Can any discussion of this topic be complete without SNL’s Librarian sketch?
I’m not sure my own library fantasy can measure up to that, but here it is:
It’s late at night, and I’m deep in the stacks of the medical library, engrossed in a book on male anatomy, so engrossed I didn’t even here the announcement the library was closing.
(Why, dear reader, am I getting my porn from a textbook when it’s free on the internet? Maybe I’m too dumb to think of that, or maybe my hyper-religious and controlling parents have filters on absolutely all of my electronics. Just go with it. I’m telling a story here.)
My hand has already slid down the front of my skirt and inside my panties. Touching myself as I gaze at the photos. (Always wear a skirt or dress for sex fantasies!) My breath is heavy and I’m wet as I pore over the photos.
How did he get right next to me in these narrow stacks without me noticing? But suddenly he is there, looking down at the book in my hand, my other hand in my skirt. “Well, well, what have we here?” His voice so quiet. (It is a library, after all, even though now it seems deserted but for the two of us and the musty smell of books.)
One hand clamps around my wrist like an iron ring while the other covers my mouth as he pushes my back against the shelving. I stare wide-eyed with fear into his dark and menacing eyes as I feel that other hand start to roam over my chest. “Studying anatomy?” And now I feel him moving up under my skirt, brushing aside my panties to feel my slit. I whisper into the hand over my mouth. “Your cunt is sopping wet you little slut!” He whispers.
(OMG, dirty talk like that gets me off so much! I just love the thought of being called slut, whore, bitch; having a man — or woman — talking about how they like my cunt, how they want to fuck me. I’m so strait laced in real life that my fantasies are the total opposite.)
“Time for your lab work.” I hear him unzip his pants, and then I can feel it, the head already against my lips.
“Mmf!” No, I try to scream against the hand gagging my mouth. Tears leak from the corner of my eyes as I realize what’s about to happen. I am powerless, overwhelmed.
He’s sliding it up and down my slit, coating his glans with my juices. I feel betrayed and ashamed at my own body because of how good it feels, how part of me doesn’t want this to stop. That atavistic urge of a woman to be overcome and bred by a stronger man.
We both groan as he eases himself inside of me. He is almost gentle, for a rapist. His breath, heavy in my ear, telling me how delicious my pussy is, how he can tell I wanted this, how I’m really just a whore, desperate for a man’s cock. My tears pour more freely, as I realize it’s all true.
And then he starts to thrust . . . .
(Excuse me. I think I need my vibrator. Not sure if I’ll be back to finish this. Shame on you all for putting such thoughts into the head of an innocent young woman! ☺️)
