The Quiet Section

The university library was a cathedral of knowledge.

And Margaret Thorne was its high priestess.

She'd been head librarian for thirty years. Everyone in the doctoral program knew her name—and feared it. She controlled access to the restricted archives, where centuries of rare manuscripts gathered dust.

She was fifty-four. Gray hair in a severe bun. Glasses that she looked over when disapproving—which was often. And a body that her sensible cardigans couldn't disguise.

She was thick. Wide hips that filled her tweed skirts. Heavy breasts beneath her buttoned blouses. The kind of figure that made you wonder what happened after she went home.

I needed access to her archives.

I had no idea what I was asking for.

"Mr. Cole." She looked up from her desk in the archive entrance. "Your request was denied."

"I saw. But I need those manuscripts. My thesis—"

"Is not my concern." She returned to her work. "The Marlowe folios are extremely fragile. We don't grant access to graduate students without exceptional justification."

"What would constitute exceptional justification?"

She paused. Looked at me over her glasses.

"Are you willing to do whatever it takes?"

"Yes."

She studied me. Something shifted in her expression.

"Close the door."

I closed the door.

She stood. Walked around her desk. Sat on the edge, facing me.

"You're persistent," she said. "I've had dozens of students request those folios. Most give up after the first rejection."

"I'm not most students."

"Clearly." Her eyes traveled down my body. "Tell me, Mr. Cole. How badly do you want this?"

"More than anything."

"More than your reputation? Your dignity?"

"What are you suggesting?"

She uncrossed her legs. Her skirt rode up, revealing thick thighs in sheer stockings.

"I'm suggesting that access to the restricted archives has a... price. One that isn't listed in any policy."

"What kind of price?"

"The kind that happens behind closed doors." She leaned back. "I'm lonely, Mr. Cole. I've spent thirty years surrounded by books. Beautiful, silent, undemanding books. And I've wondered, lately, what else I've missed."

"You want me to—"

"I want you to show me what I've been missing." She unbuttoned the top of her blouse. "In exchange, you'll have unlimited access to any manuscript you desire."

"This is..."

"Inappropriate. Unethical. Possibly criminal." She stood. Walked toward me. "Do you care?"

I watched her unbutton her blouse. Watched her shrug it off. Her bra was white, practical, straining to contain her.

"No," I said. "I don't care."

"Good." She reached behind her back, unhooked the bra. Her breasts fell free—heavy, full, with pale pink nipples hardening in the air-conditioned room. "Then show me."

I fucked the head librarian in her office surrounded by priceless manuscripts.

She was loud—louder than expected—and I had to cover her mouth to keep her quiet. The archive was supposed to be silent, after all.

"Mmmmph—" She moaned against my hand, her thick body shaking. "Yes—yes—"

I bent her over her desk. Drove into her. Her skirt bunched around her waist, her stockings torn, her dignified facade completely destroyed.

"Don't stop—" she gasped when I moved my hand. "For god's sake don't stop—"

I didn't.

She came three times before I finished. When I finally filled her, she collapsed across her desk, panting.

"The archives..." she managed.

"After."

"Now." She looked back at me. "Take what you need. I'll be here when you're done."

I found everything I needed for my thesis.

I also found reasons to keep returning.

The Marlowe folios. The Shakespeare quartos. The Milton manuscripts. Each one required a new visit. Each visit ended the same way.

"Your thesis must be incredibly thorough," my advisor said. "You've been in those archives more than any student I've seen."

"Mrs. Thorne has been very helpful."

"Has she? She has a reputation for being... difficult."

"She just needs the right approach."

I finished my thesis in record time.

Margaret was the first person I thanked in the acknowledgments. "For access to materials I never expected to find."

She retired the following year. Moved to a cottage outside the city.

I visit every weekend.

The archives might be closed, but her library is always open.