In Too Deep (14 page)

I’m spiralling down into a dark and luscious world, and he’s beside me. Smiling. I smile back, watching the cursor pulse like a heartbeat or the throb of my clitoris.

NEMESIS: So how often do you administer blow jobs to men that you fancy, then? Once? Twice? Three times a week? What do you do? Single them out in the Lending Library then lure them off to this hideaway of yours and suck their cocks? You’re beginning to sound like a bit of a hussy to me, Gwendolynne,
a
trollop even. It seems to me that you’re a woman of wild appetites and very little control over them.

I rock my hips against the mattress. He’s right. I can smell my own arousal, clinging to my fingers and pooling between my thighs. My appetites
are
wild, but it’s him that’s whipped them up to this intensity. Because of him, I feel as if I’ve been reborn, or shed a skin. I feel totally different. Before, I was quiet. I lived safely. I was happy, but in a smooth, unruffled way. Now I’m all over the place and I like it, I like it. No, I bloody love it!

And I love being described as an old-fashioned hussy and a trollop.

LIBRARYGIRL: Well, I don’t get the chance to give blow jobs as often as I’d like. That’s why I jumped at the chance with my random friend. It was a perfect opportunity. I can’t do you so I thought I’d do him instead.

No words appear, but I hear joyous male laughter in my head. I’ve tickled him, I know, and yet out of the blue I suddenly feel a little wistful. I wish, how I wish he were here in the bed beside me, so I could shove aside my laptop, roll towards him and we could make love. Maybe I could even give him another blow job first, at least to start with. Then, after that, I’d love to push him on to his back and climb astride him, taking control of the situation and of him.

NEMESIS: You’ll get your chance, my dear. Don’t you worry. I’ll have all the pleasure of your mouth that I want, beautiful Gwendolynne. And sooner rather than later, mark my words.

Bring it on, macho man! I can take it! I feel like jumping up and punching the air, but I settle for shouting ‘Yes!’ to my empty bedroom.

LIBRARYGIRL: Is that a fact?

I pause, and let that sink in, then hit him with a daring foray.

LIBRARYGIRL: Maybe you’ve had it already?

Long silence. Long, long silence. Oh bugger, I’ve spoilt everything.

NEMESIS: I think you’re tired, my dear. You’re talking in riddles. Maybe I should let you sleep now?

My heart races again. He’s not denied it and he’s not confirmed it. Shall I push?

No. Not yet. Not yet.

LIBRARYGIRL: I’m fine. I’m not tired. In fact I’m horny. You can’t wind a girl up this way then decide you’ve had enough.

Again, the phantom peal of laughter, and the ghost of a very beautiful smile. I sense a tacit admission. He
does
know that I know, and that I know that he knows that I know. I want to hug myself and laugh and roll about on the bed. But more than that, I want to come – and he knows that too.

NEMESIS: You’re very impertinent and forward, Gwendolynne. I thought I was in charge here. If I indulge you and we play a little longer tonight, there will be a bigger forfeit. I might have to compel you to take the next step and risk a bigger game.

You know I want it, Nemesis, don’t you?

His words and the patterns of pixels seem to stream across my clit like electricity. Just the thought of that bigger game, that higher level, that greater involvement, makes my head feel light, as if it’s foam-filled. I showed my sex this afternoon to a man who’s still a relative stranger. What more can I be manoeuvred into doing? Daring? Risking? I’m entering a velvet-lined cage of sin.

LIBRARYGIRL: Do your worst. I can take it. Let’s play.

NEMESIS: Push two fingers inside yourself. Work them in and out as if I’m on top of you and thrusting into you. Do it for five minutes. No typing. Just finger-fucking.

LIBRARYGIRL: OK.

NEMESIS: Can you imagine me as you do it? Make up a
picture
of me in your mind, or choose a face you know and pretend it’s me?

Crafty sod.

LIBRARYGIRL: I can manage that. I’ll use my random man. He’s very cute.

NEMESIS: Well, do it then, and be quick about it, or I’ll make you use three fingers.

LIBRARYGIRL: All right, all right.

I can’t wait for his answer. I throw the laptop sideways, with scant regard for its fragile components, and wrench the covers away from my hips. My pyjamas twist around my thighs as I push them down in a bunch and wriggle on to my back at the same time, rubbing my bare bottom on the mattress as I go.

The ceiling is a screen for my fantasies as I jam my hand between my thighs, seeking the portal of my sex. I’m a seething swamp of heat and moisture. Two fingers slip in as if plunging into butter. Shall I try a third? Shall I pre-empt him?

It’s more difficult than I anticipated. Three is a lot. But I breathe deep, gulping in air, and take myself to another place … the library basement … and I’m on the table, being mounted by Daniel. My three fingers become his magnificent cock and slide right in.

Being ravished by him is a dazzling ordeal. I’m speared, laid waste to, opened and stretched. I know that it’s me, really, but somehow it’s also him, huge and breathtaking.

I swear one day I’ll make this dream come true.

Legs thrown wide amongst the papers and precious, irreplaceable documents, I writhe and squirm like a monkey. I’m a shambles, a mess, skirt all bunched up, knickers round one ankle, formerly crisp white blouse ripped open and bra pulled askew. Daniel/Nemesis is atop me, shoving hard, his own clothing similarly disarrayed. I’m grabbing at his bare bottom
as
he thrusts and thrusts, my hands beneath the tails of his black cotton shirt. His dark jeans are pushed halfway down his thighs.

As I work myself, I spiral down deeper and deeper into my imagination. Daniel is holding me down with one strong arm while he’s fondling my breasts roughly with his free hand. He tweaks and twists my nipples and I’m loving it, loving it. It’s the rawest and most uncomfortable sex I’ve ever had, but still it touches my heart and moves my soul.

Oh, I want you, Professor Hottie. Oh, how I want you.

Pounding at myself like this only leads to the inevitable. A performance like this can’t be held out against for long. My body convulses and I shout with pleasure, coming brutally. My harsh breath rasps the air as if I’ve just run a marathon. A few feet away the chat window waits in empty silence. Then, as if I’ve summoned him, the words appear again.

NEMESIS: So, Gwendolynne, have you done it? Have you done what I asked?

I haul myself upright, wiping my fingers on the duvet cover. What a slut I am. What the hell is that box of tissues beside the bed for? I really am getting sleazy.

Feeling as if I’ve been put through a mangle backwards, I reach for the laptop and barely have the energy to pull it towards me. My arms flop like a rag doll’s and I just want to sit here panting for a bit longer, but Nemesis’s words pulse as if they burn permanently into the screen.

LIBRARYGIRL: Yes.

It’s all I can manage.

NEMESIS: Yes? Is that all you can come up with? I want details, young lady, details! I want glorious Technicolor and precise terminology, or it’ll be another forfeit for you, and this time a big one.

Greedy swine! Always making his demands and issuing
threats
. I see him smile as he teases and goads me. And I smile back. I want to play longer, but I’m tired, I’m so tired.

LIBRARYGIRL: You’ve worn me out. I’m exhausted. I’ll take the forfeit.

His whoop of triumph seems to sing along the miles of telephony and through the Wi-Fi. This is exactly what he wanted, and now he’s the one who’s going to be fantasising as he takes himself in hand. Imagining
me
doing whatever outrageous erotic act he comes up with.

NEMESIS: It’s going to be a bigger one. I’m going to ask a lot of you, my darling. A quantum leap this time.

My heart thuds with energy and, despite the lethargy in my body, I begin to feel aroused again.

LIBRARYGIRL: Bring it on.

And he does, how he does … But all I can think of is the word ‘darling’.

8 A Quantum Leap

I CAN’T WAIT
to tell Professor Hottie about this! I want to watch his face as I outline the next forfeit. I want to see the hidden smile, the secret complicity in his eyes. I want to see how far I can tease this out before he gives in and concedes and I win. Because it’s definitely a contest now. To see how far we can go, and who’ll cave in first.

Will he say, ‘All right! I give in! I’m Nemesis!’ Or will I say, ‘Admit it! Just admit it! You’re Nemesis!’

There’s still the tiniest notion, behind another of those partitions of mine, that I’ve got this all wrong and he
isn’t
Nemesis. And that I really am playing the most dangerous game with a very seriously twisted and perverted individual. But right in my heart, where rationality is a most infrequent visitor, I know, I just know that Daniel Brewster is my Nemesis. Or Nemesis is my Daniel. Or whatever.

Either way, I’m determined he’ll fold first.

I’ve pulled out all the stops at the library today, and I must admit that the looks I’ve got from Techie Greg, Clarkey and even Mr Johnson the Borough Librarian have been priceless. Like the frosting on a yummily exciting cake.

I’ve gone with my nineteen-fifties Nympho Librarian persona again. The fitted blouse, the slim skirt, the stockings. Once again, I lament that I can’t wear high heels in the Lending Department and the other public areas. The floors have been redone recently and stilettos are strictly forbidden.

I’ve done a slightly different thing with my hair today. It’s in a very loose plait, asymmetric again, but with a lot more of those self-consciously seductive tendrils trailing down the side of my face.

I really think this office-sex-bomb look suits me, and it’s definitely working. No more moping around in baggy clothes for me. From now on I’m going to hark back to the days when it was OK to have plenty of curves. Hell, Monroe was a plus size by today’s stupid standards, and she had grown men grovelling on their knees to adore her.

Part of me wants Daniel to grovel too. Yes, indeed. But quite a lot of me keeps having these other disturbing and knicker-moistening fantasies about me grovelling to him – and much, much more. The leather mask and sometimes even a pair of high, black leather huntsman’s boots seem to figure quite a bit.

The suggestion box yields no blue letters today. Disappointing, admittedly, but I console myself that we’ve moved on to more interactive modes of communication now. Nemesis has even given me a mobile number to ring, which I have to call when I’ve made my decision. Although, when that’ll be, I don’t know. It’s one mad challenge he’s posed, this so-called quantum leap.

He wants me to proposition another of my ‘random men’ in a bar. He says he might – or might not – watch me from a distance, in disguise, while I pick up a horny male I’ve never set eyes on before for anonymous sex. I wonder if he’s been reading one of those notorious call-girl blogs?

Smiling, I stare out across the library. We’ve only been open a short time but some of the regulars are already drifting around the shelves or settling down with the papers. What would they think if they knew what their familiar Miss Price was up to? Maybe some of them suspect? It’s not just
the
eyebrows of staff members that have shot up again this morning. One of the unemployed blokes is stealing sly glances at me over the top of the
Sun
and the boring local rag.

For my hooker gig, Nemesis says I have to choose the hotel, and I’ve a shrewd idea which one he’ll expect it to be. I suppose I ought to oblige him, but it would be fun to shock the living daylights out of him by suggesting a scummy old dive like the Horse and Jockey or the Master Bricklayers’ Arms.

Speaking of Nemesis, where is the prime suspect this morning? I managed to snatch a minute to sneak down to Professor Hottie’s cubby-hole before opening time, to see if he’d let himself in by the back door. But there’s no sign of him. Which, of itself, isn’t unusual. He’s an honoured visitor here, and he isn’t on the clock. He doesn’t even have to come in every day. Although I would have thought there was a rather piquant incentive over and above the Livesey Archive and its irreplaceable documents.

The thought of
not
seeing him has an extraordinary effect on me. I’d always believed it was just a figure of speech when someone described their heart sinking, but I’d swear mine plummeted southwards at the idea of not seeing his adorable face today.

Adorable? What the hell is wrong with me? Have I fallen for him, other than just fancying him something alarming and wanting to play demented sex games with him? Are there finer feelings lurking in the lust? Now that
is
wilfully stupid.

This alarming implication sends the day into a downturn, but I try not to show it to my public. I pin a smile to my face and launch myself into reader advice with almost manic enthusiasm, going the extra mile or several for everybody who essays even the most diffident enquiry. At break time I race
downstairs
, but it’s all in darkness, and I return to the light still carrying the basement’s forlorn emptiness inside me.

I’ve just got to take my mind off men with beautiful mouths, magical fingers, perfectly demonic thought processes and twisted imaginations. I daren’t allow my wayward musings to go down those very, very dangerous paths.

He only wants a temporary fling. And that’s what Nemesis wants too. Oh, this is more screwed up than a very, very screwed-up thing! But still, I’m itching for it to be lunchtime so I can hurtle downstairs again and check if he’s there.

Just when I’m about to go off duty, and have abandoned all hope, he arrives. Through the front door and with a woman! And she’s beautiful … They pause just inside the vestibule, and she stares into his eyes, this vision, her own full of tender concern as she pats him on the arm, and says something quiet and solicitous, leaning towards him.