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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
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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
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o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors. o
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My Den Mother
by Ricky Manchild (address withheld)
***
My den mother introduces me to sensations I had never known. (Fb,
extreme-ped, 1st)
***
I became a Cub Scout at the appropriate time in my life, but I
learned more prematurely. In my little Michigan town, there wasn't
much else to do at the time, which was in the mid-1950's.
My family was lower middle class, according to today's standards,
but at the time everybody seemed to be poor. We received
government foodstuffs whenever my dad was out on strike for more
than a few days, and I learned to hate potato soup. My mother
managed to scrape up enough money to buy me a Cub Scout shirt and
neckerchief, but we couldn't afford the rest of the uniform.
Every Thursday evening my den met at the home of a lady that I
will call Mrs. Reed. That isn't even close to her real name, but I
don't want her family to ever find out what she meant to me, so
that will have to do. My day had a reputation in our town of being
one hell of an ass-kicker, both on the picket line and off.
Whenever he was working, he couldn't come home without hitting a
few bars.
During the times he was either laid off, between jobs, or on
strike, he managed to stay sober, but the rest of the time, he
found the bottle to be very comforting. I learned years later that
there were many women in town who wanted their share of his big
Hunky cock, much to my mother's dismay. As a child, I had no clue
of such things, and did what I could to make the best of our
reduced circumstances.
One evening, after our Den Meeting, Mrs. Reed asked me to stay
late and help her to clean up. I didn't mind, because she was
really nice to me, and even smelled good, sort of like cotton
candy. When the other boys were gone, she asked me to pick up the
items we had been using to make "Indian" crafts and the like, and
put the things in the cupboard.
While I was taking care of things, she left the room. Earlier, I
had noticed that the green silk blouse she wore was even more
tight-fitting than usual, and I could see the outline of whatever
she had on underneath. I didn't know what you called it, but I had
seen similar garments in my mother's laundry, and I knew that it
was meant to hold up a woman's chest. When she came back into the
basement room where our troop met, her chest looked looser and
freer than it had earlier. It had been about 10 minutes, and I had
finished cleaning up. She told me what a good job I had done, and
asked me if my dad's name was F------.
I said yes, and asked if she knew him. She said she did not, but
had heard a few things about him. Then she said it was time for me
to go, and gathered me into her arms to give me a hug. She pulled
my face into her blouse, and I turned so that I wouldn't be
smothered. The silk blouse wasn't buttoned all the way up, and I
felt her bare flesh against my cheek. A small, pebble-like object
rubbed against my ear, and she held the back of my head and turned
my face inward so the pebble rubbed across my lips.
I guess it was still an instinct that led me to open my mouth and
take the pebble in and suck on it. Mrs. Reed stroked my neck and
murmured to me in a way that I couldn't understand. Then she took
my hand and pulled it up under her black velvet skirt. I felt her
thighs slip against the flesh of my hand, and was surprised to
feel something warm, wet, and furry. I didn't know what was going
on, but whatever it was, I liked it. I turned my hand inward and
felt what seemed like a smile, only running up and down rather
than across. She used more force to press my hand between her
legs, and I could feel more heat and steam.
Mrs. Reed was making some strange noises, and I thought I might be
hurting her, because she seemed to moan. I tried to pull my hand
out from under her skirt, but she clamped her thighs together to
prevent my release. "Don't move, just reach higher," she said. I
didn't know how much higher I could go, but I decided that she
must know what to do, so I raised my hand a little further and
felt my fingers slide between the lips of her smile. It was very
wet and slippery, and there was another little pebble at the top
of the "lips."
When I touched it, she got louder but seemed to be enjoying it, so
I rubbed the spot between my thumb and first finger. It must have
felt like electricity to her, because she jumped and twitched. I
pushed my thumb up between her lips as far as I could and
instinctively stroked it in and out while I continued to rub the
pebble. This continued for about 10 minutes, and all of a sudden
she almost collapsed on my hand. I was finally able to pull my arm
out from under her skirt, and Mrs. Reed sat down on the couch.
I noticed a strong smell of something that seemed like celery
juice. It was coming off from my fingers. I held my hand up to my
nose, and inhaled deeply. Mrs. Reed saw what I was doing and told
me to taste it. I stuck my index finger into my mouth, and tasted
a woman's flavor for the first time. I didn't know why I reacted
the way I did, but I knew instantly that I wanted more.
Every Thursday evening for the next several years, I managed to
find a reason to stay late. Every time, Mrs. Reed left me alone
while she went to remove her undergarments, and then came back to
let me caress, fondle, and stimulate her marvelous breasts and
smiling regions. She never removed any of my clothes or touched me
in the ways that I had been touching her. Too soon for me, I
became too old to be a Cub Scout, and had to move on to the Boy
Scouts, with leaders that were men. It was a sad time.
Another few years passed, and I finished high school and joined
the Air Force. After basic training, I came home on leave. While
sitting around with some high school friends, we were talking
about our younger days, and one of the guys mentioned that Mrs.
Reed had been his Den Mother, and was still filling that role for
his little brother. Of course, my memories were instantly brought
forward and I thought about the things we had done together. I had
25 days of leave left, and thought it would be nice to spend them
with my hands someplace warm.
The next evening, I walked up to Mrs. Reed's door and rang the
bell. I was wearing my best class A uniform, and thought I looked
pretty sharp. When the door opened, there stood Mrs. Reed, almost
exactly as I remembered her from my youth. She looked at me
quizzically, and said, "Can I help you?" I said, "Mrs. Reed, don't
you remember me? It's Joe R-------, you were my Den Mother."
Her face went stark white, and she said, "I never saw you before
in my life, and if you ever come to my door again, my husband will
kick your ass!"
I turned and walked away to the sound of a slamming door. I guess
I was too old for her. I was 18, instead of 9.