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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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Dream Machine (assorted scenarios)
By Mark-Luke NIXPIX Author - 1991

*

Chapter 1: Contracting One's Horizons

His fingers shook as he unwrapped the package. Finally! His own dueling 
machine!

Actually, he thought as he skimmed the instruction manual, "dueling 
machine" was a misnomer. Unlike Bova's conception, the Q-100 model did 
not allow two people to share a dream. It simply allowed one person to 
_control_ a dream.

An extended fantasy, as subjectively real as the chair he was sitting 
in, the manual proclaimed. And as dangerous as wire heading, he thought, 
which is why the government required a cutoff switch on every unit. The 
machine would monitor his blood pressure and heart rate, easing him out 
of the dream if they approached dangerous levels. The timer did the 
same, and it could be set for six hours maximum. Six hours of godhood, 
then back to the real world. He had read that bypassing the timer was 
possible, but he had no desire to try. The news feeds were full of 
stories of people who died of thirst while experiencing non-stop 
fantasies.

The actual device didn't quite "blend right in with his home 
entertainment center," as the ads had promised. Still, it was fairly 
innocuous in appearance. A black metal box with an LCD display; cloth 
head-, arm- and chest bands with velcro closures; tethered sunglasses; 
and a hand-held remote control unit. The box had a cartridge slot, but 
the company hadn't released any pre-packaged fantasies yet. There were 
dark rumors about bugs in that technology and private company 
sanitarium.

Still, the manual was upbeat and straightforward. He decided to give it 
a try. First, attach the sensors - no problem. Power on, then set timer 
- he'd give it fifteen minutes, for now. Glasses on, seated comfortably; 
press start...

The lenses lit up. Smoky patterns twisted and twirled in front of his 
eyes. He started to feel sleepy, then drifted off in a matter of 
seconds.

He opened his eyes. He was standing on a featureless grey plain that 
receded into mist. After a moment of disorientation, he remembered the 
instructions. "The initial environment was chosen to be as neutral as 
possible. Simply concentrate on your desires to give them reality."

"All right, let's give this a try. Hmmm... I want.. a palace! Yeah. Like 
a caliph!" As he imagined them, the walls faded in around him. Arabesque 
designs, twisted pillars, marble statues; as soon as he thought of them, 
they phased into being. He sat, and a pillow materialized beneath him. 
He looked down at his daysuit. "This won't do at all!" Under his gaze, 
the woven plastic transformed into loose-fitting silk, as gaudy as had 
covered any caliph of old. "MUCH better. And now... the serving girls!"

He clapped his hands, and they came. Veiled, clad in silk that revealed 
more than it covered, they slid into reality by his side. One moved to 
massage his shoulders; another picked up a convenient bunch of grapes 
and began to feed him. Gentle breezes from the fan of a third caressed 
his brow.

"Enough!" the lord commanded. "Attend me, my harem!"

The servants vanished. More pillows appeared on the floor. Through the 
far archway came his wives. Sensing his need, they were naked save for 
their veils. Each girl's hair was a different shade, but all had the 
bodies of goddesses. As several danced for his pleasure, others dropped 
their veils and approached him. Dropping to their knees, three began to 
caress the stiff member beneath the caliph's silken trousers (which, 
being inconvenient, simply disappeared).

The redheaded one, always his favorite, brought her mouth down on his 
throbbing manhood. Through dint of daily practice, she could swallow him 
all the way to the root, and did.

As her head bobbed merrily up and down, her tongue performing tricks 
known only in the East, the blonde girl (very young, even for a harem) 
placed her lips on the male sack beneath. The third girl, a perfect 
platinum-blonde, moved up to suck on her lord's nipples. She knew just 
how hard to bite.

Even the cushions rearranged themselves for his pleasure, cupping his 
buttocks like a giant hand. He thrust upwards, jamming his organ fully 
into the throat of his lovely wife. This, combined with the suction on 
his twin oranges of manhood, brought him to the brink.

"Drink me, my wife!" he commanded, and she hummed her reply. The dancers 
moved ever faster, twisting against each other in obscene rhythms...
Everything faded out.

"DAMMIT!!" He was gazing through dark glasses at his living room, his 
erection painfully tight in his plastine trousers. The display on the Q-
100 blinked "00:00."

"This time I'm setting it for six hours," he muttered, reaching for the 
fallen remote. Hell, the manual _said_ he could manually exit the 
dreamworld at any time...




Chapter 2: The Royal Treatment, or To Di For

As an American tourist (circa 1993) in the newly-opened Buckingham 
Palace, he wandered off from the group. Turning a corridor, he heard 
voices raised in an argument.

"Bloody hell, Di, you never listen!"

"Sod off, Charlie! I don't have to put up with your.. oh!"

As he came to a doorway, he caught sight of the royal couple just as 
Diana spotted him. Charles muttered something about "bloody tourists" 
and moved to close the door. Diana stopped him.

"You've always had your way, Charlie, but no more! I can do anything I 
bloody well like now; anything!" She grabbed the American's arm and 
pulled him into the room. "Shut the door, Charles."

The Prince started to argue, but was silenced by a glare from Diana. 
Meekly, he closed the heavy wooden door.

"Just watch, Charlie!" With that, Princess Di sank to her knees in front 
of the tourist. Deft fingers opened his Bermuda shorts, then tugged out 
his penis.
"Now see here..." the Prince began, but Diana shouted him down.

"Quiet!" Her tongue darted out, licking the head of this stranger's 
cock. This regally dressed Princess sucked the end of the shaft past her 
glossy lips, her manicured hands (utterly free of calluses) gently 
massaging the man's testicles.
Watching his penis disappear into that famous face was incredibly 
exciting, but he wanted more. At his thought, Diana leaned back.

"Any whore can blow a man, Charlie. It takes a _real_ slut to do this!" 
Releasing his scrotum, Diana clapped her hands. A maid (French, of 
course) appeared immediately.

"Oui, madame? Mon Dieu!" Blushing furiously, the young girl turned away 
from the scene of depravity.

"Come here, Marie," the Princess ordered. Head still averted, the maid 
gingerly approached. "I want you to take this man's thing in your hand, 
then jerk him off into my mouth."

"Mais non, madame!" But a cold look from Diana quieted her protestation. 
With an apologetic look at the Prince, the girl wrapped a tentative hand 
around the American's throbbing penis. Slowly, she began to stroke him.

Diana moved forward, taking just the head into her lovely mouth. Her 
tongue drew lazy circles on the crown.

The French girl soon started feeling the heat of the moment. She began 
to press her body against the man's back, rubbing her lace-covered 
breasts against his Hawaiian shirt as her hand frigged his veined cock. 
Her other hand found its way to his balls, sliding them pleasantly 
against Diana's perfect chin.

What a scene! A fragile hand tugging relentlessly at his penis, milking 
him into the mouth of a Princess! And, ears reddening in the background, 
her estranged husband, watching it all with jealous eyes.

When the young girl began to suck on his earlobe, that was too much for 
him. He started to come, sending throbbing bolts of stickiness into 
Diana's waiting mouth. As her hand moved frantically beneath her skirt, 
she swallowed every dollop.

He saved the last one, though, pulling back to splatter all over her 
face and hair. That perfect coiffure looked so much better with droplets 
of semen covering it, he thought.

Diana stood, turning to Charles. "Now lick it off, Charlie, and I 
_might_ let you fuck me again. Sometime."

Ears burning, the Prince complied. Di's hand pressed tightly against her 
sodden knickers; moments later, her body shook with the force of her 
orgasm.
The room faded out, to be replaced with...


Chapter 3: Faculty Parking in the Rear

He walked up the steps to the large brick building. The nameplate said 
"Miss Eliot's School for Girls." He knocked, and a woman answered.

"Ah. Dr. Jones. Do come in. I'm Miss Eliot." As she led the way down the 
hall, he studied her. Thin, nearly forty, but still attractive. Black 
hair pulled back in a bun, horn-rimmed glasses, tweed suit; just the 
right look for a woman in her position.

They came to a door, with a room number stencilled on the frosted glass.
The voices of young girls could be heard through it, talking quietly. 
Miss Eliot turned to him. "I'm _so_ glad you could take time out of your 
busy schedule to assist us, Dr. Jones. To have an expert of your 
caliber..."

He held up a hand to cut off her remarks, then motioned to the door. 
"Let us begin." She nodded curtly, and preceded him into the room.

An even dozen young women, average age perhaps sixteen, were seated at 
small wooden desks arranged neatly within the classroom. All the girls 
were dressed alike, in plaid skirts and white blouses. They matched in 
hair color as well; every one had jet-black tresses tied back with plaid 
ribbons. The girls quieted when Miss Eliot entered and approached the 
lectern. She addressed the class without fanfare.

"Now that the state mandates sexual education for private schools, we 
have set up this class for that purpose. We are very lucky to have with 
us today Dr. Jones, author of several clinical studies in the field. Dr. 
Jones, the class is yours." With that, she stepped aside and turned to 
him.

He addressed her as he made his way to the podium. "Could I ask you to 
assist me today, Miss Eliot? I find it's always best to have an 
experienced administrator around on the first day." She smiled slightly, 
and nodded.

Placing his briefcase on a nearby table, he turned to the class. "Good 
morning, girls. Let's not waste time on preliminaries, shall we? For my 
first lesson, I'll need a test subject. Miss Eliot, is there one girl 
who has misbehaved recently?"

The principal nodded, and moved behind a waiflike girl in the third row.

The girl blanched. "No, Miss Eliot, please! I..."

From somewhere, a riding crop appeared in Miss Eliot's hand. "QUIET!" 
The crop snapped down, leaving a red welt across the student's lily-
white hand. The girl shrieked, then quieted, shivering.

"Come here, please." He smiled at the girl, and she shyly smiled back 
after a moment. She stood up and approached the front of the classroom.

He caressed her cheek, getting another smile in return. Moving a chair 
in front of the audience, he told her to bend over and grasp it for 
support. She obeyed without question. Very good, he thought. Miss Eliot 
trains them well.

He lifted her short skirt above her hips, then flipped it over her back. 
She wore nothing underneath. "Excellent, Miss Eliot! I appreciate a 
proper dress code!" The principal beamed.

"Since I'm sure you've all had the basics already, we'll start with a 
slightly more advanced subject - anal sex." The "test subject" trembled, 
but held her position. "The key," he said, reaching into his briefcase, 
"is plenty of lubrication." 

He withdrew a large tube of K-Y jelly. Removing his trousers, he 
revealed a massive penis, already stiff. He began to coat the shaft with 
grease. As he worked, he continued to lecture to his rapt audience. "Too 
much is better than too little." Covering a finger with lubricant, he 
pushed it up the backside of the girl. She let out a squeak, then 
suppressed any further outcry. He worked another finger into her tight 
bottom.

"I think we're ready." He positioned himself behind the student and 
began to rub the head of his penis between her buttocks. Her tremors 
were transmitted pleasantly to his member.

"Normally, I go quite slow when breaking in a new subject." The girl 
visibly relaxed, even with his penis pressing against her rosebud. "I 
think today, though..." He rammed the entire length of his cock up her 
rectum, encountering little resistance due to her lack of tension. She 
screamed at the invasion, her sphincter clamping tightly - too late! 
"I'll make an exception!"

He plowed into her once-virgin asshole, reaming her fully again and 
again. The other girls looked on, enraptured; some began to drool, while 
others slipped surreptitious hands beneath blouses and skirts.

A strand of Miss Eliot's hair had escaped its bun. The principal's eyes 
were glazed, then snapped back into focus. She grabbed the girl nearest 
her, pulling the student out of her chair, then shoving the girl's face 
under the older woman's skirt. The girl knew what to do; apparently the 
administration followed the dress code, as well.

With that, the student body went wild. Skirts flew back, revealing a 
myriad of dark triangles and ruby lips. Blouses opened, and firm breasts 
(unhindered by bras) slid into view. Manicured fingers plucked, teased, 
pulled - sometimes on their bodies, sometimes on those of others. Girls 
(those that could tear their eyes away from his pistoning shaft) kissed 
their neighbors deeply, young tongues moving wetly against one another. 
One daring girl mimicked Miss Eliot's pet, sliding between the legs of 
her friend to lick and suck at an elusive clitoris.

The bright, attentive young woman in the front row never dropped her 
eyes, though. She was fixated on his penis as it journeyed deep within 
the bowels of her squirming classmate. In and out, plunging into that 
vice-like tunnel, provoking gasps and cries from the innocent victim of 
his lust. Well, perhaps some of them were due to his hands on her now-
freed nipples, twisting viciously at the taut nubs of flesh.

His hips moved relentlessly, powerfully thrusting his great penis 
between the perfect globes of her buttocks. She was his completely; when 
his scrotum bounced against her mons as his pubic hair ground against 
her anus, he knew he couldn't get any deeper. His right hand moved to 
her clitoris, and her body began to respond. When her head arched and 
she screamed with the force of her orgasm, he couldn't hold back.

He pulled his greased organ out of her anus, then turned towards the 
exceptional girl in the first row. "Take it!" he cried.

She dropped to her knees instantly, sliding forward to engulf his great 
length in her mouth. (Fortunately for her, the school had a regimen of 
daily enemas.) His grease-slicked cock moved easily into her throat. She 
had obviously practiced this many times; perhaps with a janitor, perhaps 
with her father. It didn't matter; he had no control left. 

Twisting his fingers in her long black locks, he held her tight against 
his crotch as he spurted into her mouth. His orgasm seemed endless, yet 
she swallowed every drop of his sperm, not even coming up to breathe. 
When it was done, she cleaned the grease from his softening shaft with 
her pale pink lips. The pressure squeezed a last drop of come from him, 
landing on her quivering tongue like a candied treat. Smiling 
beatifically, she looked up at him.

"Can I be your _next_ subject, Dr. Jones?"

 -BEEEEEEEEEP-

He awoke bathed in sweat. His heart was pounding wildly, and a high-
pitched alarm emanated from the machine. His face was flushed; he felt 
like he'd just run a marathon.

In a minute or two, his heart rate went down and the noise shut off. 
God, his balls were _sore_! He felt his crotch; it was soaked, and 
sticky. His penis was completely flaccid, and his emptied testicles were 
tight against his groin.

After removing the contacts and snapping the machine off, he dragged 
himself into the shower. Then to bed; he'd figure out a safer way to use 
the machine tomorrow.

Yeah, right.


(I'll refrain from saying "More to Come." :)
