____________________________ | | /)| 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 o This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of stories. o o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also from o o alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order to this o o section of my collection, other than offering them to you in alpha- o o betical directories. o o I don't believe in categorizing things. "I don't want to be typed o o therefore I don't type things myself." I think it's a lot more fun to o o browse around and find 'little' surprises, and topics that you might o o not have even thought of looking for. I hope you enjoy your time among o o Kristen's book shelf directories. o o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o o and should not be read by minors. Thank you, Kristen Becker 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 o Angel Pussy (M/f-teen) by Polkinghorn *** The dominant feature of Yvonne's body was something you'd never see unless you had the privilege of seeing her naked. She was pretty enough in her clothes, rather small and well-formed with a cute oval face and short chestnut hair. She had big brown eyes and a sweet smile, and you'd look twice at her if you saw her on foot, though I doubt if you'd drive your car into a lamp post or throw you neck completely out of whack. She was very sweet to look at and even sweeter to know. And it's really too bad for you, but the chances of your ever getting her clothes off are pretty close to zero, so you'll just have to content yourself with my telling you about it. Besides... Well, you'll see. She was seventeen when I met her, the daughter of French immigrants. Her mother had recently died, leaving Yvonne and her dad to take care of her two younger sisters. And she'd never been kissed except by relatives. That is, until I came along. I kissed her. And a whole lot more -but I'm not going waste your time with all the early details. The most astonishing thing about sweet little Yvonne was her pussy. I've never seen or played with another like it. I will never forget the first time I slid a trembling hand beneath the waistband of her light cotton panties. You know how it was when you were a teen-ager: the only thing you're thinking about as you work your way into a first-time girl's crotch is "don't stop now, baby, oh God, not now." And of course, she's asleep, right? I mean, I always felt that if I kept on kissing her diligently enough, she wouldn't notice that I had a finger up her until it was too late. Sure! Anyway, sweet little Yvonne showed no reluctance to admit my clumsy fingers, but she wasn't a slut about it, either. Her flat, smooth belly was so warm - I could feel little muscle spasms beneath her silky skin as I tickled it lightly, working my way downstairs. I recall my mild surprise as my fingertips touched her briefs: Hmmm.. cotton! All the other girls I been with (what, 3 or 4?) had worn that smooth stuff. Tricot or rayon. She sighed softly, almost imperceptibly parting her thighs to receive me, and my heart gave a little leap - I was home free! Carefully, still afraid of breaking the spell, I covered the last few inches to that coveted mound... It was crowned with a dense mass of soft, fine feathers! She sensed my surprise - I must have stiffened somewhat. "Is there anything wrong?" she whispered. I was doing my best to stay calm - I certainly wasn't turned off - in fact, it felt wonderful! But my confusion was overwhelming. "Uh, are all French girls like this?" was all I could think of to say. "You mean, do we all wear cotton panties? I just don't like that Tricot stuff," she said apologetically. I decided to let it slide. As boggled as I was, I was still horny as a two-peckered skunk, and not about to pass up this swell piece of pussy just because it was a little different. So I just smothered any further comments with kisses and concentrated on my expertly teen-age finger fucking. Her little slit was meltingly soft, leaking its warm buttery fluid all over my fingers. Jeeze, it was sweet! I forgot all about feathers and just proceeded in the time- honored ritual that all young folks (and us old geezers, too) enjoy so much. Of course I shot off in my pants, but that was a small price to pay. Did I tell you this took place in the dead of an east-coast winter? The tiniest of complications. As we got into these scenes hotter and heavier, she took to stroking me off, and later even to sucking me, but I have to admit right now that I never did fuck her. I'm sure I could have, but was too much of a gentleman. Wish I had it to do over! Anyway, one evening we had the house to ourselves, Pierre and the two younger sisters having gone off somewhere - maybe to a movie, I forget. I was dying to get Yvonne naked in some light, and, sweet thing, she was willing. Lying on her bed in just her shorts and bra, I admired her 17 year-old body. I can't see it quite so clearly in my mind's eye these days, but it warms my heart, still. She slipped out of her bra and smiled shyly. Such lovely tits, round as grapefruit, and about the same size, pale brown nipples straining erect in her excitement. I leaned forward and hooked my fingers beneath the waistband of her little panties, and she lifted her hips as I eased them down her thighs. There it was! That wonderful French girl's pussy... The downy feathers sparrow-brown in the lamplight. She raised her knees allowing me to slip the briefs over her toes and. Gently I spread her slender legs and gazed at the most amazing pussy it has ever been my pleasure to see. Her mount of Venus resembled nothing more than the breast of a dove, softly inviting and warm to the touch. Her virgin cunt looked like an open flower tinted in the most delicate shades of pink and rose. Overcome with joy, I leaned my face into her little nest and slid my tongue right into her simmering slot. It was incredibly sweet, creaming into my mouth like the juice of a ripe peach. And those tiny feathers smelled wonderful as they tickled my nose. Ever look at a duck's ass? I don't mean UP a duck's ass - I mean at the feathers just above the water line as she swims steadily away from you. Soft-looking, aren't they? Well, imagine that brushing against your face as you lick the sweetest pussy you've ever known, and you'll have some idea of Yvonne's magic. She held my head in her hands, and arched her back, relishing the tongue-lashing I was giving her. And when she came, bless her heart, she cried softly. I mean, real tears. "Did I hurt you?" I asked, concerned. She smiled up at me through her tears and shook her head. "Oh, no! It felt so good, I couldn't help it..." What a sweetheart! I recall her first blow job as if it were yesterday. I wish it was yesterday! She was so clumsy, but eager to please. Her tiny hand stroking away at the shaft as she'd learned to do at just the right speed, her lips wrapped around the head of my rigid cock, pulling it deeper and deeper into the moist depths of her warm mouth. Her eyes kept swivelling up to meet mine, seeking my approval. I nodded and smiled each time. And then came that sweet cramp at the base of my cock, and I was bathing her tongue with hot semen. Her head popped back in reflex, and I watched, enraptured as my cum spurted across her lovely oval face. Her surprise was a delight to see, and I asked her. "Didn't you know that would happen?" "Oh yes," she said, smiling, "don't you remember, I got a handful one time." As the winter besieged the east coast that year, we were able to spend more and more time alone, for some reason. I don't recall just why. One snowy afternoon, I happened into the bathroom as she was shaving under her arms. It gave me an idea. I watched her as she performed this charming feminine chore, and when she was finished I asked, "Can I shave the rest of you?" She showed confusion for a moment, then: "Oh! You mean?..." and she pointed to her crotch, eyebrows upraised. I nodded, not daring to speak. And she smiled. "Be my guest!" As I reflect on it now, nearly thirty years later, it comes to me that Yvonne didn't realize her pussy was any different thaan any other girl's. She was a very sheltered young thing - childlike, even. But at the time, I was only 18 and not much more than a child myself. And so, in my ignorant eagerness to experience every facet of sexuality short of actually fucking the girl, I took a pair of scissors and snipped away the lovely crown of feathers from Yvonne's puss. I put them in an envelope before smearing a gob of soft soapsuds on the stubbly mound and shaving her right down to the pink. The result was fascinating, a smooth, mound of baby soft flesh, bifurcated by a darker pink furrow which curved between her thighs. I felt odd against my upper lip as I leaned forward to kiss and nuzzle it. She leaned back against the bathroom sink and lifted one leg to give me access, and I separated the puffy outer lips to admit my tongue into the secret treasure of her now dripping cunny. It was wonderful for both of us. It was no more than three or four days later that the stubble was back on her gently sloping mound, and I found it scratchy and uncomfortable against my mouth. Naturally, I shaved it smooth again. And again a few days later. But after a couple of weeks, I tired somewhat of a baby-like cunt and decided I wanted the feathers back. So the razor stayed in the cabinet as she returned to normal. And, alas I do mean "normal", since, when her mound was once again fully thatched, it was no different than any other girl. While the hair was the same sparrow-brown and was as sweetly soft as every other part of this lovely girl, the feathers did not return. And, just as spring was breaking, I was transferred back to the west coast, never to see Yvonne again. I still have the envelope, all these years later, to remind me of the most unique girl in my life. And to remind me also that some things are better left the way one finds them.