Special Collections

The special collections room was dimly lit, windowless, its high ceilings darkened in shadows that were only partially broken by the glow of the tablet screens mounted at the half-dozen reading desks laid out in short rows. The library's hush was deeper here, although Syncletia was not alone in visiting the collections room; currently at two of the desks, two of Syncletia's sister nuns were deep in study. One was reading an unknown text, her legs spread up on the desktop in a wide V as she buried one hand into her cunt and slowly turned the pages of the book between them with the other. The other sister was watching a video on her tablet, something called up from the church's vast archives of pornographic digital apocrypha, the sound being piped into earbuds so as not to violate the silence. A slight trail of drool around the bridle gag in the nun's mouth glistened in the tablet's projected light, her eyes glassy, transfixed. Syncletia's slit gushed in sympathetic yearning — she had lost many an hour, herself, exploring the extremes of the library's collections.

Syncletia strode past both of the other nuns, the carpet tread deadening the taps of her fuck-me heels. At the end of the rows of tables, a high dais oversaw the plan of the room, behind which ceiling-tall shelves full of texts disappeared back into darkness. Sitting at the desk was Sister Gemma, another senior nun who oversaw the special collections room. A large PVC black wimple framed her face like a set of blinders, throwing her already dark skin into deeper shadow, so that only the sharp gleam of her eyes and her thick, glowingly white-glossed lips was clearly viewable from a distance. Huge mounds of titmeat spilled forward to rest on top of the surface of her desk, the architecture of their supporting corset lost somewhere underneath; an ornate gothic black rose and cross was tatooed just below her clavicle at the peak of her cleavage, her nipples linked by a dangling silver chain clamped to each thick nub. Unlike the other patrons, Sister Gemma wore no gag, and her lips quirked as Syncletia approached.

Gesturing with a white-gloved hand, Sister Gemma pointed Syncletia towards a reference tablet, from which she could silently call up a request from the archives. The bimbo fuckslut shook her head; though the thought of searching for new texts to fuel her lust-worship was tantalizing, she was here hunting for the cock of the head librarian himself, the entrance to whose offices she knew to be hidden back in the deep stacks behind Sister Gemma's desk. Crossing herself and then pointing towards the back with one hand, Syncletia used her other hand to mimic pumping a cock into the gag holding open her bottomless mouth hole.

Gemma arched a dark eyebrow, but nodded. Standing from her seat, a wet squelch broke the silence as the black bimbo librarian raised up off a thick, forearm-length dildo mounted on her chair. Turning, Gemma's massive shelf of assmeat and thick thighs — wrapped in white fishnets and tied off in bows under the crease of each cheek — swayed silently with each step as she led Syncletia in the recesses of the special collection shelves towards Brother Faustus' chambers.