4 comments/ 31608 views/ 7 favorites The Sixth Floor By: Deimos1 My feet quietly press against the raised gray circles of the outdated institutional tile as I methodically climb the stairs and arrive at the sixth floor. The bottom three floors of the university's library currently house a smattering of students that are studying and socializing before heading back to their dorm rooms to study and socialize more. The lack of seating and the building's unconventional architectural layout combine to leave the library's sixth floor nearly vacant after sunset though. Few students or facility members venture up the first three flights of stairs, down the long overly-lit corridor, and then up three more floors to reach the small annex that mostly houses under-read literary classics and fine arts memoirs. I check my cell phone and notice that the hour is quickly approaching eleven and mentally note that I will most likely have the entire wing to myself. Besides the students on the first three floors, a smattering of people will seek the silent anonymity of one of the building's three subterranean levels. The negative floors, as the three sub-floors are euphemistically known on campus, infamously serve as the setting for many of the university's erotic acts. Young men and women either in search of the thrill of public sex or without another locale to satiate their desires quietly travel to the negative floors' hidden corners and vacant stacks. Rumor has it that the library's management has attempted to curtail sexual activity on the negative floors multiple times but each campaign has been met with quiet but strong resistance from several powerful donors, each of whom vividly remember their sexual subterranean initiations and do not wish to deny the current crop of students these future carnal memories. Although rarely spoken of in polite company, the majority of the members of the campus community have a special memory of a sexual coupling on one of the negative floors (and apparently often on one of the negative floors' floors.) These stories are seldom told but I imagine that few alumni return to campus on homecoming week without at least briefly thinking of a negative floor encounter. The bespectacled and balding businessman who vividly remembers watching the sweet faced coed drop to her knees and eagerly take his engorged cock into her willing young mouth. The respectable housewife and mother who cannot help but recall the powerful feeling of the football player's tongue licking her pussy and expertly flicking against her excited clit. The ordinary married couple that silently acknowledge the collegiate days when they hungrily explored each other's bodies and began to form the boundaries of the people that they would eventually become. As I pause at the top of the sixth floor stairs I remember my own negative floor encounter. Three years ago, I was a second year Ph.D. student and a teaching assistant instructor for a freshman level U.S. history class. I had arranged to hold several class sessions in the library in order to give the students a brief tour and introduce them to the joys of academic research. (You would be surprised how many students don't even know where the library is.) The librarian assigned to assist me was a beautiful and vivacious young woman with whom I incessantly flirted after the end of each class. Over the course of several weeks I fought to appear professional while battling my increasingly strong desires. While my librarian helper was assisting my students I often snuck a quick peek at her dark coffee colored skin and her round ass and large breasts. Several times she caught me looking down her shirt or staring too long into her brown eyes, but she never admonished me or even acknowledged that my behavior had been discovered. Her failure to reprimand me only served to embolden my efforts and, although I attempted to remain stealth during class sessions, I became more aggressive when alone with her later. I would stay late to help her clean up and would discuss her personal life while walking her back to her office and sometimes her car. Our conversation topics would often turn to the sexual and I learned much about her wants and desires. Under her quiet conservative librarian exterior laid a smoldering pool of desire. Her boyfriend had not been fulfilling her emotionally or sexually of late and her needs were beginning to overpower her. My girlfriend, at the time, knew nothing of my ever-growing infatuation and my thoughts were increasingly filled with fantasies about the desirous ebony librarian. More and more often when I masturbated or fucked my girlfriend I thought of the librarian's dark skin and dark eyes. I regularly came while thinking of grabbing her long thick hair and roughly fucking her from behind. She and I increasingly inter-mixed the literary and the sexual into an academic courtship ritual that primed our minds and libidos and created an intoxicating bouillabaisse of the divine and profane. Both of us knew that we would eventually consummate our union but the tempting and teasing was too exciting to hastily end. The sexual tension steadily built over the course of several weeks and our heightened desires proved too enthralling to quickly fulfill. My need for her propelled me through numerous days and my desires became increasingly base and animalistic. The intensity of my cravings reached levels that began to frighten even me a little. These were boundaries that I had never tested and limitations that I had never approached. Finally, we were both so thoroughly pumped and primed that it threatened to damage our psyches if we did not act. So act I did, after class I took her to the graduate student carrel that I had rented early that day. The small isolated room was located on negative level two and she undoubtedly knew that I didn't really want her to see the copy of Inferno that I had left on the desk. Thus, she was not surprised when as soon as the door shut and locked I roughly pressed her against the barren wall and kissed her. As my hands caressed her face and my tongue explored her mouth the moment overcame me. I was lost in her and the entire encounter still only consists of a series of jagged jarring snapshots and sensory inputs in my mind. The coppery taste of her mouth and the sweet smell of her sweat and perfume mixing. Goosebumps forming on her skin as I kiss, lick, and bite her ears, neck, shoulders, and back. The small bumps around her areolas as I lick and suck her chocolate nipples. The musky smell and sweet taste of her pussy as my mouth engulfs her. The feeling of her wetness covering my face as she grinds into my needy mouth. Her beautiful dark skin against my paleness as I push her onto the desk and take control. Her sharp teeth piercing the sensitive skin on my shoulder as my cock shows her pussy no mercy. The uncompromising words that we scream; my cock invading her as weeks of desire and aggression propel me to unceasingly and ruthlessly pound in and out of her. The vile names that we call each other and the innermost fantasies that we confess even though many of them we had never acknowledged even to ourselves. Her legs spread wide and accepting my every thrust. Her words encouraging my cock to beat and batter her pussy. Her fingernails clawing and digging into my back. The feeling as her pussy tightened around my cock as an orgasm sweeps through her body like an earthquake and several aftershocks overtake her. The sense of power as I do not let her rest but instead bend her over the desk and take her from behind. Forcing her to present herself to me and grabbing her hair as I ram into her sopping pussy. Yanking her hair and choking her neck as I harshly use her body. Watching my thick white cock ravage her pink pussy as I smack her darkly colored ass and make her beg me for more. Two academics defying the cognitive and embracing the visceral. Feeling her orgasm again as her body send me over the edge and compels me to cum deep inside her. Pumping my seed into her accepting womb and marking her pussy as mine. The stunned and exhausted feeling of returning from another state of being and searching to understand what I had briefly become. Kissing and caressing her body as both of us feel a little traumatized but neither wanting to admit any weakness. Holding her naked body as emotional walls are rebuilt and personal boundaries reinstated. Watching her quickly dress as she embarrassedly tries to hide my cum leaking down her leg. I now stand near the first row of library books entranced by the memory of that first night. My thoughts hurriedly turn to the nights that followed until she left our college town for a better job last spring. Never again did we couple somewhere on the negative floors but we did explore each other's bodies and limits in a variety of exotic and enticing milieus. My focus returns to the present day and I am awash in feelings of sadness and sexual hunger. I had forgotten how deeply connected I am to her and how much I miss her company and the feeling of sexual control and power that I felt while fucking her. I walk down the narrow main aisle flanked by shelves of books on either side and attempt to snap out of the sexual daze that has engulfed me. Through my jeans I push my hardened cock down my leg and trap it my pants and my thigh. Doing this is slightly painful but makes it easier to walk and does not showcase my erection. I remind myself that I am here to find a copy of Lolita for class tomorrow but thoughts of work do nothing to change my demeanor. I am oversexed and I know that I will have to hurry home to masturbate soon. I briefly consider sex Skyping my former lover but realize that the time difference between us means that she has been in bed sleeping next to her boyfriend for hours. I'm now angry and almost animalisticly excited as I start to look at the Library of Congress call numbers on the outside of the bookshelves. I peer down at the slip of paper in my hand and try to memorize the number written on it- PG3476.N3 L6 1955. I slowly and quietly advance down the aisle noting the loud buzz of the lights as I try to focus on anything except my sexual needs. I soon locate the proper row of books and as I turn the corner I am momentarily startled to see a young woman with her back partially turned to me leaning against the midpoint of the bookshelves as she reads a red library-bound edition of Lolita. She does not notice me and I take a moment to look her over. She's tall, probably 5'10 or 5'11, has milky skin, and long black hair that is pulled back away from her face. I estimate that she is about 19 or 20 years old and is clothed in a low-cut white sundress that showcases her smallish breasts while also providing a tantalizing view of her pale legs. For me, her most striking accouterment is the pair of sexy black eyeglasses that sit atop her thin nose. As Normally, at this hour of the night, I would make a loud shuffling noise as I walked, to announce my presence, and then I would say something pleasant to put my sixth floor companion at ease. In my hypersexual state I feel no need to appear unthreatening. Instead I slowly and silently make my way towards the middle of the row and begin looking for another copy of Lolita. I say nothing and do not look towards my young companion; instead ignoring her completely, focusing my attention on the books in front of me and only learn that she discovered my presence when I hear her breath catch in her throat with an audible gasp. I retain my focus and wait to hear and feel her shuffle by me to the outer aisle and depart the sixth floor. No such movement occurs and instead I hear a page turn. Continuing to search for my book I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She appears to have taken little notice of me and instead seems to be enthralled by Nabokov's words. I spot several other copies of Lolita on the shelf near her. I lean and reach between her and the stacks in order to slide my prize from its dusty home. As my hand presses into the gap between human and literature it slowly and softly brushes against her bare right arm. She shutters for a moment but seemingly wills herself to retain her composure and not move or concede my existence. Her behavior only serves to enflame my excited state and offers a challenge to my already overworked reptilian brain complex. As my outstretched arm returns with Nabokov's classic in hand it smoothly and methodically rubs against her right breast through the fabric of her thin dress and again against her warm smooth arm. This time her body betrays her as she loudly gasps when we make contact. I look over in time to see her bite her bottom lip as she slowly and loudly inhales. I stand rigid and straight as adrenaline and desire mix into a potent cocktail that emboldens me and propels me forward. My cock painfully strains against my jeans as I open Lolita and pretend to read. My quiet but also excited companion has returned to breathing normally but her stiff nipples are now easily visible through her light sundress. I force myself to read a passage as a means to reassert control and discipline over my being. I compel myself to gird and harness my passion and allow my desires to fuel my actions but not overtake them. Nabokov's words jump from the page as I slow my mind and body. "All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh..." I read the sentence thrice, remembering the reason I came here. Closing Lolita, I slide the book into my leather messenger bag that I place behind me on the floor. As I do, I turn and lower my head; maneuvering my mouth about a foot from her breasts and blowing a long slow burst of hot breath against her already stony nipple. As she moans and squirms I repeat my soft incursion again and again. Fighting my base urges and unattended desires, I force myself to meticulously tease and tempt her. Wanting nothing more than to take control of her body and mind. Her back arches and her breasts push towards me as I continuously blow warm sensual air against her erect nipples. I briefly consider grabbing my bag and leaving my beautiful new acquaintance as frustrated as I feel. The idea of leaving her to ponder our encounter and to relive and fantasize about our scant moments together entices me. The thought of ending our tryst before I have even intimately touched her, here at the beginning of it all, when the encounter is filled with seemingly unlimited possibility, is mesmerizing in its dominant erotic possibilities. I can fuck her mind for weeks and months to come, if I chose to not touch her body. The slight minutes of this night could form the basis of her future fantasies and introduce her to desires that have long remained hidden deep inside her psyche. The briefest glimpse of me on campus could instantly excite her, causing her mind to reel, pussy to wetten, and legs to rubber. I quickly discard any consideration of leaving. My cock throbs and reminds me of all of the nasty things that I want to do to her, while my right hand unencumbers itself from my thoughts and deliberately slides up her dress rubbing her smooth leg. She instinctively adjusts, opening her legs wider and giving me access to the most intimate physical parts of herself. I stare through her glasses into her light blue eyes as my hand rubs her thighs and my thumb brushes against the crotch of her panties. Her face is filled with fear and want as I grind the palm of my hand into her, feeling her hot wetness through the thin fabric that serves as the only barrier between her pussy and me. I rub my palm deeply against her sex using her wet panties to create friction. I stare as she bites her lip in an effort to remain quiet as my hand sensually abrades her. Her breath becomes raspy and uneven as I overtake the core of her womanhood and she does nothing to stop me. Instead she thrusts her deprived pussy against my hand, acknowledging her submission to me. Still peering to her eyes, I slide both hands up her dress and slowly pull her panties down her long legs until she steps out of her soiled underwear, leaving them bunched on the tile floor. My hand quickly finds her pussy and my long thin fingers begin to rub and stroke her. I watch her eyes fill with lust and pleasure as I caress and fondle her excited pussy. My fingers stroke her folds as my thumb delicately rubs her engorged clit causing her to thrash and moan. I push her body against the bookshelf while I slide one and then two fingers into her tight wetness. Her hips thrust against my hand; my fingers press in and out of her. I push my long thin digits deep into her warm center faster and faster as the situation begins to overtake me. My other hand fondles her breasts through her bra and dress while my fingers fuck her, wanting nothing more than to push as deep inside her as is humanly possible. While my index and middle fingers invade her, she manically humps my hand, having forgone shame or social conventions, instead concentrating only on pleasure. Her pussy grips me and I continue to assault her desperate neediness. I stare into her, my eyes penetrating her gaze as my fingers do the same to her body. I relish the feelings of having taken control of her body and of her submitting to my desires. I use my fingers to control her body. In this moment I dominate her very being. Nothing else exists for her. No other thoughts. No other wants. No other needs. Only my fingers, her pussy, and her desire remain. She is completely mine and I want nothing more; only her. Likewise, the sight of her pale skin flushed red and her blue eyes enraptured in pleasure consumes me. Paradoxically, by submitting to me, she has also taken control of me. There is nothing I would not do to give her pleasure. I would do anything to fulfill her needs and serve her desires. One cannot control without serving and cannot serve without controlling. My fingers continue to assault her pussy as I lose myself in her warm wet solace. Her pelvis pushes against my fingers as she lewdly groans and whimpers. Her mind and body so filled with need. Her legs open so wide and her pussy so accepting. In and out my fingers pound. The rhythm sending shockwaves through her. A corporeal beat that literally and figuratively touches something deep inside her. Her body both the audience and the instrument. Her being simultaneously enlightened and debased. My companion becomes increasingly excited as I work to provide her release. Release from her pent-up desires. Release from the pressures of conformity and normality. Release from her daily existence. And even release from my current onslaught. I know that this encounter will only serve as a momentary reprieve from her daily stresses and drudgeries but I hope that it also can act as a balm for wounds old and new. I feel alive in a way that I have not in months and know that she feels the same. Lost deep in the moment, I feel her body tense and her breath catch in her throat. I press my finger deep into her as her entire body shutters and he pussy clamps onto me. She cums loudly, bellowing viscerally from somewhere deep inside. I watch her face; her head thrown back and mouth agape as pleasure overtakes her. The orgasm seizes her like a giant wave that casts her to and fro, thrashing and battering her. Relief and terror mix on her face as she is at once both saved and lost. The feelings and emotions so powerful and unrelenting that she can hardly process them. After riding out the largest orgasmic wave, smaller but still powerful swells rock and shake her. When her final orgasm subsides, I pull my fingers from her and lewdly suck some of her wetness from them. I love her taste and smell and deeply enjoy the fruits of our coupling. I offer her my fingers and she cautiously takes them into her mouth unsure how to react. The warmth of her mouth invigorates me as I enjoy watching her reaction to tasting herself. She coyly tries to hide how much she relishes her own nectar. The Sixth Floor Ch. 02 It is my firm belief that long-held and slow to be fulfilled desires are a painful joy that far too many modern men and women fail to appreciate. Pleasure denied is pleasure heightened and prolonged. Instantaneous gratification may temporarily satiate the body and the ego but it does little for the mind and the soul. Desire is most paramount when it is tended, cultivated, nourished, and permitted to slowly and painstakingly grow until an engorged and ripened bounty can be blissfully harvested. The wait is maddening, often producing nearly unbearable physical and psychological torture. A quick and easy release beckons and seemingly offers an enchanting solution. This is a fool's agreement though, trading the possibility of near rapture for a fleeting moment of fun. It is the exchange of one's birthright for the scantest of sexual morsels. During the week following our sixth floor encounter I could scarcely think of anything other than my new acquaintance. Thoughts of her body freely roamed my mind and there were seemingly no barriers that I could erect to prevent her from commanding both my waking and sleeping mental self. I obsessively remembered the feel of her skin and the smell of her hair. The sounds of her quickened breath and soft moans still filled my ears as I tried but failed to focus on other things. I'm thankful I didn't ask her name or get her phone number because a quick text or a short voice mail message would ruin the entire affair. It would introduce reality into a world of fantasy. At this moment she and I are tabulae rasae, blank slates. I am everything that she needs me to be and she serves the same function in return. Our minds fill in unknown details and concoct back stories that create something unique, a blend of fantasy and reality that is almost artistic in its scope and execution. I pine for and fixate on the dark haired beauty throughout the week, my mind and body pumped and primed. I go through the motions, working, attending meetings, seeing friends, reading, writing, and doing everything I would during an average week. I lack focus though, and must consistently remind myself not to become lost in her. I carry her panties in my pocket to work each day and place them in my top desk drawer. When I am alone I rub my hand against the soft fabric and sometimes hold them to my nose, so that I can smell what remains of her. At home I rub them against my cock enjoying the subtle eroticness of the action. When Tuesday finally arrives I can think of little else besides her; my cock rigid throughout the day as I remember our library encounter. As 11pm at last comes I force myself to slowly walk the stairs to the sixth floor. Fluorescent lights blink and flicker and the building is so quiet that my footfalls echo throughout the annex. I wonder if she hears me coming as I walk toward the scene of our first meeting as I pass rows of stacks filled with leather bond classics. Normally, I would stop and browse but tonight there is nothing further from my mind. Finally, I turn down the proper row and she is there, leaning against the shelving while pretending to read a paperback copy of Catcher in the Rye. I know that she heard me coming and is not really concentrating on the book, but I allow her this small contrivance. Her dignity thus remains intact when I "startle" her by scraping the toe of my shoe against the tile floor creating an audible squeal. She looks up from her book, trying hard to mask any emotion. Her deep brown eyes expose her excitement though; her dark dilated pupils oxymoronically illuminating the heightened state that she wishes to keep secret. He face remains an emotionless facade but the stale library air is filled with tension and longing. I try to remain calm and collected but I want nothing more than to fuck her. She is so stunning that it almost physically pains me. I search her face and body for a flaw to latch upon. Something to which I can anchor myself so that I am not left adrift as the waves of longing and desire overtake me. I find nothing except smooth alabaster skin, raven hair, and endless beauty. I unabashedly stare, losing myself in the moment and in her. She bites her bottom lip out of uncertainty and nervousness and the visual of her square teeth against her pink lips sobers me from my sensual intoxication. Called to action, I walk the three scant steps and kiss her. My right hand holding her neck as my left hand roams her breasts. I've spent a week building her up in my mind, my version of her is more fiction than reality and the illusion threatens to overpower us both. Her mouth accepts my invading tongue as my hand rubs her nipple through her tight shirt and bra. She tastes of arousal, restlessness, and a hint of spearmint gum. My tongue runs along her sharp teeth and pulls back just in time as she roughly bites my bottom lip, drawing blood. A coppery taste fills my mouth and only enhances my already overwhelming excitement. I push her backwards and press her against the bookshelves, using my body to wedge her against the stacks. I hold her arms immobile as I kiss her again. Her teeth purposely nipping at my punctured lip. Only her mouth engages me as I prevent her from touching me with her hands. I suck her tongue into my mouth as she struggles to no avail to free her arms and hands. I kiss down her throat and neck, grazing my teeth against her smooth skin. She smells of lilac and tastes of sweat and soap. I lick, kiss, and softly bite the side of her inviting neck. Her breathing intensifies and she grudgingly starts to vocalize short, harsh, guttural sounds that sustain my efforts. I slowly snake my tongue along the ridges of her ear, feeling her body quake. I take her soft earlobe into my moth and methodically suck it, causing her to audibly sigh and whimper. My hands free her arms knowing that the need to struggle has left her. I lick up her lobe again and softly whisper directly into her ear. My hot breath against her delicate skin. "You're so sexy. I love the way your skin feels on my lips," I vocalize, needing to tell her how beautiful she is. I rub and fondle her breasts through her shirt and bra as I kiss down to the side of her pale neck. Soon my hands are under her top and I trace the outline of her nipples through her undergarment. Unhooking her bra from the back, I free her breasts from captivity and let my fingers travel unhampered across her mounds. My fingers rub and stroke her hard nipples, slowly circling her areolas and then softly pulling and pinching them. She squeals as I do this and hastily turns her face in embarrassment at the way she reacted. I lift her shirt and watch as my hands continue to slide up her body, across her stomach, and under her breasts. Her body is beautiful, a pale wonderland of possibilities and potentialities. It is a corporeal Oz, a land which beckons me to explore its topography and geography. I feel her buxomness and the weight of her breasts in my hands as I cup her bosom and continue to stroke and pull her nipples. The sounds of her heavy breathing fill the stacks as I lower my mouth to kiss and lick her breasts, lapping my tongue flatly against her hard nipples. I lose myself in her, succumbing to my basest of selves. The irony of devolving into my most animalistic state in a library is lost on me in the moment. She is all that exists. She is all that is. I am absorbed in her as I unconsciously lick and suck her nipples. My tongue traces long slow circles around her areoles feeling the small solid bumps against my tongue's tip. Then licking with short quick strokes against her nipple bud. Eventually taking her stiff nipple softly between my teeth and rolling my wet tongue against it. My warm breath touching her smooth skin as I continue to softly lick and bite her. My hands flow down her stomach, playing with her navel ring as my mouth remains preoccupied with her breasts. I am entranced as my fingers rub her smooth skin and impulsively tug at her belly button's metal charm. Soon one of my hands slides between her body and her skirt and my fingers brush against her underwear. As my mouth continues to fixate on her breasts my hand snakes downward, feeling the hot wetness beneath her thin satin panties. While my lips suck her nipple, I grind the palm of hand into her pussy with only her panties' slight fabric between her skin and mine. I press my hand against her sexual core and feel her stoutly push back. I rub her stronger and grind deeper, hearing her moan softly. My fingers begin to pull at the crotch of her panties in an effort to quickly slide beneath. My index and third fingers reach her womanhood and feel her overpowering wetness. I unhappily remove my mouth from her breast and I momentary curse myself as I watch my hands slide out from under her skirt. I leave her for a moment and walk to the end of the aisle to retrieve an abandoned round step stool. The short squat stool's high pitched squeaks fill the stacks as I slowly roll it towards her. The jarringness of our quick parting and the stool's loud uncomfortable screech has made her anxious and uneasy and when I return I kiss her lips deeply and slide my fingers through her dark hair. I sit her down and position her body so that soon she is seated on the front edge of the round stool, about two feet from the ground. I lean her back against the book shelves so that she slightly reclines. She looks at me with a potent cocktail of nervousness, anticipation, and desire. The mixture emboldens and enthralls me and makes me yearn for her even more, if that is possible. During my brief absence she had pulled her shirt down and adjusted the rest of her clothing in an effort to regain some of her stolen modesty. "Open your legs," I order in a short flat tone. My voice surprising us both as it knifes through the silence. My words float in the air, seemingly filling the empty library and creating an unstated uneasiness. Now is the point when her nerves could get the best of her and she may decide that she no longer wants to be a part of this union. Until now she may have been ruled by strong passions and desires but by slowing down our fervor I may have ruined the game. It's a calculated risk I take, because the possible rewards far outweigh the potential negatives. Although I may have spoiled this encounter, we also could find shared desires that propel us to new erotic heights She looks at me questioningly, appearing to take a moment to understanding what is being asked of her and to decide how far she will actually go. She then slowly slides her legs open allowing me to peer up her skirt. I stare at her smooth pale thighs and focus on her black panty covered crotch. She is sex incarnate; the embodiment of desire. I want nothing more than to slide off her panties, spread her legs, and fuck her. "Wider," I command and observe as her thighs open further in order to accommodate my stare. She looks downward, refusing to meet my gaze as she displays her body for me. My eyes drink in the sight of her as my cock strains against my pants and throbs from the torture and torment of inaction. "Take off your panties," I demand and watch as she lifts her eyes and stares directly into mine. Never breaking eye contact she removes her small black underwear and drops them to the floor. Her eyes peered into me, declaring that she is in control of her actions. I may be using her but only because she lets me and wants me to. In the last few moments she has visibly transformed from a nervous and seemingly shy girl to a more composed and confident young woman. Some part of our new situation has sexually stirred her to level that was not evident just seconds ago. She leans back and spreads her legs wider than before, daring me to look. I continue to focus on her brown eyes though, not willing to be the first one to look away. She smiles softly appreciating that I am up to her silent challenge but also knowing that she won't lose this contest of wills. Her hand slides leisurely down her body and out of my line of vision. I observe her slowly inhaling and biting her bottom lip and know that her hand has found her pussy. The sounds of her breathing and small slight moans now fill the former silence. I watch as her face become a totem of sexual desire and fulfillment while continuing to will herself to retain her gaze. She fights to keep eye contact as her fingers rub and stroke her pussy. Her face is beautiful, lost in her needs and passions but all the while unceasingly staring at me. I hear the barely audible noise of the friction created as she rubs herself and I momentarily lose control as I quickly look down at two of her fingers sliding deeply into her wet pussy. I silently curse myself for letting her best me but also am relieved that I can now take in the entirety of her performance. She gracefully smiles in acknowledgement of her victory and momentarily looks upward as a tiny gesture of triumph. I watch her fingers rapidly thrust in and out of her center and I start to rub myself through my pants. My cock aches and strains and begs to be set free as I keep reminding myself that I need to remain in control. I need to assert myself and stoically watch her. I need to display my dominance and let her be the submissive she obviously should be. My cock orders me to tend to its needs and, although I fight the sensation, it is a losing battle. I want her so badly that I cannot stop myself. Almost unconsciously I unzip my pants and quickly release my throbbing cock. Before I realize what I am doing my hand is sliding up and down my dick shaft. I roughly grip my cockhead and stroke my erection. I watch my companion as she continues to pleasure herself and the heightened pace and increasingly needy look on her face signal that her orgasm is eminent. Her breathing slows, her head throws back, her body shudders, and she silently screams as an orgasm rips through her. I stroke my cock furiously as my cohort shakes and quivers through numerous orgasmic aftershocks. Pleasure has ravaged her body and she enjoys the aftermath's quiet stillness. After several moments she regains her composure and turns her attention to my solitary sexual flagellation. She silently watches me stroke my cock, satisfied in the knowledge that I am doing it for her. Knowing that my need for her has driven me to abandon my respectability and risk humiliation and public scorn. She stares at me as I feverishly rub my cock, excited by her newfound attention. I peer back at her overwhelmed by my need to fuck, suck, lick, kiss, bite, and do at least a thousand other things. "Come here and suck my dick," I order, wanting nothing else in the world except to feel her warm mouth on my angry cock. I instantly realize that she had been waiting for this and watch as she practically leaps to fulfill both of our desires. Apparently the idea of being told to suck my cock excites her almost as much as it does me. In one quick motion she bridges the distance between us and gingerly takes my cock from my hand and grips it inside her fist. Her long thin ivory fingers momentarily stroke and tease my cock, as she instantly drops to her knees and before I can comprehend that it has happened my dick fills her mouth. Her sexy dark eyes look up at me as she bobs up and down taking about half the length of my cock into her angelic mouth. I groan as she licks my cockhead sending shivers throughout my body. Her left hand cups my balls as her right strokes my shaft allowing her wet tongue to lick and flick my engorged mushroom head. "You're a good little cocksucker," I opine, knowing that my words will stroke her submissiveness and fuel her excitement. "You look so sexy. You were born to be on your knees with a cock in your mouth." My words encourage her to redouble her efforts as she sucks me harder and faster. Her divine mouth and tongue fill me with yearnings and desires, the intensity of which overpower me. Unable to hold out any longer against her oral onslaught I manage to warn her of my impending climax moments before my cock erupts, spewing my hot sticky cum into her inviting mouth. As I cum I feel as if I have reached some sort of sexual nirvana and have entered into a state of orgasmic bliss. I blankly stare into the abyss and am lost in the totality that surrounds and fills me. I am adrift in the moment and unable to successfully processing the sensations that swallow me. Sensing that I am lost, my companion becomes my Virgil and guides me back from my sexually altered state. Having swallowed my load, she kisses me deeply making me taste my cum on her lips. I rapidly regain control of my faculties and cup her face in my hands softly stroke her skin. Slowly we untangle our bodies and straighten our clothing. Not wanting our pairing to end but knowing that any further action would only sully the evening's proceedings. There are at least a thousand things I want to do to her, with her, and to have her do to me, but waiting will only make them better. At this moment she is still more fantasy than reality and I want to hold on to that illusion for as long as possible. I don't know who she is, I haven't heard her voice, I don't even know her name and in the moment that is perfect. As time passes our truth selves will eventually emerge; the coming days will reveal us more fully, flaws and all. For now we can both be each other's fantasies. We are mental aberrations, briefly made flesh, and then again relegated to the mind's playground. I hope to enjoy it for as long as I am able. After smoothing her skirt and adjusting her bra through her shirt, she walks to the end of the aisle and silently looks back at me. I watch as she turns the corner and listen as her heel strikes reverberate through the night. Finally, she reaches the stairs and soon I am alone again. Before long I follow her example and leave the sixth floor and eventually the library itself. I walk home in a daze, thinking only of her. Memories of how she tastes, smells, looks, and feels engulf me and she again intoxicates me, this time from afar. I worry that I am losing myself and try to regain some semblance of control over my thoughts and desires. I plan for our next encounter and I enjoy the afterglow of a flight of the imagination briefly made real. The Sixth Floor As I remove my fingers from her a second time, she stands up straight and smoothes down her dress, trying to make herself feel and look presentable. I know that she won't feel like herself for awhile, but she goes through the motions nonetheless. I respect her need to create order in the midst of chaos and I take a moment to do nothing except look at her beautiful face and body. She stares at me to see what I want and will do next, assuming that I will want to fuck her. I can tell that her orgasms have left her mind cloudy and her body numb but she is ready to do whatever is next. I pull her towards me and kiss her deeply; my tongue parting her lips and my hands cupping her reddened face and flowing through her dark hair. My tongue searches her mouth, as her and I entwine. As my hands rub her hot smooth face, I break the kiss and whisper into her ear, "Tuesday. 11pm. Here." I turn away from her and reach down to grab my bag and her soiled panties. I stuff her underwear into my pocket, knowing that I will rub and smell them many times in the coming days. I walk away without looking back at her, realizing that she is waiting for me to. I make my way down to the library's first floor and into the night; oversexed and in need of relief but more satisfied than I have been in recent memory. I smile as I slide my hand into my pocket and finger my companion's still wet panties, imagining that she's walking home through the darkness and thinking of me.