Librarian Svetochka

Svetochka, a young woman of 26, a blonde with glasses in plain frames, was riding the subway to work. Swept along by the flow of citizens to the far door of the carriage, she stood meekly, like a tin soldier: steadfast and triumphant, arms at her sides. In one hand, a black patent faux-leather bag bought on sale at one of the outlets of the Spanish billionaire languishing in his love for cheap clothing; in the other, a hardcover tome by Dontsova, whose characters invited her, the socialite of Library No. 5, to join in their joint Nordic crimes and the discovery of truth somewhere around page twenty.

What can be said about Svetochka? Having graduated from university and entered the world

in her specialty—librarian—fate threw her into the dusty, cobwebby embrace of Library No. 5 in her hometown. Undoubtedly, she wanted to participate in the great campaigns of the Librarian3, at least to be on hand: to offer a glass of water, a piece of mozzarella, and a scepter. However, all dreams and nonsense. He had departed to seek the curse of the Judas Chalice, leaving Svetochka alone with the dark hall and the few readers of this ancient temple of enlightenment.

She was a fragile, withdrawn girl, concealing a tornado deep within her blue eyes behind plain frames. In general, men weren't interested in her, though she wasn't last in line for sex; the lame and the legless would follow her.

But in her soul, a fire always burned, not from Prometheus, but merely a Gazprom one, and a thirst for adventure tormented her fragile body and tore it to pieces.

She saw herself as the Empress of All Rus'; here she commands Count Orlov to have her behind a curtain of fine Italian workmanship, or to press her against a wall with 16th-century paintings, and boldly slip his hand into her hot, burning, thirsty crotch, conquering a ton of skirts, corsets, and cuffs, as if she were a shepherdess in those strokes of green meadows. Time stretched like gum stuck to a heel. And Svetochka the queen of slow motion, after which came an orgasm, spilling white moisture onto her black panties.

Or she is the Queen of Sheba, arrived at King Solomon's feast—radiant and magnificent, proud and enchanting in her curls of black hair. Flowers, roses, love, and a hangover.

On the sly, she read romance novels and wiped away tears with her hand, hearing and seeing no one around. She loved these hours alone with herself and a book, when the library was empty, and the smell of old books seized her and carried her along a vast river of knowledge to new horizons, opening a world of fantasy, adventure, mystery, and drama.

She had no suitor; long ago, he had dissolved into the blue distance, leaving behind a crumpled pack of KENT cigarettes, a couple of hundred reddish hairs on the pillow, and the smell of disappointment, which seemed to have settled forever in the girl's soul.

She found a replacement for him. Sidling into a sex shop, looking around the displays in amazement, she fixed her gaze on a small vibrator—smooth and bright pink. If not a life, then at least toys in color. In the end—a life in pink! Glamorous and with pretensions to luxury.

The vibrator threw the whole world, all the stars, and the entire universe at her feet. It never skimped on promises, so well-bred.

All the arousal humming within her like high-voltage wires poured out onto the toy. A mute witness to shameless lust and courtliness.

The pictures with the characters became brighter; now Count Orlov fucks her as his illustrious member and Svetochka's hand see fit. Here she is on all fours, and the vibrator enters with the silky smoothness of its head into her slit, wet with excitement. Initially, it adjusts to her hole, circles the moist pink lips, wedges like a snake into the minor and lubricated ones, dives deep into the burrow, but Svetochka's hand manages to pull it back and with long, tantalizing movements pleases her clitoris.

"Ah, Count, what unbearable bliss to feel your jade rod in my pink shell! Just along the edge and invade, you scoundrel..." her voice, breathy, weakens on the last word.

"Yes, Mother Empress, your shell is like the Motherland, away from it I languish and wither!!!" with all his strength, he enters her and begins to fuck her hard and fast.

Somewhere far away, in the orgasm beginning to wash over her with blue, Svetochka hears the slap of balls against her ass, like the ringing of bells announcing to the common folk:

"The Sovereign has finished! Praise and honor to Orlov! Taxes 13%!"

Exhausted, with a smile, Svetochka lies on crumpled sheets. Her body lives and breathes, filled with velvety moisture. Her nipples bright pink, still aiming like rockets at the ceiling, but beginning to settle as Svetochka's breathing calms.

Summer came to the city, and the already sparsely populated library halls emptied further. Svetochka's workload decreased, but she still had to archive books, enter them into the computer, and call the chronic book non-returners.

The day dragged on: summer gave people warmth, hope, new hobbies, love, and long-awaited vacations. Watching kissing couples, Svetochka averted her eyes, and her soul filled with sadness, so bleak and aching, as if she had gone out to sea, and all around was the leaden gleam of water merging with the same sky. Albatrosses don't dart about searching for food, and the unsurpassed superego—Stas Mikhailov—sank from suffocation into the depths of boundless hopelessness.

One day, she took the vibrator to work with her, to enjoy union within the walls of enlightenment and culture. The fear of being caught made this whim of a little gray mouse intoxicating and desperate.

Sitting at her workstation, she scanned the room with her eyes and, making sure the hall was empty and quiet, opened a book. Time passed, nothing happened, and only the rustling of an old fan and the turned pages of the book proclaimed to the world that there was still a living soul here.

As the events unfolded, Svetochka's eyes lit up with an otherworldly dawn, and the light irises of her pupils became enchanting and corrupting.

"Yes, Juan, fuck that mare with all your might. What a stallion you are!" her parched lips whispered.

"What a huge and smooth rod you have! It will pierce my sweet, lustful cunt right through!" she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and bit them until they bled.

Her movements became stronger, more sweeping. Her head fell back, her eyes closed, and, shouting a disjointed set of vowels into the vault of enlightenment, Svetochka came.

Breathing heavily, she began to quickly come to her senses. erotic stories She looked around, put her feet down from the table, straightened her dress and panties, and, bringing her favorite toy to her face, licked her own moisture with her tongue:

"How tasty I am, like a raspberry!"

Voilà, as if nothing had happened. Scanning the hall, she noticed movement behind the shelves, and the thought that suddenly came to her

mind made her blush, and the feeling of shame that someone had been watching her hit her head harder, her heart began to pound like crazy.

"Who's there?" her voice ran through the hall, bouncing off the shelves and hitting the wall, returning back.

Silence seemed to bind the space with a deaf wall. Time passed, and the life of the antiquities returned to its penates. Svetochka calmed down. But too soon. Then a thud sounded, a tome crashed to the ground, and from behind the far shelf emerged a young man.

"Good afternoon. I'd like Herbert Marcuse's book 'Reason and Revolution.' I'm looking for it, but it seems to have vanished into thin air. I need it for my dissertation," said the young man and blushed poppy-red. He nodded convulsively, understanding that this day held nothing good for him.

He was of average height, blue jeans hung like sacks, a short-sleeved shirt with an unimaginable pattern from Fidel's sultry childhood, black moccasins instilled hope that not all was lost and, as a metrosexual, the guy might still make it. Whitish hair, neatly parted to the right, and protruding boyish ears. A scattering of freckles on his nose made him a mischievous Antoshka from the cartoon who didn't dig up the potato.

A real bookworm, who could barely become a reckless stud.

Svetochka, with an effort of will, pulled herself together, got up from the table, and headed towards the stranger.

"Let me escort you."

In her head, thoughts ran and copulated with one another, producing answers and errors.

"Allow me to introduce myself—Arkady," said the young man and extended his hand.

Svetochka shook it; it was hot and dry.

"Svetlana."

"I know, you just never noticed me."

She began running her fingers along the spines of the books and stopped at one in a black binding:

"Here is your book. Please. Will you be working with it here?"

"Yes."

While she ran her fingers along the spines, he watched the back of her head. He was charmed by the curls of her black hair with ringlets, her delicate skin, and her thin swan-like neck, which he wanted to cover with kisses and leave his mark with his lips.

He remembered all the ardor with which she had masturbated, and his dick began to fill with life again.

Arkady hadn't started peeping at her right away, but as soon as he heard the moan that twisted his groin into a knot. His gaze darted over the shelves and stopped on the librarian, who with every moment of passion that overwhelmed her, turned into a seductive fury, sparkling with debauchery and lust. He mechanically shoved his hand into his pants, found his little friend, and began to stroke him, slowly and timidly at first. From root to tip, loving and cherishing. With his other hand, he unzipped his fly; his member began to blossom and fill with strength, it became cramped in his pants, and it began to fiercely struggle for freedom, like a Colombian guerrilla for whom the jungle suddenly became too tight.

When Svetochka shouted her first phrase, his little friend stood at its full, revealed 18 cm power. With his other hand, he began to fondle his balls; his pants lay hopelessly at his feet.

Without taking his eyes off the librarian's pussy, seeing her moisture, feeling the pulsation of her vagina with his skin, his hand moved to the shaft near the head, and with quick, deft movements, he began to jerk off. The drops of moisture that initially spurted from him did their job. He watched, and at the word "cunt" (a quiet and unassuming word, striking at the very foundation), thrown into the hall by Svetochka, semen began to spurt from his dick in thrusts. He lightning-fast held out his other hand, and all the power of his orgasm fit into his palm.

Arkady raised his eyes, and his powerful roar got tangled in his teeth, throat, and tongue, went inward, burning his stomach with dragon's breath and reaching his prostate, dissolving in it.

Catching his breath, he pulled up his pants with one hand, took out a handkerchief from his pocket with jerky movements, and poured the semen into it; it soaked in, leaving a whitish trace. He put the handkerchief in his pocket and quickly zipped up his jeans. He accidentally knocked against a tome, which fell onto the parquet floor with a loud thud.

"Fuck..." he swore quietly and thought, "Arkady, you are an educated, cultured person, of high spiritual organization, modest too, quiet, and here in the library, some kind of boorish bull is acting up."

Then he had to step out of the shadows.

Work on the book didn't progress; he looked into it, tried to make notes in his notebook, but in his eyes stood Svetochka, naked and spread out on the table. Her pink skin glows and sparkles in the rays of the sun penetrating through the dusty library window, every hair stands up cutely on her skin and beckons him, and he wants to bury his head in her sweet cunt and lick, lick her to exhaustion: suck her lips, nibble her clit, and shove his tongue its full length into the wet, open slit, which smells deliciously of raspberries, and it's impossible to tear himself away. And with his hands, he teases her pink nipples, which swell and harden. And her whole body arches from the movements of his hands and lips, demanding to take her immediately and impale her on his pole, but he is in no hurry, wants to enjoy every hollow and drink her juices to his heart's content. He wants to see his reflection in the librarian's blue eyes...

And then after sex, they would make music. She in his shirt in the huge hall, and he in his underwear at the piano. There was no harp..

He stood up, closed the book, and headed towards her:

"Svetochka, not everyone can afford expensive luxuries. For example, a beautiful and intelligent girl simultaneously. Many only dream of such luxury. But, I promise to give you little scarlet flowers, read poems by early and late Mandelstam, all the stars and the Universe. I never skimp on that, I promise to give you the whole world and tickets to the conservatory. Don't refuse a guy in his endeavors and allow me to invite you on a date."

"Said just like my vibrator," thought Svetochka and answered, "Yes!"