Work Text:
Working as a library archivist was not how John Price had pictured his retirement beginning. To be fair, he didn’t need the money. Retiring before the age of forty with a comfortable (substantial) bank account to reflect a job well done was already an achievement. So, tackling another high-stress, high-profile career seemed doable yet unnecessary. He’d stuck around the house for a while, pottering about with some renovations or garden projects, but it wasn’t enough. He was antsy. It was only when his old friend, Steve Kosser, the director of a top-level historical documents archive, called him and asked for some extra security coverage that he’d realized having a gun on his belt felt familiar in a way that he wasn’t sure he liked. But, he loved the library.
John had always loved books. His house was full of them. He had stacks on each and every surface. The classics, some Shakespeare, a bit of poetry, some nonfiction… he would read anything. There was even a bodice-ripper or two tucked away unseen, but he wasn’t ashamed. Reading kept him sharp. It taught him about people, about their nature, about possibilities, about hope in places where there was none.
His work had quickly transitioned from security to desk work, and from desk work to archival data entry. Now, he was a procurement specialist, reaching out across the world to find texts and documents that his clients needed. Being close to the university meant that he had some repeat customers, but there were few who caught his eye like her.
She was his shadow-cloaked phantom, haunting him from the back corner. Her wardrobe was black on black on black, never daring to show him more than a hand or a wrist, or a bit of her neck other than her face. But, he lived for that face. Round, full cheeks, and a downturned smile when he greeted her each evening that she decided to come in to work. He dreamt of that smile almost as much as her plump, thick ass, and heavy, ample breasts; all hidden beneath her modest clothing. Part of him warred against his lust, chastising him for ogling her when she was just here to work on her graduate research, but the other part of him was… harder to convince.
But, tonight, in his almost empty archive section, he was given a true gift. She came in from the downpour outside, and he almost didn’t recognize her. He saw her tumble into the door, shaking her umbrella, frustrated and wet, but he’d needed to do a double-take. This was not his modest little raven, hiding behind her feathers. No, she was a bird of paradise tonight.
Her feet were lined with strappy black heels, high and platformed, shining in patent leather, wet from the puddles outside. Her legs were bare, and as he raked his eye upwards, he lingered on her round calves, her muscular thighs, wide and smooth, all leading him up under a high, pleated skirt, dark green plaid, sitting high on her waist, doing little to hide that juicy rump. She had on a button-down shirt, starched and white, but he could see her black bra underneath, the rain making the fabric of her top transparent. Her hair was up in some sort of style, pulled away from her face and her neck, curling and gleaming from the droplets.
She was panting from the cold, and from rushing inside, and that didn’t help his cause. He’d been battling a succession of throbbing hard-ons ever since he’d first spotted her, and that was weeks ago. At home, he’d retreat to his bedroom, rod in hand, working himself into an orgasmic froth, trying his best to picture literally anyone but her. But, she would flash into his mind, her smile, those eyes, that skin… and he’d be lost.
When he saw a request come in from her library account, it was just as bad if not worse. His primal body would celebrate, happy that she needed his help, and that he could provide for her, and he’d be in a tumultuous, heart-pumping, cock-stretching predicament yet again. He’d cloistered himself away, deep in the darkness of the stacks, fisting himself in rushed, punishing strokes, coming in his open palm, stopping himself from ruining the historical treasures he was meant to be protecting, hanging his head in love-drunk shame.
But now, in some sort of twisted, scholarly fantasy, here she was. His curvy little grad student, dripping wet and coming straight up to his desk.
“Hiya, John,” she whispered, her voice somehow cutting through the blood that pounded through his ears.
“Hey there, love. It’s cats and dogs out there, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she looked down at herself, trying to squeeze the water from her top, stretching it even thinner across her visible bra line, the black lace now fully visible to him, its floral pattern burning itself into his mind like fire on a page, licking black soot and tormenting him deep in his belly.
“Do you think you could help me?” She looked up at him with those doe eyes, pleading.
His body responded before he did, plumping himself back to life, feeling how the body of his prick pressed itself down the leg of his jeans. Yes, sweetheart, we’ll fuckin’ help you, won’t we, mate?
John shook it off, nodding his head,
“Sure, what’s the problem?”
She pulled some copies out of her bag,
“A friend sent these over, but I don’t think they match the microfiche film that you have here. I hate to ask you this, but could you help me do a cross-check? I really just need someone to listen while I read from the fiche film.”
“You bet.”
John followed her like a loyal mutt over to the dark microfiche machine, his tail surely wagging if he had one, stealing glance after fiery glance at that delectable body as she walked, those heels clacking against the terrazzo floors.
She found the machine she wanted and perched herself on the tiny stool. He sat beside her, eyes glued to the page, afraid of himself if he dared look anywhere else. The way the machines were set up meant that she would have her eyes stuck in the viewfinders, like she was scoping out the horizon on a submarine, while the soft golden glow from the machine would light up her unbuttoned cleavage, making her body that much more visible as he stared at her from his periphery.
“Okay,” she positioned her eyes in the machine’s goggle-like viewer, unable to see anything around her but the film she was flipping through, “We’re on page seventy-four, right?”
John looked down at his packet,
“Yep, seventy-four.”
“Okay, oh—!” She twisted herself on the stool, trying to get more comfortable, but her ass was too much for the tiny seat to handle. He reached out on instinct, catching her on her flank, gripping her none too lightly, saving her from falling.
“Gotcha,” he laughed.
She peeked out of the viewfinder for a moment, smiling,
“Shit, I’m sorry. Mmm,” she cooed, “Your hand is so warm. Didn’t realize how cold I was.”
“Tha’s alright, love. We’ll getcha warmed back up.”
She gave him an encouraging look as she turned back to the viewfinder, and John felt like he had earned her approval to keep his hand planted right where it was.
As she read from the film, he followed along, not really needing to report any corrections, but his palm was itching to travel. He had a hold on her hip, part of his hand riding the hem of her skirt, feeling the chill of her flesh, pebbling from the damp cold. Then, he began to pet the spot, rubbing it to create some warmth, generate some heat with his friction, and every brush from his palm meant that the wool of her skirt would scrunch up, revealing more and more of her plump butt as he did so. Eventually, he was under her skirt, realizing that the skirt was all there was. No panties, no hose, no nothing.
“Ah, uh…” He made his excuses, “Sorry, love. Got a little carried away keepin’ you from freezin’ in here.”
He removed his hand for a moment, and then, the impossible: she grabbed it and placed it back where it was, peeking at him from the fiche machine,
“Top of page seventy-nine, according to Marchante, the lost letters from Smith to Callant, prior to the war of 1617…”
Game on.
Price followed along dutifully, confirming each page with her, but now, spurred on by her teasing consent, his hand wandered unbridled. His fingers squeezed her body like the flesh of a ripe peach, soft and supple, giving way under his ferocious strength. Deeper and deeper, he snaked his way down the curve of her cheek, hunting for the parts of her that wouldn’t be taken by the cold. Her little, dripping furnace; that’s what he wanted.
When he found it, her breath hitched. His ring and pinky fingers dropped far enough down to find her hanging right off of the stool, her holes uncovered, open to the air, unguarded and vulnerable to his searching hands. The slick, lava-hot heat that he discovered there as he sank between her folds warmed him from the inside, turning his erection into a huge fucking problem, painful and hungry for her sticky, sweet treat. When her words stuttered, he pumped his fingers deeper inside of her, steady in and steady out, up and down, the quiet milking noises muffled by her skirt.
“Tch. C’mon, love, don’t stop readin’,” he purred in her ear, daring to plant a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck, pulling back to watch the goosebumps pebble across her skin not from the chill, but from him.
“...in the, uh…” she was breathing heavy.
“In the coming months…” he prompted, teasing her with his hand, curling his fingertips as he delved deeper, pulling out some of her wetness to paint her lips, feeling her muscles loosen up for him, readying her for something more than his thick digits.
“...in the coming months, the two armies… they… um, they…”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Tha’s a good girl. Keep going.”
She tried her best, and he almost felt bad for her, but not that bad. Because when he added another finger, sinking his middle alongside his ring, letting his pointer finger lazily tease its way up the slick surface of her folds, reaching for her clit, her reading stopped entirely.
“Mm, fuck!” She hissed under her breath, “John… I can’t…”
“I know, baby. I know. But, this is your bloody fault, innit?” John whispered, his voice gravelly and rolling beneath his breath, “You came in here, you wanted this, didn’t you?”
“No…” She whined, her mouth hanging open, her lips shining with a little bit of her own drool.
“Don’t lie to me,” he warned darkly, “You wanted to see if I would take your fuckin’ bait.”
Another finger, three of them, twisting and curling, bending and rubbing against her tight walls, and that was enough for her confession.
“Yes. Yes, I… yes, fuck…”
“And you wore this just for me, didn’t you?”
“...yes.”
“My good girl,” John praised her, tossing the packet down on the desk and using his free hand to widen the neckline of her shirt.
He pulled at the fabric until he broke a button, forcing her breasts through the opening, shoving his hand into her bra to fondle her nipples and squeeze her full tits. Then, he made a true effort to tuck her clothes under them, letting her breasts sit on top of her bra cups, hanging freely in the soft glow of the reading machine. Now, with her nipples on full display, he could bend down to kiss them, to nip at them softly, suckling at her skin as he fingered her, eliciting nothing but desperate, quiet mewls from her open mouth.
“John, please…”
She was barely perched on the stool anymore, her ass shifting and trembling, trying to present itself to him, her body wordlessly begging for more and more of his touch.
“Please, what? Want me to pull a different document?” He chuckled, removing himself entirely, making as if to stand and leave her there a half-naked, dripping mess.
“No!” She gasped, grabbing him by his shirt, yanking him back, shying away from his cruel laughter.
He returned to her, using his fingers to explore her swollen pussy and, now, to lightly rim his way around the tight ring of her asshole. His once-gentle suckles against her puffy nipples turned into rough, bruising kisses, making her squirm from pleasure and pain, crying out for him.
“Greedy thing,” he panted, feeling her flutter around his hand, “You wanna come on me? Right here? In the middle of my fuckin’ library?”
She nodded, her eyes now fixated on the way he was playing with her tits, stealing sweet kisses from her mouth when she would cry out too loudly.
“Teasin’ me for weeks,” he admitted, pulling his hand from beneath her skirt, suckling on his fingers to taste her, sticking them in her mouth so she could join him, watching her pupils dilate as her own heady fluids touched her tongue.
“So pretty…” John kissed her, and then it was his turn to gasp.
She had let her hands wander to his lap, rubbing the outline of his cock through his jeans, teasing the head when she finally found it, encouraging him to buck against her touch.
He started to fuck her with his hand; long, deep strokes, no longer caring about the lewd noises he was making as his knuckles churned within her, soaked and pumping in an unravelling rhythm.
To hide her screams, he pressed his mouth against hers, stuffing her pretty cheeks full of his tongue, feeling her suck against it for comfort as she fell apart.
Then, she was wet beyond belief, dripping all over his palm, creamy and hot, giving him a reward for every cruel thrust of his hand. She was gripping onto his cock’s shaft for dear life, holding it like a lifeline, and her tight grip was enough to drag him right along the edge with her.
By the time he pulled away from her, she was a shuddering, trembling mess. Her legs were shaking, barely able to keep her balance on the tiny stool, her tits red and purple from his assault.
“C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s go back to my office, yeah? Get you all cleaned up.”
She nodded, not even bothering to cover herself as he helped her stand, walking in front of him as he led her through the back door to the restricted area, her eyes hooded and exhausted from her ordeal, so sweet and trusting.
“Thanks for your help, John,” she sighed, smiling up at him with that same grin that had haunted his dreams, “I wish there was some way that I could repay you. Is there anything I can do?”
Now that they were in his office, he sat her on his desk, unbuttoning the last remaining buttons of her blouse, peeling her bra away from her shoulders, unzipping the side of her skirt, grinning down at her wet sex, licking his lips like the wolf that he was,
“Oh, baby, there are so many things you could do for me. But, let’s start with you spreading your legs, hm?”
“Like this?” She did as he asked, watching him slide her skirt off of her body, letting it ruffle to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her heels. Slowly, she pulled her knees apart, showing off for him, knowing that as much as he was the wolf, she was more than just prey.
“Holy shite,” John murmured under his breath, watching as she bloomed for him, a pink petal in the darkness of his own shadow.
He knelt before her, eager to put his mouth against her softness, lapping his tongue against her like he was starving. Her thick thighs felt good in his hands, and he pried her open with them, pulling her legs even wider than she had dared.
He dragged his tongue along every fold and dripping line of delicate skin, finding the swollen body of her clit nestled beneath its hood, shining for him like a pretty pink gem. He pressed his fingers back inside of her, not granting her any mercy, starting with three, stretching his way back in.
John’s hand fucked her as he drank from her, reaping what he sowed, over and over, in and out, rubbing her to her peak and dragging her over the edge.
She was gleaming down his beard by the time he’d had his fill. His tongue coated in her slick, swallowing her down his throat, enjoying the lingering taste of her in his mouth.
His poor darling was hoarse from her keening, sweating, trembling below him, a drenched mess on his desktop. He chuckled, petting her skin with his callused hands,
“Had enough?”
Her eyes were full of worry and anticipation as she looked up at him, wanting to say yes, but shaking her head no.
He teased her, unzipping his fly, letting his cock roll out onto her belly, thrusting it forward until he was flush with her hips, showing her just how deep he would reach. Her eyes widened with shock as she reached down to touch him, feeling him dripping with precome far above her navel.
John tapped himself against her, heavy and stiff,
“Change your mind?”
“Um…” Her voice was small, but she still looked up at him expectantly, so he rubbed his head through her folds as a final warning.
“Ungh! Mmf– John…” She moaned his name, rocking her hips against his long shaft, her knees shaking every time his head buried itself in her folds.
He slapped his cockhead against her clit as if knocking for entry, making her gasp,
“I’m not hearing a no, love.”
She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stop herself from screaming as she felt him notch his head into the cradle of her pussy, pressing forward just enough to stretch her with the body of his cock, watching as her eyes began to fill up with tears, overwhelmed by his size.
By the time he was halfway into her warm core, her eyes had rolled behind her fluttering lashes, her breath stuck in her throat, her lips parted, showing him her lolling tongue.
“Tha’s it, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah?” John grunted, shoving himself the rest of the way through her clenched muscles, listening to the sounds of her wetness as her body tried to make room for his immense girth.
As John began to thrust into her, she squeezed herself against him, fighting off another orgasm, each of them coming closer and closer together as she became almost overstimulated by him. He held his fist over her lower belly, leaning forward to put his weight down into his knuckles, making her feel every inch of him.
The pressure from his hand turned her into a gooey mess, her body throwing everything it could to accommodate him, her cries dragging out into deep moans, fully under his spell.
He couldn’t help himself. All of those nights where his cock had only been comforted by his own hand were running him down, crackling at the edges of his mind, eating away at his humanity, ravenous and desperate. Finally feeling her, hearing her cry for him, watching the way her pussy sucked him in; it was making him wild.
His desk was rocking off of its feet, scooting across the floor of his office, John’s strength too much for it to hold him back. He pulled her knees together, using them to push her thick thighs against her belly, holding her down at a new angle. For a few moments, he let himself get lost in the delightful jiggle of her body as he railed against her, admiring how her fat ass rippled with each of his thrusts.
“John… J–John. Oh, my God,” she gripped the edge of the table, her elbows framing her head on either side, the new position making her breasts hang and sway like heavy teardrops.
“Come for me, love. C’mon. Let me feel it,” he growled breathlessly, leaning against her leg, letting his lips and tongue graze along her ankle, tracing the skin between the straps of her gleaming heels.
“I’m… so close…”
John kept his pace, even though everything within him wanted to breakdown and follow her over the edge. His cock was throbbing, sending him every signal that it was ready to burst, his aching balls full and tight, the nerves in his groin burning with hot pleasure.
Then, he was rewarded for his patience. She began to unfurl beneath him, unraveling like a tangled ball of yarn, chaotic and spinning out of control. Her muscles within her core clamped down on his cock, milking him like a hungry mouth, yanking him deeper inside of her as she came. With all of the strength he had left, he pulled himself out of her at the last moment, spraying rope after rope of his come across her pulsating hole, painting her pussy with his own orgasm, grunting like a rabid animal.
He let her legs fall open, weak as she was, watching as she melted on his desk, laying beside her. She curled into him, resting her head on his chest, still fully clothed in stark contrast to her nakedness. Both of them were breathing in ragged, exhausted bursts, clinging to each other for any kind of strength they could find left.
“Thanks for… helping me, John,” she smiled up at him, kissing his neck.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he kissed her forehead, “Research is my second favorite thing.”
“What’s your first?” She looked lost, still reeling from what he had just put her through.
“Oh, love,” he let out a low rumbling laugh, “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll show you again.”