The Haunted Library, Part I free porn video

I shut the door behind me to the largish room too small for all the materials inside it and turned on a lamp I had put on a small table nearby. The door locked shut behind me, secluding me in my office and my job for the duration, and as long as I didn’t fuck up, it would house and feed me and in the end provide a dissertation for me. The Truscott Collection was a miscellaneous mass (indeed, mess) of materials about all the islands of the Caribbean that a wealthy alum had inherited, added to, and then bequeathed to the university twenty years before. Given the nature of academic libraries and the fads and fashions of academia, it was surprising they had gotten around to cataloguing and publishing the publishable parts this soon—and that only because I had learned about it and gotten pressure put on the history department to support me in putting it in order. I sensed strange currents behind the scenes that somehow enabled a mere grad student to run the show, mostly involving considerations of faculty factions, payoffs to my advisors, and a desire to give our lot enough rope to swing freely by the neck.

This room was one of any number of empty ones on the floor, for the university was much smaller an academic backwater than it had been a century before and the library had the least prime available space in all the campus buildings; as near as I had discovered, the room had last been used fifteen years before, and the fact that it was available was doubtless another secondary consideration in the project being approved. There were of course no windows, only the buzzing of antiquated fluorescent tubes pitched just so as would drive a body insane inside of a month, but for my next stint of work there was no way around them.

I turned on the lights now that I could see. I suspect there was another door earlier halfway down the wall that had been replaced by wall decades before. The room was filled with bookcases and crates of materials, and I had unpacked about a fourth of the materials and made a vague preliminary arrangement of the materials.

I walked back to the door and turned off the lamp. When I read materials in the afternoons, I left the main lights off and used just the lamp; I appreciated the silence and darkness of the room about me on my couch. However, mornings were devoted to sifting, and so I set to, emptying another crate onto one of my two tables. For an hour I classified them by island and period; later I would sift them more closely by subject (politics, economy, society, and so on) and make quick notes on the contents at my desk.

At 12:30, I decided to take my lunch, so I shut off the main lights and turned on the lamp as I sat wondering about the glass pane in the wall. I had discovered it the week before behind a flimsy wood panel lurking behind a flimsy bookcase. When I moved the bookcase, the panel fell away, showing a window to nowhere. It wasn’t even a mirror, just an oddly dark sheet of glass about a foot on each side about three feet off the floor set firmly in the wall. Doubtless there was a reason for it, for the mysteries of a university are as numerous and ageless as they are trivial, so I just covered it when I left and uncovered it when I turned the lights off about noon. With the lights on it seemed cheaply ominous, like an obvious effect from a low-rent C-level horror flick, but with the lights out the lamp reflected off it to cast interesting patterns on the bookcases. Sadly, the room was so boring that that improved it almost as much as the dark did.

About 1:10 the window to nowhere suddenly flashed on. I glanced up at it sharply and put down my food and coffee and stood up to look through it. I saw a room with an antiquated chair that would never sell as an antique and a few odds and ends, and in the middle of the room a man and woman in century-old outfits stood looking at each other. The man was tall and blond, with a green cravat that matched his eyes, while the woman was black, with medium skin and hair done up in a style current about 1910, with a high neckline around a graceful high neck and a brooch at the throat. Her outfit had the usual pinched waist and swelling hips, and she was smiling as the man stared at her with naked lust in his eyes. I was going to take a closer look at the window to somewhere when the man took the woman in his arms and devoured her mouth.

I looked around and found a chair that I pulled over to sit before the glass. It was at perfect viewing height, and my eyes widened as their clothing loosened. Soon the woman allowed the top of the dress to fall, displaying a pair of smooth brown swollen breasts, and as the man suckled them, she reached down to his crotch and opened him quickly. He reached down to try to find the join of her thighs, but it was not in evidence beneath the many layers of the dress below the waist. She pushed him away with a smile and sat in the chair; she pulled him to her and stroked him to complete fullness. When he was ready, she took him in her mouth long enough and far enough to lubricate most of his shaft, which was uncut, lightly curved, and throbbing thickly at a good seven inches. She then cradled his length in her cleavage and looked up at him as he looked down at her face and breasts.

She held her breasts tight around him with her hands, and he thrust rapidly between her breasts for two minutes. His first rope of cum shot up into her hair and fell along her ear and neck, and the next six welled up onto her chest and neck and collected in her cleavage, running down her belly to her dress. She then pulled back and knelt down to take the rest of his load orally, smiling as he reached down to play with his cum on her skin. He rubbed it into her breasts and then pulled out a handkerchief to wipe up her ear and neck.

I was fully erect by this time and close to bursting, but as I was at work I maintained a policy of hands-off. She then made me even more heated as she turned the chair to face the glass and lifted her dress materials to show shapely thighs framing a thicket of black hair, no panties in sight. She raised her knees and spread her thighs wide, allowing me a clear view of her engorged lips, which she rubbed lingeringly until a blond head interposed itself. I then watched in awe as she displayed to me how her body changed as she rose to climax. Throughout I caught her staring into my eyes, letting me see the pleasure the was feeling.

She climaxed twice, and then the man rose, dropped his trousers, and crouched above her as he lifted her ankles to his shoulders. They coupled vigorously for ten minutes, and finally he fell back exhausted. She sat there flushed and sweating, her thighs still open to me, her glistening pink center starting to disappear behind her receding lips, a driblet of semen pooling in her dress. He handed her his handkerchief and she wiped up after the man lifted her drew back up over her breasts and did up her buttons; as she wiped her crotch she stared at me quizzically, and then the glow of the window shut off.

I went to the door and peeked out, but the wall next to the door was featureless for ten yards or more. I shut the door and walked around but found no door anywhere to what turned out to be a square area backing on the back wall of the library.

I walked back to the room and sat there on the couch pondering what I had seen. The outfits were period perfect, as near as I could tell, and the lack of sound and odd lighting seemed thoroughly unnatural. I was unable to concentrate on work, replaying the scenes engraved on my memory, but refused to masturbate myself to relief until after hours. Soon I dozed and dreamed about them, listening as they convinced me they were the ghosts of long-deceased lovers, reenacting their last acts of love before being caught and killed in flagrante delicto.

I woke up just after six and with a muttered “shit” hied myself off to my appointment.

At 6:30 I knocked on Jacqueline’s door. She quickly opened the door, as usual by now wearing only a T-shirt and shorts, and as I entered she smiled happily. “Thank you for meeting me on short notice.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about the test, Jacqueline.”

“I want to ace that fucker,” she laughed, and I replied, “I’m sure you will. Still, if it makes you feel more secure…”

“I have grad applications coming up soon,” she said, “and I want all my ducks lined up.”

“Fair enough.”

She poured us some coffee and we went into her room. She shared a small apartment with a fellow English major named Carol who worked the late shift and took only afternoon classes this semester. I watched Jacqueline’s firm body as she walked ahead of me and worried whether I would embarrass myself with yet another raging erection, though Jacqueline was polite enough not to say anything even though I was certain she noticed carefully.

I had met Jacqueline at the end of the preceding school year when she worked as a barista at a coffee shop where I perpetrated papers on my laptop for the edification of…well, at the time it seemed no one, really, either myself or my professors. The first time she waited on me at the counter, she asked, “How would you like your coffee?”

“As black and bitter as my heart.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t serve bitter coffee.”

We laughed and the next day learned each other’s names. My first impression was that she was friendly, cute, open, and smart, with a talent for repartee. We had chatted a bit more each time after the second week, and in the evenings she would sit at my table and we would take breaks together as she asked about my papers and told me about her classes.

After a month we were chatting thick as thieves about things besides classes, and I was starting to get sweet on a girl four years younger than me, and worse than that, a junior in college. The last time I was interested in juniors in college, I was a junior in high school on a study program, and by the time I was a junior in college I was hilt-deep in a sweet relationship with a woman older than my mother.

However, despite my long-standing interest in older women, Jacqueline intrigued me. She was studious and confident, certainly, and she was very attractive, with chestnut hair falling in curls to the middle of her back, firm smallish breasts with nipples that were clearly hard to restrain—or perhaps she simply knew how to bolster her tips by bolstering her tits—and a muscular, solid body. At the time we got to know each other, I was involved with a professor of sociology at a neighboring school I had met at a conference and Jacqueline was in something hot and heavy with a member of the track team, so our relationship was purely friendly; by the time both of us were single, our friendship had solidified and I feared ruining it.

At the beginning of the year, after we had caught up on our doings over summer, she smiled coyly and asked, “Would you be willing to tutor me this semester?”

“You know I don’t study English.”

“I had to put off a couple of history classes that I need to graduate, and I really want a perfect 4.0 when I graduate.”

“You have a 4.0?”

“Yes,” she said simply.

Impressed, I agreed. “Which classes?”

“I’ll be doing both semesters of modern European history.”

“Why are you doing a survey class? You’re smart. You should know that already.”

“I told you I want to make sure I have a 4.0.” We laughed and she added, “It’s the only thing I could really fit in my schedule that wasn’t History of Protestant Thought from Luther to Niebuhr or The Development of the Private Garden in England, 1500-2000. Gawd.”

“There’s always the History of the Caribbean, you know.”

She made a cute moue, “The one you TA’d in last year, right? But if I took that I would feel immoral asking you to tutor me, and I do so want you for a tutor.”

She said this simply and without any flirtatiousness, so it slipped past my immediate consciousness until a few minutes later, when returning to it would have been awkward. By that time, we were chatting about our romantic lives, and she was telling me, “I’m sorry you don’t have a girlfriend any more. It’s hard to survive school without regular sex, you know.”

“True, but a woman would be stupid to turn down a better job just for multiple orgasms every other night.”

“Yes, she’s very sensible. You can find a man who can give you multiple orgasms anywhere, but a better shot at tenure is a rarity in today’s job market.”

I could detect no trace of sarcasm, but in any case she was right on the latter point, so I just nodded and said, “Besides, we weren’t a fit for anything long term.”

“Well, that is an important long-term consideration.”

We laughed and she asked me about my classes this semester, which were three seminars, and as she was getting ready to return to work made arrangements for our first tutoring session—location, time, duration, and pay. We agreed on her apartment, and from then on I made sure every Wednesday evening was clear for three hours, and by the end of the first tutoring session we agreed they were a great success. Of course, I was constantly bedeviled by her figure and face as she pondered, moved, and smiled in sudden understanding, but never made any improperly suggestive remark…until she started, that is, for she did have an earthy sense of humor and long and varied experience in the bedroom (and, I gathered, every other room of the house and many public institutions), and even then I felt uncomfortable pushing things verbally.

At the end of our fourth tutoring session, for example, which was the first that took place in her bedroom, so as not to disturb Carol, she stretched and said, “Thank you, I think I understand it now.” She got up and put her books away in a backpack, which she then put aside for the morrow. “Want some wine?”

“I would love some.”

“I’ve seen you staring at my bookcase all night. You scholars are all alike! Go ahead and browse.”

She went out. I stood up and looked through the books, which were a surprisingly good lot, and then on the bottom shelf I noticed that most of the piles of magazines were old issues of Playboy and Penthouse; the three of each I glanced through were well-thumbed and fell open to revealing pictures and letters.

She came in as I was putting them back and she smiled, “Yes, I keep them for old time’s sake.”

“Old time’s sake?”

“I devoured them when I was a girl. Back in high school.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow suggestively and smiled to take the barb off it.

She laughed, “Yeah, it was so interesting looking at pretty women. It was an education seeing what men like—what men are taught to like, rather. Men should read crap like Cosmo, you know, so they can see what women are taught to like. Well, not Cosmo; the chicks running that rag are sick.”

“So you didn’t read Playboy for the articles then.”

We laughed loudly and she said, “Oh, I read some of them too. But really, the women in Playboy back then, the ones I snagged from my father’s closet and my brothers’ stashes, were so beautiful. It was strange seeing them, and you know, even as a woman I had a bit of desire for them.”

“Girl crush, huh?”

“Young woman crush. For what they represented. It’s not the best view of sex, but it’s far healthier than shit like Cosmo. Of course, I can’t stand the recent ones. They’re just steps on the ladder for silicone blondes with shaved pubes to a spiritually corrupt modeling career.”

“Yeah, what is it with shaved pubes? Prepubescent girls and porn stars have bare pubes. I really don’t want those in my head mixed up together.”

She laughed and said, “Exactly. Without hair, you get all sorts of rug burns on both sides! Well, depending where and how you do it…But hair’s there to prevent chafing…and bruising…”

“Bruising?” I laughed.

She nodded, “If the man’s enthusiastic enough…” We laughed and she added, “Though some men are so dumb they leave bruises around your navel.”

After we stopped laughing, I asked, “So when did you start looking at them?”

“Oh, let’s see, I was about 15. I was walking through the woods one day…”

“Ah, the blessed Woodland Porn Fairy. So many of us boys were so grateful to her for the bounteous blessings she scattered here and there for us.”

She laughed, “No, actually, but I can imagine that would have been a godsend in the old days of the Middle Ages when peasant boys like you escaped from the Lord’s demesne…”

After we stopped laughing, she continued, “I was walking along and heard some rustling from a place I knew. I knew couples liked to go there but I’d never had the chance to see anything yet.”

“Did you eventually?”

“A couple of times. No doubt I passed on the wealth a few times myself three years later. –Anyway, I peeked in and saw an older boy masturbating. First time I’d seen an erect penis. It was really cute.”

“Cute. Somewhere out there a man’s spirit has been crushed.”

We laughed, and she said, “Anyway, he was staring fixedly at a Playboy centerfold. I tracked his face, you might say; he was shifting between her eyes and her breasts and her bush. Light blonde bush, full breasts, and a gorgeous face. I found her later; she’s at the bottom of that pile. I have a special place in my heart for her because of how much pleasure she gave him, and how much pleasure watching him gave me. Anyway, he stared and stared and then spewed all over himself. It was fascinating. And after he wiped up, he did it again with a different picture, a stunning black woman. Found that one too. I tell you, the 80s and 90s had some beautiful women. I made a quick getaway while he took a quick nap and went home to start rooting around a few closets.”

“I wonder if anyone wondered where they went.”

“They probably routinely stole from each other. No one talked about it, but everyone did it. Certainly my brothers did, going to the bathroom several times whenever female company came over. Jeez. Mom and Dad looked at them together, I gathered, which was…an interesting thought.”

“And what exactly did you do with the Playboys?”

“Oh, that’s secret! I suppose you’re suggesting that at times I did just like a boy.”

“You buried it in a plastic bag in the backyard so your mother wouldn’t find it?”

She laughed out loud, “Oh, you poor thing! What a square.”

“Me or my mom?”

“You decide.”

“And Penthouse?”

“Well, that was seedier. The women were pretty, yes, but the soft-focus pictures of spread-open coochies was silly. Like romanticizing what was a mile beyond romance by that stage, you know. I loved the letters though.”

“They were an education, yes.”

“An education in a wide variety of interesting leisure-time activities.”

“I dunno, some of my favorites took place at work.”

She laughed, “True. –So, who was your first centerfold? The first one whose beauty you celebrated in age-old fashion?”

I paused for a moment in shock and then told her. She identified her quickly and said, “Yes, she was a very pretty one. One of the most explicit centerfolds too, as I remember it.”

“Yes, it certainly was.”

“How old were you when you secured her charms?”

“Fifteen.”

“Seeing her at that tender age, you’re probably hot-triggered for life.”

“Yes, you might be right.”

We then finished our wine and I bid my adieu. We had similar conversations probably every other tutoring session, but I was afraid to make a move; her manner was just suggestive enough to bedevil me with the chance of a sweet and glorious success, but just reserved and matter-of-fact enough to cast considerable doubt on her being interested. More important, though, was the possibility of her lodging a complaint; even though she was in a different department, the consequences of my propositioning an undergrad could be catastrophic. I thus decided to bide my time and continue collecting information.

That evening I sat in the chair and she sat on her bed. She asked me questions about the effects of Newtonian scientific thought on the French enlightenment, and after the last of a series of long pauses in which my mind galloped back to the library, she said, “You really seem out of it tonight. That’s no good. I asked you specifically to help me prepare for the first test, and you’re the historian, remember? I am the one who is supposed to find the Physiocrats boring, not you. What gives?”

I said, “I saw a ghost today, I think.”

“A ghost?” Her voice was excited and her eyes shone. “Ooh, I love ghost stories! Take a break and tell me all about it!”

“Two ghosts, actually.” She was hanging on every word and I told her about it.

“So they were dressed in old-timey clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think they were old lovers a century ago or more, who could only meet in secret?”

“Maybe.”

We then chattered animatedly about it, and she said, “So what exactly did they do?”

“They had sex.”

“Yes, I know. That covers a multitude of sins. What precisely was the charge sheet?”

She was staring at me as I thought for a second and then told her in explicit detail everything they had done.

“Wow. I wish I could see ghosts like that. Getting a scare at 3 AM because Carol walks past the bathroom mirror when I’m washing my face in the dark is the shittiest ghost story imaginable. I could kill her when she does that.”

We laughed and she said, “So, how many times did you masturbate watching them?”

“Huh, what? None! It was the library!”

“They didn’t let that stop them. Hell, I never let it stop me. Like this one time I came across these two gorgeous men in the stacks taking turns blowing each other. I offered to help but they were gay. Still, they let me watch, mostly because I said if they didn’t I’d tell on them, and you can be sure I did not leave all hot and bothered.”

“I never know if you’re telling the truth or shitting me.”

She smiled coyly, “Don’t you wish you knew. –Well, you had an exciting day and no mistake. Now help me study for my test, damnit.”

She patted the bed next to her and said, “Look at this passage and explain it to me.”

I did so and leaned over to get a closer look. Her hair and skin smelled washed and fresh, and I had a good glimpse down the well of her braless cleavage that I did my best to avoid starting at. I read the passage and pondered it, then explained it to her. She looked at me and asked me, “So, When Turgot said that, he was basically using Newtonian language to express the idea of economic laws.”

“You got it in one. Exactly.”

“But, they had no real economic laws though.”

“Right, just old ideas of political economy from the Greeks and Romans and ideas like that. But remember the chapter on economic ideas.”

“Right. Like Francisco de Vitoria.”

“Yes.”

“And he thought…” As she thought about what he thought, I thought about what I had seen, remembering the female ghost’s swollen breasts standing out firmly before being cupped by her lover’s hand, and then his mouth, before she took his member between them and he covered their firm brownness with white streaks.

A minute later I felt a swift elbow deep in my ribs. “Listen, you’re clearly distracted tonight. I need your full attention.”

“Sorry.”

Fifteen minutes later she finally said in exasperation, “I’m sick of having to compete with your horny ghosts. You really should have jerked off then and there instead of letting yourself stew all day. So here, do it now.” She moved to face me and pulled her T-shirt off. “Jerk off. Get it out of your system and get back to tutoring me.”

“No, I can’t,” I said, staring at her firm breasts, not a trace of sag, and her half-erect light brown nipples, wondering if the felt as soft as they looked.

“You’ve jerked off to women’s tits all the time. You said so. Now do it.”

“No, I don’t want to be the only one having pleasure. It’s not fair.”

“Oh, all right, here.” She leaned over and unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock. “Just tell me when you’re about to come.” She then lowered her head and took me quickly inside. She clearly was not in the mood to waste time; she stroked me relentlessly as she circled the head with her tongue and worked me with her lips and mouth, and in a minute I said, “I’m coming.”

She nodded and lowered her head until I was buried in her throat. With a scream I began coming, and to my surprise she swallowed every drop. She pulled back and smiled, “There. All better?”

“No.”

She stroked my still-hard cock and purred, “Well, we’ll have to take care of that, won’t we?” She immediately lowered her head again and gently worked my shaft with her right hand as her left hand played with my balls. I leaned over to feel her breasts, and as I cupped them and tweaked her nipples, she worked me into her throat again. I lasted a little longer, but within five minutes her nose was buried in my pubic hairs as I buried my sperm in her swallowing throat.

She sat up and kissed me, and I felt her smile as I made no sudden jerk at the taste of my own cum on her tongue. She leaned back to look at me and said, “Now, will you be able to tutor me effectively?”

“Don’t you need…”

“I took care of that myself,” she said and raised her left hand, which emitted a familiar odor. I immediately hardened again and she looked down in awe or disappointment, I wasn’t sure which. “Okay, jerk off to my tits this time. My mouth is exhausted.”

“Pose for me.”

She leaned back and to the side so that her breasts were in profile, and as she stared into my eyes when not watching my cock, she parted her lips slightly and her breathing sped up as my fist pounded more quickly.

“You’re in your room looking at a new centerfold,” she started intoning. “I’m your centerfold. You’ve never had a woman before, never held a breast, and my breasts are there for you. All for you. For your pleasure, any time you want to see them. Perfect little breasts, erect nipples that you wish were just for you. These are erect for you. Don’t you wish you could have seen them back then? Don’t you remember how it felt, staring at the beautiful woman you knew you’d never touch, who you wanted so much it made you almost cry? And so you stared at them again and again and again, four or five times in one day? Go on, show me your desire and your yearning, your lust and your release.”

And with that my last orgasm of the night was torn out of me by my pounding fist, spraying all over her bedspread and over to her side, with a few drops landing on her belly. She giggled at the mess and said, “Good, let’s get back to work.”

And so we did. Her manner had become serious, even frosty, as we wiped up my juices, and after she put her shirt back on she sat next to me and grilled me about the connections between the thought of Montesquieu and Turgot and the policies of Necker, then the problems of decentralization and the opposition of the Parlements, and so on before turning to the rise of parties in the Parliament in England. The immediate distraction ended, I concentrated easily and was again amazed at how clearly she followed the material. When our session ended, she said, “Thank you, you came through at the end. I think I’m ready now.”

I leaned over to kiss her, and she pulled back and laughed, “For the test, I mean.” She paused and said, “No, really, not tonight. I’m nervous about the test and I’d be no good. Come to me tomorrow evening and you can help me dry my tears or join my celebration.”

“How long have you wanted…?”

“I flirted with the idea many times. A month ago I was sure, but I didn’t know of a good way in. I don’t like just hooking up. I don’t like propositioning a guy. I don’t like guys who use lines or just shove their tongues down your throat either. I want something that respects my intelligence but knows I’m sexy too. I wanted it to come about naturally but out of the ordinary. And tonight was perfect. I loved your story about the ghosts. Seducing a woman by making up a ghost story! Yes!! No man has ever done that to me before. You truly outdid yourself, and tomorrow you will reap the rewards for such creativity.”

“I didn’t make it up.”

She looked at me with open eyes and said, “All the better! We have our own ghosts! We can figure out all about them!”

“Yes, let’s!”

“Never will a true historian pass up such a chance.” We laughed and she kissed me lightly on the mouth. “Tomorrow, my dear. But, you are disease-free, right?”

“Yes. I have a report if you want one.”

“How old?”

“One week.”

“Ooh, for me?”

“Well, it was just to be sure, but I was doing it just in case…we started.”

“Good. Bring it. I’m on the pill, so we won’t need condoms.” She leaned over and opened her nightstand. “Here.” Her report was three weeks old and gave her a clean bill of health. “I wanted it just in case myself.”

I peeked over into the drawer and winked at her. She replied, “I’m a healthy woman with healthy drives.”

“Is that why you have two dozen batteries stacked up in there? One week’s supply?”

She swatted me, “Asshole, there are only six in there. And yes, that’s two weeks’ supply in a drought like I’ve had.” We laughed and she kissed me again and showed me out.

The next evening, a Friday evening, I showed up at seven, and she met me at the door in a loose light green blouse and tight white skirt. Her hair was pulled up to cascade down behind her head, showing off the curve of her jaw into her ears, and she said, “I made dinner for us.”

“So you passed?”

“I kicked its motherfucking ass. Takeout would mean bad news.”

We ate quickly and retired to her bedroom with a bottle of wine. We toasted each other, and then I pulled her to me. She melted into me and pulled my hands to her breasts as we kissed. She lay back, pulling me over her, and as I sucked on her tongue she pushed on my side to urge me to lie atop her; when I did she raised her thighs to cradle me between them. Her tongue explored my mouth as I lay over her, and as her hips began twitching, I pulled up to look at her underneath me, her mouth open slightly as she breathed raggedly, her face flushed, and she smiled up at me, “You know, after last night I didn’t do anything after you left, so I’m really impatient right now.”

I nodded and slid down to lift up her skirt. She lifted her hips so I could slip her lacy blue panties off, and I beheld her thickly haired, well-trimmed bush nicely framing her dark pink lips drenched and open to me. I lowered my head and licked from taint to clit. As she responded wildly, I focused on her clit and licked it relentlessly as she had sucked me the night before. “God yes, now use your fingers,” she ordered, and I inserted one. After a minute she said, “Use more. Faster.” I soon had three fingers inside her, cramping my hand as they formed a column the best I could manage, and fucked her vigorously with them. After a minute I couldn’t take the strain in my hand anymore and reduced it to two, which were sufficient to explore her fully and find her favorite pressure points.

In two minutes she screamed, “Yes!” She continued to scream, but I couldn’t make out the words through her tightly clenched thighs crushing my ears flat. She soon came, and I continued fucking her with my fingers as I licked and sucked her clit. After another five minutes she came again, and twice more in the next five minutes; after that we both lost count. When I finally came up for air after she pushed my head away, “Ouch, I’m too sore,” thirty minutes had passed.

She lay spread out before me, thighs splayed, ragged purple inner lips starting to pull back inside the shell of her outer lips to cover her pink center, and she smiled, “Like what you see?”

“My dream growing up.”

“Take your dream then.”

I dropped my pants and lay atop her. She breathed out happily and took me in her arms and inside her thighs, and as I entered her she pushed up to meet me, tilting her hips so that on the first thrust I entered her to the hilt. She groaned and said, “Don’t hold back.”

I looked down at her and watched her face as I pummeled into her. I knew she wanted it as fast and hard as I could give her, and her beauty and her body intoxicated me as her breasts swung rapidly with each thrust despite her bra. She boiled over again quickly, and the grip of her loins as she climaxed drained me completely.

I rested above her on my elbows, ready to collapse, and she kissed me and said, “Lie on me. Cover me.” Five minutes later she said, “Off me now. Oof.” We stood up and undressed, and she posed for me, arms held high, her breasts jutting out firmly above a solid waist and wide hips framing her beautiful brown bush. I walked up to her and she embraced me hard, fucking my mouth with her tongue almost as vigorously as I had tried to bury myself inside her.

We lay down and pulled the covers over us. “Why did you never ask me?”

I replied, “I would have eventually, but…well, I was afraid. Not of you, really, though I thought I was. Because of our…not our ages, our years.”

She nodded. “I was sure you were holding off because I’m a junior and you’re a third year. I would never tell on you.”

“But if anyone found out…”

“I’m not in history. Who would know?”

“Your TAs?”

“Okay, yes. That is not an entirely unrealistic possibility. In which case, fuck them. Up the ass. With baseball bats. Wrapped in barbed wire.”

“Damn.”

“I hate nosy busybodies. Especially if they try to keep me from fucking who I want.”

We kissed and were soon ready again. She mounted me and rode me happily, smiling down at me between climaxes, and after another half hour I grabbed her hips and used her pussy to drain myself as she squeezed down hard, smiling at my loss of control. “Yes, fuck me,” she said repeatedly, “live the dream.”

She collapsed on me and we talked.

“Is this just a one-time thing?” I asked her.

“I was going to ask the same thing. Is it?”

“Not for me.”

“Then it isn’t.”

“I guess you won’t need tutoring anymore.”

“No, moron, I won’t need to pay for tutoring. ‘Think, McFly, think!’”

We laughed and she snuggled up to me. “It really will be interesting to have an older man.”

“I’m not that much older.”

“At our ages you are. When it’s an old man like you fucking grandmas, yeah, four years isn’t much, but when it’s a 19-year-old centerfold like me, it’s an adventure.”

We laughed and she added, “Okay, you know I’m 21, but the point remains.”

“At least my new girlfriend is old enough to drink.”

She swatted me, “Screw you.” We laughed and she said, “Did you see the ghosts again?”

“No.”

“Well, keep an eye peeled!”

“Of course.”

“Who do you think they were?”

“Well, judging from the outfits, I imagine they were two librarians back in the, maybe early 1900s, who had an affair in a part of the library that’s been renovated. Turned to mechanical uses or something. No way in.”

“I imagine they were married, but not to each other, and they fell in love and could only consummate their passion at work.”

“But the woman was…well, I told you she looked black.”

“And?”

“This state was still very racist in those days. Black people weren’t allowed here above cleaning jobs until the New Deal or later. Certainly not librarians or professors! I’m not sure of the details…”

“So could she have been cleaning staff or something?”

“Yes, but she wouldn’t have been dressed so well.”

“Hmm. Maybe she was passing.”

“Dear, if I thought she was black, she would not have passed in those days.”

“But you spend all that time studying the Caribbean, and the way you go on about the mixture of races there you’d think everyone was part-black and probably had Cariban blood into the bargain, so that means nothing.” I swatted her and she smiled in triumph and said, “I know! She was a librarian at the school they had for blacks over in the city.”

“Yeeees, that’s possible…”

“And she was in love with one of the librarians here, and their ghosts are here because of the strength of their passion for each other.”

“That could very well be…”

“They could only meet when she came for...oh, I don’t know, all-state librarian conferences.”

We spun increasingly detailed stories of forbidden passions and hidden history until our libidos had revived, and then forgot them as we focused on sucking each other dry. After my fourth climax and-who knows-how-manyeth of hers, we passed out in exhaustion and overslept.

The next three days passed in a blur of sex and classes, sex and sleep, sex and more classes, and sex in time stolen from lunch hours before going back to class. That third day, Monday, she came with me to my little lair, and she looked around with a level gaze and said, “Gawd, they do not believe in giving you any fringe benefits, do they? You’d think sunlight was a scarce commodity the way this place is lit.”

“But the materials here are fascinating.”

She smiled skeptically as I showed her around, but became increasingly interested as time passed, and soon was reading along with me when I showed her a new letter or manuscript. Finally she said, “Maybe you can get me hired as a research assistant.”

Without thinking I said, “Not in the budget, and you’d have to have at least a BA in history. You’ve got the French at least and some of the Spanish skills, but they’d give preference to someone with Danish of all things because of the US Virgin Islands materials over there…” I stopped as she started laughing, and then I joined in as what I said hit me, and then I added, “…and besides, you’d be far too distracting. We’d never get any work done and probably get icky fluids all over the paper.”

“Only if my mouth overflows,” she said with an evil grin, and I put her to the test. Afterwards she stood and said, “Still not a drop lost yet. Hermetic seal, baby, vacuum lip lock.”

“You are insane.”

“What’s that song you love all the time? ‘Madness, madness, they call it madness’?”

“I call it heaven.”

“I call it love.” I looked at her closely, and she continued, “…of a job well done.”

“I see.” I then knelt before her and gently spread her thighs and pushed her panties aside. My tongue dove into her and I settled down to a leisurely meal. After she came, I stood up, kissed her, and said, “I love you too.”

She giggled and said, “Prove it,” so I held her firmly by the hips and entered her. We coupled feverishly, but I held off until her third orgasm. She watched me as we came down from our lust and said, “I’m glad you’re not afraid to say it.”

“Are you?”

“No, love, I’m not.”

We sat on the couch in post-coital bliss, and she leaned against me happily. “You’re a dream. The sex, yeah, you’re as good as any I’ve had, but the way you treat me. You like me. For me, not just my skills in bed. It was wonderful talking with you when we were becoming friends, the way you never jumped on all those easy lines to make stupid sex jokes. And took me seriously. Not a player asshole or a nice guy asshole. It really snuck up on me falling for you. When I saw you again after summer was over, I suddenly knew I was in love. Starting to fall, anyway. And when you agreed to tutor me, I wanted to sing on the rooftops, ‘Yeah, baby, I got mine!’”

“I fell for you a little bit at least before that. After two months I really liked you.”

“When did you first jerk off thinking about me.”

“I only did that a couple of times. Before the summer, just before.”

“Why? Wasn’t I sexy enough?”

“You were too sexy. I’d get myself hooked on you for sure then and…I was afraid I’d start treating you like we were already sleeping together and ruin things.”

“So strange…but it makes sense. Me, I was rubbing one out every night thinking about us doing everything a man and woman can do.”

“Wow. Still, I’m glad we waited.”

“Yeah, it means we have to work hard to make up for lost time.”

“But not now. Tonight. You’ve worn me out.”

“I knew you would stop loving me once you got what you wanted.”

“You little stinker, I ought to spank you good and proper…”

“Tonight, love, you have work.” We laughed and she said, “But before we go, show me the window.”

She looked at it closely and said, “It looks like just a pane of glass.” She knocked it with her knuckles twice. “But it does look a little odd.” She stood up. “Hmm. Well, if it’s a magical viewer to the land of the ghosts, I can’t see it.”

“Eh, I probably just fell asleep and had a near-wet dream.”

“Glad you saved it for me, even if you did nearly drown me the first time. –Well, keep an eye out for ghosts.”

That evening we returned to the issue of my ghosts. “I don’t know; I still suspect it was a dream.”

“But it was a very vivid one, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Did it feel like your other vivid dreams?”

“Not really.”

“Well then, let us assume it wasn’t a dream and see where that leads.”

“Maybe it looks into a room.”

“The glass doesn’t act like that. It’s weird. It has strange optical properties.”

“True. Besides, I don’t think there’s an empty room like that behind the wall; it seems to be where the engineering would be. Air pipes and all.”

“So it’s a look into the past. The sexy, sexy past!”

We giggled and she continued, “So, we need to do research! Who were they? Why did they have hot sex that their ghosts have recorded for us?”

“How did the glass get there?”

“Proper ghost stories always have unexplained magical elements. It’s a basic element of the genre. Don’t worry about that.”

“So you freely admit literary theory has no necessary relation to reality.”

“Damn straight. Words upon words about words. Leads straightaway to complete and utter bullshit if you go gaga for it.”

“Ooh, I could report you to your department! You’re mine now, all mine!”

“Oh please, dear sir, don’t report me!”

“I will…unless you do as I say.”

“Oh, whatever do you mean? Oh, surely you don’t mean that!”

“Oh, but I do!”

“If it is that, or expulsion from my department and being put in the dungeon as an unbeliever, I surely have no choice. Only, be gentle with me.”

And I was gentle at first, until she demanded otherwise.

Thursday I was taking lunch with the lights off as usual, enjoying the glimmer of the desk lamp as I sat back on the couch, when suddenly the window to who knows where lit up. I checked my watch, which said a little before 1:10. I moved into position and saw the same beautiful ghosts kissing passionately, and as the woman displayed her breasts to her two admirers, she turned to look into my eyes and smiled. Staring at me, she began to breathe more heavily as the other ghost suckled at her hard nipples. She finally abandoned her gaze into my eyes when the man put his hands on her shoulders; she knelt, undid his pants, and played with his solid cock. She worked him into her mouth and then her throat, and I leaned forward to watch closely. In three minutes the man stiffened and her mouth and throat showed all the signs of swallowing.

She pulled back then to look happily up at the man, who seemed near collapse, as she wiped up a thick white trickle from the corner of her mouth. She stood up, wiped her fingertips on the inside of the bottom hem of her skirt, and moved the old chair in front of me, and when she sat and raised her skirts I could see that again she wore no panties. As she masturbated, she stared into my eyes, daring me to do the same, but I resisted, eager to retain every detail without falling under her spell; besides, I had an odd fear that if I gave in, I would be enchanted to my doom. Soon the man knelt before her and pleasured her to a quick sequence of climaxes, and then she stood, turned the chair around to lean on it, and stared into my eyes as the man entered her from behind.

They climaxed after about ten minutes, but she was clearly still hot and eager. She suckled him to full arousal again and laid him on the floor and mounted him, looking at me as she rode him hard and proper. After another ten minutes they were close. She leaned back and lifted her skirts so that he and I could see the hilt of his member buried between her swollen lips amid her thick and matted hairs, and at a signal she lifted up to stroke him expertly onto her mount. As her eyes bored into mine, he rubbed her clitoris and soon she closed her eyes and heaved in a final climax.

She let him up and reached up her hand. He handed her two handkerchiefs and she quickly wiped up as we locked eyes, and after she stood and he buttoned her chest back into its chaste blouse, she smiled at me and leaned in to blow me a kiss and turned away. The light suddenly disappeared and I sat there stunned.

As soon as work ended I rushed to Jacqueline’s apartment. She opened the door and smiled as I rushed in, and looked a little worried when I asked, “Is Carol here?”

“No, she just left for work ten minutes ago.”

“Good.” I pushed her up against the wall and knelt before her. She moaned happily and spread her thighs for me, and I licked her lips and clit as I had learned she best liked. When she was wet and ready, I stood up, dropped my trousers, and lifted her onto me. She groaned and stood tiptoe on her left leg and raised her right leg to hold my hip. She climaxed quickly and pulled away to push me onto the floor. She mounted me quickly and said, “Try to buck me off. Just try. You won’t, I bet.” She then fucked me fast and hard for ten minutes.

After we came, she said, “Let me check on dinner.” She giggled, “Oh, and I’m happy to see you too, darling.”

I was still hot and unsettled, but the edge of my desire had been taken off enough to allow me to enjoy her company over dinner, and soon she asked, “Anything new today?”

“I saw the ghosts again.”

She dropped her fork and leaned in, “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Was it the same scene as last time? Some say ghosts are just recordings of significant moments in the past.”

“No, this was quite different.”

“Ooh, an ongoing saga!”

“Like our own private mini-series.”

“No, like a tale of never-ending passion from long ago that only plays out for those sensitive to it, attuned to the desire that soaked into the walls like, oh, like the man’s cum soaked into the floor.”

We laughed at the verbal pratfall at the end, so much like a man’s seed spewed to die in a dry waste, and she said, “Go on, tell me everything.”

“Blow by blow?”

“Blow by blow by deep-throating blow.”

By the end her face was flushed, and she said, “And you didn’t jerk off?”

“I know the ghost wanted me to, but I wanted to save it for you.”

“Wise man, and you do know how to make a woman’s heart leap. But yes, you shouldn’t just do what a spirit tells you, no matter how sweetly and seductively she urges you to. You could end up possessed! Or drained, like by a succubus or something. If you were Jewish I’d warn you about dybbuks, but I guess you’re safe from them.”

We laughed and I said, “Where do you read this stuff?”

“Hey, when you have a well-stocked memory and a well-trained imagination, you don’t need no book-larnin’.”

“Which is just your fancy way of saying you’re making shit up again.”

“Shit is valuable fertilizer, love.”

“But yes, I was sorely tempted.”

She looked at me closely. “Is she pretty?”

“Very.”

“And sexy?”

“Almost as sexy as you when she comes.”

“Hmm. We need to learn about our ghosts. She’s already starting to haunt you and I will not let her take you away from me.”

She gave me a mock pout and I smiled, “She never could.”

She smiled in reply and said, “Still, maybe they need us to discover the secret so they can get rest.”

“Do they want rest? An eternal afterlife of sex with you, eternally young and eternally ready, would be my definition of paradise.”

She blushed and said, “But still, we don’t know about them.”

After dinner we speculated about them, our speculations driving us to repeated feats of lovemaking, and as we lay exhausted in her bed, she said, “The only thing we know for sure is they show up like clockwork every Thursday afternoon.”

“Yes.”

“We have a date then.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll start digging into the stacks tomorrow. I’m a persistent little beaver.”

“Yes, your beaver is a persistent little thing. Cuts down my wood like a chainsaw.”

She guffawed in surprise and swatted me. “In any case, remember, when we see the ghosts, they’ll try to trap you into draining yourself onto the ground, but I’ll be there, so you’ll be safe as long as you drain it into me.”

We chuckled and curled up to fall asleep.

I was unsure just how seriously Jacqueline took the idea of them being ghosts; she loved to pretend and lead on the people she was talking to with well-crafted nonsense when she was in a flirtatious mood, and the whiplash when she suddenly transformed into her analytical, matter of fact self was enthralling and sometimes painful. In any case, it was a choice diversion from the work on the project, allowing our sexual joys to penetrate into my daily life, and she chuckled when I tutored her the few times she needed it that she never knew historical research could be so sexy.

Thursday she said, “I got a look at the blueprints for the library.”

“What?”

“At the courthouse. They really had to dig to find them too. I’m sure there are others all around campus that are more up to date, but I saw a copy of the original plans.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, there used to be a door there 140 years ago to an office.”

“Ah. That wouldn’t tell when the door was replaced with a wall though.”

“True. No idea how to find that out.”

“You’d have to go to maintenance, and they’d never tell.”

“Well, anyway, it was probably then. The librarian around 1910 had a black girlfriend, who I am sure was a librarian too at another library, and they were so passionate their love saturated the walls and plays itself for anyone lucky enough to be on their wavelength. You probably triggered it with your longing for my firm creamy breasts.”

“And your juicy hot cunt.”

“Oh, you sweet-talker!” We giggled and she continued, “I’ll look around the records for the college in the city next week, if our ghosts keep our date, since I’ll know what she looks like then. Down in the local history section, they have yearbooks and everything for all the state schools. If she’s there, I’ll find her.”

“But what is the glass?”

“Magic, silly.”

The way she said it made me wonder just how serious she was; she seemed to be mocking me and herself. In any case, we were having fun together imagining all the possibilities, and she had great fun following my lead in thinking historically, identifying her sources, learning about the historical background, and so on. “So, what was she like? As a person? We know she was an intellectual.”

“Probably a follower of Du Bois, assuming it was closer to 1910 than 1900, part of the Talented Tenth, working for the enlightenment and rights of her race.”

“I love her already. Tell me more.”

The next day she borrowed two of my books on black history and somehow managed to read them while also keeping up on her reading for classes. On Thursday she knocked on my door at 12:30. I opened the door and ushered her in. I turned on the lamp and turned off the main lights, then removed the panel. I had moved a low table to stand underneath the glass but left the panel over the glass most of the time, and we placed chairs in front of the table and then smooched on the couch in growing excitement.

“What time is it?” she whispered.

“1:05.”

“Oh God, I’m so excited. It’s scary, you know; if she sees both of us, we might be eternally enchanted.”

“As long as it’s with you.”

She sighed and kissed me, and when she lifted her head she gasped and said, “There’s a light! Either you’re not insane or we’re both insane.”

“I know you’re crazy, so the only question is about me.”

She giggled and whispered, “Come on! Let’s take our seats.”

When we got there, my two ghosts were there tall and seemingly material in profile for us, and as the man stripped the woman bare to the waist she kissed his neck and unfastened him. Soon she was on her knees and his hands rested in her hair. When he was close, she took him into her throat, but at the climactic moment he pulled out and sprayed himself all over her face and into her hair. She looked at him angrily, slapped him, and rubbed her face fast and hard on his coat, leaving drying white streaks of cum and smudges of makeup. He pulled out a handkerchief and wi