David Crane - Scandal school

She wondered, idly, what sort of cock John Tremont had.

That was why, her eyes wandering down, she saw that behind his text books lurked a hard-on. Irma's eyebrows went up, just as if his erection had lifted them, and she pursed her lips.

John, she noticed, had headed directly for the shelves at the back that housed the sex manuals and studies in eroticism.

Well, well, well, thought Irma.

John figured that since he had to beat his meat, anyhow, he might as well find some interesting books to look at while he pounded the potency from his pork. He went into the maze of shelves at the back and, feeling perfectly secure there, looked down the row of books and decided on a volume called: "Variations and Permutations in the Art of Love" by Dr. Aaron Plotnik. He braced the weighty book against the shelf and began to skim through it. Soon he found himself fascinated by the text, overjoyed to find that some of the variations, too difficult to describe in mere words, were illustrated. Breathing hard, he licked his lips and let his eyes pour over the definitions of the big, dry sounding words that, behind a facade of Latin and Greek, described such joys as cocksucking, cunt eating and asshole fucking.

John was enthralled. He opened his fly and let his dick spring out into his hand. He began to beat his meat nonchalantly as he read the dirty words.

He was so engrossed that he failed to hear the librarian as she approached.

"Well, I never!" said Irma.

She sounded disgusted. She was standing right beside him, her hands on her hips and her big tits sticking out like shelves. John jumped at the sound of her voice. He had been so absorbed by the book that he forgot he had his cock in his hand, and he thought that the busty librarian was disgusted because he was reading a sex manual. He thought he had better tell her that he was doing required research for biology, but before he could speak he saw that her eyes were directed not at the book, but at his loins. Looking down himself, he realized to his horror that his pecker was not only in his hand but that, from force of habit, he was still pumping it.

"Gee how did that get in my hand?" he said weakly. He tried to look absent-minded.

"That's perfectly disgusting," said Irma. "It's an honest mistake," he said. "A likely story, young man! A mistake, certainly, but not an honest one. This is a clear cut case of vandalism!"

John had heard jacking off called many things, from self-abuse to seed wasting, but he had never heard it referred to as an act of vandalism before. He was so bemused that he gave his dick another healthy frig from sheer inertia.

He said, "Huh?"

"Vandalism," she repeated. "Why, it's perfectly clear that you intended, to ejaculate on the library books. You nasty young vandal! You don't even have your handkerchief out!"

"Gee, I'm sorry," he stammered, not at all sure that he understood the situation: that the jerking off was not the crime but the soiling of the books was, seemed hard to believe. Would she have merely smiled encouragingly if he'd had the snout of his pecker aimed at a cum rag?

"So you should be. Well, I won't report you this time, but don't let it happen again."

"I sure won't," he said.

Through it all, his uncontrollable pecker had remained rampant. John was trying to tuck it away but it wouldn't bend. It refused to return, unwanked, to his pants.

"Don't break it!" said the librarian as she saw how hard he was manhandling his dork. "You have to be gentle with a pecker, you know… they aren't as hard as they look."

"If it gets any harder…" he grated, mauling it without success.

"No, no! Never, never try to force it," Irma said. "Never bend a hard dick. That's more dangerous than cleaning your ears with a matchstick, didn't you know that? The way to treat a hard dick is twofold. You can ignore it and wait for it to subside through boredom, or you can whack it off."

John gaped at her, his jaw hanging open.

"On the whole, I favor whacking it off," she continued. "It's much quicker and more direct. However, and this is one of the golden rules of librarian lore, one must never, never cum on the books. Do you understand?"

John gulped and said, "Yes, ma'am."

Irma smiled.

"Well, that's settled," she said, reaching for her tape measure. "Now we only have to decide where you should deposit your spunk."

She was a very understanding librarian, John thought.

She said, "I'm sure there must be some novel suggestions in that book. Why don't you select one while I measure your cock?"

John didn't think he'd heard her right, but then he guessed he must have because what did the lusty librarian do but kneel down and commence to gauge his pecker with a tape measure! She took great pains to be accurate, fitting the measure at the root and drawing it up to the helmet while she tilted her head from side to side, judging angles. Her tongue was stuck in the corner of her mouth, thoughtfully.

She must have felt his eyes on her, for she looked up and, explaining, said, "Some people are very slack about dicks, you know. I hate that. It's not at aft efficient. Why, there are women who don't even know the size of the their husband's pricks. Really, I've met some. The sort of women who asks, 'Is it bigger than a breadbox?' and lets it go at that. But that will never do for me. Classifying cocks is a very exacting science, and it should be treated as such."

She nodded, affirming her belief, while she folded the tape measure neatly around the flaring head of his prick.

Since the measuring of a cock necessitated the handling thereof, John's pecker was responding to this measurement in a stormy fashion, bucking like a bronco so that it was hard to take an accurate measurement. Her hands kept slipping off the slippery rod. But Irma persevered, committing the figures to her memory. Then she put the tape measure away and stood up.

"Decided where to come?" she asked.

John had been watching her, neglecting his studies. Now he darted a look at the book and spotted the first word at the head of the column.

He read it, then spoke it: "Buggery."

"Why, you naughty little rascal," Irma said. Then: "It just so happens that your pecker is exactly the right size, in circumference, for that gentle science. What a coincidence!"

"Er… what is buggery?" John asked.

"Why, it's ass fucking dear," said Irma.

John wasn't at all sure that he was ready for ass fucking, what with being a virgin and all. He wondered if he should object. But he wondered too long and by then it was too late… her skillful hands had pumped his dick up to a hard-on that permitted no objections or hesitations.

She opened her blouse and shrugged it back so that her huge tits thrust out. She wore no bra and despite the massive weight of those soft globes, they were firm and upright. The nipples were brown, stiff, elongated. She smiled at John, and John gaped at her knockers. He was afraid to do anything, and stood there with his dick out.

Irma rather liked shyness in a lad. She took his hand and pulled it to her tits, encouraging him to feel the big spheres. He was clumsy at first, not sure how to handle a tit of such proportions. He squeezed and massaged and felt her nipples expand. Then she cupped her tits in her own hands, holding them up and together so that the cleavage deepened and she arched her back, offering her breasts to John. He leaned forward. His tongue licked at her swollen nipples, then he took them between his lips, each in turn, and sucked explanatorily on them.

John felt as if he had been transported to some dream world or other dimension. The whole situation dazed him and he wondered if he was imagining the whole thing: if his brain, deprived of sufficient blood to function normally because so much of his blood had been rerouted down to his dick, might not have started to malfunction. John had a hard-on all day long, and there was no telling what effect that might have on his bodily functions.