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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
Orange Memories (MF)
fortyheavn@aol.com (FortyHeavn)
Note: This story is completely nonfiction. Comments welcome.
An Orange Bird Flew by Twice
All that now seemed clear was that it always was. Before she had seen
his eyes fill up with tears; before she had known the softness of his
mouth, the earthy smell of his hair, the taste of his sweat; before that
moment when his impossibly immense and desire-drenched cock first had
pushed tentatively into the moist warmth between her thighs; even before
the first subtle twitching of her lip had silently announced her
incorrigible need; before the discovery of sameness even in their
disparateness; before the vivid dreams of night had turned to sleepless
obsession; before the mere sound of his voice would treble the rate of her
pounding heart; before the friendship; before even the first time their
meeting eyes would not be pried apart, when she had felt the trembling,
quaking rumble of desire thundering up from her soul, terrifying in its
persistence and insistence to be acted on.
She must have loved him always, in other lives, other centuries, other
millennia. What other explanation could there be for the sort of love
that grows deeper and stronger, even in its aftermath?
Now, months later, the searing pain of parting has finally dulled to some
bearable level of almost non-existence. Relaxing on the verandah, gazing
up amazed at bats frenetically criss-crossing the dusky sky, she is
reminded of a day in early summer when the flight of the orange bird
finally, though tentatively, had propelled her into his arms. As the
memories flood back into consciousness, she shivers softly, squeezing her
eyes shut, allowing the rapture of that distant moment to enter the
present. She nearly cries, remembering. It has been a very long time
since she’d last shed tears, but now she can feel them welling up behind
her eyelids. One drop swells over the brim and trickles warmly down her
cheek. She feels her whole body shudder in remembered climax.
----------------------------------------
It is last June now, and after months upon months of almost unendurable
desire, they are suddenly and finally locked in embrace. After she had
remarked twice about an orange bird flying across the garden behind him,
he’d gone to the window, more to break the tension of the moment than to
actually look for the bird. She had felt herself being launched from her
chair to slowly approach him from behind, and touch his elbow ever so
softly.
With her nose clamped against his warm neck, her nostrils fill for the
first time with his masculine scent, and she memorizes it completely and
forever in that moment. Their bodies press together so tightly that she
is able to feel the pounding of both of their hearts. Though impossibly
close, she strains hard to draw him even closer to her, and he does
likewise.
He combs his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of her neck,
feeling her body tensing against his. Dizzy with desire and mutual
disbelief that this is all happening, their sense of time and place has
all but evaporated. They are finally alone together and suddenly his
mouth is covering hers, quieting the twitching of her errant lip. In the
midst of all that is happening, she files away a mental note of surprise
at the softness of his beard and mustache against her face. She had
expected something more bristly and harsh, but the texture is pleasing
and adds to the building crescendo of her desire. His mouth is also soft
and sweet and tender, and she wants to taste more and more of it. She
tries sliding a stiffened tongue past his lips, but he will not admit it.
But even in her frustration, the moment is unforgettable, and the kiss
seems to go on forever.
Suddenly she becomes aware that she has been standing on her toes, and her
leg muscles are quivering from strain. She slowly eases her weight back
onto her heels, causing their bodies to separate some. Neither has
uttered a single sound, but they are thinking and moving as one. A little
awkwardly, he grasps her hand and leads her up the stairs to his bedroom.
She wobbles a bit, finding walking difficult.
------------------------------------------------------
Night is falling rapidly and the bat activity is increasing. But soon it
will be too dark for the human eye to observe them in flight. Woe to the
katydids. Woe to remembrance.
-------------------------------------------------------
She was no longer a young woman. Though the years had been kinder to her
than to most, tiny crinkles were just beginning to form on her eyelids,
and little spider veins were surfacing behind her knees. And there were
other hints to be found, if one inspected carefully. And she did, every
day. There had not been many great loves in her life, but those that she
had loved had returned that love with fierce ardor, until at last, sensing
their souls being sucked from them, each had given her up; sacrificed the
intensity of fiery passion for something more like contentment. And yet,
none of them had made a clean break from her.
The Egyptian had moved back to Cairo after a near-fatal coronary had
felled him just before turning forty. It had taken thirteen shots of
adrenaline directly into his heart to revive him after he’d collapsed in
the hospital emergency room. A physician himself, he’d recognized the
early signs and managed to transport himself to the hospital with not a
millisecond to spare.
After he’d gone, his letters had still arrived faithfully, though
intermittently, for fifteen years--from Kabul, from Istanbul, from Zurich,
from Beirut. He’d write them aboard airplanes, posting the letters from
wherever he was next stopping. And then one day, after a longish spell
without any communication, she had learned of his passing. A combination
of cigarettes and alcohol and too fast a pace had led to an early demise.
His family history had foreshadowed it and his lifestyle had assured it.
He was dead. Like that. After twenty-one years.
The Czech had fallen heavily under her spell. Younger than she, he had
proclaimed his youthful rapture in stacks and stacks of passionate verse,
composed in her honor. But after a year, he too had sacrificed his soul
to her love, and out of desperation to repossess it, he’d also sacrificed
her, accepting the dull contentment of normality in trade. She still
heard from him once or twice a year. He’d married, adopted children, and
eschewed the world of Academia for a corporate humdrum existence. He
seemed drabber to her with each telephone call. Perhaps the calls would
cease now, after nearly twenty years.
After the Czech, she had married. It had been a marriage of love. Though
many many years her senior, he was charming, kind and passionate, and he
shared her love of nature and of music and of literature and poetry.
Their lovemaking had been frequent and tender and she had to admit, even
to herself, that for the most part, she too had found contentment.
But then there’d been a serious automobile accident, after which he’d
become nearly sexually impotent and had begun, around the same time, to
drink heavily. Though he still adored her, he had taken to laughing off
all of her intimate overtures, until at some point she had just given up
trying. She was 40. And if she was totally honest, she’d admit that she
could not be content, merely to be content.
After a while, she began to die. Slowly, but insidiously death was
surrounding her, enveloping her. She could almost smell the stench of her
decaying spirit. Two years passed, before the Englishman.
He had come into her life just when things had seemed bleakest. His cool
aloofness belying the seething passion that lived in him, she had enticed
it to the surface, from where it thundered forth, amazingly and to his
own chilling surprise. The passion between them had consumed, coming
close to devouring them. From across the ocean they had exchanged
hundreds of letters and poems, proclaiming their hopeless love nightly to
the stars that they both could see. When they were able to come
together, their love making had been explosive yet poignant. And then he
too, fearing the ultimate draining of his essence, had finally opted for
escape. Afterward they somehow had managed to rebuild a friendship.. It
had been four years since they’d begun.
Death was closing in again. She became aware of it, eating away at her,
eroding all that was left of her fragile spirit.
Then. the Indian had come.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------
The night sky has completely blackened. Nowhere is there even the hint of
the moon. And yet she still stares up into the vacant sky, seeing
nothing; remembering everything.
-------------------------------
They pause at the top of the stairs and embrace again. She loves his
smell, the taste of the inside of his mouth, and inhales deeply, both to
revive herself some and to take in as much of him as she can. They have
only just begun, but she has the sense that this may be their only time
together. They still have not spoken since before the orange bird’s
portentous flight, and somehow she knows that they will not. From behind,
he leads her down the corridor to his room, where they stop to kiss again.
She becomes aware of dampness in her panties.
They embrace again, though this time with less urgency and more
tenderness. She takes hold of his right hand and presses it softly to her
cheek. He seems awkward at this, but she ignores his discomfort for the
moment, sliding his palm to her lips, kissing it deeply. She kisses his
fingers too, wanting to suck them into her mouth. But she senses he is
not yet ready for this. After a while, he removes his eye glasses and
places them on a shelf. With vision blurred, he relies on his fingers for
whatever sight is still required. Surprisingly deftly, he unfastens the
buttons on her blouse. She, with more awkwardness, unbuttons his shirt,
and gently coaxes the shirttails from his trousers. He slides the fabric
down the slope of her shoulders allowing it to fall to the floor. And
with even more dexterity than that with which he’d undone her buttons, he
reaches behind her back, and with the fingers of one hand, opens the
catches of her black lacy bra. And it, too falls to the floor. She
feels herself tremble as her heavy breasts are offered to his hands and
to his mouth.
She notes the marked contrast of his fingers, dark against the whiteness
of breasts never exposed to sunlight. The sight strikes her with its
beauty, and she feels her pulse quicken again, as he strokes and kisses
her nipples, feeling them stiffen and grow under his touch. His tee-shirt
is now an almost unbearable impediment and without a word, he lifts his
arms to allow her to raise it over his head and drop it to the floor to
join the other garments, now mingling together, copying the acts of the
bodies they once covered. Her trembling escalates as he reaches for the
buttons of her jeans. As he works her zipper, she unbuckles his belt and
fumbles with his trouser button. He helps her. The sound of unzipping
in unison and two pounding hearts is all that can be heard, though the
silent throbbing between her thighs has become exquisitely painful and she
thinks, perhaps audible.
In the next moment, they are naked -- dark and pale bodies straining
together to be one. Unable to postpone it any longer, she allows her hand
to drift down to caress the stiffened organ pressing on her thigh; it
seems immensely heavy against her soft skin. Unconsciously holding her
breath, she touches it--tentatively at first, but then more assertively.
"Oh, God!" she almost breathes the words. His cock is massive, heavy and
thick. She grasps its head and finds it soaked.. Fighting a wild
impulse to drop to her knees and lick off the drops of thick, viscous
liquid, she laces her fingers around the huge shaft and begins to memorize
its contours, sliding the moisture, as she might a condom, down its
length. Would she even be capable of stretching her lips around its
impossible girth? Delirious with the notion, she makes mental notes of
its size and shape. Huge and throbbing, wet and slippery, she feels the
crescent-shaped curve of his engorged penis. She allows her eyes to fall
on it. It is gorgeous, smooth and dark, heavily pendulous. She had been
in love with him for an eternity, and now she has fallen madly in love
with his cock. Her breath comes in gasps, as she imagines slowly sucking
him into her own throbbing orifice. She moans softly, temples pounding in
unison with the pulsating between her legs.
With gentle movements, he leads her to the edge of the bed, and they sink
together onto the mattress, mouth to mouth, fingers traversing the
surfaces of each others’ bodies. At last, unable to delay any longer
himself, he rolls her onto her back and positions himself above her. His
cock hangs, poised above her sex, massive and foreboding. She gulps in
anticipation, as he grasps it to guide it to her wet slit. She is
breathless now, her body rigid with almost fear-like anticipation. It is
too large to enter her unassisted. She, now desperate to be filled by
him, must help to prepare the way. Reaching between her thighs, she
coaxes open the inner labia, and a second later, he enters her, squeezing
his eyes shut to experience the moment more profoundly. She flexes her
vaginal muscles several times. increasing his pleasure.
And then she cannot stifle a groan of thrill as he pushes into her,
impossibly slowly. He can feel every inflamed vaginal cell contracting
to suck him further into her. Slowly, slowly he is complying with her
desire. Their organs are soaked in the moistures of desire, and so the
friction produced by his immense size and her still-tight pussy invokes
the most intense pleasure, bordering on the exquisite edge of pain. She
moans softly again as he penetrates her completely, and presses farther..
He remains perfectly silent. Has he trained himself to fuck silently?
She wonders at the questions her mind would consider at a time like this.
With his face pressing tightly against hers, arms cradling her head, she
breathes deeply to take in the scents of their mingling bodies, now
soaked and glistening with perspiration. She shudders as he pulls nearly
all the way out, her vaginal walls molding perfectly to the crescent curve
of his cock.
His rhythmic dance is easy for her to follow, and her hips rise and fall
in perfect harmony with his slow, but deliberate movement. The
sensations produced by this are almost more powerful than she can bear.
She is torn, needing to pull him deeper inside her and at the same time,
savoring every cell-stretching motion, in waltz time. She entwines her
legs around his waiting for the pace to change. He makes the next
decision. Adjusting his body slightly, he shifts his head to rest against
her right cheek, tightens his hold around her upper torso, and drives into
her suddenly with almost frightening force. Again and again he pounds
into her, sweat now pouring from his slippery body. He’s hurting her now,
but she is long past caring; wants him deeper; wants it to hurt more,
wants to know he’s been there when tomorrow comes.
Her fingers dig deeply into the tight, rock hard flesh of his ass, pulling
him deeper with every thrust. She feels a little frightened as his
breathing becomes wheezing. Unable to keep up with his relentless rhythm,
she wraps her legs tightly around the small of his back, and rides the
waves of his passion until he collapses, exhausted. They remain glued
together for minutes, hearts still pounding, drenched in sweat and other
body fluids; no words have yet passed between them. She glimpses, almost
in disbelief, his soaked, but still enormous organ as he extricates it
from deep with her body.
-------------------------------------------------
On the front porch, the spaniel jumps into her arms, resting his nose
against her pounding chest. She cuddles him to her, eyes closed, nose
buried in his fur. The bat activity has now given way to a cacophony of
insect song. She places a collection of tiny kisses on the dog’s face,
and the memories continue to stream into consciousness.
---------------------------------------------------
They lie side-by-side for a time, sweat evaporating from their bodies.
She touches the back of her head to find her hair is soaked and matted,
and for the first time considers that she will be going home soon. Going
home. Like this?
Brushing away the thought, she raises herself up on an elbow to look at
him. He is not asleep, but his eyes are closed, and his chest is rising
and falling in normal-appearing respirations. She tries to memorize his
face and body as it is now. He is in his fifties, but there is not a line
or wrinkle on him, but for the tiny scar on his left cheek, resembling a
dimple. She adores his face. She traces the line of his lips with her
finger. They are full and beautifully shaped, and she ponders why he
would want to cover them with a mustache. Still, the beard suits him,
somehow. She smiles to herself because up to now, facial hair on men has
been displeasing to her. But now, she would love nothing more than to
leave her face buried in his beard for hours.
His eyes flutter open for a second and then close again. He reaches
around her to gently stroke her back and buttocks with his open palm. The
texture of his hand and fingers against her skin is at once soothing and
titillating. He lifts his head to kiss her mouth softly, then lowers it
back to the pillow. Her eyes fall to his penis, and she is amazed to see
that it is still swollen and stiff. The sight re-excites her almost
instantly.
Her lips graze his ear, his neck, his shoulders. Slowly, she traces
little circles around his nipples with her tongue, feeling them stiffen
slightly. There are a few hairs, not many, on the hollow of his chest and
she kisses them too, exciting herself even more at the thought of where
she is heading with this. He knows too, what is coming next and his heart
begins to race again. With her ear so close to his chest, she can hear
the pace quickening. Her lips kiss their way down his stomach, and to the
area of tender, smooth skin just above his cock. She licks him there
softly, turning her head to catch a quick glimpse of his face. It appears
less relaxed now, but he is still composed.
She again raises up on her elbow, partly to introduce some delay, but
partly to begin to memorize the rest of his body. Apart from the typical
belly bulge seen often in men his age, his body is well muscled and firm
everywhere. She had been struck during their lovemaking by the hardness
of his ass and thighs. Now her eyes take in their contours. Apart from
the hairs, his legs could compete with a woman’s in terms of shape and
firmness. She smiles to herself, enjoying a momentary mental vision of
this, so masculine person, dressed in high heels and nylons. Then she
begins to kiss the hairless skin on the inside of his thighs.
Though mostly evaporated by now, the smell of their mingled perspiration
and her own arousal-laced vaginal juices is strong where her face is
working now, and adding to her already regenerating desire. The tip of
his cock brushes her cheek, and leaves a streak of thick moisture there,
announcing his mounting rearousal. With her excitement, she has forgotten
to breathe, and finds herself gasping for air. She inhales deeply, then
softly begins licking her own essence from his balls and the sides of his
cock. He strokes her hair gently, coaxing her to continue. She does,
oddly enjoying the salty, acrid taste of herself on him. She works her
way slowly to the head of his penis, finding it moistened again with the
latest drops of precum. She gulps them down greedily, again aware that
the throbbing has again accelerated between her thighs.
Stretching her lips over her teeth to protect the tender skin on his
cock’s head, she takes him into her mouth slowly, trying to relax her jaw
to allow it to open wider. She swirls her stiffened tongue around the
rim, inhaling more of their mingled essences. His fingers involuntarily
grasp a clump of her thick hair, but in this state, she is past noticing
if it hurts. She slides her lips further down his cock, feeling the firm
pressure of its head against the back of her throat, and concentrates on
suppressing the gag impulse, sucking him back farther. As much as she is
able, she moves her mouth up and down the length of his cock, which now
seems to have grown even thicker and larger than before. Now torn between
wanting to continue this to its inevitable end, and the need to feel him
deep within her again, she gives way to the more urgent need, allowing his
cock to fall heavily against his thigh. Up on her knees now, she
straddles his hips. Grasping the giant organ with her right hand, she
again uses the fingers of her left hand to slightly open her labia. Then
guiding his cock to the door, she sinks slowly down on it, feeling his
hips rise to meet her. She feels her face contort into a grimace as the
warm, heavy organ provides intense friction easing into her.
This position provides her another view of his lips and face and she
consciously scans them and commits them to memory. He appears so
beautiful to her, that she wonders if this is not yet another of her vivid
dreams. He reaches up and begins to massage her engorged clitoris with
his two thumbs. The sensation is too intense and actually causes her to
buckle in pain, and collapse onto his chest. Cradling his face in her
hands, she kisses him softly, stroking the silver-streaked hair above his
temples. His lips are soft and warm and the kiss deepens while her hips
begin to involuntarily undulate. "Oh God", she whispers, her voice too
weak to resonate. They move together slowly, in perfect mirrored unison.
Her face twists into a grimace of too much pleasure, as she places her
palms on the mattress beside his face and lifts her hips to slide nearly
off of his penis, squeezing her vaginal muscles to keep from losing him.
The pace quickens. He bends his knees and braces his heels against the
mattress to provide leverage for the onslaught he is about to launch.
Grasping her thighs, he raises his hips and pounds deep into her, harder
and harder, deeper and deeper. All of her energy is now concentrated on
keeping from being bucked off of him, and on trying not to cry out in
pain. She fears she is being torn inside, but there is nothing to do now
but ride the torrent until he explodes inside her. She had been close to
climaxing, but the searing pain from his stampeding cock has stopped it.
She hangs on in spite of the discomfort, hearing the rapid-fire slapping
of her sweat-soaked belly beating against his. He rams into her with
unimaginable force until finally, spent, he relaxes and allows her to
collapse against his chest.
They are soaked again in sweat, and perhaps blood or urine? She is afraid
to look down at her thighs as she slowly extricates herself from him. But
she forces her eyes downward. No blood. And no cum. Whatever other
liquid is there is indiscernible. His collapse was again from exhaustion,
not from climax. His cock drops back against his thigh, still huge,
swollen, and throbbing. She sighs.
They lie side-by-side now, trying to recover, It is very very hot now
and they are both drained of energy. She cannot explain it but even in
the painful throbbing aftermath of his attack on her womb, she feels she
could not love him more. He has not uttered even a slight audible sound
through all of this. She cannot believe it.
Minutes elapse. More relaxed now, he turns on his side to face
her,offering his lips for her kiss. He swings his right leg over her hip,
and his arm over her waist. Her skin had begun to feel cold from
evaporating sweat, and the heat provided by his still-warm body is
re-establishing a glow--and almost unwillingly, she feels desire begin to
burn again. Arms and legs around each other, they kiss tenderly,
caressing each other almost lazily. She reaches down to find his cock
still hard.
Rolling her over, he places himself between her thighs again, and
penetrates her again. Ever so gently this time, he cradles her in his
arms and moves slowly in and out of her cunt. She is way more relaxed
now, and the pleasurable sensations are now washing over her entire being,
as she contracts her vaginal rhythmically, sucking him into her depths.
Eyes closed, and transported from the wet and crumpled sheets, her mind
branches off to retrieve one of the fantasies she often uses to induce
orgasm during her frequent masturbation sessions. She imagines the
Indian, fucking her mouth, fucking her pussy, fucking her in the ass.
Her breath comes in shortened gasps now, as the fantasy crescendos in
unison with their lovemaking. He reaches down to where her left hand has
been grasping his buttocks, takes it, and places it on his back. She
holds him tightly to her, as he shifts his weight again and covers her
mouth with his, never changing the rhythm of his fucking. She feels the
beginnings of involuntary vaginal contractions warning her of the coming
orgasm and again she reaches down to grasp his ass with both hands.
Overcome with the building tidal wave, she wants to quickly bring him to
her speed. Her finger slips into the crack between his ass cheeks, and
she presses in slightly.. He gasps and guickens his thrusting. They are
together now, and she senses intuitively that it is safe to let go
completely. She hears the groan being to develop from somewhere in her
soul and she is unable to stifle the moans as she is shaken by powerful
orgasm.
Her body quivers heavily, eyes rolling backward, as wave after wave of
the climax sends her reeling to almost oblivion. He has not quite reached
the same place, but her contorting face and almost feral utterances are
now pushing him to the brink. His buttocks clamp tightly around her
finger. With quickening thrusts, she feels him shudder heavily as his
powerful orgasm rocks her into another of her own-- cunt muscles still
throbbing against his spending cock.
When at last he finds the strength to slowly pull his well-worn cock from
her, it leaves a trail of thick white cum on her inner thigh. After a
while she breaks the total silence to say softly, "I love you."
His silence is unbroken.
After a time, they dress and kiss one another softly. She gets into her
car and begins the journey home, wondering in her own silence just what
has just passed between them.
---------------------------------------------------------------
She sighs heavily, gently pushes the spaniel off of her lap, gazes once
more up into the heavens. Softly she whispers ‘goodbye’ to the Indian,
opens the screen door, and returns to the present.