____________________________
| |
/)| 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. 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 Orgy (MF)
by kollontai
***
He walked out the door, disheveled and distraught, slightly
destroyed. He'd been fucking continuously since ten, and it was one in
the morning now. He breathed in the cold air that swirled through the
dampness of an on-and-off drizzle and struggled to the car. Oh, he had
come but now he felt not satiated but restless and searching. There was
no more blood in his penis but it felt increasingly as if there was no
more blood left in his body. He was emasculated and trembling, tossing
himself into the car
and driving home.
Old college friends. They'd had orgies since those days and he'd
attended faithfully, finding pleasure and an enjoyable release.
Suddenly, the fun and enjoyment was gone and he felt like a devoid
shell. He'd made love from the other side now and sought something more.
He felt dirty. Sex never made him feel dirty, but he felt it now.
Although he'd worn condoms and wiped himself clean, he felt tainted and
diseased, like the fluids of the women he'd fucked that night were
eating away at him, like they were repulsive and he was too. He needed a
shower. He needed soap and water and to throw
away these clothes.
The highway was deserted at this late hour and it was only
sporadically that a pair of headlights would gleam quickly by him. He
hoped the anonymous passengers felt better than him. He felt anonymous,
like he'd just screwed a bunch of disgusting anonymous women and he was
another like them. A whore. Suddenly he broke into a
salvo of coughing, again, and again. He thought it was his flu returning
but he couldn't control the car anymore, there were tears in his eyes
and he pulled to the side of the road. He was doubled over and nauseous.
He was dying somewhere and then it was over, and
he returned to traffic.
He came home at last, took a shower, washed all over but couldn't
erase the taint, the loofah burning rough into his skin, pain
surrounding him all around. He fell into bed and tried to erase himself
in the chafing sheets, dreaming wild sex-dreams that brought
no satisfaction, all wide-open cunts spread before him that could not
grasp his cock deep inside them, come-dripping bodies taken by so many
yet which he could not taste. Cocks he could not suck, men who would not
take him, efforts too casual, too easily passed by and forgotten. A life
of nameless encounters, forgotten faces and lost friends.
She forgave all, swore to forget, but he did not and he fell sobbing
into her arms as he penetrated her, and as he came the tears burst forth
from him, and as she exploded and cradled him deep his tears covered her
breasts like his mouth and he cleaned her of his come, licked her clean,
purified her, and she lifted him to her face, kissed him, wiped away his
tears, and he was claimed and finally safe.