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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  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
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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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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

An Exercise in Nonverbal Communication
by Anonymous Author (c) 1991 (Rusty & Eddie)

***

They stand in the hallway grinning like fiends, each 
momentarily absorbed in warm contemplation of the other. 
Reasserting his capacity for motion, he leans forward and licks 
the tip of her nose while producing a keyring from the right 
pocket of his trenchcoat. A good show is made of his attempting 
to dodge her well-aimed tickling while flicking through the 
keys and opening the door. He reaches to his sides, taking both 
of her hands, and leads her into the warm, dimly-lit room 
beyond.

She glances around her surroundings as he releases her 
hands with a parting squeeze; the room is lit only by a small 
electric nightlight, evidently soon to be replaced by the 
illumination of the candles he is distributing about the room 
and lighting. The place is not large, perhaps four meters by 
five. There are a pair of beds, a pair of desks, and a small 
refrigerator present; the mattress of one of the beds rests in 
the middle of the floor, adorned with several pillows, a 
comforter, and a sheet atop that. She smirks at this.

There prove to be five candles; he extinguishes the 
nightlight and punches a button on a small portable stereo. 
Inside is a tape he prepared for the occasion; the song that 
begins playing is, unusually enough, the Sisters of Mercy cover 
of the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter". The rhythm is 
exquisite. He stands before her and traces the shape of her 
cheek with the long nails of his left hand. She says, "And 
where --", but he places a finger over her full, beautiful 
lips, smiling. She bites it, and he tries to pull the 
endangered finger back; she purses her lips, withdraws her 
teeth, and applies light suction, giving the digit a flick of 
her tongue as it slips away. With a grin and a low growl, or 
perhaps a purr, he moves his head forward, angling it for a 
kiss. She does the same, and only mutual skill prevents them 
from banging their teeth together; they emerge from the cusp 
victorious, however, and celebrate by kissing long and hard. 

Their tongues dance and thrust, her fingers tangle in his 
leonine mane of hair, his arms reach to enfold her and draw 
their bodies together; an occasional happy gasp or moan escapes 
their embrace. They move together to the music, giving over 
consciousness to those parts of their minds which work with 
rhythms, patterns, flows.

They break the kiss at what they sense to be the proper 
moment. He takes her hand and leads her across the mattress to 
the refrigerator, grinning. He motions for her to open the 
door, which she does; inside are some of the tools of the 
night's endeavors. While she examines them, he takes off his 
coat and hangs it on a wall hook; he then removes the items one 
by one and places them on a chair near the mattress. First is a 
can of plain whipped cream, followed by one of the chocolate-
flavored variety. After that comes a container of fresh, ripe 
strawberries; last to emerge is a jar of bright red maraschino 
cherries. To these items he adds a bottle of flavored massage 
oil and a package of extra-thin condoms from a desk drawer. 
While this is occurring, "Gimme Shelter" ends and is replaced 
by a variety of quiet, unobtrusive, relaxing music that makes 
heavy use of rainstorm sounds.

He motions for her to raise her arms, and draws her shirt 
up over her head when she complies. A quick examination of her 
bra reveals that fate is with him; it is a front-clasp design, 
easily dealt with. She is somewhat surprised and disappointed 
when he spares only an appreciative gaze on her beautiful 
breasts, not even stopping to rub the erect nipples; he appears 
to have a purpose in mind. Her shoes, socks, and jeans are 
dealt with in short order, with the aid of the still-mattressed 
bed; her black lace panties are given more ceremony. At his 
urging, she stands and strikes a pose or three, appraised most 
positively by her audience. He then kneels before her and 
slowly pulls away the black lace concealing her dark-haired 
sex. Again he touches only with his gaze, and now she is a bit 
frustrated. Ignoring it, she looks him up and down with an 
eyebrow raised; he grins, concurring that he is indeed 
overdressed. He rapidly strips, pausing to give a little wiggle 
of his hips as he removes his underwear, which draws a light 
laugh. His ample phallus is half-erect, and she reaches for it; 
he pulls back, though, smiling and shaking a finger 
chastisingly. Now she actually pouts, and does so well. 
Seemingly impervious, he indicates the mattress with an 
expansive gesture.

Firing off a final martyred expression, she lies down atop 
the white sheet on her back; he motions for her to roll over, 
and after a moment's oh-really?  look, she flips onto her 
stomach, grabbing a pair of pillows to support her head. 
Glancing backward, she sees him applying massage oil to his 
hands, and lies her head back down with a contented smile.

A moment later she feels a slippery touch on her feet; he is 
beginning there and working his way up. His hands are strong 
and practiced, liquid, leaching muscular tension from her and 
replacing it with another kind. The oil tingles warmly on her 
skin, and he seems quite determined to drive her insane, giving 
special attention to her inner thighs but obstinately leaving 
the warmth of her nearby cunt untouched. She rocks her hips 
when his hand is nearby, to no avail. Finally he works his way 
up to her shoulders; when these have been treated, he has her 
turn over, and starts again with her feet. This time, when he 
reaches the junction of her thighs, he applies the oil to her 
mons veneris with four swift thumb motions, drawing a gasp, and 
moves on, drawing a moan of frustrated desire. The same callous 
treatment is given her nipples. The tingling of the oil on her 
primary erogenous zones approaches unbearability. During this 
time, the music changes again, from the anonymous relaxation-
music to sensual Enigma. When he again reaches her shoulders, 
he wipes his oily hands on the sheet (the purpose of which is 
the absorption of the oil) and smiles benevolently at her. She 
can see that his cock is fully, perhaps painfully, erect.

She meets his gaze and returns a pleading look. By way of 
answer, he takes her head in both hands and kisses her firmly, 
which she responds to by violently stabbing her tongue into his 
mouth. He breaks off, and his lips begin to wander; he lovingly 
kisses her cheek, nibbles and sucks at her neck, spends a good 
deal of time delicately frenching her ears. Moving downward, he 
begins to meticulously clean the sweet oil from her skin with 
his tongue, the texture of which is not unlike that of a cat's. 
The rhythms of his licking harmonize with those of the music. 

Suddenly, miraculously, she realizes that his lips are locked 
around her left nipple; such mercy is practically beyond 
belief. He hears her half-sigh, half-moan in partial release as 
he sucks at the bit of erectile tissue, sends his tongue 
dancing around it, massages it with his lips, skims its surface 
with his teeth. His left hand is hard at work on her other 
nipple, squeezing and rubbing in multifarous patterns. He 
switches sides after awhile, not wishing to neglect either. 
When the moment seems right, he releases her nipples and begins 
moving downward again.

The anticipation grows ever-stronger in her as he finishes 
with her tummy and moves on, spreading her legs wide so as to 
maximize freedom of motion. He slowly, carefully licks the 
slick oil from her inner thighs, luxuriating in the musky scent 
of her plentiful juices. She can feel his hot breath on her 
sex; it causes the oil to tingle furiously. He spends what time 
he can studying what is visible of the configuration of her 
labia. When he has nearly finished with her thighs, he begins 
moving his right hand, with its short-trimmed nails, toward a 
position nearby where it may be used readily. The proper time 
arrives; he snaps his head forward and sucks at the place where 
he hopes her clitoris is while simultaneously sliding his 
middle finger inside her, angled upward to place pressure on 
her g-spot. The result is what he had hoped for: immediate and 
powerful orgasm, the quick contractions around his finger 
accompanied by a loud "aaaaAAAAOH!" sound. She bucks her hips 
violently; he continues his bursts of pressure against her 
vaginal wall, but is forced to desist from his attentions to 
her clit; she is past the point of caring. When her orgasm 
fades away, he withdraws his finger and reaches for the 
supplies nearby. He considers taking the condoms; he wants to 
be inside her very badly right now. Nonetheless, reminding 
himself that it would be a shame to waste the edibles, he 
retrieves them instead.

She regains her coherence after a moment; she sits up and 
sees what he is occupied with. Seeing the question on her wide-
eyed face, he nods and smiles, motioning for her to lie back 
down. She does, now wearing an expression of joyful rather than 
anxious anticipation. Preparations complete, he turns his 
attention to the task at hand, grinning like a devil. She is 
watching him, her head supported by a pair of pillows and her 
legs apart. He takes a strawberry from the package and consumes 
it with conscious lasciviousness, feeling the juices spread 
across his tongue and sharpen his sense of taste. He then takes 
the pair of whipped cream containers and begins to apply them 
to her exquisite sex; she squeezes her eyes closed for a moment 
at the sensation of the cold whipped cream on her overheated 
mons. He creates a spiral pattern of the stuff, with the center 
at her clitoris, then removes the greens from a pair of 
strawberries and places them at the upper right and left edges 
of the design. The inescapable final touch comes when he places 
a single maraschino cherry atop her clitoris, making her jump. 
He stops to admire his creation for a moment, then meets her 
eyes, smiles, and lowers his head between her thighs.

He begins at the right side, scooping up bits of the 
whipped cream with his tonguetip. She delights in the ticklish 
feeling of his tongue poking through the cream to her skin, and 
the more erotic sensation of its rough texture against the 
periphery of her mons as he licks away the last traces. The 
effects of his first strawberry have faded by the time he 
finishes the right side, so he devours the nearer one before 
switching; the same occurs with the transition from the left to 
the much more significant center. He begins at the bottom, 
receiving a delicious first taste of her already-sweet juices 
mixed in with the whipped cream and flavored oil. He cleans her 
labia meticulously, eliciting a series of ecstatic sounds. When 
he reaches the top, he enfolds both her clit and the cherry on 
top with his mouth, applying what suction he can. He then bites 
through the cherry and squeezes, allowing the chilled juices 
inside to flow over her clitoris; the gasp that follows is very 
understandable, as is the moan of pleasure as the cold of the 
cherry's liquids abruptly changes to the warmth of his gyring 
tongue. He moves downward to the entrance of her vagina, his 
tongue first diving inward to taste her sweetness fully, then 
dancing this way and that over her sensitive inner folds. She 
continues her euphonic array of sounds, reaching down to tangle 
her hands in his hair once more. He moves upward to give his 
mouth's attention to her clit again while returning his right 
middle finger to its previous employment inside her. She arches 
her back violently, she grips his hair as if it were her sole 
link to heaven, she all but screams her pleasure. He continues 
this treatment relentlessly, uncaring for the exhaustion of his 
tongue or hand, until she reaches orgasm again with a great 
joyful sigh; perhaps a less spectacular one than the first, but 
longer and more encompassing.

Wonderfully invigorated, she finds that she is growing 
tired of the passive role she has been playing. She sits up and 
kisses him passionately, then motions for him to lie down in 
turn. He is more than happy to comply, lying on his back, hands 
behind his head. She considers her course of attack for a 
moment; deciding turnabout to be fair play, she first applies 
the tingling oil to his nipples and glans. He closes his eyes 
as she does so, rejoicing in her touch, then smiles at the 
familiar tickle of the oil. Grinning, she partakes of her own 
preparatory strawberry, then assembles her armamentarium, the 
two cans of whipped cream. After a moment's consideration, she 
begins to create a barber-pole striped pattern along the length 
of his cock; reaching the top, she adds a white puff to crown 
the work. She takes a cherry from the jar; espying his wide 
grin, she flicks it toward his face, hoping for a nose hit. 

Serendipitously enough, he opens his mouth and catches the 
airborne fruit. Chuckling, he melodramatically poises it 
between his teeth and bites through; she smiles and shudders 
slightly at the fresh memory. Another cherry is produced and 
placed atop the puff of whipped cream on his glans. Licking her 
lips, she slides downward and brings her mouth near her 
creation. The particularly erotic Enigma song "Mea Culpa" 
begins.

She begins by licking small divots from the pattern all up 
and down his length; he spends this time watching avidly and 
purring. When she feels the proper number of symmetrical 
slashes have been cut, she slowly extends her tongue to touch 
the cherry, then swoops forward, engulfing his glans and the 
first inch of his penis. He throws his head back with a gasp, 
and must exert his will briefly to avoid thrusting with his 
hips, which would disturb the rhythm at this point. She slowly 
slides her mouth off him, swirling her tongue through the 
whipped cream as she goes. She swallows the whipped cream but 
preserves the cherry, holding it pursed between her lips for a 
moment before sucking it inside with an audible *pop*, rewarded 
with an exaggerated wince from him. Returning to his partially 
revealed cock, she takes the head in her mouth again and begins 
cleaning it of whipped cream by stages, bobbing perhaps another 
half-inch downward each time. She reaches her limit near four 
inches and covers the remainder by slowly circling it, licking 
avidly. His comments on the proceedings consist primarily of 
mixed moaning and purring, with an occasional gasp 
interspersed. She continues her attentions after his cock has 
been cleaned of whipped cream, alternately licking, sucking, 
and sliding up and down his length, much to his approval. When 
the tenor of his moans indicate that orgasm is nearing, she 
withdraws and retrieves a condom from the chair, quickly 
removing it from its package and placing it on his penis. He is 
thick and very erect, making the application difficult, but she 
succeeds in unrolling it to his base. They both become aware of 
a peculiar kind of warm energy that suffuses the emotional 
atmosphere in anticipation of what is to come.

She moves forward and straddles his supine body; his 
waiting hands slide up her legs to rest comfortably on her 
hips. Their eyes meet, and much passes between them in a very 
short time. They smile. She reaches beneath her and takes hold 
of his penis, placing the head between her inner lips, poised 
at her threshold. He gently moves his hips upward as hers 
descend; his hard length slides into her warm wetness to the 
accompaniment of a mutual sigh of utter satisfaction. They 
pause for a moment to savor the sensation; their hips then 
engage the rhythm and begin to thrust together with rapidly 
building intensity. He reaches upward to rub her prominent 
nipples... she leans down and bites his shoulder to stifle a 
scream of joy... the nails of his left hand trace patterns in 
pink over her abdomen and between her breasts... the muscles of 
her hot, wet cunt squeeze his cock as if to never release it... 
the tape reaches its end and restarts, sending the flowing 
darkness of "Gimme Shelter" to envelop them again... a medley 
of growls and gasps, moans and sighs, silent pauses and mutual 
cries fill the candlelit space... their rhythms accelerate and 
slow, add then subtract then multiply complexity, intertwine 
and branch, build inexorably toward a bright crescendo that 
overtakes them with ordained spontaneity as hir back arches and 
sie cries out and their muscles contract and their hands grasp 
for the anchoring contact with the Other as waves of blissful 
purifying nervefire sweep through them over and again, 
now/forever.

The rhythm's intensity fades, leaving them human once 
more; they acknowledge this with a kiss. They lie together 
for a long time, feeding each other cherries and strawberries;
a variety of quiet, unobtrusive, relaxing music that makes 
heavy use of rainstorm sounds plays in the background.

