Chocolate Fudge Sunday
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is Copyright, 2003, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission.

If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to me at anon584c@nyx.net.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Chocolate Fudge Sunday
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

As far as Mary could see, marriage and parenthood provided surprises for every woman. For most of them, at least, the surprises came in separate clusters. She had three days to get used to being a married woman -- and she was later grateful to Jer's mother for providing that -- before she found herself mother to two grade-school children.

Newlyweds, she thought, hmph. As a newlywed, she couldn't leave her bedroom without wearing an opaque nightie covered by an equally opaque robe. And, since parents are on call and she had been careful -- as a stepmother -- to be on call with special faithfulness, she had slept in the opaque nightie every night.

Jer had been afraid of the kids' hearing her orgasmic cries. Maybe she could have learned to stifle them, but he hadn't risked the kisses which would bring them on. She continued as Jer's technician. She'd trained for the job, and she wasn't crazy about another woman working with her man five days a week.

Jer and the kids had -- at first -- been surprised that she hadn't provided what a wife and mother did, according to their experience. Jer had become reasonable about that. (The kids hadn't, but they had been of an age to be demanding anyhow.) He kept Mrs. Washington as housekeeper. Mary cooked three suppers a week, and all meals on Sunday.

When the housework had still been too much -- grade-school kids could create quite a mess in the summer time -- he had Mrs. Washington come in Wednesdays, as well as Mondays and Saturdays. Mary had been tempted to say, "You can't; that's our day." It no longer had been their day, though -- especially not in the summer time with the kids home. Their sex was under the covers of the marriage bed when the kids were asleep. And, when she didn't have a climax, Mary learned to fake one. She was surprised at first that Jer couldn't tell, but he was -- after all -- pretty close to his own by then.

So the lust of newlyweds was like the problems of homesteaders facing a drought to Mary. She could read about it, but she'd never experienced it. The wedding had been her exchange of Donna, approving from a distance, for two young chaperones with rooms next to theirs who would be (she assumed, and Jer assumed even more strongly) quite disapproving if they ever knew.

On the other hand, other aspects of marriage were definite positives. She liked the house and, when they weren't being absolute brats, loved the kids. She'd joined Jer's church and been welcomed. He'd identified many people as "friends of Nancy's," but no disapproval had been apparent in their behavior towards Mary.

Now, she was a settled matron with teenage children. And one with things that needed to be done. She found Jim ruining his appetite for dinner with a gigantic sundae. Well, he would still eat more than she would in an hour. "You know the group of boys that Mr. Wilcox is having tomorrow at the church?"

"Yeah."

"Want me to drive you there? I'm taking Barb to her group, anyway."

"That's for kids whose parents are in that group."

"Not according to Mrs. Foster. Finish your homework tonight, and I'll check with Mr. Wilcox in the morning." She saw the open jar of chocolate fudge topping on the kitchen counter. Oh well, he had returned the ice cream to the freezer. She picked up the jar and removed the spoon from it. She looked in the jar while licking the spoon.

The topping tended to separate. Jim had taken most of the solid stuff; there was about an inch of runny sauce still in the jar. "Honestly, Jim."

"I'll brush my teeth." Which was his father's rule, but not his only one.

"You put the jar in the microwave and zap it. Then you stir the stuff so it is no longer separated. Takes less than a minute. Tastes better. Doesn't leave a residue of useless water. I don't expect you to cook elaborate recipes." She didn't even expect Barb to do that, which was Barb's loss. Home Ec taught even less now than it did in Mary's day, and Mary had learned most of her cooking skills from her mother. "I do think you can manage to push a couple of buttons."

"Honestly, mom." Which might mean that Jim honestly would do better next time; probably it meant that he honestly believed she would drive him crazy. He'd drive her crazy, first. She found the lid, twisted it on, and put the jar in the refrigerator. The spoon went in the left-hand sink.

The memory of the jar stayed with her, though. While Jer and Jim watched TV in the living room, she neatened up the kitchen so that it looked like Mrs. Washington had been gone only six weeks. (She'd really been gone less than six hours.) When she was done, she carried the chocolate-fudge jar in a plastic sack up to her room and put it in the drawer of the nightstand on her side. She found a pair of scissors in her sewing box.

Back in the days of their romance, Jer had always been the one to trim her bush. He'd enjoyed doing it; she'd enjoyed having him do it, for that matter. But she still remembered ideas she'd had for improvements back then. She pulled the hair on each labium straight and cut it as short as she could. The hair on the very bottom of her mound, she cut a little longer. She barely touched the hair higher up. She looked at the results in the mirror on the medicine cabinet. It looked presentable, if that word applied to such an intimate spot. She pulled the loose hairs out of the drain after her shower.

Later, she lay beside Jer. While each of them was reading a different magazine, she was distracted by images of the next night and chocolate fudge. Wouldn't Jer like to know what she was thinking! Barb was out on a date, though, and they wouldn't do anything when she could come home at any time needing a mother's ear.

When Barb did come home, it was a minute after midnight. Mary waited until she climbed the stairs and disappeared into her room. She put on a robe and went to knock on her door. "Did you have a nice time, dear?"

"A great time, mom."

"That's good. See you in the morning." She went downstairs to check that Barb had properly locked the door -- she had.

When she got upstairs, Jer had turned off the light on his side. She curled against him and joined him in sleep.

The next day was Sunday, and she asked Jim Wilcox about the group after church. She carefully didn't check to see whether Jim had actually finished his homework.

"Sylvia spoke with me," he said. "All junior-high boys are welcome, especially those named 'Jim.'"

"Thanks."

After dinner, Jer insisted that Jim do more of his homework. When it was time, she drove him to the church first, and then Barb to the Fosters'. She drove by the office on her way back and picked up a few tray liners. Jer was watching TV when she got home. "Come up when the game ends," she said. "Will you?"

"Sure."

If she had had more time, she could have prepared for this better. It was a warm day, but inside you couldn't tell. She closed the room vent from the air conditioning. The jar was nowhere near blood temperature; she put it under the hot-water tap in the bathroom. That would clean up a bit of the outside stickiness, too. She didn't have any slinky nightgowns; she'd been in 'mom' mode far too long. She settled for the robe with nothing underneath. She pulled the sash tight, but kept most of the material folded at the sides. Tied like that, it revealed almost nothing -- a little cleavage was all -- but it suggested access to everything.

The tray liners would be necessary. She didn't want Mrs. Washington wondering how she got chocolate syrup on the sheets. On the other hand, they wouldn't look sexy. She folded three together and placed them on the floor between her nightstand and the bed. They wouldn't need the top sheet, much less the blanket and bedspread. She stripped the bed and went back to get the jar of chocolate fudge topping. She dried it with toilet paper. It was hard to open; she was glad she'd thought to do that first. She put another tray liner on the nightstand and the open jar on it.

She decided to sit in a chair until Jer came up.

"You wanted to talk about something?" he asked from the doorway. "Is it hot in here, or is that my imagination?"

She got up and stood where he could get a good look at her. She saw that his eyes strayed towards her cleavage. "I wanted to talk about being married. Seems to me that we've spent too much time recently on being parents."

"Comes with the territory. You knew that when you married me."

"Comes with the territory, but the kids are gone now -- gone for hours."

"So you want to talk about our marriage?" His tone was wary. That might not have been the best way to raise the subject, especially to a man who'd gone through one divorce. Had Nancy asked him to talk about their marriage? Then his eyes strayed towards the stripped bed. "Want to talk about it here?"

"Well, we'd be more comfortable over there. But you're not dressed for it."

He closed the door, walked over to her, and kissed her. "I do love you, you know? I might not always talk like it, but I do love you."

"I love you, too. But you're overdressed for that, too." He kissed her again, and then stood still while she attacked the buttons on his shirt. When they were undone, he stripped off the shirt and the undershirt. He draped both of them over a chair back, and bent to unlace his shoes. He kissed her again before standing still to let her undo his belt. When she unzipped him, her hand brushed across a firmness. He wasn't sticking up, but he was starting to harden. He stepped out of the trousers and reached for the belt of her robe.

When the robe fell open, he swept it aside and pulled her into another kiss. This was hotter. His tongue explored her mouth; his chest pressed her breasts back; his erection was firm against her stomach; his hands traveled up and down her back. Finally, he stood straight, looking into her eyes, holding her butt cheeks.

"Let's move this to the bed," he said.

"Get the door, will you?" They'd had a skeleton key made for the lock which had been on the bedroom door when Jim took to coming in uninvited. Jer used it and then removed his shorts. She tossed her robe towards the chair on her way to the bed. When he joined her, she handed him the liners. "Put these under me, can you?" She raised her hips while he slipped the liners under them.

She positioned the jar and carefully poured some on the lower part of her mound. It felt cold! Still, that was better than scalding the next target. She moved the stream to hit her lips. She shivered, but continued to pour until she could feel some dripping down. She righted the jar and then poured some on each of her breasts.

She put the jar back carefully. "I seem to have spilled some syrup. Could you help me clean it up?"

"I suppose I should start on the latest spill." He did, licking her breast, licking her nipple, then sucking her nipple. He stayed there much longer than it could have taken to get all the chocolate. He moved over to her other breast, and took even longer there. His mouth was warm where the syrup had been cold, but she shivered more.

When he finally crawled between her legs, she raised her knees. He spent the longest time on her thighs although she didn't think any syrup had reached them. She'd have felt it.

Then his tongue went just where she needed it. He licked up her lips from her hole to the top, and then did it again. She felt suddenly hot and hoped he would continue.

Instead, he moved on to her mound. With his lips instead of his tongue, he visited every part. He kissed and sucked, and she grew hotter and hotter. Maybe she should have left the air-conditioning vent open a little.

"You clipped it," he said. She nodded, not sure he could see her. "Trim, always such a neat woman." His tone was warm; his words were complimentary. Still, she could think of a better use for his mouth right then. He gave the mound a long kiss, which was better, but not what she really needed.

When she was almost at her wit's end, he returned to her slot. He parted the outer lips with his thumbs and licked the inner ones. That was better! She spread her legs wider to give him more room. He kissed each thigh before returning to the main arena. He kissed her labia, spread his mouth wide to suck from all of her mound.

Finally, she couldn't stand his teasing. She reached down to pull his head against her. Taking the hint, he licked again. His tongue spread her inner lips, but he stopped before he got to her clit. Three more kisses got closer, but still stopped short. Then he went back to kissing her lower lips. This was delightful but delightful agony. She dropped her hands to the sheet and clutched it while she writhed.

Suddenly, he removed all his touch from there. He was leaning up and reaching for the jar. He poured more on her lips. With her present openness, it was cold. Then he poured more on each nipple. He missed her left and had to pour it again. "Another spill," he said. "I'll have to clean that up. Hold still; you'll get it on the sheets." As if his attentions had nothing to do with her wiggles.

And, of course, the tray liners were slipping over each other as she wiggled. Only her feet and her shoulders had any purchase at all. Now, Jer was licking and kissing her left breast, not the nipple but the spill. And he covered a lot of ground that the syrup hadn't. When he reached that nipple, he spent the longest time licking; she almost pulled his head against her before he sucked the nipple into his mouth. Even then, he alternated sucks with licks inside his mouth. Meanwhile, as he concentrated on an area which must have been clean by then, she could feel the syrup oozing down lower on her right breast.

What was running down her lips, she could only guess. But his thigh was pressed right there. She rubbed herself against it, but that didn't give her the stimulation she wanted.

The right breast got the same treatment, slow licks, followed by sucks, followed by more licks. Finally, he started kissing down her stomach. He was heading towards the right place, but definitely not at the right pace. The kids would be gone for two hours, sure; but it didn't look like he would be done tonight.

When he reached her mound, he kissed there again and then in the hollows on either side of it. When she writhed -- those kisses were ticklish -- he chuckled. He licked over her lips again. With all his delays, she could feel the syrup trickling down her ass cheeks, but he didn't try to follow it.

His tongue parted her inner labia. He licked one side and then the other. Each time, she could feel the closeness of his tongue to her clitoris. Almost there, but just to the side. Finally, he touched directly on it with the tongue tip. By this time, it felt like an electric current was running through her. He went back to kissing her labia.

She wanted more. She needed more. "Jer," she said. "Jer, please, please!" His tongue resumed its tasting. He licked up her slot. He began with firm pressure, but it decreased as he got higher. Before he reached her clit, the pressure dropped to nothing. She grabbed his head again, and pulled him against her.

He clasped her breasts. His fingers were on her nipples, grasping them, turning them.

His tongue made the journey again, and a third and fourth time. Each time, he got closer to her clit before he stopped. Each time, though, he didn't quite touch it. And then he did. She pulled him in tighter and raised her center into his mouth. "Yes!" she said.

His licking was continuous now. It sent hot sparks through her. She screamed when he squeezed her nipples. She came and came.

When she could sense the outside world again, he was kissing her thighs. He scattered kisses on one heading inward, and then he switched to doing the same thing on the other. Her lips were so sensitive when he touched them with a brushing kiss, that she felt it all through her body. Her nipples were sensitive under his gently-cupping palms as well. When he licked her this time, she needed him to stop, but she needed him to do more.

"Oh, Jer," she said and tugged at his shoulders.

"Oh, Mary," he answered. She quivered at the sensation of his breath over her ultra-sensitive lips.

But he moved his arms from under her legs to over them and started to kiss his way up her body. Her nipples were so sore that his suction there brought twinges, but it brought flashes of fire as well.

Then he was there. She helped him in, and felt every millimeter of his entrance. It stretched her after all their experience together, stretched her very pleasantly. And her extra-sensitive lips could feel him rubbing against them -- between them.

He kissed her once on the mouth, once on the forehead. Then he was moving over her, within her. She slipped her hands up his arms to his shoulders, then down to his hips. Every motion he made thrilled her. He shifted so that his hands were back on her breasts, and that was even better. The feelings were great, but she needed more.

She spread her knees and pulled him tighter against her. Then, she couldn't help it. She clutched him with her hands, clasped him with her thighs. Her hips left the bed -- despite his weight holding them down -- with no thought on her part.

"Mary!" he said.

She couldn't come; she just had. But she did. Fire burned through her.

He was heavy on her and gasping into her ear. She held him tight. She couldn't breathe, and her chest had to lift his weight every time she tried to fill her lungs. He was pressed against her sore breasts and very sore nipples. Her legs ached. Something was dripping down her super-sensitive labia. She felt wonderful.

Sometime later, he rolled over to her side. He held her weakly. "Mary," he said softly. "That was something else."

"Yeah," she answered. "I feel more married now."

"But we're still parents. Want me to pick up the kids?"

"If you could." She couldn't move. "Jim's at the church. Barb's at the Fosters'. I don't think it's quite time yet."

"Still, I should shower." He got up. He must have showered. The next thing she heard was, "I'm off. We'll be back in ten or fifteen minutes. Maybe you should shower now, too."

She really should. She gathered slacks, blouse and underwear -- she wasn't going to put church clothes back on -- and headed for the bathroom. She pulled a sticky liner from her butt. There was syrup on it, and some of Jer's come. She folded it and threw it in the wastebasket on her way to the bathroom.

After the shower, she had her energy back. Really, she felt more energetic than she had for weeks. She was sore in the oddest places, though. She even had what felt like the beginning of bruises on the insides of her thighs.

Despite the liners, some of the syrup had got on the sheet. Some had even soaked through to the mattress cover. She put a couple of tissues on the spot, not a bad one, and put on a new bottom sheet. She dumped the soiled sheet in the hamper on her way to meet the kids.

Roger had been among the high-school group, luckily. Barb was too full of what he had said and done to remark on Mrs. Foster's virtues. Sylvia was not one of Jer's favorite people. Barb left them for her room shortly, and the males went back to TV sports reports. Mary got the jar of syrup out of her room and returned it to the refrigerator. With any luck, it would be cold before Jim got it out again.

She should prepare better next time. She needed something a little less runny, maybe a liner under the sheet to protect the mattress pad. Still, she was glad she'd taken this opportunity. Parents had to take the opportunities they could.