or

Pushing the Librarian’s Buttons

It was just the local library. Every Thursday evening I would stop in there when it was open till 8 pm. I wasn’t a member; I didn’t need to be as long as I didn’t want to take any books out. The staff were friendly enough and didn’t mind you bending the rules and bringing in coffee to drink, I often bought a couple of extra ones for them as well. So after work each Thursday evening I would pick up my coffee and walk into the library just after 6 pm. I’d browse the shelves for fifteen minutes or so and pick up a book to read for the next hundred minutes or so. If I enjoyed the book I would put it back on the shelves in some out of the way corner so hopefully, it would be there the following week.

The entire west side, a recent extension, of the library was windows, opposite was a couple of shops, and if a book didn’t grab me I would watch the people come and go. It had become almost a ritual for me and gave me time to think on the past weeks ups and downs or just to lose myself in the well worn musty pages for an hour or two. My housemates were curious why I was always late on a Thursday (my phone would also be turned off, of course) but I made the excuse that I didn’t want to be late on Fridays so I put in a couple of extra hours to make sure I got off early for the weekend. This was my little secret haven, my own little piece of Nirvana.

I’d broken up with my girlfriend the previous month; she had actually accused me of “fucking about” and “always seeing your slut on Thursdays”. I had tried to explain that the only woman I saw on Thursdays was Jane Austen; it didn’t go down too well, I guess I should have gone for a more popular modern author. Truth be told it was a lie; I’ve never read any of Austen’s books.

Back to the present and I had just sat on one of the old second hand and threadbare couches that occupied the northern corner of the library and placed my warm coffee on the small table beside me. I had found an old battered version of a Zane Grey cowboy novel, “Riders of the Purple Sage”. I vaguely remembered sitting on my fathers’ knee as he read them to me (my father had all of Zane’s stories) and I was lost in my own thoughts thinking about sitting on his lap watching the flames dwindle down to ashes in the grate.

“Excuse me!”

I was shaken from my reverie and looked up to see a small woman staring down at me. She was dressed in a long heavy skirt and a baggy black woollen jumper. Looking up to her face, I saw a pair of dark brown eyes behind thick black rimmed glasses, her red hair pulled back tight behind her head. Her face was devoid of any make-up and her mouth seemed to be in a permanent scowl. It struck me that with very little effort she could be quite attractive but seemed to make a point of making herself look ‘dowdy’. I judged her to be in her mid to late twenties.

“...err... sorry can I help you?” I asked.

“Library rules state that you are not allowed to bring beverages inside!”

“Oh... the staff” I nodded towards the reception, “has always turned a bit of a blind eye to it before... I’m very careful.”

She seemed to redden slightly and turned to look across at the main desk, my eyes followed hers to see one of her colleagues shaking her head at her and raising his Mocha to his lips. “Well,” she said turning back to me,”please refrain from it in future.” She quickly turned on her heels and strode away. I watched her hips roll beneath the less than complimentary skirt and finished the last of my coffee.

By closing time I had forgotten about the new librarian and headed into the far corner of the library, a very dusty reference section, to stash the book I was halfway through. This part of the library was in the old section of the building, a school once upon a time with tall arched leaded windows that were in a serious need of cleaning. I much preferred this area without the reference computers and the cloying smell of new paint from the bright new extension. On previous visits I had spent almost my entire time in here just reading the cracked spines of the forgotten tomes; not a single soul venturing near and only realising it was closing time when the staff flashed the lighting.

I was just emerging from one aisle into the next when I heard the cough. Turning I saw the new librarian glaring at me. How she was able to put so much disdain into a single cough I was unable to fathom and from the look on her face, I realised that she wanted to question me about what I was doing all the way back here. I smiled politely and headed out towards the bright more frequented areas.

.......

The next week when I arrived I failed to notice the absence of the new librarian and after dropping of the coffees at the main counter I retrieved my book and found my usual spot on the couch available. I finished the book with at least half an hour to spare and returned it to its’ correct spot in the shelves and then headed into the rear to peruse the less populated areas of the shelves.

After a while, the lights flashed above the shelves and I replaced the book on Victorian poetry I had been idly flicking through and headed out of the stacks. Once again as I moved from one aisle to the next I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise and turned to find the new librarian staring at me. If looks could kill I reckon I would be strapped to a chair with my gonads wired up to the mains. I made a mental note to look up whether or not gonads were essential to your well-being the next week. I smiled politely as before and made my way to the exit.

.......

This seemed to be the general format over the following weeks. I made a bit of a game out of it, trying to exit the older stacks without being seen by my imagined nemesis but almost every time she managed to cast her cold stare upon me. The first time I got away without feeling the red hot nails being driven through the rear of my skull I stopped by the main counter and had a chat with the head librarian. The ‘Ice Queen’, his words not mine, was on holiday for a fortnight; back to Transylvania, he suggested. I laughed appropriately but felt slightly bad for it because I had actually grown fond of her in a strange sort of way. I scratched my head wondering about the Freudian reasoning of my mind. The next week I headed home for a fortnight to see my Ma and by the time I caught up with work it had almost been a month since I had last visited the library.

.......

I entered the library with a full complement of coffees and chatted for a full half hour with the staff on the desk before heading for the stacks. I had no inkling as to what I wanted to read, my tastes are fairly eclectic ranging from thrillers to horror to comedy; pretty much all across the board. Gradually I worked deeper and deeper into the rows of shelves. I was very near the back of the library when I entered one of the last aisles. The books on the shelves were a haphazard of subjects. The only common link between them being their age and the rarity of them being lifted from their places.

I gently, almost reverently traced the spines whispering the titles to myself. In amongst Dickens and Wordsworth, I noted a large proportion of erotica, here was Nabokov’s Lolita, The Adventures of Lady Harpur and My Secret Life by Walter. I pulled the last from the shelf and settled myself against the grilled radiator at the end of the aisle. I noticed one of the Library’s bookmarks sticking out from the pages of the book; it welcomed all new visitors to the recent opening of the extension funded by lottery money. Obviously not such an unbeaten path I thought to myself.

I opened the book and began to read. The hero, the eponymous Walter, had taken hold of a clumsy maid and was berating her before pushing her down onto the kitchen table to administer as he put it “correction for her own good”. I was slowly reading the detailed description as I felt my own ‘ardour’, as he put it, rise. I pushed my right hand inside my trousers and adjusted my slowly swelling member. I cannot, in all honesty, say that all I meant to do was to make myself more comfortable but the outcome was I began to slowly squeeze my hardening erection.

I placed the book beside me and closed my eyes losing myself in my own fantasy. I was imagining my ex-girlfriend and was wondering if she would have been into a little spanking, she had always enjoyed being blindfolded. I was squeezing myself hard within my trousers constructing a scenario within my head when I felt, rather than heard somebody near. I opened my eyes and there standing at the end of the aisle was the ‘new’ librarian. I froze as I looked into her eyes with my hand down my trousers; my cheeks instantly reddened.

She just stood there looking at me over the frames of her glasses. Her eyes travelled down my body to the crotch of my trousers and then across to the book beside me open on the shelf. A smile flickered across her normally austere mouth as her eyes travelled back to my crotch. I’m not sure why but I gave my cock a further squeeze as she stared at the straining material of my trousers. The smile returned to her lips so I slowly lowered my left hand to my belt and unbuckled it; I watched as her tongue flicked out to slide along her top lip. She was holding a bunch of books to her chest and hesitantly took a couple of steps into the aisle. I lowered my zip as I saw her bite lightly on her own tongue and shifted my trousers down a little. My hand was still holding my cock within my boxer shorts, as small dark patch of pre-cum staining them just below the waist band.

The lights flickered to tell us that it was only ten minutes till closing time; neither of us paid it any heed. She walked slowly forward till she was about four feet from me, her eyes briefly flicking up to mine and then back down to my crotch. I rested my ass against the shelf behind me and pulled my boxers down. My erection sprang up, freed of restraint, into the cool air of the library. I studied her face, her brown eyes locked on my stiff cock; her tongue darting out to lick her lips as I slowly pulled downwards pulling my foreskin back to reveal the angry looking, slickened head.

She absentmindedly put the books she had been carrying on a half empty shelf leaving her hands free. Her left hand moved up to her chest and squeezed her breast through her clothing. Her right hand lingered against her hip, nervously tapping against the top of her thigh. I began slowly to move my hand up and down my length watching her as she squeezed her breast harder each time the foreskin rolled back; her other hand slowly gathering the material of her skirt lifting the hem gradually higher. I reached down with my other hand to cup my balls slowly picking up my pace as she leant against one of the racks as her fingernails found the bare skin of her thigh. Her flesh was a creamy white, almost unhealthily so, but her thigh seemed to be plump and delicious in my eyes; I swallowed hard as she slipped her hand beneath the fold of material and in-between her legs.

She gasped as I imagine her fingers found the hem of her panties. I was starting to wank myself harder now as I listened to her breathing become a series of shallow gasps. She quickly pulled up her heavy woollen sweater revealing a lacy white bra; roughly pushing the bra up to expose her large left breast with an equally large and erect nipple atop of it. She pinched and twisted her nipple roughly as I felt my balls tighten and began to pump my cock harder and faster towards my impending ejaculation.

Her eyes locked onto my pumping cock, her hand shifting deeper beneath her skirt and she grunted as I imagined her sliding her fingers into her tight wet cunt. The image was enough to send me over the edge and I felt my cock twitch hard within my fist. My seed shot out fast and hard from my shaft. The first and the furthest wad landed on her exposed belly, quickly followed by the second landing on her skirt and then on her right exposed knee before the final spasms landed on the floor between us. I breathed heavily through my nose biting on my bottom lip as she broke eye contact with my crotch and quickly reached out with her left hand to grab the nearest shelf and muffled a groan of pleasure behind her tightly clenched lips. Her eyelids shut tightly as she leant forward from the hips as her hand moved rapidly beneath her skirts; tremors racked her entire body as her own orgasm ripped through her frame.

After a few moments, her breathing settling, she opened her eyes and looked straight at my softening cock as a drop of semen fell from the tip to land in my boxers. She pulled her fingers from between her legs; she noted the splash of my seed upon her knee and gathered it on her fingers. Letting her skirt drop she rubbed the semen between her thumb and forefinger before tentatively putting it to her mouth and tasting it.

Her eyes locked on mine as she straightened her clothing and once she was satisfied that all was as it should be, she lifted her left hand and tapped her wristwatch pointedly. She quickly turned on her heel, grabbed the pile of books she had been carrying, and strode out of the aisle towards the front of the library.

I stood there, boxers around my knees, hand holding my sticky flaccid cock and simply whispered to myself, “...fuck.....”

The End