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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 The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order 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 o
o be typed therefore I don't type things myself." I think it's o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen 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
Eyes of Fire - 3 (MF, rom)
by cbratb@cyberhighway.net
*
EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY, DON'T IT....
It took several minutes for Jack to gather her wits about her,
Masturbation was not often a decent substitute for her usual kind
of sex but then again, the kind that she had in the passageway
between the cars was not her usual kind of sex either.
She had always been more or less a "clockwork orange"
kinda gal when it came to sex...just the facts ma'am. She was
used to and liked the basic foreplay, and then some hard drivin'
ball slappin' bellybouncing. Usually that was enough to get her
where she wanted to go and, because of that, most of her lovers
had done fairly well in terms of single act satisfaction. If they
were hard enough and fast enough ... she could come and it didn't
really matter that it didn't often last too long because she was
ready to go again, shortly afterwards.
Of course, this plan didn't always work because some men, in fact
most men in her life, had a tendency to roll over and fall asleep
after the first one or two times. It was the main reason for her
prolonged fantasy about multiple partners - she'd rather have
five or six men to wear out, and that way, at least she was assured
of several temporary orgasms.
But this train ride had opened her legs and her mind.
There was something much stronger, much more permanent about the
climax that she had just induced for herself. The interrupted
doorway window episode had left her primed and ready...the self
manipulation which followed was a part of that and the addition
of the watcher had taken her from lust to lost.
Although she couldn't really explain why, or how.... there was
now something new and open about her sense of sexual self........something
frighteningly wonderful. Something that she had never experienced
with Greg.
She had read about this sort of thing happening, of course. Greg,
after all had been gone for some time now and one must seek solace
wherever one can. In her case she had increasingly graduated from
romance novels to Forum to some of the sleazy books which she
found in the closet of the apartment she took after the breakup.
Her mind was spinning so fast that she forgot, for the moment,
that someone had watched her...that someone had seen her body
screaming with fire.
It all came back to her when the door opened.
There was a woman standing in the doorway in cowboy clothes.
She was tall and slim and smiling down at her. Jack suddenly realized
that she was still naked and sweating. She grabbed for the blanket
and said, "What do you want and who are you???"
The Cowgirl smiled some more..."Well, honey, You would do
in a pinch but I don't really have the time right now. As to who
I am...well, you can call me Karla. Now why don't you dress yourself
and follow me".
Jack looked back at this strange, commanding woman and told her
that she was settled in for the night and wasn't going anywhere.
The stranger smiled again. Damn that smile. And she moved away
from the doorway to be replaced by a man, in a baggy blanket poncho.
He had one of those slim cigars sticking out of his mouth and
a long black gun barrel sticking out of his poncho.
"Get dressed bitch, NOW", he said and gestured towards
her discarded clothing on the train seat.
Her work on the news had familiarized her with a pretty good cross-section
of the populace and this crazy look was all she needed to see
from the guy with the gun.
Clutching the blanket around her she managed to dress, even under
his leering stare.
She followed him out of the carriage and up towards the front
of the train. As she did so she wondered where the other passengers
were...the train was completely empty. The woman in the duds had
vanished in the other direction when she left the carriage and
the poncho man kept right behind her, occasionally prodding her
with the gun. As she had squeezed past him in the doorway, she
got a good look at his face and had decided that those weren't
the eyes that had watched her sin.
At the very front of the train she entered a carriage full of
woman, they seemed to be partly scared and partly stunned. Jack
and Poncho passed right on thrum, into the engine compartment.
In the small space were three men, two were obviously the conductor
and driver.
The third was a total surprise.
He was very tall, maybe six and a half feet, maybe even seven.
He had distinguished, silver hair, parted neatly and brushed to
one side. He looked right out of the pages of G.Q., dressed immaculately
in a three piece dark grey suit, perfectly tailored to fit his
slim yet muscular frame. She ran her eyes up from his suede shoes,
following the crease in his suit to the crisp Van Heusen shirt.
The only incongruity was a silk handmade tie with kittens on it.
The tie gave her momentary pause, before her gaze fell on his
face...but she couldn't see his face... it was there and it was
visible.
All she could see was his eyes
They were locked into hers, they were dark blue and dangerous
deep.
They were magic - they were alive...
they were examining her soul....
they were the eyes she had seen in climax.
He took a step towards her riveted body and held out his hand."Hello
Jack," he said, "my name is Luke. It's nice to see you
again".
She was spellbound, silent...stricken dumb.
She was unable to take her eyes from his.
Her entire body shuddered and only years of breeding and dignity
prevented her from soaking the floor on which she stood.
"Would you like a drink, Jack?" he said.
There was a faint accent to his voice, she couldn't quite place
it, but it was vaguely European.
Her mouth wouldn't move and her thighs wouldn't stay still. They
kept clenching and unclenching. She could tell now that the orgasm
that she had in the carriage, by herself, was not over. In fact
the appearance of the Cowgirl and Poncho had only turned down
the heat in her thighs to simmer. She wasn't used to simmer. She
was used to boiling or off, well actually, never really off. She
was always wet and ready and so it was always easy to reach that
boiling point. Or so she had always thought.
But this simmering...this was entirely different.
This was undeniably connected to her loins, and her mind and her
entire body.
This was only a small segment of an orgasm of the soul, this was
a heat that she could feel in her fingernails.
Luke took her arm, still gazing into her eyes, and led her back
though the door, past the huddled women and into the next empty
car.
He sat her down in the first seat and stood, tall, in front of
her.
"Wait here," he said, " I'll be right back"
Before she could collect a thought, or even have one, he was.
In his hand was a briefcase.
It was a beautiful hand. Firm and young and supple.
It was a hand from heaven, like a mystical holy hand. In his other
hand was a cup of ice.
The briefcase was placed on the seat next to her. Jack still couldn't
find the will to speak, the aftershocks of her earlier climax
were still working their mysterious evil on the steaming folds
of her pussy. She continued to stare into his eyes, remembering
what they had seen, knowing that they knew her, had seen her flying....
She heard him open the briefcase and felt him thrust a sheaf of
papers into her hands.
With a supreme effort she dragged her eyes away from his, and
glanced down at the papers. They were pictures,
of her.
There was about twenty of them altogether. And they were all very,
very private.
They had obviously been taken with a long lens.
She started to look at them and immediately felt hot all over
again.
There were shots of her taken through her bedroom window, in the
semi darkness.
They were ultimately candid.
The first two or three were pictures of her laying on the bed,
in the heat of a Texas night. She was dressed in T shirt and panties
and her hands were inside the shirt and the underwear.
There was lust on her face. It was obvious what her hands were
doing and, instead of being embarrassed, like she usually would,
she was pleased that this stranger had seen her this way, more
than once.
In the second handful, she had a vibrator.
She looked back up at Luke, her hands were trembling and then
her eyes caught his again.
There was no explanation for this... there was no law of nature
that allowed for this kind of spell.
He stared deep into her face, into her heart and soul. She could
feel the heat from his eyes peeling away her fears and shame.
She followed the flame down into the depths of her very being.
She understood implicitly that this man could strip her clothing
and her defenses, with just a glance.
But this wasn't a glance..this was a stare....
He offered her the cup of ice, and she put several chips in her
mouth, still locked into his eyes.
As the ice melted they just stared at each other.
"You're even prettier than I thought Jack, " He said..."tell
me, would you mind removing that beautiful suit jacket?"
She didn't take her eyes from his...she simply undid the buttons
and slid the delicate linen off her shoulders, where it fell behind
her on the seat. Her chest was heaving, she could feel every pore
of her body opening and closing with each breath that she took.
The filigreed blouse that she wore to Mass last Sunday, suddenly
didn't seem so angelic.
Her breasts were pushing, straining forward in the tight confines
of suddenly tight silk and forcing the blouse to almost pop open.
As she continued to stare into his eyes, she heard him ask her
to open the buttons. Without thinking, she did it.
The cream silk hung open, her breasts were peeping from the gap
between the buttons and the button holes. The material seemed
electrostatically charged against her nipples, or maybe it was
the other way round.
From the still open briefcase, Luke produced a single, blood red
feather...about eight or nine inches long.
He held it in front of her eyes and twirled it in those fabulous
soft fingers.
Then he took the cup of half melted ice from the seat where she
had sat it down, and dipped the feather deep into the iced water.
She thought it odd that, when he withdrew it from the cup, it
didn't drip.
His left hand slowly peeled the blouse back and exposed her right
breast to the air. His gaze remained locked onto hers as he moved
the feather downwards towards her.
Her eyes followed the feather as it approached her breast....
he twirled it again in his fingers,
and then
with one single sudden smooth slash
drew it's entire length across her nipple,
against the grain of the feather.
I'm not really writing...
I'm just putting words in order.
Although I still wasn't comfortable with the idea that my dick
was between the teeth of a woman who appeared to be about to get
the leatherin' of a lifetime....some kind of manic curiosity combined
with a sort of comme ci comme ca attitude, left me staring at
the women in front of me. Rooted to my crotch was a dripping socialite,
her dress around her waist and her pearls intact.
Behind her, between her ankles, unsensed, was an entirely different
kind of menace. Stripped to the waist, and with nipples like worry
stones, was the cowgirl from hell, or at least heaven with a mean
streak.
High above her head she held the wide leather belt from her jeans.
I could make out her name etched into the leather, "Karla"
She blew me a kiss and some part of me prepared to have my cock
bitten off.
I'm not sure what part of the body has the job of preparing for
that sort of thing....but then again my body parts had been reinvented
entirely in the last few hours.
I thought back to my first interlude with Jack. Where was she
now?? Probably sleeping off her guilt in the vacated carriage.
She probably didn't even know the train had stopped.
I'm sure that the act played out while she gazed at the Texas
scenery was a once in a lifetime episode for her, I mean I know
it's not like I was some god or anything, just a lucky dick in
the right place at the right time.
Maybe my screaming would awaken her, if she was even still on
the train.
In slow motion, my mind registered the belt coming down.
I had expected a sharp sudden slashing across the ass of the innocent
at my knees.
Instead it was an underhand curl, like a perfect softball pitch.
I guess Karla had bullwhip skills.
The belt stretched straight down, suddenly and then the very tip
curled around and up and under.
Between the thighs in front of me, under the ass held high in
passion, I watched the tip curl and, with a crack like a breaking
backbone, I saw the belt end disappear.
I was watching Marie's face when it happened.
I was waiting for the bite...expecting the scream....
but it never came.
Instead, her ass jumped high in the air and I touched her tonsils
with the head of my dick.
Before I could even register the new energy applied to my boy
parts, the belt came back down, with a merciless sweep to crack
in exactly the same spot.
Watching the face with a cock in the middle of it between my knees
, I saw that Marie was flushed, very flushed....
The belt was apparently hitting exactly the right spot, and suddenly
did it again, and then again.
Meanwhile, the sight of this poor blindfolded woman on her hands
and knees being treated so poorly and so well by the woman behind
her was almost more than I could stand.
I focused on the eyes of the gal with the belt. They were crazed
with lust and longing. She had unzipped and stepped out of her
jeans and stood buck nekkid, beads of perspiration on her heaving
chest. Her left hand trailed down into the cleft between her thighs
and disappeared, while her right hand raised the belt back up
over her head.
By now I was clearly a bystander in this scenario, just a lucky
slob with a cock.
Only the fact that I had already come several times so far in
my night saved me from blowing the back of Marie's head off.
This time, when the belt cracked, it did so across the raised
and swollen ass cheeks of our victim, who by now was entirely
a volunteer.
Pain, according to the JudyBats, makes you beautiful.
Pain, according to Marie makes you munch. This poor women's first
opportunity to put a man in her mouth was certainly turning out
to be more than she bargained for, and more than she ever hoped.
Her bottom squirmed and thrust itself in time with the moans escaping
from around my balls.
I could somehow sense the climax coming, mine and Marie's.
As I jerked and spurted deep into her throat her entire body shuddered,
and Karla gently placed the belt across the back in front of me
and dropped to her knees.
Since I was spent I decided to sit back and watch.
But first I found the knots.
In all my frantic maneuvering they had worked loose enough that
my hands just slipped free.
I thought about removing the blindfold from Marie but thought
better of it.
Somehow I sensed that, for her, vision meant shame and who was
I to bring shame to the proceedings.
Since she no longer had me to munch on, and had just shuddered
her way to mental oblivion, I was surprised to hear Marie speak.
"Thank you," she said.
But it was far from over.
HOOP SKIRTS AND BURLAP
FLAMES AND FINGERS
When the dam broke, it was as though her inner being was suddenly
given freedom
and the lava ran to daylight.
She could feel his gaze and knew that he was seeing her panties
and thighs become drenched. She felt that she could see steam,
rising from under the hem of her skirt, she could sense her scent
filling the air between them , and she knew that Luke had to be
aware of it as well. Strangely there was no sense of wantonness,
no feeling of shame. Whatever was happening to her body was as
natural as wind in a barn, as clear as sunlight. There was a feeling
of a finished first course, while still not hungry again yet,
she knew that there was more to come as soon as the plates were
cleared from the table.
Her head was layed back against the carriage wall, and she was
almost...don't laugh now, sleepy. Not in the sense that she was
tired but rather resting, aware that there were more courses to
come. As her body finished it's muscular hysteria and eased back,
but only to simmer, she became aware that her entire physical
life had been leading to this experience....
that there was a certain sense of fulfillment that didn't really
have much to do with her sexual being...
but more to do with her perception of self.
This wasn't JUST about sex anymore, it was about Being There.
Chauncey would have understood. But then again...
In the moment - there's a freedom
At that time - there's a power
On one hand there's the "joy of repetition" as prince
said...on the other hand there's the repetition of joy.
The most amazing thing about the effects of Luke and his freezing
feather was not just what happened to her body but what happened
to HER.
It seemed like hours as these thoughts ran through her head.
All the while she remained locked into his gaze, all the while
she was spreadeagled over the seat, her legs spread to a stranger
with a feather
all the while she was unfuckinbearably
ALIVE.
She realized that she was smiling like a baby.
She was ready for the next course.
When Jack felt the feather withdraw from between her toes she
had never felt such emptiness in her life. Each part of her body
that had space in it was alive and suddenly desperate for....something.
The simmer had become a rolling boil.
She tried to pull her foot away from the soft cradling hand, but
it didn't let go. It was gently gripping her heel and rubbing
the Achilles tendon, his other hand ran across the ends of her
toes with the feather. At once, her thighs shuddered, not violently...just
sort of like thighs shaking hands.
He looked into her face and ran his hand up her leg to the hem
of her suit skirt. Grasping the hem, he pulled it down and smoothed
it over her legs. She was now strangely decent, - well - except
for her tits which, despite her languid position, still stood
firmly pointing directly upwards, while her blouse hung open on
either side.
After ironing the creases from her skirt with his fingers, he
took the feather in both of his hands and kissed the tip.
He held it to her lips. She kissed it as well.
Then he laid it down on the seat next to him and reached for his
briefcase.
As the sudden snap of the catches sounded almost simultaneously,
she realised that they had barely spoken a word to each other.
It wasn't a spell that she had any reason to break.
She couldn't see the inside of the deep attache as his hands dipped
inside.
When they came out they were holding two flowers.
A vivid white long stemmed rosebud and the most beautiful full
deep maroon orchid.
He held them up, in front of his eyes, examining them, turning
them in his fine strong fingers.
The rosebud was laid down, next to the feather and he held the
orchid up to her face.
The light in the carriage didn't do it justice but it had a light
of it's own. A full bell flower with five distinct petals and
a wonderful set of fiery red veins that flowed from the outer
tips of the flower down to where they disappeared in the secret
place in the centre...the place where no-one ever goes, where
no-one ever sees.
Deep down, in the darkened centre of the being of the flower,
there was an invitation...a humming vibration of life. She couldn't
so much see, as sense the soul of the flower as it waved in his
fingers before her eyes.
In the light of the flower was a promise, a dare almost.
to be alive...to understand that, flower or newscaster,
there's only so much time.
Each being has it's cycle and must make of it what it can.
The flower, torn from it's plant knew that there was not much
time
to be alive
no more time to grow
just to be.....
and to become all that it was.
Luke held the brilliant purple petals to her face and dipped his
forefinger in the melted ice.
He placed one drop, from his fingertips, deep down in the centre
of the wonderous bloom
and laid it, on her chest, under her chin.
Immediately her nostrils were filled with the most amazing scent....
like lightning in a rain forest.
The flower gave back the scent of it's birthplace,
a rich melange of vine and sky,
a thick, heavy mix of dirt and jungle beast,
a light whiff of a single ray of desperate sunlight...
the scents swirled around her head and filled her soul.
The petals were so soft against her skin, nestled between her
breasts.
As she looked down into the magenta depths,
she knew that this flower was who she most wanted to be,
that it represented the innermost core of her being.
That it looked like her vagina
in an abstract sense
her legs moved languidly apart at the thought, remembering the
heat in her loins.
The heady scent of the orchid made her senses race, as she looked
into it's depths it was as though she was staring into her own
pussy
also damp, also scented
also open
also
ALIVE.
Since placing the flower on her breastbone, Luke had been watching
her .
She felt instinctively that he followed her thinking
that he knew when the simmer became a boil and how to turn it
either up or down.
It was a strange sense to have some stranger be able to control
her own heat
or rather to allow her to control it.
It was not in any sense invasive, or possessive
it was a display of tender affection that was both comforting
and extremely arousing
The freedom to draw her own conclusions
to be free and safe at the same time.
She watched his hands as he picked up the rosebud,
tenderly, gently.
The bud itself was tightly wound,
almost hand rolled
and the stem was bare of leaves.
There was one thorn, down towards the base.
He held the flower to her face, just in front of her eyes.
With his finger, he bagan to pry open the bud,
peeling back the petals like so many layers of satin clothing.
As the flower opened under his gentle ministrations, the scent
mingled with the glorious potpourri from the orchid.
It was almost overpowering, as though Puck himself had come and
waved his magic dust into her nostrils.
He continued to open the flower, mere inches from her glazed eyes.
When each petal was unfurled, and the white rose was a full headed
flower,
She stared down into it's cupped depths.
In the centre were the fine pistils and stamens
the minute flower hairs waving as her breath waved over them.
Something in the natural incense turned up her heat a little...the
smell of the young fresh rose and the sight of the deep orchid
between her nipples...
her breath quickened and then quickened some more.
Luke twisted the flower in his fingers, before her eyes and lowered
it to her breast.
He stroked the erect nipple with the edge of the petal, back and
forth, turning it
until the full flower was poised
like a fragile cup
over her breast.
He moved his other hand to the blouse on the other side, laid
it delicately back over her breast and leaving her only exposed
on one side.
The sight of her, completely covered with clothing except for
one breast was the sexiest she had ever felt,
she felt the lava running again, deep inside the well of her body.
Her eyes turned up her own heat another notch or two.
He laid the crown of the rose over her breast completely covering
her nipple. She stared at the stem, with it's single thorn, like
a dark clit, sticking from it's green hard rose penis.
His two hands moved slowly up the stem and back down to the base
of the flower, applying slight pressure to her nipple with the
innermost part of the rose.
Then his hands started swirling the stem.
The rose cupped her nipple and the front of it's breast
it was spinning faster, faster with each breath she took.
Her legs moved slowly apart,
his knees pushed them slowly, but forcefully back together.
There was to be none of her alive
save for the single breast and nipple,
being suckled by this beautiful white flower.
She could feel the velvet interior of each petal.
Only his fingers held the very base of the stem by now,
twirling it faster and faster.
Her nipple felt bigger than the entire rest of her body,
each and every nerve was alive and concentrated on that one small
patch of skin.
Jack never knew that so much of the core of her being was concentrated
in the centre of her nipple,
that her very soul could leak out through the tiny hole at the
end,
or that so much life and heat could leak in.
The tsunami began in her fingernails,
The scream began in her toenails.
If you'd like more of this story, please send a little note of
encouragement to: cbratb@cyberhighway.net