Every week a group of us bloggers looks to Ang, the Sweltering Celt, for our Microfantasy Monday prompt. Â This week she gave us “Books“. Â Â This is Sexy in the Stacks:
I had a favorite spot in the library, a place where the wifi signal was good and the traffic was low, so I could concentrate on my writing projects. Â It also afforded a great view of the back walkway, leading to the least frequented area of the library, near the workroom. Â I’d seen her before, slipping quietly into back corner of the stacks, books in hand, glancing quickly over her shoulder. Â I hadn’t tried to catch her eye yet, though I’d thought about it many times.
One day I was in my customary spot, working on an erotic story. Â I was rereading what I’d written, working toward a tricky scene transition, and getting pretty turned on. Â Feeling the abundant moisture gathered between my legs, I glanced down quickly to see if it showed through. Â When I looked up again I saw her, with her stack of books, her studious but sexy glasses, her hair up, exposing her neck, walking along the stacks in my direction. Â As always, just as she was rounding the corner, she glanced back, but, this time, she looked directly at me. Â My mouth almost dropped open in shock, she’d never done that before. Â And it wasn’t just a glance, it was an invitation, no doubt about it. Â Then she turned again, walking resolutely down the corridor toward the back corner, though I thought I detected a bit more wiggle in her walk than usual.
I hastily closed my laptop, stuffed it into my bag and followed. Â A few feet down the walkway, I too glanced back to see if anyone had noticed my departure. Â Before I could turn around again, I was being pulled by my belt loops around a corner and pushed up against the wall. Â She slammed my ass against the wall a second time for emphasis and looking directly into my eyes said “I know who you are and I know what you do. Â You sit in that chair, day after day, writing smut, don’t you? Â You get turned on by what you write, don’t you?” Â She reached between my legs, clucking her tongue as she felt the wet spot in my jeans.
I continued to gape stupidly at her, no clever words coming to my rescue, even my hands immobilized at my sides. Â She smirked and leaned into my body, letting me feel her curves, enjoying my paralysis, “What’s wrong, can’t think of a thing to say now that you have me alone? Â All those words you write every day, and you can’t think of a single one right now, can you?”
I didn’t do a damned thing to refute what she was saying, preferring instead to enjoy the expert way she was massaging my cock.
“That’s OK, Mr. Butchtastic, ’cause speaking is not what I have in mind for that mouth of yours” and with that she reached around me, opened a door and pulled me into the work room.
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