Amy’s Library


Amy’s Library

It was nearly closing time at the library. Aside from a few researchers and college students, the majority of the visitors had already left. Most of the staff had also said good night by then, and the remaining librarians were waiting at the front desk for the last readers to check out. Some of them argued over where to go after locking up, and whether or not to have a drink before heading home. Only one of them was still working.

Amy had a stack of new arrivals next to her keyboard and was occupied with creating their records in the database. The process of classifying each book along with finding the best tags to describe them required her full attention. She ignored a call from her dad, and didn’t respond when her colleagues were talking to her.

“You’re a saint, Amy,” said a male voice. “I don’t feel like doing anything.”

After she had moved every book from one side of the keyboard to the other, she picked them up and went to put them in their rightful places. The tower of stacked books only rose to her breasts, she could still manage it by leaning backwards a bit — she didn’t need the trolley.

“Hey, if you bump into anyone, tell them to hurry. I’m thirsty.”

The night was dark, cloudy, and starless. From the 2nd floor’s grand windows she could see the tops of the streetlights and the people underneath their orange rays, who appeared to be mere walking scalps. As expected, no one looked up to see her shining glasses; to meet her curious gaze. The lights of the study hall were dim enough to find a title, but strained the eyes of anyone reading. For that purpose they provided desk lamps. The shimmering pages beneath those green shades indicated the whereabouts of the owls — a name they gave the evening readers. By that time they were tired and leaned close to the texts, as if their spines couldn’t support them anymore — as though they could fall asleep at any moment, drooling on the paper. Despite their lack of energy, they had a reason to push themselves. Amy paused to watch them for a brief second, taking a breath before walking forward. Usually she only saw their hunched over backs or the straps of their bra through their shirts; their hair flowing down to the paragraphs and pictures, shining in the light. Their hands balled into fists, holding their heads up. They didn’t look up until Amy spoke.

“Please, Miss Brooks… just a couple of more minutes!”

Other than pleading such as that, nothing broke the otherwise complete silence. The massive wooden bookshelves absorbed the sound of their rushing pens, the buzzing of the bulbs, and the students’ footsteps when they finally left. Amy also became muted, and roamed the heavy rows like a ghost. However, in her case, practice and caution had amounted to being as noiselessness and transparent as only a natural librarian could be. Nobody would have noticed her at all if she hadn’t had to warn them it was time to leave soon.

To optimize her route, Amy sorted the stack of books beforehand by their subjects, and then sorted the list of subjects based on their locations in the maze of the library, advancing from the nearest shelves to the farthest. Despite her prudence, she had to adjust on her path when she found lone, forgotten books which needed to be taken back where they belonged. There were more of those than new books in her hands, but it was unforeseeable. It was an easy way to let time fly by: always discovering new ones, but only one by one. She squeezed them back into the densely packed rows, looked for the ladder, then got back to her duty, trying to remember where she left of. The ink and the dust from the covers, pages, and shelves colored her fingertips black; and maybe some sweat and fat from the visitors’ hands, which used the paper and the wood as a proxy to get to her.

Old books in particular could make one wonder about the origins of its dirt. Like the tome she met near the end of her chores. It was a thick piece with a stiff, leather binding, the kind with a sticky feel, as if it was a living being with skin, and the edge of the pages had a gray marble pattern on them. From up close, it had a pungent odor. Countless readers and librarians must have passed it on to one another for hundreds of years. It was not only a collection of thoughts, but also a vast gathering of breaths and touches; handshakes shifted in time. The lettering was something she couldn’t make out — it could have been in a foreign language, she couldn’t decide — but based on the classification number she knew where it belonged.

The forlorn room was at the far edge of the building. It was packed with these sorts of books in intimidating heights and masses. Here, the ceiling lights were off. The illumination of the city loomed in through the windows and painted yellow stripes on the black canvas of the wooden floor. A desk lamp with a green shade beamed in a corner, in the cover of a shelf. Amy’s flats approached the owl without making the floor creak. Her skirt was blowing, but didn’t Ümraniye Escort swish.

She still had the book clasped to her stomach when she stopped. There was an unusual sound. Its source was close enough to be heard, but remained hidden to Amy’s eyes. A humming without any identifiable melody, only a crescendo followed by a decrescendo; someone moaning. Then a swallow, a tongue being dipped in a pool of saliva.

“I can’t do this any longer,” said a woman.

“Just three more months,” another woman replied.

Amy put the book down and hid behind the shelf. Through a narrow line above the tomes she could observe the two women. One was soaking up her tears with a tissue under her glasses, and the other had an arm around the weeping one’s shoulder, pulling her close.

“It doesn’t matter… my parents…”

Both women looked down at the piles of papers laying before them. It seemed like they had come to the library to search for the answer they needed, and it was there somewhere among those lines. There was a long pause. Their faces told Amy this wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument. They looked exhausted, out of hope to push forward, to find a solution, or at least to sustain a delusion to live in. Amy removed a book from a lower level to get a better view of them. The row on the other side was sparser, she could see their entire bodies. The desk was at eye level this way, a thin line which cut them in half, separating the woolen sweaters from the crossed legs.

“Then we’ll move. A new town… maybe a new country,” the older one said.

Amy was crouching. Her skirt flowed down to the floor, forming a circle around her. She had pulled out her phone and waited, holding onto the edge of the shelf to keep her balance.

“But your job… the university…”

The woman smiled, playing with a lock of the younger one’s hair as she looked up to her in anticipation.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll find something else… maybe in the private sector. Either way, it’s time for me to make a sacrifice. But don’t get sidetracked. You still have to graduate.”

“You promise?”

“And one more thing. Keep calling me professor. I cannot live without that.”

The young woman hugged the Professor and dug her face deep into her hair. From the shaking of her shoulders Amy could tell she was sobbing.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, my little snowdrop…” the Professor said, putting a finger on her nose.

They kissed again. Snowdrop twisted her arms around the Professor’s neck, while she placed her hands around the student’s hips. They both tilted their heads a little, so they could reach more into the other’s mouth. A thick, glimmering line of saliva connected them together when they broke the kiss to let their eyes meet. The younger one climbed into the lap of the Professor, facing her. The narrow velvet skirt got rolled up while she spread her legs, revealing the black thighband on her pantyhose.

Amy saw their profile. Her thin legs hanging and swinging as they tried to reach the floor, her hips going back and forth, the Professor’s palms on her butt helping her to move. The young woman was eye-to-eye with her teacher in this position, so she didn’t have to bend her head backwards to meet her lips. The librarian unlocked her phone, propped it up against a tome in a way that the lens was looking through the gap she’d made, and pressed the red button to start recording.

“Okay, my little snowdrop, they will lock us in. Time to go.”

“I won’t let that proposal go unrewarded.”

The scholar knelt down before her Professor while she kept her gaze on her. The table was above her, and she was staring upward like a hungry puppy from beneath it. She left a gentle kiss on each knee, and slipped off her teacher’s high heels. With her rolled out tongue she left a trail of saliva on both soles from heel to toes, one after the other. The moist line she drew on the nylon was sparkling in the incoming evening lights. She had both feet on her cheeks and took deep breaths, then closed her eyes and felt the toes in her mouth, sucking on them. While she was busy with one foot, she was giving a massage to the other. The Professor threw her head back and let her hair flow down behind the chair.

“This is not good,” Amy read from her lips. The older woman sighed and reluctantly slipped her foot from the lock of the rubbing fingers and pushed it between the thighs of little Snowdrop, further into her loins. The pupil moaned, and the foot fell out from her mouth. Her breathing sped up as the Professor teased her down there, her face resting on the woman’s thighs. With her free leg, the teacher fondled her student’s skin trough her skirt and pantyhose, tickling her; making her shiver.

Amy descended down to the polished floor, too, her butt resting on the cold wood, flanked by her heels. From there, she only saw the two women through the picture on the phone’s screen, as if it were a spyglass, Ümraniye Escort Bayan pointing at the promised land. As she pulled up the rose-patterned cotton skirt from her ankles, Amy revealed her bare legs and plain white panties to the illuminated display and dozens of dust covered tomes. She had a stain of her own excitement on the fabric. She touched the tight, hairless skin below her navel and began to venture down, underneath the cotton, but her fingertips felt strange. The black spots had smoothened them and made them feel greasy.

The image, as Snowdrop reached under the Professor’s skirt and began to roll down the pantyhose with adulation in her eyes, mirrored on Amy’s glasses.

“Stop it. We really have to go,” said the Professor, but she remained still on the chair, raising her hips to help her lover remove the panties, too.

“I want to show that you made a good bargain. I want to prove I’ll be a good housewife.”

“You’re killing me.”

Snowdrop dug her nose into the ball of black nylon and lingerie she’d gathered from the object of her affection. She inhaled and exhaled through the fabric. Amy was watching with her jaw dropped, drooling. The scent didn’t reach her, but her imagination did a good job regardless. Her lips were pulsing, her clitoris was swollen. She leaned back, propped up on one hand, and placed a palm on her underwear. Through the soaked cloth the index and the ring finger caressed the lips, and the middle one dove between them, pushing against her erect button, before reaching down to the entrance of her hole with the tip. The pupil on the screen submerged herself between the teacher’s thighs, burying her face in warm flesh, covering her face with white skin. Only the bun on her nape remained visible as it was going back and forth; up and down. A thick string of saliva was swinging in the air from where her chin would be, like a pendulum, dripping down toward the ground, only to hit the sweater and be absorbed by the wool.

Amy was circling her fingers to the rhythm of the girl’s head movement. Pressing when she thrust, releasing when she backed away. Her breasts were rising and falling in sync with the Professor’s. She was sighing and moaning on the other side of the bookshelf, but Amy forced herself to bite her lips. From time to time, the woman’s legs shook. On other occasions, they wrapped around the girl’s head and made the bun stop on its path. During these pauses, Amy had to pull her own hand away — her hips had begun to grind against the still fingers on their own. The Professor was murmuring something to herself, but Amy couldn’t make out what.

She ran her fingers through her little Snowdrop’s hair, held her head firmly still, and started to hump her. There was a wide open mouth with a hungry, elastic tongue down there, devoted to serve her… which made the Professor collapse on the desk. Her hips froze in motion with the student’s face at her crotch and Snowdrop’s arms fell to the oak floor from the teacher’s knees.

Amy checked the screen to take a glimpse at them before the last stroke. She caught a few frames as the Professor pulled her student up to kiss her. She saw the gooey liquid on her face, the mixture of her own saliva and her mentor’s love juice that was shining like silver in the light of the desk lamp.

She saw the tongue reaching out for that layer of sweet nectar on those cheeks, but the image faded away, the recording got paused, and the system let her know that Tom was calling. She took the phone and snuck out of the room.

“Don’t think I’ve had enough,” she heard the Professor’s fading voice say.

Because her legs couldn’t support her, she had to lean against the wall. She spread her thighs, keeping her throbbing pussy away from any further stimulus, and rolled down her panties to the knees, since wearing it felt tighter than ever. They’d turned off the ceiling lights with the main switch, and no glowing green shades were in sight. The only bright spots in the looming darkness were the phone’s display and the windows with the city night behind them.

“Where are you? We’re ready to go,” Tom said.

“I’m staying. Some researchers need more time.”

“Just kick them out already.”

“It’s important. And I’m not finished either.”

“What about that drink we talked about? A few days ago you said you’d join us.”

“Next time.”

Amy heard Tom sigh on the other side and the rest of the librarians chatting in the distance. Her juices were flowing down her legs. She fumbled in her pocket for a tissue, but couldn’t find any.

“Want me to stay, instead?”

“No. Just go.”

“Next time then?”

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The wet stain felt cold as it touched her lips again. The damp line stretched from her starving clitoris to her twitching ass. Amy took deep breaths to calm her heart down, then crept back to the peephole in the row of books with the camera ready to roll.

Books and Escort Ümraniye papers were scattered on the floor around the desk. Snowdrop laid on her side on the table. Her skirt was raised up to her chest, and her sweater was tucked above her breasts. Amy didn’t see her pantyhose and underwear anywhere. Her plump, healthy breasts were hanging out from her bra. She was munching on that fistful of nylon and wool she cherished earlier.

“You are sick. I hope you know that.”

Snowdrop nodded and her face went red. While one of her legs was hanging off of the table, the other rested in the hands of the Professor, who held it high, the ankle above her shoulder. Her skirt was gone, but her turtleneck sweater was still on. Underneath the wool, stiff, pear-shaped mounds were taking form. She placed her loins to Snowdrop’s, letting their warm, wet lips meet and kiss before pressing her button of joy against hers.

Amy felt a hot, melting shiver go trough her body. It originated from her chest, rushed through her breasts and mound, reaching her toes and made her hair stand on end. She grabbed the tome she was carrying around earlier, put it down on its rear boards, and stuffed it between her thighs. Her lips were chewing on the leather covered spine, and her clitoris was grinding on the hard surface. Her nectar seeped through her panties, oozing down the cover of the book. She was on her knees, holding her heels while she moved back and forth. It was hard to concentrate on the display and cope with the pleasure feeling from the book. She only took glimpses of the two making love, letting the sounds echo in her ears.

They were moaning in unison. The deep, motherly voice of the Professor united in a symphony with the high, girlish tone of her little Snowdrop. Their breathing sped up, their sighs cut deep into the silent darkness of the empty building. Amy heard a head thud on the desk, and a palm slapping a butt cheek. She could even make out a quiet kiss landing on the young woman’s shin. As their pace quickened, the splashing of the lubricated lips got louder, the sound of drooling juice falling to the ground began to pierce through the heavy bookshelves.

When Amy opened her eyes she saw Snowdrop’s erect nipples dancing to the rhythm of her Professor pounding her. Marbles of sweat appeared on their foreheads while the muscles on the bottom girl’s belly tensed. Their bushes tangled with one another, tiny drops of their sweet water were sparkling on the hairs as the rays of the lamp hit them.

The smell of fading perfume, salt, and something sour arrived to the librarian at last. It teased her nostrils and forced her to swallow saliva in big gulps.

Then they reached for each other, their hands formed a union, their fingers clasped as puzzle pieces. The Professor pushed her crotch against her student’s and didn’t let her go. She kept their clits snug with each other, and pressed their lips together. She whispered a final “love you” to her precious, then turned her head up to the ceiling and let the orgasm shake her body, squirting some on Snowdrop’s thigh. The scholar came with her, but the mouthful of clothing dampened her howl.

Amy was not far behind them. She was on all fours, the head of the book’s spine at her clit. She flipped her skirt up onto her back, exposing her rear end to the tomes behind her. She looked up to the screen, bit her lower lip and held her breath as she reached her limit. Her legs and arms were trembling. She fell to the floor against her will.

All three of them rested on the floor, in the end. The Professor held her little Snowdrop close to herself, fondled her still hard nipples and left small kisses on her neck, while the librarian rolled onto her back and checked if the video file had been saved without corruption or error.


At home, her dad waited for her in the small apartment.

“Sorry I called you,” said the man. “I just wanted to know where you left the meatballs.”

“Top shelf, as always.”

Amy placed her hand against the wall of the narrow corridor and stepped out of her flats. Her dad was still standing there, even after they greeted each other. He was anticipating something.

“Were you on a date? I mean, arriving home this late…” he said.

The librarian hung the thin coat and went to her room, passing by the man.

“It’ll be Mexican tomorrow,” she said. And then through the crack of the door, “and there was a good cake recipe in a new book. I might make it this weekend.”

There was a silence before she closed the door. Her dad stared at the floor. He was wearing a sweatshirt and boxers under a robe. Amy could see into the living room where he slept. The monitor of his computer was on, it showed his wallpaper and tabs of pornography on the taskbar.

“All right dear. Just don’t be hard on yourself, okay?”

“Good night, dad.”

“Good night, honey.”

In the solitude of her own space she undressed and finally got rid of the uncomfortable underwear. She held the panties for a second, examining the white stain. She shook her head and threw it to the end of the bed with the rest. She got into an oversized black T-shirt, which bore an image of a metal band, now faded and unrecognizable. She wore that as a nightgown since the bottom nearly reached her knees.

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