Wouldn't a quiet, reserved female student be able to lick every inch of her body without telling anyone? A plain-looking librarian, even when licked and violated by her homeroom teacher, can't resist and climaxes repeatedly.
She's shy about speaking in front of others and has a habit of reading with her eyes downcast. She can't refuse when pressured, and there's a slight pause before she says "yes"—Sakakibara is incredibly cute. She likes quiet places. The smell of the library. The sound of paper rustling. And the way she freezes when I get close. That's why I don't touch her. I lick her. Slowly, tracing her neck, behind her ears, her cheeks. Not too hard. Not rushing. Just continuing to lick her slowly and deliberately. She's weak to pressure, and her body reacts before she can even utter a word of refusal. Saying "no," she loses her reason to escape. I lick her, confirming. I lick her, teaching her. She's getting used to being licked. This isn't instruction. It's not domination either. I'm simply experiencing her "vulnerability" as an adult, from the closest possible perspective. Before I knew it, in the quietness of a library, she was the one whose eyes were waiting for my tongue. —So today, too, I'll lick.
