Late Fee (Patreon)

It's a quiet and uneventful morning at Spoonerville College as Miss Marpole stands at the checkout desk stamping return dates onto library book cards. The usual morning rush of students has come and gone leaving only a handful of undergraduates scattered about. Other than the usual shushing gesture directed at the more rambunctious youth, all is quiet.

On Mondays, Sylvia makes a point of seeking out students who have overdue books and reminding them to return them, lest they start incurring late fees. Granted, it's only twenty cents per day, but after thirty days school policy requires her to send the offending student a letter. Twenty cents per day, per book, doesn't sound like a lot, but it adds up pretty quickly when you're a poor, unemployed student living in the dorms and on the 'ramen noodle diet'.

Case in point...and a repeat offender...one Maximilian Goof. Currently, he has five books that he's yet to return...and Sylvia has honestly lost count of how many times she's had to send him a warning letter.

Sitting at a table next to one another, Max and PJ pretend to be studying, but are there to do nothing but ogle the girls at a nearby table. A table away, Lisa and her redheaded bestie do much the same...though, they have little interest in the two nerds sitting nearby. Transfixed on the shapely blonde, neither Max nor PJ notice when Miss Marpole steps from around her desk and ambles their way.

Standing between the two boys, both of them oblivious to her presence, Sylvia is just about to say something when... Glancing down, Sylvia's eyes widen, noticing the tremendous bulge in Max's skin-tight jeans. Even soft...or at least she assumes it is...it's easily eight inches long and the same diameter as her wrist. For as long as she's been dating Goofy...no slouch in the girth and length department himself...how has she never noticed the giant that his son is sporting?

Blinking, suddenly self-conscious of herself staring down at the boy's crotch, Sylvia's eyes dart around to see if anyone has noticed. Seeing that no one is looking, the bespectacled librarian rolls her eyes in embarrassment, and then clears her throat to get the young man's attention.

Sylvia: Mr. Goof, a word, please.

Startled, and wide-eyed, both Max and PJ jump in their chairs as they turn towards her. Sylvia, however, has already wheeled about...walking back to her desk so as not to draw their gaze to her flushed, crimson cheeks. They, however, can't help but not to notice tops of her thigh-high stockings sneaking out from below her short skirt. If anything, dating Max's father has given the mousy woman a lot more self-confidence. Gone are the ankle-length dresses, close-toed pumps, and a sweater...replaced with plunging necklines, back-seamed stockings, and mile-high stilettos.

PJ: (whispering) Dude. I would totally do your dad's girlfriend.

Pushing his chair back and standing up, Max wrinkles his nose at his best friend, silently mouthing 'fuck you' before turning and walking towards the front counter. Some twenty feet behind her, Max watches as the now not-so-timid librarian bends down as she walks, tugging at the hem of her tight, knit miniskirt. PJ, however, isn't wrong. Mousy or not, if it wasn't for his dad, Max would've tried to get her out of said skirt long ago.

Stepping behind the desk, Sylvia returns to stamping dates in her stack of returned books. Max in turn leans against the desk, resting an elbow on a stack of yet-to-be-shelved books, as he gives the timid woman a confident grin.

Max: What's shakin', Sylvia?

Seemingly businesslike and unimpressed, Sylvia purposely doesn't make eye contact with him. Now that she's seen what Max is packing, she can't un-see it...her eyes instinctively draw downward. Instead, she looks over the young man's shoulder and clears her throat.

Sylvia: (waggling a finger) Uh, uh, uhhhh. You know the rules. It's 'Miss Marpole' while I'm at work.

Max: Right. Sorry. So, what's shakin', Missus M?

Sylvia: Yet again, I find myself reviewing your tally of un-returned books, Mr. Goof. The total fines now exceed twenty dollars, necessitating that I, yet again, send you a letter to collect said fine.

Max: Oh, that... Right. I swear I put that check in the mail just yesterday.

Max musters his sweetest, toothy smile, batting his eyelashes theatrically. Sylvia, however, looks over her glasses with an impassive glare, unmoved by his campy display.

Sylvia: Have you got something in your eye, Mr. Goof?

Max: Errr... No, I was... (sighs) Is there some kinda way we can work this out?  A payment plan or something? Maybe I've got...

Sylvia rolls her eyes and sighs, watching as Max digs in his pockets, presumably for some forgotten money. In doing so, her eyes instinctively gravitate downward, fixing on the bulge in Max's pants. Just as he looks back up at her, Sylvia's eyes quickly dart towards the far wall, again trying not to make eye contact with him.

Sylvia: I... I suppose we can allow some leeway this time, Mr. Goof. If payment isn't forthcoming in...

Max: Cool! Thanks, Sylv... Errr, I mean... Thanks, Missus M!

Max gives her a wink as he wheels around, scampering off before Sylvia can finish her sentence. Closing her eyes, she sighs as she shakes her head, embarrassed by her lack of self-control. Taking in a long inhale to clear her thoughts, Sylvia picks up her rubber stamp as she opens her eyes, letting a long exhale as she goes back to stamping book cards.

Hours pass, Max and PJ having departed long ago, leaving only a handful of sleep-eyed students here and there. All the while, Sylvia can't seem to get Max out of her head, her imagination getting the better of her in the quiet and nearly empty hall. Ten thousand books and periodicals at her disposal...plenty of opportunities to occupy her mind...but she just can't help imagining what his eight inches of flesh would look and feel like at full engorgement.

Visions of her and the young man, back in the stacks, pushed over a cart of books, his enormity driving into her from behind again and again. On her knees, fistfuls of her red hair pulling her mouth down Max's shaft. Atop her desk, he on his back, grinding her vulva against his base, his massive girth filling every void and fold as she howls with delight.

Sylvia scarcely notices that she's slipped and hand to her crotch, her finger pressing against her clitoris through her knit skirt. Eyes squinted shut, one hand kneading the hyper-sensitive spot, her other hand driven by muscle memory, endlessly stamping and stamping. Minutes pass, driving herself closer and closer, teeth gritted, stamping louder and louder, she lets out a wavering squeak of pleasure.

Slumped over, panting, her eyes suddenly spring open, darting around to see if she's drawn any attention. A snoring student at the far end of the library jerks awake and looks around sleepily, a piece of paper stuck to his face. Sylvia sighs in relief...no one seems to have noticed. Looking down, letting the rubber stamp slip her grasp, she can't help but notice that she's been stamping the same book card over and over...the entire three-by-five-inch index card covered in black ink.

Sylvia: (thinking) Alright. Get it together, Sylvia. That's your boyfriend's son for heaven's sake.

Sylvia closes her eyes, takes in a long inhale through her nose, and exhales from her mouth, trying to clear her mind and relax. She, however, is hardly a zen master from the far east. No sooner has she taken in a second breath when the vivid image of Max reappears. Naked and grinning, he strokes the massive length of his hyper-envisioned johnson.

Max: The check's in the mail, Missus M.

Sylvia's eyes snap open.

Goofy be damned, she's gotta know...gotta see for herself...gotta have it inside her. Giving one last look around the near-empty library, she snatches her cell phone from her purse and makes her way to the back of the stacks. Passing the periodicals, through the endless shelves of fictional classics, all the way back to where the dusty and seldom-read reference material lives.

One last glance around, listening for footsteps or the rustle of books being slipped from shelving, Sylvia reaches behind her back and unzips her skirt. Wriggling her hips as she pushes the stretchy garment over her hips, she lets it slip to her ankles. Grasping the bottom hem of her low-cut, cashmere shirt...and another survey of her surroundings...she pulls the soft material up and over her head. Left with only a pair of white, cotton panties and a strapless push-up bra, Sylvia holds her cell phone out at arm's length, her thumb poised over the shutter button.

Hardly the selfie queen, Sylvia is unaccustomed to sending semi-clothed pictures to men. Sure, she's sent Goofy the occasional 'bedroom eyes, bra strap pull' selfie or...if she's feeling especially randy...maybe a little areola showing. Hardly the full-on, full-frontal that she's seen some of her more outgoing girlfriends send their significant others. Twisting this way and that, unable to decide which particular body part she wants to emphasize, the semi-nude librarian rolls her eyes and sighs.

Sylvia: (whispering) Ohhh, fuck it.

Reaching behind her back, she unclasps her bra, releasing her perfectly proportioned, tan-lined c-cups from their velvety prison. Another hip-wriggling trip downward leaves her with only a pair of lined, thigh-high stockings and a smile. Placing the phone on a shelf, fidgeting to line up the shot, she hits the timer function and presses the shutter button. As an afterthought, Sylvia grabs a random book from a nearby shelf and covers her nether regions, an arm demurely draped across her breasts. Gotta leave a little to the imagination.

Satisfied with the picture, she types out some quick, flirty text...smirking at its semi-unambiguous message. Her finger hovering over the 'send' button, she suddenly freezes in place. Wide-eyed with horror, the all-but-naked librarian watches as the same sleepy-eyed student from before comes into view. Much to her relief, he ambles past the end of the aisle, disappearing without so much as a sideways glance. Utterly frantic, not even bothering to fumble with her undergarments, she clumsily throws on her skirt and top...pausing only to hit send before making a bee-line back to her desk.

Moments later, up in Max and PJ's dorm room, a game controller in hand, Max ignores his cell phone as it alerts him to a text. PJ, dutifully packing a bowl, glances over at Max's phone.

PJ: Uhhhh... Dude?  Why's your dad's uber-hot girlfriend texting you?

Blinking, distracted from his game, Max picks up the device. Clicking through a few unanswered texts, he comes to Sylvia's...there's an attachment. Thinking that it's probably just some library-related bill, he clicks on it. PJ looks on, puzzled by his best friend's sudden wide-eyed, gaping-mouth expression. Max spring to his feet as if he'd been zapped by some unseen electrical shock, frantically looking around as he bolts toward the door.

PJ: Sup, bro?

Max: I... I gotta... Dude, where are my shoes?

PJ: Ummm... On your feet, dude. (gesturing to his pipe) You wanna hit this?

Max: I... Uhhh... Naw, man. Gotta go back to the library. Forgot something.

PJ: You sure, dude? This is some primo shit.

Max slams the door behind him, bolting down the hallway, nearly running into a couple of undergrads as he goes. PJ in turn brings the pipe up to his face while flicking a lighter.

PJ: Your loss, dude.

Original Art by authorialnoice

Commissioned by Phillipthe2