Chapter 1
I had not been to the library in years. The parking lot was empty, and I thought about the rise of technology reducing the need for libraries. It was a sad thought but change in life is inevitable.
As I crossed the threshold, the smell of old dusty books permeated my nostrils. The odor wasn't unpleasant, mainly because it brought back nostalgia of book fairs from elementary school. I remember being given $10 from my parents to spend on books and whatever silly looking pens and erasers I may want.
I had never had to return an overdue book. I was diligent about returning borrowed items. Nevertheless, this one had been lost in my move after the divorce and upon finding it, I decided that returning it may result in some good karma. I needed good karma after the terrible year that I had been through.
"Returning?" the Librarian said with a quiet but serious tone.
"Yes, but it is a bit overdue." I replied louder than I wanted to.
The librarian wrinkled her eyebrows and pressed her finger to her lips to quiet me down. She looked to be in her late twenties which was a contrast to me in my early forties. People were always telling me I was loud and sometimes I wish they all had a remote control so I could talk at their desired volume level.
She snatched the book, ruffled through the pages and a note fell out. Despite my protest, she read the note and giggled. She then reached for her hairbrush and brushed her hair while I waited. The hairbrush was larger than normal. The handle was round and seemed to be around 8 inches in length. The barrel was ivory, ornate, and seemed to glow in the light. The bristles were unlike the normal plastic bristles that you see now. They were stiff and deep brown. She brushed her hair for a good minute.
"That's a lovely brush." I said in a quieter tone.
She smiled and handed me the note. I opened the note, and it was blank.
The librarian got up from her seat and motioned for me to follow her. She brought her brush and the book. Puzzled, I followed the woman. She wasn't very tall, and it was hard to discern her lower half because of the long flowing dress she wore. However, her hair was big, dark, and curly.
She walked as if she was floating instead of the normal stride people usually have as they walk. She headed towards the aisle where the book was kept. When we arrived, she handed the book to me and pointed at the location for me to put it back on the shelf. I followed her silent instructions and placed the book on the shelf. I didn't have a place to trash the blank paper, so I just slid it into my pocket.
She gestured with her head to follow her again. We walked down a long dimly lit hallway and into a study room and she motioned for me to have a seat. I did what she said mainly because I still had to pay for the book, but also because I was curious to see what would happen.
She reached into the top of her dress and pulled out some chalk. Why was I now feeling turned-on by this act? What else did she have hiding in her breasts? Why was I sitting down? Why did she need chalk? She wrote on the chalkboard hanging on the wall.
I will return my books on time. X 100
Chapter 2
This had to be a joke. I stared at her, and she pulled out a few pieces of paper and a pencil and handed them to me. I decided I would play along, because I assumed that this was in place of the fine you would normally pay. I had nowhere else to be anyway.
I began to write and with each line as I felt her looking over my shoulder. I looked up and she was stroking her hair with the brush. I kept writing even though I could feel her breath on my neck.
I had numbered each line to make it easier to count and by the time I reached the end of the paper, I had pumped out 50 lines. I looked up and handed her the paper. She looked it over and took it to the desk in front of her.
Before I started the next round of writing, I watched as she closely peered over the paper while brushing her hair. After about a minute, she looked up and nodded and I started the second page. After about 20 more lines, I had to stop and jiggle my hand. My hand was not in the shape it was in grade school anymore.
I looked up and saw her staring at me and brushing her hair. I was about to look down when she squatted on the ground and placed the brush under her dress. After a second, the brush was nowhere to be seen and she stood back up.
I looked back down at the paper and kept writing as I wondered if I had really seen her stick her hairbrush under her dress. Was there a pocket? If so, why wouldn't that be where she hid the chalk. I saw her move behind a desk and sit back down. She leaned back and watched me.
I kept writing, but there were no more words appearing on the paper. I looked at the pencil and saw that the graphite had been worn down. I went to stand up, but she held up her hand. I showed her the pencil and pointed to the dull tip. She shrugged and then leaned back again, and I watched her hand go down under the desk. I could see shoulder rotating around and a smile filled her face.
I looked around the room for a pencil sharpener but couldn't find one. I finally decided to use my nails and peel back the wood to get to the graphite. This process was painstaking. I looked up and saw her breathing heavily behind the desk. The smile was gone, and her eyes were staring straight ahead. I kept clawing at the pencil and finally removed a portion of one side. I only had to get enough graphite to write another 20 something lines. Then, I heard a moan.
Chapter 3
The moan was unmistakable. I knew exactly what she was doing under the desk, and I shot her a wide-eyed look. She maintained eye contact with me as she stood up and sat on top of the desk. Her long dress draped over the top of the desk like a tablecloth. One of her arms was all the way up her dress. Her moans were quiet, but clear.
I set the pencil down and watched in disbelief as she masturbated in front of me. My dick began to grow in my pants. I watched as her pace quickened. I wanted to see under the dress, but the fabric was folded in such a way to prevent me from peeking.
She looked at the paper in front of me. I began writing by slanting the pencil to the side to get enough graphite. As I wrote, she increased her pace. I alternated between writing and looking up at her. She never stopped her eye contact.
This process continued for several minutes and although her moans never got any louder, they were certainly stronger. I realized that I had now gone way over 100 lines, but I kept writing, grabbing a new page feverishly and continuing to write.
Her dress had now risen to above her hips, and I was able to see her pussy. There was a beautiful contrast to the deep brown outer lips with the pink center and the wildly unkempt hair that surrounded it. The hairbrush handle kept disappearing into her pussy and I was mesmerized by the wet and sloppy sound that it made. There was now a cascade of sticky liquid running down from her pussy and pooling onto the desk.
