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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
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Subject: {ASSM} rp "Forays 2" {Pendragon} ( MF cons lact ) [2/2]
Date: Wed, 28 Jun 2000 12:10:20 -0400
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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, 1997, Uther Pendragon. All
rights reserved. I specifically grant the right for all
reproduction necessary for normal Usenet propagation. 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.
I read alt.sex.stories.d. If you have any comments or
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subject line of any posted reply.
If you save erotic stories and you prefer that other
household members not be exposed to them, I recommend that you
use a file zipped with the PKZip option -spassword. (Where the
password that you choose would, presumably, not be "password.")
This still leaves the titles of the files and the fact that they
are encrypted open to anybody.
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.
# # # #
FORAYS
by Uther Pendragon
Part 2
The Brennans had spent two weeks camping on their honeymoon.
Each had packed one change of clothes and three changes of
underwear. When they had needed a trip to Paris to secure the
primary sources for Bob's dissertation, they had packed one
suitcase apiece one night and were in a cab an hour and a half
after the alarm went off the next morning.
For The Kitten's first trip to church, they packed a diaper
bag only slightly smaller than the suitcase that had sustained
her father for two weeks in a foreign land. The preparation time
took almost three hours, including brief periods for her parents
to dress and eat. But they made it.
There was a time early in the service for welcoming anyone
who was there for the first time. "It's not really her first
time here," said the pastor, "but Bob, do you want to show us
Baby Catherine?"
Bob stood and held The Kitten out so all the congregation
could see. "Catherine Angelique," he said.
The Kitten mercifully fell asleep early in the service.
Jeanette, who found the pastor's style of preaching reminiscent
of Bob's lovely, calming, talks late at night, stayed awake until
the middle of the sermon.
After the service ended, she felt as if she were holding
court. More people were standing in line to see the new baby
than to shake the pastor's hand. "Isn't she the cutest baby in
the whole world?" Bob asked.
"She is adorable," was one response, "and sleeping so
peacefully." That didn't last, and Jeanette had to feed her
before leaving.
"Enjoy yourself?" Bob asked when they had got home.
"The people are so nice."
"People usually are," he replied. "And most people liked
you even before you had a baby for them to coo at."
"You're projecting," she said. "Are church people nicer
than other people?"
"Church politics can be every bit as petty as departmental
politics, but the people care about each other. You seem to have
enjoyed this excursion."
"I did. I think I'm up to taking another night class next
quarter." Faculty families were entitled to one free-tuition
class.
He knew that she could read his face but not his voice. He
looked at The Kitten, which he did too often for it to be a clue.
"We spoke about your taking a regular class when you weren't
going into the office every day. Are you up to that yet?"
"Actually, it would be easier on me. But I wouldn't trust a
babysitter with The Kitten yet. Evenings, you'd be home."
"Schwartz is teaching a course on Balzac at a time that I
don't have classes. Maybe you could take that and leave The
Kitten with me in the office."
"I'd love it, if they would let me."
"You would need permission from the instructor. Do you want
to call him up?"
"Don't I need to visit his office?"
"He's doing some sort of oral exams next week. He wouldn't
mind if you called him on the phone today."
"Bob Brennan, you set this up!"
"Only to check his schedule. You'll still have to convince
him. Charm him with your accent, gal."
Jeanette's heart fluttered while Bob hunted up the paper on
which he'd recorded the phone number. Then she took a deep
breath and dialed. "Professor Schwartz," she began, "Je
m'apelle Jeanette Brennan."
It was a long conversation. "Bob, he'll let me."
"Of course he'll let you. Men are just putty in your
hands."
"They are starting on selections from *Scenes de la Vie
Privee* and *Contes Drolatiques*. I told him that I had read the
latter, but I'll have to get the edition that they are using.
The second half of the quarter will be on *Le Pere Goriot*."
"Say the name of that book again. I love it when you talk
dirty to me."
Jeanette strongly disliked the word "cunt." Long after she
had lost all her modesty about Bob kissing her "down there," she
winced at the word. She had persuaded Bob to cut back on his
use of the term, but only at the cost of frequent teasing.
Teasing, however, is a two-way street. "Goriot, Goriot, Goriot,"
she said. He didn't mind her teasing--well, didn't mind it all
that much--but considered her giggling enjoyment of it excessive.
He pouted exaggeratedly, and she reciprocated. He kissed her
lower lip, as she had expected. They had a long, satisfying,
kiss.
"Lunch now," he suggested. Normally, Sunday's main meal was
"dinner" in the early afternoon. That was not going to work
today. "If your menu can wait, I'll fix something for supper."
That sounded delightful to her. "Are you sure that you have
time?"
"A breathing space until Tuesday. Then it's panic time
until I can get the tests graded." That was true.
Another truth was that Bob believed that Jeanette had a much
greater capacity for enjoyment than he did. Watching her
pleasure was often the most fun he had out of bed. He planned
these little surprises, and didn't want them diluted by having
Jeanette distracted by petty tasks.
He got to see even more of the pleasure than he had
expected. Jeanette asked him to move the rocker to the kitchen
doorway the next time that The Kitten was fed. He got glimpses
of the two of them and overheard a coherent, if sporadic, lecture
on Balzac. Bob's French was good enough, and Jeanette's diction
to the baby was exaggerated enough, so that he could have
followed the content. Instead, he kept his mind on the cooking
and gloried in the varieties of happiness in Jeanette's voice.
She alternated between cooing at The Kitten and enthusiasm at the
expectation of having her mind fully engaged after so long.
She thought the meal quite delicious and said so. He had a
lot of experience broiling chicken and preparing home fries, but
he suspected that cooked-by-someone-else was the spice that
turned the simple meal into a feast to her mind.
Jeanette dug out her old copy of *Contes Drolatiques* and
read it when her daughter didn't need her. She didn't forget her
plans from the night before, however. When The Kitten finally
settled down for a post-prandial (and pe-prandial) nap, Jeanette
cleaned up and prepared for bed. She was lying in bed reading
when Bob brought The Kitten back in.
Bob took one more hack at his tests before printing them
out. He eased the pacifier into the Kitten's mouth before she
was really awake and presented her to her mother dry, hungry, but
still stoppered.
"What time is it?" Jeanette asked.
"Twenty 'til. But she wasn't going to sleep much longer."
Jeanette made enough space in the bed for Bob on her left before
rolling over on her right side. The Kitten found that breast and
nuzzled for a moment. The first sip persuaded her that she
really was hungry; she went at it with a will. Bob cleaned up
the changing table and himself. He came back in prepared for
bed. "'Was it for this I kicked the stairs,' something,
something," he misquoted Millay, "'that now, domestic as a
plate, I go to bed at half past eight?'"
"Well, now we know the reason for the epidemic of teen-age
pregnancy. Teenagers *like* to go without sleep."
None of the teenagers that Bob remembered seemed likely to
enjoy changing diapers all night. He didn't say so, however,
having more pleasant tasks for his mouth. Jeanette who couldn't
take an active role, contented herself with telling The Kitten
nice things about her father. When Bob had parted her knees and
was kissing a line up the inside of her thigh she said, "Ferme
les yeux, ma petite. Ton papa est sur le point de pecher. C'est
un pe'che' grave ou, du moins, un pe'che' graveleux."
Bob's chuckle, in those close quarters, was a tickle
arousing in itself. He took her accusation of committing a grave
sin, or even a dirty one, about as seriously as the idea that The
Kitten need shut her eyes to avoid seeing him through her whole
body. "Mais non," he said. "C'est *une* peche. Je vais donner
un baiser a une peche tres souxe, une peche tres *drolatique*."
And he did give her a kiss on her "sweet peach." It more than
made up for his puns.
Now he had mentioned it, Bob noticed that the area that he
was kissing did have a resemblance to the cleft of a peach. The
juice, however was much tastier. Spreading the lips apart with
his fingers, he backed off a few inches to focus. Her inner lips
were nearly together, a luscious red, and glistening in the scant
light. He returned to lick them, catching the dew. As he
increased the pressure of his tongue the folds parted until he
could touch the valley between. As he licked up toward her magic
nubbin, he felt Jeanette stiffen in reaction.
Jeanette had been anticipating her tiger for hours; The
Kitten had gone into the mouth-play phase; Bob had taken even
longer on the preliminary kisses than was his habit. Jeanette
was primed for his attention. Then Bob stopped after a few
kisses and all she could feel was the alternation of his warm
breath and the cooler room air on her sensitive flesh. His first
licks came as a relief, the later ones as an incitement. When
his tongue finally traveled up the groove toward her clitoris she
needed it there. She tensed in anticipation, only to have him
retreat teasingly. "Please," she said. "I need that."
Bob stiffened in surprise at her words. As they sank in,
all that stiffness concentrated in one place. She had often let
him know that she enjoyed his sexual ministrations, but she had
hardly ever actually asked for them. He resumed the upward
progress of his tongue. Lightening the touch as much as he
could, he continued until he touched her clitoris. She shivered
at that touch, and he shivered at her responsiveness.
He was, aside from his head, behind her in the bed. He
slipped his hand up to the base of his chin and then forward
until he was touching her. While still licking around her inner
lips, he managed to get one, and then two fingers inside. He
turned his hand until the palm was against his chin. The pads of
his fingers explored the front of her vagina while his tongue
circled her clitoral area without quite touching it. When his
fingers could detect the little bump, he began rubbing it.
He resumed the lightest of tongue-touches on her clitoris.
"Yes," she said, "Oh, Bob, yes!" He responded to her stiffening
by rubbing harder inside her. Her orgasmic clutches bound his
fingers so that he could no longer stimulate her there. He
responded with a sucking kiss to her clitoral area. He heard no
words now, and the sobs he did hear were muffled by the thighs
clasping his head. He didn't stop sucking until her thighs
relaxed.
Jeanette welcomed Bob's fingers. She wanted to be filled
there, and the fingers were a beginning. But every sensation
from below and even from her breast fueled the need for more
stimulation. "Yes," she told Bob to encourage his tonguing. And
it was yes, very much yes, completely yes. And the yes poured
through her and burned through her, and then there was no more
sensation at all. There was hardly any Jeanette, for that
matter.
And then Bob was holding her, and The Kitten was clamped to
her. And she was coming together again. Bob was kissing her
neck and whispering love words to her back. Her breath returned
and The Kitten relaxed. Then The Kitten let go of her and fell
back. Bob's erection pressed against her butt reminding her of
her earlier plans. First The Kitten would have to be safe from
the action.
Not until he was fully on the bed hugging her, did Bob allow
himself to remember the sensations of Jeanette's orgasm. He had
frequently, if not frequently enough to sate him, observed the
external signs of her stiffening and undulating. Almost always,
however, when he had been able to feel the clutching which was
the essence of her orgasm, he had been too deep in his own needs
to appreciate it fully. This time, she had asked for his
tongue's caress; this time, he had felt the center of her
response. His tiny bit of forethought about the French course
and his relieving her of one of the myriad of meals she cooked
paled in comparison to this privilege. He loved her, but would
never have the means of expressing how much.
That gratitude for what he had received was in ironic
contrast with his hunger for something more. Wonderful as it had
been to be in the presence of her orgasm, it hadn't provided him
with any relief. His mouth and chin were soaked with her juices,
and the odor was driving him berserk. These thoughts drove a
stream of endearments from his mouth. "Darling, beloved,
sweetheart. Oh you are so ... I love you so much. You can't
tell ..." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I *do* love
you," he finished.
"Enough to change the baby again?" she asked. Too much to
leave her there alone. But if one of them had to move, it might
as well be he. When he got The Kitten to the changing table
though, the situation was worse than he had expected.
Jeanette heard his exclamation. "Is something wrong?"
"She shat!" he called. "*While* I was changing the diaper."
Well, yes, she'd done that before. It was not helping her mother
evoke her tiger, though.
"Do you want me to take care of the mess?"
"No," he lied.
"Now Kitten be nice to Daddy," she called. There is a time
for French, and a time for fueling tigers. "He has to clean you
up and spread some ointment and get you in a fresh diaper and
wrapper. And all that time he is going to want to be back in
bed. He'll be thinking about Maman's peach. He's already tasted
it, and he wants to taste it again. He's remembering kissing it
and thinking what else he might do to a peach. He might want to
lick it again, or he might want to push himself into it and see
if it is soft all the way through.
"And," she continued after completing her preparations,
"Maman is in a hurry too. She is getting cold remembering Papa's
nice warmth. She wants him next to her, and lying on her to warm
her up. He might even have to rub against her to keep her warm.
If you keep him too long, external friction might not be enough."
She felt that the last statement would keep him warm without
compromising her delicacy.
Bob felt the situation was frustrating enough before
Jeanette spun her talk of what he might (might!!) want to do. He
was on his way to the bathroom to wash the ointment and fecal
matter off his hands when Jeanette asked him to bring a washcloth
back for her breast. He watched as she cleaned the area
carefully. "Could you do me one more favor?" she asked.
"What is it?"
"The Kitten wasn't very hungry. You know that I can produce
enough to meet almost any demand, but every low demand period
reduces my capacity." He knew that, but wasn't following this.
In his aroused state, the discussion of her breasts produced a
hell of a lot of distracting images. "Well, I could get out
that pump and figure out how to operate it now. But I would
rather have you finish the job for her. Could you do that?"
Ordinarily, he would have killed for the chance. Bob had
taken a few sips from Jeanette's breasts, an occasional treat
during their recent bouts of foreplay. He loved it, but he
wasn't in the mood for foreplay right then. He wanted to sink
himself into his sweet wife's sweet cunt and pump there until he
exploded. "I'll get the breast pump," she said.
"No!" That would be the worst of all possible worlds. As he
sank down on his back beside her, she turned so that the breast
was next to his mouth. He noticed that she was breathing hard
and that both nipples were erect. "At least," he thought, "the
breast pump wouldn't get that reaction from her." As he settled
back with the long, smooth, nipple in his mouth, his hand stroked
her body.
Whenever Jeanette had a pause in actual physical stimulation
in the past two hours, she had spent the time planning or
anticipating the denouement. She was keyed up until the desire
in her loins had turned to an ache. She lay on her left side
leaning over so her right breast was in Bob's mouth. His sucking
was as arousing as any of his fancy licking had ever been. She
hadn't known whether there actually was any milk left but, she
felt it flow at the same time as Bob's stroking hand reached her
mound. She opened her legs in invitation.
Although his erection was actually painful by this time, Bob
quieted as he tasted the sweetness of her milk. A moment later
he parted her labia with his fingers and realized that milk was
not the only fluid that she was producing. As he sucked and
swallowed, he stroked her wet valley. Too tense to pursue his
usual goal of stringing the pleasure out, he stroked over her
clitoris as soon as he had gathered the liquid. Soon, Jeanette
gasped and pulled her breast away. "Enough?" he asked.
She'd yearned for his magic fingers in her cleft since he'd
come back from changing The Kitten. When they finally arrived,
however, they hadn't soothed the itch at all. They inflamed it
instead. His mouth on her breast added to the delightful
torment. She quivered inside until she feared that he would
notice. Every time his finger passed over her most sensitive
spot she jumped a little. Then she jumped more than a little,
moving back enough so that her nipple popped out of his mouth.
"Enough?" she heard, from a great distance.
"Yes," she said. "Enough" was an inadequate description; a
little more of that stimulation would have made her forget her
name, let alone her plan. He reached for the box, and reached
for it again. "We agreed that I would control the
contraception," she said.
"We what?" That agreement had been on their honeymoon.
He'd had a box of condoms on his side of the bed since they had
resumed intercourse after the childbirth. Hell, he'd had them
there before she'd got the diaphragm.
"Lie back," she said showing him the packet. He grabbed,
but she was too fast for him. "I told you that putting them on
looked easy enough for me to do it." He didn't doubt that she
could roll it on. He did doubt that he could hold back during
the rolling.
Once she had the packet open, she grasped the base of his
penis with two fingers and a thumb of her left hand. Junior,
their old pet name for Bob's phallus, quivered under her hand.
She relished anew the soft smoothness of the loose skin over the
hot hardness underneath. It was so sensitive and responsive in
her hand, and yet could be so steady in its driving friction
within her. "Now which side goes on?" she asked aloud while Bob
writhed. "Oh yes, I see." She carefully placed the dry side on
the tip before slowly rolling it on. She brushed the hair away
from the base when she neared it. When she was quite done, she
dropped down on her back still holding onto the base. "Now come
here," she said pulling gently.
Bob kept his eyes closed and his teeth clenched during the
entire application of the condom. First he felt her grasp him at
the base, and then the slow roll down the entire length. He
climbed over her at her summons. He parted her lips while she
pulled him forward. As soon as he felt her entrance, he shoved
inward.
The warm clasp within, her gasp of appreciation, the push of
her hips to meet his thrusts, all were only at the far periphery
of his perception. The center of his perception, the entirety
of his attention was occupied by the sweet friction and his own
driving need. He growled as his long thwarted lust was soothed,
then exacerbated by the rubbing of his maleness on her
smoothness. Tension filled both his mind and his body. It
seemed as though his need was an express train rushing up the
tracks toward the back of his head. To keep ahead of it he drove
faster and harder into her. He barely felt her heels drumming
on his thighs or her nails clawing at his hip.
He felt only the explosion which shook him as the train
overwhelmed him, poured through him, and left him through his
pulsing cock. He yelled his triumph through the final pinnacle
of his tension. Then he collapsed.
She gloried as he filled her with his first stroke. Then he
growled in her ear and increased his speed and force. He was not
only filling her; he was possessing her, taking her, mastering
her. For a few strokes, a tinge of actual fear overtook her
arousal. Then the arousal redoubled. He drove into her so hard
that she shifted up the bed with each stroke. He growled again
and gripped her shoulders, pulling her down to meet each of his
lunges. She, too held on, grasping his hips. She was afire now,
her body trying to move to meet his, but his lust and force
defeated hers. Every thrust of his hips pushed her legs further
apart and upward on his torso. She could hear him grunt with
every thrust even over her own gasps and moans.
When her climax overtook her, stiffened her and tightened
her around him, he was still able to move through that clench.
Then he shouted something incomprehensible and pressed against
her harder than ever while he shook against her and pulsed within
her.
Then he collapsed over her while they both panted for air.
Her tiger was back, more fierce than ever before. Or had
been here. Bob asked "How are you feeling?"
"Glorious!" She was also feeling a little sore in a few
places, but mentioning that would spoil the mood. He seemed to
relax again above her. "Also a bit squooshed." He rolled over,
freeing her lungs at the expense of her leg. She could deal with
that later. She enjoyed his hug.
Later she asked "Can we readjust?" They rearranged the
bedclothes, the condom--still miraculously on Junior, and
themselves. "Face away from me," she said.
Bob had been afraid that he had hurt her, then relieved that
he hadn't. Facing away from her sounded like a punishing exile
at that moment. Then she pressed against him from the back. All
he got in huggable position was one of her arms, but he hugged it
hard. There were two damp points pressing into his back; and
Junior, who never did recognize his limits, tried to stir in
response. "I seem to have got carried away," he murmured.
"Sorry. I don't know what got into me."
"I don't have that problem," she said.
God! She was in a ribald mood tonight. He sighed with
happiness and patted her hip. "I love you Jeanette," he said as
he started to drift off. "And you, too, Kitten," he added in a
louder voice.
"Love you both," she responded. Then, after he was almost
asleep, "G'night, husband," and something else in a much lower
voice.
In context, he figured sleepily, it could only be "G'night,
daughter." But it had sounded more like "G'night, tiger."
THE END
FORAYS
Uther Pendragon
1997/11/01
2000/06/26
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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