“I need to get this done.” I convinced my reflection in the bathroom mirror earlier today. “My graduate thesis is not going to write itself.”
Days before my title defense deadline, I found myself scrambling up the steps of the university library at almost ten in the evening, keen on camping out until I finish the review of existing literature. At least.
I swiped my badge at the door to the 100-year-old university’s 24-hour library and scuttled across its marbled entrance.
The main reading room had almost emptied out, except for a few students either asleep or near sleep. I had to walk past a pair of undergrads making out, with the boy’s hand up between the girl’s open thighs.
Fuck, just what I needed to see. I had been particularly horny over the last few days, frustrated that I haven’t had a dick in me since the breakup. I had to get out of the apartment or else tonight would have been another night with my vibrator.
Finish a chapter, then fuck the first dick I see. I made a mental note.
I climbed the large staircase to the top floor. I needed access to archived books that have long been removed from general circulation. I was headed for “the Stacks”.
I made arrangements to access the restricted section days before. The heavy door made a beep as I tapped my badge at the security panel.
The deep cavernous room had rows of bookcases of underappreciated books as far as the eye could see. The lights were dimmer here than in the rest of the library, with some sections pitch black.
I dropped my stuff at one of the tables and began walking into the dense archives with a single index card, on which I scribbled old-fashioned Dewey decimal system numbers.
The long room made me feel like I was in a submarine. Or maybe I just want a “submarine”. Sigh. My thoughts drifted back to sex; no matter what I did.
As I walked through the rows looking for the titles I needed, my mind wandered back to my ex. Not his repulsive political right views which spurred the end; but his delicious dick which made scream.
Remembering the times he would unexpectedly take me in public made me wet. He fucked me over the hood of his car at his parents' house once. I shivered at the memory of cumming under my dress when he fingered me at a friend’s dinner party.
His texts since the breakup tell me he has been missing our sex too. Judging from the emojis, he clearly missed how deeply I can suck a dick.
Then I fell.
As I rounded the end of the M stacks, I tripped over someone sitting on the floor. A muscled undergrad had spread his legs on the floor and I literally fell on his lap.
Wait, is that a ...
I lifted my torso to find his hands protectively covering his fully erect penis, bursting out of his open Dockers.
I quickly crawled to the opposite side of the tight aisle. We were both on the floor now. I made eye contact, as I was about to scream.
I recognized his handsome face and his buzzed haircut. He was a star swimmer on the varsity squad. His face was on the front pages of the campus news — headed to the Olympics, it said.
He looked at me with smug quiet confidence. He just sat there, not feeling the need to explain himself. His hands were still stroking his cock, which stayed erect, throbbing.
The shock I felt melted into fire red lust. I did not break my stare. My face was stolid; while my insides were all sorts of hazed.
My hands traveled to the buttons on my dress and slowly opened it all the way to my navel. He gave me a smile, his eyes widened in surprise.
I calmly lifted up my dress; my hand pushed my lace panties aside. He could see my pussy from where he sat. I tore inside my hot core, violently jabbing my wet insides. God, I was so ready to fuck!
After minutes of masturbating in unison, a sexual game of “chicken”, the stranger could no longer stand the tease. He feverishly crawled across to me and went straight for my pussy. He tore off my wet lace panties and dove in, his well-toned arms prying my legs open.
I ran my fingers down his head and his wide shoulders, wondering why I never fucked a swimmer before. This one is hot! His tongue was skilled, contorting and drilling deep into me. I could hear him suck me in and slurp my juices. I cocked my head back, in glorious satisfaction; but I didn’t want to peak — not yet.
I wondered if there was a CCTV camera nearby. The idea of security personnel watching me getting oral sex made me even hornier.
I pushed his head back hard and he fell back against the bookshelf. “My turn.” I took off my bra and knelt in front of him in one fluid motion. Aside from my dress loosely hanging from my waist, I was practically naked in the fucking archives!
He gasped when he saw my breasts and reached out to touch them, with his mouth open. I slapped him playfully across the cheek. “I said, it was my turn.”
He flashed me a boyish grin, as I loosened his khakis. I playfully ran my tongue around his head before taking his dick in my mouth.
His was the thickest penis I have ever had! It slid down my throat like honey. My generous, rhythmic slide up and down his shaft made him swear. “Fuck. Where have you been all my life? I so want to pound you right now.”
I tightened the hand corkscrewing his dick and gave his balls a squeeze. He gasped, reminded of who was in charge. This seemed to have spiked his desire and he began to breathe deeply and moan. His boner throbbed stronger against my lips.
I sat up and dramatically wiped the moisture around my mouth — the bright red smudge-proof lipstick unaffected by my recent “meal”. “You are not pounding me. I am fucking you.”
He had slid further down on the floor and slipped a condom on his member; as I positioned to mount him. My center claimed him excitedly, almost violently. He curled from his waist — jerked, from what I thought was pain. But his lips were simply racing to suck my nipples, now dark and hard. I sat still, enjoying his ravenous consumption of my ample flesh. His hands were all over me. I felt a finger slide up my asshole. Another one squirmed into my already crowded pussy, making my back arch.
Had I not known him to be just twenty, twenty-one years old, I would have mistaken him for an older, more experienced fuck.
I began to ride him, tentatively at first. I was so wet but his girth was unusually tight inside me. I could feel him awaken my insides which have been longing for hot meat. A hand appeared to playfully explore my front slit with just the right pressure.
I was lost in the moment. I rode him, up and down, the sound of my behind slapping against his balls kept time to how furious the fucking was becoming!
He broke free from the depths of my cleavage and stared into my eyes. Our lips were opened, smirking, but we did not kiss. I began to gleam from sweat from all the pumping. I savored standing at the precipice of this massive orgasm; my breast now cupped in his hands; my nipples pinched between his fingers: his tongue bathing my flesh, lustfully.
I could feel my insides melting like butter. My wet dripped onto him. He ran his hand between us; smelled his digits before licking his fingers one at a time, his eyes closed in ecstasy.
The sound of our bodies pounding against each other was climbing to a crescendo. His endurance rivaled mine. I came down on him harder and faster, drunk with the feel of this stranger’s dick injected deeply into me, ramming into my insides, into the nerves that make me shiver.
Just as his eyes were glassing over, his climax nearing, I heard the heavy automated doors open at the end of the long hall, with a long beep, followed by the voices of two women in a scholarly conversation.
The prospect of being discovered had always been a turnon and I paused ever so slightly before gyrating wildly in all directions, on top of him. He grabbed my torn lace panty, breathed it in, and shoved it in his mouth, effectively muffling the moans of his manly release.
My anticipated climax was glorious. My wet pussy tightened, fiercely gripping his shaft. As the sensation faded slowly into a fast pulse, my naked body quivered in delight — from deep in my core to the tips of my nipples.
The voices began to come closer. He began to shift beneath me.
“Wait,” I said. I casually grabbed a book from the shelf with one hand, while buttoning my dress with the other. Aside from his open fly, Mr. Swim Star still had his shirt on. I could feel his dick and used condom shrink inside me.
As the two researchers were only steps away, I disconnected from his wet manhood and threw his jacket over it. I sat on the floor, my wide skirt covering my knees, and put a book on my lap.
“Good evening,” I said as the two nodded at us, barely missing a beat, before walking past our row, and continuing their conversation.
We got up and brushed ourselves off. He towered above me.
He was about 6’ 2” to my 5’ 4”. His sense of propriety kicked in, his confidence evaporated and he began to stammer, “Um, I ... maybe we could ...”
Cute. I stood on the tips of my toes and pulled him in for a long kiss. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and I could still taste myself in his kiss. I ran my hand across his nape.
As we separated, I touched the front of his now zipped-up pants. He was very likely sore from my riding, but he didn’t jump back.
“Thanks. I needed a good fuck.” I flicked my index card between my fingers like a playing card and walked away.