After all, she had intended to jerk him off in her face, with her mouth open, it wouldn't be any more naughty to enjoy the taste of his meat before she got the cream, would it?
Her tongue was tingling and her lips had started to suck just as if she already had them full of prick. She hadn't quite made up her mind if she should go so far as to actually blow him.
These are not decisions that a girl takes lightly.
Janitor jacking was one thing and blowing was another, and she thought that maybe she should save her virgin mouth for the cock of some young man whom she really liked.
But would she ever meet a man with a cock this big, this delicious-looking, this horny?
Just then a thick drop of cum oozed out of his piss hole and clung to the tip of his cock-knob.
Jennifer gasped as she stared in fascination at the glistening nugget of delectable jism.
She simply had to taste it!
She pushed her fist down to the root of his cock and held it there, causing the cock-knob to expand under her face. Her tongue slipped out and glided across the heated tip of his prick, gathering up that thick glob of cum without touching his meat. She rolled the delicious droplet around on her tongue, thrilled by the idea of having cum on her tongue as much as by the delightful succulence of the stuff.
She swallowed it.
Oh, it was no wonder that Miss Childress drank jism with such evident enjoyment! The stuff was sweet nectar. She gave him another hand stroke, trying to pull another blob out so that she could lick it up.
The head of his prick was glowing like an incandescent light-bulb. Jennifer felt dizzy with desire. Now that she knew what spunk tasted like, she wanted to find out what the cock from which it came tasted like, as well. She wouldn't actually blow him, she told herself – she would just take a single lick, to satisfy her curiosity.
Her face tilted to one side.
She pushed her tongue out again, and this time she ran it in a flattened, slurping lick right over his cock head. She took just the one lap, then drew back. The meaty flavor tingled on her taste buds.
"Suck it," rasped Claude.
Jennifer whimpered. One lick was not enough.
"C'mon! Suck my cock!" Claude growled, louder.
His voice wasn't really very loud, at all, but it gave the girl all the justification that she needed. She had to keep the janitor quiet and there was only one way to do that, at the moment.
Jennifer decided to suck Claude's cock.
It never occurred to her that an enthusiastic blow job could be a noisy affair, delivered in the silence of a library.
CHAPTER NINE
Julia Childress had not started to put her clothing on again because she had been considering giving herself a good fucking with the fat rubber prick that she kept locked in her desk. She felt like another orgasm, but she hadn't quite made up her mind if she should give herself one, or wait until school was out and get picked up by some horny gentleman. She was just giving her stiff clit a soft rub to see how hot she really was when she heard a faint but distinct slurping sound.
Miss Childress frowned and cocked her head.
The sound came again.
It was a sound with which the lewd librarian was very familiar, although she usually heard it at closer range and on more intimate turns, being the one who caused it.
Again the soft slurping echoed through the library.
There was not the faintest doubt in Julia Childress' mind.
Somewhere in that book-lined room, a cock was being sucked!
Was the librarian shocked or startled? Perhaps not – for she smiled in eager expectation. She moved toward the bookshelves at the back of the big room, and she moved as silently as she could because Miss Childress was an experienced voyeur in her own right and always welcomed a chance to spy on lovers.
Her voyeuristic experiences had been many, and varied.
Loving cocks as she did Miss Childress had time whereby she could get to gaze at the multitudes of big pricks. It was a clever concept. She had pinned her hair up – not to look prim this time – and hidden under a fedora hat. She was dressed in a pin-striped suit and carried an umbrella and, for all the world, Miss Childress had looked just like a man.
Wearing this masculine disguise she had gone out and frequented public toilets and baths, getting a chance to look at all the pricks that she wanted. She had ventured into the locker rooms of golf clubs and the shower rooms of youth clubs and the men's shower rooms at swimming pools.
It had been fun – if a bit frustrating – because she was not able to have any of the cocks at which she gazed so longingly. She had been tempted to try, but had decided against it, not wanting any man to think that she was queer and not wanting any man who would allow a queer to take the sort of liberties that she would have.
One day, wearing her male disguise, Miss Childress had made a mistake that led to a new and enjoyable experience.
She had been going from bar to bar, having a drink and waiting for some handsome man to go to the bathroom so she could follow him in and inspect his prick. But after she had been to a dozen bars and had a dozen drinks, she had gotten a bit tipsy, and forgetful.
She forgot, in fact, that she was in disguise. Having a last drink in a nightclub, Miss Childress felt the need to go to the toilet herself, for reasons more natural than voyeurism and cock-watching and, without thinking, she went into the ladies room. She had just finished pissing and was about to leave when in walked one of the showgirls – a gorgeous big blonde.
"Hey you're in the wrong room, Buster," the girl said.
Miss Childress realized her error.
Making her voice as deep as possible, she said, "Excuse me, I must have read the sign wrong."
Blushing, she started to leave.
But the blonde showgirl had stepped in front of her, blocking her retreat and smiling lasciviously.
"You're a pretty good-looking fella," the showgirl had said. "How about giving me a quick fuck while you're here?"
Miss Childress was appalled.
How could she get out of this perilous situation?
She blurted out a silly excuse, and the showgirl gave a most suspicious look, obviously wondering if she were either impotent or queer.
Miss Childress felt obliged to offer an explanation.
Keeping her voice as deep and manly as she could, she told the blonde showgirl that she had drank too much that night and that she would be unable to perform. Miss Childress was blushing furiously as she spoke, but she guessed that a man, admitting to temporary impotency, would most likely blush, as well, and so she didn't suppose that her coloring gave her away.
The showgirl looked Miss Childress up and down.
"Too bad," she said.
She seemed to accept the excuse.
But then a naughty gleam came into her big blue eyes. She turned and drew the bolt on the door.
Miss Childress looked puzzled.
The showgirl faced her again, her fists on her wide, flaring hips, one thigh thrust provocatively out of her skirt, her bearing arrogant, her demeanor, superior. She tossed her head and her thick golden tresses cascaded around her heavily made-up face.
"Listen, Buster," she said. "If you can't get a hard-on, you can give me some head."
Miss Childress gasped.
"I don't do that," she squawked.
"You do now, Buster."
"Really! I never – I mean…"
"Don't be an asshole," said the showgirl, with certain eloquence. "It won't hurt you to eat some pussy. It's good for a guy. Especially…" – she looked at Miss Childress with disdain, her sensual lip curling up in a sneer – "…especially a guy that can't hold his drink and can't get a hard-on when a girl wants some prick."