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Subject: {ASSM} Sarah and the Stranger {Claire Kellis} (MF MFm Fm oral anal incest) [3/14]
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Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2008 11:10:05 -0400
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Sarah and the Stranger
a Novel by Claire Kellis

Summer, 2007



Chapter 3: _Housework_


As the doctor was backing and turning his car, Jack rode into the 
backyard.  He waved at the departing doctor, halted the Appaloosa and 
swung lithely down from the saddle in front of his mother, still holding
the reins in hand.

"What'd old Spence' say?"

The child on her hip stared at the new arrival with a baby's intentness.
The woman clucked her tongue.  "Jack, I hope you didn't call him that to
his face!"

"No, Mom."  He grinned.  "I ain't _that_ dumb.  I don't like him much 
but guess he's a good doc."

She knew the reason for Jack's dislike.  After ministering to the lad's 
flu three years ago, Dr. Spencer had taken her to a stifled but 
weak-kneed climax against the bedroom wall then made her stoop at the 
end of the bed to catch his effluent as he liked it: in her mouth.  She
had thought the boy, then eleven, was asleep.  But he wasn't.

"Well, _I_ like him.  He's a very good doctor."

"I know what you like," Jack said snidely.

She touched his face gently.  "That will be enough, dear.  You know I 
crave it."

"What'd he say about Bud?"

"Bud's going to be all right.  He needs to take it easy for a couple of
weeks."

"What about his memory?"

She shrugged.  "It'll come back, nobody knows when.  What took you so 
long?"

"You didn't miss me with old Spence' here."

"You're my son; I'll always miss you.  When you put the horse up, come 
on in the kitchen for some dinner.  Dad will be along for his share."

Jack squinted up at the high sun and rubbed his stomach.  "It sure is 
time."

Arriving in the house, Jack plopped a package onto the kitchen table.  
The paper bag was imprinted _Johnsons_: the store in town.  He was all 
smiles, ducking his head with a secret.

"Mom, I made two dollars yesterday mowing the Millers' field." 

His smile, wider than she had seen in a long time, lifted her heart.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.  "Didn't have time to wrap
it."   

She recognized a young man's eagerness.  "What is it, son?"

"I thought of you when I saw it in the store window."

Suddenly she felt like a schoolgirl.  When was the last time someone 
gave Sarah Martin a store-bought gift?

"Take a look," he insisted.

The paper bag crinkled audibly when her hand slid inside it.  She 
removed a shiny green scarf and bringing it to her face, smelled the 
silky new material.  "Well, I'll be!  This is so lovely, Jack.  Thank 
you, thank you!"

"Put it around your red hair, Mom."

She made a triangle and pulled it over her head, careful to let front 
curls peek out.

His eyes lit.  "I knew it!  It's perfect.  Next I'll get you a green 
dress."

"Oh, Jack!  Your dad thought I looked good in green."

"He was right.  Mom, I love you so much."

At that moment Jeff entered the kitchen, the screen door banging behind
him.  He stopped, eyes widening, at sight of Sarah's new head gear.

She turned towards him.  "Daddy, look what Jack got for me."

"Yeah, I see it."

"You _see_ it?"

Jeff rocked on the balls of his feet.  He took a deep breath and looked
past her.  "That how Miller paid you?"

"No," Jack answered.  "He gave me two dollars."

"And you had to spend it?"

The boy straightened.  "Mom didn't even get anything new for 
_Christmas_."

The man shook his head.  "Jack, you know money is awful tight this 
year."

Looking at her father's baleful expression, she had to agree but not 
immediately.  "Oh, Dad, you know how much he loves me."

"We all love you, dear," said the man, shaking his head slowly.  "But 
that two dollars'll buy a new head casting for the water pump.  I been 
expecting my bailing wire to give out any day."

She sighed.  "Jack, you're a sweetheart, but we do need the money."  
Reluctantly she returned scarf to bag and handed it up to him.  "You 
better take it back, son."

His doleful expression pained her.

She took his hand.  "It was very thoughtful, dearest, and I love you for
it, but your two dollars is about all the money we've got right now."

He sighed heavier than she.

"Jack, one day we can afford this and I'll accept it gladly.  Do you 
understand, dear?"

He regarded her with something akin to awe.  "Yeah, I guess so.  Someday
I'm going to buy you the world."

Kissing his cheek, she whispered, "I know you will.  Tonight I'll make 
you forget about this scarf."

He whispered in answer, "I'll do anything for you, Mom, anything you 
say."

"You're a fine son," she said aloud and touched his lips with her 
knuckle.  "Now sit down and let's eat dinner.


* * *


After helping her clean up, man and boy went with her to the barn, 
leaving the baby playing with his blocks in the house, protected from 
the swarming flies by screened doors and windows.  Bud, drifting in and
out of sleep, roused when the barn door creaked open and arose on an 
elbow at their purposeful approach.

The man and boy stood him up beside the cot.  He looked at Sarah.  "Are
they taking me somewhere?"

"In the house.  You can use the indoor toilet and dodge all these 
skeeters and flies."

He gestured at his nakedness below the waist.  "Do you have something 
for me to wear?"

"In the house."  She gathered up his towel, turning away.  "Bring him 
on."

Outside the barn Bud stopped and straightened up.  "Let me try it."

The other two released him but stood close.  He looked around, wincing 
as his torso twisted but smiling suddenly.  "Whoever heard of a _royal 
blue_ barn?"

"My husband liked it," Sarah explained.

"He had money then," said Jeff, "before Black Friday.  What color'd you
expect?"

"Red."

"Memory coming back, is it?"

"I wish it was."

The small group meandered over the irregular ground to the house, Bud 
leaning on Jeff's arm.  With his hosts' help he negotiated the steps 
onto the front porch and into the front bedroom.  Wrinkling her nose, 
Sarah detected no aroma in the room of her dalliance with Dr. Spencer 
and reflected that tidiness was another advantage of swallowing a man's
juice.  Although ... the doctor, unmarried, was a smart man whose baby 
should be like him.  Would he support one he couldn't claim?  Was 
swallowing his stuff the right thing to do with it?

The men had paused and were looking at her.  "This was my husband's 
clothes," she said, indicating the underwear, shirt and pants folded 
over a chair.  "I think they'll fit you pretty good.  Jack, go get his 
shoes.  Bud, do you need to use the bathroom?  Just down the hall on the
right."


* * *


Steadying himself with a hand on Sarah's shoulder, Bud came to the 
supper table as the sun was setting beyond the kitchen windows.

"I hope you like our fare," she commented as he settled in a chair.

"My mouth's watering," he said with a smile.

"It's just stew with the meat left from dinner this noon."

"I love stew over biscuits."

Jeff looked up from his bowl and winked at Jack.  "Memory sounds good to
me."

"I've been thinking about that," Bud responded while Sarah ladled stew 
over his biscuit.  "What I can't remember is personal things -- who I 
am, where I belong, my family, if I have one."  He glanced up at Sarah.
"I may even have a wife somewhere."

"We didn't see a ring," she said.

"Whoever dumped me --"

"Or the marks of one."

"Well, not all married men wear a wedding band."

"You had a wristwatch.  The strap had marked you.  But no ring."

He grinned.  "I'm sure you looked carefully."

She blushed faintly.  "I was looking for marks that could tell who you 
are."

He nodded.  "Sarah, this is delicious stew."

"Thank you, Bud."

"Best in the county," Jeff averred.  He grinned around.  "I've tried the
others mostly, one time or another."

Bud swallowed and asked, "Have you lived here -- what county is it, by 
way?"

Jeff's eyes flashed to Jack.  "Can you answer that, boy?"

"Umm, umm ..."  The lad looked puzzled.

Jeff shook his head.  "The name is _Christian_ county.  Taylorville is 
the county seat.  We're on a direct line between Chicago and St. Louis."
He turned a baleful expression on the lad.  "One way or the other, Jack,
you're going back to school in the fall."

His eyes returned to Bud.  "Except for the army, I've lived here all my
life.  Sarah was raised on my place the other side of Faresville."  He 
shrugged.  "Lost it to the damn bank.  Thought I'd be homeless but Sarah
took me in, bless her heart, when Tim got killed."

"If times don't get better," said Sarah around her mouthful of stew, 
"we're all going to be homeless."

Bud studied her thoughtfully.  "Can't you get a mortgage?"

"Already did.  Had to plow under last year's corn.  Couldn't make the 
payment."

"What's that mean?" asked Jack.

Sarah's hand went to his shoulder reassuringly.  "Don't worry, son.  I'm
sorry I mentioned it.  Everybody says times are getting better."

"I heard corn futures doubled last month," said Jeff, "if they just 
hold.  Said the French is buying for their army."

"The French," mused Bud.  Suddenly he declared, "_Mon dieu, je connais 
la langue francais!_"

His audience stared at him blankly.  "What?" asked Jack.

He chuckled with embarrassment.  "Excuse me.  I just realized I can 
speak French."

Jeff's eyes narrowed.  "You mean you're a Frenchman?"

"No! ...  Well, I don't think so.  Do I sound foreign?"

"Not till just now.  Where'd you learn it, then?"

Bud sighed.  "I wish I could say."  He shook his head with 
determination.  "Were you in the great war?"

"Too old in 1917, but in '98 I landed in Cuba with the Kentucky 
Cavalry."

"Good for you."  Bud smiled vaguely.  "It seems my generation won't get
to show its patriotism."

Jeff sniffed.  "Took a look at Europe lately?"

Bud's face changed.  "I ..."  He blinked several times.  "I think I just
came from there."

"Did you!"

Bud pushed his chair back and stood up.  "Excuse me.  I need to think."
He turned, wincing with pain, and staggered from the room.

Jeff grinned at Sarah.  "Your convict gets curiouser."

"He's not a convict!"

"Maybe not.  But he sure is strange.  Speaking French!"  Jeff stood up.
"Got to go cover the tractor.  Damn good stew, honey."

Jack chimed in, "Yeah, it was, Mom."


* * *


She examined the remaining stew, decided it was enough to keep and sat a
weighted plate over the bowl on the back shelf.  After cleaning off the
table top she proceeded to wash the dishes.  Jack sat, elbows on the 
tables, and watched his mother work.

She suggested, "You could help dry 'em, you know."

He ducked his head with a smile, crossed to the sink beside her and 
applied cloth to wet dish.  "I said I'll do anything you want."

She hugged him around the waist and momentarily laid her head against 
his.  "You're my sweet son.  Tonight I'll do something _you_ want."

He kissed her forehead but asked seriously, "You think Grandpa meant 
what he said?"

"About sending you to school?"  She sighed.  "I know he'd like to, Jack.
So would I.  Maybe after the harvest is in."

"Or maybe before, if Bud sticks around."

She grinned.  "From your tone I guess you ain't in favor."

"I can read and write.  Ain't that enough?"

The grin became a chuckle.  "Seems like you need to know what county you
live in."

He grunted.  "I _did_ know it.  Just forgot."

A series of squawks from the adjacent room interrupted them.

She said, "Fetch your brother for me."

He reappeared with the baby, naked except for a baggy diaper, in his 
arm.  "Whew!  I need a third hand to hold my nose shut."

When she took the baby, her soft voice made him smile.  "What a little 
stinker!"  Stripping off the sodden diaper, she sat him in the sink and
scrubbed his bottom clean with soap and water that had circulated 
through the cookstove, still warm from the supper fire.  Jack watched as
he dried the last dishes and put them away on the shelves.

He asked, "Something wrong with his dick?"

"No," she said, peeling back the baby's foreskin and cleaning under it 
with a wet finger.  Joe, who had been fretful, grew wide-eyed and still.
"You just have to keep it clean.  You ever clean yours?"

He chuckled.  "You can do it anytime."

She laughed.  "You'd let me, would you?"

"You bet!"  He cocked his head thoughtfully.  "You love dicks, don't 
you, Mom?"

"I'm not only a woman, Jack, I feel things deeply.  You know my itches."
She smiled, looking down at his tented pants.

Jack took a deep breath as her hand grasped him through the cloth.  
"Jesus, mom, that feels good."

"Let's put Joseph to bed, so I can clean you properly."

His eyes widened, as a fourteen year-old's would when too much in love 
with his mother.

She held the baby toward him.  "Go powder him up while I wash out this 
diaper."

In the bathroom she flushed the toilet while holding the diaper in the 
swirling water, allowing the pungent contents to wash away.  Finally she
dropped the wet cloth into a galvanized pail to soak in Ivory Snow with
its brothers.

She laughed at the sight in her bedroom.  Jack had stepped out of his 
pants and knelt on the bed, holding the baby erect against his hip while
his fingers compared the disparate organs.  Apparently she had left them
alone long enough for turgidity.  He looked up at her.  "I guess it's 
dumb to ask if his'll ever get this big."

"It's dumb," she answered.  "But, son, you make my legs weak."

"Huh?"

"Just look at how big and thick you are already."

Jack smiled proudly, looking down at his manhood.

Little Joe wriggled off his brother into her arms.

She crooned, "Are you thirsty, sweet boy?"  Quickly she applied the baby
powder and a diaper secured with the pins stored in her blouse, adding 
rubber pants and Dr. Dentin's sleepwear.  She opened the blouse and put
her leaky nipple upon a tiny lip.  The mouth instantly latched on.

Jack, wearing only a smudged T-shirt, lay beside her, raised on his 
elbows, watching.  Her free hand crept over his belly and stroked his 
erect organ.  "You have a fine one, Jack."

"Is it as big as dad's?"

"It's getting there.  Want to know what makes me real hot?"

Jack's eyes bulged, "What, mom?"

"Tip to tip."

"What's that mean?"

"I like to suck two men at the same time while their tips touch."

"You do?"  He licked his lips.  "How did you find that out?"

She chuckled fondly.  "Such curiosity!"

He looked away.  "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Oh, I don't guess it matters now."

His eyes snapped back and he asked eagerly, "Dad and Grandpa?"

"No.  Grandpa and Uncle Ted."

"Uncle Ted!  You did them both ... together?"

"Before I met your daddy.  I was such a hot number then."

His eyes widened.  "_Then_?  But you must've been about _my_ age!"

She looked thoughtful and nodded.  "Just about.  But girls grow up 
faster than boys."

"They do?"

"Oh, yes.  I had bigger boobs then than I do now -- well, not really, 
but they stuck out farther."

"Gosh!"

"Every time I got excited, they were like sharp points in my blouse.  
Your grandpa would drop whatever --  Ouch!"  Her free hand abandoned 
Jack's organ to slap the baby's bare leg stingingly.  "That hurt!"

Sounding like a siren, Joe began to howl.  Big tears formed on his 
cheeks and his nose bubbled. 

"Oh, sweetie, Mommy's sorry, but you mustn't bite me."  She put the baby
over her shoulder and glanced at the older boy.  "When he gets enough 
now, he bites.  Guess he wants meat."

The baby quieted as she rubbed his back.  Finally he burped.

"He might be teething, Jack.  Will you find me the paregoric in the 
pantry?  It should be on the middle shelf next to the spices."

It took him a while, but he found it and unscrewed the small black top 
for her convenience.  Forcing the baby's mouth open, she applied the 
acrid liquid to his gums.  Joseph made a face.  Using his tongue, he 
worked to remove the taste from his mouth.

Jeff appeared in the doorway.  He raised an eyebrow at Jack's erect 
exposure but said only, "Guess who's a tired old man."

Sarah looked up.  "Going to bed, Dad?"

"Yeah.  What do you hear from our new hand?"

"I think he's asleep," said Jack.

Jeff said, "In case you happy children didn't notice, it's getting dark.
If you stay up you're going to need a light."

"We're all going to bed," said Sarah, winking at Jack.  She got to her 
feet and laid the baby in his crib.  His eyes fluttered closed.

"Goodnight, children," said Jeff as he turned away.  "Have fun!"

Sarah stripped off her clothing to hang over a chair.  Jack threw his 
shirt on the floor and lay back in the bed.  Enough twilight filtered 
through the windows for him to admire his mother's shapely body.

He reached for her when she came to bed but she caught his arm.  "Let me
finish what I started."

"Huh?"

"I want to clean you up."

Jack's member rose higher.  His mother's eyes became dark with desire.
She knelt to him and enjoyed inhaling the masculine scent, as her full 
lips toyed with the knob, causing her son to moan with pleasure.

"Mom, what'cha gonna do?"

"Clean you, suck you and take you to heaven and back again."

"Oh, Jesus!"

The boy's chin sagged as his mother almost swallowed him into her 
throat.  Breathing with flared nostrils, taking her time, she could feel
him swell further.  He was enormous in the front of her throat.  She 
suckled firmly and wetly.

"God, Mom, I'm coming."  For long moments he spurted into her loving 
mouth.

When his senses returned, he exclaimed, "No wonder the guys love you!  
Jesus, Mom, that was wonderful."

She rose up from him with a coy expression, "Does that make up for the 
scarf, dear?"

"Oh, Jesus, Mom, it was better than ever!"

Holding one another, they slept.

When he awoke, moonlight lay across their bodies and her fingertips were
caressing his testicles.  His dream was fresh in his mind.

"I had an idea, Mamma.  Let's both do it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you lie back and ...  Huh!  It's easier to show you."

He rotated in the bed and crouched above her, head over her groin, 
re-erected penis touching her nose.  Bending, he lapped her clitoris 
once.  "Like this!"

She laughed.  "So you really did think of it by yourself."

"Sure!  Why not?"

"'Cause you don't know its name."

"Name?"

"It's called a '69,' from the way the numbers go."

"Shit!  Somebody always beats me to it."

She slurped his manhood into her mouth instead of chiding his language.


* * *


In the morning, with the renewal of energy a good night's loving always
gave her, Sarah fed her men breakfast, more cheerful than they, and sent
them off to barn and field.  Bud did not appear; apparently he was 
sleeping late.  This irked her, reminding her of Aunt Maude's opinion 
that honest men did not lie abed after sunup.  "Ain't no short-order 
cook," she muttered.  "Now he can wait till dinner."

Her home was always clean and meals were on time.  She relented, 
thinking that Bud may not have been told that last.  Maybe his chest was
hurting.

The dirty clothes basket was filling up.  She decided to do a mid-term 
load.  Enough hot water should be left in the tank from the breakfast 
fire.  Doing laundry had become a pleasure since Tim bought a brand new
wringer washing machine in 1935, a good year for the Martins if not the
rest of the country.

On the back porch she loaded the machine with clothes, water and soap, 
and contentedly watched it churn while a few soapy droplets splashed to
the porch floor.  Before Tim's thoughtfulness she had washed clothes and
linens using tub, washboard and homemade soap in the backyard.  She was
grateful to her dead husband for so many things.

The spinning rollers wrung the water out of the clean clothes, which she
hung upon the backyard clothesline to dry.  The sun was at last high 
enough to stir up a morning breeze that cooled the sweat on her neck.  
The chickens clucked around her boots, hoping for handfuls of corn.

She was hanging the last garment, one of Jeff's tent-like shirts, when a
male voice hailed her from the porch.  "There you are!"

Of course it was Bud, standing behind the screen door, wearing more of 
Tim's clothing, not the same as he had worn yesterday for supper.

She asked, "How're you feeling, sleepyhead?"

"A little better than last night, thank you.  Chest still hurts when I 
move, but the doctor's strapping makes a big difference.  No need to ask
how _you_ feel.  God, you look great, stretching up to that 
clothesline!"

Her hand went to auburn hair to restrain a wind-blown lock.  Blushing, 
she lifted the empty tub by a side handle and returned to the back 
porch.  He held the door open for her.

"Come on in the kitchen," she suggested.  "Want some coffee?"

"I'd love a cup."

When he sat at the table, grimacing as he strove for comfort, she poured
him one, adding a dollop of molasses, and took her seat opposite.

He tasted the liquid and frowned.  "Why are you out of sugar?"

She sniffed.  "You ain't heard of the Depression?"

"But sugar's still available, isn't it?"

"Not if you're broke."

He waved at the neat room.  "How can you be broke?"

She said patiently.  "Already told you.  We couldn't sell enough of last
year's corn to make the mortgage payment.  We've got till November or we
lose the farm."

His eyes rounded.  "But ... but ...  that doesn't really happen to 
people!"

"What a thing to say!"  She chuckled sarcastically.  "Uncle Ted and Aunt
Maude had to vacate just this week.  I was coming back from saying 
good-bye when I found you."

He blinked.  "Lucky for me."

"And I'm hoping for us."

"What do you mean?"

"Jeff and Jack are planting two crops this year, corn and peanuts.  All
the talk last winter was about peanuts for the government.  With the 
help of another strong man, we might get them to market in time to make
two payments and cover the penalties."

"By 'strong man' do you mean me?"

She sighed.  "Yes, I do, Bud.  We'll need you then as much as you need 
us now."

He raised his head.  "I'll certainly help you."  His eyes sparkled.  
"This tells me how to repay you."

His words and determined expression thrilled her.  "Would you like some
breakfast?"

He blinked as if surprised.  "As a matter of fact, I'm starving."

She sprang up to the cookstove, lifted a lid and decided that enough 
embers remained to kindle a second fire.  She pushed in hunks of fat 
lighter.  Soon the fire was roaring and she was cracking eggs onto the 
clean lid, now serving as a griddle.

Watching her work, he asked, "You don't mind cooking at nine in the 
morning?"

"Not if it builds up your strength."

"I see."  He grinned.  "Such energy!  You're amazing, Miss Sarah."

She smiled in response.  "I do feel energetic.  It was a good night."

"Hmm.  You have two children, I gather."

"Jack and little Joe."

"Joe's asleep?"

"Yeah.  Jack should be through with the milking by now."  She sighed.  
"We're giving it away, you know, or pouring it out.  It's not worth the
trouble of delivering to town."

"What a waste!"

"Yeah.  But he can't stand to hear the cows suffer."  She grinned.  "No
more than me."

"I won't ask you how you mean that."  He hesitated.  "You said I'm 
wearing your husband's clothes."

"That's right."

"Are you a widow?"

She took the time to transfer his breakfast to a plate on the table and
to clean off the stove before sitting across from him, chin in hands.  
"A threshing machine broke and killed my husband three months before Joe
was born."

He shook his head.  "Sarah, I'm sorry."

"Thank you.  When I got everything straightened out, Dad came to stay 
here and help me, along with Jack.  But they can't do it all, not to pay
the mortgage."

"I'm surprised the bank would issue one."

"They did that two years before Tim died.  He was a real hard worker, my
Tim, and wanted the money to make improvements."

She took a deep breath, sighed, rose and went to a shelf, returning to 
lay a book on the table beside his plate.  "Doc Spencer said I should 
read to you, but you can read, can't you, Bud?"

He opened it with his free hand.  "Oliver Goldsmith's plays.  Good god,
_She Stoops to Conquer_!  I remember that.  The lady impersonates her 
maid to seduce the shy gentleman."

"Mama liked it."

"Did she!"  He looked in the flyleaf and found the inscription in a 
flowing, precise hand: _To Janice, who won't have Kate's trouble, 1897_.

Sarah said, "I've got a few other books."

"I'm curious.  This describes a world very different from an Illinois 
farm community."

Sarah grinned.  "Maybe that's why she liked it."

His eyes narrowed.  "Though maybe not so different, after what I saw in
the barn."

Her chin rose.  "I'm sure I don't know what you mean.  So now you 
remember this book.  What else has come back?"

He frowned.  "After learning I knew French, last night I lay awake for a
long time, going over other things.  I remembered ropes that were called
_lines_ and _sheets_.  I remembered looking at blue sky around big, 
bulging sails.  I remembered climbing masts.  I think I must have been a
crewman on a sailing ship, perhaps a yacht, maybe in French waters."

She thought about it.  "Would that explain the calluses on your hands?"

"Oh, yes!"

"And your tanned back.  But how did you get here?  In a prison suit?"

He flung up his hands with a sigh.  "I don't know, Sarah, but I'll keep
working on it...  Ouch!"

"Something hurts?"

He moved his arms experimentally, wincing.  "I'll say!  I wonder if your
good doctor is mistaken about a broken rib."

"He wanted you to stay in bed today.  And tomorrow.  Except for your 
meals and the bathroom."  She whirled away to her shelf and dropped two
more books onto the table.  "Maybe you'll like one of these."

"_Little Women_ and ...  Ah, yes: _Huckleberry Finn_.  I'll enjoy 
reading that again.  Thanks for the breakfast, Miss Sarah.  Very rich 
eggs!"  He stood up carefully.

"Eggs and butter we've got.  Can I help you walk?"

"I don't need --  Maybe I do."

She moved quickly to his side and supported one elbow while they 
shambled down the hall to the front bedroom, where she bade him wait.  
He stood at the foot of the bed while she straightened the sheets, 
upended a straight chair against the headboard and arrayed two pillows 
on the sloping back.  "This'll help you sit up to read."

"That's very thoughtful, Miss Sarah."  He lay back upon the pillows and
opened the Twain novel.

"If you need anything, just holler."

"Thank you again."  He sighed, one hand rubbing his side.  "I think I 
need to obey the doctor's orders about staying in bed."

"Please do, Bud.  Doc Spencer knows what he's doing."

He glanced up at her before lowering his eyes.  "In more ways than one,
it seems."

With a sniff she left the bedroom, but she was smiling when she reached
the kitchen.


* * *


A while before noon she appeared at the open bedroom door.  Bud looked 
up from his book inquiringly.  He had made surprising progress into it.

She asked, "How're you doing?"

He smiled.  "I'd forgot how marvelous this tale is.  Twain was so 
perceptive of human nature!"

"I'm glad you like it."

"I'm glad you had it.  Who reads it in your family?"

"Mama read some of it to me when I was little."

He grinned.  "I suppose _Little Women_ was more to your liking.  But 
tell me: if you were sitting over there and I threw something small into
your lap, how would you catch it?"

She blinked.  "How?  With my hands."

"Suppose your hands were holding your baby."

"Then I'd probably let it fall on the floor."

He looked curiously disappointed.

She continued, "Speaking of little Joe, I just fed him."  She sighed.  
"He's not as thirsty as he used to be.  Guess I'll dry up pretty soon."

He laid the open book face down on the bed.  "That would be a shame."

She hurried across the room, knelt on the bed beside him and exposed her
breasts.  Milk dripped from one nipple.  "I hope you'll help me."

His arm slipped around her and pulled the distended breast against his 
face.

"Ah-h-h!" she breathed.  "That feels good."  Her hand went behind his 
head, taking the strain off his neck.

After a while he turned his face away and grinned at her.  "I believe 
this one's empty."

She got off the bed, whirled around it, took the same position on his 
other side and presented the other nipple.  Without hesitation he 
resumed suckling.  One of her hands again supported his head.  As the 
breast emptied, her other hand snaked under the sheet and into his 
britches to stroke his erection.  That liberty encouraged him to cup the
drained breast in his own hand.

At last he turned away from the nipple and grinned up at her, licking 
his lips.  "Thank you, Miss Sarah.  Do please understand I'll be happy 
to give you this kind of help any time."

She withdrew the hand from his britches, rose off the bed and returned 
his grin.  "I sort of thought you might."  She chuckled.  "I wonder why
sucking a tit makes it hard for a man but not a boy."

"I guess because a boy doesn't make the connection."  His hand swept the
sheet down along with his britches.  The glowing pink member popped up.
"You don't suppose ..." he began suggestively.

"I know what you want."  She eyed his prize and sighed.  "But I got to 
put dinner on the table for Jeff and Jack."

He sighed too and his eyes narrowed.  "Sarah, you did it before, didn't
you?"

She looked away.  "Did what?"

"When you gave me a bath in the barn.  I woke up and saw what your 
fath-- what you and Jeff were doing.  I knew you'd just done it to me."

Her gaze returned to his.  "So what you bothering to ask for?"

"I don't really need to, do I?"

"You sorry I did it?"

He grinned.  "I'm sorry I wasn't awake.  Would you have still done it?"

She breathed deeply.  "Bud, what you need is to take it real easy for a
day or two.  Doctor's orders."

He sighed.  "All right."

"Then we'll see.  I got to go."  She paused at the door.  "You hungry?
I got enough for four."

"Not just now."  He smiled.  "You just quenched my thirst and you fed me
a big brunch."

"I've heard that word.  You know, we don't say 'lunch.'"

He nodded.  "You call it dinner.  Because it's the big meal of the day?"

"I guess."

He took a deep breath.  "Sarah, you're a very lovely woman.  I'm sure 
your mirror tells you that, but I want to emphasize it."

She blushed.  Suddenly her eyes twinkled.  "You think so?"

"Absolutely!"

"I think that's your pretty thing talking."

"My pretty --"  He grinned.  "Its eye is blind, you know."

"It's eye?"  She laughed.  "The one-eyed baldy, is it?  Why'd you let 
'em cut the skin off it?"

He grimaced.  "I didn't let them.  It must have been the style where I 
was born.  Still is.  But not for your men, I take it.  Huh!  I'm 
tempted to ask how you like the flavor of smegma."

"What's that?  --Oops, here comes Daddy on the tractor!"

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