Chained, whipped librarians

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Letha Gerard sat naked on a stool in the bathroom of her suburban condominium. She spread her long shapely legs and slid her hands down from the taut plane of her trim belly to the softly padded dome of her pussy mound.

Slender fingers teased through a broad wedge of blonde cunt hair. With the fingers of one hand, she parted the puffed outer lips of her juicy pink pussy slit.

With the long middle finger of the other hand, she teased the moist bud of her tingling clit. Letha climaxed with her fingertip.

"Oh, God," she moaned, still trembling. "I need a big cock!"

Letha was thirty-two, widowed three years before by a motorcycle accident that took the life of her sexy and extremely well-hung husband. She had never fully recovered from that loss, and no one knew what tormenting need there was in her simmering pussy.

Letha had gone to work at a branch library, where she was strictly supervised by a prudish bitch with a rigidly old-fashioned moral code.

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