by Tara Jones
“Kiss them,” she said. Firmly she grabbed my neck with her other hand and guided my lips towards her breasts.
The soft fabric from her blouse brushed my face, and I greedily licked the pink nipple that she offered to me. I licked and sucked it, feeling it grow hard under my tongue. I heard her sigh with pleasure, which excited me even more.
Her breasts were soft, round, and large enough that they wouldn’t fit entirely in my hands. She pressed against my full erection, clearly enjoying herself as she moved against me rhythmically without actually letting me enter her. I moaned with her as I grew more and more desperate. It was no longer a question of wanting her–I needed her!
I could feel her getting more and more excited too. I continued kissing and licking her breasts, and I felt she was getting moist and ready against my naked erection. I had to fight to keep my hands above my head as she had told me to, and not reach for her. 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 up 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.
When I was on the edge of losing my control completely, I finally felt the wonderful sensation of her fingers surrounding my hard erection. I gasped, and then a small moan of anticipation escaped my lips.
“You’ve behaved very well,” she whispered and then firmly guided me inside at last.
She pressed her hips against me, arched her back, and leaned back before she ruthlessly rode me with a determination that took my breath away. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who had been turned on by our rather strange foreplay, and it turned me on even more watching her become almost feral with lust.
She rode me faster and faster, clearly not caring about me anymore as she focused only on her own pleasure.
She still held my wrists with one hand and with the other hand she tightly gripped my hips, forcing me to follow the pace she set. She was enjoying herself so much I could hardly hold back. All I could do was trying to keep up with her.
I pushed back at her, meeting her movements with thrusts of my own until she came with a scream of pleasure, clawing at my back and biting down my shoulder. I felt her squeeze herself around me, a sensation that immediately pushed my desire over the edge. With a hoarse cry, I felt myself come deep inside of her.
The world around me seemed to waver a couple of times, as I lay naked on the green carpet in the library, breathing hard and staring at nothing while the last of the release left me.
“Well,” she said after a while, clearly recovering much faster than I was. She licked her lips while running her hands through her long hair, shaking it down her shoulders. “That was nice.”
I stared at her in disbelief, not sure if I was suppose to laugh or cry.
Nice? Was she joking?
Either there had just been a minor earthquake or I had just experienced the best sex of my life. She looked down at my surprised face with a small, self-satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Yeah,” I said at last, somewhat lamely. “It was.”
“Now are you going to borrow that book or put it back where it belongs?” she asked while putting her knickers back on and pulling her checked tweed skirt down.
Before I had time even to find my trousers, she had adjusted her clothes and looked more or less like nothing had happened, except her hair was a little mussed and a small blush still covered her cheeks.
I, on the other hand, was sweaty, sticky, and covered in claw and bite marks. I looked like I had been in a fight with a puma and came out second best.
Which perhaps isn’t that far from the truth, I pondered as I tried to make myself reasonably presentable again.
I’m definitely not stopping to buy groceries on the way home, I decided. Everyone would laugh at me, because it was quite impossible for me to look even remotely decent.
I tenderly touched the side of my neck. Ah, more claw marks.
Lovely. Well at least the office gossip for this week is clearly secured, I thought darkly.
“Ah, borrow... I think,” I replied at last, because I no longer had any idea where I had gotten the book from.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could remember which day it was. I had read about “mind-blowing sex” before, but this was ridiculous. Shaking my head, I tried to gather my thoughts as I collected my clothes that had been scattered all over the floor. I hastily got dressed, found my wallet, and gave her my old library card.
This must be one of the most bizarre experiences ever in my entire life, I thought as I handed her my card. She quickly scanned the book and gave my card back.
“Thank you...” she gave the library card a quick glance, “...Peter Thompson. Now remember you can borrow this book for three weeks.”
“Okay,” I said, still a little bit dazed.
She gave me professional smile.
“If you’re late with returning the book to the library, there will be a fee and...” her smile deepened and revealed two rather adorable dimples. She raised one eyebrow in a slightly suggestive way. “…Other consequences.”
I couldn’t help smiling back.
“I... understand,” I said slowly.
Our fingers touched briefly as I took the book from her hand. I walked home with an aching shoulder, my newly borrowed book, and several claw and bite marks richer. I found myself wondering what would happen if I returned the book after it was due to be returned.
The thought was strangely exciting.
***
* * *
* * *
Dominated by the Librarian
(Male Submission)
Part #2: Surrender to Please Her
by Tara Jones
A couple of weeks went by.
Some days I was convinced that the whole incident at the local library that late Thursday evening had been a result of my overactive sexual imagination, in combination with too much stress at work.
Other days I just plainly denied that it had ever happened.
Because, I mean really.
My mind still had a hard time accepting that my charming seduction attempt had ended with me being pinned down on the floor by a short and curvy, red-headed librarian, who reminded me vaguely of a fierce Marilyn Monroe with slightly violent tendencies and a horrible fashion sense from the middle of the last century. And I most certainly couldn’t believe that after that she had teasingly started touching me, while whispering all kinds of naughty things in my ear, we had ended up having incredibly hot sex together.
Things like that just didn’t happen at your local library, regardless of what anyone says. Except possibly in some men’s fantasies or certain porn movies with low budgets and bad scripts, but that doesn’t count.
Still, I could easily remember her tantalizing scent and the feeling of her soft skin against my body as she forcefully pressed herself against me, excited and ready, while she held my wrists in a tight grip.
I’ll confess I was rather uncomfortable with admitting, even to myself, just how turned on I had been by her holding me down, and how much I had enjoyed the sensation of feeling slightly powerless as she rode me mercilessly. But I had decided not to think about it anymore. It’s not like I’m one of those kind of guys who gets all excited by the idea of women with whips and latex. Well, perhaps I found the thought of that a little bit exciting, but what kind of man doesn’t?
However, the bizarre incident at the library must have happened, because I still had the Swedish thriller that I had borrowed in the hazy aftermath of what could easily be described as the best and the most unexpected sex I ever had. And that includes the weird time in the lift at Debenhams with a tall shop assistant few years ago.
Every now and then, I wondered if we got caught on the CCTV cameras, and sometimes I worried what would happen if those clips suddenly went viral. Hopefully my face wouldn�
��t be too recognizable.
Nevertheless, the day after my sinful adventure at the library, I seriously overslept.
I woke up feeling oddly mellow, even though I was ridiculously late to work. I arrived to the office with a smile on my face and a general feeling of contentment that was so unusual I was worried that people would think I was stoned.
I completely forgot about the claw and bite marks on my neck that I had earned the night before, so I had to suffer through a rather horrible work lunch with Christine, my ex. She worked as a project leader at another web designer agency, and I was meeting her and two other colleagues over sushi to discuss a joint project.
I had, during the last couple of years, slowly come to realize that I found less and less inspiration regarding ‘new and exciting projects’, and that my interest in my job was somewhat lukewarm. However that was something that I carefully concealed from my boss and colleagues, since I wanted to keep my job as a graphic designer.
To say Christine was cold to me when she noticed the long, red nail marks along my throat would be to describe the weather at the North Pole as ‘just a tad bit nippy’, and on the way home I had to buy a couple of stupid turtleneck sweaters to cover the marks. I felt like a bad copy of Steve Jobs for the entire week.
It was absurd, of course. All of it.
But the worst part, really, was that the adorable little red-headed librarian refused to leave my thoughts alone.
At night, she visited my dreams, and we did all kinds of things together that could only be described as ‘kinky’. Even during the days she invaded my thoughts, although I didn’t even want it to happen.
And tonight, finally, I was going to see her again.
I had deliberately waited a couple of weeks before returning to the local library with my overdue book.
Autumn had come overnight to London and the October air was chilly as I crossed the library’s small parking lot.
It was quite a nice library. The building was from the 1930s or so and located in the corner of a small park where children and dogs came to play during the day. Had it been a warmer evening, perhaps a group of bored teenagers would have gathered to exchange kisses or cigarettes with each other, but as far as I could see the park looked abandoned tonight.
I felt excited and even a little bit nervous, although I didn’t like to admit it.
Would she be there? Would she be ashamed of what we had done? I wondered.
She looked like the kind of girl who would pretend that it never happened. And I mean if I was slightly embarrassed over the whole occasion and how it had spiralled out of control, imagine how she must feel! After all, she was the one who started it and more or less manhandled me, and then–
Well. And then she had simply forced me down and kept my hands in a tight grip, and just simply fucked me ruthlessly right then and there on the carpet. She clearly enjoyed every second of it.
The mere thought of it and I felt myself stiffening. I had to concentrate on breaking the chain of my thoughts before they started to wander off farther, and I began to think about how she had touched her breasts, how tight she had felt when I entered her, and...
Get a grip, I told myself. Just return the book, be friendly and charming, and ask casually if she wants to go and have drinks after work someday, I repeated, slightly annoyed with myself.
I checked my reflection in the windscreen of a small, cream-coloured convertible Porsche that stood out among the other sparse of cars. The library’s parking lot was shared by customers from the nearby Waitrose, so perhaps it belonged to one of them, I speculated.
Clearly someone was compensating for something, I thought with a smirk and made a small mental comment that I would never sink that low. In fact, I didn’t own a car at all. And, well. Let’s just say there was a reason for that, which didn’t have anything to do with London’s unreasonably expensive parking.
I knew a lot of women found me attractive‒and I was, as a young man in his early thirties, above average height, charming, and reasonably fit despite a stressful lifestyle. To my satisfaction, my wavy brown hair still had the casual and slightly careless ‘devil may care’ style that had taken me almost fifteen minutes in front of the mirror to achieve.
I left the parking lot and felt my pulse increase with anticipation, as I walked up the worn stone steps towards the automatic doors to the library. I checked my watch on my wrist. Five to nine. The library only stayed open until nine o’clock on Thursdays. That meant it would close in a couple of minutes, and if she was there, we would be alone.
Perfect timing, I thought with a small smile and stepped through the doors.
I entered the library, and the instant I saw her, my heart skipped a beat or two.
She was standing behind the counter with her back towards me, sorting through books on a low wooden bookcase on wheels. A quick glance around the deserted library told me we were alone, just like I had hoped for.
The library had been threatened to close down several times due to the economical crisis, which of course had sparked an outrage among all the middle-class people in the area, who had gathered to protest and managed to save the library. I found it slightly ironic, since they and their children probably didn’t even have library cards and most likely bought their books cheap online from large companies that didn’t pay tax.
I thought about sneaking up behind the librarian, and how much I wanted to wrap my arms around her warm, soft body, and nuzzle her red hair while pressing my body against hers. She wore her hair up today, fastened in one of those complicated buns that made her look like a combination of a strict, old-fashioned teacher and an odd cousin to Alice in Wonderland. But the last time I had tried to touch her hair, she had almost dislocated my shoulder, so I decided against any surprise welcomes. Granted, the sex that had followed had been amazing, so it had almost been worth it...
And it had been kind of exciting to been held down too, I thought, frowning at the thought.
Seriously, I’m not that kind of guy. But you needed to be either a eunuch or dead to not get turned on by being held down by a woman who looked liked she had just stepped out from a pinup calendar from the fifties.
Just the thought of the sensation of her curvy thighs against my back, her breasts brushing against me, and her hands around my wrists in a tight and non-compromising grip as she touched me made me hard. I was suddenly quite grateful there was a counter between us.
Besides, I wasn’t completely sure if she would be happy to see me again or not.
And there was also the possibility that she would be embarrassed for having let things get out of hand. She didn’t look like the kind of girl who took command or gave herself completely over to lust when she got excited. She seemed like a proper good girl, the type who had always finished her homework in time and who had won awards for overachievements as a Brownie Girl Scout when she was young.
Ah, well. ‘Still waters run deep’ and all that.
And to be honest, I think that her ‘good girl gone bad’ mystique made her even more interesting and sexy. It was a little bit like if the sweet girl from church would ask you if you wanted to join her and her twin sister in a threesome. Well, not like that perhaps, because that only happened in trashy novels or lame porn movies. But you know what I mean.
But there’s no need to get arrested for sexual harassment or to scare her away, I concluded.
The evening was, after all, still young.
So instead I assumed a carefully casual position, leaning against the counter. I tried not to look too much at her curvy legs and nicely rounded bottom. Why someone who had a body that would make Anita Ekberg cry of envy and run away in shame decided to dress in dull Burberry-tweed and knee-length skirts was a mystery to me.
What’s an even larger mystery is why it’s so sexy on her, I mused silently, unable to tear my eyes from her attractive legs.
Generally I prefer long and slender legs, but there was something about the generous female contours of her a
nkles and the fact that her skirt wasn’t short and tarty, but left something to the imagination, that turned me on.
Clearly I must have been traumatized at some time during my childhood, I pondered thoughtfully. Perhaps a female primary teacher had taken liberties?
I was just about to decide if I should clear my throat or pretend to cough to get her attention, when she turned around and faced me.
She must have heard me enter the library, I thought, because she didn’t seem at all surprised by my presence.
“Well, well, well,” she said in a slightly sultry voice that sent shivers down my spine. “If it isn’t Peter Thompson. I was wondering if you would dare to come back or not.”
Ah. So, she’s clearly not going to pretend that she didn’t ravish me the last time I was here, I concluded and stifled the urge to swallow hard.
“Of course I dared to come back,” I said in a confident voice and smiled my best crooked smile.
“So,” she said and paused. She arched a perfect eyebrow slightly, “Are you here to return a library book, then?”
“I am,” I said, the comment about drinks after work died on my lips as she locked eyes with me.
My throat went instantly dry. Without breaking eye contact I slowly put down the Swedish thriller on the counter between us.
She had unusual ice-blue eyes. You would assume that she would have green eyes and freckles to go with the burning red hair, but she had intensively blue eyes that looked slightly Scandinavian and perfectly flawless, pale skin. It looked like she never had spent a day by a beach hut in her entire life and her skin tone would never allow her to spend a holiday in Thailand.
