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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

Indian Affairs (MF)
by Storm

**

    We walked hand in hand down the lane at Stoney Creek Farm. I had
promised her a hayride, and tonight was perfect for it. The evening was
crisp, and a full moon was rising over the trees. I carried a blanket on
my right arm. She held onto my left arm with both hands, her head leaned
against my shoulder. We said nothing. It was unnecessary.

    I help her onto the wagon, admiring the length of leg and glimpse of
thigh as her skirt rides up slightly. Several couples are already there,
snuggled under blankets. I climb up and sit beside her. I pull the red
and white blanket over the two of us. She snuggles down into the hay,
resting her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her and pull her
closer.

    With a soft "Giddap, horses" the hayride began.

    I whisper in her ear, "Woman, I love you." She sighs contentedly,
and kisses my neck. Under the protective screen of the blanket, her hand
finds my thigh. Fingernails scratch along my trousers, her fingers
search for and find the zipper of my trousers. She draws the zipper down
slowly.

    My hands are busy, too. The left hand snuggles under her arm and
strokes her breast. My fingers find her nipple, and roll it into
erection. My right hand finds the hem of her skirt and pushes it up her
leg, above her thigh.

    Her fingers grasp my penis, and soon bring me to a full erection.

    Her panties posed no barrier. I slip my fingers under the legband
and touch her vulva. My fingers part her lips, and enter her. I stroke
slowly, gently, insistently. My fingers touch her very soul. Tender,
stroking. Deep within her.

    She matches the rhythm of my fingers in her body with her hand on my
penis. She clasps her fingers around me, and runs fingernails over the
swollen head. Down to the base and back to tip. Persistent, strong. With
a touch like velvet. Slowly. Gently. Insistently.

    I lower my face to hers. My lips brush hers. My tongue traces the
curve of her lips. I break the kiss, and stare at her. I trace her lips
with my tongue. We part. I trace her teeth, then. Her tongue darts to
meet mine. We fight one another. And I lower my lips once again to hers.
Her lips part, her tongue attacks. She thrusts it deep within my mouth,
then withdraws. I return the attack, pursuing deeply into her mouth. She
sighs, and surrenders her mouth to me.

    My hand quits her breast, but with her free hand she pulls it back.
She presses my hand against her breast and forms my fingers around her
distended nipple. "Please," she whispers as she tightens my fingers and
moves them against her. "Oh, please!" She moans deep within her throat.

    I taste her breath, her passion. I taste her soul.

    Two breaths, two souls. One life, one love.

    Oblivious to the others around us -who are also nestled, loved and
loving- we bring one another to climaxes. The wagon bumps along the
rutted lanes, heightening our pleasure.

    Eventually, we cease. I withdraw my fingers from her, but leave them
on her moist vulva. I tease and tickle the precious mound. I gently
cover it with my hand, content to feel the warmth, the moisture. She
rises slightly, pushing against my hand. And sighs. Her hand does not
move from me. It holds me, tenderly and lovingly. Her fingernails trace
a path up my abdomen, and back to my penis. Up the length of it, gently
across its head, and back to the base. She holds me, then. No longer
teasing. Just holding.

    We lay side by side, still covered by the blanket. No words. Gentle
nuzzling. Soft, feathery kisses along jaw and ear. Sighs. Contentment.
Passion, not spent, but honed to a fine edge. Promises of fulfillment to
come.

    Together we dream in soft anticipation.

    The moon merely smiles.



                                 * * *




   She really does sleep very soundly. Especially after a couple of
glasses of wine. She doesn't stir as I fasten the handcuffs to her
wrists, and then to the headboard of the bed. As a matter of fact, she
doesn't even stir until I have gagged her with the silk scarf I bought
especially for that purpose. But by that time, her ankles are been bound
to the foot of the bed and she is spread-eagled and helpless!

   Her eyes snap open. She can't see a thing. She can't move. Or speak!
Terror assails her as she struggles against her bonds. She knows that
someone is here. In the room. Of course there is someone in the room
with her. How else could this have happened? But it is too dark for her
to make me out. All she is aware of is a darker shadow against the
darkness of the room, and my hoarse breathing.

    She knows it must be a man. No woman would have done this to her.
Though, in a perverse way, the thought of a woman tying her up and
gagging her is somewhat erotic. Even through the terror, she feels the
first stirrings of her body as she realizes how helpless, and exposed,
she is--how at my mercy!

    She listens intently as I move through her bedroom. I am aware that
she is watching me, but I manage to keep in the shadows or, at least,
keep the light behind me and in her eyes. I bend over her and she turns
her face up towards me--and finds herself suddenly and completely blind.

    Panic, then. Absolute panic. Until she feels the blindfold being
tightened and tied behind her head. Recognizing the fact that she is
merely blindfolded and not blinded does not lessen her fear.

    And still I remain silent.

    She must hear the strange whispering noises, then, as I move about
the room, opening drawers. She must also hear the sound of cloth on
cloth, soft rustlings. Does she wonder what I must be looking for? Does
she hear a sigh? Or, an exhalation of surprise and pleasure as I find --
what?

    My hands are at her ankle. I loosen ties, and her foot is free. No,
not quite free. I hold the ankle tightly, but it is no longer tied. She
feels the stocking being placed over her foot. My hands fit it to her
leg, rolling the top up across her calf, over her knee, and up her
thigh. I lift her leg slightly as I snug the top around her thigh. My
hands wander over her flesh, to the fine hair of her vulva. My fingers
stroke lightly, and my intake of breath matches hers. I withdraw my
hands, and in seconds her ankle is firmly bound once more.

    I repeat the process with her other leg. This time, however, I
stroke her moistening slit with a finger. I caress her several times,
urging my finger deeper with each stroke. Until she writhes with a
beginning need. I stop and retie her ankle. And she is once more
spread-eagled on the bed.

    My hands grasp the hem of her nightgown and pull it slowly down her
body, providing her with a false sense of modesty. I wonder if she can
imagine the erotic picture she makes: Spread-eagled on her back, hands
firmly cuffed above her head; breasts straining against the blue
silkiness of her gown as her position thrust us into prominence; nipples
beginning to harden and distend; legs spread as if awaiting a lover, the
skirt of the gown stretched tightly across hips and thighs; legs encased
in nylons. She is helpless before her captor, blindfolded and gagged
with silken scarves.

    My hands touch her. My fingers graze lightly over her face, touching
eyes through layers of silk. My fingers trail over her lips, touching,
tracing. They follow the line of her jaw, seeking and playing with her
ears. I trace the rim of her ear with a finger, then slowly and
delicately insert the tip of it into her ear. She shivers as I play with
her ear, moving my finger into and out of it as if it were her sex and
the finger my organ. Her breath catches, and becomes labored. Her head
moves from side to side - half attempting to pull away from my fingers,
half attempting to take advantage of the emotions surging through her.

    I grasp her chin, tightly, with one hand and hold her head still.
The fingers of my other hand strokes her lips. I move them across her
upper lip, then down and back across her lower lip. I slide a finger,
then two, under the gag and seeks her tongue. She tries to bite, but I
hold her jaw tightly, threatening to hurt her if she tries to bite or
otherwise resist. I play with her lips and tongue for several minutes.

    Maintaining my grasp on her chin, I slide my free hand down her neck
to her breasts. Through the bodice of the nightgown I find her nipple. I
pinch lightly. She tries to pull away. I pinch harder until she gasps in
surprise and pleasure/pain. Her nipple rises of its own accord. I twist
it between my fingers, pulling and pinching until it is erect. She feels
my body shift. My hand tightens on her breast, squeezing the nipple into
prominence. My breath fans warmly against the rounded slope of her
breast where it rises above the confines of the gown's tight bodice. My
teeth close on her nipple through the cloth. Tongue and lips close
around it as I tease it--nipping and sucking and licking until she
writhes with passion. Moans start deep in her throat and roll around the
gag, filling her ears--and mine--with her need.

    I stop and stand. She is alone, writhing on the bed and moaning with
unfulfilled lust. She tugs at the bindings on her feet, but to no avail.
She knows that attempting to slip out of the handcuffs is useless.
Resigned, she ceases her struggles and awaits my next move.

    She certainly hears more drawers opening and closing, and the sound
of more cloth on cloth. I move about the room, searching.

    I sit on the bed once more. She hears the sound of my breathing,
deep and labored. She can smell my arousal now. A deep, musky--almost
wild-- man scent assails her nostrils. Something smooth and silky
brushes across her face, across her forehead and across her eyes. It
moves down her face, under her nose, and across cheek to ear. Almost
playfully it moves around her ear, venturing hesitantly into it several
times, then across to her lips. It traces her lips. She feels warm
fluid, small drops, being spread across her lips. Her tongue seeks my
juices but is hindered by the gag.

    I shift, and the silken probe wanders down her neck and onto her
breast. Across warm, rounded flesh, until it finds her nipple. It rubs
her nipple through the cloth of her gown.

    My hands grasp the top of her gown and pull, shredding the top like
tissue. Cool air strikes her hot breasts, further distending the aroused
nipples. I move against her, and settle my weight on her rib cage just
below her breasts. Even though I half support myself on my knees to
either side of her body, I am sitting on her! My hands gather her
breasts together and I plunge my organ into the warm channel formed by
us. My hips move, and I stroke my manhood back and forth. As my passions
take over, I shift slightly and my penis thrusts further and further
between her breasts and against her lips. She can feel the head pushing
rhythmically against her gag. She shifts her head, moving it
closer--back and forth in time to my thrusts. She is straining now
against her bonds. Her lips move, as if attempting to capture me.

    Again I stop. I move away from her and the bed shifts as I raise
myself from her. She whines in frustration, gaining herself a slight
slap and a whispered wordless warning.

    I shift to by her waist. My hands slide up her stockinged legs--from
ankle to calf; teasing the soft spot behind her knee; up across to the
thigh; down across her thigh and around it, sliding under her, lifting
her slightly, allowing me to cup her buttocks. My fingers search and
find the crevice between her buttocks. I stroke her there, fingers
gently finding and massaging the slight opening.

    My hand moves from under her and slides up across her furred slit. I
cup her, and apply pressure to her vulva. My fingers move slightly. She
arches her back and presses her mound into my questing hand. My fingers
shift, probe, and enter her. Moisture wells up, allowing me easy access
to her inner reaches. My fingers seek her inner self, probing and
thrusting and moving within her. The pressures of her need threaten to
overwhelm her as she thrusts back against my demanding intrusion.

    I lightly bite her nipples and lick the cloth covering her breasts.
I suck first one then the other, nipple into my mouth. It seems as if I
am attempting to swallow her breast. Her breasts throb with her need,
painful and aroused, nipples threatening to tear through the material
that seeks to restrain them against their will.

    My fingers continue to plunge into her. My thumb finds her clitoris
and begins to apply gentle pressure on it, stroking it into a miniature
of the reaction she must know I have at this moment.

    She feels my breath on her leg, and on her bare thigh. Lips touch
her, nibbling across her flesh. My tongue licks across her thigh, moving
inexorably towards her waiting body and my active fingers. Slowly, I
remove my fingers. Equally slowly, I replace them with lips and tongue.
One hand caresses her legs through the sheer nylon stockings. The other
seeks and finds her clitoris, massaging it none too gently. Meanwhile,
my tongue parts her nether lips and thrusts deeply within her weeping
slit.

    Tongue thrusts.

    Fingers tease.

    Hot breath excites.

    She moans louder. Her hips move against my face. Her body shudders.
her breath catches. She is crying and moaning now. Totally at my mercy,
overcome with need and lust. Out of control.

    My tongue abruptly withdraws. She loses all contact with me, but
her need is so great, her emotions so overpowering, that she isn't aware
I have stopped. Her back arches as she senses I am no longer there. An
inquisitive moan comes from deep within her. Only to be replaced by a
sharp intake of breath and a muffled scream as my weight suddenly
descends upon her and she is penetrated by my thrusting cock. My hands
grab her breasts, as I use them for leverage to thrust harder and deeper
within her. In and out, side to side, I thrust and plunge within her.
Merciless and demanding, unrelentless, until she is wracked by multiple
orgasms. My breath bathes her face as I bend and lick her lips. Her head
whips from side to side, fanning her hair around her face and over the
pillow. My orgasms flood her interior, filling her with what seems to be
scalding liquid--so intense is the pleasure.

    I rest briefly, then withdraw slowly, teasingly. She feels my weight
shift as I lie down beside her. I sleep. I make no attempt to loosen her
bonds, or otherwise ease her strained body.

    Resigned, the bound and well-fucked beauty tries to relax and rest.

    But several times during the night, her I awaken and have my will
with her.

    I will be ravenous in the morning. And I will have to untie her for
her to cook the breakfast of buffalo steaks and eggs and potatoes I like
so much. I will probably sleep then. I usually do. And then, it will be
*her* turn!



                                 * * *



   I sleep. I know I am sleeping because it is warm, and I am at peace.
No nagging doubts or fears. No bouts with depression and insecurity. I
am floating above a sea of billowy, white clouds. I look down and see an
eagle rising to meet me. It is she. I fold my huge wings against my body
and drop like a stone towards her. At the last moment, I throw my wings
apart. My feathers spread. My descent is abruptly checked. I bank, dive,
and climb far above her. It is a game we play, she and I. She rises to
meet me and again I drop. I stretch my neck and nip playfully as I
hurtle downward. She screams, deep in her throat, and dives after me. I
open my wings. But instead of slowing my descent, I roll onto my back.
She collides with me. I wrap my wings about her and we join in mid-air.
I feel her body on mine and enfold her within my wings. I feel her
warmth, and her body clutches mine . . .

   And I awaken. And she is there. And her body is clutching mine. She
is warm. And wet. She moans within her throat, and arches her back. My
hands rise to her hair. I unfasten it, and she shakes her head - once -
twice - and her hair falls free. I lunge towards her, raising my hips
and thrusting deep inside her. I slow the pace, then, wishing her to
arrive at her threshold. I would not reach that joyous moment without
her. My only pleasure is seeing her pleasure. One of her hands caresses
her own breast, She thrusts the heel of the thumb of her other hand
between her lips. She bites down in a feeble attempt to muffle the
scream which escapes. I am captivated by this woman, this Fly’s Afar
Woman. I stare at her. I am barely able to breath. No, not with her
weight on me. That is as a feather to me. My breath is held captive by
her beauty, by her love. She is smiling now, her eyes half lidded,
smoky with her lust. Her fingers continue to assault her breast, her
nipple. I place my hand on hers, and feel the movement of nipple between
her fingers. My other hand removes hers from her lips. I cup her neck
and pull her face down to mine. I kiss her. Just her lips. Lightly. I
nip at her lower lip, capturing it between my teeth. My tongue caresses
the sweet prisoner, then invades the dark citadel of her mouth. She
bites my tongue. Then sucks it deeper into her mouth. We speak with one
another in the language older than time, itself. Shuddering, she reaches
her peak. We reach it together. I hold her close, until the delightful
spasms cease. I whisper against her hair, "I love you, my woman. You are
the sun and the stars. You are my heart!"

