Old Dwight peeked over the top of the book he was reading: The Tropic of Cancer, one of the earliest popular novels that delved into the seamy, steamy world of erotica. He had been reading Henry Miller's lusting after Tania;
"O Tania, where now is that warm cunt of yours, those fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs? There is a bone in my prick six inches long. I will ream out every wrinkle in your cunt, Tania, big with seed. I will send you home to your Sylvester with an ache in your belly and your womb turned inside out. Your Sylvester! Yes, he knows how to build a fire, but I know how to inflame a cunt. I shoot hot bolts into you, Tania, I make your ovaries incandescent."
Dwight had gotten a bone in his own prick from reading Miller's account and now he couldn't help but notice the young, buxom librarian shelving books not far from the desk where he sat. This certainly was not the first time he had noticed her. In truth, he made certain to look her way each and every time he visited the library. She was curvy. Sexy. Sensuous. Dwight often daydreamed what it would be like to bury his face in her large breasts and make love to her.
Would she have a wickedly hot cunt, like Tania? Would she be wet and inflamed with passion? Would she want to be reamed until she collapsed? Would she be the type of woman to ride a man until she was sweaty from exorcising her own lustful demons?
Dwight suspected she was. There was just something in the way she held herself, the way she moved around the room. Dwight had known women like that. Women who were as carnal and animalistic as he was himself. She exuded a certain aura about her that made Dwight think she would have dark rhythms in her soul, rhythms that would bring an uncommon intensity to her fucking. It was nothing he could define precisely, but it was something he knew when he saw it - much like Justice Potter Stewart saying he could recognize pornography when he saw it. Could it have been that Justice Stewart was just an old lecher whose own experiences mirrored those of Dwight? A man who enjoyed women? Enjoyed sex? Enjoyed the pleasures he could give and receive with the right woman?
Dwight continued to watch as his fantasy woman librarian finished shelving materials and moved to the stairwell. He laid down his book and followed, not knowing why. He was not the type of man who wanted to make a woman feel uncomfortable. But there was just something about this lust-worthy librarian that seemingly compelled Dwight to follow and see where she was going. A siren, luring Odysseus to the rocks?
Once in the stairwell, he caught her scent and heard her footsteps going higher in the building. Dwight was no connoisseur of perfumes (and, to be honest, he wasn't even sure she was wearing any), but he considered himself to be a connoisseur of females and her scent reminded him again of the women he knew who had been the best lovers. It could be pheromones, if one believes those stories, or it could be something else. But it was unmistakable in Dwight's mind; this was a woman in heat; a woman with a fiery pussy that required a man who knew how to make it burn out of control.
The door to the fourth floor opened and closed. There was nothing on the fourth floor of great interest, Dwight knew. It was mainly old materials and books that were "in storage", probably waiting to be destroyed as obsolete. Why would she be going to the fourth floor?
Moving up the stairs quietly, Dwight reached the landing. Slowly, carefully, he cracked open the door silently, so as not to be heard. An eye to the crack showed him a dark, dusty room, but no sign of the librarian.
He pulled the door a little further open and still did not see her, so he stepped inside. Waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, Dwight thought he heard a noise in the back of the room. Haltingly, he began to work his way toward the sound. He wasn't sure why he was there. But he knew he did not want to startle or frighten the librarian. Each step was taken cautiously, being sure not to bump into anything or make a sound that might reveal his presence.
Eventually he was close enough to see what had caused the noise he had heard. It could only have taken a minute or so, but in Dwight's heightened state it seemed like hours since he entered the fourth floor. He saw a small area that had been slightly cleared, a table and chair sitting among the shelves and piles. The librarian was seated on the chair and it was from her the noises were coming.
Dwight quickly realized that he was watching her masturbate. She had stolen away to this secluded, unused portion of the library to get the privacy she needed. He felt odd watching her through a gap on the shelf like some horny voyeur, but the scene was too compelling for him not to watch.
She had one hand playing with her breasts and the other buried between her legs. Dwight wished it was him in both places. Her breasts looked even bigger and sexier like this, and it was obvious they were extremely sensitive. She would gasp and moan whenever her hands flitted across her own nipples - nipples that stood tall enough and erect enough that they were plainly visible to Dwight, even in the dim light and through the silky top she wore. She seemed to be in no rush, leisurely diddling herself, as if to build excitement slowly, trying to work herself to some sexual peak.
Dwight felt his cock, hard in his pants, straining against the denim. Carefully, he unzipped his jeans and slipped his dick into his right hand. He felt drops of slick precum on the head and he used that to lubricate the shaft. As he watched the librarian rub herself, he began to try to keep time by rubbing his cock. Faster than he expected, Dwight felt himself getting to the point where he would need a release. Without warning, he let out a slight moan of his own.
