Naughty library 5

I don’t come here to read anymore.

The lie I told myself died somewhere between my first paid deposit and the night I let four strangers fill every hole until I couldn’t remember my own name.

Now the library is just the door. The mask. The descent.

The real reason I’m here is cock. Wet mouths. Hands that know exactly how rough I like it. The way the chandeliers catch sweat and come like diamonds on skin.

I should have felt guilty.

Mom still waits up sometimes, asks why I’m out so late, why my eyes are glassy, why I smell like smoke and sex even after showering twice.

I smile, kiss her cheek, say “work stuff” or “friends,” then slip out the back door the second her bedroom light goes off.

No guilt.

Just anticipation throbbing between my legs the whole walk to the library. My pussy already slick by the time I reach the staff door. Panties? I stopped wearing them weeks ago. Easier access.

Tonight the platform is packed—Friday rush, men fresh off overtime, shirts unbuttoned, belts already loosened. They know me now. Whispers ripple when I shed my coat: black lace thong, garters, nothing else. Nipples hard from the cool air. The envelope money hit this morning—another $3,000 for thirty nights of being their favorite toy.

Jax finds me first, like always. He doesn’t ask. Just grabs my wrist, pulls me to the center under the main chandelier—spotlight for the night’s main event.

“On your knees, Angela,” he growls. Voice like gravel. “Show them why we pay you.”

I drop without hesitation. The tiled floor is cool against my skin. Three more men circle—big, thick, cocks out and stroking. One’s pierced; the glint catches the light every time his fist pumps.

I take Jax first—deep, sloppy, letting drool run down my chin while I look up through the mask. He fists my hair, fucks my mouth slow and deep until tears streak my cheeks. “That’s it… choke on it, baby. You love being our little paid slut, don’t you?”

I moan around him—yes, fuck yes.

The pierced one steps up next. I switch, sucking him while my hand works another. Someone behind me yanks my thong aside, two thick fingers plunging into my soaked cunt without warning. I buck, whimpering around the cock in my mouth.

They lift me like I weigh nothing—Jax on his back on a low cushion, pulling me down onto his cock in one brutal thrust. I cry out, head thrown back, as he bottoms out. The stretch is perfect, filthy, filling.

Another man kneels in front—same pierced cock slapping my lips until I open again. Double stuffed: mouth and pussy, rocking in rhythm that makes my eyes roll.

Then the third—big hands spreading my ass cheeks, lubed tip pressing against my back hole. “Relax for me, greedy girl.”

I do. He pushes in slow, inch by burning inch, until I’m impossibly full—three cocks buried deep, moving in counter-rhythm. The friction is insane. Every thrust rubs that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

A fourth joins—woman this time, strap-on harness gleaming. She straddles Jax’s face while I ride him, grinding her clit against his tongue. She reaches down, pinches my nipples hard, twists until I scream around the cock fucking my throat.

“Take it all,” she hisses. “Every fucking inch. You’re ours tonight.”

They don’t hold back.

Jax thrusts up hard, slamming into my cervix. The man in my ass matches him—deep, punishing strokes that make me sob with pleasure. Drool and pre-cum drip down my chin; my thighs shake, slick running down Jax’s balls.

I come first—shattering, convulsing, cunt and ass clenching so tight they both groan. The woman grinds harder on Jax’s face, comes with a sharp cry, flooding his mouth.

They follow one after another.

Pierced man pulls out, paints my tits with hot ropes.

Ass man grunts, buries deep and fills me—warmth flooding my insides.

Jax lasts longest—flips me onto my back, pins my wrists above my head, fucks me through another orgasm until he pulls out and comes across my stomach, marking me.

I lie there panting, body trembling, covered in sweat and cum, legs spread wide so everyone can see the mess they made of me.

A small crowd claps—slow, appreciative. Phones aren’t allowed, but eyes devour me.

Jax leans down, brushes a kiss to my forehead—the only soft thing all night.

“Tomorrow?” he asks.

I smile, voice wrecked. “Every night. You paid for it.”

No more books.

No more guilt.

Just this: the heat, the stretch, the release.

Sneaking out feels like foreplay now.

I’m already wet thinking about tomorrow.