11 comments/ 26312 views/ 4 favorites Marian the Librarian By: ejls A jack-o-lantern glowed on the corner of the desk next to a basket of ripe red apples. A vase of mums completed the autumn vignette. Marian's head was bent over a pile of books she was sorting, hoping to have them back in place on the shelves before it was time for her to leave. Every October it was the same thing. Just about every book of "true" ghost stories was taken out of the library, and returned by Halloween night. Her thoughts were interrupted by "Trick or treat!" Marian looked up and smiled at the Tinkerbelle and Spiderman who stood on the other side of the desk. "Don't you two look great this year? Are you having a good time?" "Yes," they said in unison. "Let's see, did you come here to get an apple?" The pouting lips on the faces of the seven-year old Brunette twins was priceless. "No," they said together. Marian did her best to keep a straight face. "Well, the only other treats I have are candy bars. I don't suppose you would settle for those, would you?" "Yes! Thank you Miss Marian," they yelled to her as they ran out the door, leaving the library quiet once more. To the casual observer, Marian appeared to be dressed the part of a librarian for Halloween. The thirty-five year old woman wore a gray skirt, white blouse and pink sweater. Her brown hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck and a pair of reading glasses rested on her nose. A pair of sensible flat shoes finished off her attire. She appeared much older than her years. Marian -- Marian the librarian. What a cruel hand she had been dealt when her parents named her that. They were an older couple who never thought they would be blessed with children. Marian came into their lives when they were in their mid-fifties. She was only five when her father died that Halloween, so the holiday was always bittersweet. Growing up, she spent most of her time with her mother. When she became a teenager, instead of enjoying school activities and going to parties, she went home to care for her aging mother. Now her mother was ninety and living in a nursing home, but Marian still went home right after work. Life had pretty much passed her by. It was nine o'clock and time to lock up. She finished putting the books away, blew the candle out in the jack-o-lantern and locked the door behind her. When she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she was surprised to see a very large bus with blackened windows sitting in front of the library. Marian could hear the muffled sounds of voices inside as she started to pass by. Suddenly the bus door opened and several men stumbled out into her path. One of them bumped into Marian, spilling his beer on her. "Damn! Sorry ma'am," he mumbled. Marian was shocked by the group and the smell that assaulted her senses. She may not have been a partier in her day, but there was no mistaking the aroma of pot that exited the bus. "Dog, you ass," one of the other men yelled. "Are you trying to get us thrown out of town?" I know him, Marian thought, trying hard to remember why the man who yelled at his friend looked so familiar. Her heart began to beat a little faster when she realized she was looking into the green eyes of her teen-aged dream. The walls in her bedroom had been covered with posters of the band named Manchester, and its lead singer, Stephen Lowd. Older now, but still an attractive man, he stood before her. "I'm really sorry," his eyes seemed to burn into hers. "Can I offer to have your clothes cleaned?" Marian didn't realize she was staring. His dark hair showed streaks of gray and the laugh-lines around his eyes were evident, but he was still the gorgeous singer she remembered. "I....you....I mean...," she stammered, completely star-struck. Stephen grinned and took Marian's hand in his. This was a look he had seen often in his over twenty years in the music business. "I'm Stephen; please forgive Rudy for his clumsiness." "Of course, "she said. "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." "Let us do something for you. We were driving across country to California and we got this overwhelming urge for a meal. Can you suggest some place?" Stephen said, still holding Marian's hand. A chill ran up her spine, but Marian pushed the uneasiness out of her thoughts. How often do people this famous ever come to the small town of Perish? She eased her hand out of his and said, "Unfortunately, the two diners in town closed early because of Halloween. I'm sure you'll find something open closer to the highway." "Well then that's where we'll head," Stephen said, turning away. Almost as suddenly, he turned back. "Would you allow us to buy you dinner? I know it's late, but I'd really like to spend some time with you." It made no sense, but all Marian could think of was her great fortune in meeting her idols from years ago. Nothing magical ever happened to her. Nothing of any kind ever happened to her, so who was she to turn down this opportunity? She nodded her head in agreement and followed Stephen onto the bus. The interior of the band's bus was as dark as its windows. The sides appeared to be a dark walnut with small, amber lighted sconces between the windows. The seats were black and there was a haunting melody playing over the speaker system. Stephen ushered Marian to a seat near the rear of the bus and then sat next to her. He asked her about her life, her interests, and her dreams. She was enchanted by his soft voice and his cat-like eyes. When he spoke to her about his life and his travels, he would sometimes run his fingers over her hand, causing goose bumps to form on her skin. The bus hit a bump in the road causing the pair to be thrown against each other. Their heads raised, their eyes met and their lips came together. It started soft and tentative but continued and became more demanding. Marian couldn't remember the last time she was kissed by a man, but she didn't care. That kiss transported her to a wonderful place in her mind. "Found it!" the bus driver shouted out, slowing the bus, pulling to a stop, and causing the couple to separate. Marian hadn't paid attention to the drive, so she had no idea where she was. She certainly didn't remember having seen this fifties-styled diner before. The red neon sign flashed "Fat Nancy's" and you could hear oldies playing through loud speakers outside the building. Inside it looked as if there was a Halloween party going on. Everyone seemed to be dressed for an old-time sock-hop. The band and Marian quickly grabbed a large booth in the corner, darting around dancers who had gathered around a jukebox. Their waitress was a rather round, middle-aged woman with her hair piled high on her head, wearing a red uniform and a white apron. "Hey kids, what'll you have tonight?" asked Dina, or so her name tag read. The menu was a throw-back to the simple eating of years gone by -- just good honest food. Nothing fancy, nothing with a cream sauce, just burgers, fried chicken, hot dogs and such. One might look at it as heart attack on a plate, but it was just what this group wanted. When Dina left to place the order, a couple of the guys got up to check out the music and mingle with the dancers. Stephen stood and offered his hand to Marian and then led her out onto the dance floor. "Unchained Melody" played and Stephen sang quietly in Marian's ear. She felt hot, but chilled. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined being in the arms of this handsome man. She felt his breath on her neck, followed by the touch of his lips. Soon Stephen whispered, "Let's go outside for a bit." Hand in hand they walked out the door, accompanied by a couple of sly remarks from Stephen's band mates. The air was getting cooler and becoming damp. You could smell the scent of autumn leaves and hear the wind whistle through the trees. Marian was glad she wasn't alone on this eerie night. Stephen turned and pulled Marian into his arms. His mouth engulfed hers with a kiss that was very different from any she had ever experienced. Marian felt her body mold against Stephen's. Everything around her seemed to cease. She knew that she would do anything he asked. Marian was not a virgin. Well, not in the truest sense of the word, anyways. There was the back-seat tussle with a boy from Perish College. It had been a rare instance when her mother had gone away with the seniors from the center and wasn't expected home until very late. She really didn't know what he wanted until she felt it was too late to turn back. Thank goodness he had used a condom. Now, for the first time, she was experiencing the wants and needs of a grown woman. Stephen's lips made her want more, when he held her she wanted more, her body was crying out for more. The couple separated and took a breath. Each had a questioning look on their faces. "Stephen, will you take me into the bus?" Marian asked. "Miss Marian, I can't promise you anything. I can only give you tonight," Stephen told her. "That's all I'm asking for," she responded. The last seat on the bus stretched from one side to the other. It was a narrow bench seat, but it was big enough for the two of them. Marian sat stiffly, not afraid, but nervous about what she had suggested. Very gently, Stephen eased her sweater off her shoulders and started unfastening the pearl buttons on her white blouse. One by one they opened, revealing the very utilitarian white bra that held her modest breasts. Marian was not embarrassed by her body. She came from good genes and was tall and slender. She kept telling herself that she asked for this, it was what she wanted, but still she couldn't help how she felt. When he finished with her buttons and removed her blouse, he sat back and just looked at the woman before him. "Lovely." Marian prayed he couldn't see her blush in the very dim light. She put her hand up to touch the side of his face and their lips came together again. Stephen leaned her back on the seat and lay over her. As they kissed, his hands moved over her body with feather-like touches. She shivered when his hand settled on her breast -- squeezing and massaging it until her nipples stood at attention. Stephen slid Marian's bra up over her breasts and gently began to suckle at one of them. She made quiet little sounds of pleasure as he enjoyed her modest woman bits. Inside this unassuming librarian was a woman who wanted more. Marian held Stephen's head to her chest. She never wanted this feeling to end, and yet she did. She wanted him to move on and touch her in other places. She reached over to her left side and unbuttoned her skirt and slid the zipper down. Stephen heard the noise and stopped. He moved off of her and stood to remove his t-shirt. Reassured by the look on Marian's face, he reached down and pulled her skirt from her body. Marian cursed the white full brief panties she wore, but they didn't seem to bother Stephen as he removed them. He stripped out of his jeans and joined her once more. When Stephen took Marian in his arms, her fears melted away. He kissed her with a passion she had never known, and she answered him. In spite of Marian's inexperience, a woman will react if the seduction is not only of the body, but of the mind. Stephen was her desire when she was just beginning to blossom. With her sexual growth stunted, her mind returned to that time. He showed interest in her and treated her not only with respect, but with desire. He was fulfilling all of her needs. His lips moved away from hers, along her jaw line and down her throat. They were light kisses that made her shiver with desire, but fanned the flame that was starting. Stephen's tongue left a warm moist trail as he worked his way down. Marian was panting by the time he approached her breasts. He was almost able to take the whole breast in his mouth. Nothing wasted, he thought while he savored the smells and tastes of this willing woman. One of her hands gripped the side of the bench while the other tangled itself in Stephen's hair. Her legs began to open, silently begging him to keep going. Her hips rose up and down to the beat of an unheard drummer. Still feasting on her mounds, Stephen moved his hand lower to her valley of moist heat. Marian's tufted hair was dripping with wetness and her scent filled the night air. He parted her lips with his finger, finally rubbing from clit to hole, without touching either. "Nuh...uh....oh God, please....." Marian moaned, wanting him to stop but not wanting him to ever stop. Stephen pushed his way into her hot canal. The sides of her sheath gripped him tighter than a woman much younger. One, two, three, four pumps of his finger and Marian was cumming. Her squeal was high-pitched and she sounded like a banshee on the moors. When she threw her leg over Stephen's hip, he couldn't wait any longer. He gripped Marian's hip and slowly pushed his way in. As his cock broke into the long neglected pussy, it seemed to grab hold and pull at him. Marian howled and pushed back. Side by side they began their mutual assault. Marian was demanding and Stephen was like a piston working in and out of a finely tuned machine. Finally, he stopped moving and held her tight. Marian could feel his hot juice fill her. She began to shiver uncontrollably, her body releasing all its pent up tension. Stephen held her, placing angel kisses all over her face. When her breathing finally returned to normal she said, "Stephen, I couldn't have asked for anything more than what you gave. Thank you. Thank you for tonight." "Miss Marian, you are one hell of a woman. Maybe someday I'll meet you in the reference section of the library and we'll study some more," he said playfully. By the time they made themselves presentable, their food was sitting cold on the table. The rest of the group was enjoying themselves on the dance floor. Stephen took their plates to the counter to see if they could be reheated. Marian looked down the length of the diner and saw an older gentleman staring at her. He looked strangely familiar, but Marian couldn't place him. He must be one of our members she thought, glancing at Stephen. When she turned back, the elderly man was gone. The rest of the evening was a whirlwind. Even Marian got up to dance, taking some impromptu lessons from one of the girls dressed in a poodle skirt. All too soon it seemed the evening came to an end. The tour bus pulled up in front of Marian's house almost at the stroke of twelve. Stephen walked her to her door and kissed her deeply. "Miss Marian, I will never forget you," he told her earnestly. As the dark bus drove off she heard the grandfather clock chime midnight. She whispered into the night, "I'll never forget you either, Stephen. Thank you." Julia woke up smiling when her alarm sounded. She smiled in the shower, when she touched herself while washing. She smiled when she fed her cat. She smiled as she walked to work. She had no one she could share the wonderful memories of last night with, but she didn't care. She just kept smiling. Julia, the other librarian, brought the morning newspapers to the counter. The bold headlines caused Marian to become ill, and she left to go home. She could barely find her way down the street to her house, tears blinding her eyes, and bile rising up in her throat. Her hands gripped the newspaper, its black ink staining her palms. "Rock Band Killed In Bus Crash" screamed the headlines. The article claimed that the group known as Manchester had been killed in a fiery crash near the interstate as the sun set Halloween night. The van exploded at the site of a diner which had been destroyed by fire one Halloween night back in the fifties. Marian was sickened. There was no way last night could have happened she kept telling herself. She felt the need to lie down. It was all some maddening dream, she thought as she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Something caused her to pause at her parent's former bedroom. There on the dresser was the man she saw in the diner last night. It was a picture of her father, taken right before he passed away. Marian the Librarian I certainly didn't expect to meet anyone like Myra at a Baptist church social, or anything like the sequel. It was an unexpected adventure, and it changed my life. I wouldn't have gone at all, but my cousin Helene practically dragged me there. "Jack," she said, "I want a favor. There's a social this Friday at my church, and you're invited. I'd really like you to come with me." "I'm invited? To a Baptist social?" "Invited by me. I'm a self-appointed committee of one to get my anti-social cousin out of his gloomy cave." "I don't know. I'm not very social, and I have lots of work to finish." "You don't get out enough, Jack. You stay locked in your dark, forbidden study, writing all that stuff you never let anybody read. You need some fresh air and human contact" "Helly, I'm happy just like I am. And I'm not a Baptist, I ..." "I know that. I've known that since we were little kids." "I'm not even religious at all. I've made my peace with my gods outside the churches." "Yeah." Helene was not in the least deterred. "I've known that too, for dozens of years. Oh, come on, Jack. Harold is out at sea on maneuvers, and I don't want to go alone. You can be my 'date.' It's not like you're taking a big chance here. We Baptists don't bite." "But you're Southern Baptists." "Oh, scary! We'll grab your soul and drag it, kicking and screaming, into Heaven." I had to give in. There were two or three dozen people at the gathering, none of whom I knew, even casually. Amongst all the milling and mingling, I made my way to the punch bowl. Punch, of course, was mixed fruit juice and soda water. This was a Baptist gathering after all. Alcohol is a sin. I nibbled a couple of finger sandwiches—egg salad filling, and poured myself a cup of punch. Several people came to the punchbowl, but one woman caught my eye. Her complexion was olive, but not really dark. Her hair hung down past her shoulders in glistening black waves. Her eyes were soft brown, deep set, and intense. They seemed to see more than most people are aware of. Her deep burgundy dress accentuated her full-bodied, buxom figure. I waved a cup of punch in her direction. "Buy you a drink, Ma'am?" She took the cup with a nod. "Thank you, Sir. But this is expensive stuff." Her name tag said "MARIAN." "I can afford it. May I call you Marian? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" "This den of Baptist iniquity? I work here. I'm the church librarian. Spare time. My day job is, I'm the librarian at Horton Elementary School." I couldn't suppress my smile. "Marian the Librarian. Nice to meet you. I'm Harold Hill." "And you're a music professor. 'Right here in River City.' All right, you got me." Her eyes sparkled as she laughed. "The name tag is a joke. My name is Myra. Myra Elwood." Her voice was sultry and vibrant. "Jack McKay. Short for John." "Hello, Jack. I just wanted to see who would catch the humor. People's reactions to things amuse me. You don't have a name tag." "I'm not a member. I'm only here with my cousin." As if on cue, Helene appeared at my elbow. "Say, Jack, I ... Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something? I see you've met our library lady." She finished with a knowing smile. Myra smiled warmly. "I've seen you here a few times but we've never really met. I'm not really Marian, I'm Myra." "Helene. Helene Jacobsen. Jack's my cousin. Look, Jack, Lydia Miller's asked me to help her with next month's schedule. I'll get a ride with her. You don't mind going home alone, do you?" That knowing smile again. "I'm a big boy, Helly. I'll get home safely." I wasn't at all ready to leave, to quit the presence of this enticing lady whom I had just met. But the meeting was ending. The crowd was thinning and people were trailing out the door. I turned to Myra. "Must we vacate the library? I've hardly met you. I ..." "Mr. McKay," she said with a twinkle, "I'm on foot this evening. What's a girl got to do to get a ride home?" "I would be honored, Ma'am" I said. "Right this way. Mine is the blue sedan parked under the sycamore tree." On the way to her house we chatted about this, that, and the other. She learned that I was a four- year divorcee. I learned that she was a three -year divorcée. We had a shared interest in Pre-Raphaelite art, Baroque music, and barbershop quartets. She did not share my love for bagpipe music. "Turn here on Sycamore Street," she said. It's the third house on the right. I killed the motor and walked round to open the car door for her. "It's not too late," she said. "Would you like to come in for a quick cup of coffee?" "If the cup's not too quick. I wouldn't want to chase a cup across the room." But I was mildly surprised at her invitation. "Well, maybe not coffee at this time of night. Some other libation?" "I'm not as Baptist as all that," she chuckled. "I do keep decent beverages in the house. What's your poison of choice?" "Scotch on the rocks, if you don't have to go to Scotland for it." "Well, Sir, you're in luck. It just happens that a Highland Single Malt has strayed into my locker." She poured two Scotches and handed one to me. "Mud in your eye," she said. "Slainte Mhath. That's Scottish for ..." "Your good health. 'Slanchevah.' You speak Scottish? A Scotch name and you drink Scotch whisky. Are you Scotch? Other than your drink." "I'm about ninety percent Scotch—and ten percent water." I had expected a chuckle, but she played it with a straight face. "So what's in the water?" "I have to admit there's a drop or two of English in me. Mea culpa. I'd rather talk about my hostess. I would guess Italian." "Good guess. Italian, Czech, and half Gypsy." She bent down and removed her shoes. Sensible librarian's shoes. Our glasses were empty. As we returned the empties to the bar, our hands touched. Her skin was smooth and warm. I could feel a vibrant spark of chemistry between us. She turned to face me. "Well?" she said. I stepped toward her and placed my hands on her waist, just above her full hips. She rose to her tiptoes and turned her face up to me. As our lips met her arms went up and she took my head between her hands. The kiss was deep and warm. She pressed her body tightly against me. Under that burgundy dress she was firm, yet soft and yielding. A current of sexual energy ran between us, binding our bodies in an embrace that seemed eternal. It was as if an electric energy field cackled in the air around us. Through the fabric of her dress, through the cloth of my shirt, I could feel the firm softness of her breasts pressing against me. The fragrance of her body was intoxicating. I could smell her pheromones, feel them working on me. I hadn't touched a woman since Betsy had betrayed me and walked out of my life four years before. But Myra was awakening desires and needs in me that I wasn't sure I could control. My rising manhood strained at my trousers. Myra felt it pressing against her. She was well aware of the effect she had on me, of her female power. "Wait here," she said. She collected our two glasses from the bar and deposited them in the kitchen sink. Returning, she took my hand. Again I felt that electric thrill at her touch. She led me to the end of the bar. She pulled her skirt up and bunched it around her waist. She hiked herself up to sit on the end of the bar. Her bare feet dangled. She slid her panties down and off in an easy motion, hesitating as they caught and then slipped away from the heel of her left foot. "Now bring that stool and sit down right here in front of me." Her voice was low, husky, and vibrant. I brought the stool and sat. She pulled my head to her, between her spread legs, and lay back at full length on the desk. Her vulva was copiously covered with shining black curls. She locked her heels behind my back and pulled my face down to her crotch. "Now kiss me, Jack McKay," she said. She mashed my face hard into the fur that covered her delta. That glistening hair rubbing against my lips was a totally new sensation for me. She smelled musky, an intoxicating odor of female fragrance. I kissed the hair of her delta lightly, and licked the tip of my tongue across it. I pushed my tongue into her fur, seeking her lips. She relaxed the pressure of her thighs slightly, and I could get my tongue into the slit of her vulva. I began to lick the lips of her vulva, pushing my tongue deeper into her with each stroke. Her mound was thick, fleshy, engorged, swollen, and turning red. Her pussy was already moist, and her vaginal fluids began to flow. Her love-juice tasted like strong apple cider. I was enjoying this immensely. I slipped my hands under the cheeks of her bottom and lifted her hips up from the table. The altered angle gave me better access to the opening of her love tunnel. I plunged my tongue deep into her vagina with a rapid fucking motion. I found the underside of her clitoris and flicked it, thrumming my tongue on the tip as it grew and extended out from under its hood. The shaft of her clitoris was tiny but I managed to capture it between my lips and draw it out from the hood so that I could suck it. I mashed her clit hard between my lips. "Oh," said Myra. "Oh. Oh... OH!" Her voice was low and breathy. As I sucked that little nub, I tongued it rapidly. This brought more juice seeping into her vagina, and I lapped it up eagerly. She responded by thrusting her crotch hard against my mouth. "Ohh. That's good," said Myra. "Keep going." Now I used the fingers of both hands to part her lips and slid one finger inside her. I slid the palm of one hand into the crack between her buttocks, jamming it against the bud of her anus as I inserted the thumb into her vagina. With my finger at the top and my thumb at the bottom, her slit was stretched tight. I continued thrusting my finger deeper into her, searching for her G-spot, continuing to lick the outside of her stretched labia. "Mmmwwooo," said Myra. "Mmmwwooo, Ooooo. MMMMM!" She was vibrating; not only her chanting voice, but her entire body seemed to hum. Her vaginal juice was flowing freely now. It tasted fresher, lighter than before. I drank in copious amounts of her sexual fluid. It was heady. The room was filled with the fragrance of her arousal. I opened her labia and licked deeply into her. She was fully engorged, swollen, and glowing red. The pink flesh of her vagina was wet with her juices. I thrust my stiff tongue directly into her as deeply as I could. I massaged her G-spot. Her thighs began to quiver. I took her clitoris between my lips and sucked at it. A shudder went through her body. "Ooooo. MMMMM, yes. Yes!" Her body became tense and taut as she approached a peak of tension. She clutched my head as her first orgasm rolled over her, pressing my face into her fragrant delta. "Aaaahhhhh," she crooned. "Ooooohhhhh!" Her voice was low and smooth. I continued to thrust my fingers into her and lick and suck her clitoris. She tensed again and another climax claimed her. And another soon followed. "Ohh, Jack, Ohhhh," she murmured. As her last orgasm subsided, she opened her thighs and pushed my head back. "Okay," she said. "Now you may fuck me." It was unexpected and almost startling. Of course, I had expected our lovemaking to take a normal course, ending with coitus. But this seemed as if she had catalogued each step of our contact like a multi-staged process. But I was aroused. I was ready. As I stood up from the low stool, Myra lifted her dress off over her head, freeing her generous breasts from their confinement. I was startled to see that she was not wearing a brassiere. Her breasts were large and full, well-proportioned and deliciously rounded. Her nipples and areolas were brown and crinkled. They matched the olive tones of her skin. Her nipples were hard and erect. The bar she lay on was exactly the right height so that I could enter her on a flat horizontal plane. My risen member was stiff and swollen, turning dark with engorged blood, and throbbing almost painfully. I rubbed the head and then the entire length of my cock up and down the slit of her vagina. Her pubic hair was wet from her multiple orgasms, and her vagina was filled and leaking fluid. I tapped my rod lightly on her pubic hair just above her clitoris. She shuddered. I slapped it down twice again, and a tremor shook her body—another orgasm. I slipped into her in one long, slow, easy slide. Immediately another orgasm possessed her. Her vagina clamped tightly on my tool, milking at me. I began moving in and out of her. At my fourth thrust another orgasm shook her again. Three more thrusts into her, I paused and remained motionless, holding her teetering on the edge of yet another orgasm. With minuscule movements of my member within her, I kept her on the quivering edge for long, long minutes before thrusting deep inside her and bringing her to another crashing climax. I scooped my hands under her bum, lifting her from the desk. Still buried deep in her vagina, I laid her down on the thick Persian rug that covered her floor. There was hardly any change in the constant motion of my plunging into her. She shifted her hips upward, allowing me to penetrate deeper into her in this position. Her pussy kept on and on spasming, clenching, and gripping my tool as I bored into her in dead earnest. She would rise to a climax, burst over the edge into a full orgasm, and rise to another higher peak, without a pause between. She had been moaning softly ever since I first entered her. Now she gasped, and her moaning took on a different tone: Gasp, pause. "I'm going to ... aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! It's sooooo ..." Gasp, pause. "Oh, here comes another ..." Gasp, pause. "OOOOooooohhhh!" My member was afire, beginning to swell deep inside her. I was enflamed, an engine of sexual power. I increased the speed of pumping into her. As I felt my climax building, I tensed my muscles, ready to pull out of her before my sperm erupted. "Myra, Myra," I panted, "I'm going to... I don't ..." "No, Jack, it's all right. I want your juice, your seed, in me. IN ME!" Her voice was fierce and intense, the only intensity to which she had given voice in the entire evening. I exploded inside her, shooting spurt after spurt after spurt against her twitching cervix. Even as my spasms began to subside, she went on with several more climaxes, with my shrinking tool still clutched inside her and milked dry by her amazingly powerful love canal. Finally she began to relax, coming down slowly from her height of sexual exaltation. I kissed her mouth softly, and her answering kiss was equally tender. I let my spent cock slide out of her. We lay side by side on the Persian rug, my arm under her beck and her head pillowed on my chest. I kissed her and stroked her belly and her breasts. Myra was fairly glowing. She turned her shining face up to me and looked deep in my eyes. "Jack McKay," she whispered, "you're going to be an excellent lover. Now take me to the bed and do me again."