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 o                                                                   o
 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  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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Glass Desk (MF, nc)
By Monocle (monocle_o@NOTTHIS.hotmail.com)


***


	Mrs. Smith awakens enclosed in a dark glass box. Her
chest lays on a padded surface, the pad is almost as wide as
her waist, and comes up to just under her breasts, where a 2
inch wide pad extends up between her breasts. Her full,
round breasts hang unclothed and free on either side and.

       Her wrists are secured to each other with a soft but
unyielding binding behind her back. The pad is tilted
slightly forward, so her head is below her raised rear. Her
lower thighs and knees are strapped and cradled on their own
curved pads, and splayed wide apart. A wide belt around her
stomach secures her lower back to the cool, smooth top
surface of the box, while another firm strap wraps around
her back, under her arms, above her breasts to attach to the
small pad extension emerging from between them. Her bound
hands rest in the wedge formed hy her back and the glass
top. Her lower legs are almost horizontal on their pads, so
she is almost kneeling, but bent far forward. She tries to
move her limbs and finds that every part of her body is
secured snugly to the contoured pads. Her struggles also
make her realize that the various surfaces are touching
naked skin. Now she becomes aware of air currents blowing on
her exposed upper thighs, ass, and pussy.

	Lights come on, and she can see through the smoked
glass of the box wall and top. She is in a lavishly
appointed office, and a leather covered stuffed chair faces
her. She looks around, her neck being the only part of her
body with freedom of movement, and realizes she appears to
be encapsulated in a large glass desk. An unfamiliar man
walks in, and Mrs. Smith calls out for help. She can only
see up to his suited chest, as papers and panels on the
glass desktop block her view of his face. No sound seems to
carry through.

	The man walks around the desk and sits down behind
it; behind her. With a shock she feels fingers on her pussy
lips. With no preamble, they start to rub and massage her.
The touch is light and gentle, but also mechanical and
certainly without tenderness. She yells out in protest, but
again, the sound seems not to travel. Her flexing thighs and
ass only quiver against the hands' touch. The fingers are
wet, spreading a warm oily substance over her lips and
pushing it slowly into her cunt with one, then two, then
three fingers, until the digits can plunge in and out with
little friction. The sensation is base and humiliating to
Mrs. Smith, but not painful. Nonetheless she cries and sobs
in unheard protest. Once the lubrication is completed, there
is a brief pause, and she can feel a chair sliding up behind
her, between her bound and spread thighs.

	She jerks again at the contact of a hot, fat
cockhead at her pussy entrance. Her private muscles
contract, and she screams in fear and desperation, but no
sound emerges from her small prison. For a couple minutes
nothing happens. The flared head rests against her opening,
just pushing aside her labia majora - the hard pressure at
her now wet entrance throbs, but otherwise does not move.
Her sheer and absolute vulnerability make her want to
disappear into herself.

	Then the door opens, and in walks Mr. Smith - His
wife can see him clearly through the one-way glass. This is
his job interview. The executive behind the desk is his boss
to be - hopefully. The man presses a button on his desk and
the window curtains open, letting natural light into the
room. He presses the one next to it as Mr. Smith sits down
not two feet from his imprisoned wife. The second button
causes the framework holding Mrs. Smith to slide backward
within the desk. As Mr. smith settles down for the
interview, Mrs. Smith is slowly impaled on the executive's
cock. It is long and thick, and stretches her pussy wide as
the mechanism pushes her onto it. She screams at the first
penetration, but then simply gasps and pants as she is
filled beyond all previous experience.

	Beneath the increasingly stretched and stuffed
sensations within her, she dimly feels the hairy legs of the
man against her thighs and belly as the cock bores ever
deeper into her. Her ass touches then presses into his lower
stomach, feeling the fabric of his suit coat and pressed
shirt. Her breaths come in short gulps as she adjusts to the
cock now completely buried in her. Her inner muscles
contract spastically, unused to this serious an intrusion.
She moans helplessly and calls her husband's name.

	The interview begins, Mr. Smith talking about his
experience and ideas for the company, as he had practiced
with his wife in past evenings, legs crossed, and looking at
the interviewer for signs and clues for leading the
discussion. On those times she had sat behind the table,
pretending to be the interviewer and grilling him, the same
way the man now filling her is grilling her husband.
After the a short pause in which Mrs. Smith can feel the
hard cock throb and twitch inside her full-to-bursting
pussy, the desk mechanism begins rocking and sliding Mrs.
Smith on the exec's cock. It moves slowly at first, sliding
her almost completely off the meaty pole, then pushing her
back on again balls deep. She wails as she is sunk again
onto the shaft. The pace gradually quickens as the interview
continues. She is pulled off and pushed onto the stranger's
cock with increasing force and speed, but there is always a
short pause between motions, when she is fully fucked and
pressed against the man behind her. It is as if to remind
her each time how effectively she is being held for and used
by this cock. The box absorbs her cries and sobs. The
lubricated motions of her cunt up and down the shaft produce
no sound significant enough emerge from the desk. The
machine itself operates so quietly that there is nothing for
Mr. Smith to notice.

	As she is drawn of the invading phallus once more,
through tear-blurred eyes, Mrs. Smith notices one last
feature of her confinement - a curiously angled mirror in
front of and below her. When she is mostly withdrawn from
the cock, the view shows only her torso lying on its pad and
her hanging breasts. As she is drawn once again onto the
interviewer's cock, her own face moves into the reflection,
and she can see her own tear stained and frightened eyes.
Those eyes widen when she realizes that in the reflection
behind her, she can also see what can only be the face of
the interviewer.

	The man behind the desk is poker-faced, and not a
single sign is given to reveal the debauch taking place
below the desktop. Again and again, he disappears and
reappears from view as the desk now heaves her on and off
his phallus. She can't help but watch mesmerized at the only
focus she can find for her torment. She feels him shift
slightly in his seat as she is drawn off him, and cries out
in protest again as she is brought back onto him - his cock
pressing even deeper into her now. As she gasps for air, she
sees her reflection and his behind it. He is looking at her.
Whether he can see though that part of the desk, or simply
knows where to look, Mrs. Smith has no idea. But his eyes
are cold and knowing, staring into hers. His cock flexes in
her pussy, and then he looks up to ask another question of
her husband. Mrs. Smith sobs and groans as the desk moves
her again.

      In the latter part of the interview, the desk fucks Mrs.
Smith onto the huge cock savagely, without stopping at any
one point. The flared head spikes into her constantly,
repeatedly. All the while, the man behind her betrays not
even a tremor. She sees him look down at her twice more, and
each time, she shudders at the gleam in his eyes.
	
      The interview comes to a conclusion, and the desk is
fucking Mrs. Smith onto the cock furiously now. Her breath
comes in gasps as she is shaken back and forth. Her breasts
sway and shake with the rough movement. Now the interview is
over, and Mr. Smith stands to shake the exec's hand. As the
interviewer raises his right hand, his left comes to rest on
one last button on his desk. Mrs. Smith is shoved hard onto
the cock one last time and held there. As the men two shake
hands firmly, locking eyes, the exec's cock swells and cums
inside her, filling her with his semen. The spurts of cum
throb in time to the shaking of hands - she can feel the
sticky warmth slowly spread deep inside her. The glass
prison swallows her desperate screams as her cunt fills with
and swallows his seed.

	Mr. Smith leaves, and in the next minutes the slowly
deflating cock slides out of his bound wife, allowing
copious cum to start tricking down her legs. She can see his
face again through the mirror. He looks down and smiles at
her. She shudders. A hand gently pats her exposed bottom.
The exec hits an intercom button and his voice fills her
small space. "Congratulations Mrs. Smith, your husband is
the right man for the job." Then, he adds, "We have a space
in our company for you, too, but I'm afraid the two jobs
come as a matched set. He only gets his position if you
accept yours. I'll leave you to think about it while I get
your husband set up with the relevant paperwork. My
assistant will explain corporate policy to you, too,
somewhat later.

	The intercom switches off, and the face behind her
disappears. After a minute, Mrs. Smith feels more motion
behind her. A thick, pulsing dildo slides up her cum-slick
cunt. Though slightly thinner, it is longer than the exec's
cock, and the head pushes up snugly against her cervix,
while the lumpy base is pressed into her labia and clit. It
begins to vibrate, spreading unwanted electric feelings up
her spine. She moans in her silent box. A second, lubricated
dildo pokes at her rear entrance. Mrs. Smith has never even
considered anal sex in her life, and screams and struggles
weakly as her virgin ass is slowly invaded. This dildo is
thinner, but almost as long as the first, with wider and
narrower parts, like a string of small rubber balls. She
moans and sobs with the feel of each bulbous section
stretching her sphincter and then being pulled all the way
in by her own contractions as she begins to feel like a
stuffed bird. Once the flared base of the device is nestled
between her asscheeks, it too begins to vibrate. The double
vibrations on within her most sensitive areas oscillate
wickedly, teasing and massaging her insides as nothing ever
has before.

	The dildoes are locked into place behind her
somehow, and before the executive leaves, he presses a last
few buttons on his desk. The curtains close and the room
lights dim, and one wall of the office opens up onto the
executive hallway, allowing Mrs. Smith to see into several
other richly appointed offices similar to the one she is in.
She can see four more glass desks, three of them with men
sitting at them whose faces she cannot make out. All the
desks are illuminated from within, each with its own female
captive. Each one of their faces is contorted in horror, or
disgust, or... passion, as one of the women clearly is in
the throes of intense orgasm.

	Lights inside the desk-prison come on. Now she
cannot see out, as it is lighter inside than out. Mrs. Smith
realizes that the one way glass must now work the other way
and anyone in the other offices or hall that cares to look
would be able to see her. The realization is burned into her
as the desk mechanism begins moving her again, sliding her
almost completely off the fake cocks, her nose almost
touching the glass front of the desk, then driving her back,
until both dildoes are buried to their fullest within her.
The strong vibrations buzz deep inside her. The soft
protrusions at the base of her vaginal intruder transfer
them directly onto her sensitive clit.

       A rhythm begins: the desk fucks her, the cocks undulate
and vibrate within her as she is displayed to the company's
executive branch. There is no way her body can resist the
intense stimulation, try as she might. She does not know how
long it takes, as there is nothing with her to measure time,
but the relentless fucking and vibration eventually conquers
her body, and she comes violently on the dildoes. Her
screams of forced passion now echo from the office intercom.

	As her cries die off, her spasming cunt and ass
muscles can't help but continue squeezing the rubber
phalluses. The movements of the contraption slow and stop,
the dildoes only half in. The vibrations slacken. Mrs. Smith
breaths a ragged sigh of relief. Perhaps it is over. She
closes her eyes praying it is. A slight sound draws her
attention, and she opens her eyes to look down below her,
where a section of the desk bottom is drawing back. Behind
that section, positioned under her hanging breasts, are two
funnel or plunger like devices, open upward. There is
nothing she can do but protest weakly as the cups are slowly
pushed up. Soon her rounded tits are resting in the cups.
The cups are slightly too small, so her flesh bulges over
slightly, looking from the side like an overfilled ice cream
cones.

	The cups are warm and wet with a slick fluid, and
when they press into the tit-flesh, they begin a mild
suction. Mrs. Smith's breasts are drawn into the cups, the
textured interior of them rubbing her sensitive flesh. As
her nipples are drawn further in, a randomly moving soft and
wet object teases them, very much like a hot tongue might.
Her nipples and aureoles are alternately suckled, liked and
pinched.

	Mrs. Smith barely has time to get used to the new
sensation, for the desk is now starting up again. First the
vibrations increase to previous levels - then higher. Then
the desk starts sliding again. She groans incoherently as
she is fucked and sucked by the desk. Mrs. Smith's
overstimulated body trembles weakly as the assault on her
sanity begins.

