____________________________ | | /)| 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 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. 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 Get Thee Behind Me (MF, affair, college) by Linda K. On my first day of college I fell madly in love with my Art History teacher, Professor Caroni - Commendatore Caroni, as he preferred; it sounded impressive and for some time the class thought he was some sort of noble in exile. He was about 50, a little plump, and no taller than I, but he radiated charm and elan and sensuality; all in all, he seemed like the kind of sophisticated European who might fight a duel to get the girl he wanted, then carry her off to a magnificent palazzo overlooking the sea. I wasn't the only one he affected that way - almost all my classmates felt the same way about him, even though he looked nothing like a movie hero. Errol Flynn came to mind, although he was before my time; my mother told me about once seeing him in New York - arriving at a theater for a premiere, I think - and how half the girls in the mob were tearing off their panties and throwing them at him! That's exactly how Commendatore Caroni made us all feel as he hopped around, gesticulating dramatically as his deep, fervent voice lauded his favorite Renaissance painters. He knew, of course, the effect his suave Continental bearing had on young American girls, and he took full advantage of the privileges. Like many Italian men, he was very tactile and talked as much with his hands as his tongue - if he was pointing out interesting features of a painting, his free hand would be touching and stroking you the whole time. Of course this was true primarily in private, during conferences in his office and such, but the mystique which surrounded him was powerful enough that he could even do so in public on occasions where everyone would put it down to his Latin temperament. At first it would be little pats on the arm, then his arm casually draped around your shoulders; if you didn't object, soon his hand would slide down to your waist or hip. At last - stereotypically - he would squeeze and pinch your bottom as he talked on. He loved large, firm breasts and was very adept at brushing against them, as well as getting us to lean over so he could look down our blouses. He lectured from a raised dais and loved to have us cluster around his perch before and after class; as he answered our questions and comments resonantly and slowly, you could feel his eyes baring and caressing our breasts, lovingly, commandingly. We used to say that any girl who left that class with soft nipples and dry panties had died two days earlier! But his paramount obsession was our bottoms! It was so exciting that a debonair European would find us at all attractive that no one ever complained about his quirks; in fact, we went out of our way to encourage his attentions. It was the best dressed class I ever took: all the girls wore short skirts and either low-cut blouses or very tight sweaters, every day, just to catch his interest. His eyes burned with such passion and hinted so strongly at a vast knowledge of forbidden Old World pleasures that just his briefest glance made my legs weak; I felt that he was stripping me naked - and I was flattered to have him do it! And his hand on my bottom was more stimulating than being fucked by some guys; I could never keep my mind on what he was saying if he was playing with my ass, and many times it was a struggle to keep from coming. Most men are too rough on bottoms for it to be pleasurable, but Commendatore Caroni (like many other Italian men I've known) was just firm enough so it didn't tickle, yet gentle enough that he wasn't painful. Even a solid pinch didn't hurt; it was more like the tingle when someone bites your swollen nipples. Needless to say, there was always a line of girls outside his office, waiting to see him alone on whatever pretext came to mind. One day about the third week of school I wanted to see him so much that I lurked around in the hall, trying not to look like I was waiting but that I just happened to be passing by, until finally about 4:30 no one else was around. I was so horny that my panties were soaked and I was afraid my knees would collapse before I got down the corridor to his office. But I managed somehow and knocked lightly on the door. In a moment he called out to come in, and just that sent a tingle through me because it meant in a few minutes I'd either be in ecstasy or in too deep a depression for suicide to relieve. I'd spent the last two weeks masturbating at least twice a day, thinking about him, and I'd finally decided to make my best play for him. I was wearing a green mini and a yellow top so tight I was afraid to breathe deeply; but I was determined to fuck him that afternoon, before I rubbed my pussy completely smooth playing with myself. God, when I walked in he had his shirt unbuttoned and his hairy chest was beautiful, I could hardly keep from tearing off my top and rubbing my aching nipples in that stiff wool. He wore a tiny gold cross on a chain, which looked lovely nestled against his hair; I just stared, not able to speak. He understood immediately, of course, and pulled me inside and kicked the door shut. "Ah, bellisimo!" he said. "Come drink some wine, then we study together those prints on my desk, a friend just picked them up at the Uffizi, they are all new ..." He poured us large goblets of red wine, perhaps a Chianti, and quickly drank his as he stood there holding the bottle, his hot gaze as palpable as any other man's touch. Automatically I drank my wine, nearly as quickly as he, and he refilled both glasses. With his hand on my hip he guided me across to his desk and I bent over, pretending to examine the prints he was babbling over. I still hadn't figured out what to do next, and the unaccustomed wine had already relaxed me to a point that thinking and planning was beyond me. I didn't need to, though. In a moment Professor Caroni moved behind me and reached around to squeeze my breasts, playing with my aching nipples so electrifyingly that I could hardly see. When I squirmed I felt his hot, bulging crotch grinding against my bottom; my twat was so hungry for his cock that I squirmed against him like a bitch in heat against a tree! I literally couldn't understand a word he was saying, my mind had turned off the instant he grasped my jugs. In a minute he peeled my top up and began fondling my sweat slickened tits with his long, sensitive fingers. My need to be fucked was so powerful that I was afraid more waiting would drive me insane; I pulled my skirt up to my waist and lay forward on the desk, too unsteady even to pull down my panties, hoping frantically that he would answer my mute plea, plunge his cock into my desperate twat, flood my roiling cunt with his hot, thick juice! He drew back and my heart almost stopped, I knew I would die of unsated lust, but then he ripped down my panties. When he pressed against me again, he was naked, his pubic hair felt like a Brillo pad where it rubbed my skin, then I screamed with pleasure as he began sliding his long, narrow dick up and down my sopping slit, touching my clit with the head, then slowly drawing it back toward my cunt's mouth! At last he was there and in an instant buried to the hilt in my greedy, roiling snatch, plunging deeper than anyone else ever had, moving only slightly back, then stabbing further into me ... I was already coming, little bursts, tiny blackouts, whimpering, moaning, begging him to fuck me hard, fuck me fast, fill me with his luscious cum ... then he pulled his dick completely out! What was wrong, why had he stopped, he hadn't come, I needed to come again, come big bigger biggest ... then the tip of his prick, slick and slippery with my pussy juices, glided between my cheeks and probed for my asshole. In alarm I tried to get up, but he held me by the hips, crooning softly that he would teach me his way, and suddenly his dick was an inch into my ass. Somehow he got his knees between mine and spread my legs, and his cock slid another inch deeper. My panic left as quickly as it had hit me, and I felt a lovely, brand-new warmth and stickiness in my ass, a sensation I'd never experienced but one that was as exciting and tantalizing as the first time I was ever fucked. I felt almost like a virgin again, a little scared but overwhelmingly avid to have his prick all the way inside me, spurting its hot jets of cum deep into my body. Slowly and gently he alternately withdrew and thrust, gaining a little each time; it was a delicious feeling, not only my ass was quivering with the excitement of its first invasion, but his movements ground my pussy against the hard, sharp edge of the desk, intensifying its already near volcanic condition. But when he was only halfway home, further progress seemed to be impossible, even as narrow as his cock was and as eager as I was to have his full length in my ass. "Breathe out, all the way out!" he hissed, and when I emptied my lungs, my asshole relaxed and he slid deeper! Again and again I breathed out and he plunged deeper, until at last I felt his steel wool between my cheeks and I knew we had done it! My teacher began a gentle, rhythmic motion with his hips, and in a moment he was fucking me in the ass, as steadily and slickly as in the pussy, but a thousand times more exciting and pervasive. I began coming again, stronger and stronger, and he began fucking me more strongly, more quickly ... then at last he came, pumped gallons of his luscious seed in my ass, a brilliant heat that changed to more powerful lust than I've ever known, then finally complete satisfaction in an orgasm like the eruption of Krakatoa ... Afterwards I begged him to do it again. This time he had me kneel on the floor and he knelt behind me. It was even better the second time, my ass had been stretched a little, another glass of wine relaxed my muscles more, and his cum coating the passage let him slide in and out very easily and excitingly. Then he had to leave - his wife had already called once, between fuckings. So I went back to the dorm, showered, and slept for 12 hours straight, more fully relaxed and satisfied than ever before. Commendatore Caroni fucked me in the ass a few more times that semester, but I could never persuade him to screw me in the cunt; nor would he let me suck his cock, though I had dreams about it, sat in class thinking about how lovely it would be to have him coming in my mouth as he had in my bottom. And after that semester, he had moved on to his new students and never did me again, although God knows I begged for it. But as I learned later, unless you were in a class with him, you had no chance of his masterful buttfucking. He had, however, introduced three of my friends in the class to his magic, and they all loved it as much as I. We eventually decided that he'd fucked about a dozen of us that semester, from a class with 16 girls! It's never been quite the same as that first time with Professor Caroni. He was a genius at his specialty; it makes me quiver through my whole body just to remember that long, patient penetration into my virgin ass, and the spectacular orgasm at the end.