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Message-ID: <45316asstr$1068725405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} rp "Fourth" {Uther} (MF wl rom) [1/1]
Date: Thu, 13 Nov 2003 07:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


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. 

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. 


                             # #  #
 
                             Fourth
                       by Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net



"I enjoyed your sermon," Bob told Rev. Stanton. 

"I enjoyed having you folks here," the minister answered. 
Jeanette Brennan could tell that the "you folks" was to include 
her.  Bob was nearly always in church on a Sunday.  "Bob tells me 
this is a special day for you," he said to her. 

"Our anniversary," she said.  "Four years Thursday.  As Bob 
works six days a week, we're celebrating today." 

"Four years?  I'd have thought that you were still on your 
honeymoon."  A few people in the line behind them murmured 
agreement. 

She and Bob started walking towards their apartment in the 
warm city air.  A block from the church, she reached over and 
took Bob's hand.  He squeezed hers.  Holding hands in church 
bothered her, and Bob had agreed to abstain the same time he had 
agreed that he wouldn't rest his hand on her butt on the street.  
Almost always, he remembered both.  "Ice cream?" Bob asked.  She 
nodded. "Y'know," he continued.  "Special day and all that.  We 
could get two cones." 

It was a special day, but....  "Separate treats on our 
anniversary?  Let's stick to one."  They continued on where the 
path to their apartment turned aside.  They knew the man at the 
ice cream shop, and he knew them.  They couldn't afford many 
treats, and ice cream was a frequent one when the weather 
suited. 

Today, however, he didn't greet them with "One chocolate 
cone?" 

"I've got a proposition," he said instead.  "Guy came in here 
earlier, I heard him ask for a hot-fudge sundae with chocolate 
ice cream.  I absentmindedly made it with the usual vanilla. When 
he pointed it out, I made a new one.  Anyway, I have a hot- fudge 
sundae I'll sell you for the price of a single cone.  Want 
it?" 

She looked at Bob.  She liked hot fudge, but Bob loved it. 

"Sure!"  Bob said.  "Two spoons?"  They took stools at the 
counter. 

"Fine," the man said.  "I kept it in the freezer.  It's not 
quite what it was, but it's still in good shape.  Why don't you 
sit in a booth, and I'll bring it to you?" 

For a sundae, they could sit in a booth.  Besides, from there, 
they could see the bright sun and the passers-by on the Boston 
sidewalk.  The man brought over the sundae, two spoons, and two 
napkins, even though there was a dispenser on the table. 

She thought that Bob must be really anxious for the sundae.  
He dug in with his spoon, not even letting her get ready.  Well, 
she figured, this was a special day.  She'd hold back and let him 
have more than half. 

Then Bob held the spoon towards her mouth. The sundae was 
delicious.  Cold and sweet, the ice cream melting on her tongue 
and the taste of the fudge.  The love shown by that gesture was 
even better. 

She dug her spoon into the sundae, making sure that she got a 
generous serving of fudge, and held it out to him.  He held her 
hand while he tasted the contents.  Finally, he squeezed gently 
and let her go.  His feet eased forwards under the table; his 
ankles hugged one of hers.  She looked over to check whether the 
man behind the counter could see.  There was another customer, 
however; the man was busy. 

They ate slowly, one spoonful for him followed by one spoonful 
for her.  Freezer or no, the sundae had started out softer than 
it had been when it was fresh.  Finally, the last of the ice 
cream was gone.  The bottom of the bowl was covered with liquid 
and a few streaks from the sauce.  "Finish it up," she said.  She 
would have left that remnant, but Bob never left anything on a 
plate.  He scraped it all up for another minute. 

He looked a question at her.  She wiped her mouth carefully 
with the napkin and nodded.  Bob wiped his own face and hands, 
got up, and carried all the stuff over to the counter. 

"Thank you," he said in the general direction of the 
proprietor. For some reason, the shop was busier than usual; 
people were waiting in line.  Bob clearly didn't want a 
conversation, but some courtesy seemed necessary.  The treat, 
coming on the special day, called for a "thank you." 

"Thank you," the man answered, looking up from making a 
cone. 

When Bob returned to the booth, he offered her his arm.  The 
amount of assistance you could receive when getting out of a 
booth was minimal, but the symbol pleased her.  She held on to 
his arm as they walked out into the heat. 

"See you," the man called after them.  It was strange that he 
spoke to them when there was so much business.  Still, both of 
them turned and waved.  Then Bob took her hand and they again 
headed towards the apartment. 

Bob took off his sport coat at the bottom of the stairs (he 
hadn't worn a tie).  She climbed ahead of him.  Bob was gentleman 
enough to let the lady lead the way; he was voyeur enough to 
enjoy watching her butt going up the stairs.  She'd have expected 
him to get over that after four years.  He hadn't, and -- 
sometimes, including this time -- she enjoyed knowing that he 
still found her sexy. 

The temperature climbed as they did.  At the door to their 
apartment, it was as hot as a steam bath.  Inside it was better, 
inadequate as their air conditioner was.  Some days, there were 
advantages to a one-room apartment. 

The sofa bed was still out, if made.  She wondered briefly 
whether leaving the bed out was Bob's attempt at subtlety.  More 
likely, he thought that the celebration of their anniversary so 
obviously involved bed that he didn't have to say it.  And, the 
three previous celebrations certainly had.  When he had abstained 
the night before, she had known why. 

He hung his coat in the closet and put his shirt in to join 
it. He wouldn't wear a dress shirt for another week.  "Want me to 
hang up yours?" he asked. 

"Presents first."  He brought the package from the closet to 
the card table at the end of the bed.  The card from his sister 
joined it, and the single rose he'd brought her the night 
before. 

She was eager to see what his mother had sent.  She'd called 
on Saturday, as she did every other Saturday.  Being who she was, 
she'd have called on their anniversary even if it had been off 
schedule. 
  
                              - = -  

    "Happy anniversary, dear." 

    "Thanks, Katherine.  We got a package from you and your 
    husband.  And a card from Vi.  We aren't opening 
    anything before tomorrow, so I can't be more specific in 
    my thanks." 

    "The present is just from me this year, dear.  You'll 
    understand when you open it." 

    Now, it was easy to tell who had selected the gifts.  
    Bob's father chose something which would foster her 
    interest in French; the clothes which were good enough 
    for the office but not too good for the office were 
    bought by his mother.  Although neither was appropriate 
    for a wedding anniversary. Still, the presents were 
    given by both of them except on Christmas, when they 
    each gave something. 

    Her curiosity had to be put on hold.  "I hope, dear," 
    Katherine said, "that your marriage is all that you 
    dreamed it would be." 

    Actually, her experience of marriage had been mostly a 
    surprise.  However frank she was with Katherine, though, 
    she wasn't about to tell her the sort of pleasures 
    Katherine's son provided his wife. 

    The night before had been one of Bob's "games."  In 
    between talking to her (Bob knew what turned her on), 
    he'd kissed her everywhere -- her back, her arms, her 
    face.  By the time he'd settled on her breasts, she'd 
    been ready for his entrance.  He'd been ready, too; she 
    could see his erection pulse with his heartbeat. 

    Instead of going on with the sex, though, Bob had kissed 
    a spiral up her left breast.  By the time he'd reached 
    her nipple, she'd been panting. Still, he'd delayed.  He 
    must have taken twice as long kissing another spiral up 
    her right breast.  When he'd kissed each thigh all the 
    way to their junction, she'd pulled his face against 
    her. 

    If it had taken him forever to reach her center, he had 
    wanted to stay there even longer.  She had arched 
    against his mouth again and again. She'd been sure that 
    she'd been done by the time he'd finally glided into 
    her, maybe done for years.  Still, he'd evoked one more 
    response on her part. 

    Then, with his arms about her and his seed leaking out 
    of her, she'd collapsed in sleep.  Luckily, she hadn't 
    needed to get up the next morning. She hadn't been out 
    of the shower for an hour when Katherine had called at 
    two o'clock.  No, she hadn't dreamed of that before the 
    wedding; she'd thought of sex as something she'd do for 
    Bob. 

    She realized that her silence had gone on too long when 
    Katherine said "Oh dear!" 

    "Really," she told her mother-in-law, "it's the wrong 
    sort of question." She tried to gather her thoughts in 
    the silence -- silence, she realized, that was costing 
    Katherine long-distance rates.  "The issue isn't whether 
    I'm getting what I dreamed of, but whether I dreamed of 
    what I'm getting.   I wanted to be married to Bob, but 
    not half so much as I would have if I'd known what being 
    married to Bob would mean." 

    "You're happy then?" 

    "Yes.  Happy sometimes, content most of the time.  You 
    can be constantly unhappy, even desperately unhappy.  
    You can't be constantly happy.  Still, I'm glad I 
    married him.  Even besides getting to be your daughter-
    in-law." 

    "That's nice of you to say, dear."  It was the honest 
    truth; Katherine was the woman she admired most in the 
    world. 

    "Bob's at work?" Katherine asked. 

    "The millwork warehouse goes six days a week.  I worry 
    about the work sometimes," (Bob came home with splinters 
    in his hands, and in his shoulder) "but Bob prefers it 
    to office work." 

    "Well, it's better than road work."  Bob had worked on a 
    road-building crew the summers before his marriage. It 
    took him far away. 

    "It's better for me; I'm not sure it's better for him." 

    "He wouldn't dream of leaving you for the summer, dear."  
    Bob wouldn't willingly spend a night apart, but not even 
    Bob would tell his mother that, would he? 

    "You've talked to him?" 

    "Don't need to, dear.  Bob is transparent.  Which is 
    convenient; he isn't what you would call forthcoming.  I 
    know more about his life now that you'll tell me than I 
    ever knew when he lived at home.  I hope he communicates 
    with you." 

    "He does."  Bob was more willing to talk about what 
    George Bush should do than about what Bob Brennan should 
    do, but he did consult her on decisions. Even future 
    course work, although everything she knew about graduate 
    work in history had been filtered through him. 

    "I'm glad, dear.  But I should have known.  After all, 
    you do tell me things.  He seldom did." 

    "Would he really have refused to answer a direct 
    question?" 

    "No, dear, and he did tell us about switching majors.  
    Look at your case, though.  He barely mentioned you from 
    the time he could drive until the time he needed me for 
    a mailbox."  Katherine had passed on his letters to her 
    when her mother decided to intercept her mail. 

    "I'm still grateful for that." 

    "I was glad to do it, dear.  And I will admit that he 
    was good about including something to me in every 
    letter.  Still, I got a paragraph; and I could feel the 
    thickness of the envelopes I passed along." 

    "Well...." Bob had written loads to her, and most of 
    that wasn't anything to share with his mother, either. 

    "He's healthy, though?  And you?" 

    "I'm doing great.  I think that southerners have an 
    advantage in the summer, not that Boston is all that 
    cool this time of year.  Bob would tell you that he's 
    doing fine, but I worry about the work.  He really works 
    hard." 

    "He always did, dear.  I know that mental labor for a 
    couple of years followed by physical labor isn't the 
    healthiest thing.  Still, he wants the physical labor.  
    Neither Russ nor he is really the type to go in for 
    physical recreation." 

    "Even winters, he walks a lot.  Still...." 

    "Yes, dear.  We both worry.  I'm sure that he doesn't 
    let his mind stagnate during the physical periods, 
    though." 

    "We're both studying the history of France.  We're still 
    in Gaul." 

    "It's good that you can share an interest, dear.  I 
    never pretended to like Russ's economics."  Jeanette 
    didn't think of her father-in-law as a student of 
    economics, but she knew he had been once. 

    "Well, it's more Bob's finding something I'm interested 
    in interesting." And even that didn't express it.  Bob 
    found most things interesting.  And when he thought 
    about anything, he automatically thought about its 
    history. 

    "Of course it's interesting, dear.  I'm sure that he's 
    interested in what you do, but the history of France 
    would interest him anyway.  He might not read about it; 
    art aside, I never have.  But he would find it 
    interesting." And there the mother was like the son.  
    The Brennans found every fact interesting, indeed 
    fascinating. 

    "That's one reason I'm glad I'm married to him.  And he 
    can convey that interest."  Aside from his interest in 
    physical science, that is.  Bob found all those 
    electrons and things fascinating, too.  She didn't. 

                              - = - 

But once she had hung up, she'd wondered why the present 
was only from Katherine.  Anyway, the delay wasn't going to be 
that long; after the waiting Bob had inflicted on her Friday 
night, he was lucky she didn't keep him waiting until sunset.  Of 
course, that would mean keeping herself waiting, too.  So she 
wouldn't be that mean, wouldn't even insist on making Sunday 
dinner first. 

Bob opened the card first.  It was commercial, but nice.  Vi 
included a note: "Wishing you all the best, and many more 
anniversaries like this one." 

Then he tore the brown paper wrapping from the package.  He 
handed the package inside, wrapped in special paper for an 
anniversary, to her.  When she opened it, there was a nightgown 
-- a very sexy looking nightgown.  She held it up so Bob could 
see it. 

"Pretty," he said.  "Going to model it?" 

"Of course." 

"Y'know," he continued, "she's my mother and all, but you'd 
think that for a wedding anniversary she'd have included a 
present for you, too." 

"It is for me, silly.  Do you like it?" 

"I think seeing it, seeing you in it, will give me much more 
pleasure than wearing it will give you." 

"Having you express that gives me pleasure," she said.  And it 
did.  Bob thought her sexy, and pretty.  He thought her 
intelligent, too, and sometimes said so.  The verbal appreciation 
was one of the pleasures of being married to him, and one she 
could have mentioned to his mother. 

Bob started clearing off the wrappings while she took the 
nightie into the bathroom with her.  She inserted her diaphragm 
before donning the nightie.  It did look sexy in the mirror, her 
breasts sticking out and the hair on her mound just visible.  
Suddenly, she was very happy that the gift wasn't from her 
father-in-law. 

Bob was under the sheet when she came out.  The blinds on both 
windows were down.  Not that it wasn't quite bright in the room. 
She turned around 360 degrees at the foot of the bed while he 
whistled.  Then she climbed in beside him. 

They kissed, Bob's hands -- for once -- not touching her.  
"Does it make me look sexy?" she asked.  "Is that something a 
mother-in-law should give?" 

"You always look sexy.  But you look especially sexy in that. 
Why not?  She might have guessed that part of my interest in you 
is based on your sexual allure." 

"Part?"  She had meant to tease him, but once that was out, it 
sounded like asking for compliments. 

"You have other good qualities.  You're smart, and good with 
languages, and support our family.  You're an excellent cook.  I 
can't claim that your skills as a homemaker really attract me, 
but you have those, too." 

"I should wear a sexy nightie more often." 

"Don't I pay you enough compliments?"  He sounded hurt. 

"There could never be enough.  But I like the way you talk." 
Truth to tell, Bob complimented her much more often than she 
complimented him.  She was sorry her comment sounded like a 
complaint; she hadn't felt complaining.  She'd felt sexy -- and 
appreciated. 

"I ..."  She started to say that.  Bob stopped her with a 
kiss. This time, he smoothed the nightie over her back. 

She lay back.  Bob peppered her face with kisses, holding her 
right breast through the cloth of the nightie.  Suddenly, that 
cloth was a hindrance; she struggled to sit up.  With Bob's help, 
she got the nightie off.  Now, his hand was right on her breast 
while he kissed her again.  And his chest rubbed over her other 
nipple. 

When his mouth replaced his hand on her breast, the hand 
strayed lower.  He caressed the insides of her thighs while 
kissing almost everywhere on the breast.  He finally stroked her 
labia at the same time he sucked her nipple. 

Running her hands over his back, she felt his hard muscles 
tense as he moved.  She spread her legs in invitation.  He 
continued on the outer labia, however, while he kissed a path 
down that breast and up the other.  That nipple was aching for 
his mouth by the time he reached it.  His suction there was 
gentle, but oh so satisfying. 

Then she wanted more, more suction from his mouth, his fingers 
deeper within her instead of teasing the surface.  "Oh, Bob!" she 
said. 

He lifted his head from her breast to speak.  "Yes, 
darling?" 

She pulled his head back where it belonged.  He licked the 
nipple.  His hand moved to her mound, rubbing the hair there a 
millimeter from the clit which ached for his touch.  She arched 
to bring it closer. 

When he sucked on the nipple again, she lost it.  She 
shuddered while fire coursed through her. 

"Yes, darling," he said.  "Yes, sweetheart.  Yes, Jeanette!" 
Somehow, he always spoke of the pleasure that he brought her as 
if it were a gift in quite the other direction. 

When she collapsed, he stopped moving his hand, though he left 
it resting on her mound.  He kissed her forehead. 

"I'm glad I married you," he said. 

"Me too."  Even this short bit took more breath than she could 
spare. 

"Coming down the aisle," he said.  Sometimes Bob's jumps lost 
her, but this one was totally reasonable, especially today.  "You 
looked so ethereal.  You were still Jeanette, still lovely, but I 
had never seen this stately creature.  And you looked so solemn, 
too."  She must have looked scared, as well.  She certainly had 
felt scared.  But, then, Bob had seen her scared 
before. 

He'd looked a little scared, too.  And quite handsome; Bob 
looked good in formal clothes. 

"And in the bus, after," he continued.  "I'd seen that girl 
before, but she looked delectable, and I had to keep my hands 
strictly to myself."  Funny, that isn't how she remembered 
his behavior.  "It was sweet torture, but it was torture." 

"And then, later," he continued, "you came out of the bathroom 
dressed in a cloud.  I'd never seen you looking like that 
either."  She'd been scared then, too.  But that hadn't been her 
principal emotion. 

"And, finally," she said "I was married to you.  It was the 
happiest day of my life."  Well, really, it had taken her another 
year to learn to be truly happy.  But she had waited for the 
wedding day forever.  It hadn't been until they got on the bus 
that she had really believed she would actually get to live with 
Bob.  Which reminded her.  "And that night, you finally got to do 
what you had wanted to do."  His face fell.  What had she 
said wrong now? 

"Jeanette, I hurt you." 

"And," she reminded him, "you cared that you had hurt me."  
Bob would never see it, he had just been Bob.  He did so many 
nice things and was moderately proud of them, and they were truly 
nice.  She did enjoy those extra efforts to please; but she loved 
him for, needed him for, being Bob. 

"That wasn't the point.  Of course I cared.  Anybody would 
have. But I loved you -- love you -- and I hurt you." 

"Not really."  If he could care about some minor pain for 
three years, she could ease the psychological burden.  Those were 
much worse.  "The pain was minor, like pulling a bandage.  And 
I chose the pain.  It told me I was a virgin no more, that 
we were truly married.  I could have eased myself into it, and 
chose not to.  Even if I had done it myself, I wouldn't have 
taken days stretching myself to avoid that one second's ouch.  Do 
I ever?" 

"You feel things so much more than I, and then you treat your 
feelings so callously." 

"I don't feel things more.  I don't think that's a valid 
comparison.  You ease all my pains; it's just that the 
psychological ones are so much more important."  He'd never see 
that. 

"It was worth it?" 

"Seeing you care about my ouch was worth far more than the 
ouch. Being married to you was incomparably more."  She wasn't 
sure about that; seeing him so worried about her minor pain was 
sort of why being married to him was such a joy.  "It is worth 
getting up in the morning and going to work to come home at night 
to Bob."  And that was a real pain. 

"You're sweet.  I'm glad I married you." 

"And I'm glad I married you."  Hadn't they had this 
conversation recently?  Well, this was an appropriate day for it.  
"And I'm glad I had that wedding night.  I'd trade more pain for 
less concern any day of the week." 

"You mean that?" 

"Bob, I grew up hearing how any worry on my part about me was 
selfish.  You always were concerned about me.  Even before 
we were married.  All I thought about marriage was that I could 
get hugs whenever I needed them." 

"Don't I give you hugs when you need them any more?"  He did 
hug her then. 

"You give me hugs whenever I ask.  And I need them less often. 
Need them less often because I'm married to you."  She removed 
his arm and snuggled back against him.  She placed his hand on 
her breast.  He hugged her again.  "And sometimes, I don't need 
them -- I just want them.  And sometimes, I forget that I want 
them until you give me one for free." 

Bob clearly wanted more; she could feel Junior press against 
her back and her butt.  Still, he didn't make a move.  He just 
lay there relaxed except for the hand that caressed her 
breast. 

"I try to remember that you want the comfort when I want the 
sex," he said. 

"Well, I want the comfort.  And I wanted the comfort forever. 
Actually, that isn't true.  I needed the comfort long before I 
met you; I didn't want it -- didn't know that it was possible -- 
before I got some from you.  But you also set out to seduce me, I 
remember that; and you succeeded.  So, now, I want the sex, 
too." 

"You do?" 

"A few minutes ago, you couldn't tell?" 

"You're sweet."  This from a man who went into ecstasies of 
praise for her over the pleasure that she received from his 
hands.  Well, from other parts of him, too.  But all the nice 
things he said after his penis had brought her to climax might 
have been about his own climax.  His response to the climaxes his 
hand brought couldn't be. 

He began to kiss the back of her neck and her shoulder.  This 
was too nice for her to turn, but she wanted to kiss something of 
his, too.  She took his hand off her breast to bring it to her 
mouth.  She kissed each finger, then the palm. 

He broke off kissing her shoulder and tugged at it.  When she 
turned on her back, he gave her a deep kiss.  His tongue explored 
her mouth.  She brought her hands up to hold his head right 
there.  His hand traveled over her, caressing her thighs before 
sliding slowly up her belly.  It came to rest cuddling her left 
breast.  His thumb and finger rolled the nipple between them. 

His tongue was so firm and delightfully active; his hand was 
so gentle and seductively slow.  Sometime soon, he would be over 
her and in her; she would enjoy that, participate actively in 
that. Meantime, she enjoyed the gentleness, the slowness, of his 
hand and the kiss. 

Bob's hand stopped moving just before he raised his head.  "I 
love you," he said.  "Do we need this?"  He raised the sheet. 

"No."  Nobody could see.  Usually, she preferred a covering 
even so; but this was a delightful time, and the room was warmer 
than was really comfortable. 

Bob tossed the sheet to the side.  He kissed the valley 
between her breasts.  That was a hard kiss, not gentle at all; 
but nothing there was subject to bruising.  As his lips climbed 
her left breast, he was gentle again, tentative, tickly.  She 
wriggled. 

"Delightful girl," he said.  "Lovely woman."  He returned to 
her nipple, first licking it, then sucking gently.  He kissed a 
path down that breast and over her belly.  He didn't head 
directly to her navel.  Instead, he gave a series of kisses right 
below her ribcage and then another line maybe an inch lower than 
that. 

Finally, though, he kissed across the middle.  When his mouth 
touched her navel, his tongue dug in. She shuddered the way this 
kiss always made her shudder.  He licked there again, and then 
continued on.  Soon, he was kissing an expanding spiral around 
her navel.  Minutes later, his mouth reached her pubic hair. 

Although she spread her legs, he broke from there to move to 
her right breast.  He kissed up the bottom slope as her tension 
mounted.  His suction on the nipple was a relief.  Then it was a 
source of further tension.  He kissed up to her left shoulder and 
down that arm.  Bob seemed to intend covering all her skin with 
kisses today. 

"Turn over, will you?" he asked. 

"On my front?" 

"Please."  She thought for a moment.  Well, she'd stand it as 
long as she could. 

He started on her shoulder, a comparatively neutral point.  
The back and sides of her neck, on the other hand, were quite 
sensitive.  She wriggled, which he seemed to enjoy.  Finally, he 
started down her backbone.  As far as she could tell, he was 
kissing every vertebra.  "Bob!" she said and turned back 
over. 

He kissed her navel once more.  She wiggled again.  He moved 
up to her breast.  The licking and suction on her nipple were 
more arousing, but not so ticklish.  He parted her outer lips and 
stroked her inner ones.  She felt herself begin the climb again. 
It would be just like Bob to think that an afternoon of his 
bringing her to repeated orgasms was an appropriate celebration 
of their marriage.  He would never mention that it was way 
past his lunchtime, either.  And Bob ate his biggest meal at 
lunch. Anyway, this was their anniversary, and she wanted 
their climax.  Her lover was delightful, but -- today 
especially -- she wanted her husband. 

"Bob," she said, "Inside."   Obediently, he climbed between 
her legs.  He stopped to kiss each nipple before he came forward 
to enter her. "Oh, Bob," she said as she felt him enter her, 
spread her, fill her. 

"Oh, Jeanette," he answered.  Then he shifted so that his 
hands were cupping her breasts.  He moved almost all the way out, 
all the way in again until he was pressed against her; he brushed 
over her right nipple, then her left; he leaned down to kiss her. 
Then he repeated it all.  After his fourth stroke he said, "I 
can't express how sweet this feels." 

"Me, too," she said. 

"Oh," he said after the next stroke, "you are soft and smooth. 
And so warm and welcoming." 

"And you are so firm and so filling."  He came all the way 
into her again, pressed against her and moved his weight as he 
switched his attention to his hands.  "And it feels so good when 
you move like that." 

"Like this?"  And he moved side to side against her.  Maybe it 
was only an inch, but he was right against her and deep within 
her. 

"Oh yes," she said. 

He moved side to side again and again while her arousal 
spiraled upward again.  He moved in and out once more, side to 
side once more. Then she couldn't tell the directions of his 
motions for her attention had turned inward.  FIre burned within 
her. consumed her.  She gasped. 

He was moving, though.  His motions stoked that fire.  And he 
was speaking, "Oh, my darling.  Oh! my darling.  Darling, 
darling, darling... Wife!"  On the last word, she could feel him 
pulsing deep within her, feel his seed spurting out. 

She wrapped her arms and legs tight around him.  "Bob!" she 
managed to gasp. 

Later, how much later she couldn't say, he was a weight 
interfering with her breathing and too hot in the hot apartment. 
She pushed on his shoulder and he moved off.  He hugged her 
tightly, though.  She welcomed the hug, hot or no.  She felt 
desired, loved, married!  


The End
Fourth
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2003/06/27
2003/11/12


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

The next story in the series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/taste.htm
"Foretaste"  

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
Brennan Stories Directory  


For a story about a different couple in a 
different relationship, see:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/fos_01f.htm
"Missed"  

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

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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