                      ____________________________
                     |                            |
                   /)|     KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF    |(\
                  / )|         DIRECTORIES        |( \
               __(  (|____________________________|)  )__
              ((( \  \ >  /_)              ( \  < /  / )))
              (\\\ \  \_/  /                \  \_/  / ///)
               \          /                  \          /
                \      _/                     \_       /
                 /    /                         \     \
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
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
o                                                                   o
o  All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for  o
o  profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance.     o
o                                                                   o
o  Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o  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 o o o

Keli (cbt, Fdom-m, bd)
by Zturgeon (zturgeon@aol.com)

***

      Tim was bound by the wrists to a pair of trees standing about
six feet apart.   He was on his knees, naked.  He was struggling.  And
he was crying again.

      Happily, this increasingly familiar was sound was muffled almost
to the point of being inaudible: I had stuffed his mouth with a
ball-gag, wrapped over that with cotton strips, and -- just to
complete the picture for you -- I had blind-folded him and made him
strip.  The only shred of fabric on his body was wrapped over his
gagged mouth.

      Usually people did not go camping at Red Rock during the winter.
I imagine Tim knew that.  He was still clearly terrified when I bound
him there about an hour before sunset and told him I was going to
leave him in that position until about ten o'clock the next morning.
He was totally helpless.

      "Anyone could just wander by and hurt you, or sodomize you,
Timmy.  The park ranger -- if there is one here -- or homeless people.
Maybe a bear, Tim!   Wouldn't that be cool?"  

      With the gag silencing him, it was difficult to gauge whether he
shared my sense of humor.  

      "Or, of course, someone could wander by and torture you --
whatever that might mean -- or even be nice and set you free!  Then
you could track me down and kill me, couldn't you?  Get me back for
all the pain and humiliation I've inflicted on you!  Use your innately
superior male strength to teach me a goddam lesson, Timmy -- wouldn't
that be fun for you?  Yeah, I bet you'd like that."

      I raised the toe of my Timberland boot and kicked him playfully
in the ass.

      "But before I leave you, we're going to do something new.  I
don't want to abandon you out here in the cold all night, so I'm going
to light you a fire.   Ever hear of Duraflame logs, Tim?  The
processed wood thingies with pretty blue flames?  I've got one right
here -- I know you can't look, so I'll let you feel it."

      I had bought one of the small-sized Duraflame logs -- they're
shorter than the regular ones, and slimmer.  I stroked it gently
against his nose, then mischievously bopped him on the back of the
head with it.  He responded to the minor pain with a barely-vocalized
yelp.  

      "Oh, I'll bet you want to feel it down here, too, dontcha?"

      I rubbed the Duraflame log against his hanging genitals.  I
massaged his jewels with the thing, pressing them against his body,
sensually but forcefully.  Then, abruptly, I whacked his nuts with the
log quite assertively.  Tim's body jumped; he fought against the
straps, tugging wildly, trying to press his legs together to protect
the vulnerable little toys god gave man as a cruel joke.  

      Then I got to work on the fire I promised Tim.  I smeared KY
jelly on Tim's anus, then rammed the Duraflame log mercilessly into
his hole.  He thrashed wildly, his arms yanking against the straps,
his head rolling around.   Agonized choking sounds escaped from the
base of his throat.

      "Yes, Tim, that's the log.  And now I'm about to set it on
fire."

      And so I did.  The artificial log caught quickly, and Tim --
feeling the heat blazing near his ass -- reacted with forcibly
restrained terror. 

      "Your ass looks like a weird fire-breathing monster, Tim!  You
should see this!"

      I laughed uproariously.  Tim writhed; the frantic motion of his
body struggling against his bondage threatened to dislodge the log, so
I warned Tim I'd put the Duraflame right under his groin if it slipped
out of his rectum.   "Then it'll roast your weiner and your man-nuts
alive, Tim, and I don't really think you want to feel them cook while
they're still attached -- although it might be fun for me to munch
them right off of your roasted groin.  Maybe I should smear you with a
little A-1 first?"  

      Now, I'm actually not the cruel type, so I batted the log out of
his rectum before it caused him any serious burns.  I did this by
tugging down on his testicles, then slamming my fist up into his
stomach.  The force of my blows moved through his body, squeezing out
the log.  I then tossed the log into the nearby stream, wished Tim a
wonderful evening, and drove away.

      I actually had no intention of leaving Tim alone at the campsite
all night.   It seemed to me pretty likely that either nothing at all
would happen -- except that he'd be gnawed on by countless mosquitos
-- or someone would find and release him.   So I drove back just after
ten o'clock with my well-hung, Adonis-like lover, Jon.  

      We parked about a quarter of a mile from where Tim was bound.
We marched along the road with flashlights -- which, again, Tim
couldn't see, being blindfolded -- then approached him quietly, so as
to surprise him.  I stepped up behind him in the moist sand, then,
wearing my Timberland boots, kicked him hard in the rear -- aiming
low, so as to nail his balls with my toes.  Tim's body convulsed; the
gag stifled his horrified sobs.

      Jon fought to control his laughter.  I walked around in front of
Tim, grabbed him roughly by the hair and pulled his head up, then
began slapping and punching his face, while Jon unbuckled his jeans,
and let them drop to his knees.  

      I noticed that Jon's cock was already almost fully erect when he
pulled down his boxers.  He seemed to find the situation arousing --
which sort of surprised me.  Without hesitating, he rolled on a condom
and plunged his 8.5" cock into Tim's well-spread, still KY-ed up ass.
While he impaled Tim, I continued to smack my husband's head and face,
occasionally using my flashlight as a bludgeoning device.  The beam of
my light was unsteady, obviously, but in the two minutes that it took
Jon to climax inside my husband, I caught glimpses of his face.  The
first time his eyes were narrow slits; he gasped, his face looking
strained with pleasure.  He was fully absorbed in fucking my husband's
ass.  

      I admit that this irritated me a little.  I knew Jon revelled in
sexual dominance, but I was disappointed that he could get as excited
about homoerotic domination as he could in our own sexual encounters.  

      I saw Jon's face again as he reached climax; his cheeks gleamed
with sweat, his eyes were fully closed, his lips parted, breathing
quickly.  When he ejaculated into my husband, he didn't pull out right
away, but leaned over Tim and rocked gently a couple of times, their
bodies touching.

      "Come here," he said to me, standing upright and removing the
condom. "Get me up again."  

      Although I felt a twinge of reluctance from thinking where his
phallus had just been, I obeyed him.  I kneeled on the damp earth and
began stroking Jon's huge balls with my tongue.  Slowly he warmed up;
his scrotum loosened, and I could feel the full contours of his
massive testicles with my tongue and my lips.  I became more excited;
I felt myself growing moist, and I began lapping at his balls more
aggressively. 

      "Careful!  Careful."

      He gripped my hair firmly, commandingly -- maybe I had been too
rough -- then guided my mouth over his flaccid penis.  It was about
five inches long in its limp state, and I took it into my mouth while
massaging his nuts -- slick with my saliva -- in my gentle hands.
Careful, careful, so as not to hurt the man.

      Gradually Jon began to grow rigid again, and his cock began
filled my mouth.   I tried to move my attention back to his balls,
which were easier to contain, but he wouldn't let me.  He pulled my
head over his hard cock and thrust it deep into my mouth and my
throat.  After a few moments, he stopped.

      "Okay, okay..."

      He pulled out of my face, then quickly put on another condom,
and plunged his phallus back into my husband's hole.  I stared up at
him in disbelief as he began riding my husband.

      I admit I was quite angry -- quite jealous, really.  I reached
my hand out to the point where their genitals met, held my fingers
between their colloding testicles -- my husband's small, bunched up
nuts, and Jon's loose, slapping rocks.  I formed a mental image of
myself reaching up with both of my hands, strangling their balls
together, twisting them, wringing their nuts like filthy dishrags,
joining the two boys in neutering pain.  It was, as I recall, the
first time I really felt full animosity toward Jon.  But instead of
fulfilling my fantasy, I merely squeezed my husband's little jewels:
pinched and poked at them, feeling Jon's massive nuts swinging against
my hand and wrist.  Finally, before he came, as his breathing grew
increasingly rapid, Jon pulled my hand away.  Sharing the moment,
alone, with my husband.

      Jon and I drove home after that; we decided to revisit Tim and
untie him just before dawn, in the meantime catching a few hours of
sleep.  After we both undressed, I began carressing Jon's large,
muscular body: his hairy, firm chest, his thick arms, his lean, strong
legs.  I reached between his legs and cupped his balls in one hand,
while gripping his limp penis with my other.  He brushed his hand
against mine, but I didn't let go.  Then he shoved at my wrists.  But
I still didn't let go: I wanted him.  I hadn't had sex that night; I
had been robbed of affection by my husband's filthy anus, and I wanted
my turn on Jon's fabulous rod.  

      "Let go, dammit," Jon murmurred.  Instead of obeying him, I
squeezed his sex organs more firmly.  I felt his palm swat against my
head, jarring it: no doubt if the lights had been on I would've
noticed my vision blurring over for a moment.  In reponse, I really
put a vice-grip on his boyhood equipment.

      "Ow!  Fuck!  God dammit, you little cunt."

      Jon's voice was surprisingly panicky.  Again he swung at my
head; this time, the blow hit me full-force, and I felt dazed.  I
released my grip on his genitals, and for several seconds I lay on the
bed torpidly, my mind staggered.  He grabbed me roughly, then flipped
me on my stomach.  I recognized what he was doing, and I  struggled,
but weakly.  I felt him move on top of me, and I tightened my buttocks
as firmly as I could, but I knew that once he got an erection, he'd
have no trouble driving into my ass.  I heard myself whining to him,
pleading with him not to do it to me.  The pain of Jon's huge cock
stabbing my asshole was unbearable: the only other time he'd forced me
to endure that, I had wept for nearly half an hour afterwards.   My
hole bled and hurt.

      But instead of feeling his iron cock spike into me, I felt his
limp, drooping phallus rub against my cheeks.  

      He was still unable to get an erection.  

      Again and again -- quicker, more and more frustrated -- he
slapped his tender meat against my firm ass.  Unable to control
myself, I began chuckling.  I felt his heavy balls rub against my
skin, too; they were tight, perhaps retracted into his body with
shame, like the limbs of a frightened turtle.  

      Looking back over my shoulder, I laughed out loud.

      "What's wrong, baby?  What's wrong, Jon?  Your little manhood's
all worn out for the week?"

      He was silent, his face red with embarrassment.  His eyes looked
vacant, slightly lost as he looked down at his weak member.Turning
part way, I reached down to his groin, found the glans of his cock
with my fingers, then tugged sharply.  He made a quick, high-pitched
groan, and this encouraged me: gripping his penis like a piece of
garden hose, I pulled it fiercely toward me, while turning fully onto
my back.  

      As I expected, Jon lashed out at me physically, while gurgling
little curses.   Since we were so close, it was impossible for him to
swing at me with any momentum.  Instead, he drove his fist against my
left breast.  I was shocked by his cowardice, and my rage heightened
the force of my reaction: gritting my teeth, still yanking his
flexible cock like it was the fuse of a bomb that had failed to pop, I
slammed my knee against his testicles, bunched up tight in his wrinkly
scrotum.  

      Jon howled in pain, collapsed on me, began making all kinds of
weird bodily movements.  His hands dove protectively at his big balls,
as if he could take the pain out of them like little splinters.  But I
acted quickly: while he covered his pounded nuts, I instantly grabbed
a handful of his hair and one of his ears and began tugging.  He
reached up to try to move my hands away, and doing so he unshielded
his balls, which I immediately grabbed up. 

      His large, aching balls.

      One in each hand.  

      Squeezing.

      Hard.  

      "Poor boy," I said, "Poor Jon.  Aw, does it hurt?  Does this
hurt?  Hm?"  He was lying on top of me, crying.  Once so full of
himself, so commanding with me.  Now all of his strength was
nullified: like his vast manhood was trapped in those balls, and now
they were mine.  And I was hurting them.  Making my man weep.

      "Please stop," he said, his voice broken, high-pitched, like he
was barely an adolescent now.  "Please, Keli."

      "No, Jon.  I won't."  I released his left ball, locked his large
right one between both of my palms, then pressed down on it like a
steel vice.  His body began bucking.  He babbled, "No no no please I
beg you I beg you I beg you."  

      I felt his tears drip onto my face.  Quickly, I made my left
hand into a fist and pounded it against the side of his face, twice --
hitting his temple and his ear.  Then I was gripping both of his nuts
again.

      Whenever he began trying to reach down, I'd tighten my grip, or
begin to press my nails into his testicles and threaten to tear them
into bloody chunks.

      "You're queer, aren't you, Jon?"

      He shook his head, whimpering.

      "Admit it, Jon.  You and my husband are both fucking fags.  You
had a ball with him tonight.  You were happier in his asshole than you
were in your mother's womb.  Admit it."

      "No," Jon whined, sounding utterly childish.  

      Momentarily releasing his nuts, I let my knee crash into his
balls again.  He barked out loud, male sobs.  I re-captured his
testes: put the vice back on.

      "Admit it, Jon.  You're a fucking fag.  All men are, aren't
they?  You all secretly want cocks up your ass: you all really want
other men because you're fucking cowards when it comes to women.
You're all terrified of women.  All men are a bunch of pussy queens."

      Jon shook his head weakly.  I released his balls once again.  He
knew what was coming: he tried to close his legs somewhat.  I reached
down and gripped his buttocks, tearing into the skin with my
fingernails, while -- three times in rapid succession -- I slammed my
knee up into his groin.

      While I beat him, I repeated my theory to him: "Men are all
cowardly, gutless little fags.  You're all brainless fucking
woman-fearing queers."

      And then I let him go.  Actually, I shoved him off me onto the
floor, where he landed on his stomach.  He was shaking.  No, he was
convulsing: cupping his hands over his nuts, sobbing, his face
drenching the carpet with tears.  

      After a few moments of preparation, I moved up behind him.  With
my strap-on.   And raped him.  Gripping the back of his hair, I
pressed his face against the carpet and rammed into his small hole
over and over.  His orifice began bleeding almost instantly -- I guess
I tore him trying to fit inside -- but his little injury hardly
concerned me.  His crying continued, but began to sound more
animalistic and desperate.  I hardly recognized it as human.  

      "Is this what you were going to do to me, Jon?  Rape me up the
ass?  Sodomize me?  Fuck me where I'm small?  You're such a man, Jon,"
I taunted him, "Such a big, strong, powerful male.  Isn't it nice
being so superior?  Hm?"

      He began babbling more intelligibly now: imploring me to stop,
promising me anything he had.  I laughed.  I reached down below where
my artificial penis speared his body and felt his testicles."You know
what's going to happen with these, Jon?  We're going to go back up to
the stream, and I'm going to make your fag buddy Timmy take these in
his mouth, one by one, and bite each one off.  And then he's going to
swallow them.  Whole.  And then, when he's ready to crap, I'm going to
make you eat them out of his asshole.  That's what you deserve, Jon,
you fucking little queer."

      To drive my meaning home, I gave his groin another whack with my
fist -- and then he fainted.

      After cleaning myself off, getting dressed, I began dragging him
out to the car.  My intention was to do roughly as I promised, but the
guy's huge body was too heavy for me to deal with (or was I simply
lazy?  I suppose it doesn't matter).  I left Jon lying naked on my
front lawn and returned to my bedroom to take a nap.  Absent-mindedly
-- or perhaps I was just preoccupied -- I forgot to set my alarm, and
consequently it was not until nine o'clock the next morning that I
woke up.  By the time I arrived back at the stream where I had leashed
Tim to a tree, he had been "rescued."  

      He was gone. 


Positive Email comments are welcome.

