sexylibrarian
03-14-2012, 11:01 AM
I suppose it would be true to say that I've always been a good girl. More accurately, I've always outwardly been a good girl, while inwardly harbouring many ideas and thoughts that society would deem “deviant”, but nonetheless gave me a great deal of warmth and pleasure through some of the colder days and nights that the U.K. Can have; it would be true to say that I've always maintained a distance from men and women for the simple reason that I've been afraid all of my life that if someone found out exactly what went through my head at any one moment, I would be revealed as nothing more than a whore with no standards. It's hard to find a guy in this day and age that will truly let you indulge yourself in England; in Europe, it may well be a breeze, but I hadn't taken time off of work since I start stacking shelves in my local library as a part time job when I was 17, and never found the time to travel when I attended university.
And so, here I am; 25 years old. Allow me to describe myself. I am...5'5” tall, 34-24-35, and I have red hair; my eyes are blue, and I have fuller lips, and enjoy being girly. I grew up in London, and I can be found surrounded by my books, for I think they're the only things that understand me. I'm lucky really, as I live in an area close enough to Glasgow that means that while I'm a local library, many people opt to take the bus into the city and visit the main lending library there, which leaves me considerable time to sort the books on the rare occasion that someone comes through the door, or, more times than not, gives me most the day to read after I've done my morning housework. It's a dream job for me really; I moved up to Scotland from London because city life is...Stressful to say the least, but the most I have to worry about here, was the colour of my cup of tea and which biscuit I was going to have with it that day. Yes, for me, studying English literature had paid off in a big way. The only time I really had someone disturbing my peace and quiet, was when the occasional hobo passed through the town, and decided to use the Library to get warm – and this, dear reader, is where I choose to let you in on my journey into sexual enlightenment, and my decision to never refuse any experience.
A couple of years ago when I first arrived here, I hadn't quite gotten used to the peace and quiet. I spent more time than I do now, obsessively sorting books, going so far as to make sure everything was even, that the floor was immaculate, and that books sent to refresh the stock were given homes. The problem is that this would only take a few hours at best, and so the rest of the time, I would be left looking for something else to do. During this particular month, we were having a particularly cold snap, and so gentleman by the name of Ron would come in out of the weather, finding it too cold to be outside; Ron is a 48 year old man, surprisingly fit looking, with a scruffy beard and ill kept hair; his teeth look like they'd seen better days, and his fingernails have what I suppose are decades of dirt cakes beneath them, and despite all of this, well read and well travelled. I honestly welcomed the company, and went about making the library as warm as possible for him, and making sure he had a cup of tea every now and then; he would share a tale every now and then while he drank his mug, and then pretty much left me to my own devices, while he found a quiet corner to stay out of the way, and find something to read. Occasionally he would entertain me with stories of his travels, and I would bring in a spare sandwich for him to eat during lunch, and be left to my own devices at other times.
I, fortunately had my laptop to keep me occupied; I opened the lid, and began responding to emails from friends and family in the south, enquiring about my health and how I was settling in; I started typing away, first writing a mass response to my friends to let them know that I was fine – if not a little cold from time to time, and filling them in on my drive up to the North, and how awful the roads were. It was as I was finishing that sentence that my mind began to slip; I began by telling them that there were no men of note up here that were around my age to have some fun with, which then led to me thinking that I might have to go into Glasgow every so often, and then to the idea of what it would be like to have sex with an older guy; then, fatally, my mind wandered, and I asked myself: “I wonder how big Ron is?”
At first, I was thoroughly repulsed by myself; Ron was a nice enough guy, but years of being homeless and travelling meant he rarely took a shower, and that as a consequence meant he reeked to high hell. He explained that it “added to the charm”, and that people were more likely to give money and charity to an unwashed man with bad shoes that were badly worn out, than they were an immaculately shaved one with a distinct lack of B/O. I had to give it to him...He had a point. And so, I began to construct in my what he must look like underneath his layers of clothes. I had decided that despite the dirt, he must have been reasonably well maintained; he was, after all, living as a homeless person as a lifestyle – he explained to me once that it made life “less complicated”, and that it appealed to him because of his experiences in the sixties. Between the soup kitchen and people showing him charity, he was always so well fed, to the point that an organisation had given him a dog as a companion – the only reason he was hanging around at all, was because the library was warm, and it was sub-zero outside. I decided that his cock must be around....6 or 7 inches, and so I sank back in my chair, forgetting completely that the object of my current focus was somewhere on the floor; I lifted my skirt, parted my underwear to one side, and started playing delicately with my clit, applying pressure every now and then, and daring to penetrate myself, finding that I was getting increasingly wet at the thought of doing something so dirty. I was gasp as quietly as loudly as I dare every now and then, fantasising over the idea of my vagabond friend dropping his clothes, and slipping his filthy cock inside of me; I wasn't sure what was having an effect on me; the idea of the first sexual contact in almost a year, or doing something so degrading and humiliating. I closed my eyes and sank off into my own little fantasy world bucking and grinding on my hand; I tried desperately to push my fingers in further, unable to quite get the penetration that I was craving, and then...A breakthrough. My hand managed to push its way further inside of me, massaging my G-spot; I went wild with desire, crying out in ecstasy as I rode my hand. Then, as my heart slowed, and my senses came back to me...No...Not my hand. My sinuses picked up that familiar pungent smell that I had gotten so used to over the past couple of days; I opened my eyes drowsily, and looked down to discover a substantially larger, coarser hand had replaced my own, and I hadn't even realised an exchange had happened; I looked up into the brown eyes of my hobo friend, blushing insanely – he responded with an ashamed look, and pulled his fingers out of me quickly; I gasped at the movement, and watched as he made his excuses and apologies. Moving quickly, I grabbed his wrist, and sank to my knees.
“Take your coat off” I whispered. He obliged with what I guess was a confused look (I couldn't really tell through the hair and beard), and let his heavy coat drop to the floor. I unbuttoned his trousers, moving my hand beneath the material, and searching for his cock; I settled finally on a gloriously thick piece of meat, and pulled it out to see what I was dealing with. Seven inches long, with just about 2 inches of girth – I inspected It playfully, and then looked up at him. “What?” he enquired. I giggled, and started wanking him off to keep him hard. “It's so clean!” I responded. He chuckled and gruffly retorted with a matter of factly statement of “I'm not a complete barbarian.” That was all I needed; I took a deep breath, and moved in towards his manhood; I began by playfully licking his shaft and sucking on his head, before moving my lips down to his balls, and taking each in my mouth while continuing to wank him off, getting him harder all the time; I could have sworn he was getting bigger, while I was just getting wetter – I let my fingers dance between my pussy lips, penetrating myself occasionally before finally taking the plunge, and enveloping his cock with my mouth.
I started by gorging myself on him; I took as much of his cock in my mouth as I could, lubricating it with my saliva, and bobbing up and down on it dutifully; Ron appeared to lose control at this point, and took the back of my head and started fucking my mouth furiously – I moved my hands away, subservient to his will, letting his hands control the movement of my head, and trying desperately to breath between strokes. I gagged constantly, and looked adoringly at his cock, overcome with lust when we took a break to see it glistening in the artificial light of the library. Grabbing my hair, he made me stand to my feet and stripped me so that I was standing there in nothing but my suspenders, bra and stockings. “Do you always come to work in that get up?” has asked cheerfully. I nodded, slightly ashamed. “Work gets quiet sometimes, and I like to remind myself that I'm a woman.” “That you are” he said, eating the view in of my freshly shaven pussy and 34b breasts.
Not taking any time, he bent me over the desk, and positioned himself behind me and slipped his manhood into my aching cunt. The moment I had anticipated over the last 40 minutes had arrived; I closed my eyes, gasped and tried my best to accommodate him, allowing myself a moment to smile as I made myself available as a fuck toy. I was disgusted with myself; I could still smell all the sweat and dirt, but as he penetrated me from behind, fucking me harder and harder, completely bareback, I could feel myself caring less and less; my last conscious thought before I surrendered completely to the solid fucking I was receiving, was to promise myself to live out more of my little fantasies whenever I could – I rejoiced in feeling his thick manhood violating me, and gasped and moaned like a worthless whore with every stroke into me he made, when suddenly he stopped, and pulled his length out of me; I looked back at him confused, and then was hit with a wave of realisation as he spat on my arsehole, and lined up his member to my tiny hole; I looked back, begging him not to – just as it was too late. I cried out in abject pain, thankful that my cunt and his spit had sufficiently lubricated things so that it wasn't a dry invasion. I collapsed from the pain, crying slightly while I tried to relax and let it happen; I reached down between my legs and started massaging my clit – that made things substantially easier to bear, and before long wave after wave of pleasure hit me; I learned quickly to tighten my hole slightly when he tried to pull his cock out of me, which Ron seemed to love – before long, I could feel the vibrations from his body shaking and his cock pulsing, and so I begged – pleaded for him to fuck me harder; I moaned for him to mark me as his, and begged for him to cum in me; slowing down for a moment, he paused and pulled his manhood out, massaging it; I took this as a queue to kneel before him; pulling me back to my feet, he bent me back over and slipped his cock back into my cunt; he grabbed my arms and pulled me back, pounding into me with as much strength as he could bear down on me while I quietly whimpered and pleaded for him to not cum in my pussy; too late though, as he made one final push, and released a torrent of fluid inside of me – I came just from the feeling, both ashamed and exhilarated from the feeling of having his seed flowing down my leg.
Pulling out of me, he pushed me to my knees and forced his cock into my mouth; I dutifully licked all of the semen off of his dick, savouring the taste of his cum and my juices combined. I sucked greedily, cleaning his manhood obediently. It was an odd feeling...To be used and overpowered like that; I rather liked it, but felt ashamed at the same time that many people would see this as degradation – I liked that more.
Over the following months leading up to March, Ron would come into the library “for a cup of tea”, and always found me happily waiting to oblige. He still makes it this way every winter, knowing that he has a warm place available to him in the winter months. I'm not complaining...He's certainly made me accept that I can do anything I want to do, no matter how disgusting the public might think it is.
And so, here I am; 25 years old. Allow me to describe myself. I am...5'5” tall, 34-24-35, and I have red hair; my eyes are blue, and I have fuller lips, and enjoy being girly. I grew up in London, and I can be found surrounded by my books, for I think they're the only things that understand me. I'm lucky really, as I live in an area close enough to Glasgow that means that while I'm a local library, many people opt to take the bus into the city and visit the main lending library there, which leaves me considerable time to sort the books on the rare occasion that someone comes through the door, or, more times than not, gives me most the day to read after I've done my morning housework. It's a dream job for me really; I moved up to Scotland from London because city life is...Stressful to say the least, but the most I have to worry about here, was the colour of my cup of tea and which biscuit I was going to have with it that day. Yes, for me, studying English literature had paid off in a big way. The only time I really had someone disturbing my peace and quiet, was when the occasional hobo passed through the town, and decided to use the Library to get warm – and this, dear reader, is where I choose to let you in on my journey into sexual enlightenment, and my decision to never refuse any experience.
A couple of years ago when I first arrived here, I hadn't quite gotten used to the peace and quiet. I spent more time than I do now, obsessively sorting books, going so far as to make sure everything was even, that the floor was immaculate, and that books sent to refresh the stock were given homes. The problem is that this would only take a few hours at best, and so the rest of the time, I would be left looking for something else to do. During this particular month, we were having a particularly cold snap, and so gentleman by the name of Ron would come in out of the weather, finding it too cold to be outside; Ron is a 48 year old man, surprisingly fit looking, with a scruffy beard and ill kept hair; his teeth look like they'd seen better days, and his fingernails have what I suppose are decades of dirt cakes beneath them, and despite all of this, well read and well travelled. I honestly welcomed the company, and went about making the library as warm as possible for him, and making sure he had a cup of tea every now and then; he would share a tale every now and then while he drank his mug, and then pretty much left me to my own devices, while he found a quiet corner to stay out of the way, and find something to read. Occasionally he would entertain me with stories of his travels, and I would bring in a spare sandwich for him to eat during lunch, and be left to my own devices at other times.
I, fortunately had my laptop to keep me occupied; I opened the lid, and began responding to emails from friends and family in the south, enquiring about my health and how I was settling in; I started typing away, first writing a mass response to my friends to let them know that I was fine – if not a little cold from time to time, and filling them in on my drive up to the North, and how awful the roads were. It was as I was finishing that sentence that my mind began to slip; I began by telling them that there were no men of note up here that were around my age to have some fun with, which then led to me thinking that I might have to go into Glasgow every so often, and then to the idea of what it would be like to have sex with an older guy; then, fatally, my mind wandered, and I asked myself: “I wonder how big Ron is?”
At first, I was thoroughly repulsed by myself; Ron was a nice enough guy, but years of being homeless and travelling meant he rarely took a shower, and that as a consequence meant he reeked to high hell. He explained that it “added to the charm”, and that people were more likely to give money and charity to an unwashed man with bad shoes that were badly worn out, than they were an immaculately shaved one with a distinct lack of B/O. I had to give it to him...He had a point. And so, I began to construct in my what he must look like underneath his layers of clothes. I had decided that despite the dirt, he must have been reasonably well maintained; he was, after all, living as a homeless person as a lifestyle – he explained to me once that it made life “less complicated”, and that it appealed to him because of his experiences in the sixties. Between the soup kitchen and people showing him charity, he was always so well fed, to the point that an organisation had given him a dog as a companion – the only reason he was hanging around at all, was because the library was warm, and it was sub-zero outside. I decided that his cock must be around....6 or 7 inches, and so I sank back in my chair, forgetting completely that the object of my current focus was somewhere on the floor; I lifted my skirt, parted my underwear to one side, and started playing delicately with my clit, applying pressure every now and then, and daring to penetrate myself, finding that I was getting increasingly wet at the thought of doing something so dirty. I was gasp as quietly as loudly as I dare every now and then, fantasising over the idea of my vagabond friend dropping his clothes, and slipping his filthy cock inside of me; I wasn't sure what was having an effect on me; the idea of the first sexual contact in almost a year, or doing something so degrading and humiliating. I closed my eyes and sank off into my own little fantasy world bucking and grinding on my hand; I tried desperately to push my fingers in further, unable to quite get the penetration that I was craving, and then...A breakthrough. My hand managed to push its way further inside of me, massaging my G-spot; I went wild with desire, crying out in ecstasy as I rode my hand. Then, as my heart slowed, and my senses came back to me...No...Not my hand. My sinuses picked up that familiar pungent smell that I had gotten so used to over the past couple of days; I opened my eyes drowsily, and looked down to discover a substantially larger, coarser hand had replaced my own, and I hadn't even realised an exchange had happened; I looked up into the brown eyes of my hobo friend, blushing insanely – he responded with an ashamed look, and pulled his fingers out of me quickly; I gasped at the movement, and watched as he made his excuses and apologies. Moving quickly, I grabbed his wrist, and sank to my knees.
“Take your coat off” I whispered. He obliged with what I guess was a confused look (I couldn't really tell through the hair and beard), and let his heavy coat drop to the floor. I unbuttoned his trousers, moving my hand beneath the material, and searching for his cock; I settled finally on a gloriously thick piece of meat, and pulled it out to see what I was dealing with. Seven inches long, with just about 2 inches of girth – I inspected It playfully, and then looked up at him. “What?” he enquired. I giggled, and started wanking him off to keep him hard. “It's so clean!” I responded. He chuckled and gruffly retorted with a matter of factly statement of “I'm not a complete barbarian.” That was all I needed; I took a deep breath, and moved in towards his manhood; I began by playfully licking his shaft and sucking on his head, before moving my lips down to his balls, and taking each in my mouth while continuing to wank him off, getting him harder all the time; I could have sworn he was getting bigger, while I was just getting wetter – I let my fingers dance between my pussy lips, penetrating myself occasionally before finally taking the plunge, and enveloping his cock with my mouth.
I started by gorging myself on him; I took as much of his cock in my mouth as I could, lubricating it with my saliva, and bobbing up and down on it dutifully; Ron appeared to lose control at this point, and took the back of my head and started fucking my mouth furiously – I moved my hands away, subservient to his will, letting his hands control the movement of my head, and trying desperately to breath between strokes. I gagged constantly, and looked adoringly at his cock, overcome with lust when we took a break to see it glistening in the artificial light of the library. Grabbing my hair, he made me stand to my feet and stripped me so that I was standing there in nothing but my suspenders, bra and stockings. “Do you always come to work in that get up?” has asked cheerfully. I nodded, slightly ashamed. “Work gets quiet sometimes, and I like to remind myself that I'm a woman.” “That you are” he said, eating the view in of my freshly shaven pussy and 34b breasts.
Not taking any time, he bent me over the desk, and positioned himself behind me and slipped his manhood into my aching cunt. The moment I had anticipated over the last 40 minutes had arrived; I closed my eyes, gasped and tried my best to accommodate him, allowing myself a moment to smile as I made myself available as a fuck toy. I was disgusted with myself; I could still smell all the sweat and dirt, but as he penetrated me from behind, fucking me harder and harder, completely bareback, I could feel myself caring less and less; my last conscious thought before I surrendered completely to the solid fucking I was receiving, was to promise myself to live out more of my little fantasies whenever I could – I rejoiced in feeling his thick manhood violating me, and gasped and moaned like a worthless whore with every stroke into me he made, when suddenly he stopped, and pulled his length out of me; I looked back at him confused, and then was hit with a wave of realisation as he spat on my arsehole, and lined up his member to my tiny hole; I looked back, begging him not to – just as it was too late. I cried out in abject pain, thankful that my cunt and his spit had sufficiently lubricated things so that it wasn't a dry invasion. I collapsed from the pain, crying slightly while I tried to relax and let it happen; I reached down between my legs and started massaging my clit – that made things substantially easier to bear, and before long wave after wave of pleasure hit me; I learned quickly to tighten my hole slightly when he tried to pull his cock out of me, which Ron seemed to love – before long, I could feel the vibrations from his body shaking and his cock pulsing, and so I begged – pleaded for him to fuck me harder; I moaned for him to mark me as his, and begged for him to cum in me; slowing down for a moment, he paused and pulled his manhood out, massaging it; I took this as a queue to kneel before him; pulling me back to my feet, he bent me back over and slipped his cock back into my cunt; he grabbed my arms and pulled me back, pounding into me with as much strength as he could bear down on me while I quietly whimpered and pleaded for him to not cum in my pussy; too late though, as he made one final push, and released a torrent of fluid inside of me – I came just from the feeling, both ashamed and exhilarated from the feeling of having his seed flowing down my leg.
Pulling out of me, he pushed me to my knees and forced his cock into my mouth; I dutifully licked all of the semen off of his dick, savouring the taste of his cum and my juices combined. I sucked greedily, cleaning his manhood obediently. It was an odd feeling...To be used and overpowered like that; I rather liked it, but felt ashamed at the same time that many people would see this as degradation – I liked that more.
Over the following months leading up to March, Ron would come into the library “for a cup of tea”, and always found me happily waiting to oblige. He still makes it this way every winter, knowing that he has a warm place available to him in the winter months. I'm not complaining...He's certainly made me accept that I can do anything I want to do, no matter how disgusting the public might think it is.