Orgasm stacks
Screw Callum and screw the Library of Congress classification.
Geez, was I missing my old college library Dewey Decimal saunter.
Here I was amongst the frickin old academic bound periodicals, bloody rows and endless shelves of unopened dusty crap; looking for two obscure but relevant brown-nosing articles; neither conveniently in pdf form on the internet, to get an A on my current Uni assignment.
But I was screwed.
Screwed up inside because I hadn't been screwed like I had hoped to be last night.
Screw Callum — for choosing the boys over my body.
Bloody male bonding, my arse.
How can watching a bloody soccer final seriously compete with — my pussy — or — my arse — for that matter?
Sheez, you'd think a sod doing engineering would have more receptivity to his girlfriend's needs. He was studying boreholes!
Doh — my doughnut hole was available for regular inspection.
Fucking class J, subsection JJ, Public Administration, I was on the point of giving up.
My vibrator was a better option in my dorm room.
Finally, Policies and Decision Making.
I'd be making a frickin decision on Callum's balls when I next see him.
I was thinking, a bloody good kick in the gonads.
Bottom fuckin shelf, of course.
I bent over; Ethics and Budgeting, fuck, it was dusty and musty …mmm… like my neglected pussy.
"Oh Fuck," I exclaimed as my jeans were unbuttoned and dropped from behind.
I recognised Callum's large, sure hands. I was too surprised and excited to be angry.
I gripped the nearest shelf to steady myself, but it swayed despite its heavy stacks of red-bound, gold-spined periodicals.
Oh, shit, I thought, my old red knickers.
A personal comfortable favourite but well-worn and a bit loose and fraying.
Callum didn't care about my old knickers; he had my arse cheeks spread and was fingering my recently uncared-for pussy. God, I loved his fingers in me. He was an assured prick. He was in my cunt, cavernous and spreading. How he liked it and, equally, how I liked it.
The library, the bloody library, I realised, anyone could come anytime — and to be caught out in the ethics section.
How embarrassing.
The thought was lost as I was coming, oh, so quickly.
My clitty was getting a treat under his thumb. The shelves were swaying. There was a bit of creaking, too.
I was holding onto the shelving for dear life. God, I got a finger fucking to remember. I had a you-beaut tingly orgasm, too.
He shoved his sticky fingers covered in my cum into my surprised mouth.
"Taste your sweet juices, honey-pie! "
"Mmm, yes. You prick, you love my fanny slush too."
Suddenly, I was assailed by Callum's cock between my legs.
My already sensitive pussy was cock pounded. Male base thrusting and real weighty grunting from my bad boy.
Yeah, I'd nearly forgiven him already.
You would, too.
Wow, was my pussy getting it. Express action.
A stack of periodicals bounced around and fell off the shelf beside me. The whole long shelf was really swaying now. It was like fucking in a bloody earthquake.
My thighs were wobbly. My arse cheeks were even wobblier. My pussy was a wet gripping funnel holding Callum's big fat pecker.
"Oh, you bugger, you using, selfish bugger," I got out, but it was basically useless.
"Don't come that with me, you slitch Jacinta, you love it, you love it like this," said my man.
Callum was pounding away, frantic, fast, piston friction. I was a goner. My second orgasm is forever unclassifiable under either the Dewey — or — Congress system.
As an engineer, my boyfriend understood the classification of holes. No hole left untended.
He fingered my arsehole. Delectable hooking, twisting, and gaped slinking.
He adjusted his pecker and counterbored my bumhole. Gaped my crackhole!
Locked his cock through my tight ring and screwed my datehole to absolute buggery.
"Ugh! Fugh! Ooh, yeah, baby! Ooh, oh my! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!"
Callum had to cover my mouth to stifle my scream.
He was in deep, deeper than the famed Kola borehole!
I hit the triple-gasm!
The tension peaked. Mass contractions! Pleasure concentrated upwards and held like the lift hill of a rollercoaster. Then, rushing in an endless looping cobra roll. An effervescent tingle boomeranging between my thighs. Blood engorged my clit with a sweetness to the tip of intoxication— a potent trembly flesh nirvana. My lungs blazed. My heart quickened. The release, the release — concentrated felicity.
More periodicals fell and were piled and scattered across the carpeted aisle.
Hell, we came close to drawing unwanted attention in our wild, untamed, consensual bliss.
Of course, my man creamed my tush. Jizzed me really, really good.
And he was totally — forgiven.
Actually, doubly so, as he carried both oversized bound tomes I needed back to my study table.