After Hours

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It was as quiet as death in there. Library smells of old books and all too serious people overpowered me, so I pressed my nose into the crease of the magazine I was flipping and sucked up the dark floral scent of the perfume they wanted you to believe all the supermodels wore. It was all right—-something you’d wear if you were on a date with somebody classy, or maybe on a job interview. Christ. I thought about buying a bottle of the stuff. Another week of ssh-ing and shelving and the freaking Dewey Decimal system and I was going to need to look for a new job.

College students are assholes. They screw in the study carrels. They have pizzas delivered to the quiet rooms. They leave unending piles of balled-up paper in every corner, on every desk—anywhere but the trashcans we set out every thirty feet. Sometimes I think I’m going to just set the place on fire one day and be done with it.

It was during exams, and I was about to have the fuck that changed my life. I was covering for the little sophomore girl Kelly so she could study for a final that, I wanted to tell her, wasn’t going to make a shit’s worth of difference in her life. I had just flipped to an article entitled “My Kinky Affair,” when that new art professor all the students are drooling over walked in. He’s real good-looking, kind of a Mediterranean thing going, with flowing black hair and a tan in December. What was an art professor doing in the library?

I turned on the bitch switch. It’s how you have to be with the faculty or they walk all over you. He sauntered right up, leaned on the circulation desk, and asked me if I could tell him where all the gorgeous women were shelved. Then he flashed me a smile so white I thought I was going to pass out.

“Up your ass,” I said, ‘cause that’s just how I am.

I pressed the intercom button and talked into the little box on the wall. “Closing in five minutes, folks. Gather up your crap and get the hell out. I’ve got a life.”

It was a quarter after twelve when I finally shooed the last student out. I was alone, and I liked it. Took a minute to just stand there and take in how there were no cell-phones ringing, no sniffles, no fraternity morons trying to pull up porn on the card catalog computers. I could have dropkicked a freshman and heard it drop.

I had set the alarm and was getting my keys out of my purse when I heard footsteps on the lobby stairs. The art professor appeared.

“You are an extremely rude circulation desk attendant,” he said.

I was pissed. Don’t fuck with a person when their shift’s just ended. Where had he even been hiding? I’d checked every floor to make sure no one was trying to spend the night. Sometimes the kids did that during exams.

“That’s Mistress Rude Circulation Desk Attendant to you,” I said.

Don’t misunderstand me. I think the faculty at this school is a bunch of assholes. Even worse than the students. But I don’t pass on the hot ones that come on to me. What am I waiting for, a knight in freaking shining armour? I wanted the guy from the second he leaned on my counter and arrogantly flirted with me.

“Well, since there’s no manager to report you to, I think I’ll just have to redden your bottom,” he said. He looked almanbahis adresi serious.

Why not, I thought. I crooked my finger at him, and he followed me to the back of the library. Back there we have a listening room where all the music major geeks hang out all day, mentally beating off to Mozart and Beethoven. There’s a couch and a table and a killer sound system that these kids don’t even begin to appreciate. So I unlocked the room. Once we were inside I unplugged the headsets and tuned the stereo to the R&B station. He made himself comfortable on the couch.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, resting his arms across the back of the couch. His hard-on was ready-made, tenting the fly of his linen pants.

To the sound of a whining sax, I peeled down to my bra and panties. I was glad I matched that day in my lavender-with-gold-piping Victoria’s Secret set. Sexy if I did say so myself. Sometimes I wake up with that feeling, you know, the one where it suddenly matters what you throw on. Maybe I’ll meet somebody, you think, or I’ll get in a car wreck and the cute emergency room intern will have to strip me to save my life. The places my mind goes, I swear…

When he told me to, I came to him. He ran his hands over my stomach, my hips, my breasts—really got my skin tingling. He even tongued my belly button, which drives me crazy because guys hardly ever do that kind of thing. He ended his caress by grasping my mound and gently massaging me down there, nice and slow, until the floodgates opened. I felt myself liquefying from deep inside. I tried to push his fingers lower, get them inside my panties, but he told me to have patience; he would get there soon.

“Now,” he said, indicating his lap.

I lay down across his thighs, careful of his hard-on, and he prepared me by sensually, greedily rubbing my ass cheeks. He pushed the edges of my panties into my crack and kneaded my exposed skin like dough, occasionally spreading my cheeks and pressing them back together.

“I love a beautiful ass,” he said.

The first blow hurt; the sting on my bare skin was almost too much. But that was what we were there for. I owed him this because of my lip before. I push it with people sometimes, I know that. But look where it gets me! The guy was prettier than me.

“You were very, very rude to me before,” he said, whaling on my ass like it owed him money. His hands were broad and thick—perfect paddles, each one taking in an entire ass cheek with each whack. “Are you sorry?”

“No!” I said, because I wasn’t. “I’m not sorry.”

The beating intensified. He seemed to get angry with me, or maybe it just was part of the game; he quickened his pace, alternated hands, and after several minutes my ass was burning; but more importantly, my cunt was dripping, dying for such a working-over by that cock straining against the fabric of his pants, brushing against me.

“Do you at least take back that Mistress comment?” he asked. “Because I’m in control here.”

“Yes, yes, I take it back!” I said, as he leveled the hardest blow yet on my poor stinging ass. I liked the domination. I liked him dominating me.

He stopped beating me and unfastened his pants. A meaty cock with a large almanbahis adres ballsack appeared.

“Get up,” he ordered.

I climbed off his lap, and he fished in his pocket until he produced a pocket knife that looked very, very sharp. I backed away. I’ve gotten in some bad situations before; nothing that changed my life, but a girl has to be careful, especially with these academic types. They sometimes want the weirdest stuff of all.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m not going to cut you.”

He slid the blade under the fabric of my bra, right between my breasts, and sliced it. The cups snapped away. Then he did the same with my panties, cutting the seam along my hips so that the material fell limp and useless on the ground. I shed my ruined bra as he slid out of his pants. His lower half was almost completely hairless—golden skin, and that thick, smooth cock poking right out in front. He reached for me, and I came.

“You have got the most gorgeous tits,” he said, pressing his face in between them.

I felt his tongue at my nipples, then his lips approaching to suck. I was like a mother, giving him life. But the teeth closing on them, jerking them into hardness—there was nothing childlike about that. He sat me astride him, his cock just behind me. I could feel it against my ass. Reaching back, I caressed the hard balls in their soft sack, running my fingers over them until his head fell back against the couch pillows. I wondered if this guy’s students knew he liked to have his balls tickled?

“Tell me what you want,” he said, pushing me off his lap. “What you want me to do to you. I want to hear your fantasy.”

He bent me over the edge of the table and, crouching behind me, spread my ass wide. His tongue was a fat worm, working its way over both my holes. He teased me, making me wonder where he would enter me.

“Talk,” he said. Then his tongue plunged into my cunt.

I could hardly string words into sentences; he moved so fast inside me, his tongue slipping out ever so often to bathe my clit. Cream poured out of me. I could hear it making a lapping sound as he licked and sucked. When his finger entered my asshole, I was down to monosyllables.

“Tie me up,” I said. “Tie me up and fuck me half to death.”

And just like that the tongue left me, the finger de-inserted itself. He wandered bottomless, his great meaty cock aiming straight out like some kind of fleshy locating device, into the library where during the day swarms of eager beaver students descended on me, unable to please their professors without my help. Only tonight it was me that would please the faculty—with no help from anyone. Just me, my hands, my lips and my cunt, which I was about to swallow him up with.

I waited, my pussy dripping and throbbing for him. The ghost of his tongue still graced my clit, and it was lifetimes before he returned with a length of white rope, his lips still shining with my wet.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked.

“Maintenance closet,” he said. “You guys don’t lock it. You don’t lock half the doors in this place.”

He’d made love in the library before. I suddenly knew that. But so had I! How had we not crossed paths before?

“Follow almanbahis adres me,” he said.

I followed him naked, taking in the scent of my own arousal as I moved. I was wet all down the inside of my thighs and as far back as my ass. We ended up on the stairs in the front lobby. He had me throw my left leg over the thick wooden banister and lean forward on it, supporting my weight on my right leg. Then he lashed my trunk to the banister. He tied my left leg by the ankle to one of the vertical slats in the railing.

“Now your hands, please,” he said.

I placed my wrists together behind my back, and he sliced off a short length of rope to bind them with. My only free part other than the leg I was standing on was my neck, but he soon took care of that.

He used the last bit of rope around my neck, which he secured as tightly as would still allow me to breathe. I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with my ass turned up for all the world to see, and the meatiest cock I’d ever had was pressing into my wide-open pussy.

He went crazy inside me, taking advantage of the fact that I couldn’t move or respond or stop him from doing anything he wanted to. The railing shook. He seemed to get off on the fact that I was his prisoner. He spoke to me like a captive whore.

“Bitch likes this shit, doesn’t she?” he said, pounding into me while grasping a fistful of my hair. He went balls-deep over and over, slapping his hips against my ass. “You want some more of this cock? I’ll give it to you. Got plenty of cock for you, slut.”

His pole was long as well as thick. Every now and then he would tease me by slowing his strokes and leisurely taking his cock out to just the tip, making me think he was done. When I whimpered, not ready for him to stop yet, he responded by shoving himself back in up to the root and reaming me good.

“Yeah, you like this shit in you hard, don’t you, baby? Never had anybody tie you up and fuck you like this, have you?”

He was a wild man, thrusting a wild fuck into me. I couldn’t see him because I couldn’t even lift my head, and this made it better. I had to shut my eyes to imagine him roughly entering my spread-eagled cunt with his smooth, slicked-down cock, throwing his body forward, and making himself breathless.

After a while he got bored with my pussy and shoved his dick in my ass. He felt even bigger in there, and I liked its feeling of spreading me open. He pumped hard, taking vengeance on my poor bottom for the second time that night. When I came, it was with the kind of orgasm you only have when you’re tied to the library banister with the cock of a handsome art professor up your ass. It was incredible, like hurricane-whipped ocean waves pounding through me.

He left me tied up as he went back to the listening room for his pants. When he returned to the lobby, fully dressed, he thanked me for a good time and headed for the front door.

“Will the alarm go off if I open the door?” he asked.

I shook my head. He was going to leave me there.

“Wait!” I said.

But he was gone—melted into the dark night. I stayed there until morning, veritably hog-tied with my sodden and hard-used ass and cunt on display for whoever walked in. And that was the circulation manager, my boss, who came in first thing and found me. I lost that job, of course, but an education I’d never expected would soon follow. I signed up for his nude figure drawing class that same day.

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