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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

Get Thee Behind Me (MF, affair, college)
by  Linda K.


On my first day of college I fell madly in love with my Art History
teacher,  Professor Caroni - Commendatore Caroni, as he preferred;
it sounded impressive and for some time the class thought he was
some sort of noble in exile.  He was about 50, a little plump, and
no taller than I, but he radiated charm and elan and sensuality;
all in all, he seemed like the kind of sophisticated  European who
might fight a duel to get the girl he wanted, then carry her off 
to a magnificent palazzo overlooking the sea.

I wasn't the only one he affected that way - almost all my
classmates felt the same way about him, even though he looked
nothing like a movie hero.  Errol Flynn came to mind, although he
was before my time; my mother told me about once seeing him in New
York - arriving at a theater for a premiere, I think - and how half
the girls in the mob were tearing off their panties and  throwing
them at him!  That's exactly how Commendatore Caroni made us all
feel as he hopped around, gesticulating dramatically as his deep,
fervent  voice lauded his favorite Renaissance painters.  He knew,
of course, the effect his suave Continental bearing had on young
American girls, and he took full advantage of the privileges.

Like many Italian men, he was very tactile and talked as much with
his hands  as his tongue - if he was pointing out interesting
features of a painting, his  free hand would be touching and
stroking you the whole time.  Of course this was true primarily in
private, during conferences in his office and such, but the
mystique which surrounded him was powerful enough that he could
even do so in public on occasions where everyone would put it down
to his Latin temperament.  At first it would be little pats on the
arm, then his arm casually draped around your shoulders; if you 
didn't object, soon his hand would slide down to your waist or hip. 
At last - stereotypically - he would squeeze and pinch your bottom
as he talked on.  He loved large, firm breasts and was very adept
at brushing against them, as well as getting us to lean over so he
could look down our blouses.  He lectured from a raised dais and 
loved to have us cluster around his perch before and after class;
as he answered our questions and comments resonantly and slowly,
you could feel his eyes baring and caressing our breasts, lovingly,
commandingly.  We used to say that any girl who left that class
with soft nipples and dry panties had died two days earlier!  But
his paramount obsession was our bottoms!

It was so exciting that a debonair European would find us at all
attractive  that no one ever complained about his quirks; in fact,
we went out of our  way to encourage his attentions.  It was the
best dressed class I ever took:  all the girls wore short skirts
and either low-cut blouses or very tight  sweaters, every day, just
to catch his interest.  His eyes burned with such  passion and
hinted so strongly at a vast knowledge of forbidden Old World
pleasures that just his briefest glance made my legs weak; I felt
that he was stripping me naked - and I was flattered to have him do
it!  

And his hand on my bottom was more stimulating than being fucked by
some guys;  I could never keep my mind on what he was saying if he
was playing with my ass, and many times it was a struggle to keep
from coming.  Most men are too rough on bottoms for it to be
pleasurable, but Commendatore Caroni (like many other Italian men
I've known) was just firm enough so it didn't tickle, yet gentle 
enough that he wasn't painful.  Even a solid pinch didn't hurt; it
was more like the tingle when someone bites your swollen nipples. 
Needless to say, there was always a line of girls outside his 
office, waiting to see him alone on whatever pretext came to mind.

One day about the third week of school I wanted to see him so much
that I lurked around in the hall, trying not to look like I was
waiting but that I just happened to be passing by, until finally
about 4:30 no one else was around.  I was so horny that my panties
were soaked and I was afraid my knees would collapse before I got
down the corridor to his office.  But I managed somehow and knocked
lightly on the door.

In a moment he called out to come in, and just that sent a tingle
through me because it meant in a few minutes I'd either be in
ecstasy or in too deep a depression for suicide to relieve.  I'd
spent the last two weeks masturbating  at least twice a day,
thinking about him, and I'd finally decided to make my best play
for him.  I was wearing a green mini and a yellow top so tight I
was afraid to breathe deeply; but I was determined to fuck him that
afternoon, before I rubbed my pussy completely smooth playing with
myself.

God, when I walked in he had his shirt unbuttoned and his hairy
chest was  beautiful, I could hardly keep from tearing off my top
and rubbing my aching  nipples in that stiff wool.  He wore a tiny
gold cross on a chain, which  looked lovely nestled against his
hair; I just stared, not able to speak. He understood immediately,
of course, and pulled me inside and kicked the door shut.  "Ah,
bellisimo!" he said.  "Come drink some wine, then we study together
those prints on my desk, a friend just picked them up at the
Uffizi,  they are all new ..."

He poured us large goblets of red wine, perhaps a Chianti, and
quickly drank his as he stood there holding the bottle, his hot
gaze as palpable as any other man's touch.  Automatically I drank
my wine, nearly as quickly as he, and he refilled both glasses. 
With his hand on my hip he guided me across  to his desk and I bent
over, pretending to examine the prints he was babbling over.  I
still hadn't figured out what to do next, and the unaccustomed wine 
had already relaxed me to a point that thinking and planning was
beyond me.

I didn't need to, though.  In a moment Professor Caroni moved
behind me and  reached around to squeeze my breasts, playing with
my aching nipples so  electrifyingly that I could hardly see.  When
I squirmed I felt his hot,  bulging crotch grinding against my
bottom; my twat was so hungry for his cock that I squirmed against
him like a bitch in heat against a tree!  I literally  couldn't
understand a word he was saying, my mind had turned off the instant
he grasped my jugs.  In a minute he peeled my top up and began
fondling my  sweat slickened tits with his long, sensitive fingers.

My need to be fucked was so powerful that I was afraid more waiting
would drive me insane; I pulled my skirt up to my waist and lay
forward on the desk, too unsteady even to pull down my panties,
hoping frantically that he would answer my mute plea, plunge his
cock into my desperate twat, flood my roiling cunt with his hot,
thick juice!  He drew back and my heart almost stopped, I knew I
would die of unsated lust, but then he ripped down my panties. 
When he pressed against me again, he was naked, his pubic hair felt
like a Brillo pad where it rubbed my skin, then I screamed with
pleasure as he began sliding his long, narrow dick up and down my
sopping slit, touching my clit with the head, then slowly drawing
it back toward my cunt's mouth!  At last he was there and in an
instant buried to the hilt in my greedy, roiling snatch, plunging
deeper than anyone else ever had, moving only slightly back, then
stabbing further into me ... I was already coming, little bursts,
tiny blackouts, whimpering, moaning, begging him to fuck me hard,
fuck me fast, fill me with his luscious cum ... then he pulled his
dick completely out!

What was wrong, why had he stopped, he hadn't come, I needed to
come again, come big bigger biggest ... then the tip of his prick,
slick and slippery with my pussy juices, glided between my cheeks
and probed for my asshole. In alarm I tried to get up, but he held
me by the hips, crooning softly that he would teach me his way, and
suddenly his dick was an inch into my ass. Somehow he got his knees
between mine and spread my legs, and his cock slid another inch
deeper.

My panic left as quickly as it had hit me, and I felt a lovely,
brand-new warmth and stickiness in my ass, a sensation I'd never
experienced but one that was as exciting and tantalizing as the
first time I was ever fucked.  I felt almost like a virgin again,
a little scared but overwhelmingly avid to have his prick all the
way inside me, spurting its hot jets of cum deep into my body.

Slowly and gently he alternately withdrew and thrust, gaining a
little each time; it was a delicious feeling, not only my ass was
quivering with the excitement of its first invasion, but his
movements ground my pussy against the hard, sharp edge of the desk,
intensifying its already near volcanic condition.  But when he was
only halfway home, further progress seemed to be  impossible, even
as narrow as his cock was and as eager as I was to have his  full
length in my ass.

"Breathe out, all the way out!" he hissed, and when I emptied my
lungs, my asshole relaxed and he slid deeper!  Again and again I
breathed out and he plunged deeper, until at last I felt his steel
wool between my cheeks and I knew we had done it!  My teacher began
a gentle, rhythmic motion with his hips, and in a moment he was
fucking me in the ass, as steadily and slickly as in the pussy, but
a thousand times more exciting and pervasive.  I began coming
again, stronger and stronger, and he began fucking me more
strongly, more quickly ... then at last he came, pumped gallons of
his luscious seed in my ass, a brilliant heat that changed to more
powerful lust than I've ever known, then finally complete
satisfaction in an orgasm like the eruption of Krakatoa ...

Afterwards I begged him to do it again.  This time he had me kneel
on the floor and he knelt behind me.  It was even better the second
time, my ass had been stretched a little, another glass of wine
relaxed my muscles more, and his cum coating the passage let him
slide in and out very easily and excitingly.

Then he had to leave - his wife had already called once, between
fuckings. So I went back to the dorm, showered, and slept for 12
hours straight, more fully relaxed and satisfied than ever before.

Commendatore Caroni fucked me in the ass a few more times that
semester, but I could never persuade him to screw me in the cunt;
nor would he let me suck his cock, though I had dreams about it,
sat in class thinking about how lovely it would be to have him
coming in my mouth as he had in my bottom.

And after that semester, he had moved on to his new students and
never did me again, although God knows I begged for it.  But as I
learned later, unless you were in a class with him, you had no
chance of his masterful buttfucking. He had, however, introduced
three of my friends in the class to his magic, and they all loved
it as much as I.  We eventually decided that he'd fucked about a
dozen of us that semester, from a class with 16 girls!

It's never been quite the same as that first time with Professor
Caroni.  He was a genius at his specialty; it makes me quiver
through my whole body just to remember that long, patient
penetration into my virgin ass, and the spectacular orgasm at the
end.
