Mr. Dillon checked his watch. It was 8 p.m. He had been cataloging erotic books for the last hour and half. His assistant, the lovely Ms. Currie, had been carefully cleaning the leather-bound editions of “Story of O” that they had acquired this morning.
He noted that she had her back to the hotel clock. It made him smile. He knew she did it to prevent herself from checking the clock every other minute.
Ms. Currie loved story time.
Mr. Dillon swiveled in his chair to face her. He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out of his boxers. Like a good librarian, Ms. Currie made no comment until called upon.
“Ms. Currie,” he said.
Ms. Currie calmly put away the book she was cleaning. She wiped her hands and put away the cloth she was using. She rose from the chair and walked over to Mr. Dillon with quiet grace. In a single fluid motion, she dropped to her knees before his cock.
“That was very professional,” Mr. Dillon said. “However, in the future, you might want to not smile so much. It makes you look like an eager cocksucker.”
Ms. Currie’s smile didn’t falter. “I will keep that in mind, Mr. Dillon.”
“Your blouse,” he said.
He loved this part, though he would never have admitted that to her. Vanity could so ruin a librarian — more quickly even than television. Ms. Currie slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Button by button, the white blouse opened to reveal her dark skin and her impressive cleavage. The shirt opening widened to unveil the lacy bra that held in her epic breasts. Because it was a Saturday, the bra was a deep purple.
The blouse came off, but the bra stayed. When she moved, her breasts jiggled within their lace confines. If Mr. Dillon were an artist instead of a librarian, his gallery would have been filled with pictures of Ms. Currie’s breasts.
She looked up at him over her glasses. Ms. Currie was waiting for him to begin.
“Today’s history lesson takes place in 1928,” Mr. Dillon said. That was Ms. Currie’s signal to place her hands behind her back and lean forward. She opened her mouth and reached out with her tongue. His cock bobbed before her, but she guided him in with her tongue. She took his entire length into her mouth.
“A rare scroll, called the Tale of the Snake, had been discovered in Cairo,” Mr. Dillon continued. “It had been discovered by one of the many British archeologists who were looting Egyptian tombs at the time, but because of its pornographic nature, the prudish British discoverer left it to one of his native assistants. That assistant, a Mr. Mubarak, was holding onto the scroll and refused to sell it to the collection.”
Mr. Dillon paused for effect. He also paused because Ms. Currie was licking the ridge of the tip of his cock. Her full lips formed a seal that was quite delightful.
“So the librarian of the Colette-Ashbee Collection decided to go to Egypt personally to try to acquire the scroll. As I said, it was 1928. Who was the librarian of the time?”
Ms. Currie mumbled an answer without taking his cock out of her mouth. Months of practice allowed Mr. Dillon to understand her answer.
“Correct, it was Ms. Tamara Furtunatov,” Mr. Dillon said. “And what a fine woman she was; a Russian scholar and a relentless procurer of books. She came from a time when the collection hired only women with fortitude and excessive talent, not the mere college graduates we hire now.”
Ms. Currie glared at him from behind her glasses. The glare was tempered by the way her cheeks were sucked tight against his cock.
“Anyway,” Mr. Dillon continued, “Ms. Tamara Furtunatov traveled to Cairo and appealed personally to Mr. Mubarak. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, for he would not allow the Tale of the Snake to leave the country. Ms. Furtunatov did, however, negotiate to be allowed to copy the scroll, so that the Colette-Ashbee Collection could at least have a copy. She was forbidden from photographing it, so she had to copy it by hand.”
Ms. Currie tilted her neck back and forth, stroking his cock as her head swiveled. Each turn of her head also made her breasts jiggle wonderfully within her bra. Mr. Dillon wanted to reach down and squeeze them, but he resisted. He needed to get on with the story.
“There was a condition,” he continued. “Mr. Mubarak would allow Ms. Furtunatov to work on it only during the day. When night fell, she had to make love to him. She was allowed to continue work the next morning.”
Ms. Currie stopped her fantastic head movement and looked up at him.
“Oh, I know,” Mr. Dillon said. “We are librarians, not prostitutes. We never trade sex for books. Ms. Furtunatov felt that this did not break that rule, for she was not receiving a book; she was merely receiving the chance to copy a book. It is my understanding that the owners of the Collection were not amused, but they agreed with her logic.”
Mr. Dillon looked down at his assistant. “Keep that in mind, Ms. Currie. There are rules, but there is also a book of erotica to be gained. There is no higher goal.
“From what I have read of Ms. Furtunatov’s journals, her days of transcribing the scroll were an ordeal. They were not translated, so she was literally redrawing the hieroglyphics of the scroll. It was only her superb training in Egyptology that allowed her to perform such a feat. Even so, it was very slow going. She was barely able to copy one-twentieth of the scroll on the first day.”
Ms. Currie was burying her face in Mr. Dillon’s lap. His cock was at the back of her throat. Her nose and chin were resting in his pubic hair. He could feel her breath so close to him. His cock was completely encased in her wonderful mouth.
“Her nights were worse. Mr. Mubarak was a demanding lover. Every night, he consumed a strange liquid that gave him the ability to fuck for hours. He was also fond of her ass and would fuck it for hours. Ms. Furtunatov wrote that his cock was enormous in comparison to her bottom’s entry, so you can imagine what that was like.”
Ms. Currie whimpered a little.
“Oh, please,” Mr. Dillon said. “My fucking of your ass last night was nothing. It lasted barely an hour. Ms. Furtunatov had to endure an entire night of her bottom being violated. Besides, your round ass is much better suited for such activity. Ms. Furtunatov had a notoriously small bottom.”
Ms. Currie choked on his cock. Laughter was an occupational hazard for a librarian. She composed herself and kept sucking.
“After three days, Ms. Furtunatov made a discovery,” Mr. Dillon said. “She realized that some of the hieroglyphs were anachronistic. They were from the wrong dynasty. After a little research, she deduced that the entire scroll was a fraud.”
Mr. Dillon paused for effect. He could tell by the slowing of Ms. Currie’s tongue that she was digesting this information. He waited till she looked back up at him over her glasses.
“Ms. Furtunatov said nothing to her host. She continued transcribing the scroll and submitting to Mr. Mubarak for another 22 nights. When she was finished, she sent her findings to the Collection. She also walked with a limp for about three months.”
Ms. Currie looked up at him. She was expecting some sort of explanation.
Mr. Dillon was too focused on his immediate orgasm to give her one. He grabbed the back of her head and pushed her down on his cock. He held her by her bun as she sucked harder. When he climaxed, he allowed himself a satisfied groan as he emptied himself down her throat.
Ms. Currie was skilled enough to wait till she had drained every drop. When he was finished, she pulled his cock out.
“Mr. Dillon, why did she stay?” she asked. “If the scroll was a fake, what was the value of copying it?
“Because, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “It was still erotica. Written today or written centuries ago, all erotica has value.
“Except maybe that shit they write on the Internet.”
Ms. Currie smirked at that. “Thank you for today’s story,” she said.
Mr. Dillon waved it away. “You are welcome. The oral tradition is still the best.”