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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
Stranger, The (MF)
by Anon Author
***
All morning her mind had been filled with bittersweet
sensations of anticipation and fear. As she left her office for
the afternoon the fear began to grow, only adding to the
anticipation. It was crazy. She had been married, for the most
part happily, for years, and never once had the thought of being
with someone else seriously crossed her mind. Then came the
letter. The minute she read it that long-forgotten sensation of
sexual anticipation had burst open in her pelvis. She was going
to do it. She didn't even know who had sent the letter -- just a
hungry admirer -- go the room number 129 on the afternoon of ....
It was crazy.
The door was ajar when she entered. The room was empty,
except for a massage table in the middle of the room. On the
massage table was a blindfold, and a note. She did as the note
instructed her to do. She undressed, put on the blindfold, and
lay on the table. Suddenly the fear began to get the upper hand.
From somewhere came soft music. The door had not opened.
Whoever was in the room had been there all along -- watching her
undress. The anticipation regained its lost ground.
Suddenly she felt hands on her wrist -- they were small,
soft hands. My god! she thought. It's a woman. She should have
known. The letter had carried a faint scent of perfume, and the
handwriting had been precise -- like a woman's. In all her
married life she had not seriously thought about being with
another man. But she had thought a lot about being with another
woman. Anticipation won.
The small hands bound her wrist, then her legs. She could
move a little bit, but not much. Not a word had been spoken.
She felt something rubbing along her neck -- soft and
velvety. The smell of a rose hit her nostrils. The rose
traveled over her neck and shoulders, tickling, teasing, waking
up fibers in her skin that had slept for many years. The rose
traveled in circles around one breast, each circle smaller than
the one before, creating a small spiral which would terminate at
her nipple. Her nipple swelled in anticipation. For what seemed
an eternity the rose repeated its course over each breast. Her
nipples ached -- they were like little hardons.
The rose began a course downward to her pelvis. She wanted
to open herself, but she couldn't. No sooner had the rose
arrived between her legs than she felt a warm wetness on her
nipple -- a mouth slowly licking, sucking, teasing. The moan she
heard could not have come from her -- it seemed like it came from
miles away. But it was her moan. She arched her back.
The mouth on her nipple moved to the other nipple, then
began to trace the course of the rose down to her pelvis. She
tried again to open her legs, but was stopped by the restraints.
The mouth arrived at her clitoris, the tongue having no
difficulty finding it as it was swollen and protruding. She
almost came, but she held herself back.
Slow, small circles the tongue made. It was so different
than what she was used to. No urgency, no pressure. Just
pleasure. She felt a pressure at her opening. Something was
sliding around it. She was soaking wet. It was a finger -- yes,
it felt like a finger. It probed her. It didn't force itself
into her. It explored her cautiously -- sliding in just a bit,
making a few small circles -- sliding back out. It was not an
anxious, self-centered hardon gouging her. It was so slow, so
gentle. And the tongue continued to probe her clitoris.
She had never experienced anything like that before. Even
when she had made herself come it had been more hurried, not slow
and gently like this. She wanted it to last forever, but her
brain had other ideas. The finger stopped making slow circles
and began to advance inside of her. The tongue left her
clitoris, to be replaced by two lips sucking on her. It was what
she did with her mouth on the tip of a dick. She was getting a
blow job. The finger buried itself, setting off a series of
convulsions in her pelvic muscle. She arched her back, straining
against her bonds. She came, wave after wave carrying her up, up
more, and finally to the pinnacle. Then, slowly, she drifted
back down. She was limp. Every muscle in her body was
quivering.
Silence. The music had stopped. She felt the hand undoing
her wrists, then her ankles. Then she was alone. She removed
the blindfold and dressed. Whoever it was, they had to still be
in the room. She wanted to find them -- to see the woman who had
done that, know who she was, talk to her. But she sensed that
that was not the woman's desire. Was it someone she knew?
Obviously it was someone who knew her.
She picked up the rose and left. She would wait for another
letter. She had never done anything like that before, but she
knew that she would do it again.