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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      

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. 

