____________________________
                    |                            |
                  /)|     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  	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


[A] Summers Morn (family)
by Kurt Hoffman (c) 1995

*

I scratched myself through my cotton pajama bottoms.

"Would you like more coffee?" my wife repeated.

I could not answer. With his strong dock worker's hands, my father-in-law
kept my face pressed into his crotch. Thus constrained, I could do little
but crudely apply suck and tongue to the bulge in his trousers.

"He's a good boy, your husband. Ain't you, son?," said my father-in-law,
nodding for the coffee pot.

"He was always good," said my wife. "Practice is helping his technique.
This week we had a dishwasher repairman, the two carpenters from next
door, and someone else, who was it? Oh, the fat kid. That was good."

"Oh yeah? What happened with the fat kid?"

Coffee poured sent its sumptuousness wafting. My wife tipped the cup at her
father's lips. He moaned long with pleasure. "You always did make good
coffee, Helen." I couldn't see, but imagined she gazed at her father with
admiring affection as she often did.

"Well, he comes round with raffle tickets for the church lottery. I have
him wait in the foyer for a few minutes while I 'get my purse.' It takes
forever to 'find it,' so I ask him to come upstairs for a second while I
look. The shades are drawn. The bed is a mess of sheets and discarded
underwear."

"I turn and spritz him with my perfume. 'You're cute, aren't you.' Lord
knows he wasn't, but he beamed. And I lift his striped t-shirt and kinda
trace the edge of his navel with my finger. He starts to say something, but
I just slide my finger into his mouth. Voila, a little erection begins to
poke at his pants. And I say, 'Now, just tell me what this feels like, OK,
honey?' And I unzip his pants and stroke his wee wee. He's got this look
like--what?--well, obviously disturbed, you know? I thought he was going to
shit, or cry or something, but he finally says, 'That feels good...ma'am.'
I asked him if he ever played with himself and thought of girls, and he
shook his head nervously. I grabbed his balls really hard just then, and
said, 'You're lying aren't you?' He was petrified. Hold on, I gotta get the
toast, its burning."

My father-in-law pushed my head away, revealing a wet spot on his trousers.
My work area. He grunted, unzipped his fly, and pushed his trousers down to
his shins. I knelt silently before him. He pushed down the elastic of his
well-worn briefs. A musty scent accompanied the spectacle of his thick,
purplish semi-erection. The old thing never came full stiff, but oozing
precum signaled that my efforts thus far this morning had been
satisfactory. I sucked in the gooey dickhead and felt the pulsing flesh of
patriarchy in my mouth.

My wife threw some toast in the garbage, and continued.

"So I'm holding the little fatso by the balls, and I get Lou to come up
from the basement. I say, 'Lou, this kid never thinks about girls when he
jacks off, what do you think of that?' And Lou says, 'Is that true kid?'
And the kid just stands with his jaw dropped trying to shake his head no.

'C'mon, kid,' says Lou, pushing the kid onto the bed. We take the kid's
clothes off telling him he better not squeal about this or we'll get his
father fired at the plant. And he looks terrified. Me and Lou are laughing.
I tell Lou he better show him what it's like to be a girl, cause he must be
some dumbass loser kid if he doesn't know about girls yet. I say, 'You
wanna know about girls, right?' And the kid nods helplessly, but you can
see he's kinda interested. 'Well, you're gonna be a girl today,' I tell
him. And I make him wear one of my braziers, which kinda even works cause
he's so fat. Honest to god, the way the kid looked you just wanted to fuck
him. Blond crew cut, stubby little upturned nose, cheek mounds that make
his eyes squint a little. And we parade him in front of the mirror and say,
'Oooh, look at the pretty girl.' And he's kinda getting into it. His little
boner is pointin' at the north star again. So I say, 'Okay, Lou's gonna be
your date, fatty girl. I'm leavin' you two together."

At this moment, my father-in-law's body tensed, and his hands felt like
they would tear my ears off. A thick orgasm slimed my mouth like so much
clotted spittle. He let go of my head and drew in a few breaths between
clenched teeth. I kept his dick in my mouth for a bit, drawing out what
fluid might be left.

"Nice work, son," he said, offering me a folded ten dollar bill.

"Don't you take that, Lou," warned my wife.

"Fuck you," I giggled, nabbing the bill and playfully sticking it in the
elastic of my pajama bottoms. "How about some coffee? I wouldn't mind
getting the taste out of my mouth."

My father-in-law's jaw dropped in mock-offense.

"Here you go," she said, delivering a cup, steam twisting angrily off the
surface. "It takes a few of these to get it out," she said, winking at her
dad. He chuckled and wiped a last drop off his dick with a paper napkin.

"Oh Christ," I said, "It's 8:20. I gotta get to work soon." In fact I
rather liked the taste of come. I decided to let the coffee cool. "Eh, fuck
it."

"Yeah, that kid," I said, lighting a cigarette. "Once we were alone, I felt
quite infatuated. His lily-white skin was butter soft. I told him, 'You are
the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.' He blushed. I said, 'You know how
much I love you? Check this out.' And I opened my pants. I tell you my dick
was hard as a fucking rock. It was like a Geiger counter or something--the
more directly it was pointed at that kid's asshole, the more heavily my
blood-engorged dickhead would pulse. A painful erection. The kid was
astonished. I don't think he'd even seen an adult erection before; the size
blew his mind. But he understood what I meant to do, cause his eyes got
kinda watery starin' at me as I lowered myself onto him. I had to cover his
mouth at first, because he started screaming something terrible. But soon
he yielded to the experience. I could feel the kid's erection poking into
my belly as I pumped his fat horny ass.

"I sure felt sweet towards the little porker. I wrapped my arms around him
and fucked him like a girl, planting my mouth on his and filling his throat
with my tongue. I was slammin' him, soaked in sweat, when I noticed his
little blue eyes lookin' back with fond amazement. Next thing I know, I
blasting l'il buttercup's digestive tract full of come. Shit, I was sure
red hot come would start spilling from his mouth. I think he enjoyed
himself well enough."

My father-in-law chuckled. "Did you buy a lottery ticket?"

My wife held up a yellow stub of paper.

(c)1995 Kurt Hoffman