Between The Forbidden Stacks: Chapter 1
Caught by the Librarian reading something forbidden...
I shouldn’t have been there after dark.
The Athenaeum’s heavy doors had locked behind the last patron at eight, but my temporary researcher pass still worked. I told myself it was for the quiet. The truth was uglier: I needed the risk. Craved it. I needed to be alone with the things I wasn’t supposed to touch.
The iron gate to the Forbidden Stacks was supposed to be locked. It wasn’t. Thanks to a well placed bribe to a certain book jockey, the hinges gave the smallest sigh when I pushed it open, a sound that felt far too loud in the empty building. I slipped inside, heart already beating harder than it should. The air was cooler here, thicker with the smell of dust, old leather, and something faintly sweet and rotting. Dim green-shaded lamps cast long shadows between the towering shelves. Every step I took felt like a confession.
I knew exactly where the manuscript was. I had looked it up days ago and told myself I was only curious. Confessions of the Strumpet, 1789. A slim, dark leather volume hidden away in the restricted section. My hands were already shaking when I found it on the shelf. I pulled it free carefully, like it might bite me, and carried it to the long oak table in the main reading room. The single green lamp above it threw a small circle of light across the wood.
I sat down. My breath sounded too loud.
When I opened the book, the first thing I saw was an illustration.
A young woman in a plain black dress knelt between two tall shelves. Her skirts were rucked up around her waist. One hand was buried between her thighs. Above her stood an older woman in severe black, one hand fisted tightly in the girl’s hair, the other holding an open book as though she were reading from it while the girl touched herself. The girl’s face was turned upward, eyes glassy with shame and something much worse.
My pussy clenched so hard it hurt.
I turned the page with trembling fingers and started to read.
The head curator found the novice scholar in the restricted section, skirts already stained with her own disgrace. “Did I grant you permission to defile these sacred texts with your base urges?” the older woman asked, voice cool as marble. The girl could only whimper, fingers still moving between her soaked folds. “Since you have already begun your deviance,” the curator continued, “you will finish it here. Under my eye. Do not stop until I say you may. Look at me while you do it. Let me see exactly how desperate and filthy you are for this shame. Feel how your cunt leaks for correction.”
I was already sliding my hand into my trousers before I finished the paragraph.
My fingers pushed past my underwear and found my clit. I was dripping. The shame of it, sitting here in the actual library, in the actual forbidden section, reading this while I touched myself, made everything hotter. I rubbed slow, filthy circles, hips rocking gently against my own hand as I kept reading.
The next illustration was delicious.
The same girl was now bent forward over a reading table, the older woman’s gloved hand clamped over her mouth while she fucked her with two thick fingers. The text beside it described every wet sound, every desperate attempt to stay silent, the way the girl’s thighs shook and her cunt clenched visibly around the invading fingers.
“Quiet,” the older woman murmured against her ear. “The shelves have ears. Or perhaps you want them to hear what a desperate, rule-breaking little whore you are. Continue. Show me how much you need this correction. Feel how wet and pathetic your cunt is just from being watched. You are nothing but a leaking, needy thing that belongs on her knees.”
I pressed harder. Two fingers now sliding through my own slick folds. My clit was swollen and sensitive. Every stroke sent sparks up my spine. I could feel how wet I was getting, the obscene slide of my fingers, the way my underwear was soaked through and clinging to me. My hips rocked in small, shameful movements against the chair. I was leaking onto my own fingers, the wetness spreading across my inner thighs.
I read another passage, my breathing getting ragged.
The curator made the girl describe out loud how it felt — how exposed she was, how much her cunt was throbbing, how badly she needed to come even while she was being punished. The girl’s voice in the text was broken and desperate. Every time she tried to stay quiet, the curator would fuck her harder, fingers curling inside her until the wet sounds filled the quiet library.
My own fingers moved faster.
I could feel my orgasm building up to a sharp, humiliating, inevitable end. My thighs were starting to tremble under the table. I was so wet that the sound of my fingers was getting louder, more obscene. I bit my lip hard, trying to stay quiet even though there was no one else here.
My hips jerked. I was close. So fucking close. My pussy was clenching around nothing, aching, dripping. I rubbed my clit in tight, desperate circles, eyes locked on the illustration of the girl with the hand over her mouth, the older woman’s cold, clinical expression above her.
I was going to come.
Right here and now.
In the middle of the Forbidden Stacks.
My fingers were uncontrollable, they craved the deliverance of my sin. My breath came in short, shaky gasps. I could feel it building, that tight, hot pressure low in my stomach, the way my thighs were starting to shake harder. I was right on the edge, cunt pulsing, so close I could almost taste it.
Then a voice spoke from directly behind my left shoulder.
“That volume is not for unsupervised hands, Miss Bernard.”
I froze completely.
A hand reached over my shoulder and took the manuscript from the table. I watched, helpless, as Dr. Vivian Galloway closed it with deliberate care and placed it between us. She moved around the side of the table and sat down across from me without a sound.
“This was not what I was expecting when I accepted you into the researcher’s program, Emily.” Her voice was cool, yet dripped with firm disappointment. Her eyes scanned my form, I felt as if she undressed me and could see all of me, reading me like another one of her books.
Then her eyes stopped on my legs.
My fingers were still buried inside my panties, two knuckles deep in my dripping cunt. My thighs were pressed tightly together under the table, but it did nothing to hide how soaked I was. I could feel the wetness coating my fingers, my underwear clinging to me, and the humiliating slickness between my thighs.
She knew.
God, she knew.
The shame hit me like a fist between the legs — hot, humiliating, and sharp enough to make my cunt clench around my own fingers.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My heart was hammering so violently I was sure she could hear it.
Only then did I force myself to look up.
She was studying me.
Her cold gray eyes moved over my flushed face, down to my lap, then back up again. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t look angry. She simply observed me like I was something she had caught defiling her library.
“Look at you,” she said quietly. “Already making a mess of the archives.”
My face burned. I tried to pull my hand out of my trousers.
Her hand came down on my wrist before I could move it more than an inch. Cool. Firm. Unyielding.
“Did I say you could stop?”
The question was soft. Almost gentle.
“No,” she answered herself. “Continue with your deviance that you deem worth breaking the rules.”
My stomach dropped so hard I felt it in my pussy.
She released my wrist but didn’t look away. She simply waited, one eyebrow slightly raised, like this was a test I was already failing.
I should have run. I should have apologized. I should have begged.
Anything but sit here with my cunt aching and my fingers still slick like a horny idiot.
But my body obeyed Vivian before I could even finish the thought.
My fingers started moving again.
The wet sound was obscene in the silence of the library. I rubbed slow, shaky circles over my swollen clit, unable to stop even though every part of me screamed that this was wrong. My thighs pressed together tighter, but it only made the sensation more intense. I was so wet that my fingers slid easily, the slickness spreading across my skin with every movement.
Across the table, Vivian’s scent reached me, old paper, flowers, and something darker underneath, like spice and control. It made my head spin.
She watched me without blinking.
“Faster,” she said. “I want to see how close you were before I interrupted you.”
My fingers moved quicker. The wet sounds grew louder. I could feel how swollen and sensitive I was, how my cunt kept clenching uselessly around my fingers. My hips gave a small, involuntary twitch against the chair. Shame burned through me, hot and vicious, but it only made everything feel more intense.
Vivian tilted her head slightly.
“You were going to come right here, weren’t you?” she murmured. “Reading that filthy little book and touching yourself like some desperate whore who can’t control her cunt. And now look at you. Still doing it. Still leaking all over your fingers because I told you to.”
A broken sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. My face was on fire. My thighs were shaking. I was so close again that it hurt. Every stroke of my fingers sent sparks through my entire body. I could feel how wet I was getting, the way my arousal was starting to drip down my inner thighs.
Vivian’s voice stayed perfectly calm.
“Keep going,” she said. “I want to see you finish what you started. Show me what a filthy little whore you really are, Miss Bernard.”
My orgasm was building fast and completely out of my control. My fingers moved faster over my clit. My breathing was ragged. I could feel the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in my stomach, my cunt pulsing with every stroke.
I was going to come again.
Right in front of her.
While she watched.
The realization made my thighs shake harder. I was so close I could barely think. My vision was starting to blur at the edges.
Vivian leaned forward slightly.
“Come,” she ordered, voice low and clinical. “Now.”
My body obeyed before my mind could catch up.
I came hard, thighs clamping around my own hand as my cunt pulsed in strong, rhythmic waves. A broken moan tore out of me. I kept rubbing through it, unable to stop, hips jerking as pleasure ripped through me. I could feel myself gushing around my fingers, soaking my underwear even more. My legs shook violently under the table. Wave after wave rolled through me while Vivian watched without a single flicker of expression on her face.
When it finally started to fade, I was shaking so badly I could barely stay upright. My fingers were drenched. My thighs were slick. I could feel the wetness cooling on my skin.
Vivian reached across the table and took my wrist. She lifted my glistening fingers and examined them under the green lamp.
“Disgusting,” she said softly. “Look at how wet you got just from being caught and ordered around. You’re nothing but a needy, rule-breaking little slut.”
She let go of my hand.
Then she picked up the manuscript and closed it properly.
Vivian sat across from me without a word.
Her cold gray eyes stayed on my face as I sat there shaking, my hand still trapped between my thighs. I could feel how soaked my fingers were, how my cunt was still pulsing faintly from the orgasm she had just made me have. My underwear was ruined, stuck to my skin, and I could feel the wet heat between my legs with every shaky breath I took.
She didn’t look disgusted. She didn’t look surprised. She simply watched me with that same calm, clinical expression, like this was nothing more than an inconvenience she had to deal with.
I tried to pull my hand out again.
Her gaze dropped to my lap for a moment, then returned to my face.
“Did I give you permission to move? Keep your hand where it is,” she said quietly.
My stomach twisted. I left my fingers where they were, resting against my swollen, oversensitive clit. I didn’t dare move them. I didn’t dare pull away.
Vivian leaned back slightly in her chair. The green lamp cast sharp shadows across her sharp cheekbones.
“You managed to sneak in here without alerting any of the safeguards,” she said, voice low and even. “All to read some forbidden smut like some desperate little whore who can’t control her cunt. Such a waste of talent.”
The shame hit me so hard my thighs trembled. I could still feel the aftershocks of my orgasm, my cunt giving small, involuntary pulses against my own fingers. I was still wet. Still leaking. I could feel it.
Vivian’s eyes never left mine.
“It will take some time, but your skills will not go to waste. You clearly require instruction and discipline,” she said. “Return tomorrow at nine p.m. sharp.”
My heart stuttered.
“If you are late, or if you make a single unnecessary sound while you are here, the offer is rescinded and you will be removed from the program. Do you understand?”
I nodded. My throat was too tight to speak.
She studied me for another long moment. I could feel her gaze like a weight on my skin. My fingers were still pressed against my cunt. I was still shaking. My legs felt unsteady even though I was sitting down.
Vivian stood.
The click of her heels on the marble floor was loud in the silence.
“Good,” she said. “Now leave. And do not to touch yourself once home. I’ll know.”
She turned and walked away without another word.
I stayed frozen in the chair long after the sound of her heels had faded.
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Very hot
Delicious forbidden pleasure