by sextails

She’d given me that look. That was all it took – a knowing look, full of lust, of cheek, of want. I grinned a wide smile and winked. She glanced over her shoulder at the rows of desks and computers, towards shelve after shelve of books 6 foot high. My eyes followed her gaze, staring towards the back of the floor, the exposed brick work, the dim lighting, the darkness corners beyond.

She logged of her computer, shoving her bag deep under the desk and casually picked up a book, bending over in front of me, sticking her arse out, pert tight, clad in black leggings, slightly see through showing her black thong. She glanced back at me and slowly sauntered off, disappearing between the books.  It was late, dark outside, the darkness outside the window showing nothing but a cold night and my reflection as I glanced towards each old window.

I hurriedly logged off, my hands shaking with anticipation, my eyes darting around at those sitting nearby, faces full of concentration absorbed in essays, dissertations – working till the wee hours. I picked up the nearest book I’d taken and dashed down an aisle. Walking up the centre aisle I glanced left and right desperate to see her picture perfect arse and slim figure swaying ahead of me. I reached the end of the floor, the last row of books. The lights were far away and it was dimly lit, I walked slowly quietly behind the books, before I saw her step out of a small nook in the wall, a gap between two pillars. I walked over, dropping the book and pressed her against the wall. She kissed me back hard, pushing her hips against mine, her hands up under my top, clawing my back.

Her tongue was soft, massaging mine with each deep caress, her lips pressed hard against mine, moist. I pulled away, talking her chin in my fingers. Her eyes stayed closed, her lips parted, pink from kissing, slightly wet, pouting and quivering desperate for another kiss. I ran my finger over them, feeling her moan, she sucked my fingers, opened her eyes and gazed deep into mine, running her hand down my leg…

I pressed back into her, kissing her neck, her mouth, hearing her groan deep in her throat, her breath on my hair, on my face my neck. My hands caressed her tits through her hoody, gripped them hard, she collapsed into, throwing her head back against the wall, her nails digging in my sides. My hand ran under the top, across her stomach, following the line of her leggings. She groaned, gripped me harder – grabbed my hand with hers. I took both wrists with one hand and pressed them against the wall. She grinned panting harder, as my fingers slipped under her leggings, under the top of her knickers, feeling her smooth cunt softly. They slid lower, feeling the curve of her cunt, her swollen lips – her swollen clit.

I pushed my hand under her, feeling her moist cunt with my fingertips. Touching her softly, stroking her lips, running my fingers up and down her slit, and darting one or two fingers just inside. She bit my neck as I leant into her, begged me to finger her – begged me to finger her.

I rammed my fingers deep in her cunt, curving them upwards to her g spot, pressing it hard. I worked her, in a ‘come hither’ motion, fast and deep, twisting my fingers and knuckles in her cunt with each stroke, her cum running over my hand, her legs shaking. She spread herself wider, as I darted my fingers in and out faster and faster, the palm of my hand slamming into her pubic bone. Her body tensed;  She moaned, bit her lip, held her breath trying not to scream as her cunt gripped my fingers, her orgasm took over, the cum flooding my hand, soaking her thong, throbbing and pulsing with each hard release. Her body relaxed against me, she breathed into my neck, I kissed her, panting slightly with the exertion, with the thrill of my hand in-between her legs, of her soft cunt around my fingers. She kissed me, softly, her lips barely glancing my skin.

We both looked at each other, looked around, at the books, at the cameras on the wall further along, at the quiet library and heard the patter of keyboards in the distance. A midnight finger I’d not forget.