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Clive hated the library. He could never get work done in there. The silence was oppressive, and he was always on edge about disturbing others or breaking some unwritten code of studying etiquette. These were things he never worried about it in the comfort of his own room. However, due to events beyond his control he now found himself on the fourth floor of the main library, hunched over a table, trying to stifle a hardon that had been going strong for the past twenty minutes.

The raccoon had been sexiled, yet again. Ever since his roommate, a ferret named Ben, had started dating this vixen Sheila, he had grown accustomed to spending time in places other than his room. Most nights, the nympho bitch strolled into their room with her purse, which Clive guessed was full of toys, and she gave Clive a smile that said "Get the fuck out, please."

On other occasions, he had just gone to a friend's room or wandered around campus, thinking, writing things in a little notebook he carried at all times. But tonight he actually had to get work done, and their RA had commandeered the common area on their floor for some lame hall get-together. So there he was, stuck in the library, too busy thinking about what the fox was getting Ben to do tonight to do the assigned reading on his screen. Hence, the tent in his shorts.

He rubbed his eyes hard and shook his head, trying to chase those images from his mind. Leaning forward, he again tried to start on the article in his browser, but after two paragraphs, he decided he really didn't give a shit what Weber had to say about asceticism. Not when his dick was being this insistent.

Clive wasn't sure why he was so horny tonight. It could have been just thinking about what the fox and ferret were getting into, and depending on what it was, wishing he could join them. He had asked Ben before what Sheila thought of threesomes, and his roommate had played along for a bit, musing about what it would be like to share Sheila. The ferret lost his sense of humor quickly though when the raccoon said that he figured it would be Ben in the middle, just based off of what he had heard from their neighbors.

Perhaps it was just being in the library, a public facility. Studying in his room like he normally did wasn't particularly exciting. If he got hard, he could jerk off and get back to work. In the library, there was more at stake, though. He had to worry about people noticing that he was aroused, and there wasn't a convenient way to get satisfied. Add in his recent exhibitionist kick, and he was thinking through the possibility of trying to rub one out under the table without calling attention to himself. That thought alone was enough to make sure he would stay hard.

But the true death knell for his productivity was when he began to think about writing.

Clive wrote smut. He had fallen into the habit early on in the hormonal teen phase of his life. Like most people, discovering porn had been a journey, starting with videos and quickly burning out on their artifice, but not before he realized that he was equally turned on by both the girl getting plowed and the guy doing the plowing. Next, he got into drawn porn, joining various communities and following hundreds of talented artists, capable of putting things on his screen that he thought he could only get off to in his fantasies. He basked momentarily in the idealism of vision.

It was almost an accident that Clive stumbled into the story section of one of the sites he visited. Nothing else had been doing it for him that night, and so on a whim, the raccoon found a story with some tags that appealed to him, just to give it a shot. He remembered it vividly, a short farce about a chubby raccoon taking advantage of an uppity bunny on top of a life-guard stand. Needless to say, he was aghast when he found himself coming before he had even reached the end. He devoured erotic literature of all kinds after that, acquainting himself with the small enclaves of writers all over the web, and he came to understand that even though pictures were worth a thousand words, it took people like this to put those words in order. People like him.

When Clive first started writing himself, his output was slow. He was careful, set on delivering something close to the level put out by his favorite authors. It was thrilling for him, every word that he typed, every keystroke shaping his fantasies for others to read. There was something so much more intimately arousing about having to read and process words than he could ever achieve by looking at an image, no matter how talented the artist was.

In time, his contributions to the e-lit portions of his favorite sites became prolific, and yet as he matured, Clive grew frustrated. Not with other writers, but with the site owners. Though he and others had made several suggestions about how to improve the writers' corners as far as formatting, browsing, and display, their requests fell on deaf ears. He was told that each site catered primarily to artists - as if he wasn't one - and that the e-lit sections were adequate.

Clive had dreams of someday making a site just for stories, simply smut. Uncluttered and unfettered by the bonds of visual art, a place for readers and writers by readers and writers. Still he didn't let his discontent get in the way of his effort, and in his current situation, he was feeling inspired.

The raccoon had gotten the idea for his latest story when he came back to the room a bit too early one night, and he had overheard Sheila telling Ben their "schedule" for the rest of the week. His mind had been in the gutter long enough to take that notion and run, run, run.

Clive looked around. He was seated in the middle of a row of tables to the side of the stacks. There were only a few other people in the same area, nobody at either of the tables flanking his, all of them facing away from him. Convenient. The coon closed out of his homework and brought up the draft he had in progress, reading over what he had so far.

The fox sat at her desk with the phone pressed to her ear, twirling the cord around her finger. "Yes sir," she said. "Mhm, I'll be sure to let him know." She hung up and made a few changes to the large calender laying on her desk. "Sir, that was Bill from corporate, he says he's not going to be able to make it today."

She was addressing the ferret underneath her desk with his tongue threaded through the fly of her pantsuit. All she got was a grunt between licks as acknowledgement.

"Would you like me to go over the schedule for the rest of the day?"

Another grunt.

She read from the calendar. "At 2:00, you have a conference call with Jane and Edgar about the company retreat next month. Then at 2:30, Larry down in HR need to meet with you about some discrepancies with our casual Friday policy." She had to suppress a yip as the ferret's tongue plunged deeper into her pussy. "And then with Bill canceling, we'll have time at 3:00 for me to break you in with my new strap-on before Stan from the warehouse bends you over your desk at 4:00."

The ferret relented for a moment and the sound of another fly being unzipped came from under the desk. Then he was slurping at her slit again, jerking slightly as the unmistakable sound of paw on prick began to accompany his avid grunting.

"Do try and contain yourself, sir," said the fox. "I just had my claws done yesterday."

Clive tried to arrange himself in a way that would better conceal his boner. He settled on the completely unnatural position of having his legs crossed while leaning forward, and then started typing. His tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth as he wrestled with each sentence, struggling to get each one just so. It was as he was thinking over how he wanted things to progress that he realized one of his hands had strayed down to his crotch and was gently massaging his rigid cock. A totally unconscious maneuver.

Something had to be done.

The raccoon looked around again. No one had moved.

Quiet as he could, Clive pulled up one of the legs of his mesh shorts, letting his cock flop out against his leg (He rarely wore underwear). He scooted his chair up so that there was barely any room between him and the table and wrapped his fingers around his shaft, slowly stroking it, trying not to make noise.

His face burned beneath the furred mask while he masturbated as discretely as possible, still jabbing at the keyboard with his other hand. It took immense effort to keep his paw restrained and not let it fly into a furious flurry of fapping, but going slower was almost more pleasurable. He could feel his pulse throbbing through the rod in his hand. With each upstroke, a new pre-drop emerged from his tip, and with each downstroke he could feel it lose its grip and fall to the floor. He bit his lip to stop himself from moaning lewdly in the middle of the library.

When he thought he was getting close, he detected movement in his peripheral vision. He looked to his left and saw a collie walking towards him through the stack. Clive stopped mid-stroke and squeezed his cock hard. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as his mind raced. Could the dog see him? Could he tell what he was doing? His dick was hanging out on the side closest to the windows, so he shouldn't look suspicious, should he? But was his posture off? Did he look like someone masturbating underneath the table in the library? He had been really close to coming, like really, and he was squeezing his dick really hard, like vice-grip hard, and it still felt really good, and there was pressure building and oh god he was about to come, he was going to come and this dog would see him and then-

The collie drew level with Clive and turned right, walking in the direction opposite that which the raccoon was facing. The dog wasn't two steps past Clive when he began shaking with the force of his orgasm. Cum shot out of the raccoon's cock, arcing randomly and hitting the underside of the table, the tiled floor, and Clive's leg. As he quaked in his seat, he couldn't think of anything but how good it felt to get release. His faculties returned once he was spent, his cock dripping its last into a small puddle between his feet.

He sighed, slumping into his chair. There was something nagging at the corner of his mind, though, and Clive jerked back to attention as he realized that the Collie was standing a few feet behind him, looking at him.

"Are you ok, dude?" asked the dog. "Your tail was going crazy just a second ago."

Clive looked at the fluffy, ringed appendage sticking out the back of his chair as if only just noticing it was there before saying, "Oh, uh. Yeah, you know, it's just, um. Stress." He smiled nervously.

The collie kept staring at him for a few more seconds. He sniffed at the air a couple of times and then shrugged, moving on.

The raccoon turned back to his computer, reeling from the close call. He saved the document and then packed up his things, walking briskly toward the exit without a backward glance.

It was just way too hard to get things done in the library.