I never particularly enjoyed going to the library. Beyond the hassle of dealing with crosstown traffic to get there, it always seemed such a chore to find what I was looking for. Whether I was searching through the card catalogue, the microfilm reels, or even asking the librarian, everything moved at a snail's pace. Having to search through the stacks, access the hard copy, then flip through all the pages to pinpoint my reference material—it all seemed so archaic.
Searching online was so much more efficient. From the comfort of my home office, I could tap in a few search words and within a couple of clicks, get exactly what I wanted. Unfortunately, today, I had no choice but to do it the old-school way. I needed to reference some old newspaper ads to get some ideas for a design project I was working on, and only the library went as far back as I needed.
At least I could count on a relatively quiet environment to do my research. Normally, there were few distractions to get in the way of completing the task at hand. People seemed to respect the rules of public decorum in a library more than other public places like the movie theater or a restaurant. Freed from trilling cell phones and loud side chatter, everybody went about their personal business quietly and politely.
But, today, as I walked toward the microfiche department, something unusual caught my attention. A nun in full regalia stood at the reference desk talking with the librarian. There was something about her manner of dress that seemed out of place among the casual jeans and shorts that other library patrons wore. Her black and white hooded frock stood in sharp contrast to the colorful and largely bare-skinned wardrobe of the other customers.
Like many other bystanders, I caught myself slowing down to stare at her. I saw a few people whispering and snickering amongst themselves as they pointed at her, and I began to feel sorry for the woman. Why should we judge her any differently, I thought, for quietly practicing her faith? There was something admirable about anyone in today's age who could so thoroughly dispense with the material and ego trappings of the modern world.
I was about to continue on my way minding my own business, when the nun turned around. She was much younger than I expected, perhaps in her early twenties, and absolutely stunning. The only part of her that I could see was the front of her face from her chin to her eyebrows. The rest of her head was covered in a white balaclava and hood that draped past her shoulders. She wasn't wearing any makeup, which only seemed to magnify her beauty.
Her pretty face was highlighted with plump rosebud lips, high cheekbones, and soft brown eyebrows. But the feature that stood out most prominently was her eyes. Her irises had an arresting—almost haunting—azure blue color, glimmering like glacial pools surrounded by the snow white hood encircling her head. She could have been a supermodel, and for all I knew, maybe she was. How someone that stunning could turn her back on all the temptations and opportunity that would have fallen into her lap, was a mystery to me.
Now I was even more intrigued by this stranger, and as much as I wanted to respect her privacy, I simply couldn't take my eyes off her. The librarian handed her a piece of paper and as the nun headed in the direction of the stacks, I followed a safe distance behind. Her billowing robe covered her body almost to the floor, but I could tell from the tight cinch of her belt around her waist that she had a slender figure under her heavy clothes.
As she walked toward the stacks, I tried to discern the shape and contour of her body, but her heavy vestments wouldn't betray what secrets lay beneath. But this only added to her allure. It was what I couldn't see that made her even sexier. I began to undress her with my eyes, imagining a model-perfect figure to match her face, and bit my lip trying to stifle my rising passion. As my panties began to moisten, I felt ashamed responding to this innocent creature in this way, but I couldn't stop.
Get a hold of yourself, girl, I admonished myself, under my breath.
When she retreated into the narrow space between two tall stacks, I stopped by a chair and placed my hand on the backrest for support. I could hear my breath escalating in excitement and had become weak in the knees. I'd never encountered another person—man or woman—who'd had such a powerful and visceral effect on me. I pulled out the chair and sat down, pretending to look through my purse so as not to be obvious that I'd been following her.
There were some loose textbooks in the middle of the table, and I grabbed one and opened it, pretending to read. I had no idea what the subject matter was because my focus was blurred trying to watch the nun's movement out of the corner of my eye. My pussy was burning in excitement, and I crossed my legs and rubbed my thighs together, trying to give my aching clit some direct stimulation. If there hadn't been so many people around, I would have torn off my clothes and cum within seconds fingering myself.
The nun stood in front of the stack tracing her finger over the spine of some books, trying to cross-reference the call numbers with the paper the librarian had given her. Her eyebrows pinched together in confusion, and for a moment I considered going over to offer some help. But I wasn't sure I could even talk, let alone make any sense, I was so smitten by her beauty. When she leaned forward to take a closer look at one of the books, I squinted to see if I could catch the protrusion of her bosom. But there was nothing to be revealed. It was almost as if she had multiple layers under her clothes to camouflage any hint of her female form.
Those Catholics sure know how to design a uniform to conceal a woman's shape. But I suppose that's the whole point. To minimize the possibility of any temptation—from within or without.
She was wearing a virtually impenetrable barrier to the outside world. My mind began to wander, wondering what kind of undergarments she might be wearing. Was she wearing a traditional corset or a push-up bra? Granny panties or boy-shorts? Nylons or bare legs? Or maybe nothing at all?
You could get away with just about anything under all that get-up, I thought.
I could feel the wetness beginning to spread in the crotch of my tight jeans, and I squeezed my legs together to pull the inseam harder against my throbbing clit. When the nun kneeled down close to the floor to pull a book from the bottom shelf, I couldn't stop myself.
I wish she were kneeling over my face. Oh, how I could give her a taste of earthly delights.
I began to wonder if she'd ever felt the loving touch of another man or woman. Or if she'd even touched herself, for that matter. I didn't know much about a nun's vows, but I knew they had something to do with remaining chaste and renouncing most worldly pleasures. It was hard to imagine having no sexual feelings, but if they kept their bodies covered in this manner, it would certainly minimize temptation. The nun never seemed to look beyond her direct field of interest or make eye contact with anyone other than the person with whom she was transacting. Perhaps she'd been trained this way, because there were plenty of scantily clad attractive young men and women scattered about the room to distract one's attention.
Suddenly, she stood up and placed a book under her arm. Then she walked to the rear section of the stacks and turned to walk down the rear aisle beyond my line of sight. After a few moments, I stood up from my desk and went into an adjacent column of stacks to see if I could trace her movement. I pretended to search for a book but instead looked through the space between the shelves to peer through the stacks. I saw her black robe moving to the far rear corner of the library, where she sat down on a large upholstered reading chair.
I grabbed the largest book I could find then headed in the direction of the nun. Not wanting to appear too obvious, I stopped at another upholstered chair about thirty feet away, turned slightly in her direction. I sat down and crossed my legs, then opened the large book on top of my knee. I laughed at my lame attempt at subterfuge, but at least it afforded a modicum of privacy while enabling me to continue spying on my new obsession...
