Rub One Out Quietly In The Library

The reporter slid a hand down the front of her pants. She was all alone. One quick jilling would clear her mind, let her focus on her research.

Her fingers slid over her clit, which already felt swollen and sensitive. She looked at the screen, ready to set the video to replay, but it was already playing something else. Lois let it play, settling back in the chair, her right leg resting against the idol in its bag.

Another black and white film. It could have been the same actress. A sloe-eyed flapper with dark bangs, long pale arms and legs. She was undressing, getting ready for a bath. Lois began rubbing her clit in slow circles, hoping for some more "action." It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the female form, but...

The dress came off. Lois sucked in air as she saw the woman's belly. There was a swell there, distinct, too high to just be fat. The woman was pregnant, a couple months gone at least. Her breasts were small, the nipples still a pale grey in the black-and-white, not yet darkened with pregnancy.

A man came in. She turned to see him, not bothering to cover up. His mouth was moving, but there was no sound, just the sltch-sltch-sltch of the reporter's fingers rhythmically rubbing her pussy in the tight confines of her pants. He...was it a he?...had soft, feminine features, dark, lustrous hair; his evening dress was impeccable, as though he had just stepped out of a white tie affair.

With a blur of movement he grabbed her shoulders and **** the pregnant woman to her knees. The camera focused on her eyes as she fumbled with his trousers. Buttons, no zips. The cock sprang out...

Lois sucked in her breath. The cock had been tattooed. Strangely familiar whirls down its soft length, starkly visible against his pale skin. His gloved hands shifted to the pregnant woman's head, guiding her mouth to him, making her take the cock into her mouth.

The reporter's own mouth gawped, remembering what that had been like. Helping her lovers get it up sometimes, so they were hard and ready to go. She could remember the taste of it, the flavor of clean skin and stale piss, the salty dribble of precum that could numb the tip of your tongue, the throb of the veins pulsing through your lips, the heat of it.

She rubbed herself harder, feeling herself get into it as the flapper's head bobbed up and down on the rapidly hardening cock. There was a moment of breathless excitement as his member, a respectable size, stood spit-slick and erect, and he pulled her off of him, turning her around and bending her over the tub.

The camera angle shifted, as he slid her tattooed prick into her from behind...her bush was vast and wild, all natural, swallowing his shaft like it was made for it. Lois wished then that there was sound, that she could hear the wanton bitch moan as he began a hard, driving fuck, right from the first. The flapper hung on to the edge of the tub. Someone had put a mirror there, so that the viewer could catch the reflection of her face. Very artful.

Lois found her gaze going back and forth between the hard dicking and the face of the woman receiving it, the mixture of emotions there adding resonance to the whole seen. Pleasure, discomfort, need, embarrassment, rapture, and something else, some visage of pure wickedness that was there and then gone...

The screen-within-a-screen went blank, the video over. The reporter hissed in frustration, her body more worked up than ever before.