Every week a group of us bloggers looks to Ang, the Sweltering Celt, for our Microfantasy Monday prompt. This week she gave us “Books“. 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. It also afforded a great view of the back walkway, leading to the least frequented area of the library, near the workroom. I’d seen her before, slipping quietly into back corner of the stacks, books in hand, glancing quickly over her shoulder. 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. I was rereading what I’d written, working toward a tricky scene transition, and getting pretty turned on. Feeling the abundant moisture gathered between my legs, I glanced down quickly to see if it showed through. 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. As always, just as she was rounding the corner, she glanced back, but, this time, she looked directly at me. My mouth almost dropped open in shock, she’d never done that before. And it wasn’t just a glance, it was an invitation, no doubt about it. 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. A few feet down the walkway, I too glanced back to see if anyone had noticed my departure. Before I could turn around again, I was being pulled by my belt loops around a corner and pushed up against the wall. 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. You sit in that chair, day after day, writing smut, don’t you? You get turned on by what you write, don’t you?” 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. 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? 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.
This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.