I saw her for the first time through the bookshelves.

She was small and Asian, with a trim figure, a tight skirt, jet-black hair pulled into a long ponytail, smooth skin, and dark eyes. She was cute, but in a studious way.

I thought nothing else of her, since I was studying for my finals in the university library. I had so much work to catch up on after too much drinking, partying, and wasting time, so I committed myself to hitting the library each and every night, staying long after most of the students, even the most enthusiastic, had left. But she was always there. It seemed her shifts at the library coincided with my study time, and the section she was assigned to just happened to match my field, biology.

After a few days, I began to watch her as she stretched on her tiptoes, reaching to return a book to its rightful place, her taut body extended, everything firm. I knew then that I had to have her.

I started to steal glances at her through the rows of literary works. I was infatuated. Her face was attractive, but it was her firm body that appealed to me. From her narrow hips to her smooth legs, everything was in perfect proportion. Before long I forgot about studying and was fixated on this girl. I didn’t even know her name, but it only added to the mystique, amplifying the allure of my newfound obsession.

The next night it was the same routine. I tried to ignore my throbbing cock and my natural urges, attempting to suffocate them with schoolwork. I paid her no attention, aside from the occasional glance, as I made my way to a row of books.

Good, I thought. Throw yourself into your work. Then, head lowered, I checked my list and turned down the correct aisle, but I stopped dead in my tracks a moment later. She was there. Apparently not noticing me, she carried on taking returns off her trolley and putting them back in their spaces. I shook myself and tried to concentrate on anything else, but as I peered down at the numbers, I realized I’d have to squeeze by her through the narrow passageway, and my heart raced.

Cautiously, I headed toward her, trying to be inconspicuous, but eventually, inevitably, we met, and as we did, she leaned into the books, trying to allow me room to move past. However, as I carefully slid my body through the gap, I paused. My eyes were drawn to her phenomenal ass, the round curve accentuated by her plaid schoolgirl skirt.

I couldn’t help myself. My hand reached down, and I grabbed her firm butt. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I expected her to shriek and call for help, slap me, try anything to get away, but to my astonishment, she did nothing. Instead she took my hand in her own and guided it downward.

I was shocked that she was letting me do this. Slowly, she moved my hand below the line of her skirt, past her thigh, her eyes never leaving the shelves. She maneuvered my palm upward, beneath the cloth, between her legs. I almost died as my fingers found themselves on her warm pussy. She wasn’t wearing underwear!

She began to rub my hand across her pussy, back and forth, making herself wet. For minutes we massaged her clit together, her head dropping down as she writhed in bliss. Her love juice trickled down my fingers, coating them. I took them away and licked her nectar, then allowed her to do the same. She complied willingly, then bit down lightly on my finger. It was her turn.

While she was still facing the books, her free hand reached to my pants and rubbed my crotch. I stood back and let her unzip my jeans, reach in, and grab hold of my throbbing dick. Soon it was pulled loose and standing tall and erect as it passed through her hand, up and down, up and down. My fingers returned to her drenched snatch and found their way inside. Then she got a strong grip on my cock and let the head run over the contours of her backside, up and down through the valley, over her asshole, descending to the entrance of her gaping hole. I was ready to penetrate her.

But it was all a tease. Realizing her apprehension — we had no protection — we resumed our foreplay, masturbating each other, right there out in the open. My fingers explored her, and I could feel her body respond. She was nearing the crescendo of our sexual orchestra. I, too, was about to burst, and I could tell it would be spectacular. Incredibly, we exploded together in a wave of pleasure, coming powerfully and drenching our hands — and a few nearby books — with our juices.

Sapped of energy, I wiped the sweat off my brow, raised my zipper, and watched her legs twitch and quiver in the aftershock of her eruption. Then, without so much as a look at me, she casually took the next book off her trolley and resumed doing her job.

I left bewildered, almost convinced I’d imagined it all. But when I stood outside in the cool night breeze and lifted my hand to my nose, I took in her sweet scent. It had been no dream.