It’s late, and I’m not particularly in the mood to do much more than finish shelving the over-flowing cart of books. The first week back at school was always the hardest as teachers brought their classes in to show the new hyperactive middle schoolers around. The terrors had no respect for books and would roam the library, pulling down whatever took their initial interest before leaving it scattered across some random table. It took the whole staff (all two of us) and a miracle to re-stack the mess before the next group would come in and repeat it all.
But today was Friday and the last class had left to go home nearly half an hour before. I took the later shift today just to get some peace in quiet, which served my adorable partner-in-books just fine. She and her husband had a dinner date and neither of us wanted her to be late for it. So she left with the last of the students, and I took my time in closing everything down until the cart was the last thing to do.
Good. It was mindless work and just the thing I needed before fighting the traffic on the way home.
The lights in the library were already off (something about the dark helped my headache), so it was very obvious when the door to the back of the library opened and the hall lights streamed in. It was only supposed to be used in emergencies and I could have sworn I locked it this morning to keep any kids from sneaking in. Maybe one had propped it open? Some of the eighth graders like to do that — and not the trouble makers either. It was always the bookworms, wanting to sneak in to get another book to take home.
Still, it was screwing with my relaxation time. I held back a sigh, finishing shoving a copy of Where the Wild Fern Grows onto the shelf, before making my way to the office that particular door led to. The lights were still off, but the closer I got, the more I could hear. Soft grunts and a scuffle of feet — this was sure something new.
I decided to keep quiet and just peered around the door frame. I couldn’t see much, but I wasn’t innocent enough to miss exactly what was going on in there. I immediately recognized Tony Stark, our resident advanced math teacher and sponsor of the computer club. He was pressed against the filing cabinets (which I’m sure wasn’t comfortable as the handles had to have been digging into his back), eyes closed in bliss. His normally clean look was disheveled with his button-down shirt partially open and pushed up to expose his stomach. I couldn’t see his pants, but I was pretty positive that they were open.
Mostly so the man on his knees in front of Mr. Stark could suck his dick. Mr. Stark’s hips stuttered as I heard a slurp. I tried to place the mysterious man, but it was too dark to get many features other than he had shorter hair. It was his hands that held up Mr. Stark’s shirt, fingers gripping it so tight I expected to hear the buttons pop off at any time.
Mr. Stark put a hand up to his mouth, biting down on the knuckle to try and keep in the noises coming from his mouth. Mostly it was whimpering, but if the unknown man tilted his head just right, a moan would escape. His other hand gripped the short hair of the man and even from here I could tell it was a painful hold. Not that the kneeling man seemed to care.
I should have stopped this, I should have made my presence known. But I couldn’t. I was fascinated by the way Mr. Stark’s hips jerked into the other man’s mouth. I bit my own lip as the man’s hands actually did pop off a few buttons on Mr. Stark’s shirt. I could feel my own arousal awakening as Mr. Stark arched his back and let out a strangled whimper.
Then, almost without warning, Mr. Stark cried out. The hand he had been biting on jerked down to grip the man’s hair, joining his other hand. There was no denying the blissed-out face and what it meant; Mr. Stark just got sucked off in my back office. And his mystery lover was a swallower.
I backed away before either one could notice that I was there, but not before I saw the mystery man stand up and pull Mr. Stark into a filthy kiss. I’d let them have their fun and maybe next time I needed something from the computer club, Mr. Stark wouldn’t give me such a hard time.
With a smile (and arousal still), I went back to shelving the rest of the books.