When Dobbin awoke from the unfortunate and dizzying nap that had assailed him on Christmas Eve, he found himself extremely pleased. It took him two minutes to figure out the reason behind this unexpected pleasure, and another five minutes to let the reason solidify and find a temporary shelter in his head.

Minutes later, he was scurrying down the narrow foot bridge connecting his hostel to the library. Joe and Jerry, the usual night shift security guards, stood outside. The inside of the library was as empty as it had ever been in living memory. Dobbin turned to check his watch – two hours to midnight!

A nineteen year old in his first year of college, Dobbin loved the library in its pomp – books aplenty, silence aplenty. This was his hideout – from work, from people. He didn’t possess many friends yet, and the select few were away celebrating. He didn’t mind. Dobbin had plans for quieter celebrations. And so, here he was, all set to weave a story out of the frightening yet fantastic dream from half an hour back.

“Shit!” In his hurry, he had left his bag in the room. No pen, no paper.

From his spot in one corner of the library, he scanned the floor for some helping, human presence. And sure he found one in Ms. Rita, the assistant librarian. What was she doing in the library, at this hour on Christmas Eve, and that too in grey pyjamas and a bright-red sweatshirt?

Good news and bad news. On the brighter side, he was stuck in the library with a lady who had been the subject of many of his pleasure trips, often set in this very library (though his favourite one was set in the tower room). On the flip side, his writing plans had to be shelved. The moon sat in full bloom, and the dick threatened to transform.

“Good evening Ms. Rita!”

She must have been in her early thirties, or may be even the late twenties. Reserved by nature and by attire, Ms. Rita had often interacted with him in the past. On top of that, Dobbin had hours of sightseeing experience – observing the bumps poking her shirt, and the cleavage that made an appearance on specific days, and from specific angles. His spot was perfect for such reconnaissance trips.

“I guess we are both having a not-so-good holiday season,” she said with a laugh. Dobbin bent forward casually to steal a glance at her cleavage area. Not one of his lucky days!

He explained his problem.

“Can’t help you dear,” she said in an apologetic tone, “The office rooms are all closed, the drawers locked. And that digital renovation drive did away with everything pen and paper! Damn they even replaced the fifty year old wooden reading tables. All those scribbles and etches, decades worth of memories! Gone!”

 “The charm is gone!” she said shaking her head, “You could use the computers though.”

“There’s no charm in that.”

Dobbin returned back to his spot. Minutes later, he found the assistant librarian, walk up and take the seat in front of him. He always knew she had an attractive figure!

“How’s it going?”

“Too many ideas, too small a head,” he told her. “I am actually working on this story about a character called The Wretch. I saw her in a dream. Now I’m trying to take it forward.”

“Interesting. Maybe I should help. You see that golden fountain pen inside the casing … kept for display? I will get that for you.”

“Whoa! Thanks a lot. And where do –”

“You write on my skin,” she cut him short. Dobbin’s mouth fell open.

And so they began.

The palms. Then the fingers. She did flinch when the first stroke poked at her skin. From then on, she looked away impassively. When Dobbin got done with the hands, he looked up at her.

“Ms. Rita.”

She awoke with a start. And then right on cue, the sweatshirt was lost to reveal a loose white sleeveless top underneath. Simultaneously, some exotic perfume hit the air, and his olfactory nerves. Dobbin felt his dick knock, and again!

Half-way through the arm, and nearing closer to her shoulder, and that beauty bone, Dobbin realized he was repeating the same three lines over and over again. Ms. Rita sat by him, staring blankly at a spot in the distance, breathing slow and deep. Dobbin bent forward and pushed his nose into her armpit.

“What are you doing?”

“Does that tickle?” he shot back, immediately replacing his nose with the fingers.

“Don’t get any ideas!” she said with a grin.

“It’s impossible not to get any!” Shit! Did he just say that out loud?

She smirked. But kept quiet.

It was the turn of the feet now, and then the legs. Ms. Rita started folding her pyjamas; Dobbin helped her pull those up till the knee. The legs were slender and smooth, the feet soft and sensitive. No wonder Dobbin spent an extra few minutes teasing that gentle arch of her feet, varying the pressure on the pen, as well as the speed of writing. At one point, she let out a hysterical sigh, and Dobbin felt she had orgasmed. But Ms. Rita was holding on.

“Where now?” he asked.

“I think” she said, “You should take the back now.”

“And I think” he said carefully, “You’ll need to lose your top then … Ms. Rita.”

She stood up suddenly, took a good look around the floor, and then turned to face Dobbin.

“It’s your lucky day.” Swish!

Ms. Rita settled flat on the table – bra-trapped boobs pushed against the wood. Dobbin sat by her and began exploring her back, a mole here, a mole there, and the warm skin of a woman. He nearly rushed through the act this time; waiting in palpitation for the next.

“These guards, they don’t come inside, do they?” he asked as Ms. Rita turned on the table.

“Naah! Except under exceptional circumstances,” saying this she undid her booby-trapped bra and leapt back on to the table.

“OH MY MY!” Dobbin shrieked, then stood with his hands up. “I need some time… or … or I’ll burst.”

“Ha! Inexperience!”

Dobbin was breathing, panting more like. He forced himself to look around, distract himself.

“Why are you here at the library today?” He was trying to make small talk.

“Nobody at home. No invitations either. Home would be a sad place to spend the night. Now, now … back to business!”

And so they resumed.

“You seem to be spending an awful amount of time on my boobs,” she remarked after a while.

“It’s difficult to place the hand and write, these are softer than I had imagined!” Despite that, Dobbin was now carving word after word on Ms. Rita’s roundish right boob. The ink took to the skin with aplomb.

Just then, Dobbin suffered a brain fade. He took the nib of the pen and poked at her nipple – erect and daring the winter.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry!”

Dobbin swept her ample breasts, the chest, and the tummy region. She giggled as his fingers held her by the bare waist.

“How far are you into the story Dob?” she asked, “I guess you’re nearing the climax, no?”

He nodded.

“Isn’t that where the protagonist takes initiative, and then seizes control of the situation?” uttered Ms. Rita.

On cue, Dobbin got on top of her, pulled her pyjamas down, and gently proceeded to lick her panty.

“STOP! No short-cuts!” she yelled, “Continue with the writing.”

Dobbin couldn’t have held on. Somehow, he did. And forced himself to run the pen all over her thighs, gently, pleasuring her as best as he could.

“Better! Much better!” She had started to moan.

Dobbin reached the edge of her black cotton panties. Time to take initiative, and seize control!

With a single jerk, the last piece of clothing on Ms. Rita’s body was separated. Her pussy shone brilliantly, fluid earmarking the whole area.

“Please” she spoke with a whisper.

He obliged. Next instant, Dobbin had pushed his mouth against Ms. Rita’s pussy – slippery, dripping, and burning hot! He licked her left, right, and centre. Ms. Rita was biting her lower lip. He didn’t have to wait long. In less than a minute, she had brought the flood to Dobbin’s face. Her body went through a series of violent shakes before she collapsed back on the table.

“Eww! That’s … that’s …”

“You want your Christmas party cut short?” she fired back.

“Excusez-moi, excusez-moi!”

“Hahaha! What now, Mister?”

“This is it! I have waited enough. You need to choose – either you suck me, or I fuck you.”

“Look at you Dob, talking dirty with the librarian.”

“Answer me,” he demanded while taking his pants off.

“Ooooo! Look at that tortured dick! Listen Dob, I’ll torture you some more. You have written all over me. You’ll need these notes later on, no? So how about we do a mini-photoshoot right here, right now.”

Dobbin protested, but to no avail. The next five minutes, the couple moved from table to table, and from darker ends to the lit-up centres of the room – Ms. Rita posing, and Dob clicking.

“The ink’s leaving mark all over the tables. I like this!” said Ms. Rita, “Would you mind -?”

The rest of her words were swallowed by Dobbin’s mouth, now jammed savagely to hers’. And Dobbin lay on top of her. What a sight that was, two naked bodies atop a reading table, under a centrally hung yellow light bulb, in a fucking library, fucking the hell out of each other. It was Christmas time after all.

“Don’t bite my tits so cruelly, my husband will notice.”

“I just hope the guards don’t notice us.”

“How the hell can you think of Joe and Jerry while fucking a lady?”

“The same way you could think of a photoshoot when sex was the only option left.”

“Shut up!” she turned him round, and took the top.

“Take it slow!” he cried, “The table has started to creak.”

“You ignorant little fool,” she shot back, “Only old tables creak.”

“Under pressure, all tables do.”

“Can’t handle me, eh Dob-Dob-Dobbin?”

“Oh, wait –”

SLAM!

They had heard the slamming of a door, and then the sound of someone climbing up the stairs.

“Run! To the back! Behind that rack of old books!” whispered Ms. Rita. Dobbin froze. Joe and Jerry had appeared. The duo kept quiet, and followed the set of footsteps with full concentration.

“They’re gone,” she said after a while, shaking him awake.

“What to do now?” Dobbin spoke, terrified.

“Shut up and put it back in!”

And so they resumed.

The floor was cold, the light was scant, and Dobbin was in shock. Ms. Rita? She was in no mood to stop!

As they neared the climax, Dobbin whispered “I can’t believe I was so rudely interrupted during my first ever attempt at sex.”

“First time, eh kiddo?” she laughed, “Hold on a bit … yea… yea… … yea … … …”

CRASH!

One of them had hit the rack of old books nearby and the whole bunch was currently cascading down on their content, lifeless bodies.

“Congratulation on losing your virginity dear!” she told him with a mischievous grin. Dobbin smiled, and kissed her, both still under the barrage of books.

“And now, RUN!”

By the time Joe and Jerry arrived at the accident spot, the duo had escaped via the stairs leading to the top.

“What place is this?” asked Ms. Rita, as they came out of a circular staircase in a cold, dark room. The wind was hitting them right across their faces, sending chills throughout. In the distance, they heard the church bells toll.

“The tower room,” said Dobbin quietly. With that, feeling around in the dark, he reached out to grab Ms. Rita from the back.