There I sit, upstairs, in the rear alcove of the main branch of the New York Public Library, attempting to focus on the public records of an elderly gentleman missing for two years. Light filters in to this back room sparsely, appearing intent only to illuminate the swirls of dust I unsettle, casting into the air with each file I search. It is maddeningly slow, tedious work, and as I peer at yet another yellowing stack of ancient index cards my mind once again wonders to you.

I decide to take a break, blinking the dust away, and stretch muscles sore from squatting over file cabinets.

Few people are in this internal, upper section of the library many probably other officers futilely looking for some small piece of a clue that will spur a cold case into activity. Others, probably grad students seeking a doctorate in some archaic field. Both groups disinterest me.

It is you I think of. The curve of your back as it meets those full, fleshy cheeks. The sensuous, pouty lips. The full, creamy breasts.

My desire for you is made worse, as I spoke with you this morning, and you sultry, suggestive tone still reverberates through my mind. I did tell you where I would be, and you did tell me to think of you.

As if I would do anything else.

That is why I react in utter surprise as I see you saunter toward me, past the endless row of shelved books. I stare in disbelief. You perfume wafts to me, and I take you all in. Delicious is the only word that can describe you. You are adorned in black stretch pants, my favorite, a simple white, stretch tube top, small black purse hanging on spaghetti thin straps, and four-inch heels. The pants hug every curve, delving between your cheeks, creating cleavage that shakes arousingly with every step. Through you top it is evident that you are bra-less, as every step shakes your breasts gently, and your excitement is evident through your erect, pointed nipples, pressed into the fabric. Breathtaking. We embrace, and as we do, I whisper into your ear that I must have you, now. You laugh, that gentle, soft, seductive laugh that melts me, placing your hand upon my chest and shaking your head. "Later, my sweet, " you say, "you can have all you want then.

" But Ipm not satisfied, and kiss you, deeply, my hands working down, cradling your cheeks. You still resist, resist, teasing, pulling away and twisting from my arms. But I am not dissuaded so easily.

I know that you are as aroused as I am. I decide I want in then, there, and now, here in the library, at the back of a bookcase. I take your purse, ripping the straps apart, tie them together, and loop it around a fixed bookend, which is screwed against the shelf, much like you will be in a moment. height16 src"http:graphics.pop6imagescommonchatsmilieswink.gif" width16> Then use it to tie your wrists together, keeping you hands high above your head. There you squirm, restrained, sweat starting to form along your forehead and between your breasts. I pull the top down, freeing your breasts, sucking in each nipple hungrily, until they glisten with my saliva and hang shining in the dim light. I waste no time, and extract a small pocket-knife.

Genuine fear flashes across your eyes, and I know you are wondering if perhaps your trust was misplaced and I am going to far. But it is just a tool, and I use it briefly, keeping eye contact with you throughout, to cut a thin line in the crotch of your pants, granting me access to what I seek. You are breathing heavily now, as I put the knife away and stand, eager for me to enter you, before we are discovered. I grant your wish, unzipping and extracting myself, thick, hard, and hot in my hand, veins pulsing, I slide into you, after spreading your legs, thrusting in full in one slow, sensual stroke. You feel the books and shelf against you back as I stroke, repeatedly, grunting into your shoulder to muffle the noise, gripping your cheeks tightly through spread fingers as I struggle to delve deeper in. I feel you climax, shaking and moaning, and struggle not to follow.

I rip you free of your restraints, feeling it coming, and get you to your knees.

Grabbing a handful of your silky hair I force your head back, grunting through clenched teeth for you to open your mouth. You do, eagerly, laying out your tongue wide, staring me in the eye, and I come, spurting hot semen unto your tongue, and watch, shaking, as it dribbles off onto the floor.

Exhausted, we quickly dress, I tie my jacket around your waist, and we leave, smelling like sex, through a crowd of bookworms and nerds.