leapt forward at me, squealing with delight and tackling me backwards onto the bed. I couldn’t help but laugh as well, the plug dropping from my hand and quickly rolling off the bed, hitting the wood floor below with a thud. Esme didn’t care. She was too busy play wrestling on top of me, pushing my arms down, and showering my face with kisses.

  If I could live in that scene forever I most certainly would.

  *

  Waking up the next morning, I saw Esme across the bedroom, standing in front of a full-length mirror, deftly putting in an earring. She was already dressed in a conservative manner, pencil skirt and blouse, her hair up in a bun, her face made up with a rosy blush. I propped my head up in my hand, watching her intently, the blanket sliding down off my chest and exposing my small breasts. My hair messily hung down in light tangles.

  “Oh, hey there,” Esme said with a knowing smile. She pointedly walked over toward the bed, her heels clacking against the wood floor as she walked. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said, leaning down and kissing me on the forehead.

  “Sorry I slept in,” I said. “I was totally knocked out after last night.”

  “No worries, babe,” said Esme, sitting down now on the bed. Her hand draped over my blanket-covered hips, gently rubbing back and forth. “I had to get ready for work.” She looked down at the slim and feminine watch on her thin wrist. “In fact, I’ve got to get moving in just a few.”

  “Should I just get dressed and leave with you?” I asked innocently.

  “Oh no,” said Esme, still petting me. “Just stay here as long as you like. There’s coffee in a French press on the counter. All the doors auto lock, so you can leave whenever you like and not worry about keys.”

  “All right,” I said with a smile. “That sounds good.”

  “Splendid,” said Esme. She leaned in and pressed her lips against mine, the two of us colliding in a sweet and tender kiss, Esme’s hand planted firmly on my hip. After a moment of this kiss, she pulled away and giggled softly. “Lipstick,” she said, reaching her hand up and wiping a bit of her red lipstick off my lips.

  “Thank you,” I demurred.

  “All right,” she said, standing up from the bed. “Make yourself at home. Text me if you have any questions.”

  “When will I see you again?” I asked.

  “Whenever you like,” said Esme with a sly grin. With that, she turned from me and walked toward the door, her ass bouncing up and down with each measured step. I watched Esme as she left, longing to feel her kiss once more. The sun shone in through the opaque curtain over her bedroom window, belying the winter temperatures I knew existed outside the confines of this warm bed. I snuggled back into the sheets, my legs kicking, content and fulfilled as I considered this new tryst with my beautiful librarian.

  *

  I hung around Esme’s kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee, wearing nothing but a loose pair of heather grey short shorts that I had found in one of Esme’s dresser drawers. The waistband was a little relaxed on me, so I had folded it over a couple times. It made me feel aroused to be parading around half-naked in Esme’s apartment, my tiny chest exposed, nipples hardened from the cool breeze of being nude, my pussy moistening just slightly at the thought of my fleshy bits touching the thin fabric of Esme’s little shorts. Maybe it’s silly to be aroused from this kind of stuff, but I couldn’t help it. I was most definitely infatuated with her.

  Hoisting my mug up from the kitchen island, I sauntered around Esme’s small condo. Small but quaint. Certainly comfortable and lived in. And that bookshelf. I was totally in love with that bookshelf. This condo was exactly the kind of place I envisioned myself having if I, you know, had any money at all or a stable job that paid well. But there was no use comparing myself to Esme. I was 24, she was 37 and had been doing this life thing for a lot longer than I had. She was probably just as lost as I was at 24.

  Wandering into the bathroom to catch a look at myself in the vanity mirror, I set my mug down on the sink and pursed my lips. I fluffed out my hair and modeled slightly, my top half nude, my breasts hanging effortlessly and light. I had small nipples and I loved that about my chest, even though I sometimes felt a bit self-conscious about my size. Esme, on the other hand, had large breasts and large nipples and I loved those too. The thing about breasts is that all of them are great. I mean, they’re only as great as the woman to which they’re attached. And Esme… she was dreamy.

  I looked down at the sink and spotted Esme’s butt plug, freshly washed and glimmering silver there in the light. The green jewel was shiny and translucent, a color that complemented her red hair and pale skin perfectly. I recalled our evening together, our lusty sex, as I picked up the toy and inspected it. I had never held a plug before. It was heavier than I had imagined and the steel end of it had a lot more girth than I would have thought. I mean, I’d seen pictures on the internet of girls wearing these things but I had never come across one in real life. Maybe I was just too much of a prude. Maybe I was just a little frightened by it.

  But Esme had seemed to love it. The way she writhed there on the bed as I tugged on the plug. The idea that Esme had been wearing the plug the whole time we sat together on the couch, drank wine, talked about ourselves. That really turned me on. I’m not a dummy, though. I knew that if she was already wearing that plug before we had gotten to the bedroom, she was indeed directing the conversation and the actions of that night to lead to sex. Was it predatory? Possibly. But I didn’t care. In fact, it made me feel good to be sexually lead. It made me feel wanted. It made me feel beautiful.

  I rolled the plug around in my palm and gave it some thought.

  Opening up the vanity mirror, I looked around in Esme’s beauty products. There were lotions and creams in the vanity, some aspirin and other medications, a small glass filled with bobby pins and elastic hair ties. And then there was a thin bottle of lube. It was a little hidden in the cabinet but easily spottable for somebody looking. I took the bottle out and looked at the lube in one hand, the plug in the other. I mean, I could just try it and see.

  *

  I climbed up onto Esme’s bed, the morning sun still hazily shining in through the window, tossing the lube and the plug down onto the sheets. On my hands and knees, perched on the bed, I brought a hand back to my rear and shifted the grey shorts down over my butt, exposing my bareness underneath. I slid the the shorts down further still, letting them settle about midway down my thighs. Looking over toward the toy, I sighed deeply and tried to work up my courage. I felt weird, but excited.

  Taking hold of the lube, I popped the top open with one hand and squirted a glob of it into my palm. I let the bottle fall down to the bed and then reached under myself with my wet hand, massaging the lubricant into my pussy and back into my ass crack. I really hadn’t explored myself too far back there, but I was eager to try, so I gingerly rubbed some of the lube against my dot, feeling the soft, fleshy crinkles and the feathery sporadic fur that grew back there. As I touched myself, fondling, feeling nice and tingly, my mind thought of Esme. I pictured her watching me, guiding me, teaching me. I made me feel all the more aroused.

  Next I reached for the plug with my lubed up hand, grabbing onto the toy and making sure it was nice and slippery. Once I was content with my job in coating the metal bulb, I held the toy by the jewel and guided it around my backside, positioning the pointed tip at my ass. Deep breath, Amelia, deep breath. Moving it closer, I felt the coldness of the steel end touch my hole and I squirmed. The newness of this experience, though, the excitement of it all, gave me a warm sensation of anticipation throughout my middle.

  I applied pressure now, feeling the toy coax my hole to widen, trying to relax and focus on my breathing as I pressed the plug by the jewel end against my asshole. It was an interesting feeling, an opening and an acceptance. With the aid of the oily lubricant, the stainless steel bulb pried me wide, my hole widening mo
re so as I exhaled fully. I groaned with determination, with fervor, with the thought of Esme lingering in my mind and the idea that she would be aroused by what I was doing in her bed.

  “Oh fuck,” I cooed, squinting my eyes, feeling the toy enter me. I felt totally stretched by the plug as its widest part slowly slid into my dilated hole. I moaned and a single stringy dribble of saliva dropped from my lip. My mind went blank, like it was filled with prickly static, and then, quite suddenly, I felt filled up. My rear had sucked the toy inside, my hole tightening around the stem of the plug, the jewel head pressed up against my skin. I tenderly rubbed the head of the jewel, which gave me a highly arousing sensation and I sighed happily.

  I sat up on my knees, still gently rubbing my backside. I could feel the jewel between my cheeks and it was spectacular, like a juicy secret that you couldn’t tell anyone. Focusing on my breathing still, I felt my pussy moisten and ooze. The feeling of having my ass full, the pressure and firmness of the toy inside of me, was causing my pussy to become tender and aroused without any physical or mental stimulation on my part. I could see why Esme liked this thing.

  Leaping up from the bed, the grey shorts sliding down my legs and coming off of my feet, I stumbled out of the bedroom and into the living room, now completely naked apart from the green jeweled plug decorating my ass. Reaching the the coffee table in Esme’s living room, I picked up my phone and unlocked it. I positioned one foot up on the couch and guided the phone to my underside, moving it slightly back and trying for a good angle. Once was I was content with my position, I snapped a photo with my phone and quickly brought it upwards to look at it. There it was: my shimmering pussy, slimed with lubricant and its own juices, and the green jewel hovering between my cheeks. I beamed happily.

  Navigating through the screens on my phone, I reached the text message conversation Esme and I had started the day prior when we were making our date. I appended the image of my plugged ass to the text message and proudly hit send, feeling stimulated by the idea of sexting my new lover.

  Normally, I wouldn’t text message a lover a picture of my pussy and ass. I mean, that’s not really how I operate. But there was something about Esme that made me feel more open, more free, more risky. She was exciting and sexy and it made me feel exciting and sexy as well.

  After a moment, my phone buzzed and I looked down into the text window.

  “Holy shit,” Esme typed. “I should have called in sick today.”

  “Mine now,” I wrote back. “It’s coming with me.”

  “I’m going to use this picture to flick myself at work today,” Esme typed. “It’s hard not to touch myself right now on the train.”

  “I’ll send more later if you’re lucky,” I typed, then locking my phone and dropping it back down to the coffee table, wildly running back toward the bedroom.

  *

  Stepping out of Esme’s bedroom, now fully dressed in the tights and sweater I had worn over the previous evening, I shifted a bit as I walked, feeling the plug deep inside me. I couldn’t believe how intoxicated I felt still, my mind buzzing, my pussy sopping. It was exciting and I loved knowing I had this secret penetrating me.

  Before I made my way back home, I took another look at Esme’s amazing bookshelf. It was majestic. The ornate vintage wood housing all those books, her own personal library of literature. I looked through it once more, trying to find that Marie Beauchamp first edition so I could see it again before I took my leave. As I sorted through her books, I could tell that Esme had them arranged by genre and author, the librarian in her unable to be left at work, so with this knowledge I was quickly able to find her section with Beauchamp’s books. I saw some of the editions more familiar to me, along with the binding of that wonderful first edition that Esme had shown me last night, but then I noticed something kind of strange. I tilted my head slightly to take a closer look at the books.

  Lodged between two Beauchamp books in Esme’s collection was a stack of paper, folded in half. I took hold of the paper’s edge and pulled the stack from its home on the shelf. Curiosity was brimming up inside of me as I unfolded the stack of paper, looking impatiently down to determine what it was I held in my hand.

  I nearly gasped in surprise.

  This folded stack of papers was a copy of Beauchamp’s novella, the same novella I had read yesterday at the library, the same novella that was never supposed to leave the library walls. Here it was, secreted away in Esme’s own personal collection.

  I felt torn. I mean, this was against Marie Beauchamp’s wishes and certainly against library policy. If Esme’s bosses found out that she had made a copy of the novella and taken it home, she would surely lose her position. Why had she taken such risk? She had put her career on the line to have this work of literature for herself. Although I was certainly astonished by this turn of events, I had to be honest with myself. I would have done the very same thing. While reading the novella, didn’t I try to brainstorm ways of sneaking a copy out of the library? Any fan of this author would feel the same, surely, Esme being no different. It made me think no less of her, rather, it made me feel even closer to her that she would do the same thing as me.

  Holding the copy of Beauchamp’s novella in my hands, I weighed my options. I would see Esme again soon, I reasoned. I could just pilfer it for a short while, read it over a handful of times until I was satisfied, and then return it without her knowing. Esme would definitely understand. She was like me.

  Tightening my winter coat around me, the folded copy of the novella stuffed into my bag, the plug inside me and filling me up, I quietly turned the doorknob of Esme’s front door and began my walk back home.

  *

  Later on that evening, after a day of up and down arousal from the plug in my ass, I couldn’t help myself and I needed release. Wearing only a t-shirt and my panties, I vigorously massaged my pussy through the fabric of my panties, moisture seeping through the thin material and sliming my fingertips. I was sitting up in my own bed, the copy of Beauchamp’s novella off to the side, as I’d already read it three times, and I furiously fondled myself, eager to feel a quick orgasmic release so that I could read the novella once more.

  I had worked myself into a furor, two fingers tightly pressed together on top of my wet clit yet through my panties, while I slithered my other hand inside one leg hole to reach around my backside and tug at the plug. I lifted my hips up off my bed as I diddled and tugged, in an amazing erotic zone, loving every moment of this lusty self-pleasure. It was almost too much to bear. I fingered and pulled, fingered and pulled, the stretch of fabric at the bottom of my panties becoming soaked with my dripping nectar.

  “Oof!” I called out, toppling over to the side as I journeyed through a blissful orgasm. I held tightly to my pussy through my panties, while my other hand remained inside of them at the back, holding the jeweled end of the plug. I couldn’t yet bare to pull it out. I was enjoying too much having it inside of me.

  As I lay there in my bed, chasing after my mounted breath, I smiled to myself as my chest bounced up and down. Slowly, I removed my fingers from my panties, wiping all the moist stickiness onto my sheets, and sighed contentedly. My room was silent apart from my breathing, a hint of moonlight shining in from outside.

  Then I heard my phone buzz on my nightstand.

  Reaching over, I picked up my phone and looked into the caller ID. It was Esme calling. I glowed happily, wondering if maybe she was calling to make a date or talk sexy with me or just, you know, talk. It had been a while since I’d been in a relationship and even though what Esme and I had was just taking off, still new, it was stimulating and fresh and I wanted as much contact with her as I could possibly muster.

  “Hello?” I said unassumingly into the phone as I answered Esme’s call.

  “Amelia,” she said, sounding distraught. The high I had just felt from my orgasm suddenly plummeted. “It’s Esme.”

  “Is something wrong?” I mourned. “You don’t sound so good.” My heart wa
s still racing from my session, but I was slowly coming back down to Earth, feeling the levity in Esme’s voice.

  “Majorly,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just needed someone to talk to.”

  “I can talk,” I said, straightening up in my bed, leaning back against the pillows. I switched my phone to my other hand and pressed it against my ear. “Can I help at all?”

  “You know the Marie Beauchamp novella?” she said. “Of course you do. Someone made a copy of it at the library and the head librarian knows.”

  When Esme said this, I was a bit confused. Of course I knew that someone had made a copy. That someone was Esme and that copy was sitting next to me on my bed. But I decided to play along and see where she was going.

  “How do they know?” I asked. “Security cameras or something?”

  “No,” said Esme. “They audited the copy machine. Apparently the copier keeps all copies made on it in some database and the IT people have something that searches for restricted material.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I had no idea that was possible. So do they know who did it?”

  “Oh,” whined Esme. I could tell she was having a difficult time getting it out. “Promise not to hate me?”

  “I promise,” I said, a smile budding on my face. “I like you.” I could feel Esme soften over the phone.

  “I like you, too,” she said with a hint of happiness. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “They think it’s me.”

  “Why?” I asked, still prying.

  “It was my user code used to make the copy,” she said in defeat. “So stupid.”

  “So, someone could have stolen your number or something,” I went on. “It could have been someone else.”

  “Amelia,” said Esme, her tone guilty. “It was me.”

  “Oh,” I said, still playing dumb.