It's quiet as usual in the library as I put the returned books back in their rightful places on the shelves. It's Sunday evening, just before closing and I allow my mind to wander, knowing the building is, and will likely remain, vacant.
I always find it amusing to imagine the person who checked out each book. I select Maximum Ride from the cart and immediately think of a purple haired goth girl in red lipstick and manga mascara.
I laugh to myself, shaking my head, and pick up War and Peace imagining a pompous college student pretending to be clever.
The next one stops me momentarily and, I stand staring at the last book on the cart, Fifty Shades of Grey.
The library doesn't list this book, there was a big deal made about it a few years ago and the good people of the city held a meeting, voting to have the book added to the banned list.
"You've read it many times, though, haven't you," a voice deep inside me whispers.
Creeping closer, my unsteady fingers reach hesitantly to pick up the book, noticing a slip of paper peeking out from between the pages like a bookmark. I pull free from between the pages, seeing a folded piece of notebook paper in my shaking hand.
Lying the book on the cart, I open the slip of paper, revealing a small, messy script and the words that are written makes the nerves in my stomach twist and my heartbeat accelerate.
"Tonight, you are mine."
Reading the note again for the third time, my body snaps to attention and my resolve begins to focus. I fold the note, placing it in my pocket of my long skirt, and pick up the salacious book.
Quickly, I hurry through the library, turning off lights, grabbing my purse, and head for my car, locking doors behind me. I squeal tires out of the parking lot and fly through the streets without a thought or care of the police, that thankfully never appear.
Arriving at my destination I hop out of the car, leaving my purse inside and the keys still in the ignition. With a one track mind, I practically run up the walkway to the little house and let myself inside.
In record time, I remove the long tan skirt and blouse that have become a sort of uniform for me at the library, folding my clothes and placing them on a tiny, wooden table by the door. Last, I slide the lacy panties down my legs, and place them on top of the pile.
Completely naked, I slowly sink to my knees, placing my hands on my thighs, and close my eyes to quiet my mind.
I'm not sure how long I wait there like that but, all the time I spent calming my questions, nerves, and heartbeat was a waste, my control fleeing the second the door opens.
He doesn't speak, or acknowledge my presence, I open my eyes but, keep my head down, seeing a pair of men's black leather shoes moving in and out of my vision.
Along with his footsteps, I hear what sounds like keys clinking in a glass bowl, and a jacket being removed.
I catch a whiff of his cologne every once in awhile, musky and seductive, as he moves about the room.
My body feels alive and aware, taking in every detail and committing it to memory. When I finally gather the courage to look up, he's standing in front of me, and my heart stops, as does my breathing. I feel suddenly light-headed, as my eyes span up from his, now, bare feet to long legs in black boxer briefs and a naked, rippled chest covered in a splattering of golden, manicured hair. I don't dare look into his eyes, instead allowing my eyes to roam back down his body to those sexy feet.
"Tell me you want it," he says softly, his voice rough but melodic. "Say it."
"Tonight, I am yours," I tell him, sincerely.
"Show me," he commands.
I reach forward with both hands, tucking my fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them over his hips and down his muscular legs.
Stretching up, further onto my knees, I swipe my tongue around his balls, sucking one into my mouth, then the other.
He presses his thumb at the top base of his massive erection, pushing it down to me. I open widely, allowing him to rub the tip along my lips, before forcing its length down my throat, and then pulling out to smack against my cheek. I stay as still as possible, wanting him to use me, for his pleasure is mine.
"Stand up," he says, holding his hand out to me.
He leads, me walking behind him, to a large black leather sofa in a living room. Sitting, he pulls me onto his lap, his skin warm and soft, the muscles under hard as rocks, allowing his erection to cushion against my thigh and his strong arm around my waist.
"Watch," he orders gently, using the remote control next to him to turn on the television.
Images of a man and woman come to life on the large set, the man holding the woman's feet in the air as he plunges into the apex of her legs, igniting a bubbling charge of excitement inside me.
His fingers tickle beneath my knees, forcing me to squirm against him, squeezing my thigh and making my back arch, suckling my nipple causing my toes to curl, on and on he plays my body like a puppeteer, he pulls the strings and I react.
"Turn over," he says huskily.
Carefully, I turn in his arms, on my knees, lying my chest on his legs, my ass high in the air.
I rest my cheek against the cool leather of the sofa, still able to see the television, where the man now has the woman on her hands and knees, taking her roughly from behind.
As I watch, I focus on the sensations of his fingers leisurely stroking my pussy and ass, sometimes at the same time but not always, sometimes he spanks me, pussy and ass, again with no apparent rhyme or reason.
My eyes eventually slide shut, the sexual sounds of the television man and woman become the soundtrack of my arousal and the smell of my own desire fills the room. Ripples of pleasure sear a hot trail over my skin, the tender assault tampering with my sanity.
Wrapped in a web of need, I wait for what he will do next and, again, I am surprised.
"Come on baby," he croons, patting my bottom.
I stand awkwardly, my legs shaking wildly and struggle with my lust.
