Dominated by the Librarian #2: ‘Surrender to Please Her’ (male submission erotica)

Dominated by the Librarian
Male submission: Surrender to Please Her

by Tara Jones

A couple of weeks went by.

Some days I was convinced that the whole incident at the local library that late Thursday evening had been a result of my overactive sexual imagination in combination with too much stress at work.

Other days I just plainly denied that it had ever happen
ed
.

Because
, I mean
really.

My mind still had a hard time accepting that my charming seduction attempt had ended with that I lay pinned down on the floor by a short and curvy red-headed librarian
,
who
reminded
vaguely
of a fierce Marilyn Monroe with
slightly
violent tendencies and a horrible fashion sense from the middle of the last century. And I most certainly couldn’t believe that after that she had teasingly started touching me
, while whispering all kinds of things in my ear
,
we
had ended up having incredibly hot sex together.

Things like that just
didn’t
happen at your local library,
regardless what anyone said.
E
xcept possibly in some men’s fantasies or certain porn movies with low budget and bad scripts, but that doesn’t count.

Still, I could easily remember her tantalizing scent and the soft feeling of her skin against me as she forcefully pressed herself against me
, exited and ready
, while she held my wrists in a tight grip behind my back.

I’ll
confess
that I was rather uncomfortable with admitting to myself just how turned on I had been by her holding me down and how much I had enjoyed the sensation of feeling slightly powerless as she rode me mercilessly, but I had decided not to think about it
anymore
.

It’s not like I’m not one of those guys who get all excited by the idea of women with whips and dressed in latex. Well, perhaps I found the thought about that a little bit exciting, but what kind of man doesn’t?

However, the bizarre incident at the library must have happened, because I still had the Swedish thriller that I had borrowed in
the
hazy aftermath of what could easily be described as the best and the most unexpected sex I ever had, including that weird time in the lift at
D
ebenhams
with that tall shop assistant few years ago.

Every now and then I wondered if we got caught on the CCTV cameras and sometimes I
worried
slightly what would happen if those clips suddenly went viral. Hopefully my face wouldn’t be too recognizable.

T
he day after my sinful adventure at the library, I seriously overslept.

I woke up feeling oddly mellow, even though I was ridiculously late to work, and I arrived to the office with a small smile on my face and a general feeling of contentment that was so unusual I was worried that people would think I was stoned.

I completely forgot about the claw and bite marks on my neck that I had earned during the night before, so I had to suffer through a rather horrible work lunch with Christine.

Christine was my ex and she worked as a project leader at another web designer agency and I was meeting her and two other colleagues
over sushi
to discuss a joint project together.

I had during the last couple of years slowly come to realize that I found less and less inspiration for the latest “new and exciting project” and that my interest in my job was somewhat lukewarm, however that was something that I carefully hid from my boss and colleges, since I liked to keep my employment as a graphic designer.

Nevertheless, t
o say that Christine was cold to me when she noticed the long red nail marks along my throat would be to describe the weather at the North Pole as “just a tad bit nippy”.

On the way home I had to buy a couple of stupid turtleneck sweaters to cover the marks and I felt like a bad copy of Steve Jobs for the entire week.

It was
absurd
, of course. All of it.

But the worst part, really, was that the
adorable little
red headed librarian refused to leave
my thoughts
alone.

At night, she
visited my dreams
and we did all kinds of things together that could only be described as “kinky “and
even
during the days she
invaded my thoughts when I was awake,
although
I didn’t even want it to happened.

And
t
onight,
finally
, I was going to see her again
.

I had deliberately waited a couple of weeks before I went back to the local library with my overdue borrowed book late a Thursday evening.

Autumn had come over
night to London and the October air was chilly as I crossed the small parking lot that was located next to the library.

It was quite a nice library actually. The building was built in the thirties or so and located in the corner of a small park where children and d
ogs used to play during daytime
. Had it been a warmer evening perhaps a group of bored teenagers w
ould have gathered to exchange
kisses or cigarettes from each other, but as far as I could
see,
the park looked abandoned.

I felt excited and even a little bit nervous, although I didn’t like to admit it.

Would she be there? Would she be ashamed of what we had done?
She looked like the kind of girl who would pretend that it never happened. And I mean if I was slightly embarrassed over the whole occasion, imagine how she must feel! After all, she was the one who started it and who more or less manhandled me and then
–

Well.
And
then
she had simply forced me down and kept my hands behind my back and just fucked me ruthlessly right there and then on the carpet and clearly enjoyed every second of it.

The mere thought about it made me stir and I felt myself stiffening as a reaction. I had to concentrate on breaking the direction of my thoughts before they started to wander off further and I began to think about how she had touched her breast, how tight she had felt when I entered her and...

Get a grip,
I told myself.
Just return the
book, be friendly and charming
, and ask causa
l
l
y
if she wants to go and have drinks after work someday,
I repeated to myself slightly annoyed with myself. Casually I checked my reflection in the windscreen of a small cream-coloured
convertible Porsche that stood among the other sparsely numbers of cars. The library’s parking lot was shared by customers from the nearby Waitrose, so perhaps it belonged to one of them, I speculated.

Clearly someone was compensating for something,
I thought with a smirk and made a small mental comment to myself that I would never sink that low. In fact, I didn’t even own a car at all. And, well. Let’s just say there was a reason for that, which didn’t had anything to do with London’s unreasonably expensive parking space prices.

I knew that a lot of women found me attractive and I liked to see myself as a young man in his early thirties, above average height, charming, and reasonabl
y
fit despite a stressful lifestyle. To my satisfaction my wavy brown hair still had the casual and slightly careless “The devil may care”-style that had taken me almost fifteen minutes in front of the mirror to achieve.

I left the parking lot and felt my pulse increase with anticipation as I walked up the worn stone steps towards the automatic doors to the library. I checked my watch on my wrist. Five to nine. The library was only open evenings on Thursdays when it closed at nine o’clock.

The library would close in a couple of minutes and if she was there, we would be alone.
Perfect timing,
I thought with a small smile and stepped through the doors.

I entered the library and the instant I saw her, my heart skipping a beat or two.

She was standing behind the counter with the back towards me, sorting through books on a low wooden shelf on wheels. A quick glance around the deserted library told me that we were alone, just like I had hoped for.

The library had been threatened with close-downs several times due to the economical crisis, which of course had sparked an outrage by all the middle class people in the area who had gathered to protest and managed to save the library from being closed. I found it slightly ironic, since they or their children didn’t have a library card and they bought their books cheap online from large companies who didn’t pay tax.

I thought about sneaking up behind her and how much I wanted to wrap my arms around her warm, soft body and nuzzle her red hair, while pressing my body against her. She wore her hair up today and had it fasten in one of those complicated buns and it made her look like a combination of a strict old fashionable teacher and an odd cousin to Alice in Wonderland.

The last time I had tried to touch her hair, she had almost had my shoulder dislocated, so I decided against any surprise welcoming hugs. Granted, the sex that had followed had been amazing, so
it had almost been worth it...
And it had been kind of exciting to been held down too,
I thought and then frown at the thought. Seriously, I’m not that kind of guy. But you needed to be either a eunuch or dead not to get turned on by being pressed down by a woman who looked liked she had just stepped out from a pinup calendar from the fifties.

Just the thought of the sensation of her curvy thigh against my back, her breast brushing against me, and her hands around my wrists in a tight and non-compromising grip as she touched me made me hard. I was suddenly quite grateful that there was a counter in between us.

Besides, I wasn’t completely sure of if she would be happy to see me again or not.

And there was also the possibility that she would probably be all devastated and embarrassed over that she let things get out of hand. She
didn’t
look like the kind of girl who
took command or who gave herself completely over to lust and even stroke her own breasts when she got excited. She seemed like a proper good girl, the type who had always made her homework in time and who always won awards for best selling the most cakes at the Brownie Girls as a child.

Ah, well. “Still waters run deep” and all that.
And to be honest, I think the combination of good girl gone bad made her even more interesting and sexy. It was a little bit like if the sweet girl from church would ask you if you wanted to join her and her twin sister in a threesome, somehow. Well, not like that, perhaps, because that only happened in trashy novels or lame porn movies. But you know what I mean.

But there is no need to get arrested for sexual harassment or to scare her away,
I concluded.

The evening was, after all, still young.

So
instead,
I assumed a carefully casual position, leaning against the counter. I tried not to look too much at her curvy legs and nicely rounded bottom.

Why someone who had a body that would have made Anita Ekberg cry of envy and run away in shame decided to dress in a dull Burberry-checkered tweed suits for women and knee-length skirts was a mystery to me.
What is an even larger mystery is really is why it’s so sexy on her,
I mused silently, unable to tear my eyes from her attractive legs.

I used to prefer long and slender legs, but there was something about the generous contours of her ankles and the fact that her skirt wasn’t short and tarty, but left something to the imagination that turned me on.

Clearly I must have been traumatized at some time during my childhood,
I pondered thoughtfully.
Perhaps a primary teacher had taken liberties?

I was just about to decide if I should clear my throat or pretend to cough to get her attention, when she turned around and face me.

She must have heard me enter the library,
I thought, because she didn’t seem at all surprised over my presence.

“Well, well, well,” she said that slightly sultry voice of hers that sent shivers down my spine for no reason at all. “If it isn’t Peter Thompson. I was wondering if you’d dare to come back or not.”

Ah. So, she is clearly not going to pretend that the last time I was here it ended with that she more or less ravished me,
I concluded and stifled the urge to swallow hard.

“Of course I dared to come back,” I said instead in a confident voice and smiled my best crooked smile.