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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. 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
Tell Me Something Scary (MF, v)
by RICH H.
***
"Rich," she says, "tell me a spooky story. A ghost story.
Something evil." She pulls the maroon sheets up around her neck
and turns over on her side.
I put down a book of Ally Sheedy's poetry. "Well, I *was*
just up to the abortion one..."
I duck a shoe.
"What makes you think I know any 'ghost' stories?"
"Just tell."
"All right. Fine. You want to be scared?"
She nods vigorously.
"All right." I lean across her and reach into a drawer. I
pull out a joint.
"What's that for?"
"Mood lighting." She lights it and takes a drag.
"Okay, arms up."
"Arms? But--" While she mumbles some sort of half-protests
I slip her wrists into some leather cuffs that have been attached
with clothesline to the bottom of the bed, just over the casters.
"This is all for a story?"
"Um, yeah."
I slide down to the foot of the bed and hook up her ankles as
well. Then, I sit next to her on my ankles and pull away the
sheet.
"What are you looking at?"
"Your body. You're gorgeous."
"What are you thinking?"
"Just about how you react to things. How sometimes you'll
just ache to be touched and other times if you even just get tapped
on the shoulder you'll--"
"Shrink back?"
"No--that's that group with the big bald lead singer."
"No no no," she says, "you're thinking of that stuff they use
around packages, that plastic stuff that they heat to seal."
"No. What you mean is what Bill Murray wanted in 'What About
Bob'."
"Hey..."
I get off the bed and dig through the 'red bag'. From it I
pull a black satin blindfold that looks just like what Jewish men
wear in synagogue.
"What are you getting?"
I toss it over. "Lessee. We'll want a yamacha..."
"Hee."
I pull out some other goodies and head back over.
"Is that joint still lit?"
I put it between her lips and she takes another drag, as do I.
"Good pot. Paul hooked it up for me. Cost a fortune. Oh by
the way, don't forget, Paul and Pam are taking us out to Astral
Plane Thursday."
"Yum. I'm getting stoned. What are you *doing*?"
"Relax." I lube up a slim black butt plug and slowly eased it
in, twisting it.
"Oooh."
I wipe off my fingers on a towel and pick up a pair of nipple
clamps by the chain. She gasped. Her nipples are exquisitely
sensitive and nipple clamps can put her in orbit.
"Aaaaah, aaaaah..." Then they're on, not as tight as they can
go, but tighter than we'd ever set them. They'll be on for a
while.
I take the small bullet vibrator and place it on the bed next
to her hip and I reach over and turn out the bedside light.
"What have you got in mind here?" she asks. "This story
better not suck. I can't even throw a shoe at you. I'm stoned, by
the way."
"All right, I say, scared yet?"
"Kind of. I don't know--"
I reach under the bed and find the short-handled soft leather
cat o'nine tails. I drag the tips across her lips and clit and
mons.
"Yes, I'm scared. I worry when I don't know what you're up
to. Oh, but that feels nice..."
I open a wooden clothespin and attach it to the side of her
left breast. She gasps. Another to the right. I've had these but
have never used them with her before.
"Now, I've never ever told this story to anyone. I guess this
was about the only time I've really really been *afraid*, you know?
You remember James, right?"
"Uh-huh."
James was my best friend through high school. Now I think
he's some kind of ambassador's aide or something.
"Well, we'd heard all through high school about this place in
Central Bucks County. In Buckingham. Something called 'Lower
Mountain Road'. We'd heard that it goes uphill but you can put
your car in neutral at the bottom and it'll drag you up the hill.
We were skeptical, needless to say. Now Buckingham is a pretty
weird place in its own right--bordering on Pennsylvania Dutch
country, it's supposed to be the site for most of the Satan worship
in that area. Animal sacrifices, blood rites, lotsa weird shit.
Pagan fertility menarche virgin dances..."
"Oh. No--"
"Honest. But we didn't believe any of it. So we decided to
check it out one day. I think we headed up there from school. I
must have been driving a Plymouth Fury--a monstrous car that was
great to party in. We picked up a sixpack somewhere and smoked a
bowl or two. Of the kinda pot that really got you high. And we
were good to go."
"Hee."
"What?"
"That phrase. Good to go. I've never heard you say that."
"It's because it's a James story. I'm slipping back into how
we talked then."
"I like it. Go on."
I squeeze open and close two more clothespins on her breasts.
"Wow."
"What?"
"How you look.
"Keep going." Two more clothespins. "With the *story*..."
"So we have no idea where we're going. And we're a good hour
and a half from home. All the roads seem to run on forever. It's
all farms and shit. And the roads all have dumb names that just
make it worse: Upper Creamery Road, Lower Dolington, Midhile
Mountainview Lane--what the hell is that? Midhile?!"
"Isn't that what the Nazis would say...?"
"No no no--you're thinking of the guy with those 'follies'"
"No--you're wrong--you're thinking of that faggy magician guy
who works with the tigers in Vegas."
"Roy?"
"I hate you."
"So...we're on this one road, starting to get dark, dusky...I
didn't like it, and I had no idea where we were. James says,
'Rich, check out the horse and buggy behind us.' I look into the
rear view. Nothing. 'Huh?' He turned around and looked out the
back. 'The fuck. I just saw--' 'Oh, there it is. I see em now.
Must've turned off. A guy and his daughter.' 'Huh?' 'Ain't there
now,' he said. 'And besides. *I* saw 'Three Women'. We drove
around for another twenty minutes or so Look, I said. A bar.
Let's stop. Get directions. Something to drink, ok? 'Cool.' We
each took another hit off the bowl and James pulled on this jacket
he had. James was black, tall, strong-looking and we were in a
notoriously-prejudiced area. And he was wearing a Malcolm X jacket
way before Spike Lee even learned how to spell it. The bar was
called the 'Double Eagle Inn', I think. It looked like a place
Edgar Allen Poe might have frequented--"
"Had he ever lived in Buckingham."
"Well, yeah. But it's still a pretty creepy place. Big,
brick, grungy looking. We walked in and saw a couple pool tables
and a bar at the other end. There were only a few people at the
bar, but they just couldn't get over us, especially the two at the
end who looked like those women look in Shakespeare's Sister, only
they were blonde and really ugly. And James was quite a sight in
there. Across the bar, this evil Wilhem Defoe-lookin-like guy with
one of those faces that looked like a claymore mine exploded in
front of it is giving James looks. We ordered and were brought a
couple mugs of something nasty and James asked the Defoe guy if
he'd ever heard of 'Lower Mountain Road.'"
"Oh yeah, says the guy. You wanna go up Jericho Mountain. I
look at James and James says, 'Of course. Jericho Mountain' and we
laugh. Guy goes on. 'Friend o'mine got shot there last year about
this time. The Shakespeare Sisters women were whispering to each
other and the one had her hand on the other's shoulder, giving it
a rather friendly squeeze. The Defoe guy saw that our attention
had shifted and said, 'Oh, don't mind them. They've been like that
since they were seven.' No one can make heads or what of them'.
James took out a coin and flipped it. 'Heads or what', he said.
'What?' 'Damn!' and he handed me the quarter. Defoe guy said, 'I
can tell you how to get to Jericho Mountain. But you boys don't
wanna be there past oh, too late or so, and it's getting on about
reckonin' to soon now, so why don't I just show you myself?' We
looked at each other, dumbfounded, paid for our beers, and walked
out with the guy. 'Hi. I'm Rich.' 'James'. 'Deac'."
I got up and went to the bathroom.
"Hey, come back here."
"Relax, I'll be there in a sec. I'm hungry." I ran back into
the bedroom and got out a ball gag and buckled her into it.
"Okay, now sit tight, I'll be right back."
"Mmmm-nnnnggg."
I reach down and feel between her legs. "Wow," I say, " I
haven't even got to the really creepy parts yet. Am I gonna need
a towel?"
"Nnnngggg"
I walk into the kitchen and look in the fridge. Roast beef,
seeded rye, horseradish, cool. A sandwich and a Coke later, the
phone rings. I answer it--it's Paul--we talk for a bit, quietly.
Then I make it back to the bed.
I lean down and blow some air across her exquisite clit. She
shudders and I say, "Ready for the rest of the story?"
"Nnnn-g-mmmm," she says.
"Okay, so this guy, we finally get a look at him. He's not
real big at all, but he's wiry and his neck and forearms were
really well-muscled, as if his job was wringing things out until
they were really dry. And he was evil, no other way about it. He
smelled evil, his eyes were dark and narrow and his jeans fit
really well. I guess he was somewhere around late twenties or
early fifties and probably had a daughter. He got in the back and
we closed up and I said, 'Where to?'
"'Left up here. Then just go.' We pulled on to one of those
roads where like the trees all seem to grow inward and make the
road into a kind of tunnel shroudy thing. Well, it wasn't
completely dark out yet but because of these trees it was pitch
black on that stupid road. James went to put in a tape. 'No
music', said Deac, and he actually reached over and pulled James'
arm back. Really. We just looked at each other but figured it was
some kind of Amish thing. The trees ended but the road just went
on and on. We'd see the horse and buggy types from time to time,
but they always seemed far off, and were tough to get a good luck
at. It was all very creepy and I turned up the heat in the car.
Deac cracked his window. 'So how do we get back to 413 from here,
Deac', asked James, as we were instructed to make yet another turn,
this time onto a road with no sign...'
"'Oh, I'll get you back, don't you worry.' We looked at each
other and we were pretty sure that the two of us could take him if
we had to, but we weren't positive. We'd been driving for hours.
It was well after eleven and we hadn't told anyone where we were
and it was a school night so we figured we were in pretty deep shit
anyhow so what the hey. All of a sudden, Deac sat up real
straight and said, 'Okay, you see that wagon wheel thing? You're
gonna make a right, a left, then a right. Then we'll be on Lower
Mountain Road. Then the shit will fly...'"
I grabbed the cat and trickled it over her chest and stomach
and cunt, dragging the full length of the leather over her clit.
She was wetter than I'd ever seen her.
"So, I pulled onto the road and we started moving. It was
another of those tree-shrouded roads, dotted on each side by these
mostly gutted-out farmhouses and barns. We were building up speed,
doing about thirty on the narrow road, when I said, "Um, James, my
foot's not on the accelerator.' 'No way.' I put the car in
neutral and we kept picking up speed. I swear to God. It was the
weirdest fucking thing. And it scared me shitless. Deac's
laughing didn't help. 'Ain't that some wild shit? This road fucks
people up. Haw haw.'"
A knock at the door. "Shit. Hang on, okay?"
"MMMM-NN-NNNNGGGG!"
"I'll be right back. I open the door in the living room.
It's Paul. He punches me in the stomach and then in the face and
I can taste blood from my lip.
"Hey, be cool!"
He turns over a chair and breaks a lamp. I can hear her
trying to scream from the bedroom. He looks at me. I nod and slip
into the kitchen for a beer. Then I come back into the living room
and take a seat where I can see into my room. She's really out of
her head now, but there wasn't very much slack in the ropes and she
can't move much. Paul slides between her legs and starts licking.
His hands and nose are much smaller than mine and she can tell
right away this is someone else. I'm hard already but it's early.
After some minutes Paul sits up and very audibly unzips. I love
this gag! She's so quiet, it's such a contrast to what's
happening. Paul slides on a condom and lowers himself easily into
her and begins fucking her hard, very hard. He's heavier than I am
and I know she'll have some new bruises after this.
He wipes away the clothespins and the nipple clamps and keeps
going, roughly, savagely. He squeezes her breasts together and
bites from one nipple to the other. I wonder what kind of shit I'm
gonna get for this when I notice she's not resisting much anymore.
He sees the knife on my bedside table and gets it and holds it
against her throat. He whispers into her ear, his voice gravelly
and unfamiliar, "Don't scream." He unbuckles the ball gag and she
breathes deep and says, through tears, "Please, please, please--"
It's starting to get dicey so I get up and Paul uncuffs her
arms. I very quietly head into the bedroom and sit next to her
head.
Paul slides off and zips himself back up. He mouths, "See
ya," and slips out.
I bend my head down and whisper into her ear, "That was Paul.
I love you. Happy rape."
And you know, for a small girl she can punch.
--