The rather lovely and wonderful Exhibit A is running a competition based on selected lyrics by one of his favourite bands. So here is my attempt, from the prompt “Libraries Gave Us Power”.
I do love a historical romance, a sliver of D/s, a hint of exhibitionism, voluptuous female flesh and this rather nicely covers all of these things, and a little more besides (shut up, the 70s was nearly 50 years ago and therefore totally historical….)
With thanks to Hannah and Ros for reading, proofing and con/crit x
The smell of books was one of many that made Julia feel sick. Not the fish and chip newness of paperbacks, she didn’t mind that at all, but the musty, mildewy scent of decaying fabric and horse glue.
These books filled her with gloom, and libraries filled her with dismay. She only visited them because Gloria found them so endlessly fascinating.
Typically, Gloria would want to visit on Saturday morning. “Early, before the children cover everything in strawberry jam and greasy fingerprints.” and Julia would follow her sulkily through Biography, Romantic Fiction, Periodicals and finishing off in British History which she hated the most because here were the oldest, mouldiest, most disgusting books of all.
“Harrumph.” She would huff. “Harrrrrrrrrrrumph.” a noise most unbecoming of a grown woman in her twenties.
Winters were worst of all. The icy atmosphere even in the most book-stuffed corners did not make up for the lack of brats running around at waist height shrieking about Thomas The Tank Engine and trying to locate their (presumably hiding) mothers.
All this she did because she loved her Gloria fiercely, and would rather spend time with her in an unpleasant place than sit at home in their tiny studio flat waiting for her return. Still, it was rather painful and sometimes she wasn’t wholly sure that Gloria appreciated it.
They would spend maybe five minutes with Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland – laughing at the hastily oil-painted covers of quaking heroines and burly men with twiddly moustaches. Then they’d search for the latest Jilly Cooper or Jackie Collins – in vain, for they were in high demand as soon as the library acquired copies. Gloria wasn’t only the enlightened woman of the 70s with a penchant for extravagant, sexually charged romance stories.
It was December, the last Saturday before Christmas and as a University town, the library was rather deserted, and it was this fact which made Julia bold. She took a cursory glance over her shoulder, and allowed her hand to creep into the small of Gloria’s back, then against her waist where she knew the certain placing of her fingers would make her squirm.
“Don’t. We’re in public.”
“This doesn’t count as public. There’s no one here.”
Julia moved her mouth to Gloria’s ear and pinched the lobe between her teeth.
There was a cough, and they drew away sharply, but this turned out to be nothing more than an elderly chap falling asleep over a large tome on the Boer War.
“Probably looking for photos of him in his younger days.” Gloria quipped, running her fingers back over the rows of books, taking hold of Julia’s hand with the other.
“Cruel, cruel.” Julia muttered into the back of her neck. “And still, no one’s here….”
“Mmmmmmm…..straight to British History, I think.”
“Urgh!” cried Julia in surprise. She’d been enjoying their clandestine groping in Romantic Fiction and was being rewarded by being dragged to her least favourite part of her least favourite place? This seemed most unfair. Still, she allowed Gloria to drag her into the deep, dark corner where the biggest and most boring books were kept, alongside two moth-eaten chairs which were meant to encourage visitors to sit awhile and enjoy the heady atmosphere of damp reference texts.
Instead of beginning a tedious search for unloved, un-borrowed history books, Gloria grabbed Julia’s hand more tightly and pulled her almost painfully into the furthest corner, partly hidden from view by a towering bookcase full of the wisdom of various British monarchs.
Gloria slammed her backwards into the dusty shelves of pilgrims and under-represented minor conflicts and pressed her hand to Julia’s collarbone, the wedge of chilly flesh the only skin visible where her winter coat was unbuttoned.
“Lift up your skirt.” she growled, shoving her harder against the wall. Julia’s skin began to prickle with fear-laced lust and she raised the hem of her suede midi to the tops of her thighs, reddening as soon as Julia smacked the flat of her palm against them, as hard as she could.
“Ow! What are you-” The hits, excruciating and exhilarating, came down harder and faster until both women were breathless.
“Now turn around.” Gloria muttered under her breath.
Julia’s eyes were stinging as she braced herself against the mahogany bookcase. All she could hear the crisp sound of Gloria’s mackintosh sweeping about her as she leaned to push down more heavily on Julia’s shoulders, making her backside stick out even further than usual.
Even so, the impact of the book was still unexpected, the rough texture of the binding made her gasp. Gloria dug the nearest corner into her buttock.
“Not a sound, not a peep.”
“Yes, Gloria.” She whispered, and counted out each wallop of her arse, somehow quieter and more painful than they were at home. She pictured the bruises forming and moaned softly.
“What did I say?” Gloria spat the words out and smacked her four more times, giddy electricity radiating from her fingers all the way along her arm and down her body into her cunt where molten arousal boiled.
“I know you’re wet. I know you’re desperate. I know you too well, Julia.”
The two fingers she slid inside the leg of Julia’s knickers met no resistance, eliciting only the satisfying sound of wetness and stifled moans as she moved them back and forth and the waxed material of her coat grating the tender skin.
Julia inhaled the awful library smells and concentrated on her stinging arse, plugged cunt and the way her breasts felt as if they had swollen obscenely, lifting and crushing against her blouse.
With a final push as deep as she could, Gloria removed her fingers and used them to trace the outline of Julia’s mouth and between her lips, where she licked at them desperately.
“Sit.” Gloria instructed, and Julia dutifully sat down on the nearest chair. Low to the ground it forced her to jut her hips upwards, displaying herself and Gloria grinned, her eyes glinting with sexual heat; but beyond that the slick knowingness of her dominance in the situation.
She still had the book in her hand – had initially chosen it quite at random, only for its age and dustiness but one glance at the title made her smirk and pass it over to Gloria.
“Read.” She instructed.
Julia glanced briefly at the cover.
“Dykes of South Holland.” she tittered, until Gloria reached under her and pinched what must have been the tenderest, reddest, most bruised patch of her poor little bum.
“I. Said. Read.”
And so she read on, stumbling over the multiple vowels of unfamiliar Dutch words, and Gloria removed Julia’s sodden knickers, holding them in her pocket for the time being. She admired the cunt of her lover – red with arousal and framed by the mottled scarlet skin of her inner thighs, and sighed with complacency before she proceeded to finger fuck her roughly, more urgently this time, with one hand spreading her wide open and taunting her clitoral hood.
And every so often she would pause, and sink her teeth into the pudgy flesh of her thigh.
Julia knew neither of these was an excuse for her voice to waver, and she pressed on, her mind all the while on Gloria’s manipulations of her flesh, holding in her yelps and moans and occasionally worrying that the librarian would thunder along the corridor and catch them inflagrante.
“Chapter two, flood control and necessary precautions.” Julia shuffled in her seat and on hearing the word, Gloria whipped the book from her grip and placed it between her thighs,
“And there shall be a flood.”
Julia’s eyes widened.
“No, Gloria. Not here!”
“Yes here. Absolutely here. Definitely here. And here.” She dipped her her head and licked very pointedly from the deep pulsating well of her cunt to the throbbing apex of her clit. “There will be a flood, my love.”
She began to move her fingers like she was incanting a spell, waving and reaching up towards the precious goal where Julia began to squirm in earnest and mutter under her breath.
“No. Gloria no. No….. Not here.”
“You keep saying that but it’s not going to change the future, my pet.”
She knew what noises she was listening out for; the frantic clenching of Julia’s inner muscles. She teased her, running her tongue around her swollen clitoris only because it made her wicked soul sing to make her lover writhe in agony, but she too was mindful of the potential for something plainly awful to happen if someone found them – really, they ought to have been found already – and so she focussed on Julia’s orgasm, on the flood. She felt it building beautifully, looking up to see the rise and fall of her stomach under her mustard pullover.
“Oh. Ohhhhhhhh!” exclaimed Julia, and Gloria moved her face away as Julia’s cunt pulled at her fingers and a tiny, yet triumphant stream soaked into the pages beneath them.
Gloria kissed her inner thigh where the bite marks showed and clambered to her feet, the book in her hands. She showed the fine water splashes on the yellowing pages, before snapping the volume shut.
“Our little secret. One day you may even come across it again, forever mindful of the important lesson you have learnt today.” she helped Julia to her feet as she went on, “That even old books have their uses.”
Gloria returned the book to its space on the shelf, where no one would suspect the secrets it held, and threading her arm through Julia’s, they made their way out of the silence of the library, into the bustling Christmas noise of the street.