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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
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Subject: {ASSM} rp "Forlorn.02" {Pendragon} ( MF rom lac ) [2/2]
Date: Mon, 17 Jul 2000 02:10:09 -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.
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If you save erotic stories and you prefer that other
household members not be exposed to them, I recommend that you
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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.
# # # #
FORLORN 02
Uther Pendragon
Part 2
Continued from Part 1
Jeanette was nursing The Kitten in the rocker when I got home. I
took a minute to hang up my coat before lounging in the doorway
to watch. "Voulons nous laisser ton papa nous regarder?"
Jeanette asked her.
"I get to watch," I argued. "I haven't had my welcome-home
kiss yet."
"She says that you can listen to Maman's report on her day
in class, but any watching has to be surreptitious." Which is
pretty fancy vocabulary for a four-month-old.
"So! How was your day?"
"Well it started out nervous," she said. She was talking to
the baby again, speech in the pauses of nursing. "I mentioned to
Papa last night. I wasn't sure that Professor Schwartz. Wanted
the paper written en Francais. We read the books in French. But
we talk in English in class. But I wrote my paper in French.
And didn't think to wonder until last night. So, when he asked
who was ready. I said that I wasn't sure. Half the class
laughed. I asked whether he wanted it in French or English. All
the class laughed. I could have dropped through the floor. 'Are
you ready in either language?' he asked. I said 'yes.' He finished
collecting the papers.
"Then he asked me to go first. I got up, stumbled a little
in my talk. Then I took a deep breath. Like Papa says to do. I
read the entire paper in dead silence. 'Are there any
questions?' the professor asked. There were none. 'Are there
any comments? No?' He called for another paper. The boy read
it in English. The other students asked some questions. Then
two girls went through the same process. The questions were
rather savage on one. After the last paper of the day he
mentioned me again. 'Mme. Brennan doesn't know the procedures.
You think that is very funny. But she can do three things. She
can write French and speak French. And she can present a paper
after the class has laughed at her. In January, she will know
the procedures. Which of you will learn one of her three
accomplishments by then?' Ta Maman wasn't the only one blushing.
"Anyway. Several students made nice afterwards. I had to
stay. Sorry for the trouble I caused. But it was a great day."
She drifted off into murmured French. Finally, "Finit tu? As tu
fini totalment? ... Il nous guettait ouvertment?" She turned
to me. "She says that you have to do the burping because you
weren't sufficiently surreptitious."
"What's the French for 'sufficiently surreptitious'"? I
challenged. I don't think that you can spy overtly, even in
French.
The shirt was on its second day, anyway. I dumped my
pocket, tossed a diaper over my shoulder, and took The Kitten
away from her mother. For someone who had decreed this change,
she looked less happy about my "punishment" than I felt. Once on
my shoulder, however, her back was being jarred too often for her
to remember where she would rather be. "Wherever I am" [pat]
"there's always Pooh" [pat].... When I got to the part about
dragons, I laughed. Christopher Robin put words in Pooh's mouth
just the way Jeanette put words in The Kitten's.
I might object to Jeanette's game of presenting the baby's
position on all these issues if I didn't like positions so often.
A couple of weeks earlier, I'd been in the grips of my fall cold
and sleeping on the couch to avoid passing it on. In the middle
of the night, I'd awakened to the covers being moved. I had soon
stiffened in her cool hand. By the time I'd figured out that my
groin was hardly likely to be freer of germs than my head, her
warm lips were on my glans. If my erection had come easily, my
release had taken a long time. But she had tongued and sucked me
in her warm mouth silently, patiently, even eagerly. After I had
come, she spat it out onto a Kleenex and wrapped me in the covers
again. "She said to tell you that we miss you," she had
whispered. After she'd visited the bathroom, she returned
directly to the bedroom without another word. I had asked her
the next evening -- professors, unlike students, don't miss
classes for colds -- whether I had been suffering from delusions.
"Well," she'd said. "We *do* miss you."
The patting produced a bubble with an unfortunate amount of
milk. "Maman went to such effort to produce that and get it into
you," I said while Jeanette rushed to keep the spill on the spit
cloth.
"Papa just wants you to drink a little less," she said. A
calumny. Between growth spurts I do a little tasting, but I have
never asked her to leave some for me. I have to check the
quality of my daughter's nutrition, don't I?
I make a good spaghetti sauce if I say so myself. Jeanette
had thawed some out for dinner and kept the water on simmer for
the spaghetti. It's a meal I enjoy, but not what I would call a
feast these days. We had a nice, long, warm, kiss before dinner.
"Welcome home," said Jeanette. The Kitten had a wind-up mobile
to entertain her and only interrupted us once. It's what passes
for a quiet meal for two these days. We discussed the world's
events. The stock market was trembling.
"It's a bubble," I said. "The first of these were The
Mississippi Bubble and The South Seas Bubble. They lasted a
couple of years. This one has gone what? twelve? fifteen? You
can't really tell, the beginnings are indefinite, but the ends
are certain."
"Bob, I was reading that a thousand dollars put into the
stock market was guaranteed to be worth more than a thousand
dollars in twenty years."
"Not quite. What the fine print says is that if we put all
our savings into the stock market and took no benefits from it,
reinvested every dollar of dividends and even paid the taxes on
those dividends out of other earnings, then we'd be certain to
break even. And that's a lie. My father says that the people
promoting a particular stock would be thrown in jail if they
dared present the arguments that the people promoting the stock
market as a whole do."
"Thrown in jail?"
"Well... The official penalty is prison. Stock swindlers
don't serve prison time. But every stock offering has to say
that previous growth doesn't guarantee future growth. He has a
long list of investments that 'couldn't go down' which later
crashed.
"Let's ask him about this at Christmas, if it isn't moot by
then. This bubble could last another two years; sometime I'll
tell you about Disraeli. It could burst tomorrow. I remember
this much of what he told me: a stock can be valued at the
dividend it is paying now; it can be valued at the profit it's
making now; it can be valued at the increased profit you think
that it will make in the future; it can be valued at the
increased price that you think that others will pay for it.
"Marketers call the last, 'total return.' The dividend plus
the increase in price is the 'return' on the investment.
Economists call it a bubble or the 'greater fool theory.'
"Anyway I'm talking too much. I'll put you to sleep."
"No you won't. Anyway, why was everybody laughing in
class?" So I told that story. "You do overuse that phrase."
"But it is true." And, on that cue, the cutest baby in the
whole world cried that she was tired of being wet. Maybe she was
tired of being ignored. She certainly was drenched, but that
only seems to bother her sometimes. "I think she's had it," I
told Jeanette. "It was a big day."
"Try to keep her awake until she's hungry again." So I
talked with The Kitten and enticed her with a rattle. She's
figured out that the noise is the result something that *she*
does. She's also figured out that Daddy will give it back to her
if she drops it; in case we ever get her a dog, she practices
playing fetch with her father. We also played "Ferris wheel"
until I was tired. She was wide awake, if a little fussy, when
her mother came in. "I'll take over for a bit while you do the
dishes," she said. "She gets hungry faster when she sees me."
"No dessert?" I still had visions of a chocolate cake with
chocolate icing and 31 candles hidden somewhere.
"Not tonight."
After I did the dishes, I went back to the bedroom to check
on the schedule. Jeanette was lying on the bed in just her
jeans. The Kitten was nursing. The only light came in the door
from the dining room. "Are you on a deadline?" she asked. I
thought a minute. I could get through the next day without any
work tonight.
"Brief case needs to be repacked." A college teacher lives
a different life on Tuesdays and Thursdays than he lives on
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
"After that, would you like to cuddle?" This is what is
known as a rhetorical question. I switched the contents of my
briefcase from the first life to the second and put the briefcase
next to the outside door. However overdressed Jeanette was, I
stripped before coming to bed.
We used to each have our own side of the bed. When Jeanette
nurses, however, she lies nearly in the middle. I get whichever
side, this time the left, doesn't have a baby. For a while, I
just spooned into Jeanette's back and held them both. My left
hand covered much of The Kitten's back and my right could reach
Jeanette's forehead and toy with her hair.
I started to kiss her shoulder. Some cuddle times she
objects to that. "I just want a cuddle," she can say. This time
she murmured something encouraging, if unintelligible. She
snuggled back against me. There isn't an awful lot of places one
can kiss in that position; but two of them, the back of her ear
and the corner of her neck, are special places for Jeanette. I
worked up to them slowly. She shivered when I finally kissed the
spot on her neck. The shiver must have reached her breast,
because The Kitten stirred and stiffened. "Ta mere aime sa jeune
fille," Jeanette told her. "Et ton papa aime sa jeune fille."
"Et ton papa aime ta mere," I added.
"Ta mere l'apprenait," Jeanette said. She rolled her
clothed butt against my semi-erection, which hardened in
response. "Et ta mere aime ton pere *beaucoup*. Mais tu dormira
bientot." And we would have to limit our expressions of love
until she was asleep. I retreated to the less sensitive parts of
Jeanette's back until The Kitten slumped against my hand. She
can't quite sleep through a burping, but she gave a good
imitation. "Bring me a washcloth when you're done, okay?"
Jeanette said. This was less a request than an offer. When I
brought the cloth, Jeanette carefully dabbed the breast on which
The Kitten had been nursing.
Once on the left side of the bed, I kissed her deeply before
kissing a line down to her left breast. I kissed all around that
breast before settling down to the nipple. The Kitten had been
so sleepy that she left a little, and -- being as gentle as I
could -- I sucked it out. "You got dessert, after all," Jeanette
said. And it was much sweeter than anything you can pour from a
bottle. The main treat, however, was that I was sucking from the
woman I love.
I stopped immediately when she pushed on my forehead. "I
love you," I said.
"Love you, too. Do you think that you could help with the
jeans?" I pulled from the bottom as she held on to her panties.
When I'd hung the jeans up, I turned to take the panties from her
hand. She was still wearing them.
"Want help with those too?"
"Please." I pulled on the bottoms while she raised herself.
I pulled slowly, watching for the first line of her pubic hair to
be revealed by the slowly moving band of elastic. It wasn't.
Instead, there was a pale mound, naked as the day she was born.
By the time that I could see the lower lips, equally bare, I was
totally hard. "Happy birthday," she said. I couldn't think of a
reply. Instead I bent over and reverently kissed the smooth
mound area.
"Oh love!" I finally managed.
"You like it?"
"Oh darling!" It wasn't a matter of whether I liked the
smooth skin better than the lovely hair which normally graced
that area. Jeanette had done this for me! She was trying to
entice me. And succeeding, she did whenever she tried. For that
matter, Jeanette is often enticing without trying at all.
I scattered kisses over all the shaven skin that I could
reach from that position. I smelled the faint menthol left over
from the shaving cream and, cutting through that, Jeanette's own
heady scent. My final kiss was on the point where her lips meet
and the crease begins.
She took my straightening from that position as a cue to
roll to her side. After I clambered into bed behind her, I
planted one kiss on the point of her hipbone before we arranged
ourselves into the familiar fit. Far up the bed I could see
Jeanette's face, between her lovely breasts, in the light from
the doorway. I was in fainter light, however, and could just see
the pale lips before me. I kissed and licked their surface. I
parted them gently to reveal a thin reddish line between.
Then I got a full taste of her essence. The flavor is
indescribable, and indescribably heady. My erection hardened to
the point of pain, but I was too busy with my tongue to worry
about it. Staring into her eyes, I licked the little nubbin. I
could see her abdomen tighten, then feel her thighs tighten
around me. When her eyes broke from mine, I spread my lips to
cover the clitoral area. I sucked gently. One last lick took
her over. She shuddered and gasped. Then she moaned. Then she
collapsed.
We lay entangled. I pulled the sheet from under my legs to
cover her. The room was warm, but not warm enough for her amount
of perspiration. Slowly her breathing returned to normal. "Did
you enjoy your birthday present?" she asked.
"I still am," I said. I kissed her mound lightly to
demonstrate.
"Do you mind if the rest waits till Saturday?"
"There's more?" I asked quite honestly.
"I don't have to bake you the chocolate cake I had intended,
but did you really think that your parents had forgotten you? Or
Mrs. Baker!" She had a real point there. Mrs. Baker, my
father's secretary, is the keeper of his calendar. One of her
jobs is to remind him when his children's birthdays and other
events are coming up. It sounds cold, but he didn't have
business appointments scheduled the evenings of school plays. "I
have those packages hidden away. They're part of the party on
Saturday. I was too busy for the cake the last two days.
Besides, I wanted you to appreciate my gift in splendid
isolation."
"I'd rather appreciate it in the context of my lovely wife.
Besides I can't stand the sight of blood."
"You really liked it?" As if I hadn't shown my appreciation
quite recently, or -- for that matter -- as if I would criticize
anything that she had done when I was lying like this.
"I really like it. Couldn't you tell? I can wait till
Saturday for the rest of my gifts if I get to play with this
one." That got her giggling. I kissed the newly-shaven mound
for a while before moving off toward her thigh.
"Aren't you going to come up here?" she asked.
"Later. I'm going to play with my birthday gift for a
while."
Jeanette, already more-or-less covered by the sheet, pulled
the blanket over her as well. I had breathing room near my head
but no clear view outside the covers. I concentrated on taste.
And, a little later, touch. While my mouth was
concentrating on the top part of her labia; I treated my fingers
to the bottom part. I gently rubbed the inner lips against each
other. Gradually, she responded to my fingers, lips, and tongue.
I slipped one, and then two, fingers inside her. Then I turned
them so that the heel of my hand was against my chin. It isn't
the most comfortable position for me, but the results are worth
it. I wiggled those fingers until I could feel that their pads
were on the little bump deep inside.
I gently massaged that bump until Jeanette stiffened. I let
my fingers rest while I licked her clitoris as gently as
possible. Then I licked the entire area around it. When her
breath caught, I let my tongue rest and went back to my fingers.
"Bob?" she called.
It wasn't the sort of question that needed an answer. But I
gave one anyway. Keeping my fingers still, I pursed my lips to
kiss all the clitoral area. "Ihm hmmm," I said. I think she
heard me, but I know she felt me.
"Bob?" I kept up a light suction there, and tasted her once
with my tongue. "Bob?" I eased up on the suction, but resumed
the motion with my fingers. Her hands gripped my head through
the covers, clutching me tighter against her. She was almost
there, but I didn't want to hurry. Again, I stilled my fingers
and returned to very light licks over the area around her
clitoris. "Ah?" I began an in-and-out motion with my fingers,
making sure that the pads still were rubbing the bump. "OHH!" I
placed my lips on the area without any suction. I was still
rubbing with my fingers. She moaned and stiffened further. I
sucked hard and sped up my finger's motion. Moaning
continuously, she went over the edge.
She clutched around my fingers again and again. I kept them
moving when I could. The clasp of her hands held me there while
the motion of her hips tried to throw me off. Still maintaining
the suction, I flicked my tongue across her clitoral area each
time she tightened around my fingers.
I love my wife, and Jeanette is an adorable woman in
situation after situation. The moment of her orgasm, however,
transcends other situations. Being present, especially being so
intimately present as I had been, is a nearly-religious
experience. I lay with her thighs clasping my head and her
vagina clutching my fingers, inches from the epicenter, and
gloried in the proximity. I felt awe at what I witnessed, and
smugness that it was a response to my ministrations.
Finally, she relaxed. I withdrew my fingers and took the
breath that I hadn't realized that I was holding. The scent that
came with that deep breath nearly took me into my own climax. I
shook. It was the wrong time to disturb Jeanette with any motion
of mine, even if I could manage it. So I lay there and sang,
"Bob loves Jeanette, Bob loves Jeanette, ..."
"Are we going to sleep like this tonight?" Jeanette asked.
I used to sing that to her the last thing at night. I haven't
used it much lately.
"I'm willing," I said, although I would wake up awfully
stiff if I did.
"I'm not. Come on up here."
"Indian giver!" I said. "Okay. G'bye birthday gift." I
gave the naked slit one last, lingering, kiss before extricating
myself. Jeanette turned onto her back. It took a bit of time
for me to wash my face, turn off the light in the next room,
rearrange the covers, and slip in next to her. "You are
indubitably the sexiest woman in the whole wide world."
We had a nice kiss. My tongue licked hers, hers pushed into
my mouth, I sucked it. We rested lip-to-lip for a minute before
I kissed all over her face and ears. I was stroking her side
throughout. When I settled back down, I arranged the pillow to
raise my head enough that it was barely touching her arm. Then
we settled down to another slow kiss with our tongues playing
tag. When I stroked between her legs, the hairlessness surprised
me anew. With the preparation she had already had, she was soon
ready for my finger's entry. I gathered moisture from within her
vagina for each upward stroke.
When my finger first passed over her clitoris, she gasped in
my mouth. I broke the kiss. "I love you," I said. And love her
I did. For the third time that night, her abdominal muscles were
tightening in preparation.
She reached towards my groin before I thought that she was
quite ready. "Bob, please," she said. I kissed her mouth quite
briefly before getting into position. I slipped up and down her
valley four times, being careful to pass over the very top each
time. She reached down to position me. Then I slid into her
warmth.
Her heavenly softness slowly enveloped me. "Darling," I
said.
"Oh yes," she said. And it was yes as I stroked in and out.
I was afraid that the voluptuous clasp would take me over before
her, but I needn't have worried. My fourth stroke brought a moan
from her, my fifth met a much greater tightness. Then she was
rhythmically tightening around me as she was writhing under me.
Her moans were rising in tone, and they were only interrupted by
brief, sobbing, inhalations.
I thrust in and out through that clasping. I was losing the
ability to restrain my own orgasm. "Love you!" I managed to gasp
out. Then I drove into her and grunted and gasped and shook and
gushed. And dribbled. She was still clasping around my organ as
it shrank.
After I collapsed over her, her rigid form went through one
last, long, shudder. Then she lay under me as limp as I was.
When I finally caught my breath and moved aside, she was
nearly asleep. My "I love you," went unanswered.
I woke to The Kitten's crying in the middle of the night.
Jeanette, despite the maternal instinct, slept until I placed her
baby on her breast. She must have wakened during the feeding,
though. The Kitten was back in her crib in the morning.
The End
Forlorn
Uther Pendragon
1997/12/12
2000/07/14
Many of my other stories can be found at:
http://www.nyx.net/~anon584c/index.html
- = -
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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