Theresa was born to be a librarian, and she knew it.
Even as a child she’d been obsessive about orderliness and organization. Every toy had its place, and her books were always alphabetized and upright on their shelves. If she was reading in bed at night, before she turned out the lights she placed a bookmark between the pages, got up and put the book back in its place on the shelf—otherwise she couldn’t sleep.
Her mother had been somewhat the same: always cleaning and dusting and straightening, serving the same dinners on designated nights of the week. Theresa grew up associating order with security.
She had been sent to Catholic schools and as a teen-ager briefly considered becoming a nun and joining a convent. But she quickly realized that, despite her attraction to the orderliness and silence of the life there, her inability to believe in God (at least as He had been described by her teachers) would be something of a handicap.
That was when the library became her convent. She came to the attention of the school librarian when discovered re-arranging the books on a shelf because they were out of order, and she quickly became the librarian’s indispensable assistant. She had proved so efficient and useful that by the time she graduated a small scholarship had been created for her so she could go on to get her degree in library science.
Which she did, and aced every class without effort, so well acquainted was she with every aspect of her discipline. It was rumored that she could recite the ten main classes, one hundred divisions and one thousand sections of the Dewey Decimal System from memory. Some of her more malicious classmates added that she’d probably learned it because she had nothing else to do.
And it was true that Theresa didn’t have much of a social life. It wasn’t that she was totally unattractive; she was shortish, dark-haired and perhaps a little top and bottom-heavy for her size, but she had, thanks her Irish forebears, a clear, pale complexion, and lovely green eyes—though these last were generally hidden behind her glasses.
The fact of that matter was she didn’t know how to talk to people. She’d gone out with a classmate or two in her major, but with each the evening had turned into something very like a study-date; libraries were all she knew. And she decided, finally, that there was nothing wrong with that.
After graduation (with honors, naturally) Theresa seized the first serious offer that came her way. It was from a library in a smallish town and the starting salary was equally tiny. But the opening was for Head Librarian and Theresa knew that as a newly minted graduate, even with her outstanding academic record, there wouldn’t be many opportunities like it and she had no intention of being anyone’s Assistant Librarian if she could help it.
Which was how she wound up in Oakton, Michigan, population 12,000. It was a brand-new library, and when she arrived Theresa was a little dismayed to discover that she was not just the Head Librarian, she was the only librarian. The library had been more expensive to build than had been estimated, so there was nothing left in the budget for anything much besides her salary. There were a couple of part-timers and some volunteers but basically it was up to her.
And after an anxious first few days Theresa decided that she was perfectly happy with that.
Which she was, at first. The books had been shelved in a semblance of order but there was a great deal of fine-tuning to be done and the cataloguing software was both inadequate and unfamiliar and there were new library cards to be made and given out and a myriad of other tasks requiring her attention. She did them all perfectly. She felt a small thrill of pride every morning when she pinned on the tag that read “Theresa Bryant—Head Librarian” before opening the library for the day.
But after a few months had passed Theresa found her life settling into a routine. The budget being what it was, there wouldn’t be any new acquisitions to catalogue for quite some time, beyond the occasional donation. So it was mostly just checking books out, checking books back in and putting them back on the shelf. The rare request for an interlibrary loan or a new card was a major event.
She was bored.
So what, she told herself. Did you think a librarian’s life would be a mad social whirl? This is exactly what you wanted… right?
There was no answer. And though she cleaned and straightened her library as obsessively as her mother had ever cleaned the house, Theresa nevertheless felt dust settling onto her heart.
A year went by. Two.
She learned to relish the small tasks, the routine, the silence. Especially the silence. It was a rare library patron who allowed a cell-phone to ring in Theresa’s domain more than once.
Her imperious, “Shh,” accompanied by an icy glare, was enough to wither any speech above a whisper.
She made it clear that within her domain any sound louder than that of a page being turned was distinctly unwelcome.
She was therefore was less than thrilled when a well-off patron went to the town council and offered to both buy a new computer for the library and pay for internet access.
The library already had one computer (in addition to the one in Theresa’s office) to allow patrons access to the library catalogue, and Theresa was not fond of it. She would have preferred an old-fashioned card catalogue; the clicking of the keyboard violated the perfect silence and grated on her nerves like fingernails tapping on a windowpane.
So when the new computer was delivered she banished it behind a tall bookshelf in the farthest corner of the library and tried to forget about it. If she was shelving books and saw that someone was using the new computer she would roll her cart to another area until the person left and she could finish her work in peace.
It was summer. Theresa preferred summer to any other season. The library was less busy and the hum of the air conditioning masked the annoying clicks from the catalogue computer’s keyboard.
She was dressed that day as she generally was all year round. She had four skirts—one navy blue, one brown, one gray and one black—all of similarly conservative cut, which she wore in turn along with matching flat-soled shoes. She always wore a long-sleeved white blouse or a turtleneck decorated in a miniscule pattern. She added a cardigan in winter, when she also traded her white ankle socks for pantyhose.
But this was summer so it was navy-blue shoes and skirt, white ankle socks and a white blouse with a hint of pleating down the front. She kept her hair at collar-length and the air-conditioning system was working to perfection, so even though it was ninety-five degrees and sweltering outdoors she was perfectly comfortable as she wheeled her cart towards the back of the library on that late July afternoon, ready to shelve that day’s returns. It was coming up on closing time and Theresa had the library to herself.
Or so she’d believed until she turned the corner and saw someone sitting at the computer. She grimaced to herself.
The computer was situated so that anyone sitting in front of it had his or her back to the rest of the library, which Theresa had counted as a small psychological victory. But this meant she couldn’t see who was sitting there—not that she cared, particularly. It was a man and as near as she could tell no one she’d ever seen before. She shrugged inwardly as she turned her cart in another direction, although relishing somewhat the thought that very soon she would be able to tell him it was closing time.
It was the noise that made her turn around. A noise he made.
“Mmm.” As if he were impressed with something. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was a noise. And despite the fact that there was no one else in the library, Theresa took it as a personal affront.
She drew herself up, fixed her iciest glare on the back of his blonde head, and hissed, “Shh!” Then, satisfied that she had vanquished her foe, she straightened her glasses and turned back towards her cart.
“MMMmmm.”
Theresa wheeled in her tracks and started back towards the stranger. Was he deaf? This time she stood even closer, leaned forward and actually raised her finger to her lips.
“SHH!”
She remained where she was, placing her hands on her hips and waiting. Daring him to make one more sound.
Nothing. No sign that he’d heard her, but no further noises either. She nodded to herself and again turned to go.
“Mmmm…MMMmmm…”
That did it. Theresa marched right up to where he was still sitting with his back to her. She was about to tap him firmly on the shoulder when she happened to look past him to the computer monitor…
…Where, filling the screen, was an image so shocking that at first Theresa’s mind went completely blank: In an office, a man in a suit and tie was sitting on a chair behind a desk, and lying across his lap was a young woman. The woman was wearing office clothes as well…but her skirt was above her waist and her pantyhose and panties were down around her knees. Her naked, perfectly shaped rear end was thrust upward and on her face was an expression suggestive of both dismay and arousal. The man was sitting with his arm upraised and his palm out, ready to strike.
“Disgusting!” The outraged whisper escaped From Theresa’s lips before she could stop it.
At this, the man finally turned in his chair to face her. He appeared to be a few years older than Theresa and had plain, blunt features that would never be described as handsome but somehow combined to suggest personal strength. He seemed unfazed to find Theresa standing there, or by her outburst, and his blue-gray eyes studied her for a moment before he replied.
“Do you really think so?” He spoke softly, as befit a library. His voice was deep and had a hint of gravel in it. When she simply glared at him in reply he continued, with a hint of a smile, “Have you ever tried it?”
“Oh!” The image on the screen had caused her to blush, but this horrible man’s suggestion made her go completely white, and she began to sputter, unable to find words to express her anger.
He watched her impassively, the smile fading from his face to be replaced by an expression Theresa could only think of as sympathetic. “No, I guess not,” he finally said.
He turned back to the computer long enough to remove the offending image then swiveled back towards her and continued, “My guess is that you haven’t tried much of anything.”
His voice was gentle, and there was no mockery in it. He stood up as he went on, “…And that’s too bad.” His glance moved around, taking in the library, before settling on her again.
He suddenly reached out with both hands and before Theresa realized what he was doing raised her glasses and settled them on top of her head before dropping his hands back to his sides. Shocked at his boldness, she gasped…but then simply stood there, trapped by the intensity of his gaze as he searched her eyes.
He held her there for a long moment before he finally spoke again. “There’s no reason for you to be one of those people who reads about life instead of living it, you know,” he said softly, and then added, “You’re really quite pretty.”
Somehow at this point Theresa managed to remember that she was Head Librarian. The effrontery of this man, this… pervert! Making lewd suggestions and then trying to tell her how to run her life!
“Get… out,” she said, between clenched teeth.
She was vaguely pleased to see an instant of surprise cross his features. But then he simply nodded a couple of times—sadly, Theresa thought—and turned to go.
Theresa turned away as well, feeling victoriously self-righteous… and somehow disappointed, though she couldn’t say with whom.
She was just reaching for the next book on her cart when a hand suddenly gripped her by the shoulder… and at the same instant she received a large smack on her bottom.
She yelped out loud and whirled around…
…But he was already heading for the exit. “Shh,” he called over his shoulder, finger to smiling lips, as he went out the door.
Theresa stood there for a full fifteen minutes, trembling with rage. She would call the police. He had looked at pornography on the library’s computer; he had insulted her; he had molested her…
But she had no idea who he was or how to find him.
In a haze of anger she finally managed to close up the library and lock the doors.
It wasn’t until she was reached her car and was fumbling in her purse for the keys that she realized her glasses were still perched on top of her head.
He had called her pretty.
She slept badly that night, tormented by both anger and self-doubt. He had been rude and insolent… but in a hidden corner of her soul she knew that he had also managed to summarize her life in one sentence. Reading about life instead of living it—not that she did much reading anymore, she realized. By the end of the day she was sick of books. Her own collection had become shockingly haphazard, shelved every which way and leaning in all directions. This was a bad sign and she knew it.
The next day she was like an automaton, doing her tasks without thinking then sitting and staring off into space. Her part-time help for that day asked her if she was feeling all right. Theresa told her that she was just tired, which was partially true. But there was, in addition to all the other emotional turmoil she was going through, another feeling growing inside her: a feeling that was so foreign to her experience that she would have been unable to name it even if she had allowed herself to be fully aware of it:
Anticipation. But of what…?
Without admitting it to herself she kept watch all day to see if he would dare to set foot in her library again. And as the afternoon drew to a close she found herself becoming agitated, fussing with papers at the front desk and trying to watch the entire library at once. But when it was nearly closing time she couldn’t stand to wait any longer. She was positive he hadn’t come in. But she was going to make sure.
She piled the books to be shelved onto her cart and wheeled it directly towards the back, pausing to peer around every corner and down every row of shelves.
Nothing.
When she finally neared the corner where the computer was she found herself holding her breath as she approached. He couldn’t possibly be there…but what if he was? What would she say, or do? She had absolutely no idea. She left her cart, crept around the last set of bookshelves…
…And let her breath out in whoosh. There was no one there.
And she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.
Theresa turned, as she always did, to her work. Knowing the library as well she did, it was only a matter of minutes to finish the shelving, and it was just closing time as she wheeled her cart to the front of the library, taking one last careful look around as she did.
She resisted the urge to lean out of the door and look around before she locked it from the inside, having a few small things to do before she left.
Being on edge all day had left her exhausted and her footsteps dragged as she made her way back to her office. It took her a moment to notice the sticky-note pasted to her computer monitor. At first she thought it was from her part-timer, but there was nothing on it but a web address.
She typed it in and hit ‘Enter’… and knew right away that he had been in her office.
The browser opened to a set of thumbnail-sized pictures, and Theresa recognized one of them immediately, despite its tiny size.
It was the picture he’d been looking at yesterday.
Without daring to think about it, Theresa double-clicked on the image and watched as it filled her screen. There she was: the lovely young woman, in a blouse and skirt not all that different from Theresa’s, lying across the older man’s lap and being spanked on her bare behind. Theresa stared at it, trying to summon the feeling of disgust she’d felt before. Imagining the humiliation of being treated like that, especially in a place of business. Of continuing to work for that same man, knowing what she had allowed him to do to her; knowing he might summon her again at any moment and…
Theresa discovered that she was breathing through her mouth, quickly. She closed the picture and sat perfectly still, listening. She got up went out into the library and looked around again.
Silence.
She went back to her office. Closed her door. Sat down at her computer…
…And double-clicked on the first picture in the series.
She was standing next to her boss’s desk, looking upset, as he brandished a handful of papers at her. Obviously she’d made some kind of big mistake.
Click. Theresa closed the picture. Unable to help herself, she double-clicked on the next one.
She was in mid-air, falling. The boss was pulling her by the wrist. The papers were scattering.
Click. Click-click.
She was sprawled across his lap, her face hidden. Her skirt was already up and the boss had his thumbs hooked through her pantyhose and panties and was yanking them down over her behind.
Click. Click-click.
It was the picture following the one Theresa had seen first:
The cheeks of her behind were being flattened by the impact of his open palm. Her back was arched, her mouth open as she cried out
Theresa suddenly remembered what it had felt like when his hand struck her behind, and her mouth went dry.
Click. Click-click.
Oh. Oh dear…
She was kneeling on the floor, her back to the camera. Her skirt was still up over her hips, the red patches where she’d been spanked clearly visible on the white skin of her behind. Her legs were as far apart as the bunched underwear at her knees would allow. She was kneeling between the boss’s legs, her hands on his thighs, and from the position of her head it was obvious that she was…
Click. Click-click.
Oh, dear Lord.
A close-up: Her eyes looking up, presumably into his. Her mouth full, her lips extended as she…
Click. Click-click.
Ohhhh…
She was facedown on the desk, her hands gripping the edge. Her clothes had mysteriously disappeared. The boss was standing behind her, lifting her by the hips with both hands as he…
Click. Click-click.
The final shot, a medium close-up: She was straddling him in his chair, her breasts pressed against his chest. They were kissing. They both looked very happy.
Click.
Alone in her darkened office, Theresa began to cry.
Her sleep that night was the dreamless sleep of pure exhaustion. She woke up still tired, but somehow lighter inside. She felt different somehow; yesterday’s inner whirlwind had calmed, leaving only the one strange emotion tingling along her nerve ends:
Anticipation.
She surveyed the entire contents of her closet with dissatisfaction. The only non-library clothing she had was a flowery dress she sometimes wore to family gatherings or the rare occasions when she still attended church, and she wasn’t about to wear that to work. So she shrugged and selected the light gray skirt and her brightest blouse. She did not allow herself to think about underwear.
Strangely, as the day went by she felt no nervousness, other than a kind of stage fright. And as closing time approached she actually seemed to settle into a heightened, deeply focused state of awareness. She watched for him.
There was no sign of him. At five minutes to closing the library was empty. Three minutes… one minute… time. Theresa didn’t care. She knew.
She locked the door, loaded her cart and began walking slowly towards the back.
He wasn’t at the computer, and for a moment Theresa began to doubt. Then she turned… and saw him waiting, hands at his sides, between two rows of shelves.
Their eyes met, and suddenly Theresa was beset with another, much bigger doubt: what if he had only put that address on her computer to mock her? What if he was only here to taunt the dowdy, uptight librarian some more?
No.
Still holding his gaze she took off her glasses and let them hang from the lanyard around her neck. She looked away then, down at her cart, and wheeled it past him without a word. She stopped and turned the cart sideways. Keeping her back to him she plucked a book from the cart and slid it into its proper place on the shelf—from memory, as she was nearly blind without her glasses on.
Turning back to the cart she leaned over it slightly to get a book from the other side then placed it on its shelf. She could feel him watching her every move.
She turned back to the cart once more. She took a deep breath.
She leaned over the cart again, this time as if reaching for a book all the way at the bottom of the other side. She grasped the edge of the lower shelf with her hands.
Her short black hair hung in her face, and her breasts felt unnaturally heavy.
She closed her eyes… and waited.
In the silence of the library even the sound of quiet footsteps on the carpet could be heard.
He was standing directly behind her. Theresa braced herself for the first blow…
…And gasped as she felt instead her skirt being unbuttoned… then unzipped … then slowly, almost ceremoniously, lowered to the floor. She cursed herself for not buying new underwear, even as her breathing began to speed up. Her behind suddenly felt huge to her in that position and she worried that the sight of it would repel him.
Again she waited.
Then, a sound:
“Mmmmm.”
Then just the tips of his fingers…touching her lightly through the fabric of her white cotton panties… gradually sliding upward to become his entire hands… caressing her behind… molding the cheeks. Oh Christ, it felt so good.
“MMMmmm.”
In spite of everything Theresa smiled for a moment at the sound.
Suddenly, on the exposed skin at the very tip of her spine, just above her panties, Theresa felt a warm breath…
…And then his lips, kissing her there with incredible tenderness, even as his hands continued to take possession of her.
Ohhhh… the sweetness of it. Theresa felt herself beginning to cry again, the tears running down her nose and dripping onto the rug. She bit her lip, hard, not wanting him to hear. Not wanting anything to interfere with the most wonderful experience of her life. She felt as if she had become liquid, warm—barely aware of her body’s discomfort as it lay, head down, across the cart and the spines of the books on it.
She felt her panties being gently lowered, then allowed to drop and join her skirt in a heap around her ankles. She drew a shuddering breath. She was now completely exposed. She, Theresa Bryant, Head Librarian, was bent over the shelving cart in her own library, panties down, awaiting the whim of a complete stranger. Whose name she didn’t even know, she suddenly realized.
And she didn’t care.
Now, she thought. Please, now.
The first blow, when it came, was nothing like the rude slap on the behind he had given her before. It was light, hardly more than a pat—just enough to make the skin tingle slightly. It was followed by another just like it on the other cheek.
There was a pause.
The next slaps were a little more brisk, though not much, and there was less space between them.
Gradually they started to come faster…and harder.
There was some pain, yes, but soon Theresa felt a kind of glow beginning there, a warmth that began to spread across her behind…and then inward…and then, as the rhythm and intensity of his strokes began to build…downward, between her legs.
Habit made Theresa attempt to remain silent within the sacred confines of her library, ridiculous though she knew it was with the repeated crack of his open hand on her behind echoing through the room. But no matter how tightly she clamped her jaw, small whimpers, then embarrassing grunts and eventually groans of pain and pleasure combined began to escape from between her lips… until finally, as his assault on her behind and the fire between her legs reached an unbearable crescendo, she burst forth with a full-blooded scream that shook the nearby windows as she came.
Theresa held onto the cart as if it were a life raft, gasping for breath, as the quakes and tremors of pleasure ripped through her body. Oh, God…!
Sometime later she felt a hand caressing her hair. She raised her head and opened her eyes…
…To find him on his knees before her, his expression deeply concerned.
“Are you alright?” His voice was loud in the sudden silence.
Theresa managed a groggy smile as she raised a finger to her lips.
“Shh!” she whispered.
Then she pulled him to her and kissed him.