Library of Congress

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bdsm

Hello Literotica! I’m ba-aa-ck! I want to thank everyone who sent their thoughts during my absence.

This is a new one. I’m working on a few continuation chapters for other stories. I hope you enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I…. am a librarian,” declares Rachel Weisz proudly, in the 1999 film, The Mummy.

I’m not sure about your experience, but librarians rarely look nearly as good as the lovely Ms. Weisz. When I started high school, our librarian was Mrs. Novak, and while she was a lovely woman, she passed old several years back. She had been at the school for more than double my time on the planet. Almost triple.

Our school had been through a major renovation several years before my attendance, and among the changes was the library. I’m told that it was originally the girl’s gym.

Now with over one thousand students, that renovation had added an entire level of new classrooms, as well as a technical wing. Moving the library into the gym had allowed for an expansion there, as well. It’s higher ceiling had let them build another level within, so now the stacks were two storeys high. It was huge, but Mrs. Novak was rightfully proud of her project’s success.

And it was well and truly hers. Mrs. Novak ruled it with an iron, wrinkled fist. She didn’t even bother to ‘shhhh’ those of us who were too loud. Instead, if a boney, arthritic finger was pointed at you, it was a warning. If it was joined by a second finger, you were on thin ice. Next was the thumb, and banishment. Nearly everyone got the thumb at least once. That’s how you knew where the limit was.

Midway through my junior year, retirement called for Mrs. Novak. It was a big deal, given her history with history. We all held our breath, awaiting her replacement, hoping it wouldn’t be some old biddy with a power complex.

Apparently, wherever they keep the librarians for storage, they were out of that particular version.

Thank goodness.

***

I suppose a good indication of her arrival is that everyone noticed her, but no one recognized her as a librarian. Such are the dangers of preconceptions. She was, however, wearing the standard librarian’s uniform, that being the longish skirt and cardigan. Dark brown hair was pulled back and wrapped into some sort of controlled style, if not an actual bun. She even wore glasses, but hers were rectangular framed, and surrounded sparkling brown eyes.

Already tall, moderate high heels made her taller still, but when coupled with the restriction of the skirt around her knees, gave her a quick, wiggly walk. Similar to Morticia Addams, to whom she did bear a slight resemblance, that walk made her popular to follow down the halls, and she always seemed to have a flock of drooling boys in her wake.

Personally, I preferred the view from the other side. Despite the sweater and complete lack of visible cleavage, she had a noticeable jiggle when she walked. Hidden or not, her boobs were more than enough to distract all the males in the building, a point of contention for some of the girls who thought the universe revolved around their nubile young bodies. It hadn’t been that long since she must have ruled the halls of her school with equal dominion.

The name plate on her door said ‘Ms. Denninger’, and it didn’t take too much detective work to uncover her first name was the very exotic ‘Dexilara’. This led to several nicknames among the student body, such as ‘Sexy Dexi’ and the extremely appropriate, if unimaginative, ‘Double D’ or ‘DD’.

When it came to personality, Dexi left old Mrs. Novak in the dust. Maybe it was the much narrower age gap…. more detective work, suffice it to say she was in her late twenties to early thirties…. but she was actually a fun person. There were still rules, and she did enforce them, but at least she was pleasant about it, and her fingers were far more attractive, should she use them to single someone out.

One of my first encounters with her, required because of a history assignment, was a good example. I approached her at her desk. She was sitting back in her chair, reading a newspaper, with her long legs crossed on the corner of her desk.

“Excuse me, Ms. Denninger?” I began, watching her eyes, which immediately moved from the paper to focus on me over the top of her glasses.

“Yes, young man,” she smiled, putting the paper aside. I was disappointed when those sexy legs left my view as she sat up.

“I have an assignment for Mr. Heisen’s history class, and I need some books,” I told her.

“Books? Books. Yes, I think we have some of those around here somewhere. I think I saw some in the back,” she laughed, standing up gracefully.

Unaccustomed to librarians with a sense of humour, I glanced around at the hundreds of books literally within arms reach of her seat.

“Follow me,” she directed and came around her desk. “You are…?”

Huh? I thought. Oh, my name? “Oh, I’m Bryan…. Bryan Miller.”

She was a few steps ahead of me, and bahçelievler escort bayan my attention was now divided between the conversation and her fantastic ass. She was wearing a dark skirt today, one of those ones with a brass zipper up the back. I watched her wiggle.

“And what is the subject for the assignment, Mr. Miller,” she asked, over her shoulder. Her profile was cute. Pouty lips. Pixie nose.

“World War 2,” I answered.

“Ah, yes. World War 1, the sequel. Many of the same players, more special effects. Glad they stopped at the second one,” she replied, arriving at the computer terminal in the centre of the room. “You know you can look this up yourself, right? You’re a junior, not a freshman.”

I could see from her smile that she wasn’t angry. It was my first time face to face with her alone, and from this range I could see her beauty was not dependent on distance. What I mean is, she wasn’t one of those girls who’s a nine from across the room, but a four up close. If anything, she was prettier this way. Her eyes. The graceful curve of her neck and shoulders. If only that damned sweater wasn’t in the way.

“Bryan?” she asked, interrupting my internal dialogue.

“Um, yes, I know,” I stumbled, “but I was hoping you might know about some books that might set my report apart. I really need a good grade on this one. Something unusual? A bit off the beaten path? You’re the expert on books, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Alright,” she nodded, and put her finger to her lips, tapping them. It didn’t appear that she was wearing lipstick, but her lips were still extremely attractive. I watched that fingertip tapping, as she thought deeply. I was still watching when it stopped.

“Ah!” she grinned, finger raised in triumph. She pointed. “This way, I think.”

I followed, grateful for another chance to watch her ass. She was surprisingly fast on those heels, weaving through the aisles, around corners, and finally coming to a stop. Her eyes scanned the shelves above.

“Something…. Around…. Ah! Here it is!” she gasped, and reached up.

Reaching arched her back, thrusting her substantial chest out. One foot kicked up behind her, like she was receiving a kiss. As her fingers neared the target, I saw her breasts squash against the lower shelf. Any control I may have had over my blood flow was instantly lost. My dick swelled rapidly. Thankfully, her attention was higher.

“Here,” she smiled, handing me the book. “It’s written by a veteran of the second war, almost like a diary. Reading it is like being there. It’s pretty graphic, but if you want to learn why war is hell, and not like in a video game, this is it.”

I tried to turn my hips a bit, real casual, so she couldn’t see the lump in my pants. How successful I was, only she could say.

“Thank you,” I smiled. “This is exactly what I’m looking for.”

That was a subjective statement. It was the book I wanted, but right now, the book was secondary. She had become my primary obsession.

“Alright,” she said, casting a sideways glance at me. “Well, if you need anything else, just let me know. Good luck on your assignment.”

I made the logical assumption that she was referring to the assignment only, and kept my baser requests to myself. Mmmmm, but they were fun to think about, and I’d probably be thinking about them a lot in the near future.

As it turns out, her choice of material was exactly what I needed to get that good grade. I passed the class, and moved on to Grade 12, my senior year, but that would wait until after the summer.

***

Summer vacation.

A time of freedom with friends, but freedom doesn’t come free. If you don’t have a job, or parents with deep pockets and an understanding nature, you won’t be having much fun.

Fortunately for me, I already had that covered. A few years ago, I started working at a local golf course. I did weekends during the school year, and went full time in the summer, as a general purpose worker, sometimes on the driving range, occasionally in the cart shop, and even the pro shop. I got to play golf, hit balls, and still earn money. There was still another benefit, as well.

You see, this wasn’t exactly Augusta National. The conditions of the course were good enough…tees, fairways and greens well maintained and playable…. but it was an executive course. Comprised mostly of par 3 holes, with 6 short par 4’s sprinkled in, the clientele was a little older, or a little younger, or a little more female.

Women loved the place, because it placed less of a premium on power, and it was fun. Lots of wives banded together to play here, while their husbands were out on local ‘championship’ courses. Not just wives, of course. Single women as well.

It was July, and quite hot. My shift that day had me out on the driving range, dispensing balls, and sweating in the sun. I had shade in the range shack, but couldn’t stay in there all the time, because it was busy, balgat escort bayan and I needed to occasionally drive the ball picker.

I had just finished a circuit on the picker, and parked beside the shack. Eight heavy baskets of golf balls were next to be run through the ball washing machine, and I noticed a small group of women waiting in front of the shack.

“I’ll be with you in just a second, ladies,” I called to them, stacking the baskets beside the back door. Going through the door and into the small shelter, I lifted a smaller basket of balls onto the service counter.

“Bryan? Bryan Miller?” I heard, in a vaguely familiar voice, from the back of the small gathering. I lifted my head, and tried to find the source.

A very familiar face peeked over a shoulder from the back row.

“Ms. Denninger?” I asked, surprised to see her out of context. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m going white-water rafting!” she laughed. “What do you think? Playing golf, silly.”

Well, I knew it was a stupid question the moment it left my lips, but by then it was too late. Her response could have made me feel an even bigger idiot than I already did, but it was delivered in such a gently humorous way that I had to laugh along with her.

Nothing could keep me from noticing that she wasn’t dressed for library duty. As I served the group, and it thinned out, she was no longer hidden. The long skirt she normally wore at school ended just below the knees, but this one stopped mid-thigh, showing me more smooth, tanned skin than I could have dreamed.

On top, the all-concealing cardigan had been relegated to whatever closet it called home. Details about her body previously hidden by that unflattering garment were now quite obvious. She had an unexpectedly narrow waist, made more so by the full curves of her breasts, riding high and proud on her chest.

Even her hair, freed from its tightly confined style and merely held in a ponytail, was that of a totally different young woman. It would appear that Librarian Dexi, already worthy of obsession, was only one personna. This version was equally desirable, and overtly sexy.

“Hi, Bryan,” she smiled, when it was her turn. “Listen, I’m sorry about the sarcastic response, there. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. My girlfriends are a bad influence on me sometimes.”

“No problem,” I laughed, trying not to look directly into the cleavage her golf shirt was showing. “It was a pretty stupid question, and you were funny. Don’t give it a second thought.”

“Well, thank you for understanding,” she smiled again, paying for her practice balls. “Any advice for my golf game?”

“Yes…. Hit it straight, and infrequently,” I grinned.

“Oh ho! Now who’s the smart ass?” she giggled. “I had that coming.”

With that, she was off to join her friends, and I tried to watch her ass wiggle without looking like I was watching her ass wiggle. By the time I loaded the dirty balls into the washer and resumed my perch of casual observation, she was already clustered with her group, laughing at each other’s attempts to hit the ball. From my perspective, it was difficult to see the flight of the shots, but even if I could, my focus would have been on her form rather than the results.

Mmmmmm, yes, you know the form I’m talking about.

Such a cute pre-shot routine, I thought, watching her from the shadows inside the shack. She’d shift her weight from one foot to the other, wiggling her hips. Then she’d wave the clubhead forward and back, waggling the club. A pause, then a nice turn of her upper body. I could see the muscles of her right leg tense as she pushed off and through the ball. Her follow through was typically flexible, back arched, breasts pointed to the sky.

Again…. Wiggle…. Waggle…. Through. Oh my god, look at those tits. Watching her made my mouth dry, and my dick ache.

One of Dexi’s friends looked my way, then said something I obviously couldn’t hear. They laughed, and Dexi looked back toward me as well. Perhaps I wasn’t as hidden in the shadows as I thought. It would seem I had been proverbially busted.

I stayed in the shack, trying to stay hidden while they hit their practice balls. All four of them were quite attractive, but of course, my eyes couldn’t stay off Dexi’s more familiar form.

A few minutes later, the ladies all shouldered their bags and walked back toward the clubhouse as their tee time neared. My favourite librarian gave me a flutter of fingertips as she passed, and I returned a wave. I think…. I think…. I think she also winked.

Maybe not. It could have been wishful winking thinking.

***

The summer passed quickly, as it always does. I saw Dexi at the course three more times, and she was quite pleasant each time. The last time, about two weeks before school resumed, was quite memorable.

On that occasion, I was doing marshall duty, patrolling the course on a cart. In the distance, I saw a flash of baby blue, batıkent escort bayan brilliantly illuminated by the sunshine. As I drove closer, I could see it was a woman, smartly dressed in a matching outfit. Closer still, and long dark hair was evident, causing my heart to speed up, along with my right foot.

“Please, please, please,” I muttered, cruising along the curving path closer and closer.

Ahead, the mystery woman stepped onto the tee. I slowed, to stay quiet, and saw…. wiggle, waggle, through! It was indeed Dexi.

By the time I closed the distance, the group of women was strolling into the fairway. I watched the four lovely butts sway from side to side for a moment, then pulled up beside them.

“Hi, Ms. Denninger,” I said happily.

“Bryan! I was wondering where you were today! Looking forward to your senior year?” she asked, smiling wide.

“I suppose. As much as I ever look forward to school,” I replied, driving slowly, matching her pace. “How’s the game today?”

“It’s been better, it’s been worse,” she giggled. “At least today, it’s not a good walk spoiled. You know who said that, Bryan?”

“Homework already?” I asked. “Wasn’t it Mark Twain?”

“Very good,” she smiled. “Actually, there’s some question about who really originated the phrase, but most attribute it to Twain.”

The ladies flared out, each going to the location of their tee shots. I stayed with Dexi, for obvious reasons. Sitting a respectful few yards away on my cart, I quietly checked her out.

She looked good in blue. Her top was snug, with a collar and cap sleeves, but the item of greatest interest was the neckline. A long placket, with five or six buttons, could make it as conservative or sexy as she wanted, depending on how far she fastened it. Today, either by choice or circumstance, she was definitely on the sexy end, with her breasts straining the one button that was fastened. Her cleavage looked like a wonderful place to put my dick.

The matching skirt was extremely short, no more than six inches below the lower curves of her firm ass.

I watched her hit her shot, bouncing it onto the green of the short par 4.

“Nice,” I nodded. I was talking about the shot. Maybe.

“Thank you,” she smiled, putting her club back in the bag. She picked up the bag, and walked toward the green. I followed.

Carrying the bag, the strap tugged at her top, straining that last button even more. As we arrived at the green, she withdrew her putter.

“Good luck,” I said softly.

“Thank you, again,” she nodded, and went to read her putt. I was behind her, as she crouched to mark and line up her ball, and that skirt stretched tight across her shapely bum. Satisfied with her aim, she stood, wiggled, waggled and stroked the putt.

A bit too hard.

“Slow down!” I gasped, as the ball raced nearly ten feet past the hole.

“Arrrgh!” Dexi growled, gyrating her body in an attempt to influence the ball. She walked over and placed her coin angrily, clearing space for her friends to putt. They were no more successful than she, but merely tapped in to finish the hole. The stage was hers again.

I suddenly realized that she’d be putting back toward me, from the other side of the hole. Again, my heart skipped a beat.

Oh god, I thought, as she squatted down to replace her ball. Clearly trying to be as ladylike as possible, her legs stayed quite close together, but I did catch the briefest flash of what appeared to be white. Her panties, perhaps? Then she leaned forward, reaching down to actually set the ball in place. This move, along with her legs being in the way, brought her breasts into contact with her knee. They squished upward, suddenly filling the unbuttoned portion of her neckline with enough cleavage to give a priest naughty ideas.

I’m sure my eyes bugged out, almost as much as my crotch.

The putt was anticlimactic, in my opinion. She simply poured it right in the centre.

“Take that!” she cheered, pointing at one of her friends. They gave her a round of mock applause.

“Nice putt,” I smiled, and waved as I drove off. I thought it best that I leave now, before I had to go jerk off in the bushes.

It was a nice putt. Nice ass, nice tits….

***

September saw us back in school, and Ms. Denninger back in her usual attire, for the most part. Perhaps her skirt was a little shorter, but hardly enough to notice. Perhaps her sweater was a little tighter, but again, not so much as to be obvious.

A couple of weeks into September, we had a scheduled talent show. I don’t mention it because I was involved, or because I have talent. Neither of those apply. But it did bring back to mind a certain band from the past, as a group of students did a cover…. a god awful one, at that.

My friends and I were sitting in the library. It was a study period, but studying had given way to quiet conversation, that would have been loud conversation anywhere else. I heard a voice approaching, singing softly to herself.

“There are times when all the world’s asleep, the questions run too deep, for such a simple man,” Ms. Denninger crooned, rounding the corner into view. “Won’t you please, please tell me what we’ve learned, I know it sound…. Oh, hello gentlemen. You’re being so quiet, I didn’t even know you were here.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir