**8:08 P.M.**

She was sitting in front of her laptop, oblivious to my wandering eyes. Her posture bent slightly forward to type a response to an online library patron, my eyes went down to where her shirt should have met her denim skirt; but of course, her sharp dress allowed for an inch of skin to be seen there. Her forward lean buckled her dress in the back, hinting at the presence of a thong, but the opportunity was too brief as she leaned back, looked up at me, and smiled about the inept online patron, her mind fully on her job tasks.

Of course, leaning back just emphasized her breasts, which were hidden by a thin white button up shirt and some other article of clothing, presumably from some lingerie boutique. With her delightful smile, her big brown eyes, and her long, straight brown hair, Amanda had the most radiant face you could imagine. It is rare that I see an elegant woman with a beautiful face and the body to match. When she stood, as she did after looking up at me at her computer, her six foot frame might have seemed a little gangly at first, but she had just enough curves in the right places to make any man double-take when she walked by.

She walked away from me, towards the side door of the office area, her fine butt swaying. Her outfit tonight, like every other, was smart. The denim skirt she wore went just past her mid-thigh, hinting suggestiveness with her long feminine legs without being skanky. As she walked out of view towards the stacks of book holdings I breathed a sigh of regret. I truly enjoyed every second I spent with Amanda. Her pale white skin, her tall body, her perfect propriety on the job, and the nights we met for playing pool at the local hangout only whetted my desire to get closer to her, but she always kept her distance. Little did I know I was wearing down her resistance night after night.

**8:24 P.M.**

I was at the desk dealing with another academically lost student at the university library. She was asking questions about APA style references for her paper. I was only half listening to her though. As I gave curt answers, I was looking over her head to where Amanda was sitting at her desk between the rows of computers used for locating books. She was talking on the phone, most likely to a distance education student. As a librarian, she was incredibly smart. Her knowledge of a vast array of subject matters only added to her mystique. Her charisma allowed her to manipulate most of her interactions so that she maintained control. That was what I was thinking about as this young scatterbrain pressed me for a quick fix to her paper due in the morning.

I had only known Amanda for about six months. Our acquaintance started in the library where we both worked, she a librarian, and I supervised the workers who checked out and shelved books. We worked similar hours: she was the only librarian at night and I was supervising four nights a week. Eventually as we interacted at work we discovered we had much in common. Both of us resisted the strict rules at this private school, and both of us had lived in some of the same cities prior.

As a young, inept but not inexperienced, lover, I was a twenty-three year old who was constantly checking out every female for the opportunity to pleasure a woman. As a young, recently married, twenty-four year old librarian, she exuded the confidence and sexuality that left me breathless every time I saw her.

She knew that. She knew I wanted her. She knew how seductive she was when we were playing pool. While she was talking on the phone, so professional like, I am sure she knew I was transfixed on her. And I suddenly became aware that she just realized I figured this game out. I was not in control—she was.

**8:52 P.M.**

Amanda always got off an hour before I did. At 9:00 every night she would gather up her stuff, say her good-byes, and head out. I had not seen her after she was talking on the phone. As I was checking my email on my office computer, which was quite deep in the “dungeon” of library staff offices, she came by and proper her head up on my monitor with her chin. She greeted me, smiling, but still being proper. “I need to stay a little late tonight, I have to type up some reports back here, but I am off to get coffee from the campus café, would you like some?” The question was golden to my ears, for it meant another hour I might have to watch her, but I didn’t drink coffee, so I replied with a no. She shrugged, said, “Suit yourself”, and headed out the door.

Perhaps it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but it appeared that one of the buttons on her shirt had come undone, barely exposing her small cleavage. Of course, the thought came in my mind that she could have done that purposefully, but with her ever present dignity and propriety, I immediately dismissed that. In the end I if my mind was deceiving me, wishing for the button to be undone.


The last patron sınırsız escort had left, the main floors were dark, and my workers were gathering their stuff to go back to their dorm rooms. I went in the back offices to gather my things and I was surprised to see Amanda still there. “Is it closing time already?” she asked. I told her we were all ready to go home, and that I could only hang around a few minutes before I would need to set the alarm.

My workers came to the back room where we were to use the time clock, I wished them well, doing so with sweaty palms, realizing I was about to be alone with this elegant lady. As they walked out I feigned getting my stuff together, wondering if Amanda would play her cards tonight or if I was just naïve for thinking anything of our relationship. When we were alone she continued typing, acting as if she was engrossed in her screen. I sat down to my computer.


“Amanda, I need to go now.” The words felt clumsy coming out of my mouth. I felt like a fool thinking I would so much as get a goodnight hug from her, much less anything else.

“Um…” she faltered, “I stayed around because my husband is away on business this weekend, and I am afraid to go home alone. I had someone to stay with me, but she bailed out for tonight. Do you think you could drive me home and check the house out before I go in? I know it sounds weird, but I would feel much better, and I would be happy to speak to a security guard so they could extend your curfew.” Since I was a student of the university as well as a worker, I had an 11:00 p.m. curfew.

I knew that meant one of two things. Either all of this was just my mind playing tricks on me, tricks that made me think there was something more than what was there, or that Amanda had just took control of the entire situation, making me helpless to her control.

Being the gentleman I was, I obliged her. On our way out of campus, she had me stop at the security shack, where she told him the whole situation, and got approval for me to skip curfew check for the evening. I realized as I drove off that it would be almost twenty-five hours before someone would check for me again, wondering if this was all part of a high stakes game.


I had never been to her house before, and I could see why she could have been afraid. I was petrified myself. It was a three story house, built almost one hundred years ago according to her. They were in the process of remodeling, and as I drove up I saw lots of building equipment outside, plastic over some of the windows, a sprawling porch with some obvious need of repairs, and a house that looked like the stuff of nightmares. She asked me to go in and look around, telling me where the lights were.

As I got out of the car, expecting her to follow, she called to me. “Here are the keys, come let me know when everything checks out.” Ah, I was to do this alone. I swallowed the sinking feeling to my gut, manned up and entered the house.

The first room looked like it had been remodeled already. It had beautiful wooden floors, exquisite antique furniture, and everything seemed perfect. In fact, most of the downstairs, and about half of the upper floors were in pristine condition. One of the second-story rooms I entered had a couple of saw horses in the room, and several walls were missing the dry wall. It looked as if someone had been doing framing work recently. I was about head out when I noticed the plastic stapled to the window had been severely ripped at the bottom. Knowing rain was coming tonight, I looked for some plastic and a stapler, but did not find them.

After I checked the entire house, I went back outside to where I had parked my car. Amanda was sitting on the hood of it, looking glamorous as always. The faint porch light betrayed that beauty, and for the fist time I could remember I saw that she was not sitting with her legs crossed. Though she did not have them open more than a few inches, the light revealed much. If it wasn’t for the irregular shadows the house was casting, I might have seen the full Monty. My imagination was hard at work when she interrupted it by asking if everything was ok.

I told her I chased all the monsters away, not forgetting to tell her about the window.

She replied, “I am going to need some help with that if you don’t mind. I don’t have the hand strength to operate one of those industrial staplers.”

Back into the house I went, this time she followed. She showed me the roll of plastic, which I threw over my shoulders, and she grabbed a stapler from the garage, meeting me upstairs. Five minutes of measuring, cuttings, holding, and stapling led to a lot of interesting views for this salivating library supervisor. I thought for sure this was going to lead into staring in each other’s eyes and perhaps even a kiss that would start it all. However, soon enough we were putting away taksim escort supplies, and extending her gratitude.As we walked down the stairs she offered me a Coke, knowing my weak point for the carbonated beverage. She grabbed one from her refrigerator and we plopped down on separate couches in the living room. She was once again all things proper, without so much of a hint of tease as we talked about college, sports, and the job. After about twenty minutes of talk she grabbed the controller and flicked on ESPN to check up on her beloved baseball team’s score.

It was a commercial, and she asked to be excused for a minute, throwing me the controller and walking out of the room. By this time I realized I was going no where quick with this girl, and started getting myself mentally ready to head out when she got back. I thought that if she hurried, I could still hit the video store and rent a decent movie to take my mind off of her, hopefully so that I could get some sleep later.

**10:56 P.M.**

I will never forget this image. They were recapping the homeruns of the day on ESPN when she walked in the room. Even though the television stayed on, that was the last thing I remember watching on it. My eyes were locked on Amanda, who was now wearing nothing but long, black, formal gloves, black high-heel shoes, stockings that went up to about mid-thigh, exactly where the denim skirt she was wearing before stopped, and nothing else. It was as if everything that was covered earlier was exposed, and that which was exposed was covered.

I could tell what she was wearing, but I didn’t get the best of looks at her. The room was shadowy, and she had come in the room from behind me, so that the first thing I saw was her but. The contrast of her pale white flesh with the midnight stockings was night and day, and the absolute perfection of her muscular thighs ending at those two wonderful globes of flesh combined with my already panting desire, lack of control, and the sense of her propriety instantly caused my cock to strain against my jeans.

She didn’t say a word. She walked over to the cabinet beside the TV, and keeping her knees straight, she bent from the waste and grabbed the handle to the cabinet that was about two foot from ground level. Bending that way gave me a shadow-obscured view of her pussy. Needless to say, my eyes were locked on Amanda, who has just gone from the perfect image of propriety to perfect sexual desire in a space of only seconds.

With her gloved hands she reached into that cabinet she pulled out a camera, slowly turned around, giving me the first view of her front side, and walked towards me. My eyes were not locked on her petite breasts, which I though must have been a b-cup. Instead, I was transfixed on the patch of hair just above her pussy, a patch which has been shaved into the image of a lightning bolt.

She extended the camera to me, and with the most seductive voice I have ever heard, she said, “You know how to use this, right.” I think I nodded in reply, taking the point-and-shoot digital camera in my hands. I was almost about to snap the first picture when she looked me in the eyes and said, “Not here, sweetie. Follow me.” She grabbed my hand with hers, and held it as if we were dating, leading me up the stairs, down the hall, and into a dark room.

She turned on the lights, and I remembered the room from my walkthrough before. This one had puzzled me earlier. The walls were painted bright red, and there was one couch on the far side of room that was a striking gold color. On both sides of the couch were a black end table, and there was a black coffee table in front of it. The lights in the room were bright track lights, pointing in the direction of the couch, and other than that, the room was empty. Earlier I had assumed the room was in the process of being redecorated. Now, with camera in hand, I realized how nice this room would be for taking pictures.

With the bright lights on, I looked at Amanda, her tall, mostly naked frame only inches from me. I wanted to reach out, to ravish her body with mine, but as I leaned her way, she walked away from me and towards the couch, where she sat down on the middle cushion, butt just on the edge.

“All of those times you tried to get a view, all of those days you fantasized about me when you went home after work, every time you undressed me in your mind while helping another patron…” As she said that, she took off her right glove, and slid that naked hand to her breast, fondling her nipple. “You thought I didn’t know. You thought I wouldn’t mind. You only wished for more. And so I gave you chances. I let you look. I even showed up without panties some nights. But it wasn’t enough. I knew you wanted more. I knew you wanted to see it all. So now, here you are, camera in hand. Immortalize this moment by recording everything you fantasized about.

And with that, she leaned back, tesettürlü escort putting one high-heeled shoe on each end of the coffee table. The view was amazing: her amazingly long legs were spread wider than possible imaginable, spreading her pussy lips wide open. She was playing with her breast with one hand, and she made a gesture that looked like a camera taking a picture with the gloved hand, and then pointed to her lightning bolt. I was lost, staring, probably even drooling. I was only interrupted when she said, “Hey boy, you going to take some pictures or what?”

I shook myself out of my daze, looked at the image on the digital screen of the camera, zoomed all the way in on her spread pussy, and started taking pictures. On the screen she looked wet, and I looked up from the screen at her brightly illuminated body, and noticed all the signs of woman who is turned on: rapid breathing, hard nipples, and a wet pussy were just a few of them. I hadn’t even touched her and she was already turned on.

I was snapping pictures like crazy, and she was just sitting there, smiling at me. I got views with the zoom all the way in, all the way out, and everything in between recorded on the camera. I took pictures of her whole body, and every part too. Finally, when I thought I was done, she turned over, presented her but to me, and indicated that I should get some shots from behind too. I was in heaven.

I had gotten about every shot imaginable when she stood up, walked over to one of the nightstands, opened the drawer, and got out a memory disc. She walked to me, handed it to me, and said, “Your going to need this for the video.” She took the camera and switched it to video mode. Handing it back to me, she walked to the still open drawer, pulled something out and when back to the couch.

I was busy still fidgeting with the camera, trying to figure out the video mode. Looking up, I wasn’t expecting to see what I saw. Amanda was holding a huge red dildo with her gloves hand, her other hand gently stroking her clit as she leaned back on the couch with her legs resting on the coffee table again. “Star filming” she said huskily. Fumbling with the controls, I got the camera to work, and zoomed in on the dildo that must have been nine inches long and fairly thick too. She brought it up to her mouth, licked her ruby red lips, and then began to give it a blow job. Oh how I wish that it was my cock in her mouth!

In and out she was thrusting that red rubbery pleasure-toy. In I zoomed as my cock strained against my jeans, trying to get out. I was transfixed on her, how she looked like she was getting more pleasure out of sucking than fondling herself: her back was arched, her eye closed, she was thrusting that symbol of my cock in her mouth, over and over again. I thought I was at my boiling point, that I was going to have to put the camera down, when she took the dildo out of her mouth, tantalizingly traced it down her body, between her breast, over her navel, and down to her lightning bolt.

“Get this.” That was all she said before she used her gloved hand to make one thrust, jamming the red dildo all the way into her pussy, certainly bottoming out. She started to fuck herself with it, over and over she drove it inside her cunt, now making noises that bordered on primal abandon as she did. My hands shaking the camera wildly and my cock raging hard, I walked closer and closer to her as she bucked wildly on the couch. Since I was watching the image on the camera, I didn’t notice the coffee table I was about to bump into. When my legs hit the table, it knocked me off balance as well as knocking Amanda back to her senses.

I had sort of dropped the camera, no longer filming her. She had her feet on the table with legs spread wide; the dildo was crammed all the way in her pussy, which looked soaked. Her nipples stood off of her breasts about an inch, dark brown in color. A sheen of sweat covered her skin and her face flushed red. Her hair had meandered out of place: she was blazing sex.

“Have you enjoyed your show?”


“Good. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want?” She said it with a sly look in her eyes, making me wonder if the night was over or more was to come. I knew she had not climaxed; I certainly had not. I was disappointed that she so suddenly had ended the show—I thought that if she was talking to me, and at the same time had a huge dildo in her pussy, there might be a change that she was going to give me a blow job, or maybe even let me replace the dildo.

“Bad first.”

“I am done here.” She pull the dildo out of her pussy, tantalizingly licked it clean, then stood up and put it in the drawer where she got it from. I sat down, straddling the coffee table while I watched her do this. Even though I knew there was still good news left, I just had this vibe that I was soon going to be driving away, leaving without even the pictures or video I had created.

Amanda was in control. She had pleased herself. All of this was for her and not to satisfy me. I realized she did this for herself and that this night had been completely about her.

“What is the good news?”

“Follow me.” She grabbed me by my hand, and led me out of the room.



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