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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
Take One (MF, affair)
by Lovebunny 1989
On stage. Carnegie Hall. The orchestra churning away
behind me, the chorus bellowing in back of them, the featured
soloist emoting at the top of her lungs to my left. I'm standing
between her and the conductor, trying not to look as scared as I
am, waiting for the cue to sing my two lines, assuming I can
remember them.
Ah, the life of a journeyman musician.
I take the opportunity to scan the house. Nearly full, as
usual in Carnegie, maybe a little more attentive. I play the
familiar mind games -- act confident and you'll look confident.
Look confident and you'll be confident. Amazing the lie we
believe sometimes...
A woman back about 15 rows or so catches my attention. She
looks... But what would she be doing here, of all places? It
certainly looks like her, and that dress the almost has on rings
lots of bells -- some of them in uncomfortable locations.
She catches my eye and smiles, then lifts her opera glasses
and looks straight at me. She doesn't need opera glasses -- not
at that range. And she's looking about two feet south of my
face, down at where a tingling and growing hardness is going to
make singing pretty damn difficult in a moment or three.
She lowers the glasses, smiles again and licks her lips, and
I semi-unwillingly remember the first time we met.
We were at a wedding. Both of us had traveled a thousand-
something miles (me from the east, she from the west) out of
various senses of obligation. Neither of us felt obligations to
the party beyond our presence, which had duly been noted some
hours previous.
She was easily the most gorgeous woman there; tall, big-
boned, beautifully-shaped with lovely, well-formed breasts and an
ass that reminded me of the Cheshire cat's tail -- so round so
firm so fully packed. Her dress -- black and backless, hanging
in place by a pair of hopelessly overmatched spaghetti straps --
clung for dear life to every curve and contour. Under normal
circumstances, the dress would have ended around her ankles, but
the slit that started about three inches below her crotch made
the circumstances anything but normal. There was no possibility
-- and I considered the matter carefully and minutely -- that she
was wearing a stitch underneath.
In a word, she was spectacular. It was hardly possible that
she was there alone, but I guess I was either the only unattached
male in the room or the only one that wasn't terrified of her
looks.
I wish I could claim that I walked up to her and claimed her
on the spot, but it was more like the other way around.
"Is anyone sitting here?" she asked, pointing at the empty
seat next to me.
"You mean here?" I responded, my customary wit ever at hand
when confronted with the imponderable.
"Well, I guess I could sit over at that table," she said
with a smile, starting to turn away.
"No!," I shouted, nearly tipping over ever glass within
reach. "No, no, no. Please. Allow me."
She settled in with a graceful and effective motion, giving
me a long gaze at a cleavage that seemed to end at her navel.
The effect on me was immediate. I felt myself hardening and
lengthening, no more than inches from her mouth.
She noticed, but didn't say a word. She didn't have to; her
open mouthed smile and the way she licked her lips were all that
was required.
"A drink?" I offered. She declined. I waved over a double
bourbon neat. I had the feeling I would need it.
We chatted for a while, getting the basic information. She was,
of all things, a commodities broker, and an avid yoga fan. There were
a couple of marriages in the past, tidy settlements which let her
speculate in the market if she wanted to. She didn't have to;
she did it for the fun and action.
How anyone under that kind of stress could look like that
quite escaped me. The miracles of modern fabric design. Better
living through chemistry, indeed.
We talked for about a half-hour or so, and when the
orchestra came back from its break, I asked her to dance.
The combo played a few typical wedding-type numbers when I
excused myself and slipped the band leader a twenty and a few
requests.
I returned just as the band swung into the first slow number
of the evening. Gershwin, of course. It was quite lovely --
amazing what a double-sawbuck can still do.
"It's very clear, our love is here to stay...."
I took her in my arms and guided her onto the floor. I held
her close but respectfully, our bodies brushing each other,
tantalizing. A seduction, not a rape.
"... Not for a year, forever and a day..."
She slipped her hands around my neck and put her head on my
shoulder, her perfume reaching my nose and having the expected
aphrodisiac effect. What had subsided to a slight tumescence was
rapidly becoming a most uncomfortable hard-on. She gently
pressed her crotch to mine, the tips of her breasts caressing my
shirt.
"... They say the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble,
they're only made of clay..."
That's more than they can say for me. I moved my hands
lower, to the small of her back and top of her ass, letting her
feel my erection, as she kissed my neck and ear.
"...But our love is here to stay."
I cupped her right breast in my hand, feeling a surprisingly
small nipple grow pebble-hard under my hand as she made a small
whimpering sound.
This vertical seduction went on for a chorus or three until
I grew concerned that either we would disgrace ourselves on the
dance floor or the good city fathers would insist we use our
plane tickets immediately. After all, we both had hotel rooms,
right?
The song ended and her head came up off my shoulder. She
didn't appear to be focussing too well, but that may just have
been because I wasn't focussing too well, either.
"I feel a powerful need to drag you away and do all sorts of
despicable things to your body," I said with a grin.
"Sorry," she said, grabbing me by my tie. (The other
obvious handle would have shocked too many people.) "I picked
you up. I get to do the despicable things first."
I somehow found it hard to argue.
The elevator, when it came, was empty. As they tend to be
in large luxury hotels, it was mirrored. We looked at each other
and broke out laughing. Not a word was necessary.
The old cartoon gag has lovers climbing into an elevator,
pressing the stop button, making mad passionate love and leaving
some time later. Take it from me: it's a fantasy. Pressing the
stop button tends to set off fire alarms, and gushing fire hoses
are erotic only in phallic symbolism.
Not that elevators are exactly boring. Before I could ask
what floor we were going to, she pressed the Penthouse button.
Since the hotel had better than 60 floors and we were on 3, it
would be quite the ride.
She did not jump me. She did, however, back me against the
back wall and turn her back on me.
"Tease me, Bill," she whispered. "Make me want your cock."
Who am I to turn down an offer like that? I kissed the back
of her neck, my hands wrapping around her to feel the weight of
her tits. She pushed her ass back against my prick, moving in
circles and back and forth. I pinched her nipples and she
moaned. I licked my fingers and eased the straps off her
shoulders, exposing her breasts to the air and mirrors.
"Oh, no, Bill," she sighed. "We don't have the time.
Someone might come in." Still, she stared at herself in the
mirror as I moistened my fingers and went back to her nipples.
She pushed hard against my hands and my cock, gasping and closing
her eyes. Could she be this easy to bring off?
The elevator slowed, giving us both a tremor and reminding
me that teasing under G-forces is something to be explored
further. She quickly adjusted her straps, tucked her breasts
back in, and gave me a kiss that delivered plenty and promised
lots more.
"You," she said playfully, "are a nasty man. I like that in
a guy."
The elevator door opened just after she gave my prick a firm
squeeze. A prim-looking family of five stood there waiting. She
grabbed my hand and dragged me away.
A loud crash of cymbals reminded me where I was. Two pages
to go before my part. With an effort and a determination not to
look in her direction, lest I be distracted again, I wait out the
interval and sing the brief fugue. The conductor looks pleased
and I can go back to my memories.
I'd been wondering why we were headed for the penthouse
area. My room was far below, and I assumed hers was too. My
curiosity was further aroused when she led me to a door marked
"EXIT".
"Excuse me, dear," I started. "You don't mean to bounce me
down the steps, do you?"
"Not hardly," she giggled. "Just come on!"
She pushed through the door and led me up the concrete and
steel stairs, our foot steps echoing. We reached a door at the
top -- alarmed but unlocked. She pushed the door open and we
stepped out onto the roof of the city's tallest building.
"I love it up here!" she shouted over the wind. "I can see
everything! It makes me feel so free!"
Then she was in my arms, her tongue running along my lips
and teeth, clashing against mine. Our bodies clutched at each
other, tighter, tighter. Our groins pushed against each other,
pressing fiercely, trying to burn through our clothes. The wind
whipped her dress around, raising it almost to her cunt. My
hands were all over her tits, pinching the nipples, hefting their
weight, teasing them with my thumbs.
I could feel her moaning -- feel her, not hear her, because
the wind was so loud. Then her mouth was at my ear, and I heard
her say...
"Didn't I mention doing something despicable?"
She dropped to her knees, smiled wickedly and again lowered
the straps of her dress, exposing her breasts to the cold night
air. Her hands reached out and caressed the outlines of my long-
since uncomfortable hard-on, running her fingers and palms up and
down its length, pressing just behind its head.
Then she lowered her head over my cockhead, still confined in
my pants, warming it and making it jerk. I wanted nothing so
much as for her to take it in her mouth, take all of it, and make
me come.
As though she had read my mind, she tugged down my fly,
reaching inside to caress my prick through my underwear. she
tugged the last cloth barrier aside, and my cock popped out,
freed and bobbing in the wind.
She drew her breath, then stuck out her tongue and licked my
cock carefully, starting at the back of the head and working
forward. I reached behind me, looking for something to help
support me and found a brick house that enclosed the top of the
stairs. I leaned back against it, nearly overcome by her.
She had closed her eyes, and cupped her hands around the
base of my cock. Her mouth slid over me, her tits pressing
against my thighs as she took my entire length. She rocked back
and forth two, three, maybe four times (I'm sure I wasn't
counting), licking me as her head pulled back, her lips and mouth
covering me firmly. I reached down and grabbed a handful of her
hair, guiding her back and forth, back and forth and I felt my
cum building in my balls.
The she pulled back, still stroking me with her hands, and
shouted something. She sat up a little straighter, and enveloped
my cock with her tits, Incredibly warm and spectacularly
arousing. Her nipples looking as tight as they could get, the
breasts themselves firm and inviting. I reached down and
squeezed her tits with her, and her eyes closed, and her head
went back. Clearly, I had something there.
A blowjob was fine -- and I intended to have her finish it
later -- but I had other things on my mind. I pulled her up and
clamped my mouth firmly on hers, my hands lightly pinching her
nipples. She ground against me, and I reached under her dress
and grabbed her lovely butt.
Only then did it occur to me that I was right; there really
was no underwear. None at all.
Her cheeks were everything they had appeared to be -- round
and firm. I pulled them gently apart, ran my fingers down her
crack and over her cunt lips. Lord, she was wet! I slid a
finger, then another, between her moist lips and into her tunnel.
Pressed her face into my ear, caught the lobe between her teeth.
She raised a leg and wrapped it around me, trying to slide her
cunt over my cock. That was the general idea, but not yet. Not
yet.
I eased my fingers out slowly, letting rub against her
exposed clit. Then I ran a single finger slooowly over the clit
again. Then again. Then faster. Then harder. Her ass tightened
and her leg grabbed at me harder.
Then I stopped.
She pulled back her head, breathing like a miler.
Absolutely not focussing. Not at all. I spun her around, leaned
her against the brick house, and pulled up her dress, leaving her
ass and pussy as exposed as her tits.
She was yelling something; I couldn't hear, but I could
guess, and I intended to oblige. I guided my prick to her cunt
opening and slowly slid in. She pushed back against me as though
possessed, then lunged away and lunged back, taking my whole
length in single strokes.
It would be nice to report that this all went on for days at
a time. Remember, though, that we had now been teasing each
other for almost an hour, and we were not precisely made of
stone.
We bucked at each other, my hands holding her ass cheeks
apart, then together, my prick sliding in and out as her cunt
lips clenched and unclenched. There was no restraint, just prick
and cunt, pressing at each other until I felt her pussy grab once
twice three times and the cum pressure built in my balls and it
was exploding, jetting out of me in pump after pump after pump
after pump after pump.
I collapsed on her and she collapsed against the wall. We
stayed that way for a couple of minutes, the wind subsiding but
the night chill lifting some of our heat.
"I love the lights from out here," she said, lifting herself
from the wall and looking out over the city. "It's like I can do
anything from here."
I nodded, sliding my arm around her and pulling her close to
my side.
She looked down at herself -- her dress not in shreds but
certainly not fit for public display. "Any thoughts about
how we get down from here?"
"Depends," I said. "I'm on the 18th floor. You?"
"I'm on 32."
"Well, I don't guess we'll meet anyone on the stairs."
She smiled. "I should think not. After you?"
It took us a while to get to her room, but the thing of it
is, we kept getting distracted. Soon as we arrived, she called
the front desk. Extended her stay for an extra evening. No way
were we getting out of bed before check-out time.
Intermission. Time for me to pull myself together. I was
standing on the tiny landing just to the right of the stage,
half-listening to the conductor say how well the first half had
gone when I saw her walking down the hall toward me.
In the old Carnegie Hall, anyone could get backstage merely
by passing down a corridor lined by portraits of composers. Here
she came, just walking down the hall, past Liszt, past Bizet,
passed Berlioz and into my arms.
No question -- it was her. All of her. I thanked the muses
that I was done for the night.
We squeezed each other for what seemed like hours, and it
still wasn't enough.
"What on earth are you doing here?" I asked her.
"I was in town on some business and caught the ad in the
Times," she said. "I asked around, and when I heard you'd be
here, I extended the trip. Got some time for an old broad?"
"Nope," I smiled. "Just time for you. Grab some dinner?"
"Nope. Grab something else." She did, and I suddenly
wasn't hungry any more. Not for food, anyway.
The End