____________________________ | | /)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\ / )| DIRECTORIES |( \ __( (|____________________________|) )__ ((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / ))) (\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///) \ / \ / \ _/ \_ / / / \ \ o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o o o o All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for o o profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance. o o o o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o o and should not be read by minors. o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o An Exercise in Nonverbal Communication by Anonymous Author (c) 1991 (Rusty & Eddie) *** They stand in the hallway grinning like fiends, each momentarily absorbed in warm contemplation of the other. Reasserting his capacity for motion, he leans forward and licks the tip of her nose while producing a keyring from the right pocket of his trenchcoat. A good show is made of his attempting to dodge her well-aimed tickling while flicking through the keys and opening the door. He reaches to his sides, taking both of her hands, and leads her into the warm, dimly-lit room beyond. She glances around her surroundings as he releases her hands with a parting squeeze; the room is lit only by a small electric nightlight, evidently soon to be replaced by the illumination of the candles he is distributing about the room and lighting. The place is not large, perhaps four meters by five. There are a pair of beds, a pair of desks, and a small refrigerator present; the mattress of one of the beds rests in the middle of the floor, adorned with several pillows, a comforter, and a sheet atop that. She smirks at this. There prove to be five candles; he extinguishes the nightlight and punches a button on a small portable stereo. Inside is a tape he prepared for the occasion; the song that begins playing is, unusually enough, the Sisters of Mercy cover of the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter". The rhythm is exquisite. He stands before her and traces the shape of her cheek with the long nails of his left hand. She says, "And where --", but he places a finger over her full, beautiful lips, smiling. She bites it, and he tries to pull the endangered finger back; she purses her lips, withdraws her teeth, and applies light suction, giving the digit a flick of her tongue as it slips away. With a grin and a low growl, or perhaps a purr, he moves his head forward, angling it for a kiss. She does the same, and only mutual skill prevents them from banging their teeth together; they emerge from the cusp victorious, however, and celebrate by kissing long and hard. Their tongues dance and thrust, her fingers tangle in his leonine mane of hair, his arms reach to enfold her and draw their bodies together; an occasional happy gasp or moan escapes their embrace. They move together to the music, giving over consciousness to those parts of their minds which work with rhythms, patterns, flows. They break the kiss at what they sense to be the proper moment. He takes her hand and leads her across the mattress to the refrigerator, grinning. He motions for her to open the door, which she does; inside are some of the tools of the night's endeavors. While she examines them, he takes off his coat and hangs it on a wall hook; he then removes the items one by one and places them on a chair near the mattress. First is a can of plain whipped cream, followed by one of the chocolate- flavored variety. After that comes a container of fresh, ripe strawberries; last to emerge is a jar of bright red maraschino cherries. To these items he adds a bottle of flavored massage oil and a package of extra-thin condoms from a desk drawer. While this is occurring, "Gimme Shelter" ends and is replaced by a variety of quiet, unobtrusive, relaxing music that makes heavy use of rainstorm sounds. He motions for her to raise her arms, and draws her shirt up over her head when she complies. A quick examination of her bra reveals that fate is with him; it is a front-clasp design, easily dealt with. She is somewhat surprised and disappointed when he spares only an appreciative gaze on her beautiful breasts, not even stopping to rub the erect nipples; he appears to have a purpose in mind. Her shoes, socks, and jeans are dealt with in short order, with the aid of the still-mattressed bed; her black lace panties are given more ceremony. At his urging, she stands and strikes a pose or three, appraised most positively by her audience. He then kneels before her and slowly pulls away the black lace concealing her dark-haired sex. Again he touches only with his gaze, and now she is a bit frustrated. Ignoring it, she looks him up and down with an eyebrow raised; he grins, concurring that he is indeed overdressed. He rapidly strips, pausing to give a little wiggle of his hips as he removes his underwear, which draws a light laugh. His ample phallus is half-erect, and she reaches for it; he pulls back, though, smiling and shaking a finger chastisingly. Now she actually pouts, and does so well. Seemingly impervious, he indicates the mattress with an expansive gesture. Firing off a final martyred expression, she lies down atop the white sheet on her back; he motions for her to roll over, and after a moment's oh-really? look, she flips onto her stomach, grabbing a pair of pillows to support her head. Glancing backward, she sees him applying massage oil to his hands, and lies her head back down with a contented smile. A moment later she feels a slippery touch on her feet; he is beginning there and working his way up. His hands are strong and practiced, liquid, leaching muscular tension from her and replacing it with another kind. The oil tingles warmly on her skin, and he seems quite determined to drive her insane, giving special attention to her inner thighs but obstinately leaving the warmth of her nearby cunt untouched. She rocks her hips when his hand is nearby, to no avail. Finally he works his way up to her shoulders; when these have been treated, he has her turn over, and starts again with her feet. This time, when he reaches the junction of her thighs, he applies the oil to her mons veneris with four swift thumb motions, drawing a gasp, and moves on, drawing a moan of frustrated desire. The same callous treatment is given her nipples. The tingling of the oil on her primary erogenous zones approaches unbearability. During this time, the music changes again, from the anonymous relaxation- music to sensual Enigma. When he again reaches her shoulders, he wipes his oily hands on the sheet (the purpose of which is the absorption of the oil) and smiles benevolently at her. She can see that his cock is fully, perhaps painfully, erect. She meets his gaze and returns a pleading look. By way of answer, he takes her head in both hands and kisses her firmly, which she responds to by violently stabbing her tongue into his mouth. He breaks off, and his lips begin to wander; he lovingly kisses her cheek, nibbles and sucks at her neck, spends a good deal of time delicately frenching her ears. Moving downward, he begins to meticulously clean the sweet oil from her skin with his tongue, the texture of which is not unlike that of a cat's. The rhythms of his licking harmonize with those of the music. Suddenly, miraculously, she realizes that his lips are locked around her left nipple; such mercy is practically beyond belief. He hears her half-sigh, half-moan in partial release as he sucks at the bit of erectile tissue, sends his tongue dancing around it, massages it with his lips, skims its surface with his teeth. His left hand is hard at work on her other nipple, squeezing and rubbing in multifarous patterns. He switches sides after awhile, not wishing to neglect either. When the moment seems right, he releases her nipples and begins moving downward again. The anticipation grows ever-stronger in her as he finishes with her tummy and moves on, spreading her legs wide so as to maximize freedom of motion. He slowly, carefully licks the slick oil from her inner thighs, luxuriating in the musky scent of her plentiful juices. She can feel his hot breath on her sex; it causes the oil to tingle furiously. He spends what time he can studying what is visible of the configuration of her labia. When he has nearly finished with her thighs, he begins moving his right hand, with its short-trimmed nails, toward a position nearby where it may be used readily. The proper time arrives; he snaps his head forward and sucks at the place where he hopes her clitoris is while simultaneously sliding his middle finger inside her, angled upward to place pressure on her g-spot. The result is what he had hoped for: immediate and powerful orgasm, the quick contractions around his finger accompanied by a loud "aaaaAAAAOH!" sound. She bucks her hips violently; he continues his bursts of pressure against her vaginal wall, but is forced to desist from his attentions to her clit; she is past the point of caring. When her orgasm fades away, he withdraws his finger and reaches for the supplies nearby. He considers taking the condoms; he wants to be inside her very badly right now. Nonetheless, reminding himself that it would be a shame to waste the edibles, he retrieves them instead. She regains her coherence after a moment; she sits up and sees what he is occupied with. Seeing the question on her wide- eyed face, he nods and smiles, motioning for her to lie back down. She does, now wearing an expression of joyful rather than anxious anticipation. Preparations complete, he turns his attention to the task at hand, grinning like a devil. She is watching him, her head supported by a pair of pillows and her legs apart. He takes a strawberry from the package and consumes it with conscious lasciviousness, feeling the juices spread across his tongue and sharpen his sense of taste. He then takes the pair of whipped cream containers and begins to apply them to her exquisite sex; she squeezes her eyes closed for a moment at the sensation of the cold whipped cream on her overheated mons. He creates a spiral pattern of the stuff, with the center at her clitoris, then removes the greens from a pair of strawberries and places them at the upper right and left edges of the design. The inescapable final touch comes when he places a single maraschino cherry atop her clitoris, making her jump. He stops to admire his creation for a moment, then meets her eyes, smiles, and lowers his head between her thighs. He begins at the right side, scooping up bits of the whipped cream with his tonguetip. She delights in the ticklish feeling of his tongue poking through the cream to her skin, and the more erotic sensation of its rough texture against the periphery of her mons as he licks away the last traces. The effects of his first strawberry have faded by the time he finishes the right side, so he devours the nearer one before switching; the same occurs with the transition from the left to the much more significant center. He begins at the bottom, receiving a delicious first taste of her already-sweet juices mixed in with the whipped cream and flavored oil. He cleans her labia meticulously, eliciting a series of ecstatic sounds. When he reaches the top, he enfolds both her clit and the cherry on top with his mouth, applying what suction he can. He then bites through the cherry and squeezes, allowing the chilled juices inside to flow over her clitoris; the gasp that follows is very understandable, as is the moan of pleasure as the cold of the cherry's liquids abruptly changes to the warmth of his gyring tongue. He moves downward to the entrance of her vagina, his tongue first diving inward to taste her sweetness fully, then dancing this way and that over her sensitive inner folds. She continues her euphonic array of sounds, reaching down to tangle her hands in his hair once more. He moves upward to give his mouth's attention to her clit again while returning his right middle finger to its previous employment inside her. She arches her back violently, she grips his hair as if it were her sole link to heaven, she all but screams her pleasure. He continues this treatment relentlessly, uncaring for the exhaustion of his tongue or hand, until she reaches orgasm again with a great joyful sigh; perhaps a less spectacular one than the first, but longer and more encompassing. Wonderfully invigorated, she finds that she is growing tired of the passive role she has been playing. She sits up and kisses him passionately, then motions for him to lie down in turn. He is more than happy to comply, lying on his back, hands behind his head. She considers her course of attack for a moment; deciding turnabout to be fair play, she first applies the tingling oil to his nipples and glans. He closes his eyes as she does so, rejoicing in her touch, then smiles at the familiar tickle of the oil. Grinning, she partakes of her own preparatory strawberry, then assembles her armamentarium, the two cans of whipped cream. After a moment's consideration, she begins to create a barber-pole striped pattern along the length of his cock; reaching the top, she adds a white puff to crown the work. She takes a cherry from the jar; espying his wide grin, she flicks it toward his face, hoping for a nose hit. Serendipitously enough, he opens his mouth and catches the airborne fruit. Chuckling, he melodramatically poises it between his teeth and bites through; she smiles and shudders slightly at the fresh memory. Another cherry is produced and placed atop the puff of whipped cream on his glans. Licking her lips, she slides downward and brings her mouth near her creation. The particularly erotic Enigma song "Mea Culpa" begins. She begins by licking small divots from the pattern all up and down his length; he spends this time watching avidly and purring. When she feels the proper number of symmetrical slashes have been cut, she slowly extends her tongue to touch the cherry, then swoops forward, engulfing his glans and the first inch of his penis. He throws his head back with a gasp, and must exert his will briefly to avoid thrusting with his hips, which would disturb the rhythm at this point. She slowly slides her mouth off him, swirling her tongue through the whipped cream as she goes. She swallows the whipped cream but preserves the cherry, holding it pursed between her lips for a moment before sucking it inside with an audible *pop*, rewarded with an exaggerated wince from him. Returning to his partially revealed cock, she takes the head in her mouth again and begins cleaning it of whipped cream by stages, bobbing perhaps another half-inch downward each time. She reaches her limit near four inches and covers the remainder by slowly circling it, licking avidly. His comments on the proceedings consist primarily of mixed moaning and purring, with an occasional gasp interspersed. She continues her attentions after his cock has been cleaned of whipped cream, alternately licking, sucking, and sliding up and down his length, much to his approval. When the tenor of his moans indicate that orgasm is nearing, she withdraws and retrieves a condom from the chair, quickly removing it from its package and placing it on his penis. He is thick and very erect, making the application difficult, but she succeeds in unrolling it to his base. They both become aware of a peculiar kind of warm energy that suffuses the emotional atmosphere in anticipation of what is to come. She moves forward and straddles his supine body; his waiting hands slide up her legs to rest comfortably on her hips. Their eyes meet, and much passes between them in a very short time. They smile. She reaches beneath her and takes hold of his penis, placing the head between her inner lips, poised at her threshold. He gently moves his hips upward as hers descend; his hard length slides into her warm wetness to the accompaniment of a mutual sigh of utter satisfaction. They pause for a moment to savor the sensation; their hips then engage the rhythm and begin to thrust together with rapidly building intensity. He reaches upward to rub her prominent nipples... she leans down and bites his shoulder to stifle a scream of joy... the nails of his left hand trace patterns in pink over her abdomen and between her breasts... the muscles of her hot, wet cunt squeeze his cock as if to never release it... the tape reaches its end and restarts, sending the flowing darkness of "Gimme Shelter" to envelop them again... a medley of growls and gasps, moans and sighs, silent pauses and mutual cries fill the candlelit space... their rhythms accelerate and slow, add then subtract then multiply complexity, intertwine and branch, build inexorably toward a bright crescendo that overtakes them with ordained spontaneity as hir back arches and sie cries out and their muscles contract and their hands grasp for the anchoring contact with the Other as waves of blissful purifying nervefire sweep through them over and again, now/forever. The rhythm's intensity fades, leaving them human once more; they acknowledge this with a kiss. They lie together for a long time, feeding each other cherries and strawberries; a variety of quiet, unobtrusive, relaxing music that makes heavy use of rainstorm sounds plays in the background.