Posted 07/00 ____________________________
| |
/)| 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
o o
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
o o
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
o o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o 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 o o o
Saliva (voy, mast)
by Hugo Alkaviade (alkaviade@cyberdude.com)
***
This and other stories can be found at:
http://www.geocities.com/athens/aegean/9006
***************************************************************
I turn off the lights. The bedroom is lit only by the black and
white TV screen. Some late night show about surfing. It takes only
a minute to undress and wear my pajamas. A glance at the mirror on
the wall gives me a view of my body - not very handsome, not that
tall, and much more hairy than I'd like it to be.
In the room next door, my parents have been sleeping for a long
time. I can't tell which one is snoring, but the noise sure is loud.
They always go to bed early. Staying up late to see a movie on the TV
or going to the cinema is impossible for them, because they must get
up very early in the morning to catch the bus in time to get to work.
As for me, I can stay in bed for a little while, waiting for my
own bus to take me to school. Tomorrow is Monday, so another week of
state-financed education awaits me. I hate Mondays. That's one of
the reasons I stay up so late on Sundays. Maybe I can extend the
weekend for a few hours before going to bed.
I pull the blankets over me after putting my glasses over the
little table by my bed, and turn off the TV.
The alarm clock rings. My hand quickly slips under the sheets to
stop it. Here we go again. The water from the shower helps me to
wake up. If my family weren't so poor I'd probably be smelling oats
and the acid odor of freshly-made orange juice. But no. As I get out
of the bathroom, all I can smell is cat's urine. Why does mom insist
on keeping a cat? It's breakfast time. Opening the fridge reveals a
slice of yesterday's pizza. I eat it avidly. Looking at the window,
I can see the other buiding across the street, which looks exactly
like this building and the other building in this neighborhood. Red
brick walls with small windows and no balconies. I'd sure like to
have a balcony. The fire escape ladder keeps rusting.
Better not use the elevator. It broke down three times last month,
and poor Mrs. Goldberg got the scare of her life, kept inside that
claustrophobic space for a couple of hours before someone listened to
her calls for help. It's the stairs, then. Running down all seven
flights gives me a speeding heartbeat. I can already hear the sound
of the slow yellow school bus. Trying to catch my breath, I get out
of the building and move to the bus stop.
Not much time passes before it arrives. I get in it and take my
usual seat, one of the seats at the front. Cool kids ride at the back
of the bus. The geeks ride at the front. Even at four or five rows
distance, I can smell the sweet perfume that Christine uses. She is
the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Her long black hair comes down
to her shoulders. Green eyes enhance her already beautiful face.
She has a boyfriend, Jack. Jack is one of those sport champions.
He's so perfect he could join the Hitlerian youth, if there were still
a Hitlerian youth. That's what really pisses me off. How is a guy
like me going to compete with guys like them?
The bus stops. We get out and stand before an unexpected scene.
One car has crashed against the school wall. A large number of kids
are gathered around the obviously drunk driver and a police officer
is placing him under arrest. I notice Christine and Jack pass by me
- he bumps my shoulder - as they rush to join the crowd. Only then
I notice that she is wearing a very tight pair of shorts. Her butt
is really very nice. Not too large and not too small. Just right.
Trying to remain unnoticed by her, I positioned myself behind and
to her left. Other kids keep coming to see the accident, so she is
totally surrounded, while I am at only a couple of feet away from her.
My hand starts moving towards her. After a final check that the other
kids' attention is completely drawn to the drunk man, I run my hand
between her butt cheeks in a vertical movement, then quickly withraw
it. She suddenly looks around but can't figure out who touched her;
she whispers something in her boyfriend's ear. He looks all around
menacingly, but from the surprise on the faces of the people standing
by him, he can't figure out who did it either.
The bell rings. It's time for my math class. The crowd that had
gathered suddenly disperses. I walk through familiar hallways and
reach the classrom. The class begins. Several equations fill the
blackboard and we start copying them. The first ones are quite easy
to solve, but difficulty increases as one passes to the next.
My mind starts to wander...
Her ass had been tight, alright. The cheeks seemed soft but firm
at the same time. When I had touched her I had taken great care to
be gentle when the tips of my fingers were precisely below her pussy
(or so I calculated by a not-so-educated guess). I suspect I may have
been right, because, at that very moment, she had shivered in a way
that she wouldn't have if I had not touched that sensitive spot. I
knew my hand would have to be at a safe distance from her in just a
few seconds, so I had moved it upwards, always keeping it in contact
with her butt, before pulling it away in a fast and precise gesture.
Now that I think about it, I had been really lucky that she couldn't
tell which one of the kids had felt her, for I would have been sure
to arrive home severely injured if Jack had gotten his hands on me.
"Michael!"
Someone is calling my name. It is the teacher. Suddenly awoken
from my day-dreaming, I am being called to solve some of the exercises
on the blackboard. As I am about to stand up, I suddenly realise I
have a hard-on. Close to panic and on the verge of seing the volume
between my legs being exposed to the entire class, I have to think
quickly. And so I do. I take my copy-book and hold it next to my
groin. I then stand up and go solve the equation. I don't know about
you, but solving equations kind of turns me off; by the time I was
halfway through, I could safely look at my copy-book to see if I was
doing the math right.
A few classes later, it was lunch time. When I got to the canteen,
she was already there, sitting next to - you guessed it - Jack. As I
was waiting for my turn in the single file, I couldn't stop looking at
her. As the fork approached her lips, her mouth opened and revealed
her perfect white teeth. I could see faint glances of her tongue.
What forbidden pleasures could that tongue allow, should I be the one
in her heart?
My turn finally comes. A fat and sweaty woman fills the dishes
with an undetermined nutritive mass. I take one of the dishes and a
pack of milk. Sitting next to Christine is impossible. Her table is
filled with guys who probably would start to bully me the second I
sat down. Eating that garbage is torture enough, without seing her
so close and not being able to reach her. With great effort, the so-
called food on my plate gradually vanishes and I'm ready for another
class.
As I have some spare time, I go to the computer room. Lucky me,
there's one free PC. Checking e-mail... No, the system administrator
still hasn't answered my request for extra disk quota. How typical.
Well, I guess I'll have to kill some time by watching Mr. Lee and Mrs.
Anderson's home-made vacation video once more. And there she goes
again! Taking Mr. Lee's penis in her mouth... Another scene shows her
taking it where Nature intended it to be taken.
Does Christine have a shaven pussy, as Mrs. Anderson has? Which
positions does she favor? Would she become wet by the touch of a
man's hand over her breasts, or would she need additional stimulation
- not necessarily by hand only - on her genitalia? Would licking her
pussy bring a taste of urine - however faint - to my tongue? Are her
labia majora as swollen as Mrs. Anderson's, or are they thin and
delicate? I am absolutely sure her breasts don't have silicone
implants as do the ones Mrs. Anderson has, but how do they look when
exposed to the sun? Are they very firm and stand in all of their
glory, or are they somewhat flaccid and tend to droop?
One can only try to guess the answers to these conjectures.
Another hour, another boring class. Physics. If a time machine
is ever invented, I will surely volunteer to go back and terminate
Mr. Newton. While I'm at it, I might even put a bullet in Herr
Lebnitz's head and stab Monsieur Cauchy and Monsieur Lagrange in the
back.
Christine is going to have her gymnastics class. I can't miss
that. Off I go to the sports field. Some girls are on the field,
and some are still coming out of the locker room. They are jumping
and running, their breasts moving up and down, up and down...
I lie down on the lawn to conceal my growing erection. As I remain
there, it comes to full size, and I can feel my underwear becoming
slightly wet from pre-cum.
The locker room...
There are moments when my mind is assaulted by evil toughts. At
those times, ideas start flowing at fast rate and cunning plans are
made. My heart starts to beat faster.
The locker room's entrance is somewhat concealed by a low wall, so
if a person is standing on the play field, she can't see who goes in
and out. The beating of my heart has reached a very fast rate.
The girls move far off to the opposite side of the field. This is
my chance. Without being noticed, I manage to get in their locker
room. A row of hangers is on the eastern wall. I go straight to her
clothes and pull my pants and boxers down to my knees. An erection
starts to take shape. Soon my penis is pointing straight at her
clothes, just like if it had a will of its own.
A thin string of saliva drops from my lips to my hand. The hand is
placed around my penis. A familiar feeling. I let the saliva reach
the same temperature as my member before proceeding. Then I start.
My hand moves slowly forward and backward. When it reaches the base
of my penis, a portion of it is left uncovered, at the tip. A gentle
breeze coming from an opened window high above meets that part and
makes me shiver. As usual, my testicles move closer to my body. I
cup them with my free hand - inside them, I notice movement.
I wonder if I am successfull at imitating with my hand the feelings
I would have if I were actually inside a woman's vagina... The wetness
and warmth are there, but I am sure that only with the presence of the
woman will I be able to fully appreciate sex.
The movement continues. With all my practice, I can now hold back
for as long as I like. Will I be able to do as well when it happens
for real? I fear I will be too nervous and probably even ejaculate
before - or shortly after - penetrating her.
Nice ceiling.
From outside, the noise of about twenty girls exercising can be
heard. What would happen if one of them were to come in now? Just
thinking of that makes me hornier. Would I have the guts to face her
and finish what I had started right on her shirt, or would I chicken
out and hide? What would the consequences be, should I choose not to
be a chicken?
The tension accumulated reaches the level that tells me I'm close
to orgasm. Slowing the rythm, I try to make it last some more time.
Ocasionally, when I'm at home alone, I stop for a while and start
over, a minute or so later.
Looking down, I contemplate my penis. Its tip is the shape of a
cone, because it's circumcised. The wetness on the skin makes it look
glossy under the lights of the cloak-room. Two or three veins are
visible.
I remove my left hand from my testicles and grab Christine's
panties, that tiny piece of cotton still impregnated with her scent.
I hold the panties in front of my penis and prepare to wet them.
Contracting my buttocks, I push forward as I feel the flow of sperm
moving closer to the outside world. Then a jet of white, thick liquid
is expelled from my pulsating penis and lands on Christine's panties.
Several other jets follow, each one with less intensity than the last,
and I make sure all of my liquid lands exactly where it is supposed to
land. A feeling of fulfillment and general fatigue invades me.
Her panties are totally soaked. I put them back where they were.
It's a good thing the girl's locker room has liquid soap. I wash
my hands and my penis.
Looking around the entrance reveals no one in sight, so I can exit
safely. I go and sit at a safe distance, pretending to read a physics
book.
It was last month. It was with a heart filled with fear and a rose
in my hand that I approached her. She was at the park, autumn leaves
falling at her feet, sitting there near the red fish pond. "May I sit
beside you?" said I.
"Indeed you may," said she. By the blush on my face, for
which the rose's deep red was no rival, she could - and indeed, to
the best of my knowledge, she did - foretell my intention. For longer
than I would have wished, we talked about all sorts of uninteresting
things.
Then, knowing that I would not be able to express my feelings
through words, I put the red rose down in her lap. She looked at me,
noticeably amused. My knees were shaking. My lips were dry, as I
noticed when the softness of her cheek came in contact with them.
After that first kiss, I drew back. She looked at me. "Listen,
Michael, I think you're a very nice guy, but that's all." As she
walked away, leaves kept falling from nearby trees. The red rose
stayed on the ground.
I sat there for a long while. My lips where no longer dry, for
drops of salty water had made them moist.
The girls are coming out of the locker room. It seems they are
unusually agitated. In particular, Christine looks very pissed.
The End?
______________________________________________________________________
I really would appreciate feedback. E-mail: alkaviade@cyberdude.com
This story may not be sold. It can be freely archived, distributed,
and reposted as long as it not chanced in any way.
The characters and incidents portrayed and the names used herein are
fictitious, and any similarity to the name, character, or biography
of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidential and
unintentional.
______________________________________________________________________