Nov 092011

“I thought you said that Professor Ulrich’s was on a modest academic salary,” Claire Currie said.

Mr. Dillon looked around the antechamber that the maid had brought them to. A large wooden table dominated a room decorated with expensive paintings, a few leather chairs and a chandelier that may have been crafted in another century.

“I know, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “The obvious poverty almost wrenches the heart.”

The doors to the hallway opened and the maid came back in. Behind her were a Hispanic man and woman. Mr. Dillon growled and Claire felt the hairs on her neck stand up.

“The Professor will see both of you shortly,” the maid said as she left the room.

“Sonia Garcia,” Mr. Dillon said. His voice was neutral and devoid of emotion. “Chief Procurer for the Vargas Foundation.”

The woman smiled. She was bearing more cleavage than Claire thought was structurally possible for a blouse. Thick black hair was held back by a silver headband. As Claire studied her, she noticed that the woman’s smile never reached her cold eyes.

“Oliver Dillon, head librarian for that antique collection of trivial smut called the Collette-Ashbee Collection,” Sonia said.

Mr. Dillon turned to Claire. “You may not have heard of the Vargas Foundation as they were only founded within the last fifty years. Their mission is to collect erotic books, films, magazines, and novelty items of an erotic nature.”

Sonia frowned. “What Oliver meant to say was that unlike the non-discriminating Ashbee-Collette collection which buys every single book every written no matter how shitty it is, the Vargas Foundation only adds the most prestigious and highest quality works to their collection for the future enrichment of mankind.”

“Oh yes,” Mr. Dillon said. “I forgot that the Vargas Foundation with their mere decades of existence have already decided which works of erotica will merit study in the future. I don’t knob why I keep forgetting about their clairvoyant approach to erotica.”

“This is my assistant, Manuel Ortez,” Sonia said as if she didn’t hear Mr. Dillon. “He is a superb researcher and although at least half your age, Oliver, he already posses a knack for identifying forgeries that is uncanny.”

The young man nodded towards Mr. Dillon and Claire. “Pleased to meet you,” he said in accented English.

“This is my assistant, Claire Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “Despite her tendency to confuse the names of Italian authors, she has a slightly better than average skill when it comes to spine damage analysis.”

Sonia was silent for a moment as she tried to understand if Mr. Dillon was insulting his own assistant or wildly praising her skills. Claire knew him well enough to know that it was the latter.

“It is nice to make your acquaintance, Ms. Garcia,” Claire said. She offered her hand to Sonia. The woman did not take it. Claire put her hand down and decided that she would hate this bitch too.

“Ah, you have an assistant from Britain?” Sonia said. “Her accent will give your library the appearance of intelligence that has been lacking.”

“I was going to make a witty retort but I realized that your lack of a proper education would make it difficult for you to understand my insult,” Mr. Dillon said.

“The only thing I do not understand is why he invited your sad little Collection here today,” Sonia said. “The Vargas Foundation will pay whatever it takes to secure the Breastinomicon.”

“Perhaps he wishes you here to see how a real collector of rare books handles priceless merchandise,” Mr. Dillon said. “He is a professor after all. They do love teaching the ignorant.”

“Oh please,” Sonia said. “When we purchase the Breastinomicon, we will have every page scanned and uploaded to our database. The book will be put away in a special vacuum vault, never to be touched by human hands again while the contents will be enjoyed by future students of the Vargas Foundation. This is far superior to being locked away at whatever shelf the owners of the Collette-Ashbee Collection use for their hoarded books.”

“Hoarding is such a strange word to use,” Mr. Dillon said. “We loan our books all across the world to colleges and established learning centers of erotica. We collect and disseminate without prejudice for who knows what books of today will be appreciated tomorrow?”

Before Sonia could respond, the doors to the antechamber opened. It was the maid.

“Professor Ulrich will see you now,” the maid said. “Only the senior members please. He has no time to waste with subordinates today.”

Mr. Dillon turned to Claire and leaned in close. He spoke in a whisper.

“Ms. Currie, I want you to seduce Mr. Ortez and engage in messy filthy sex. In other words, just indulge your usual appetites.”

Claire blinked. “Mr. Dillon? I think I misheard you.”

“Ms. Currie,” he said testily. “I don’t care how you do it, but you will get this man to engage in carnal activities. The honor of the Collection is at stake!”

“Behave yourself while I am gone, Manuel,” Sonia said. “This won’t take long to convince Professor Ulrich to hand over the Breastinomicon to the Vargas Foundation.”

“Only if he is suffering from a brain tumor,” Mr. Dillon said.

“This way,” the maid said.

Claire watched as Mr. Dillon and Ms. Garcia left the room. The doors closed and Claire was alone with Manuel. The young man smiled and held out his hand.

“I apologize for Senora Garcia’s behavior,” he said. “She has a long standing grudge with Senor Dillon. I have been hearing about it all morning.”

“That is very kind of you,” Claire said. She shook his hand. “I don’t know about you, but I am extremely hot.”

Before he could respond, Claire unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. Realizing that she was wearing the bust crushing black bra, she undid a few more buttons.

“Senora Currie,” Manuel said. “You may not be aware that I can see your la pecha.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I am okay with that,” Claire responded. “We are all erotica librarians, aren’t we? I am sure that we have both seen far more explicit things than my bra?”

Manuel nodded. “Yes. Senora Garcia makes me look at erotica all day long and then masturbate once a morning to clear my mind.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Claire said as she pulled her shirt off. “Tell me, do you and Ms. Garcia fuck? Mr. Dillon fucks me all the time because he feels it is necessary to ease any erotic pressure we may build during the day.”

Manuel swallowed hard. “Senora Garcia has me service her quite often, with my mouth and my fingers. She refuses to aid my climax however as she says that it would not be professional.”

“Aww, that is too bad,” Claire said. “Excuse me one moment, this bra is just too confining.”

Claire reached behind her and unfastened the bra. She let out a sigh of relief that was did not involve any acting on her part. The bra fell away and Claire lifted her heavy breasts and gave them a good squeeze.

“That is much better,” Claire said. “I really like to let them breathe, you know?”

Manuel stared at her breasts. They seemed to have the same calming effect on Manuel that they did on Mr. Dillon.

“I noticed that Ms. Garcia has very impressive breasts,” Claire said. “Does she let you touch them?”

“No,” Manuel said.

“Would you like to touch mine?” Claire said.

Manuel looked to the doors of the antechamber. Claire walked closer to him and grabbed his hand. Before he could come up with an excuse not to, she placed his hand on her right tit.

“Madre dios,” he whispered. His fingers were ever so gentle as he squeezed.

“Do they feel nice?” Claire asked.

“Si,” Manuel said. His eyes were dreamy as he touched her tit.

“Well, they taste even better,” she said.

Manuel looked at her and Claire took the lead again. She gently pulled his head to her breast. His mouth knew what to do. He carefully took her nipples between his lips and sucked as gently as a new lover.

Images of Mr. Dillon’s dirty story filled Claire’s mind. She imagined them in a hotel hallway and Manuel was some random passerby. She was already wet from the indecency of their act in someone else’s home but now she was rubbing her thighs together with need.

“It isn’t easy being an assistant to a demanding boss, is it, Manuel?” Claire asked.

Manuel said no but it was hard to hear because he wasn’t letting her nipple out of his mouth.

“At least Mr. Dillon fucks me,” Claire said. “I can not imagine how difficult it must be for you to catalog and purchase erotica all day and then only have the comfort of your hand. You poor, poor, man.”

Manuel made a sound of acknowledgement from her cleavage.

“I want to do something for you, Manuel,” Claire said. “As a fellow librarian you understand? I want to give you your sexual fantasy. Tell me what you want and I will do it right here.”

“Right now?” Manuel said. He stood up and fear was clear on his face. “What if the others return?”

“Really, Manuel?” Claire said. “You really think my boss and your boss can finish insulting each other in less than an hour, much less conduct any business?”

Manuel smiled. He was adorably cute.

“Get on this table,” he said. “On your back with your head off the table. I want to fuck your mouth.”

“I like this,” Claire said and it was true. She was soaked between her legs. So often she had been used for Mr. Dillon’s pleasure, it was nice to be used for the pleasure of another assistant like herself.

She hopped on the table and spun around. Claire leaned back and her shoulders rested on the edge of the table. Her head went further until she was looking at Manuel upside down.

Manuel already had his cock out. He had strange bright yellow boxers and Claire wondered if he too had a dress code. Thoughts of his clothes vanished as she saw the thick girth of his cock. He was hard and ready to plunge into her mouth.

Claire opened her lips just in time as his cock aimed for her mouth. He came in too fast and too eager but Claire took him all the same. She recognized his need and she wanted to help him. Her mouth closed around his cock and her cheeks collapsed as she sucked.

Manuel babbled a string of Spanish words that Claire didn’t understand. She kept sucking.

She felt his hands on her tits. He had one in each hand and his fingers squeezed her soft flesh. He tried to get as much of her breasts as possible into his hands and although he would never succeed, Claire was enjoying the trying.

Claire reached with her hands and pulled his ass to her. She was impressed by how fit his ass was and she only wished that she was grabbing it while he fucked her. Oh well. This was his fantasy and Claire and her mouth was happy to oblige. She pulled him deeper down her throat until his balls were pressed against her face.

Manuel pinched her nipples and Claire moaned. After all his gentle care, she was unprepared when he twisted her nipples. Beautiful pain rippled through each breast, traveled her body and collided between her thighs. She spread her legs in need as he pinched harder.

“Oh, how I wish I could do this to Senora Garcia,” Manuel said.

Claire moaned at the thought. It didn’t bother her that she was a proxy for his wicked boss. If anything, she was happy to help.

She let go of his ass and reached for her skirt. Nimble fingers pulled her skirt up and pulled her thong to the side. Claire plunged her fingers into her sex as Manuel took advantage of her mouth and breasts.

Claire’s sex was drenched with desire. Her fingers glided in and stroked furiously. Perhaps Mr. Dillon was right; maybe she did have a hungry cunt.

Manuel pulled his cock from her mouth. Claire groaned with frustration. Was he regretting what he was doing? Before she could ask, he lifted his balls and dropped them on Claire’s mouth. She took his balls and sucked on them as he stroked his cock.

“Si, si, si,” Manuel moaned as she stroked faster.

Claire stroked herself in time with his hand. His balls tasted of sweat but she sucked and licked with all of her talent. She had the entirety of his balls between her lips and she was using the utmost care with the treasures that he entrusted her with.

Meanwhile, Mr. Dillon was half listening to Ms. Garcia’s pitch to Professor Ulrich. He supposed that he should be paying more attention to what she was saying just so that the Collection could learn the latest about the Vargas Foundation but quite frankly, he was too mesmerized by how far gone Professor Ulrich had become.

The three of them were sitting in his office except that Professor Ulrich was seated behind a glass wall. The elderly professor was breathing from an oxygen mask even though Mr. Dillon was sure that Ulrich was in excellent health. Mr. Dillon was also sure that the professor did not need to wear the latex gloves as he sat at his desk nor did the professor need to check his temperature every two minutes.

Professor Ulrich was obviously stark raving mad. Mr. Dillon found comfort in that. It would explain how the old fart could possibly find fault with Mr. Dillon in the past. It also made Professor Ulrich far easier to manipulate.

“If I may interrupt my inferior colleague for a moment,” Mr. Dillon said. “I really don’t think the elaborate procedures that the Vargas Foundation implements are all that important.”

Ms. Garcia frowned. The beautiful woman was obviously not used to being interrupted.

“You may not find our methods interesting,” Ms. Garcia said. “But I am sure that Professor Ulrich will want to know that his Breastinomicon is going to a state of the art home.”

“It does sound very impressive,” Professor Ulrich said with the thermometer still in his mouth.

“Well, sure,” Mr. Dillon said. “Technology is wonderful but it is only good as the people who apply the technology and I am sure, Professor, that you will agree that if one is lax in their vigilance, all sorts of bad things could happen. A book could get wet, rot and develop all sorts of germs.”

Professor Ulrich gasped in terror.

“This is ridiculous,” Ms. Garcia said. “If you are trying to insinuate that a single member of the Vargas Foundation has less than perfect behavior, then you are simply delusional.”

“So I assume that you instructed your Mr. Ortez to be on his best professional manners for this trip?” Mr. Dillon asked.

Ms. Garcia tilted her head up at a defiant angle. “Of course.”

“Professor Ulrich, if you will turn on your hidden camera for antechamber, you will see that my assistant, whom is acting on my instructions, will be performing a deviant act with Mr. Ortez.”

“Uh, what makes you think I have a hidden camera?” Professor Ulrich.

“Professor, I clearly remember on my third visit here that you berated me for biting a fingernail. Considering that I only did that in the antechamber, I can only assume that you have a camera.”

“Hrm,” Professor Ulrich said. He pressed a button on his desk and one of the paintings slid away to reveal a video screen.

Ms. Garcia gasped at the sight that appeared. Ms. Currie was on the table, her blouse missing and her breasts exposed for Mr. Ortez’s groping. Even more shocking was Mr. Ortez’s balls were sitting inside Ms. Currie’s mouth as he stroked himself furiously.

The thermometer dropped from Professor Ulrich’s mouth.

“Now, shall we discuss how much I should write the check for?” Mr. Dillon asked.

Back in the antechamber, Claire was stroking passionately between her legs. She couldn’t see anything except Manuel’s ass as she licked his balls. Claire didn’t need to see anything. She could hear his moans and feel the fury of his hand pumping his cock. She had become his ultimate fantasy and Claire relished her role.

Even more importantly, she was doing exactly what Mr. Dillon has asked of her. She didn’t know what his plan was but she had trust in him. Somehow this would make getting the Breastinomicon and that was vital for the library. Most of all, it was important to Mr. Dillon and she could only imagine the gratitude he might show her.

Hell, he might even say something nice.

The thought of his praise enflamed her sex. She planted her heels on the table and lifted her pelvis as she stroked faster. Her tongue licked, licked and licked Manuel’s smooth balls.

Claire’s climax sent tremors from her sex, up her stomach, across her sensitive nipples and out through her moaning lips around Manuel’s balls.

Manuel came. He shook as he erupted. Claire felt a stream of seed land across her chest, followed by a second stream and then a third. The rest of the seed slid down his cock and onto her waiting lips.

The doors flew open. “Manuel!” Ms. Garcia yelled. What she said next was just a long tirade of Spanish but it was certainly angry.

Manuel popped his balls out of Claire’s mouth and responded in Spanish. Instead of meek servitude, there was quite a bit of hostility in Manuel’s response. Claire wasn’t sure if the poor man was finally venting his frustrations or if Spanish was just an angry sounding language.

Mr. Dillon came into the room. He was carrying a briefcase that appeared to have some sort of temperature gauge.

“Come along, Ms. Currie,” he said. “We need to get back to the hotel and prepare the Breastinomicon for shipping.”

Claire grabbed her shirt and bra. She followed Mr. Dillon out of the room while Ms. Garcia and Mr. Ortez continued to yell at each other. Outside the room, the maid waited with a bucket of cleaning alcohol and a UV light.

Mr. Dillon paused in the hallway for Claire to put her blouse back on before they stepped outside. Claire’s dark body was marked with drying white seed. Claire was still feeling giddy from the orgasm so she asked an improper question.

“Did I do a good job, sir?” she asked.

Mr. Dillon thought about it. “You did . . . well.”

Claire nearly came a third time that day.

Nov 022011

Claire Currie stood ready for inspection. She sucked in her stomach to make her already generous brown breasts strain against her white button shirt. The six inch heels forced her ass to push at a lovely angle against the short black miniskirt of her uniform. Her legs were already a deep shade of brown but the uniform required the black stockings anyway on her legs. To complete her outfit, her black hair was braided and tucked behind her head. Black glasses framed eyes that were eager to please.

“Unacceptable,” Mr. Dillon said. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

“Sir?” Claire said carefully. Mr. Dillon was her boss and his standards were often impossible to achieve. Considering that they were librarians for the exclusive Collette-Ashbee collection, the world’s greatest collection of written erotica, Claire had come to accept that the standards of the collection were as rare to achieve as the books they collect.

“Your breasts,” Mr. Dillon said. He placed one hand on her right breast and squeezed. “They are much too large today.”

Claire whimpered as his fingers painfully squeezed her breast. She also shivered a little for Mr. Dillon was not only a demanding boss and a cruel inflictor of punishments; but he was also quite attractive. His brown hair was cut to his head with a military shortness. Worry lines crossed his face like cracks in a leather bound book. It was the eyes that always did her in. His brown eyes were always intense; ready to correct, judge and inflict punishment at a moment’s notice.

“Can’t you make them smaller somehow?” Mr. Dillon said. “I worry that Professor Ulrich will think you were hired purely for your mammaries instead of a slightly better than average skill with handling rare books.”

Claire forced herself from responding to his comment. Most people would think he was insulting her book handling skills but Claire recognized it as a compliment.

“I do have a bra that is more, constrictive,” Claire said. “The only problem is that the bra is white and today you had scheduled me to wear a cherry red bra with matching thong.

Mr. Dillon released her breast and waved his hand in the air. “Fuck the dress code, woman! Put on whatever it takes to get those tits under control.”

Claire was taken back. In the years that she had worked for Mr. Dillon, the dress code for her lingerie was the most vigorously enforced rule. She lost count of the endless whippings with his belt that she had endured for dress code infractions. For Mr. Dillon to be dismissing the code meant that he was very tense indeed.

“Sir, you appear to be stressed regarding meeting Professor Ulrich today,” Claire said. To help his nerves, Claire unfastened the buttons on her shirt very slowly. Experience had taught her that the sight of her breasts had a calming effect on her boss. As Mr. Dillon’s assistant, it was Claire’s duty to do whatever it took to assuage his nerves.

“I have a right to be nervous,” Mr. Dillon said. He was staring at the slow reveal of her dark breasts. “Professor Ulrich collects rare erotica but because he is a lowly member of academia, he often has to sell pieces of his collection in order to finance new acquisitions.”

Claire removed her shirt and took her time folding it. It was a waste of time to fold a shirt that she planned to put right back on, but Mr. Dillon did so enjoy watching her breasts jiggle within her bra as she moved.

“Sounds to me like it is the Professor who should be nervous,” Claire said. “After all, he needs the money from us.”

She reached behind her and undid the clasp on her bra. Mr. Dillon watched as the red fabric peeled away from her skin. Sadly, the worry lines on his forehead only deepened.

“You would think, Ms. Currie,” he said. “But Professor Ulrich is that insufferable type of book collector who thinks that only he is qualified to care for erotic books and everyone else is a casual amateur who uses cheese for bookmarks and leaves books outside in the rain. Can you imagine such arrogance?”

“It is beyond my comprehension,” Claire said. Inwardly, she remembered all too well the seven inch dildo Mr. Dillon made her carry in her ass because she used the wrong cloth to clean a hardback book. Mr. Dillon did not react well to ill timed comparisons.

Claire picked up the white bra. It was a cruel monster that crushed and concealed her breasts. She only hoped Mr. Dillon understood how uncomfortable it would be for her to wear. That was a silly hope of course. All he cared about was watching her slide the bra over her plump breasts.

“Professor Ulrich has offered to sell the Ashbee-Collette Collection a total of eleven books,” Mr. Dillon said when Claire had clasped the bra. “Six of the books he had withdrawn from selling because he found fault with something done by the Librarian sent to collect the book. With three out of these six, it was a fault he found with my predecessor, Ms. Wei. With the other three, it was something he found fault with myself. I have no interest in committing a fourth offense.”

“He sounds like a complete loon,” Claire said. “How rare is the book he has now?” Claire began to button her shirt, starting from the bottom up. The white bra didn’t give her much cleavage but she hoped to tease out whatever cleavage she had left. Poor Mr. Dillon needed all that he could get.

“Today he is willing to part with the Breastinomicon,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire froze in the process of buttoning. “The Breastinomicon? I thought it was just an urban legend.”

Mr. Dillon shook his head. “It was until a mad Frenchman decided to create a version. I have heard that it is quite impressive. Over one thousand pages of endless breast descriptions; it is written in Arabic and Latin with a splattering of a new language designed purely to describe breasts. It also contains fragments of poems and verse from older works that were equally obsessed with breasts. It is a book created by a mad man but also one hell of a breast lover. The Collette-Ashbee Collection must have this book.

“I am sure that you have nothing to worry about, sir,” Claire said. She finished the top button on her shirt and put her hands back behind her. “What could Professor Ulrich possibly find at fault with us?”

Mr. Dillon pursed his lips. He looked her over from head to toe. “You do appear much more presentable, Ms. Currie.”

Claire allowed herself a tiny smile.

“No, your insatiable sex mania might still be our undoing,” Mr. Dillon corrected himself. “You have a tendency of getting into sexual hijinks and this would not be the correct time.”

“I get into sexual hijinks?” Claire asked. A little bit of disbelief had slipped into her usual subservient tone.

“Don’t try to deny it, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “You are a modestly adequate librarian but your propensity towards sexual deviancy is sometimes a distraction.”

“Like the time you suggest that I stroke myself every five minutes in order to appreciate proper time management?” Claire asked.

“I may have suggested it, but you were the only who benefited from the practice,” Mr. Dillon said.

“What about the time that you had me give you a handjob while we were on the plane to this city?” Claire said.

“I merely required your assistance in personal release,” Mr. Dillon said. “You were the one that coated your fingers with the juices from your cunt in order to aid lubrication.”

“And so I assume it was my sexual hijinks that caused us to act out all twelve sexual positions in that Greek book we found yesterday?”

“Quite,” Mr. Dillon said. “I was more than willing to only do the first nine but you were the one who assured me that your anus could handle the other three positions.”

“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Dillon, but I will defer to your superior judgment when it comes to sexual deviancy.

“As well you should, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “Now lift your skirt. We must make sure that your greedy cunt does not ruin our chances at making a good impression.”

Claire did as she was told. She pulled her skirt up past her stockings and past her thighs to reveal her cherry red thong. A spot of dampness was clearly visible on her thong and Claire wondered if perhaps Mr. Dillon was correct in his assessment.

Mr. Dillon reached for her thong. He pulled it aside and ran his fingers over the thick bush of pubic hair that was part of her required uniform. Mr. Dillon could be old fashioned when it came to a woman’s pussy.

“I bet if I slipped two fingers into you right now, you would be wet,” Mr. Dillon said.

“You may be ri-oh yes!”

Claire shivered as Mr. Dillon’s fingers penetrated her. No foreplay or preparation for Mr. Dillon. When he set his mind to something, he goes right in.

“This is what I am talking about,” Mr. Dillon said. His fingers pumped at an unnatural speed within her. “You are as wet as a typical stewardess in a 60’s erotica novel.”

“Ahhh,” Claire said. She was having difficulty with forming complex thoughts. Mr. Dillon’s fingers were brusque and efficient and Claire was enjoying the thoughtless violation.

“Hurry up and climax, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “I do not have all day to finger fuck you. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Yes, sir,” Claire said. She braced her legs as she tottered on her heels. Mr. Dillon’s fingers were thrusting with relentless speed.

Mr. Dillon sighed. “You obviously need mental stimulation to finish properly.” He said this as if this was a personal defect of Claire’s.

“It may help,” Claire said between moans.

“I imagine a nymphomaniac slut like yourself would rather that I took you into the hotel hallway and let you expose your hungry cunt to every one,” Mr. Dillon said. “You would stand there happily with your skirt up and allow any one to touch you. Your greedy sex would take their fingers, their cocks and even their mouths without a second’s hesitation.”

Claire trembled and tried to stay on her heels.

“You would be available to anyone but I imagine that you would enjoy that,” Mr. Dillon said as his fingers continued to fuck her wet sex. “Your cunt would be the plaything of other hotel guests, the bellhops and even the maids. I bet you would love to have some young maid kneeling between your legs and lapping away at your sex, you shameless hussy.”

Claire shuddered. Her hands clenched her skirt. She moved her hips to match the movements of his fingers.

“But even with your sex exposed, there will always be one who will want more,” Mr. Dillon said. “Some horny older man will rip open your blouse and play with your tits. You shouldn’t let them but I know you. You wouldn’t say a word as the man pulls one of your lovely dark tits out of your bra and sinks his teeth around your nipple.

Claire cried out as her orgasm exploded between her thighs. Mr. Dillon’s fingers stroked deeper until every last shudder of pleasure was worked out of her body. She was amazed that she was still on her feet.

The fingers pulled out of her and a second later was at her lips. Claire opened her mouth and tasted herself on Mr. Dillon’s fingers. She sucked hard, enjoying to mixture of her juices and his skin.

“Now be sure to clean my fingers completely,” Mr. Dillon said. “We can’t be visiting Professor Ulrich with fingers smelling of your cunt.”

Claire’s mouth did a very thorough job.

Aug 242011

“Please,” Claire said.

Mr. Dillon ignored her.

Claire Currie was a librarian for the exclusive Ashbee-Collette Collection. Today her duties included creating a catalog for erotic books purchased yesterday, arranging transportation to a book store and evaluating a batch of books before her boss, Mr. Dillon, purchased them. Right now her duty was masturbating Mr. Dillon as they lied on their hotel bed and quite frankly, Claire was grateful that she was even allowed to do that after today’s mistake.

“I am truly sorry, Mr. Dillon,” Claire said. She emphasized her British accent because she knew he responded well to it.

“Hmm,” Mr. Dillon said noncommittally. He may have been dismissing her apology, or he was reacting to her nimble fingers around his cock. It was hard for Claire to tell. He kept reading one of the books they had purchased. It was entitled “Easy Office Girl.”

Claire sighed. Mr. Dillon was nude and the picture of relaxation. Claire was fully clothed in her librarian’s uniform. She propped her self up on one elbow while her right hand stroked his cock. Stockings clad her dark legs as they draped over Mr. Dillon’s white legs. Her black skirt pressed against his hip as she pushed her crotch to him. Since today was Wednesday, Claire’s panties were white but if anyone were to inspect them, they would find that Claire’s sex had soaked them with her desire. She wore a white bottom down blouse that she had opened so her generous dark cleavage was on display. If Mr. Dillon would just turn his head, he would see her round mounds about to fall out of her white lace bra.

Mr. Dillon kept reading.

Claire stroked him as she was instructed. After a long day of purchasing porn, they usually had sex. Mr. Dillon would inflict some terrible passionate act upon her and Claire would climax in so many delightful ways. Today however, he was pissed and the only thing he required of her was her fingers.

It was torture. The cock that had pleasured her cunt, her ass and her mouth was now only permitting her fingers to stroke him. She almost would prefer if he didn’t fuck her at all. Instead, he was having her manipulate the one thing that she couldn’t have.

“I should have been more careful,” Claire said. “I would never recommend purchasing that book if I knew that a single page was missing, much less three.”

Mr. Dillon didn’t reply but he did frown.

“I should have been more careful when appraising a book before recommending that you purchase it,” Claire said. “In the future, I will confirm that every book has all of its pages intact.”

“You are getting dry,” Mr. Dillon replied.

Claire removed her hand. She stuck out her tongue and licked her hand. The young librarian made sure her hand was nice and slick before wrapping it back around her boss’s cock.

“My pussy never gets dry,” Claire said. “I could lift my skirt and mount you, sir. It would be my pleasure.”

Mr. Dillon turned the page of his book and ignored her.

Claire caught herself grinding against Mr. Dillon’s hip. He didn’t complain but Claire was terrified of her humping interrupting his reading.

“I know my mistake cost the Collection twenty-five dollars and I want you to take that amount out of my pay,” Claire said. “I know that every bit of money is precious.”

Mr. Dillon ignored her.

“In fact, I think you should take that twenty-five dollars out of my ass in any manner you feel is appropriate,” Claire said. Of course, the nature of her employment meant her ass, as well as her breasts, cheeks and soles of her feet were available to be spanked, flogged or slapped at Mr. Dillon’s discretion at any time, but Claire knew that Mr. Dillon liked to be invited.

Claire’s hand pumped Mr. Dillon’s cock. It throbbed in her hand. There was so much heat from his hardness. Claire moaned as she thought about that heat going to waste in her hands instead of inside her.

“Please sir,” Claire said. “If you will not punish my ass or use my cunt, then please let me make it up to you with my mouth. I can either lick you slow and sensual or you may fuck my face if it pleases you. I just want to make you come in the manner that would give you the most pleasure, sir.”

“Mmm,” Mr. Dillon said. He might have reached a good part of his book.

Claire tipped her head so that her glasses could slide down her nose slightly. She understood his personal fetishes. Too bad he wouldn’t turn his head.

“Please sir,” she said. “I am terribly sorry. I will take precautions to prevent it from ever happening again. Let me please you. Since I failed at one duty, let me show you how good I can be in other duties.”

Mr. Dillon turned the page.

She was about to say something else when his cock pulsed in her hands. His hips did a subtle thrust into her hand. Claire turned her attention away from the wet heat between her thighs and focused on the girth in her hand. She had been given her orders and she knew it was a punishment. Perhaps she should spend less time begging and more time doing what she had been asked to do.

Claire added a half twist to her stroking. She let her thumb slip over the tip of his cock with each stroke. She loosened her grip so that her hand could slide faster over him. Her fingernails glided over the veins of his cock.

Mr. Dillon was breathing harder.

Without asking, Claire pulled her shirt open. She leaned closer so that the brown globe of her breast was inches from her boss’s face. Claire offered herself but she did not beg.

Mr. Dillon turned his head and opened his mouth. The white lace bra held the bottom half of her breast but the top half was there for him. He bit. He licked. He buried his face in her breasts.

Claire’s sex was soaked with new desire. She ignored it. She kept her attention on her balance so that Mr. Dillon would nibble her breast to his heart’s delight. She focused on her hand, gripping just a little tighter and going a little faster over his cock.

He would come. He would spill his white seed onto her dark hands and that would be it. She would clean him up and then he would leave her alone to tend to herself. Claire would masturbate alone and Mr. Dillon wouldn’t even watch.

Claire accepted that. She had made a mistake. It was what she deserved.

She stroked faster.

Mr. Dillon growled. He released her breast with his teeth. His head flopped back down onto the pillow and he thrust his hips upwards. He was close.

Claire was surprised when she felt his hand go to the back of her head. She was more surprised when he pushed her head towards his cock. Her owns needs were forgotten as she sought to appease him.

The young librarian was as quick as a cat. The bed creaked as she moved onto him. In the time of a single stroke, she slipped his cock into her mouth. Her plump breasts pressed into his lap as her hungry lips swallow his cock.

Claire moaned as the first splash of seed filled her mouth. It tasted like forgiveness.

Jul 062011

“Ms. Currie, I require release.”

Claire Currie turned to her boss, Mr. Dillon. He was staring at the cleavage that was rising out of her white blouse. Claire would be the first to admit that her dark breasts were looking fantastic at the moment, but the way that he was licking his lips was entirely unprofessional.

“That poses a problem, Mr. Dillon” Claire said in her brisk British accent. “Considering that we are attending an auction filled with the some of the richest and most powerful book collectors in the world, it may be disadvantageous of us to fuck in front of everyone.”

“Ms. Currie, I am not sure that I give a fuck about what people think about us fucking,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire realized that this was serious. Mr. Dillon and Claire were employees of the Colette-Ashbee Collection, the world’s greatest collection of erotic books. As people who spend every waking moment reading, purchasing and cataloging books of amazing vice and perversion, hysterical states of arousal were a frequent hazard of the job. Usually it was Claire who was begging for release from Mr. Dillon, but on occasion he did succumb to whatever tawdry book he was currently involved in. When this happened, it was up to Claire to make sure that he achieved release while maintaining his dignity.

“Well, they are still seating people,” Claire said. “I don’t think the auction will begin for another ten minutes. We could find some place to adjourn to, I think.”

“Or I could just push to the ground, flip up your skirt and take you right here,” Mr. Dillon whispered. “As I fuck you, I could take bids from the onlookers for who can enter your mouth.”

Claire blushed; a deep purple coloring her ebony cheeks. She nervously pushed her glasses up. He was her boss. If he ordered it, Claire would do it.

“Or we could go to one of the restrooms and perform a filthy act in a confined space,” Claire said. “Just like in that book we saw yesterday, ‘The Truckstop Slave.’

Mr. Dillon growled. Claire’s panties were soaked in seconds. She knew that growl. He approved.

“Come,” he said.

Mr. Dillon grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the auction room. Claire followed as best she could on four inch heels. The buyers were too concerned with their future purchases to wonder why a man with lust in his eyes was dragging his assistant out of there.

They went straight to one of the many restrooms in the Gunderson Auction House. Because the house catered to the insanely rich and pampered, there was no such thing as a restroom with multiple stalls or toilets. Each restroom was designed for use by one person. This gave the patrons the necessary distance and protection that they needed in order to step into a public place.

It was perfect for what Mr. Dillon needed.

As soon as the door closed, Claire was pushed up against the wall of the bathroom. Before she could respond, Mr. Dillon was kissing her. Claire moaned with surprise. Poor Mr. Dillon must be suffering terribly; he almost never kissed her.

Claire didn’t care. She lost herself in the moment. Her arms wrapped around her boss and she kissed him with the passion of several years under his employ. She kissed him so hard that she worried about stealing his breathe away but there was no danger of that. His passion was endless.

He grabbed at her breasts. As he clamped down painfully on her full bosom, Claire was shocked back into reality. They couldn’t afford to miss the auction. She had to restore Mr. Dillon’s sanity and she had to do it quickly.

She sank down to her knees. Mr. Dillon was reluctant to let her go until she unzipped his pants. As she pulled his cock out, inches from her face, Mr. Dillon surrendered to compulsions as old as bards reciting tales around the camp fire.
He thrust towards her face.

Claire opened her lips and took him. He was so hard and warm in her mouth. She moaned with disappointment. She would rather have this cock inside her cunt. She would rather be bent over the sink while he fucked her with his singular need. Claire wanted to benefit from his lust but alas, she had a boss to protect and a job to perform.

She sucked him. Mr. Dillon didn’t stop thrusting. He grabbed her hair and bucked his hips towards her. He fucked her mouth as Claire did her best to accommodate him. Claire understood that as aroused as Mr. Dillon was, it wasn’t the actual blowjob that he needed as much as the idea of a blowjob. When the lust was upon the librarians, a willing mouth trumped any skill involved.

Claire looked up at Mr. Dillon over her glasses. The need was rising within her as well. It was the kissing that had started it. It was the act of giving her boss what he craved that was driving her need further. Claire’s cunt was soaked and she knew a few fingers could give her the release that she craved as well.

She tried to ask him if she may have release, but the cock in her mouth turned her words to incoherent mumbles. Mr. Dillon kept thrusting.

Time was running out. Claire wanted to come but the auction would begin any second. Restoring Mr. Dillon was the most important task. No matter how much Claire’s body needed it, she had to be a good librarian and focus on the task at hand.

Mr. Dillon climaxed. What little self control he had was enough to keep from crying out. His cock emptied burst after burst of seed into Claire’s swallowing mouth. She stayed in position and kept sucking until she was sure that he was done.

“Excellent,” Mr. Dillon said softly. “I feel much better now. In the future I will have to refrain from reading Spanish erotica before social functions.”

Claire smiled and wiped an errant strand of seed from her lips. “That might be for the best, sir.”

“Come, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said as he zipped up. “We have an auction to attend and I will not be late due to your dallying.”

Claire sighed. That answered the question of whether he would give her a minute to bring herself off. That was okay. She wasn’t in bad as a state as he was.

After she stood up, Mr. Dillon paused before opening the door. He had his back to her.

“Thank you, Claire,” he said. “I needed that.”

“It was my happy duty,” Claire said. She realized that she treasured his thanks more than any physical release.

Apr 192011

The sign said, “Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack!” A ten foot tall neon sign depicted a busty woman. The lights would flash, illuminating one breast, and then turning off to illuminate the other breast. A sign below it promised adult toys, movies, books and novelty items.

“This may be the tackiest thing I have ever seen,” said Claire Currie. She had seen quite a few tacky things over the last few years. As a librarian for the Colette-Ashbee collection of erotic books, Claire had read and purchased cheap tawdry books of all descriptions. She had also handled leather bound erotic manuscripts written by Duchesses and poets. The young woman definitely preferred the higher brow books.

Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack did not appear to deal in such lofty commodities. Located off a major highway and miles away from any town limits, The Joy Shack catered to travelers, truckers and anyone that was horny after driving all day. Signs bragged about ten dollar DVDs and heavy duty love dolls.

“This is the crossroads of Southern erotica,” Mr. Dillon said. Claire’s boss and superior looked out of place in his suit and tie. Even more out of place was his uncharacteristic upbeat mood. He seemed almost excited. It was as if he was visiting an amusement park instead of some dirty adult tourist trap.

“You can’t be serious?” Claire said. “What can we possibly hope to find here?”

“Ms. Currie, the Joy Shack not only deals in adult goods bought from distributors but also deals in a high number of used goods. Few people collect as much porn as truckers and here they can trade in their porn for fresh porn. There is no telling what classic smut has been traveling the highways for years before ending up here.”

Claire glanced at the suspicious number of trucks with Confederate flag stickers. “Is such a place safe to visit? I am aware of the South’s prejudice towards people of my color.”

Mr. Dillon looked at Claire with an appraising eye. It was as if he had never noticed that she was black before. Perhaps he was just using it as an excuse to look over her large breasts barely contained within her tight white blouse. His eyes cataloged slowly as they moved down her short black skirt, her long legs encased in stockings and her four inch heels. Claire blushed behind her glasses as his eyes slowly came back up to her face.

“Honestly, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said, “they are more likely to be prejudiced that you are British. Try to keep your conversation to a minimum.”

They entered the Joy Shack. Claire frowned as they passed through a hallway of pornographic pictures. All the pictures were of fucking, sucking or the stroking of bare pussies. It seemed needlessly crude.

The inside was much worse. The store was made of long lines of shelves dimly lit by strings of Christmas lights. Posters of porn movies from the last three decades covered the walls. Vibrators hung from the ceilings, twisting like phallic weather pointers.

“Welcome to Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack!” a perky woman said. Claire observed with her librarian’s eye that the woman seemed to be attempting some sort of MILF motif. The skimpy red bikini and age inappropriate makeup gave it away.

“Thank you!” Mr. Dillon said with surprising friendliness. “Can you point us to the dirty books?”

“Why sure!” the bikini woman said. “Just go on past the lube and turn right at the cock rings!”

“Thank you, kindly!” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire sometimes forgot that Mr. Dillon was from the southern region of the United States. As a London girl all her life, Claire knew little about the South. All she knew she had learned from Dukes of Hazzard, George W. Bush and the documentary, ‘Deliverance’. She had spent years with Mr. Dillon but she only saw the sophisticated controlled side of him. How could he have ever come from this?

They followed the woman’s directions and journeyed deeper in the Joy Shack. They walked past nervous customers who shifted their eyes and stared intently as adult toys. At least, they did till Claire walked by, in which case almost every single one of them would look at her and try to steal glances. They didn’t seem to realize that the anti-theft mirrors posted every where let Claire know when she was the center of attention.

The book section was twice as dismal as Claire expected. Worn books with cracked spines and stained corners were packed together on tight shelves. Used magazines were also mixed in with the books, often with their pages open to depict unrealistic women evoking more unrealistic facial expressions.

“Ah here we go,” Mr. Dillon said. A trace of his Southern accent was creeping into his voice. “Let’s get cracking and see what we can find for the collection.”

“Oh I am sure to find something,” Claire said. “Look, they have a book called ‘Big City Butt Ho’s’ with a black woman on the cover. And right next to it is ‘Big Rapper Bubble Butts’. They must be part of a series!”

Claire turned to Mr. Dillon to show her finds. When she saw that his good mood had left his eyes, she knew she had made a mistake.

“I am sorry, sir,” she said as contritely as possible. “I guess that I am just a little disappointed in how trashy this place is. I will take it more seriously.”

“Ms. Currrie,” Mr. Dillon began, “porn is trash. It can also be sophisticated, it can be ethereal and sometimes it can be spiritual. As Librarians, we never judge. We collect. We catalog. We chronicle everything that turns humanity on. More importantly, we never consider ourselves better than the porn we deal in.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Dillon.” Claire said.

“Not yet you are not,” Mr. Dillon said. “Lift your skirt and expose your bottom.”

“Here?” Claire said. She looked around and saw six people in the same aisle as them.

“Right here, right now, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. The southern accent was gone.

Claire reached down and lifted her skirt. She gathered the cloth in her hand till her bottom was completely exposed. Today was a Wednesday, so her thong was a bright orange.

Several of the customers noticed right away. Whistles came instantly. Perhaps Southerners weren’t as racist as Claire thought.

Mr. Dillon picked up a rather large hardback book. It appeared to be a sex manual from the 70’s. He gripped it with both hands and gave it a practice swing.

“Please, sir,” Claire said. “Not here.”

“Why?” Mr. Dillon said. “Are you too good to be spanked in Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack?”

Claire knew the answer that was expected of her but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.

“Exactly,” Mr. Dillon said. “Now turn around.”

Claire did as he asked. Still holding her skirt in her hands, Claire turned around in her high heels. A small crowd of customers watched her in fascination. Now that she was facing them, Claire found that she was the one avoiding eye contact.

“Look straight ahead,” Mr. Dillon said. He knew her so well.

Claire forced herself to look at the customers. Lust was in their eyes. Well, lust and disbelief. They stared at the orange thong that covered her thick bush of pubic hair. They also stared at her face, trying to figure out what strange game was taking place.

The first blow struck her ass. There was no warning or warm-up taps. This was just a smack to her ass, delivered with only punishment in mind.

It nearly knocked her off her feet. Claire struggled to stay upright. She wanted to bend over and brace herself but Mr. Dillon had said nothing of the sort. It was her punishment to stand here, exposed and facing the very people she had been making fun of.

The book returned to her ass with another smack. Before her buttocks had time to absorb the pain, the book landed again. Mr. Dillon was striking her with rapid spanks. Her ass was enflamed and the heat only built with each merciless blow.

To Claire’s shame, her ass was not the only thing heating up. The force of the spanking was sending signals to her sex. How many times has Mr. Dillon spanked her before sex? Her body had become hardwired to the stimulus. With each blow he gave her ass, Claire’s sex became wetter and wetter. The flimsy orange thing did nothing to hide to the spreading stain of desire between her legs.

“What is going on here?” the bikini saleswoman said. She stood at the end of the aisle and was looking at Claire with shocked disgust. Claire blushed under the woman’s disapproving scrutiny. The woman was exposing more than Claire was and yet Claire was the one who felt shamed.

“I am disciplining an employee of mine who does not appreciate the fine selection you have here at the Joy Shack,” Mr. Dillon said. “Would you care to take a swing at her ass?”

Several customers shouted how much they would like to see that. Sensing the mood of the crowd, the salewoman broke into a smile.

“Don’t like our store?” the bikini woman said. she walked right up to Claire. “That’s very naughty of you, isn’t it?”

A light tap hit Claire’s ass. “Answer the woman,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire swallowed her indignation. “I have been very naughty,” she said.

“And she’s a foreigner!” the bikini woman said. “Why she does need a spanking! I ain’t going to use a book though.”

The woman reached around to other side of the book shelf and picked up a large black paddle. The metal studs in the flat surface of the paddle were not for show. The crowd grew larger as the woman stepped behind Claire.

WHAM! The paddle connected with Claire’s ass. Claire hissed as the pain spread through her ass. The crowd winced with her, disbelief clear on their faces that she was still standing.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The paddle struck her ass with tremendous force. The bikini woman wasn’t hitting as hard as Mr. Dillon, but the cruel paddle more than made up for her lack of power. The woman was trying to seize the excitement of the crowd and Claire’s poor ass was paying the price.

Mr. Dillon walked over to one of the gawkers. “Excuse me, sir. Do you appreciate Ms. Currie’s breasts?”

“She sure does have nice tits,” the man said. He had a hat that said “World’s Greatest Licker.”

“Then feel free to go over and have a free feel,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Really?” Hat-Man said.

“Really?” Claire said.

“Really,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Alrighty!” Hat-Man said.

Claire endured the spanking from the saleswoman as Hat-Man approached her. He had both hands up like a lurching zombie. Both hands sank into her white blouse and onto her tits. Claire forced herself to smile politely as he grabbed her breasts like a teenager.

“Hot damn, they are big!” Hat-Man said.


“I bet they are as big as Dolly Parton’s!” Hat-Man said.


“I wanna take these home and sleep on them!” Hat-Man said.


Through out it all, Mr. Dillon watched. Claire felt humiliated to be spanked and groped in public, but what really bothered her was how disappointed Mr. Dillon appeared to be. Something in this place appealed to him and Claire felt guilty for raining on his parade. Perhaps he was right; no one should ever feel superior to someone’s else’s idea of erotica.

Eventually the spanking stopped.

“Okay, I think she has learned her lesson,” the saleswoman said. “You should probably let go of her tits, Bill.”

“Aw, all right,” Hat-Man said as he let go of Claire’s breasts.

“If you think so,” Mr. Dillon said.

“I do,” the woman said. “Let that be a lesson to all of ya’all! If you don’t like the Joy Shack, you’re gonna get a spanking!”

“Me next!” a man shouted from the back of the aisle.

The crowd broke up. Claire went from being the center of everyone’s attention to becoming just another pornographic decoration in the place. Hat-Man didn’t even give her a second glance as he picked up a copy of ‘Big City Butt Ho’s’. The sales woman gave Claire a friendly pat on the back and handed the paddle to Mr. Dillon.

“You’re buying the book you were swinging and this paddle,” the saleswoman said.

“It is only fair,” Mr. Dillon said.

The sales woman walked away, leaving Claire and Mr. Dillon by themselves.

“You can put down your skirt now, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire obeyed. She winced as the cloth made contact with her tender dark bottom. Her hands free, Claire was free to smooth out the groping marks made on her shirt.

“I am sorry, Mr. Dillon,” Claire said. “You are right. The glamorous side of our job spoils me sometimes.”

“I understand, Claire,” Mr. Dillon said. The use of her first name was accompanied by his faint accent. “I just want you to understand that for every one prefers something different. There is no high class or low class; just what turns people on.”

“Like getting spanked in public?” Claire said.

“Or watching a beautiful woman get wet in front of strangers,” Mr. Dillon said. “I’ll tell you what. Find something that the collection should buy, and I will fuck your ass back at the hotel tonight.”

Claire smiled. “I appreciate that your idea of a reward is you fucking my ass.”

Mr. Dillon nodded. “It is. If you don’t find something suitable, I’ll have one of these customers fuck your ass instead.”

Jan 262011

“This is not a bookstore,” Claire Currie said.

“You are correct,” her employer, Mr. Dillon said. “Graveyards are not known for selling books. You powers of observation once again amaze and delight me.”

Claire bit back her own sarcastic remark. As a librarian, Claire understood that it was not polite to respond rudely. As Mr. Dillon’s lover and receiver of his sadistic impulses, Claire knew that when her boss was in a biting mood. As an employee for the worlds most unique collection of erotic books, Claire knew that something special was about to happen. Why else would they be at a cemetery at eleven at night?

“You know, I did wonder why we had come to Utah,” Claire said. “I didn’t think there would be many erotic books here.”

Mr. Dillon breathed in the cold air. “Nonsense, there is plenty of porn here. What else are they going to do?”

Mr. Dillon started walking through the graveyard. Claire followed, struggling to stay upright on her four inch heels on the grassy ground. Her uniform was a strict affair and Mr. Dillon felt that just because they would be walking on grass at night was no reason to change her clothes. Black stockings provided her legs protection from the night air which was good because her black skirt barely came down to her knees. When a breeze of wind did travel up her skirt, her flimsy red thong offered not protection to her bushy sex. The white button shirt she wore might have kept her warm if Mr. Dillon hadn’t insisted on her leaving enough buttons open to reveal a generous amount of her dark cleavage.

Claire followed Mr. Dillon through the graveyard. She became aware that they were not the only ones here. There were whispers in the darkness. There was also the occasional giggle and the sound of beer bottles clinking together. A smell of alcohol, cigarettes and hot dogs wafted through the air.

“Sir, what are we doing here?” Claire asked.

Mr. Dillon stopped. He looked down and noticed that he was illuminated by moonlight. He took a step to the side and made sure he was cloaked in darkness. With a wave of his hand, he motioned Claire to join him in secrecy of night.

“About thirty yards from here,” Mr. Dillon said, “is the grave of Phyllis Nubmeg. She wrote about fifty books in the eighties about exhibitionist women who masturbated in public. She was a fantastic cook, knitted together wonderful quilts and was a proud lesbian in small town that didn’t know what to do with her.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Claire said.

“She was,” Mr. Dillon said. “But more importantly, she was a hell of a writer. Two years after she died, a woman was spotted visiting her grave on the day of Phyllis’ birthday. The woman stripped off her pants and sat on Phyllis’s gravestone. The woman masturbated and then left. No one knows who the woman was.”

Claire giggled. “Sounds like a dedicated fan.”

“Every year after that, a woman comes to Phillis’ gravestone to masturbate,” Mr. Dillon said. “It has become a local scandal and tourist attraction. The local authorities turn a blind eye and the night becomes an unofficial holiday. The woman who comes to masturbate changes from year to year and sometimes the same woman appears for several years in a row.”

“How fascinating,” Claire said. “Are we here to witness this mystery woman?”

Mr. Dillon snorted. “Ms. Currie, we are the cause of the mystery woman. When Phyllis passed away, she left the Colette-Ashbee collection the entirety of her books, her works in progress and writing notes. She also left a recipe for broccoli and bacon casserole that is divine. The condition of the will states that she wanted this tradition to take place on her birthday. Even in death she wanted to see a pretty woman masturbate.”

“Wait, you want me to go do it?” Claire said. “You brought me here to masturbate in front of strangers?”

“No, Ms Currie,” Mr. Dillon said with steel in his voice. “I want you to fulfill the obligations of the Colette-Ashbee collection to a great writer. I would gladly do it myself but Phyllis was not a fan of the cock. In the past, we have hired prostitutes and paced ads in lesbian journals. Now that you are under our employment, we can bring the tribute in house.”

Claire took a deep breath. “Was that broccoli and bacon casserole as delicious as you say it was?”

“I planned to make some tonight,” Mr. Dillon said. “It was why I insisted we have a motel room with a kitchen.”

“Any special instructions I should be aware of?” Claire said.

Mr. Dillon placed a scarf in her hand. “Phyllis was always a fan of mystery. Conceal your identity just a little.”

Claire wrapped the scarf around her head so that it covered her mouth.

“Oh, and masturbate to a climax,” Mr. Dillon said. “Don’t cheat a great writer.”

Claire nodded. “I will be right back.”

“I’ll be watching,” Mr. Dillon said.

A delicious shiver went down her spine. At least she won’t be performing solely for strangers. Claire walked through the graveyard and looked for Phyllis’ grave. As she walked, she heard the whispers around her suddenly grow quiet. Her unknown audience was realizing that their mystery woman had arrived.

Claire found the grave easily. Phyllis’ name was in large letters but what gave it away was the top of the gravestone. It was shaped with a slight depression like a seat. It was made to be sat on.

Thinking of her audience, and thinking of Mr. Dillon, Claire stripped slowly. She lifted one stocking clad leg and took off her shoe before repeating the process with her second foot. Her skirt went off next so people could see the stockings and bright red thong on her dark body. Claire wanted to keep the stockings on for warmth but this wasn’t about her. This was for Phyllis so Claire bent over and slowly unrolled one stocking and then the other from her legs. Last to go was her thong. Claire put the thong on the ground before the gravestone like an offering.

She sat in the seat of marble gravestone and quickly discovered just how cold it really was tonight. She suppressed her scream of discomfort and tried to appear as casual as possible. The librarian parted her legs and ra her fingernails up and down her thighs. The moonlight shone down on her like a sensual spotlight.

Claire reached between her legs. She felt the thick hair of her bush part for her fingers as she sought her sex. A tremble went through her as she touched her sex. She was already wet.

She thought of what life must have been like for Phyllis. Claire came from London and all she knew was of large cities and dense populations. Utah with it’s wide open spaces and small towns that look like outposts of humanity were alien to her. Phyllis was a strange woman in a town where she could not hide it. She dreamed and wrote of naked woman touching themselves. She wrote of women exposing who they were. Claire could understand that.

Claire stroked. At first she tried to block out the people who might be watching but her opinion changed. Phyllis didn’t want to block them out. The proud woman wanted them to see. Claire spread her legs a little wider. Claire plunged her fingers a little deeper. Claire moaned and arched her back. The librarian wasn’t going to hide what she was doing; she was going to put it in their faces.

Claire stroked faster. She thought of the people in the graveyard watching. Were they just here to catch a sexy thrill? Were they fellow sufferers of perverse thoughts that would never be accepted by their friends and family? Were they secret writers in a small town? Claire dedicated her stroking to them as well.

She used both hands to masturbate. Her moans drifted through the silent graveyard. She squirmed on the gravestone, clenching her legs and arching her back. Sometimes she pulled a hand out of her sex and grabbed her breast through her shirt. Her sticky fingers left wet handprints on her shirt.

Claire felt her climax coming. To her surprise, she actually delayed for a few minutes. She was enjoying this. She enjoyed performing a service for a writer she had never met or even read. Mr. Dillon was a fan and that was good enough for Claire. Perhaps Claire enjoyed the chance to do something on Mr. Dillon’s behalf.

She stroked faster. Her hand became a blur as she gave in to her desires. She wanted to climax but she wanted to please as well. Claire wanted to please Phyllis, the crowd and her boss. Her body was her instrument of their pleasure.

Finally she climaxed. The scarf around her mouth couldn’t block her cry of joy. She kept stroking as she rode her climax out. Distantly she thought she heard applause but it was quickly silenced.

Claire stopped. She cleaned her fingers with her mouth. Taking her time, she cleaned each finger individually.

She stepped off the gravestone and picked up her skirt. Claire wrapped it around her body and slipped her shoes back on. She picked up her stockings and her thong. A wet spot was visible on the seat of the gravestone and Claire wondered how many other women had left their contributions. Claire felt a strange kinship to those women.

Claire placed her red thong on the gravestone and walked away.

Mr. Dillon was waiting for her in the darkness.

“Leaving the thong was a nice touch,” he said.

“It felt right,” she said.

“I think we shall add that to the tradition,” he said.

“I will remember it when we come back next year.”

Sep 292010

Claire Currie didn’t know where she was. A sensual dream had awoken her and her surroundings felt strange. She was in a bed, which had been exceedingly rare for her these past few years. It had been ages since she had been allowed in a bed. There was a rich smell of leather in the air. Where was she?

The darkness gave her no answers. She rolled over on her back and remembered. She was at the Percer Mansion. They were spending the night, no, the entire weekend as guests of Mr. Percer. That’s why she had her own room instead of sleeping on the couch in a hotel room. Her boss, Mr. Dillon, had brought them here to accept a book from the head of the Percer family, Maximilian Percer.

The book! Claire reached out and felt for the book on the nightstand. The leather cover was cold to the touch. Claire smiled. “Rich Man’s Toy” was safe and sound. She couldn’t remember putting it away and she was afraid it might have fallen to the floor. Mr. Dillon would have killed her. No, he would spank her, pinch her and torment her before fucking her, but it would be his verbal cruelty that would be the hardest to endure. The book was priceless and it was only by begging her boss did he allow her to take the book to her bedroom to read tonight.

Claire thought about the things she had read tonight. As a librarian for the world’s greatest collection of erotica, Claire had read many great novels of porn but this book was something special. “Rich Man’s Toy” was so filthy. It was so raw and sensual. It told the tale of a wealthy woman who slept with her husband’s business partners. Every encounter was forbidden and filled with lust. Claire has masturbated twice to a scene where the woman, Lana, was fucked in the ass in a boardroom overlooking the New York skyline.

She pushed the covers away from her chest. Her hands went to her plump brown breasts and played with her nipples. Mr. Dillon insisted that she always sleep with no clothes so that he could fuck her with ease in the middle of the night. She wished he would come to her tonight. For a moment she thought about sneaking to his bed but she dismissed the thought. She served at his pleasure, not the other way around.

Instead of disobeying, Claire thought about their strange host, Maximilian Percer. Mr. Dillon explained that Percer came from a wealthy family but always wanted to write erotica rather than manage his family’s corporate interests. He was wealthy enough to buy his own publishing company but it was a point of pride that all of his novels were submitted to publishers under a pseudonym. Percer wanted his books to be printed because they were good. He managed to sell five books in the late sixties and then quietly retired.

Claire reached out and touched the book again. Percer was a proud man, but like most authors Claire had met, Percer thought his stories deserved better than the cheap paperback editions that were published in the 60’s. When he retired from writing, he decided to personally publish a deluxe edition of each of his books. He only had one copy of each book made. He used the finest leather covers, the most exquisite paper fibers and only the most skilled book binders for his works. It was every author’s dream version of what their book should look like.

“Every few years, he gives us a call,” Mr. Dillon had explained. “He calls to lets us know he is ready to part with another beloved book from his unique set. He knows that the Collette-Ashbee Collection is the only place in the world for his treasures. So we come, and we spend a few days as his guest. It is a time of celebration, but also of mourning. This year, he will give us the last book.”

“But why are his three children here?” Claire had asked. “Are they erotica fans too?”

Mr. Dillon had chuckled. “Not hardly. He always summons them when he gives away a book. He uses this time to give away more things from his mansion. It’s like a family will reading, except he does it in parts and wants to be around to see their reactions. I think it is the frustrated writer in him.”

Claire heard a sound in the darkness. She half rose in her bed. The absence of light was so complete that Claire couldn’t see the bed sheets on top of her.

“Mr. Dillon?” she asked.

A grunt answered her but the real answer was when she felt someone climb under her covers from the footboard. The unseen person burrowed under the sheets and pulled her legs apart. Under the covers, forceful hands pushed her thighs apart and she felt a mouth drop down on her pubic bush.

“Oh thank you!” Claire said. Mr. Dillon didn’t answer. He never did on these night intrusions. He thought it was beneath him to do so. He was here to take, and Claire was here to give.

He was particularly hungry tonight. Claire gasped as his mouth buried itself in her sex. Her sex opened before his tongue which licked her furiously. He found her clitoris instantly and she groaned as he bit down on it. His mouth sealed over her cunt while his hands clamped down on her thighs. There would be no escape until he was done eating her.

Claire grabbed her own heavy breasts. She wasn’t allowed to grab him. Mr. Dillon hated it when she would grab his head during oral sex. That was reserved for him alone. Claire learned to do other things with her hands and right now she was pinching her nipples delightfully hard. She was pinching them just like Mr. Dillon does.

“Oh fuck,” Claire groaned. Mr. Dillon was doing something amazing to her cunt. His tongue was doing some sort of odd rhythm, slapping against her clit in a wonderful manner. It was like a drum beat on her libido. Claire kept perfectly still for fear of disturbing his strange tapping pattern. His tongue was tapping a morse code on her clit, sending an urgent message to her coming orgasm.

Claire released her breasts and reached back for her headboard. Her fingers gripped the hard wood bar as her cunt was eaten. She tried to grind her hips but Mr. Dillon’s hands had her pinned to the bed. She was close, so close but the tongue was teasing her now. It stopped tapping her clitoris and was now lapping the juices from her sex. He was taking everything she had tonight. Every drop of desire and every ache in her sex was his tonight.

She felt her orgasm come slowly. Because Mr. Dillon was simply devouring her with no care for her own orgasm, Claire almost felt like she was getting away with something. Her breathing became faster. Her nipples were hard against the silky sheets. Her ass was clenched tight as she felt her orgasm about to bloom.

All it took a casual brush of teeth against her clitoris. Claire cried out with a shriek unbecoming of a librarian. Her body arched and undulated to the force of the orgasm. She sat up before falling back into the comforts of the pillows.

He licked her one more time and then let go of her thighs. Claire tried to thank him but she was breathless. The bed shifted as he moved away-

Claire awoke with a start. She moved her legs around and felt nobody on the bed. Claire reached between her legs and confirmed that yes, that amazing sex just happened. Her pubic hair was soaked and her cunt was still tingling.

Claire sighed. She wished she had stayed awake. She wanted to thank Mr. Dillon. She wanted to see if what pleasures he might want in return. It was rare for him to not use her for his own climax. Maybe he left because she fell asleep and he wanted her to rest. That would be unlike him, but Mr. Dillon did have his occasional flashes of kindness.

Claire rolled over and groaned as her sex kept tingling. She smiled in the darkness. What a fantastic night! Flush with afterglow, Claire reached out to stroke “Rich Man’s Toy” again.

The book was gone.

Where is the priceless book? What will Mr. Dillon say about Claire losing the book? More importantly, who ate Claire Currie? Find out by purchasing your paperback or pdf copy now at Lulu.

Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

Sep 272010

The Colette-Ashbee Collection is available for sale at Lulu. This novel collects all of the Librarian stories as well as a brand new novella called ‘Who Ate Claire Currie’. The novella is a mystery story about a perverse family, an old mansion and intimate investigations. The novella will not be posted on my blog or released anywhere else except for the first chapter this Wednesday.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Colette-Ashbee Collection, it is a series of stories about a pair of kinky librarians who search for rare erotic books for a prestigous collection. Mr. Dillon is harsh senior librarian who dominates, fucks, spanks and teaches the junior librarian, Claire Currie. The stories are about mostly about claire and how she endures and delights in her employment.

It clocks in at 177 pages which weirdly enough is as long as the Cell Phone book is. The lovely cover is by George Sportelli as well as an interior sketch. When you open the book and close your eyes, you might smell Claire’s perfume or Mr. Dillon’s cologne. The pages themselves may or may not have been made from recycled erotic pulp novels. Ownership of the book might help you get laid by sexy nerds.

Press the button below to purchase this book.
Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

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.

Feb 012010

Last May I came up with an idea for a novella length Librarian story. I wanted to do a mystery where Claire and Mr. Dillon had to recover a stolen book. Mostly I wanted Claire to have sex with a long list of suspects. Good times for everyone!

On chapter six of my twelve chapter story, I fell out of love with what I was writing. I liked the mystery, I liked the suspects and I liked the sex, but I didn’t like what Claire was going through. Mr. Dillon held her responsible for losing the book and she spends the entire book working by herself to save her own ass.

Which actually is fine for 90% of stories featuring a submissive. Fear is a great motivator and having a dom character threaten holy hell for failure is pretty standard. As I sat down to write chapter seven however, I realized I don’t like 90% of stories I read with submissives.

See, my original premise for the Librarians back when I first wrote them was that they would be partners. Sure, one was the dom and the other was the sub but I liked the idea that they worked together to accomplish what they needed. In most BDSM stories, the dom is the antagonist who creates and sets challenges for the submissive to overcome.

This idea came about because of my personal life. I discovered that most of my submissives expected me to entertain them. They wanted the writer in me to create elaborate sexual adventures for them when what I really wanted out of a submissive was someone just did what I fucking told them to do. Maybe that makes me a bad dom but it got me thinking about BDSM fiction. It made me realize that if I wanted submissives to have different expectations, I had to write about a relationship closer to what I personally preferred. What I actually preferred was the idea of a dom and a submissive having adventures together.

So last May I understood what i had to do to fix the story. I had to go back and rewrite Mr. Dillon. Instead of a furious nag who punishes Claire in addition to the stress she is already under, I make him fucking helpful instead. I needed to add some collaboration between the two characters which quite frankly since it is a mystery I should have had that to begin with. Writing wise it is not that much work except for the fact that I am changing the entire tone of a story half way written.

It is hard for me to switch gears in a story I am working on. I decided to take a little break back in July and write this crazy Choose Your Own Porn idea I had. My estimate was that the crazy idea would only take me two months to write. Along the way I got the idea for a zombie blog and now here I am in February, almost seven months later, revisiting the Librarians story.

In the long run I think it has all been for the best. I reread what I wrote over the weekend and I am pretty excited. I did the rewriting I needed to and I think I have a very lovely story. I just need to finish the rest of it which I am hoping I can do this month. Sure it took seven months for me to relove the story but hey, writers are neurotic messes.

This lovely sketch of Claire was drawn by Arie Monroe.