Chapter 10
No, Commissioner Gordon wasn't dead. He didn't even have a heart attack. Just exhaustion. But enough to stay in bed on doctor's orders for a week.
When he came back to work, the commissioner notified the library that it turned out the police department had a policy against excessive overtime. The cops could no longer work overtime at the library. He suggested the library rotate its schedule so a male staff member could work the circulation desk at night. So, I suddenly found myself back on the day-shift. On the first day back, Miss Greenstalk made it clear with her chilly attitude that she still wanted nothing to do with me.
By this time I was tired of all the hostility being directed towards me. I was growing equally weary of trying to fight back. It had gotten me nothing. I had loved working at the library at first, and now I was miserable.
I tried to approach Miss Greenstalk, but her loathing of me seemed so open and shut that I swallowed my words and just accepted my rejection as though I deserved it. Everything going wrong for me, I started to accept the fact that maybe there was something wrong with me. The feeling was intensified when I discovered Valentine Smolt had been transferred back to the main library, and was suddenly Miss Greenstalk's favorite.
Mired in defeatism, I passively accepted my newest assignment. Exiled to library public relations, I was confined to a damp, windowless room partitioned out of what was actually the basement.
What I was supposed to do was develop programs that would attract people to the public library. On paper it seemed like a job that might have possibilities. But the catch was that Miss Greenstalk was still my immediate supervisor, and I had to submit all my ideas to her for approval.
Since we weren't talking, everything had to be submitted to Miss Greenstalk in writing. That made it easy for her to reject anything I thought up by flashing a big X through my proposals with a red crayon. Pretty soon I became so discouraged that I just gave up and just stayed down in the humid dungeon of my so-called office, trying to keep from going crazy with boredom.
Well, to be honest, boredom wasn't my only enemy. As had been occurring to me with more and more regularity over the past few months, I started to get horny. Sitting at my deck with nothing to do for hours on end, I wound up with my hand at my cunt more and more frequently, a few orgasms the only break in my dreary day. By the time I went home at night, my fingers smelled like I had been cleaning fish all day.
Then, one day, Mr. Smiley, the director, showed up, surprising me when I had a finger pumping up my cunt.
"Come in," I called after my finger was out of my pussy and safely wiped off.
He opened the door, and walked in and sat down. Usually an apologetic little man, this time he didn't beat around the bush. We knew each other only slightly, however his words were blunt. "Frankly, Miss Dobbs," he said, "I'm a little disappointed you haven't done more with this position."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," I said, thinking of all my ideas Miss Greenstalk had rejected.
"The library needs good public relations and you're not providing them any-good or bad," Mr. Smiley said. "We're asking for more money from the city council next month, but we may wind up having to take a cut unless we can demonstrate that the public supports us. Right now, the nucleus of our patronage consists mostly of little old ladies in tennis shoes, winos sleeping it off in the reading room, and exhibitionists roaming around the stacks exposing themselves. We've got to do better than that. Or, I should say, you've got to do better than that?"
"But what about Miss Greenstalk? She's the one who's the bottleneck," I said, surprising myself with my frankness. "She won't approve anything."
"Well, if you don't feel like you can accept supervision," he said, lifting his eyebrows, "we can always get somebody who is mature enough to handle it."
"No, no, please," I said. "I'll keep trying."
"That's better," he practically clucked, and then abruptly got up and left.
What I came up with was a film program. Not a series of films, just one. One so popular that I thought it would draw people to the library in droves to see it for nothing. The kind of film that would attract people who ordinarily didn't even think about going inside a library.
To my astonishment, Miss Greenstalk passed the plan without even asking what I planned to show. I figured Mr. Smiley, despite all his talk about me adjusting to her, must have privately asked her to do some adjusting to me also.
While I was still deciding which movie to show, I received a memo from Mr. Smiley. He reminded me that the Library board was due to make its budget presentation to the city council in just two weeks. It would help immeasurably if I could show that the library had attracted, say, two or three hundred extra people over a few days, the idea being that my film program would do the trick.
There was no doubt about it. This was make-or-break time for me. Mr. Smiley had apparently told Miss Greenstalk to give me the freedom to succeed or fail. I was on my own. There could be no excuses this time.
Heady with essentially being my own boss, I poured my creativity into selecting the right film for the crowd I wanted to attract. To my way of thinking, the city council had a good point in their perennial criticism of the library-that it cost a disproportionately large expenditure for the small fraction of the public it ordinarily attracted. I was determined to change that and make something out of the public relations job.
Doing a lot of research, I read Variety, the show business newspaper, to see which movies were doing best at the box office, and made field trips to local theatres to see where the lines were longest. To my surprise, one type of movie seemed to be beating everything else cold. Nobody went to westerns anymore. Or war pictures. Spy pictures were dead. Nobody was interested in musicals these days. And certainly not family pictures. Sex was what everybody was interested in.
If I was going to get them to come to the library, it was clear I was going to have to resort to sex.
A skin-flick in the library? No, no, I would tell myself, you can't get away with it, Samantha.
But if I didn't try something with a chance of success, I seemed certain to be fired.
Finally I made up my mind to go ahead and do it. If there was any negative feedback, I'd just throw the figures of the people I attracted to the library in the faces of the board and the council. I was confident Mr. Smiley would back me up, so desperate did he seem for the statistics he'd emphasized during our little talk. And with him on my side, I stood the best chance of getting out from under Miss Greenstalk.
Reading Variety, I was astonished at how movies I'd never heard of seemed to do fantastic business throughout the country. Not publicized because they were distributed by minor companies, they nevertheless found their audiences in droves.
One such movie that kept showing up as a financial bonanza was something called "Hitchhikin' Housewife." I decided to try and get it for the library.
The company that handled it had an ad in a Variety I looked at which gave the number of their New York office. I called them and spoke to a Mr. Battaglia and told him I was interested in obtaining his film for a private showing, not mentioning the library specifically.
"I know exactly what you mean," he said. "We've got hot product available for private showings. Just the kind of thing you want."
"Well, actually, I wanted 'Hitchhikin' Housewife'," I said, sticking to my guns in lieu of knowing exactly what he was talking about.
"Fine, you can have it," he said. "But for private showings we've got a hotter print."
"Okay, okay," I said with some exasperation. "Send it, just so long as it's 'Hitchhikin' Housewife'."
"Right on. Just give me your address and wire us the money today. Fifty clams for a showing."
I had more than that in my public relations fund, and had expected to pay a lot more. Not only would I attract people to the library, I'd have some cash left over for another project.
I gave him my home address because I still feared Miss Greenstalk's interference and didn't want any foul-ups. Battaglia said the film would arrive on the 28th at the latest.
With the promised delivery date in mind, I set up the program for the 29th. As it turned out, Battaglia's estimate was a day off, and the film cans arrived just hours before their scheduled showing. Not having time to screen the movie before it was publicly shown, I hustled the film cans down to the library and spent what time I had left supervising the arrangement of the chairs and the placement of the screen.
The film was scheduled for eight p.m., but by seven-thirty, the basement, where it was being shown, was packed. I couldn't believe the audience. They were the kind of people I'd rarely seen in a library. Young and noisy, the majority of them male, they looked more like the crowd one would find at a drive-in or a disco than the basement of the public library. The word about "Hitchhikin' Housewife" had definitely gotten around.
At eight, every seat taken, I flicked out the lights and started the projector. As I waited for the film to begin, I held my breath, praying for the project to be a success.
When the picture didn't come on immediately, I looked down at the projector to see if anything was wrong. While I was looking away from the screen, the entire basement suddenly rocked in a mass cheer. When I looked up I saw a huge black X in a circle.
"This motion picture has been rated X," the type read. "Nobody under eighteen admitted under any circumstances."
Suddenly the screen filled with a full color spread of the most golden female thighs I'd ever seen. Between them was a moist, red cunt!
I almost fainted as the camera zoomed in and nothing but the bright red, drooling slash of a pussy filled the screen. The focus was so clear you could see the clear liquid of cunt juice oozing out.
Surely Mr. Battaglia had made a mistake, I thought, panic-stricken.
Yellow letters superimposed themselves across the drooling snatch. "Epic Attractions presents 'Hitchhikin' Housewife'."
Sadly, I realized there had been no mistake. I had got what I asked for.
"Starring Monica Fielday and Billy Cramm."
I looked away as the rest of the credits crawled across the hairy, open cunt filling the screen. But although I temporarily spared myself the obscenity on the screen, my ears couldn't deny me the equally obscene reaction of the audience I had attracted with "Hitchhikin' Housewife." They were literally shouting with joy, rocking the basement.
When I looked up again, the credits were through. The open pussy was gone. But what had replaced it was even worse!
Reaching down from the top of the picture, a girl's slender hands guided a long, thick cock in a full state of erection toward her open mouth, flicking the tip of her tongue against the throbbing purple head. When a drop of cum appeared from the end of the cock, glistening like a white pearl, I turned away again, my face burning with embarrassment.
"Mmmmmmm," the cock-wielding actress cooed from the soundtrack. "Your prick is the sweetest I've ever tasted."
"I'll bet you've tasted quite a few, too, haven't you, bitch?" the actor's voice replied.
"Hundreds," she snapped, and then a long, slow slurp filled the room.
When my curiosity got the best of me and I uncontrollably looked toward the screen again, I saw her taking her co-star's huge cock at least eight inches in her mouth. Putting her hand around his waist, she pulled his loins toward her. His hips started undulating as he fucked her in the mouth.
"Oh, my God!" I blurted. "What is this?"
"The hard-core version of 'Hitchhikin' Housewife'," some guy hidden by the dark said from in front of me.
"Is... is... does hard-core mean the same as hot?" I hesitantly asked.
"Right on," the voice in the dark said with bubbling enthusiasm. "They've only showed the soft version around here because of the pigs. Because of that bastard police commissioner we've got in this town. That is, until now. At the library. Faaarrrr-ouuutttt."
Far-out, indeed. I could just see myself plastered all over the front page: Librarian held on smut charge. Public library padlocked as threat to public morals.
Looking back at the screen for want of anything else to do in my desperation, I saw that the heroine had made good progress in teasing her leading man's cock toward ejaculation. The head of it looked like it was on fire as she pulled the shaft all the way out of her mouth and wrapped her tongue around the knob at the end.
Then, she abruptly plunged down on it, swallowing the monster tool with a deafening slurp. The audience howled with glee. I couldn't believe this was happening.
Another horrible headline flashed across my mind: Library raided for showing dirty movie.
Suddenly the actress' face became a blur as she started moving her lips up and down the cock like her head was a piston. The noise of her wet sucking filled the room. It was driving the audience nuts.
She went faster... faster... until there was only one thing that could happen. He came all over the screen. Her face was covered with it.
"Oh, Jesus, what a cock," she moaned as her head pitched back on what seemed to be red upholstery. While she licked the cum from her face, the camera moved back, showing the nude couple reclining in the cab of a truck.
"Well, thanks for the blow-job, baby," the naked truckdriver said, groping for his clothing, "but I got to be rolling. The Asheville cut-off is up ahead and that's where I'm going. If you wanna come along, you're welcome. Asheville's the pits, but I'm sure we can find something to do there, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I sure do," she winked. "But I'm headed south."
"You could catch a ride back in Asheville," he said, pulling on his pants. "I'd like to, heh, heh, get to know you better."
She shook her pretty blonde head.
"Why not?" he said, miffed. "You seemed to like me pretty well a few minutes ago."
"Don't take offense, mister," she said, smiling. It's just that I have this crazy goal in mind."
"What?"
I want to suck the cock of every truckdriver of the Mississippi at least once. If I stop for seconds, I'll never finish. Understand?"
"Right on!" he yelped. "And best of luck in the world to you. It's about time somebody started thinking about us truckers."
"Thanks," she said. "It's always nice to know that one's efforts are being appreciated."
"Tell you what I'll do," he said enthusiastically. "You slip on your top and shorts there, and 111 call ahead on my CB and get one of the truckers going south to pick you up at the crossroads. That way you'll be playing with another big, fat trucker's cock before you know it."
"I'd be ever so grateful," she breathed huskily, and then leaned over and planted a little kiss on his cheek.
"Just one thing, though," he said.
"Yes?"
"When you start back around the second time, look me up first."
"Gladly," she giggled.
"You've got a dynamite set of lips on you, honey."
I winced at the vulgarity of the movie, sure that it was going to be responsible for a catastrophe. It was just a matter of time until the police barged into the basement and arrested all of us. By tomorrow morning the headlines I had imagined would be fact.
"Well, I guess this is it," the truckdriver said, stopping his rig.
"Thanks for the ride," she said, and opened the door and hopped out.
The camera switched to an outside view of her jumping to the ground. Her halter top was so brief and her shorts cut so high that her body appeared almost as revealing as when she'd been naked and playing with a cock. The crotch of her cut-off jeans was snagged between her legs, a sight which the camera explored with loving detail. Fresh pussy juice glazed the top of her thighs, just below where stray cunt hairs poked from the crotch of her cut-offs, glistening on the screen.
Just a matter of time, I thought again, envisioning hordes of Commissioner Gordon's men bursting through the door.
The thought of time made me look at my watch. Ten minutes had elapsed since I'd started showing this filth.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes and there was, miraculously, still no sign of any interference or trouble. Nothing had happened yet.
Then something suddenly occurred to me. If nothing had happened yet, maybe nothing would at all!
On the screen the heroine was waiting for her next ride, leaning against the signs at the crossroads and caressing her pussy through her damp denim.
It was beginning to occur to me with more and more emphasis that maybe I might get away with this after all!
Why not? The library was empty upstairs. Another cold night. Nobody would hear us.
Besides, wasn't that proof that I was doing what I'd been asked? On a freezing night when nobody regularly gave a shit about going to the library, downstairs I had a basement crammed full of screaming, horny maniacs. Provided the library board and city council never found out exactly how I attracted them, I would become a big-shot at the library. Any extra funds the library got would be directly attributable to me. God, would I love to throw that in Greenstalk's frozen face.
On the screen, another truck had picked up the heroine. Ready as ever for action, she didn't even bother to tell him where she was going. When asked, she just replied, "Stop your truck, get out your cock, and let's suck and fuck."
The audience howled. And nobody was more enthusiastic than the man who'd explained the difference between hard and soft-core to me.
I started to identify with him, even though I couldn't see him. If I could find out what a guy like this liked, then it would be a snap getting his kind to utilize the library.
Groping in the dark, I slid down beside him. "Excuse me, sir," I said. "Do you think the library ought to present more programs of this sort?"
His reply was a series of sharp, snorting pants. There were no words, just gasps of air.
I looked up at the screen and saw that he was obviously relating to the action taking place there rather than my question. The actress was out of her clothes again and sliding down onto a stiffly standing cock.
Immediately I sensed his problem. I was panting too.
Something made me reach over to get his attention. At the time I told myself I just wanted to ask him a few questions, but I know now I was lying to myself. The sudden wetness in my pussy should have told me that I was hoping for a more intimate relationship with this stranger than a mere interview.
Whatever my true intent, my emotional cover-up became a moot point when I touched him in the darkness for the first time. Incredibly, the first part of his body I felt was his hot, throbbing cock!
He was sliding the skin up and down with his tightly clenched fist-jacking off!
I gulped, wondering how many others were doing the same thing. I envisioned the janitor finding the basement floor slippery with cum tomorrow morning.
Uncontrollably, my fingers joined those of the masturbating man in the dark, sliding up and down his shaft. His cock was unbelievably hard. My pussy gushed from the thrill of touching it.
On the screen, the action was getting hotter and heavier. The heroine was all the way down on the truckdriver's dick, her cunt completely swallowing it. The camera moved in for a tight close-up between their legs. Their hairy crotches moved back and forth against each other in a wet symphony. Her red cunt lips slid back and forth around his pistoning prick. Glistening pussy juice slobbered all over both of them.
My snatch was on fire. The seat of my chair was puddled with the hot, frothing flow from my cunt. I couldn't decide which was making me more excited-the obscenity on the screen, or the hard, throbbing cock in my hand.
I pushed the man's hand away from his prick and began beating his meat on my own. From the top of his stiff dick to his balls I pumped his foreskin, feeling his tool swell even more with each squeezing stroke.
"Put your hand between my legs," I whispered urgently. "Feel my cunt."
He gasped like someone having an asthma attack, breathless from desire. Slipping his hand under my skirt, he crushed his fingers between my damp thighs. Instantly he was clawing at my pussy, his gouging touch making it even hotter and wetter than before.
My panties were no barrier for him. Flimsy to begin with, they were reduced to clinging nothingness by my copious pussy flow. He didn't even bother to bypass the crotch by going under the elastic, just pressing his fingers into my cunt through the virtually nonexistent fabric.
My pussy was foaming and I lifted my pelvis upward and lurched my ass from the chair, burying two of his fingers to the second knuckle in my drooling cunt.
I could feel the snagged and saturated pantycloth stretching and straining. Then, suddenly, it broke. His fingers rammed all the way to the hilt in my cunt, finger-fucking me with such intensity that I immediately started to come.
His prick was jumping like a snake in my hand. Quickening my strokes, I jacked him off as hard as I could, yearning for the ultimate explosion of cum.
His cock lurched an extra fraction of an inch in my grip and then exploded. Now cum was everywhere, splattering my arm, chest, and even my face.
His fingers were turning my cunt into raw hamburger, pounding my pussy walls with finger-fucking intensity.
On the screen the leading lady was on the brink of making another trucker come.
"Come... come... come," she moaned. "Drown me with your cum!"
The screen filled with his cock abruptly sliding out of the hairy groove of her pussy and then spilling its seed all over her naked body. The arc of his flow was so great that the first spurts landed all the way up on her tits. She squeezed her breasts together, causing the glistening cum to slide down their cleavage until it dribbled all the way down her stomach to her navel.
Then, keeping true to her objective of sucking every available trucker's prick, she went down on what was left of his hard-on. Sucking like mad, she made it stay stiff as she lapped up what was left of his sperm. When she was finished, the camera panned her smiling face, milky trickles of semen streaming from the comers of her mouth.
The audience was going insane from the action on the screen. And I was going nuts from the excitement of the fresh cum all over me and the fingers fucking my cunt.
But the man's prick was, alas, going limp-just when I needed more.