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The hunt in the dimly lit library


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Tell you about my dream? Oh, sweet autumn child... But then I'd have to tell you how I was looking for a book on literature in the library one evening, in the amber glow of the few lamps scattered here and there between the endless rows of blissful old paper smell... How I inevitably caught your scent between Aciman and Avery, and followed it all the way down to Süskind, glimpses of your stone-grey skirt against the colour of your stockings in between the lower shelves, your warm blood-red pullover calling out to me in furtive ways in the book gaps of the upper shelves. A chase of cat and mouse evoking more of a hare and wolf.

And as footsteps grew in pace, shadows and colours and swishes and swirls and the corner of your eye peeking at my fangs and then... A clearing in the forest. A corner. Trapped you stayed motionless with your back turned to me, deeply enthralled in panic and excitement, staring at a full rack of shabby-looking books of yore at the end of the library. You could feel my presence no doubt. Your hand in a fist, you turned around with such force the skirt bloomed in mid-air. But I was gone. Nowhere to be found. Incredulous, you started your own little search between the rows, nothing to see, nowhere to hide.

And then, a gasp of air as you felt my hand grabbing from behind the hair at the base of your head, gently but firmly pushing you against the shelves, my other hand at the base of your hips. With one swift motion, as I pulled your head back you let out a soft moan, exhaling in its most primordial form a contract which bounds me to feast upon your soul. The game... Is on.


The rumble and murmurs fade from afar, as this lonely dim-lit corner of the library is quasi deserted at this time of the evening and yet the growl that begins in the depths of your soul speaks volumes in my chest, as I further press you against the shelves the scent of yellow-tarnished pages and candle wax. A presence, ever throbbing, ever hardening emerges from my pelvis in between your firm cheeks, corrupting your flesh in rough and luscious ways, finding its way along the path to glory underneath your skirt. And your pulse starts to elevate in perfect synchronicity to the pulse of my hardness in between your buttocks, paving the way, almost a foreshadowing of the inevitable things to come in the minutes, seconds to come. And then… it happened.

With a slow but firm trickle, you felt it. Your eyes widened, your pupils dilated, a drop of saliva at the corner of your lips as you felt your very own juices, your self-generated ambrosia coming down drop after drop after drop after drop, wetting your black-lace underwear, making way further down your thighs as if it were a river for me to follow. I turn you around and swiftly bend you over the sturdy wooden study table in the corner and before you have the time to react, your already trembling legs feel as my tongue collects every, single, droplet of the aforementioned river up close to its source: the veritable chalice of the goddesses, your holy grail under the stormy sky outside. With a violent pull, your underwear touches your ankles and you exhale yet another warm moan as you feel my wet tongue touch your folds with the care of a loved one yet the force and desire of a hunter.

Waves after waves after waves after waves of instinctive delusion and ancestral pleasure rushing to appease your desires shatter your every conception of what is real and what is fiction, as your whole body shakes with pleasure. Your saliva dripping onto the table as your wetness drips from the tip of my warm tongue, your body entering an almost oneiric state of pleasure and release, as I take you firmly by the back of your hair and hook two fingers in your mouth, turning your head just enough to make eye contact…

And then, it happens. As we look into each other’s eyes, hunter and prey, master and brat, soul and soul, we understand the primordial essence of handing and bonding our luscious souls in this most primal of forms, without artifice, without boundaries, without any other thing existing on any other plane but then and there. And as we look fire into fire, my big, thick, throbbing gland enters your wet folds, receiving the blessing of your juices and stretching you just enough for your eyes to roll up inside your head from the sheer pleasure of that first entry.

Jolts of electricity go up your spine as I brutally and relentlessly ram into you, unbeknownst to the books shaking on the shelves next to the table and to the dozens of people on the other side of the library. Unfortunately, as much as you try and control your little squirms by biting onto my fingers, you cannot control the flow of juices as your soul melts right onto my hardness, and as you let out a low growl and bite harder on my bones, you can feel my essence exploding into you, as jets after jets of warmth hit your most intimate walls, as a flood of your nectar blends with them with every contraction of your pulsating orgasm.

For the briefest of moments, we have both escaped. Evaded this world and its problems. We have given ourselves to ourselves and nobody else. And for the shortest of times amongst those timeless pages... we were free.

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