May 262010

“This is ridiculous,” Claire Currie said.

Her employer, Mr. Dillon, added another log to the fire.

“I agree,” he said. “Who puts a fireplace in the library these days? Don’t these people understand fire hazards?

Claire bit back a sigh. The last time she sighed at something Mr. Dillon said, he had slapped her face, spanked her, and then roughly fucked her mouth.

In any other job, this would be grounds for sexual harassment, but this was no ordinary job. Claire was a librarian for the Colette-Ashbee collection, the world’s greatest collection of erotic books. As a librarian, Claire was trained in all sorts of erotic genres, book publishing identifying marks and dealing with sellers of rare books. She was also trained to take a spanking, endure various humiliations and sexually satisfy her boss with every aspect of her body.

Normally it was an exciting job but tonight was turning very strange.

“Do you really believe this library is haunted?” Claire asked her boss.

Mr. Dillon stepped away from the fire. He walked over to the bedroll that had been provided. He stripped off his suit very slowly and folded every piece. Claire admired his body in the firelight. He was an older man but he stayed remarkably fit. The only traces of his age were the occasional gray patch in his chest hair. Her employer put on silk pajama top and matching bottoms. Only when he was dressed again did he answer.

“I do not know if this library is haunted, Mrs. Currie” Mr. Dillon said. “I do know that the owner of the house thinks it is. I also know that Mr. Evans is concerned that if we removed the book he generously wants to sell us, that the spirit of his late wife might haunt him. With this mind, his request for us to spend the night here seems reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” Claire said. “It sounds codependent to me. He is so afraid of his wife that even in death he wants her permission. How can spending one night here verify her approval? If she disapproves, is she going to appear and try to frighten us?”

Mr. Dillon sat down on the bedroll. Actually, it was two bedrolls. Mr. Evan had provided them with very comfortable looking sleeping bags but Mr. Dillon insisted on placing his on top of one for Claire so that he could have extra padding. These sorts of inequalities were a part of the job.

“Perhaps she will,” Mr. Dillon said. “All I know for sure is that the Collection has been looking for ‘Cowboys in Heat’ for nearly twenty years. Mr. Evan’s late wife owned the book and for a very modest sum, he is willing to sell it to us. One uncomfortable night of sleep is a small price to pay.”

Claire looked around the library. The rest of the house was fairly ordinary but special expense had been spent here. Shelves reached up to the ceiling and every shelf was full. Two reading chairs with accompanying tables were the only furniture. The only painting in the room hung above the fireplace. It depicted Persephone being abducted by Pluto. Under the flickering light of the fireplace, the painting had a sinister air.

“Strip, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire bit her lip. It was a little nippy in here and Claire had debated wearing her clothes, but Mr. Dillon’s request obliterated any chance of that. He preferred her to sleep in the nude. Any chance of him skipping that rule tonight seemed unlikely.

She started with her shirt. She undid the buttons one by one so as to slowly reveal the bra that was barely holding in her dark breasts. Because it was a Thursday, the bra was a bright canary yellow. She took her shirt off and then proceeded to remove her bra. She didn’t need to look at Mr. Dillon to know he was watching. He considered her heavy breasts to be his own personal perk for this job.

Claire unzipped her skirt next. She stepped out of her skirt and folded it. The fireplace flickered light over her stockings and yellow panties. Bending over at the waist, Claire unrolled her stockings with the utmost care. Mr. Dillon punished harshly for damaged stockings. Once both legs were bare, she took off her panties. Her thick bush glittered in the firelight.

“Come over here, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said.

For Mr. Dillon, that statement was foreplay. Claire walked over to his bedroll and sat down beside him. He guided her with his hand until she was laying across his thighs, facing his erect cock. Her breasts were on display and thanks to the fireplace behind Mr. Dillon, her dark mounds were amply illuminated. She dipped down to take him in her mouth but he stopped her.

“I only require your hand tonight,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire whimpered but she did as he asked. With her heavy breasts inches from his cock, she took him in her hand. She gripped him lightly and enjoyed the feeling of his girth.

Something creaked behind her. It sounded like a floor board but when Claire looked, there was nothing.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Dillon?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know if I believe,” Mr. Dillon said. “I do know that once I acquired a book from an owner who had died in bed with his mistress. On two occasions, the smell of a woman’s sex would fill the room even though I was alone.”

Claire giggled. “Are you sure that wasn’t just your imagination?” She began to stroke him slowly from base to tip.

“Very sure,” Mr. Dillon said. “On another occasion, I came into the possession of a book that was rumored to be written by a priest detailing his love affair with a succubus. For three nights, something would wake me up every time I tried to sleep. I barely had an hour of peace at a time.”

“What would wake you?” Claire asked. Her thumb played over the tip of his cock. With each stroke, she would rub her thumb over his cock as if he was entering her.

“It felt like a kiss,” Mr. Dillon said. “It felt like someone was kissing me awake.”

Claire almost giggled again but the seriousness of Mr. Dillon’s voice stopped her. “What made it stop?”

“I mailed the book off the Collection for storage,” Mr. Dillon said. “I recommended that it be put in the Isolation Wing.”

Claire stopped in her stroking. “We have an Isolation Wing?”

“Ms. Currie, I did not ask you to stop,” Mr. Dillon said. Only when she resumed did he answer her question. “The Isolation Wing is used primarily for rare books that are fragile. Crumbling texts, ancient scrolls and that sort of thing are stored there. In 1892, we began to put other books there as well. A little moisture please, Ms. Currie.”

Claire pulled her hand from his cock. She stuck her tongue out and licked her hand. She could taste him on her hand. She gave her hand quite a few good licks until her fingers were wet. She embraced him with her hand and he groaned in happiness. Now that his cock was slicker, she stroked him at a faster pace.

“The Collection gathered a book called ‘Ritual Fornications’,” Mr. Dillon continued. “It was a dirty little thing, mostly describing sex that could call upon supernatural powers. It had quite a few illustrations by an unknown artist who had only a tentative grasp on anatomy. A little faster, Ms. Currie.”

Claire obeyed. She added a swivel to her pumping motions for good measure. The sound of her spit squelching joined the crackling of the fireplace.

“Once it was added to the Collection, the custodians discovered that it had a tendency to fall off the shelf it had been assigned. As you can imagine, falling books is unacceptable. It was locked in a case but soon they found that the case would fall off the shelf. It was decided to secure the case to podium. Once this was done, they had no further trouble with it.”

A woman laughed softly. Claire froze in her stroking. She started to rise but Mr. Dillon stopped her with his hand.

“Did you hear that?” Claire said. “It sounded like a woman.”

“All I hear is the absence of stroking,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Yes, sir,” Claire said. She rested back on his side and kept stroking him. “Permission to stroke myself, sir?”

“Denied,” Mr. Dillon said. She was surprised when she felt his hand between her thighs. His knowing fingers slipped inside her wet sex.

Considering the strangeness of the night, Claire looked down to verify that yes; it was Mr. Dillon’s hand.

“Are there other books like that?” Claire asked. She felt his fingers push deep inside her before he answered.

“Quite a few,” Mr. Dillon said. “In Paris, there was a small book published that was alleged to drive the readers mad with lust. My predecessor, Ms. Wei, left instructions that no one ever read the book. To my knowledge, the Collection has respected her request. Press your breasts closer, Ms. Currie.

Claire leaned forward till his cock was between her cleavage. She kept stroking him while his fingers thrust freely inside her.

“In Dallas, Texas,” Mr. Dillon continued, “I came across a thick tome of hand written pages detailing a stripper’s love life. It was a fantastic book but every time I read it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. It is not the most scientific observation, but being watched is a peculiar feeling. Do you know what I mean, Ms. Currie?”

“Yes,” Claire moaned. She was feeling it now. She had no doubt that Mr. Evan’s late wife was with them tonight. As surely as Mr. Dillon had three fingers inside her, Claire knew that they were not alone tonight.

“So in conclusion,” Mr. Dillon said, “I do no know if ghosts exist. I do know that odd things happen and that I have no explanation for them. I am not a scientist, I am a librarian. All I care for is the books.”

Claire had no answer to that. She was stroking him faster. Her grip loosened around his tip to simulate the act of penetration. Claire was also bucking her hips against Mr. Dillon’s fingers. Their stroking synced together until their rythyms matched. Manually, they fucked each other.

“Well, I also care for coming on pretty women,” Mr. Dillon admitted.

Claire smiled but her smile faded as a great chill fell upon her. Despite the roaring of the fireplace, the air in the library chilled like a window into winter was opened. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The cold bite of the air nibbled all over her body.

“Mr. Dillon,” Claire whispered.

“Shh, stroke,” Mr. Dillon said.

To punctuate his point, Mr. Dillon’s fingers pushed inside her. Impaled on his hand, Claire stroked his cock even faster. She felt his body tense with an impending orgasm. Her hand pointed his cock towards her breasts. Like a geyser, he erupted onto her dark mounds.

She pumped his cock. With each release of hot seed, Claire felt the strange cold melt away. She leaned into him, coating her breasts with his vibrant sticky heat.

Claire’s orgasm soon followed. Her thighs tightened around his hand and she moaned loudly in the dark library. A heat of a different kind flooded her body and chased away the bitter cold.

Afterwards, Claire cleaned him up. She licked his wet fingers clean and wiped her breasts with the care of a librarian. Her duties completed, Claire began her crawl to her pillow.

“Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Yes, sir?” she said.

“Perhaps you should lay with me tonight,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire was greatly surprised. He never invited her to sleep with him. She was touched but at the same time, she knew that the peculiar formality of their relationship wouldn’t do with an act of kindness.

“In case a ghost appears?” Claire said.

“You never know,” Mr. Dillon said. “We should sleep side by side just to be careful.”

Claire crawled beside him. He turned her on her side and then spooned her. His cock pressed against her thighs with a delicious heat.

“Just to be careful,” Claire agreed.

  3 Responses to “Fiction: The Haunted Library”

  1. Ooo, lucky Claire! I always love it so when I get to actually share a bed with my sir. What a delight it must be for her!

    I want to hear the stories of all these books now, as they’re all so *fascinating!* But then again, The Librarians really are my favourites, it’s hardly a secret.

  2. It occurred to me that the book titles mentioned in the Colette-Ashby tales might be seeds of your future offerings, Shon. I’d love to know exactly what those randy cowboys have been up to!

  3. Mesix- I should really make a list of these books. I could subcontract out their writing lol.

    Caramella- I often think these books are tombstones of ideas that i would like to read but doubt I can write myself :)

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