These are the first ~1,000 words of an in-progress novella that’s currently at 7,087 and counting! Subscribe now on Patreon at the $10/month level or higher for access to what’s been written so far, and to read the whole thing when it’s finished!
Synopsis: A young assistant librarian stays late and finds her inspiration in the thousands of books at her disposal, whiling away the hours by writing erotic stories of lesbian domination in her notebook.
This L (Lezdom) story features:
Isolation, Edging, Foot Fetish, Nylon/Pantyhose Fetish, Sock Fetish, Trampling, Cunnilingus/Facesitting, Spanking, Strapon Play, and Bondage.
A fresh trail of graphite dust and fine tendrils of rubber cascaded from the edge of the desk as Jennifer corrected the latest entry on the small scrap of paper that she had been nursing for the last hour and half. Her olive-colored eyes flicked again to the ticking hands of the clock on the wall across from her desk at circulation, the ones that had been teasing her for at least that long and that seemed to move more and agonizingly more slowly as they approached six thirty.
She stood up and turned to the stack of books behind her, hoping that the last several minutes would pass more quickly if she processed the last of the day’s returns. She picked up the faded wooden handle of the rubber stamp and pressed it into the ink pad, but her eyes wandered out to the small windows of the tall, brass doors to her right and gazed through at the last remnants of the dying September sun. She listened for a moment to the silence growing louder, and to the last echoes of locks being turned somewhere in the building, and then began to stamp the cards.
She heard footsteps coming up the corridor to the grand hall as she closed the last cover, and a voice as she placed it on the cart with the others. “Alright dear, I’m leaving now. Would you care to walk out with me?”
“Oh, no thank you Mrs. Bennett,” she said, turning. “I’m staying late again tonight.”
Mrs. Bennett chuckled softly as she adjusted her thick maroon coat and collected her purse from the rack near the desks. “There’s more to life you know,” she said with a smile, “a dissertation isn’t everything. A girl your age should be going out Friday nights, having dinners, having drinks. Meeting men?” she added with what she must have considered a knowing look. Jennifer smiled demurely.
“Yes, well, I don’t suppose it will write itself.”
“No, I should imagine not. Try not to work too hard,” she said, walking toward the doors. “And don’t forget to lock up when you leave. Good night.”
“Thank you Mrs. Bennett. Good night.”
Jennifer paused for a moment to listen as the sound of the closing doors reverberated through the marble entrance hall of the library. She liked to listen to it, and to imagine it echoing through every room and aisle, down the shelves and past the catalogs of cards, reaching its way into every corner. She had come to love that sound, because it meant that for the next several hours, for as long as she wanted it in fact, the library belonged to her.
She went the way Mrs. Bennett had, to the doors, and locked them, first the outer set where she noticed the cool autumn breeze beginning to sharpen the air, and then the inner ones, taking care to test them before turning back and sighing contentedly as she gave the entrance hall a friendly looking over.
She knew she wouldn’t be disturbed. The custodian worked during the daytime and was almost always gone by the time everyone else was, and there was little need for security at the Eleanor J. Ludlow Memorial Research Library; even less than there was in the little defunct mining town of Olmsted, Pennsylvania, which wasn’t much to begin with. The library was situated far at the top of a high, remote hill, making it a destination that even the most ambitious of the town’s young hooligans avoided when they were looking for something to pilfer or deface. There were no passersby, there were no phone calls, and on nights like this one it seemed there was nothing in the entire world except Jennifer, a few dozen long, neat, and seemingly endless shelves, and her notebook.
The building’s seclusion and its special plot nestled in the trees at the edge of the woods were two of Jennifer’s favorite things about the library, even if some of the older patrons tended to complain about the long, winding drive required to visit it, and she paused near the bust of the eponymous Mrs. Ludlow which stood to the side of the doors, enjoying again the subtle, understated glee that heralded the beginning of another night to herself.
She went back over to her chair at the circulation desk and retrieved the black, speckled composition notebook from her purse, thumbing through to a new page, and she took a fresh pen from the square, wooden cup near the ink pad and slipped it behind her ear. Next, she opened the bottom drawer of the small, grey filing cabinet behind her and pulled out a thick, plaid fleece blanket, spreading it on the floor behind the desk, then she pulled the tortoise-shell comb from her tight bun and let down her sandy blonde hair. She smoothed her navy blue sweater, under which she wore a white blouse, and her matching thigh-length pleated skirt, under which she wore a thick pair of matching wool tights, as she stepped out of her brown leather clogs.
She stretched her legs out like a ballet dancer a few times, pointing and then flexing her toe, first one and then the other, and then she let her arms skirt their way up her sides before lifting them over her head and stretching out her back. With that, she switched on the red desk lamp, bringing it down to the floor by the blanket, grabbed the little slip of paper from the desk, and made her way back into the stacks.
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