Holly Walker adjusted her glasses, the familiar weight of them a comforting anchor as she shelved the last of the evening’s returns. The library was quiet except for the music playing in her wireless earbuds, some old 60s song whose melody was familiar, but not the lyrics.
She hummed along, a nervous habit, her mind drifting to the stack of papers on her desk. A thesis on rare book preservation was waiting for her attention, but she refused to give it any. It was too stressful to even think about it, and that was the last thing she needed.
Holly Walker had always been a woman of routine, her life as tidy as the shelves she maintained at the library. Each morning, she’d wake before dawn, brew a cup of Earl Grey, and sit by her window to watch the first light creep over the rooftops. Then she would choose her outfit carefully before heading out to work. Walking to it was not an option in the busy streets of Philadelphia, but that was what her trusty motorcycle was for. She loved the freedom she felt when riding it and wouldn’t trade it for any four-wheeled vehicle in the world.
Her routine was a carefully woven tapestry, each thread of habit and tradition stitched together with precision. It wasn’t just about structure; it was about finding solace in the predictable. And Holly took great joy in the small, mundane moments that made up her day. Like the way the steam curled off her tea in the morning, or the soft creak of the wooden floorboards beneath her feet as she shelved books. These were the things that grounded her, that made her feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Holly’s existence was a peaceful one, cultivated over years of solitude. But lately, that peace had been disrupted by a force far beyond her control.
Things had started to go downhill shortly after Margaret moved in next door. She was a tall, imposing woman with sharp features, a voice that could melt stone, and an air of quiet confidence that left Holly tongue-tied every time their paths crossed. Her presence haunted her waking life but also her dreams with vivid, consuming, and unrelenting pieces of imagery beyond anything she had ever imagined.
At first, the dreams were innocent enough: Holly imagined helping Margaret find a book or sitting together in awkward silence at the local cafe. But as time went on, the imagery grew more charged and intimate until Holly found herself waking up with a racing heart and a flush that lingered long after she opened her eyes.
One time, Holly was doing her final rounds in the library, ensuring everything was in its proper place. She loved this time of day, when the bustle of patrons had dwindled, and the space felt almost sacred. The scent of old paper and fresh ink lingered in the air, a familiar comfort she carried with her like a second skin.
As she returned to her desk, Holly saw Margaret emerge between the shelves. The librarian felt a jolt of surprise, her heart skipping a beat as she set the last book down on the desk. She hadn’t heard Margaret come in, and the suddenness of her presence made her pulse quicken. Margaret’s eyes met hers, sharp and knowing, as if she could see right through the layers of Holly’s carefully constructed composure.
Margaret’s smile was almost hypnotic. Mischievously, she said,
“You’ve been avoiding me, Holly, but you can’t hide from me here.”
Holly tried to respond, but she couldn’t. In the dream, her body was light, unmoored, as though she could float away if she didn’t hold on to something. Her neighbor’s steps echoed in the quiet of the library as her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of it filling her ears. 
Margaret reached out, her fingers brushing against Holly’s wrist. The touch sent a spark through her, a warmth that spread like wildfire. “You don’t have to be afraid,” Margaret murmured, her breath grazing Holly’s ear. “I know you feel it, too. This… pull between us. It’s not something you can ignore.”
Holly’s glasses were still perched on her nose, but everything seemed to blur around her, the edges of the world softening until all that was sharp and clear was Margaret. She could see the faint freckles across Margaret’s cheeks, the way her eyelashes caught the dim light. “You don’t have to be in control all the time, Holly,” Margaret said, her voice a gentle tease now. “Let go. Just for a moment.”
Holly’s hands were trembling, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she found herself leaning in, the space between them shrinking until their faces were inches apart. Margaret’s lips brushed against hers, a soft, fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a wave of heat through her. Holly felt her resolve crumble, her carefully constructed walls tumbling down with a single, perfect kiss.
The library around them melted away, the shelves disappearing into a haze of color and light. Margaret’s hands were in Holly’s hair, her touch firm but gentle, as she deepened the kiss. Holly felt herself drowning in it, the world narrowing to the feel of Margaret’s mouth on hers, and the way her hands cradled her face with a tenderness that made her ache.
While asleep, Holly wasn’t the tidy, meticulous woman she was in the waking world. She was wild and reckless, her hands exploring the contours of Margaret’s body with a boldness that would make her family blush. Her neighbor’s laughter echoed in her ears, a low, sultry sound that only made her bolder.
Holly got lost in it, in the way Margaret’s skin felt under her fingertips, and how her voice sounded when she whispered Holly’s name.
When Holly finally pulled away, her breath came in jagged gasps, her glasses fogged with the heat of their kisses. Margaret’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips curved into a knowing smile. “You see?” Margaret said, her voice low and husky. “You don’t have to be afraid. Not of me. Not of this.”
Margaret’s hands drifted down, first tracing the curve of Holly’s neck, and then her shoulders until they rested at the buttons of her blouse. Each one came undone with deliberate slowness, the fabric parting to reveal the soft expanse of skin beneath. Holly’s breath caught in her throat as Margaret’s lips followed the trail of her fingers, pressing gentle kisses against her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, and the rise of her chest.
The edge of the desk was cool against Holly’s back as Margaret eased her against it. Papers and pens were scattered, forgotten, as Holly’s hands found their way to the buttons of Margaret’s shirt, her fingers trembling but determined. The cotton gave way, revealing the toned planes of Margaret’s body, and Holly’s heart raced as she traced the contours with her fingertips.
Margaret’s laughter was low, a sound that vibrated against Holly’s skin as she leaned in, her mouth meeting Holly’s once more. This time, the kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if they were both trying to bridge the gap that had existed between them for so long. The edge of the desk dug into Holly’s butt cheeks, but she didn’t care—she was too lost in the feel of Margaret’s hands. They knew exactly where to touch her and how to make her ache.
They moved with a rhythm that was both practiced and raw, a dance of give and take that left Holly breathless. Margaret’s hands were everywhere, her touch igniting fires that Holly had never known existed within her. And yet, despite the heat building between them, there was a tenderness to it all, a sense of care that made Holly feel vulnerable yet safe.
The library’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the bookshelves loomed around them, silent witnesses to a moment that was both fleeting and eternal. Holly’s glasses had long since been set aside, but she didn’t need them to see the way Margaret looked at her, like she was the only person in the world, like she was home.
As Margaret’s hands continued their gentle exploration, Holly slipped into a state of pure sensation. Margaret’s touch was like a symphony, each note meticulously played to draw out the deepest, most hidden desires Holly had ever harbored. 
The librarian’s fingers curled around the edge of the desk, her knuckles white as she struggled to stay focused on anything but the sweltering passion between them. 
Margaret’s voice, soft and persuasive, urged her to let go. “Feel this, Holly,” she murmured, her breath a tantalizing whisper against Holly’s ear. “Feel how good it can be.”
As Margaret’s fingers grazed her breasts, Holly gasped, the sound catching in her throat. Her hands, no longer trembling, found their way to Margaret’s hips, pulling her closer with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. Margaret obliged, her body pressing against Holly’s, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. The desk creaked softly under the pressure, but neither of them noticed.
The room around them seemed to melt further away, the bookshelves fading into a blur of color and shadow. The only sounds around were the soft hum of the lights, the quiet rasp of their breathing, and the occasional rustle of fabric as their bodies moved together. Margaret’s touch grew more insistent, her hands tracing paths over Holly’s skin with a precision that left her gasping. Each stroke of her fingers was a promise, a whispered vow of the pleasure that was to come.
“Look at me,” Margaret whispered, her voice low and commanding. Holly’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Margaret’s gaze. In that moment, there was no hesitation, no fear, no doubt. “You don’t need control. You don’t need a meticulously ordered life. You need this - pure freedom to be everything you’ve always been but were too afraid to admit. You need to give in, and you will.”
Margaret’s hands found the zipper of her skirt, the sound of it sliding down a sharp, crisp note in the otherwise silent room. The fabric pooled around her ankles, leaving her exposed and vulnerable, but Holly felt no shame, only a raw, unbridled desire.
Then Margaret found her way into Holly’s panties. Her hands, now steady and deliberate, hooked under the waistband, sliding the fabric down her thighs with tantalizing slowness.
“Let go, Holly,” Margaret murmured, her voice a soft, persuasive whisper in Holly’s ear. “Let me give you the surrender you need.”
Holly’s resolve crumbled, her body surrendering to the tidal wave of pleasure that crashed over her. She soared, weightless and free, as the world around her dissolved into a kaleidoscope of color and sound. Margaret’s hands held her steady, her touch guiding her through the crest of the wave until she finally came back to herself, her breath ragged and her body trembling.
When they finally came together, it was with a quiet intensity, the world narrowing to the space between them. Holly felt the rush of heat, the way their bodies moved in perfect sync, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was no past, no future, only the present, only the two of them, lost in the beauty of their connection.
Afterward, they lay tangled together on the floor, the cool wood a stark contrast to the warmth of their skin. It was a strange sensation and yet perfect, as if she had been entranced time and time again on the road to climax. 
Holly smiled, her cheeks still flushed, her body still humming with the aftershocks of what they’d shared. “I think you might be bad for my routines,” she said.
Margaret’s laughter filled the space between them, warm and inviting. “Maybe,” she said, her lips brushing against Holly’s shoulder. “But what a way to break the rules.”
These were not the dreams of a timid, reserved librarian. These were the dreams of a woman consumed, a woman who craved control, who yearned to be led, to be taken, to be owned. And each morning, Holly would wake, her sheets drenched, her heart pounding, and a lingering sense of shame mixed with something far more dangerous—anticipation.
As the days passed, Holly found herself becoming increasingly withdrawn. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing Margaret, not when the memory of her touch still lingered on her skin. She began avoiding their usual pleasantries in the hallway, ducking into her apartment before Margaret could so much as say hello. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the pull of those green eyes, and how they saw right through her.
One evening, as she was trying to get some rest after an exhausting work day, Holly’s mind wandered back to the latest dream. In this one, she’d been tied to a chair, her wrists bound by silk scarves, while Margaret circled her, a sly smile playing on her lips. “You’ve been such a good girl, Holly,” Margaret had said, her fingers trailing over Holly’s collarbone. “But I think it’s time you learned what it means to truly surrender.”
Margaret produced a pendant, a delicate silver chain with a sparkling ruby hanging from it. The swinging jewel caught the light of the library, refracting it into tiny, dancing shards of color. Holly’s eyes, wide with curiosity and apprehension, followed the movement of the pendant as Margaret swayed it gently back and forth.
“Watch it, Holly,” Margaret murmured, her voice smooth and melodic, like a lullaby. “Just watch it and let go. Let me show you what it means to feel pleasure without bounds, without control, without fear.”
Holly’s breath hitched as she swallowed hard, her throat dry. The books on the shelves blurred into indistinct shapes, and all that remained was Margaret’s voice and the shimmering crystal swinging in front of her.
The moment Margaret’s fingers grazed the pendant, a shiver cascaded down Holly’s spine, as though an electric current had leaped from the ruby, crackling invisibly but unmistakably through the air. The pendant glistened under the soft light, its faceted surface catching and reflecting a spectrum of colors. Holly felt her skin prickling, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of her blouse as a flush spread across her cheeks. Her pulse raced, the rhythmic thudding of her heart echoing in her ears like a distant yet insistent drumbeat, each beat amplifying the charged atmosphere between them.
“Relax,” Margaret said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Let go. Feel the power of not having any power at all.”
The words were a command, but they were soft, inviting. Holly’s shoulders sagged slightly, her body betraying her even as her mind wrestled with the idea of surrendering. The pendant continued its slow sway, and with each pass, a strange, creeping warmth spreading through the librarian’s body. It started in her chest, where the pendant seemed to draw her gaze, and radiated outward, pooling in her belly and then lower, until her thighs pressed together to ease the growing ache.
Margaret’s eyes locked onto Holly’s, her gaze steady and unyielding. “You feel it, don’t you?” she asked. “You feel it building, spreading through you like fire. Don’t fight it. Let it burn.”
Holly’s lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words to speak. Instead, she swayed slightly, her body drawn to Margaret’s as if by an invisible thread.
The pendant continued its hypnotic dance, and with each swing, the warmth inside Holly intensified. It was as if every nerve in her body had come alive, every cell tingling with anticipation.
“You’re mine, Holly,” Margaret said, her voice soft but filled with a quiet authority. “You’ve always been mine. And now, you’re going to let me show you exactly what that means.”
As if on cue, the warmth inside Holly surged, peaking in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that left her gasping. Her body tightened, her muscles coiling like a spring, and then, with a soft cry, she let go. The release was explosive, a cascade of sensation that rippled through her like a shockwave. Her knees buckled, but Margaret was there, catching her by the elbows and holding her steady as the pleasure washed over her.
When it finally receded, Holly was limp, her body trembling as if she’d been run through with electricity. Margaret’s hands were warm on her arms, grounding her as she swayed. The pendant had stopped swinging, and the room came back into focus slowly, as if emerging from a fog.
Holly drooled, her eyes wide and dazed. She looked up at Margaret, her expression marred by disbelief. “How…?” she said, her voice barely audible.
Margaret’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she reached up to brush a strand of hair from Holly’s face. “You didn’t need to be touched to feel that, did you?” she said softly. “You didn’t need control to let go. That’s the freedom I’ve been trying to show you. That’s what it means to truly be yourself.”
Holly’s cheeks flushed deeper, her mind racing as she processed what had just happened. She had never felt anything like it—pleasure so intense it had left her breathless and trembling, and yet it had all been so… effortless. No touch, no friction, just the simple, hypnotic sway of the pendant and the sound of Margaret’s voice.
Just a dream and yet so real… a longing that could very well be her future if she opened herself to the sapphic desires blooming inside her.
Holly couldn’t sleep that night, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as she replayed the vivid details of her latest dream. The memory of Margaret’s voice, the sway of the pendant, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure without control lingered in her mind like a haunting melody. She tossed and turned, the sheets tangled around her legs, her body still humming with the echoes of what she’d felt. But it wasn’t just the physical sensations that left her restless—it was the realization that these feelings were no longer confined to her dreams.
When the first light of dawn crept through her windows, Holly finally gave up the pretense of trying to rest. She sat up, running her hands through her disheveled hair, her fingers trembling slightly. She couldn’t ignore it anymore, the way her body responded at the mere thought of Margaret, the way her heart skipped a beat whenever their paths crossed in the hall. She had been avoiding Margaret for weeks, ducking into her apartment before they could exchange more than a fleeting glance. But the truth was, Holly couldn’t keep running.
She stood and began to pace, her bare feet making soft creaks against the floorboards as she tried to sort through the chaos in her mind. What was she so afraid of?
Holly stopped in front of her mirror, her reflection staring back at her with eyes that seemed to hold a mixture of fear and longing. She barely recognized the woman looking back at her. This wasn’t the timid, reserved librarian who had once lived entirely within the pages of her books. This was someone else, someone who yearned to step into the unknown, to surrender to the pull of something she couldn’t fully understand.
And yet, despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, Holly felt a spark of resolve ignite within her. What if she stopped running? What if she let herself feel, truly feel, without the armor of control or the shields of routine? The thought was terrifying, but it was also… exhilarating.
She took a deep breath, her hands steadying as she gripped the edge of the dresser. The decision wasn’t easy, but as the weight of her emotions settled in her chest, Holly knew what she had to do. She couldn’t keep letting fear dictate her life.
The walk to Margaret’s apartment was short, but it felt like an eternity. Her legs were heavy, and her mind was filled with every outcome of what was about to happen. But with each step, her resolve grew stronger. 
When she finally stood outside Margaret’s door, her hand trembled as she reached out to knock. The sound echoed through the hallway, a simple yet profound declaration of her intentions. She took a deep breath and waited.
And as she stood there, the world around her melting away with each passing second, Holly knew that no matter what happened next, she had made the right decision. It was worth the shot.

THE END