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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Subject: {ASSM} rp "For Elise 02" {Pendragon} (MF voy rom lac wl) [2/5]
Date: Fri, 28 Dec 2001 22:10:06 -0500
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To: ckought69@hotmail.com
From: Uther Pendragon <anon584c@nyx.net>
Subject: rp "For Elise 02" {Pendragon} (MF voy rom lac wl) [2/5]
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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, 1999, 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.

    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.

                      #     #      #     #


                            FOR ELISE
                       by Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net


Part 2

Jeanette could produce more milk, The Kitten's tiny stomach could 
hold more, and the feedings slowly returned to being discrete 
events.  And The Kitten *had* grown, as Dr. Gupta's scales 
recorded on their next visit.  

     Jeanette had a new diaphragm fitted on that same visit to 
the medical group.  Her cervix, recovered from the delivery and 
the subsequent surgery, was now a stable size.  That night, for 
the first time in months, she felt Bob ejaculate deep inside her.


     Kathleen asked for the sixteenth of November; Kurt, the 
godfather, agreed; the minister scheduled it.  


     They fitted The Kitten's crib and the diaper pail into their 
room.  The top of Bob's dresser became the changing table.  It 
was kind of cramped, but they could invite people for dinner once 
again.  It was kind of cozy, too.


     She shaved herself for Bob's birthday.  He loved it.  His 
friends took him out for a few beers to celebrate the same event.  
The Kitten didn't recognize him smelling of the beer, and 
Jeanette had to burp and change her that night.


     The Kitten figured out how to turn from her back to her 
front.  She first demonstrated that skill on the changing table, 
scaring her father half to death.  Soon after, scorning all 
medical advice, she took to sleeping on her belly.  Jeanette, 
although sure that Kathleen sent all that news along, would have 
enjoyed telling Katherine herself.


     Years before, Bob's father had given her a small tape 
recorder to play back radio broadcasts from France.  It had come 
with a microphone which she had hardly used.  Now she dusted it 
off and took to carrying the recorder with mike plugged in when 
Bob might be induced to talk about his father.  She also placed 
it under the bed sometimes and asked Bob directly for stories 
about his father.

     "The weird thing...." He said one night in bed.  "You sure 
I'm not boring you?"  

     "Not in the least," she answered.

     "The weird thing is that he hadn't *managed* anything up 
till then.  He'd evaluated plenty.  But all that he had bossed 
was a small, totally dedicated, team.  A skunk works, if you know 
that term, of never more than twenty men.  If they had known what 
was wrong with Brewster, they'd never have sent him.  They figure 
him for a dollars-and-cents man; but he finds out that the 
trouble was personnel.  So he deals absolutely fairly with the 
men, gets rid of the worst supervisors, and bides his time.  

     "He waits until he knows an upturn is coming.  One of the 
biggest companies in the field was in the middle of a bitter 
strike.  As you can imagine, office furniture companies aren't 
hurt much by union boycotts.  Anyway, he invites the union 
leadership to the house.  He sells them on an agreement to have 
them sign a direct mail piece to union locals around the country 
to ask them to *look* at Brewster's product the next time that 
they bought office furniture.  The pitch was that this was a 
company that dealt fairly with the union, they should have a 
chance.  Second, he gets them to agree that every time a man is 
called back from layoff, productivity per person would also 
increase.  (He knows what was happening on the shop floor, and 
that surprises them.)  Every time a man is called back, he calls 
him into the office first.  He tells him that his call-back is 
because the other workers on the floor are doing better work, and 
asks him to do better work so that the next man can be called 
back.  

     "Two years later, quality is through the roof and prices 
have been relatively stable.  No one is laid off, and wages are 
competitive.  The union leadership looks like champions, and so 
does management.  They only fight about what they should fight 
about."

     He gave her a loud, smacking kiss.

     "I like being in your family."  She pulled his hand between 
her legs.

     "I like being in your mnmhmm, too."  He parted her lips to 
caress her gently.  After some silent minutes, she tugged at his 
arm.  He came on top of her and into her.  Ready for him and 
slightly guilty about the running tape, she licked his throat and 
pulled him deeper.  "Love you," he said.  "Love... you....  
Love... you....   Love... you!  You!  You.  You...."  

     The pulsing against her walls sent her soaring with him, 
clutching around him, falling after him.  Then she lay under him, 
loving the warm, gasping, weight.  

     Listening to the tape the next day, hearing the springs sing 
accompaniment to his declarations of love, she worried.  But Bob 
would hate himself if his father died with this quarrel 
unresolved.  She cried when she erased the sexual part, but 
keeping that would have bothered him incredibly.


     She began to feed The Kitten some baby-food out of a jar.  
That child, who would stick *absolutely* anything else in her 
mouth, perversely resisted the spoon.  Some days she started with 
half a jar and ended with what looked like a jar each on The 
Kitten and on her.


     Having renewed her shaving twice since Bob's birthday, she 
let it grow back.  It itched like hell, but remembering his 
appreciation made it worthwhile.  And Bob kissed the new growth 
as fondly as he had the smooth surprise.

                              - = - 

     Kathleen was due on Saturday morning, coming up on the 
train.  Her boyfriend was expected that afternoon.  Jeanette 
managed to clean the house and persuade Bob to put up a cord 
across the archway between the living and dining rooms by 
Wednesday.  Bob did the laundry Friday night, and hung a clean 
sheet on that cord.  They took it down, as it looked grungy for 
the day; but they knew that it would work.  He also made the sofa 
bed.  

     "Ton pauvre papa," Jeanette confided to her daughter 
during the last feeding that day, "il travaille beaucoup.  
Merit-il une recompense? ... D'accord, mais quelle 
recompense? ... Mechant enfant!  Tu es sa fille vraiment.  Ne dis 
jamais ces mots.  Tu es trop jeune."  The Kitten looked back at 
her innocently.  "Well, I might.  But you have to be asleep 
first, talking about things like that at your age is bad enough."  

     "Y'know," said Bob, "I'm going to ask Vi to explain the 
psychiatric meaning of the word projection to you."  Bob often 
ignored her conversations with The Kitten; he could follow most 
of the French, but only with effort.  He could no more ignore 
English within hearing distance than he could walk past her bare 
breasts without looking.  Anyway, he caught enough of the 
conversation to make him smile while he changed The Kitten; and 
he showed a more specific reaction about halfway down.

     They were heading into a dry spell, with Kathleen spending 
two nights.  The bedroom door and the sheet in the archway 
weren't what Jeanette considered a sufficient guarantee of 
privacy, especially since the boyfriend would be there.  At the 
same time, this promised to be a trying period.  These days, Bob 
held on to his temper marvelously, but more easily when he had 
been sexually sated.  So she would try to guarantee his satiation 
until Sunday evening.  

     Tonight was for him, even though she would be deprived for 
the same two nights.  One of her responsibilities in the family 
was easing social strains, and this would really ease social 
strains.  It wasn't for her, except maybe the slightest little 
bit.  But nowhere was it written that she couldn't enjoy her 
work.

     "I don't mind nursing in church," she told Bob as he came in 
from the john.  "After all, everybody's facing in the same 
direction.  It's not as if people were looking."

                             - = = - 

Bob returned to the room expecting something nice.  Throughout 
their marriage, Jeanette had accepted his sexual advances; 
indeed, she usually enjoyed them.  Still, he had been the 
instigator most of the time.  After the dry spell connected to 
her pregnancy and her recovery from the trauma of the delivery, 
however, she had begun taking the lead more often.  

     The talk about church had him confused, however.  And the 
idea of people ogling her while she breastfed, her lawful husband 
excepted, was both offensive and arousing.

     "I can just see her demanding to be fed one minute before we 
walk down front for the baptism ceremony.  So I thought I'd 
express a bottle Saturday.  But I'll produce more then if I'm 
drained dry now, and The Kitten left a little."

     He never understood why the tiny volume he got helped this 
process, but he never objected either.  The delightful taste was 
the least of his enjoyment.  He reached for the sheet.

     "No," she said, "the last feeding was in bed.  It's time for 
the rocking chair now.  Sit down."  

     He sat down in the rocking chair, sliding forward a bit in 
the seat.  He was already rock-hard by the time she got up to 
join him.  She sat on his knees facing him.  "This one," she 
said.  She bent forwards, proffering her left breast to his 
mouth.  For one instant it was tasteless, as her skin often was 
when she was newly washed.  He sucked gently and then a bit more 
strongly.  The taste came then, the taste of milk, the taste of 
Jeanette.  "That's right," she said.  "Oh Bob."

     She held his head to her as he stole his little sips.  The 
taste was incomparably warm and sweet, but other sensations were 
as strong.  The flex of her large nipple between his lips, the 
easing out of the milk onto the back of his tongue, the bumpy 
areola on the tip of his tongue, her hands pressing his head 
forward or playing with his hair, were only half the experience.

     There was the padded weight of her hips on each of his lower 
thighs, but she wasn't sitting symmetrically.  Tickling his left 
thigh were light touches which could only be her outer labia and 
their sparse hairs.  When she shifted so that those touches were 
more firm, they were also damp.  Her knees were spread by the 
back of the chair, but his raging erection could still feel the 
warmth from the inside of her thigh.
 
     He held her hips with both hands until she took his left one 
in her right and placed it between her legs.  He gave her thigh a 
few caresses and then reached for her lower lips.  "Yes, Bob," 
she said.  "That's just right."  She did not talk like that; 
entice, sure, make herself available, sure; but she only invited 
him verbally when she was in the throes of passion.  And, not 
sure that she remembered those occasions, he never mentioned 
them.  

     He reached the inner lips, *nice* and juicy, and gently 
rubbed one against the other.  "Yes, Bob, yes.  Drain me."  He 
realized that she was talking about the milk.  He sipped again, 
and got a few drops.  That made maybe a tenth of a mouthful, 
altogether.  Of course, The Kitten had a smaller mouth.  He 
sucked harder and got another bit.  

     Jeanette pulled his head back, breaking their connection; 
then she pulled his face between her breasts.  What air he could get 
was scented with the milky smell from both sides and the more 
distant aroma of her arousal.  

     When he parted her lower lips and slipped a finger between 
them, the aroma was enriched again.  "Yes, Bob.  Please.  Please 
right there."  Obedient, he traced the route from the center of 
her moisture to the little bump at the top of her groove.  

     She rested her chin on the back of his head and murmured 
encouragement.  "Mmm hmm, ... oh yes....  Oh Bob!"  He returned 
again and again for her juices and found more each time.  He 
slicked them up the sides of her inner lips as she rocked back 
and forth on his knees in response.  He tried to avoid her clit 
on most of these trips, but she moaned every time he touched it.  
She straightened in his arms, sitting higher and higher.  

     When her nails were biting into the back of his head and her 
breath was whistling through her teeth on the inhale and moaning 
softly on the exhale, his preparation was done.  He stroked 
around her clitoris in a circle, then straight across it.  She 
gasped.  He kept stroking right there while she shook in his arms 
and continued to gasp.  Then she fell forward onto him.  The 
chair rocked way back, he threw his arms around her, the chair 
rocked forward again, and they were safe.

     Immediately, though, she was getting up.   He helped support 
her while trying to scoot forward.  She grasped them both to 
bring him to her entrance.  "Slowly," he warned, "go slowly."  
She nodded and slid slowly down his front and around his phallus.

     "Hold on," he said.  She gripped his shoulders.  He pushed 
down on the chair, which rocked it back again.  But he was able 
to move himself inches forward.  He leaned back.  "I love you."  
It seemed inadequate.

     "Love you too."  She stretched one foot back to the wall to 
set them rocking.  He and the chair were moving back and forth in 
the chair's natural rhythm.  Jeanette's motions were much more 
complex.  The pushing leg moved up and down on his thigh, flexing 
as it did.  That shifted her weight from side to side as well as 
back and forth.  The center of her torso was actually moving in a 
circle.  Her vulva, pivoting on his phallus, could not move far.  
But it tried to.

     He was being stirred within her like a spoon stirring tea.  
The sensations were exquisitely arousing, but they had little of 
the direct stimulation that drove his orgasm.  He was moving in 
and out much less than an inch.  His arousal grew and grew 
without any hint of relief.

     When her excitement overcame her dexterity in reaching the 
wall, he started the chair in a longer arc.  Now, he was 
clutching her butt to him and relaxing in time to the rocking.  
Now, he was moving in and out of her warm slickness.  Now, he 
felt his culmination rolling towards him.  Now, she was there 
ahead of him, gasping in his arms.

     Now!  And it was now, and now, and now.

     Until he dropped back in the chair and his driving legs and 
clutching arms lost their strength.  Jeanette slumped on top of 
him for a bit.  Finally, she shivered and climbed off.  

                              - = - 

     He finally woke himself, got circulation back in his legs, 
washed himself off in the bathroom, cleaned up the chair with a 
spare diaper, and joined Jeanette in bed.  By then she was fast 
asleep.  She was nice and warm, though, and delightfully 
huggable.

     Jeanette didn't do mornings.  For a decade, it had been his 
time by himself and, strangely, his time to think about Jeanette.  
What had got into her the previous night?  Well he had, and 
delightfully so.  He wished that he had the recipe for whatever 
had sparked that.  Then he felt guilty about that wish.  Jeanette 
had certainly enjoyed herself, but she had also expended one hell 
of a lot of energy.  She didn't have that much energy to spare, 
between The Kitten's demands and the translation that she was 
doing for him.  Let her choose the times.

     On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to be very nice on a 
morning after she had chosen the time.  He changed The Kitten, 
not "being very nice," just his job.  Her mother's daughter, The 
Kitten turned over and went back to sleep.  He went to work on 
the last set of short papers until Jeanette stumbled through on 
the way to the john.  Then he changed The Kitten once more, and 
brought her to Jeanette in a fresh diaper and nothing else.  The 
sleeper was soaked.

     "Hello, darling," Jeanette said.  "Why doesn't your daddy 
join us?"

     Kathleen was due at the train station in less than an hour.  
He had work to do that weekend and company would be here for the 
rest of it.  That's why he shouldn't join them.  On the other 
hand, Jeanette was wearing less than The Kitten was.  Bob decided 
that the papers could be returned on Wednesday instead of Monday.

     They took some care to arrange the covers so that The Kitten 
would have fresh air to breathe.  Then he nestled against 
Jeanette's back.  

     "I don't want her to be monolingual French," Jeanette said.  
"You talk English to her."

     "I do.  And I recite a lot of poetry."

     "Why don't you tell her a story now?"  Well, the nursing 
times were special times for mother and daughter.  The Kitten 
couldn't even see him like this, let alone the picture book.  
Jeanette's back was smooth and warm against his bare skin, and he 
*didn't* want to get up.  On the other hand, this was one hell of 
a moment to spoil with a quarrel.

     "Got a book in mind?"

     "I was thinking of the story of Papa and Maman in the 
forest."  Junior bumped against her thigh without any other part 
of his body moving, so rapid was his erection.  In the forest off 
the Appalachian Trail, the first time he came into Jeanette from 
behind, was the first time that she had experienced an orgasm 
around him.  That had been the seal of their sexual union: not 
entering her, not bringing her to orgasm, but her first orgasm 
while he was inside.

     "Are you okay?" he asked.  

     She shook her head.  "Nightstand."  He'd have to use a 
condom, and the box was on the nightstand.  Not that she was 
likely to be ovulating yet.

     "Long ago, Catherine Angelique, when your mother was young 
and naive, not devious and scheming like she is now...."  He 
paused to allow a denial; none came.  "She had the misfortune to 
marry your father.  They go camping on their honeymoon, a very 
in-tents experience."  He petted Jeanette, including the outside 
of her vulva, while describing the trip, that day, the camping 
site, and the excursion to and from the farmhouse to get 
permission.  Describing her hips moving in front of him, he 
recalled them vividly; and this led him to press against their 
wider and softer -- but equally sexy -- successors.

     "Then we get into the sleeping bag and talk, somewhat as we 
are talking now, except Maman participates a little bit more.  We 
kiss and pet and cuddle.  I see a contraceptive at the side of my 
head.  Maman had put it there to let me know that she accepted me 
in all ways, physical as well as emotional."  He had never 
expressed to Jeanette what that acceptance had meant.  He tried 
now with a kiss on the back of her neck.  He reached into the box 
and sheathed himself with less fumbling than he had on that 
night.  "I was lying holding Maman as I am now.  With the 
contraceptive on, I slide into Maman."  Jeanette pushed her hips 
back in an obvious invitation.  It took a lot longer to enter her 
than it had taken to tell, but she was as wet and warm and 
welcoming as she had been on that night long ago.

     "And feel her love surround me..."

     "Et je suis sensible a l'insertion de ton papa.  Elle fait 
beaucoup plaisir a moi.  Il enroule son acier avec la douceure 
infinie."  He lost a couple of words, but that she had been 
happy came across. 

     "And your father, who had loved your mother for years, loved 
her even more.  And he moved in her like this, but a wee bit more 
strongly because there was no Kitten to disturb."

     Jeanette pressed her hips back farther.  His shoulders were 
now near the edge of the bed.  He could no longer express himself 
in words; he broke the silence only by soft grunts as he thrust 
home.  He remembered the lovely and love-filled union in the 
forest clearing, Jeanette's acceptance of him slowly turning to 
eagerness and then to passion.  He experienced her present 
enthusiastic participation, instigating the whole thing and 
urgently pressing against him as he thrust into her.  

     When her finger pressed on the base of his phallus, just 
where the sack began, he lost it.  He pounded into her and poured 
into her, only sensing her climax as it ended after his was done.  

     They lay like that for minutes.  He couldn't even respond to 
The Kitten's complaint.  Jeanette hushed her, though, and rocked 
her for a bit before laying her in her crib.  She woke him a half 
hour later.

     "The train is stopped right now, but they still expect it in 
twenty-five minutes."  He got up, washed, dressed, and was almost 
awake enough to drive by the time that he got to the car.  There 
was another delay reported, though, after he arrived at the 
station.  The waiting group looked lost in the station intended 
for a much larger crowd.  He could sit with his arms spread 
across the bench-back without touching, or even getting near, 
another person.  It was very restful.

                              - = - 

     When someone did touch him, it was Vi.  "Sorry I'm so late," 
she said.

     "That's okay.  I need to walk a bit before I drive, though.  
Need the john?"  At her head-shake, he took her bag and loaded it 
into the car.  She walked with him around the parking lot.  

     Jeanette was dressed when they got home, and their bed was 
made.  Their bedroom, or rather the room that they were sharing 
with The Kitten, was Kathleen's second stop.  "She is *so* 
precious!" she whispered.  "So precious."  How can you respond to 
a self-evident truth?  "Thanks for sending those pictures."

     When The Kitten cried, Kathleen had her in her arms before 
the parents had moved.  It wasn't a hungry cry; she wouldn't 
scream if it wasn't answered.  "Want to change her?" he asked.

     "Oh yes!"  Kathleen didn't even complain about their 
laughter.  

                             - = = - 

Jeanette supervised the changing, telling Kathleen where to find 
things but letting her actually do it.  She brought the bouncy 
seat with her out to the kitchen, but she had no illusion that 
The Kitten would spend much time in it.

     They grabbed a snack to tide them over until a very late 
lunch, when Kathleen's young man could join them.

     After she stored the casserole in the 'fridge, she sent Bob 
back to his homework while she, Kathleen, and The Kitten had a 
hen party in the living room.  When she went into the bedroom for 
The Kitten's favorite rattle, she grabbed the little tape 
recorder.  Kathleen's presence made conversations about Bob's 
father more likely.

     Kathleen was holding The Kitten when the phone rang.  She 
handed her unceremoniously to Jeanette on her way to the phone.  
"Brennan residence," she said.

     "Oh, hi.  Yes it's me.  How much time?  Half an hour is 
fine."  She called to Jeanette, "Can he park on the street 
outside the building?  Illegal?  Unsafe?"

     "That's fine if he can find a space.  This isn't Cleveland."

     "If you can find a space....  Love you too."

     She didn't expect Kathleen to stand on ceremony, but 
grabbing the phone like that seemed odd.  So did relaying 
directions instead of handing her the phone.

     Their conversation drifted for a while.  Then she took the 
bull by the horns.  "Why did Greg's baby gift have your name on 
it?" she suddenly asked Kathleen.  She would recognize Greg's 
voice on the phone, of course.

     "It did?  I didn't know that.  What was it?"

     "A Snuggli," a surprisingly useful gift from her bachelor 
brother.

     "Figures," Kathleen said.  "When he heard you were 
expecting, he wrote asking me for a suggestion.  I told him that 
I would have loved to give you a Snuggli, but I was broke.  You 
understand.  It's silly when you consider the size of my debts, 
but they can only be applied to tuition and such."

     "We appreciate *When We Were Very Young*."  They had Bob's 
but those books weren't in shape for a child to handle anymore.

     "Anyway, he must have taken my 'broke' description too 
literally."

     "I didn't know you two were even acquainted before I got 
that gift.  I thought that was a gag or something.  He wrote that 
it was from the two of you, but it was his handwriting and posted 
in San Diego."  Actually, she had wondered, but the time for 
questions had passed before she had worked up the energy to 
mention it.  All her discussions with Vi seemed to be about The 
Kitten.

     "You know that we knew each other.  He came back with you to 
the house sometimes."

     "Well, yes.  But you were in high school."

     "But your Christmas letter mentioned my acceptance at Johns 
Hopkins.  He was stationed at Norfolk at the time, with frequent 
trips to Washington.  He called me up on one of those trips, and 
took me out to dinner.  The distances really aren't that great.  
We stayed in touch."

     "He's too old for you."

     "Jeanette, he was a *perfect* gentleman.  Unlike some of my 
fellow students.  You mean all the world to him; you are all the 
family that he cares to claim.  He wasn't about to foul that up 
by taking liberties with me.  I saw him maybe five or six times 
in two years.  Then he finally got a seagoing assignment.  What 
brings him up?"

     Well five or six times in two years was more than she heard 
from him, thinking the world of her or not.  She was saved from 
answering by the buzzer from downstairs.  Once again, Kathleen 
jumped up.  She buzzed him in without using the speaker at all, 
not that Jeanette hadn't done that in the past.  This time, 
Jeanette was going to be the one not standing on ceremony.

     "Hold The Kitten," she said and pressed her into Kathleen's 
hands.  She went to the door and opened it.  


Continued in Part 3
For Elise
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
1999/12/28
2000/08/17
2001/12/28

                              - = - 

This story carries the codes: (MF voy rom lac wl) 
The code, "voy," means voyeurism, watching or listening.


For other codes, and how they can help you find the stories you 
want, see:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/code/scfr.htm
The Story-Code FAQ for readers.


This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans.


The first story in the series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/forever.htm
"Forever" 

The directory to the entire series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan.htm


The directory to all my stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/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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