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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
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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
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o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors. o
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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
An Exercise in Nonverbal Communication
by Anonymous Author (c) 1991 (Rusty & Eddie)
***
They stand in the hallway grinning like fiends, each
momentarily absorbed in warm contemplation of the other.
Reasserting his capacity for motion, he leans forward and licks
the tip of her nose while producing a keyring from the right
pocket of his trenchcoat. A good show is made of his attempting
to dodge her well-aimed tickling while flicking through the
keys and opening the door. He reaches to his sides, taking both
of her hands, and leads her into the warm, dimly-lit room
beyond.
She glances around her surroundings as he releases her
hands with a parting squeeze; the room is lit only by a small
electric nightlight, evidently soon to be replaced by the
illumination of the candles he is distributing about the room
and lighting. The place is not large, perhaps four meters by
five. There are a pair of beds, a pair of desks, and a small
refrigerator present; the mattress of one of the beds rests in
the middle of the floor, adorned with several pillows, a
comforter, and a sheet atop that. She smirks at this.
There prove to be five candles; he extinguishes the
nightlight and punches a button on a small portable stereo.
Inside is a tape he prepared for the occasion; the song that
begins playing is, unusually enough, the Sisters of Mercy cover
of the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter". The rhythm is
exquisite. He stands before her and traces the shape of her
cheek with the long nails of his left hand. She says, "And
where --", but he places a finger over her full, beautiful
lips, smiling. She bites it, and he tries to pull the
endangered finger back; she purses her lips, withdraws her
teeth, and applies light suction, giving the digit a flick of
her tongue as it slips away. With a grin and a low growl, or
perhaps a purr, he moves his head forward, angling it for a
kiss. She does the same, and only mutual skill prevents them
from banging their teeth together; they emerge from the cusp
victorious, however, and celebrate by kissing long and hard.
Their tongues dance and thrust, her fingers tangle in his
leonine mane of hair, his arms reach to enfold her and draw
their bodies together; an occasional happy gasp or moan escapes
their embrace. They move together to the music, giving over
consciousness to those parts of their minds which work with
rhythms, patterns, flows.
They break the kiss at what they sense to be the proper
moment. He takes her hand and leads her across the mattress to
the refrigerator, grinning. He motions for her to open the
door, which she does; inside are some of the tools of the
night's endeavors. While she examines them, he takes off his
coat and hangs it on a wall hook; he then removes the items one
by one and places them on a chair near the mattress. First is a
can of plain whipped cream, followed by one of the chocolate-
flavored variety. After that comes a container of fresh, ripe
strawberries; last to emerge is a jar of bright red maraschino
cherries. To these items he adds a bottle of flavored massage
oil and a package of extra-thin condoms from a desk drawer.
While this is occurring, "Gimme Shelter" ends and is replaced
by a variety of quiet, unobtrusive, relaxing music that makes
heavy use of rainstorm sounds.
He motions for her to raise her arms, and draws her shirt
up over her head when she complies. A quick examination of her
bra reveals that fate is with him; it is a front-clasp design,
easily dealt with. She is somewhat surprised and disappointed
when he spares only an appreciative gaze on her beautiful
breasts, not even stopping to rub the erect nipples; he appears
to have a purpose in mind. Her shoes, socks, and jeans are
dealt with in short order, with the aid of the still-mattressed
bed; her black lace panties are given more ceremony. At his
urging, she stands and strikes a pose or three, appraised most
positively by her audience. He then kneels before her and
slowly pulls away the black lace concealing her dark-haired
sex. Again he touches only with his gaze, and now she is a bit
frustrated. Ignoring it, she looks him up and down with an
eyebrow raised; he grins, concurring that he is indeed
overdressed. He rapidly strips, pausing to give a little wiggle
of his hips as he removes his underwear, which draws a light
laugh. His ample phallus is half-erect, and she reaches for it;
he pulls back, though, smiling and shaking a finger
chastisingly. Now she actually pouts, and does so well.
Seemingly impervious, he indicates the mattress with an
expansive gesture.
Firing off a final martyred expression, she lies down atop
the white sheet on her back; he motions for her to roll over,
and after a moment's oh-really? look, she flips onto her
stomach, grabbing a pair of pillows to support her head.
Glancing backward, she sees him applying massage oil to his
hands, and lies her head back down with a contented smile.
A moment later she feels a slippery touch on her feet; he is
beginning there and working his way up. His hands are strong
and practiced, liquid, leaching muscular tension from her and
replacing it with another kind. The oil tingles warmly on her
skin, and he seems quite determined to drive her insane, giving
special attention to her inner thighs but obstinately leaving
the warmth of her nearby cunt untouched. She rocks her hips
when his hand is nearby, to no avail. Finally he works his way
up to her shoulders; when these have been treated, he has her
turn over, and starts again with her feet. This time, when he
reaches the junction of her thighs, he applies the oil to her
mons veneris with four swift thumb motions, drawing a gasp, and
moves on, drawing a moan of frustrated desire. The same callous
treatment is given her nipples. The tingling of the oil on her
primary erogenous zones approaches unbearability. During this
time, the music changes again, from the anonymous relaxation-
music to sensual Enigma. When he again reaches her shoulders,
he wipes his oily hands on the sheet (the purpose of which is
the absorption of the oil) and smiles benevolently at her. She
can see that his cock is fully, perhaps painfully, erect.
She meets his gaze and returns a pleading look. By way of
answer, he takes her head in both hands and kisses her firmly,
which she responds to by violently stabbing her tongue into his
mouth. He breaks off, and his lips begin to wander; he lovingly
kisses her cheek, nibbles and sucks at her neck, spends a good
deal of time delicately frenching her ears. Moving downward, he
begins to meticulously clean the sweet oil from her skin with
his tongue, the texture of which is not unlike that of a cat's.
The rhythms of his licking harmonize with those of the music.
Suddenly, miraculously, she realizes that his lips are locked
around her left nipple; such mercy is practically beyond
belief. He hears her half-sigh, half-moan in partial release as
he sucks at the bit of erectile tissue, sends his tongue
dancing around it, massages it with his lips, skims its surface
with his teeth. His left hand is hard at work on her other
nipple, squeezing and rubbing in multifarous patterns. He
switches sides after awhile, not wishing to neglect either.
When the moment seems right, he releases her nipples and begins
moving downward again.
The anticipation grows ever-stronger in her as he finishes
with her tummy and moves on, spreading her legs wide so as to
maximize freedom of motion. He slowly, carefully licks the
slick oil from her inner thighs, luxuriating in the musky scent
of her plentiful juices. She can feel his hot breath on her
sex; it causes the oil to tingle furiously. He spends what time
he can studying what is visible of the configuration of her
labia. When he has nearly finished with her thighs, he begins
moving his right hand, with its short-trimmed nails, toward a
position nearby where it may be used readily. The proper time
arrives; he snaps his head forward and sucks at the place where
he hopes her clitoris is while simultaneously sliding his
middle finger inside her, angled upward to place pressure on
her g-spot. The result is what he had hoped for: immediate and
powerful orgasm, the quick contractions around his finger
accompanied by a loud "aaaaAAAAOH!" sound. She bucks her hips
violently; he continues his bursts of pressure against her
vaginal wall, but is forced to desist from his attentions to
her clit; she is past the point of caring. When her orgasm
fades away, he withdraws his finger and reaches for the
supplies nearby. He considers taking the condoms; he wants to
be inside her very badly right now. Nonetheless, reminding
himself that it would be a shame to waste the edibles, he
retrieves them instead.
She regains her coherence after a moment; she sits up and
sees what he is occupied with. Seeing the question on her wide-
eyed face, he nods and smiles, motioning for her to lie back
down. She does, now wearing an expression of joyful rather than
anxious anticipation. Preparations complete, he turns his
attention to the task at hand, grinning like a devil. She is
watching him, her head supported by a pair of pillows and her
legs apart. He takes a strawberry from the package and consumes
it with conscious lasciviousness, feeling the juices spread
across his tongue and sharpen his sense of taste. He then takes
the pair of whipped cream containers and begins to apply them
to her exquisite sex; she squeezes her eyes closed for a moment
at the sensation of the cold whipped cream on her overheated
mons. He creates a spiral pattern of the stuff, with the center
at her clitoris, then removes the greens from a pair of
strawberries and places them at the upper right and left edges
of the design. The inescapable final touch comes when he places
a single maraschino cherry atop her clitoris, making her jump.
He stops to admire his creation for a moment, then meets her
eyes, smiles, and lowers his head between her thighs.
He begins at the right side, scooping up bits of the
whipped cream with his tonguetip. She delights in the ticklish
feeling of his tongue poking through the cream to her skin, and
the more erotic sensation of its rough texture against the
periphery of her mons as he licks away the last traces. The
effects of his first strawberry have faded by the time he
finishes the right side, so he devours the nearer one before
switching; the same occurs with the transition from the left to
the much more significant center. He begins at the bottom,
receiving a delicious first taste of her already-sweet juices
mixed in with the whipped cream and flavored oil. He cleans her
labia meticulously, eliciting a series of ecstatic sounds. When
he reaches the top, he enfolds both her clit and the cherry on
top with his mouth, applying what suction he can. He then bites
through the cherry and squeezes, allowing the chilled juices
inside to flow over her clitoris; the gasp that follows is very
understandable, as is the moan of pleasure as the cold of the
cherry's liquids abruptly changes to the warmth of his gyring
tongue. He moves downward to the entrance of her vagina, his
tongue first diving inward to taste her sweetness fully, then
dancing this way and that over her sensitive inner folds. She
continues her euphonic array of sounds, reaching down to tangle
her hands in his hair once more. He moves upward to give his
mouth's attention to her clit again while returning his right
middle finger to its previous employment inside her. She arches
her back violently, she grips his hair as if it were her sole
link to heaven, she all but screams her pleasure. He continues
this treatment relentlessly, uncaring for the exhaustion of his
tongue or hand, until she reaches orgasm again with a great
joyful sigh; perhaps a less spectacular one than the first, but
longer and more encompassing.
Wonderfully invigorated, she finds that she is growing
tired of the passive role she has been playing. She sits up and
kisses him passionately, then motions for him to lie down in
turn. He is more than happy to comply, lying on his back, hands
behind his head. She considers her course of attack for a
moment; deciding turnabout to be fair play, she first applies
the tingling oil to his nipples and glans. He closes his eyes
as she does so, rejoicing in her touch, then smiles at the
familiar tickle of the oil. Grinning, she partakes of her own
preparatory strawberry, then assembles her armamentarium, the
two cans of whipped cream. After a moment's consideration, she
begins to create a barber-pole striped pattern along the length
of his cock; reaching the top, she adds a white puff to crown
the work. She takes a cherry from the jar; espying his wide
grin, she flicks it toward his face, hoping for a nose hit.
Serendipitously enough, he opens his mouth and catches the
airborne fruit. Chuckling, he melodramatically poises it
between his teeth and bites through; she smiles and shudders
slightly at the fresh memory. Another cherry is produced and
placed atop the puff of whipped cream on his glans. Licking her
lips, she slides downward and brings her mouth near her
creation. The particularly erotic Enigma song "Mea Culpa"
begins.
She begins by licking small divots from the pattern all up
and down his length; he spends this time watching avidly and
purring. When she feels the proper number of symmetrical
slashes have been cut, she slowly extends her tongue to touch
the cherry, then swoops forward, engulfing his glans and the
first inch of his penis. He throws his head back with a gasp,
and must exert his will briefly to avoid thrusting with his
hips, which would disturb the rhythm at this point. She slowly
slides her mouth off him, swirling her tongue through the
whipped cream as she goes. She swallows the whipped cream but
preserves the cherry, holding it pursed between her lips for a
moment before sucking it inside with an audible *pop*, rewarded
with an exaggerated wince from him. Returning to his partially
revealed cock, she takes the head in her mouth again and begins
cleaning it of whipped cream by stages, bobbing perhaps another
half-inch downward each time. She reaches her limit near four
inches and covers the remainder by slowly circling it, licking
avidly. His comments on the proceedings consist primarily of
mixed moaning and purring, with an occasional gasp
interspersed. She continues her attentions after his cock has
been cleaned of whipped cream, alternately licking, sucking,
and sliding up and down his length, much to his approval. When
the tenor of his moans indicate that orgasm is nearing, she
withdraws and retrieves a condom from the chair, quickly
removing it from its package and placing it on his penis. He is
thick and very erect, making the application difficult, but she
succeeds in unrolling it to his base. They both become aware of
a peculiar kind of warm energy that suffuses the emotional
atmosphere in anticipation of what is to come.
She moves forward and straddles his supine body; his
waiting hands slide up her legs to rest comfortably on her
hips. Their eyes meet, and much passes between them in a very
short time. They smile. She reaches beneath her and takes hold
of his penis, placing the head between her inner lips, poised
at her threshold. He gently moves his hips upward as hers
descend; his hard length slides into her warm wetness to the
accompaniment of a mutual sigh of utter satisfaction. They
pause for a moment to savor the sensation; their hips then
engage the rhythm and begin to thrust together with rapidly
building intensity. He reaches upward to rub her prominent
nipples... she leans down and bites his shoulder to stifle a
scream of joy... the nails of his left hand trace patterns in
pink over her abdomen and between her breasts... the muscles of
her hot, wet cunt squeeze his cock as if to never release it...
the tape reaches its end and restarts, sending the flowing
darkness of "Gimme Shelter" to envelop them again... a medley
of growls and gasps, moans and sighs, silent pauses and mutual
cries fill the candlelit space... their rhythms accelerate and
slow, add then subtract then multiply complexity, intertwine
and branch, build inexorably toward a bright crescendo that
overtakes them with ordained spontaneity as hir back arches and
sie cries out and their muscles contract and their hands grasp
for the anchoring contact with the Other as waves of blissful
purifying nervefire sweep through them over and again,
now/forever.
The rhythm's intensity fades, leaving them human once
more; they acknowledge this with a kiss. They lie together
for a long time, feeding each other cherries and strawberries;
a variety of quiet, unobtrusive, relaxing music that makes
heavy use of rainstorm sounds plays in the background.