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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.