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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.   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

Campus Tour (FF, college)
Anonymous (c) 1998

***


I thought my work study job was the most boring one available until
one afternoon in May. You see, I worked as a guide for the incoming
freshmen and their parents when they toured the college. I was about
to start my first year of graduate school, and I needed the extra
cash. Besides, my mundane job was easy money. The college I go to is
very exclusive, and I had to beg, borrow, and sweat - no, I didn't
steal - to pay the high tuition. A girl from Jersey like me couldn't
get that much dough from her working class parents.

That morning I'd put on what I called my "uniform" - I only had one
floral print dress that I wore with white pantyhose and flats. I have
dark skin, black hair and eyes, and I'm of average height. My Dad
always calls me "healthy," but let's just say I'm no stick figure. I
probably wouldn't get that much attention if it weren't for my
breasts. I can't help it; I'm big that way. I don't feel like anyone
ever looks at my face when we meet, and I include women with the
leering men. People always gape at my chest first, and it's not to
read the "Dina Ricci" on my shiny name tag. I wear baggy blouses and
spacious dresses and it still doesn't work. I have to shop in
Manhattan to get a bra that fits right. But that's my problem.

At one o'clock precisely Mrs. Howard and her daughter Helen arrived at
the admissions office. We were introduced and I proceeded to show them
around campus. The daughter was quiet and shy, but Mrs. Howard
peppered me with questions: was the campus safe?, was there tutoring
available? She was really bossy and looked the part in her crisp gray
business suit, white blouse, and scarf tied around her elegant,
slender throat. Mrs. Howard was taller and thinner than I. She had an
etched patrician face with cool gray eyes to match the suit.  She had
thin, severe lips and a barking voice. Her highlighted brunette hair
was trimmed fashionably and she wore black high heels. Not too high, I
thought. I felt and probably looked like her secretary shadowing her
everywhere.

Anyway, Helen wanted to meet privately with an academic counselor so
Mrs. Howard and I dropped her off. Then the lady commanded me to show
her the dormitory where her daughter would reside.

"Ricci. You must be Italian," Mrs. Howard snapped as we entered the
dorm.

"I'm American. But my ancestors were from Italy," I shot back. The
bitch was beginning to grate on my nerves, but I had to be hospitable.

I opened the furnished room kept for exhibition and let us in. Mrs.
Howard shut the door and examined the surroundings.

"What's your major?" Mrs. Howard demanded.

"Pasta preparation." I couldn't help myself.

The stone face actually flashed a smile - only for a nanosecond.

"I like pasta. Dina, is it?" she asked me.

"Yes, and I'm really a history major," I said. I glanced at the floor
because Mrs. Howard was looking where everybody else did while around
me.

"Don't be ashamed, my dear. I think that in ancient Rome you have been
a temple maiden; you would represent plenty and fertility to legions
of worshippers."

I didn't know if this was some cruel joke or if she liked toying with
people this way. Either way I flashed my dark angry eyes at her, a
woman no better than me and certainly due a comeuppance.

Something had changed.

"You should stand up straight, arch your back, and walk proudly," Mrs.
Howard suggested. It was indeed a suggestion and not a command. She
walked to me; her heels clicked on the tile. She stood beside me and
pushed in on my lower back. I thrust my breasts outward and the cotton
fabric pulled taut against me.  She observed me...admiringly, it's the
only word that came to mind.

"Mrs. Howard, I'm a little self-conscious," I said.

"Call me Doreen, dear. Don't you want to loosen your dress?"

She faced me with a wicked desire smoldering in her steel gray eyes. I
began to feel powerful now, and I unbuttoned the front of my dress.
Doreen Howard's eyes grew larger and lustier as the smooth olive skin
of my cleavage burst from the dress. I lowered the dress from my
shoulders to my waist.  Now only my straining bra stood in the way.

Doreen's patrician tongue licked her thin lips. I was beginning to
feel truly sexy, and I wanted to play the game. My self-consciousness
melted away under her fiery stare.

"Come here," I whispered, and as I spoke I reached back and unhooked
my bra. She gasped as the bra fell away. I had her speechless,
mesmerized by the sight before her. She cupped my right breast in her
thin, trembling fingers and clamped her warm moist mouth around my
areola. She moaned with delight as she sucked in short staccato pulls
on my hard nipple. She couldn't fit my areola in her tight little
mouth, much less any significant portion of my breast, but she knew
the sensitive spot and it felt good. "Italian girl takes upper east
side," I thought as she switched to my other breast.

I wanted that mouth where it really counted. Doreen as willing
supplicant was far preferable to her as haughty bitch. I took her lean
angular face with the long nose away from my dark brown nipple. She
looked up.

"Kneel," I said sternly. She immediately fell to her knees on the hard
tiled floor. I lifted the skirt of my floral dress.

"Worship at this temple," I said. Doreen understood and pulled the
white pantyhose down my silken brown thighs. She pushed her nose into
my curly black pubic hair as her snaking tongue began licking my
stimulated clitoris.  Her hands gripped the back of my sturdy columned
thighs. She kissed and sucked with the same passion she had lavished
on my breasts.

I felt it building as she worked. I slung my long, wavy black hair
back as I arched with shuddering orgasm. My breasts quivered as I
rocked. She kept at it until I bent over panting, then she pulled up
my pantyhose and stood.

Doreen had picked up my bra while rising and now lovingly put it on
me.

"This must remain a private matter between us," she said.

"Of course," I replied.

Doreen gave me her card. "Call me when you're in New York."

I accepted the card and buttoned my dress. Helen was admitted and did
very well at college. I quit my work study job within the month and
found private funding for grad school. After graduation I'll be
accepting a managerial appointment at an historic foundation in New
York City.
