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From: Incest Man <familyincestfamilyincest@yahoo.com>
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Subject: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" Part 4A
Date: Fri, 16 Dec 2005 13:22:15 -0800
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===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 4A
I had a bad cold. It was just before Thanksgiving. Wearing a heavy
brown flannel robe, I sat up against the headboard as Martha Jane
settled near me on the bed and sat Indian style. In her hand she
had a bottle of green cough syrup, a bottle of cod liver oil, and a
bottle of ear drops.
"Okay, hon, time for dessert."
"That's not dessert," I complained.
"This is dessert for sick folks." She shimmied her hips into the
mattress to get comfy. "Now, let's see, what does this say...?"
She examined the label on the cough medicine. "One tablespoon.
Okay!" With a giddy smile she fished for the spoon in the
paraphernalia she had gathered in a large dish towel spread on the
bed. She held up the spoon. "One tablespoon!" she announced.
Seeming to enjoy every minute of it, she unscrewed the cough
medicine, held the spoon up as she poured the dark green gunk, and
carefully brought the spoon toward my face. "Oookay... a-a-all for
you, hon. C'mon. Yumyum. Yumyum."
"Yumyum Yuch!" I pouted.
"Come on now, you don't want to stay up coughing all night like you
did last night, do you?"
I frowned at the spoon.
"C'mon. It tastes good."
"I already had some of it and I know it doesn't taste good. It's
terrible, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth for hours."
"Well, Speedy, it doesn't taste good because it's medicine.
Medicine isn't supposed to taste good."
"Why don't they make it in the first place so it *does* taste good?"
"'Cause if it tasted good in the first place, you'd drink it all the
time. You'd live on it, and then it would make you sick."
"If it's medicine, why would it make me sick?"
"Listen, stop bein' so logical. Here. Yumyum. C'mon."
I opened my mouth and she tilted the spoon into it. I swallowed and
grimaced.
"There, I knew you'd like it."
"Yech."
"Now where's the cod liver oil..."
"Yecch!" I growled, as disgustingly as I possibly could, stretching
my mouth into a horrific grimace that went from ear to ear. I held
the pose as if frozen into it.
"Oh, stop. It can't taste that bad. Here..." She carefully
squeezed an eyedropper of amber oil into a spoon, and then squeezed
the juice from half an orange into it. As she did this I sat
rigidly against the headboard as if long petrified, my face still
frozen in the same gruesome pose.
"Speedy, stop making that ugly face. Now, here...here's your cod
liver oil. Come on, stop makin' that face and swallow this."
I looked her straight in the eye, with the same face.
"Speedy, that is the ugliest thing I ever saw. Stop, so we can get
this over with."
I let my face relax, sighed heavily, and opened my mouth. The
orange juice didn't do much to hide the bitter, fishy taste that
clung to the inside of my mouth. "Yah!"
"That's a good boy, that's two outta three. Now let's get this off
the bed so you can lie down and I can fix those ears." She placed
the dish towel of goods on the side table and sat up on her knees on
the bed, holding the bottle of ear drops. "Lie down on your side.
C'mon, you've had earaches before, you know what to do. At least
your ears can't taste this."
"They can too," I insisted.
"Lie down the other way first, hon, facing away from me. That's
right. Now, here..." She bent over me and placed the tip of the
filled eyedropper into the opening of my ear. The sudden contact of
the cold glass tip made me jerk and quiver involuntarily.
"Oh!" She jumped and pulled her hand away. "Oh, Speedy, did I hurt
your ear?"
I shook my head no. "It itches!"
"Oh my god, don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack. I
thought I hurt you!"
I coiled up into a ball and feigned a low, pitiful groan, then
another.
"Oh, behave. You're not funny. Be still."
I relaxed on my side and then cringed as the cold thin fluid filled
my ear with a small roaring noise. "It itches. Eeew, it's so
itchy."
"It'll settle in and be okay," she said, stuffing a piece of wadded
cotton in my ear. "Now turn over so I can do the other one ..Turn
over."
I lay still.
"Speedy, turn over so I can do the other one."
I sat up and pretended I was in a breathless daze. "What? Did you
say somethin'? I can't hear. Where am I?"
Holding the ear medicine in one hand and the eyedropper in the
other, she started to laugh, resisted it, and closed her eyes
patiently. "Speedy, please...you'll make me laugh and spill this
stuff all over the bed. Now...please...stop."
I groaned, "Okay," and laboriously rose to turn over on my other
side. Already weak, I feigned an even greater weakness, moving
slowly and spasmodically, writhing at every turn as if in pain.
"Oh...Uh...Mr. Holmes...uh... call Dr. Watson right away... it's
the deadly, poisoned ear drops...cgh, cgh."
"Speedy, if you make me spill this..." She started to laugh again,
and held it back with clenched teeth. "Stop, or I'm gonna spank
your butt 'till it falls off on the floor."
On my side facing her, I lay still.
On her knees, she shuffled closer to me. "Honestly, I never in my
life saw anybody go through such agony...Now here, this is the last
one."
Once more, the cool fluid rushed into me and leaked over my eardrum.
I shivered again with the same itch in my ear as before, and Martha
Jane sealed my ear with cotton. Then she sat back and sighed,
drooping.
"I am exhausted from this! You're worse than a room full of sick
puppies."
I smiled like a Seraphim.
"Don't you smile at me like that, you little devil." She leaned
closer to me and half-whispered, scowling. "Hon, you have to get
well. We can't fuck while you're sick like this, you're too weak.
So there."
She rose from the bed and brought the bottles and table-cloth into
the kitchen. While I heard her running water and cleaning I made
myself comfortable in the bed, lay on my side, and pulled the covers
up to my neck. I shivered as the 'flu coursed through me, but soon
the blanket warmed me and I relaxed.
Martha Jane turned off the lights, except for one small lamp in the
living room. Then she came into the bedroom and turned out the
ceiling lamp using the switch on the wall by the door, and reached
under the bedside lamp to turn off the last light in the room. We
were dimly lit by the glow from the small living room lamp.
Martha Jane hiked up the legs of her jeans to make herself more
comfortable in bed, and quietly lay down beside me. She put her
palm on my head briefly. "You still have a little fever," she
whispered. She fiddled with the blankets and straightened my
pillow. She felt me tremble. "You still have chills, hon?"
Lying on my side, I nodded slowly.
"Well, don't you worry, they'll go away soon." She stretched and
pulled blankets about, soothing out the twists and tangles that were
made while we struggled earlier with the medications. "You just
stay nice and warm and...take your medicine the way you're supposed
to, and...before you know it...you'll be well and gettin' right back
into trouble, good as new." She rested on her elbow beside me.
"You ready to go to sleep?"
I nodded. At that moment another chill went through me. I clasped
my arms closer to fight it off.
"Want me to keep you warm?" she asked.
I nodded.
She moved closer to me and put one arm around my head to slightly
lift and cradle me onto her bosom. "There we are," she said, and as
soon as I was settled against her she unbuttoned her shirt and
pulled it open loosely. Then she pulled her bra up, baring her
breasts, and wiggled down so that her left nipple grazed my cheek.
I reached up and kissed the brownish pink bud. "There...," she
whispered. "Sleep, hon."
The shivers made a brief pass through me as I fell asleep against
her softness.
...A week or so later I was standing in Martha Jane's kitchen as her
mother, a thin lady who looked much older than my own and who
resembled her darker brunette daughter more than her fair, auburn
hair Martha Jane, carefully handed me a large tablespoon filled with
dark green syrup. Her mother always spoke slowly and with a slight
rasp, having never completely overcome the lung problems that she
developed from the long and severe illness following her husband's
death in the war.
"There," she told me, "now go in the bedroom and give that to Martha
Jane. And be certain she takes every drop of it."
"Yes, ma'am," I said. Holding the filled tablespoon face-high
before me, I walked carefully through their living room and into
Martha Jane's bedroom. She sat up in bed, a pink wool blanket up to
her waist, the place littered with used Kleenex and her schoolbooks.
Her eyes and nose were swollen and red. In one hand she held a
thoroughly used tissue.
I grinned maniacally at the door and chanted, "Yumyum."
She winced. "Don't yumyum me, you-- -Is it already time for that
awful stuff again?"
"Yumyum."
She called into the kitchen, "Mother, I thought I already took this
stuff!"
"It's three times a day, Martha Jane," her mother called back.
"Oh my," she moaned. I had climbed onto the bed and, on my knees,
moved closer to her with one hand holding the spoon and the other
cupped guardedly beneath it.
"You were right," she said, sniffing. "That stuff really does taste
awful. And you can taste it for a week!"
"Yumyum," I said, moving the spoon closer.
"Oh," she whimpered, wincing again. "Do I have to?"
I nodded. "It hurts me more than it hurts you."
"Right," she muttered, eyeing the spoon with mild terror. "Oh...all
right." She opened her mouth and I dipped the spoon inside.
Mugging and wincing, she took it all, swallowed, and slithered her
tongue around thickly. "Oh, that is so disgusting! This is
supposed to be the atomic age. Can't modern science do better than
this?"
Her mother came into the room and retrieved the spoon. She stood
beside the bed shaking her head.
"Look at this," her mother said, indicating Martha Jane's books and
papers all over the bed. "Look, she won't even stop when she's sick
as a dog. I don't know what to do with her, Speedy. She was awake
half the night studying, and if she wasn't studying she was coughing
*and* studying."
"I have to graduate," she muttered petulantly. "On time!"
"But, Martha Jane, you can't learn very well if you don't sleep.
You need rest, dear."
"Yes, mother, I know. I know, and you're right." She sighed and
played nervously with the Kleenex, which she brought back to her
nose, and blew into it. "I hate people staring at me when I'm sick.
I'm so ugly."
"Alright, I'll go back in the kitchen. Speedy, you visit a while
and try to talk some sense into her."
Her mother left and I started to settle on the edge of the bed, but
Martha Jane said, "Don't get too close," holding up a hand. She
sneezed suddenly, and held out her palm, indicating the box of
Kleenex near my knees. I gave it to her and she plucked a new
tissue. "I hate this."
"I'm sorry," I said, and sat on the bed anyway. I leaned forward to
kiss her.
"No," she whispered. "You'll get this same cold again." She held
the Kleenex to her nose and sniffled. "Well, alright, a little one.
Right here-- -" she indicated her forehead. As she held the Kleenex
over her nose I leaned forward and gave her a noisy kiss. "Thank
you, Speedy. I'm sorry, hon, you're really sweet. Don't pay any
attention to me. I'm sick!"
"Is this gonna keep you from school?" I asked.
"No, no, it'll just slow me down. I'll have to work like the devil
to keep up. I already worked myself to death, getting in school a
year ahead of my age to begin with. I hope it doesn't hurt my
grades." She settled against the pillow behind her and gazed out
the window. "I have to make those grades. I have to get out of
here. I have to get out of the "Lauderdale Courts U.S. Government
Housing Project"."
Though I wanted her to get well, the thought that she might soon
leave the project was disturbing. Fortunately for her, the
Christmas break would soon be underway and she would not miss many
of her classes. And I knew she still had the winter and spring to
go before graduating. But by this time it was something she
mentioned with more frequency than I found comfortable.
Falteringly I tried to think of the questions that would give me
more information about what might happen in the near future. "Would
you move out as soon as you graduate high school?" I asked.
"Oh no, hon, I still have college to go. You can't get a decent job
with just high school, at least a girl can't. Not in good ole
Memphis, Tennessee. My poor sister got her diploma and she hardly
earns peanuts. She was hoping she'd make more, and she wanted to
rent a place for all of us. But she can barely support herself, and
she gives mother money to keep us goin'." She sighed again
longingly and shook her head. "Why can't she marry some filthy rich
man who shows up here in that driveway with sacks of money...? Oh,
well, Evelyn wouldn't do that. She wouldn't marry just for money."
"Would you?" I asked, half smiling, half not.
"No," she said directly and firmly. She blew her nose. "But I
wouldn't complain if some was included."
I had no idea what to do about her completing high school, going to
college, and leaving. But I knew she was unhappy where she was.
Heedless of the fact that the forces of time and economic necessity
and all the rest of it were far beyond my control, I was determined
during the following weeks to please her so well that she might have
second thoughts about never seeing me again. Within a few days she
recovered from her cold and used the Christmas break to work
feverishly on catching up with her studies. Trying to make myself
indispensable, I checked with her daily during the holidays to see
if she needed anything. If she needed note paper I volunteered and
ran to the drug store to get it. I trailed along with her to the
library and looked up several of her books.
The weekend after Christmas, Mom had a date and Martha Jane sat with
me, but I spent the entire night waiting on her, fixing dinner and
washing the dishes, bathing and cleaning up while she studied. I
even prepared the bed myself so that by nine o'clock she came into
the bedroom to check on me and found everything in place.
"Well!" she said, sliding into bed and hovering over me with a warm
smile. "You didn't even need me here tonight, did you? You did
everything all by yourself."
"You were busy," I said.
"Yes, I was. And so were you. And I'm glad you let me study, hon,
I needed it. And don't think I didn't notice. Now, is there
anything I can do for you?"
I didn't answer. But I could see a sultry look in her eyes. More
than likely, in the pause that followed while we searched each
other's eyes, she saw something similar in my own.
She whispered softly, "I'm all sweaty. I have to clean up a little.
You wait right here and don't go anywhere."
She rose, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. I heard the
bath water running for about five minutes, and later she opened the
door, turned out the bathroom light, and came into the room wearing
her wrinkly old bathrobe that she had worn for years. The apartment
was, like all the others, not very warm in winter. Her robe didn't
fit that well any more, seeming a little short, more like a short
sarong than an ankle-length garment. And it was too tight around
the shoulders, so that even when she held it closed in front the
lapels ventured outward, revealing the soft glimmering swell of her
breasts.
She had just started to slide into bed when I got up and scooted
down, off the foot of the bed and onto the floor. "Wait a moment,
madam," I said, rather elegantly and formally. "The, uh, services
of this establishment go beyond cooking dinner and making beds."
"Oh, really?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.
"It includes turning out the lights," I said, walking around the bed
and shutting off the bedside lamp. In the dark I continued, "And
many other services to insure that you rest peacefully during your
stay with us." I removed my underwear.
She asked primly, "And do the services include the manager of the
establishment making himself nekkid?"
I answered, "Yes, madam. They also include the management making
the guest nekkid, too."
"Oh my," she whispered. "I'm shocked. And pleased."
I reached for her hand with mine, and pulled slightly so that she
rose from the bed and stood before me. I noted that we were just
about the same height now. She was only slightly taller. In a
single motion, but gently, I pulled off her robe and dropped it to
the floor. It was, I think, the first time I had undressed her
myself. I whispered, "All madam has to do now is lie down."
"And then what happens?" she whispered back.
"Management...manages."
"I can't wait."
She moved into the bed, going near the other side to give me room,
and I followed. I stayed on my knees, watching for a moment as she
lay flat on her back, stretching to get comfortable. Her hands were
behind her head, her slim body stretched out in the moonlight. She
spread her thighs slightly, just enough to show me in the dark that
she had begun to moisten and open. I hovered over her, surprised at
how, more and more, I should be so deeply affected by the sight of
her. Then I settled on my elbows close to her.
She started to put one arm around me, but I whispered, "No. Don't
move."
She lay silently and waited. I began to softly, slowly, and wetly
kiss her, starting with her nose, her face, her neck. "You don't
have to do anything," I whispered. It took me about fifteen minutes
to move my lips from her neck to her toes, and up her thighs again.
By then she was trembling and sighing. Whenever she tried to help,
I would tell her to lie still. One time she asked me, "Don't you
want me to do anything for you?" I answered simply, "You are."
>From that point on she gave herself to my mouth and hands.
Finally I lay between her thighs, my mouth nipping at the sensitive
skin along the tendons and muscles there. She gave a series of
small gasps as she felt my lips licking toward her cunt. Watching
her from below, I shortened each lick as I moved upward, closer. I
have no idea how these techniques ever got into my young head. I
simply learned from her responses. I could see the tension in her
tightened fists as I neared her center. I knew that when she held
her breath she would be completely ready for the touch of my mouth
directly on her. Soon this happened. She lay tense and breathless,
her thighs and tummy stiffened expectantly. I removed my lips from
her completely for only a second or two, then lowered my tongue to
nestle directly and lightly on her clit. She exhaled and whimpered,
and her hips swiveled once. I removed my lips again for another
brief pause, then curled my mouth into her slit, took her clit in my
lips, and gently sucked. Surprising even me, she whimpered
helplessly, and started cumming immediately. This was sooner than I
had planned, but I was not one to interrupt. Still sucking, I
arched my tongue rhythmically and slowly along her nub. She
stiffened, and her hips rose slightly off the bed. Her head rolled
languidly to one side. She uttered a strange sound that I can
describe only as the sound of a beautiful young woman cumming deep
and hard, and I could feel her tummy and taut thighs quiver around
me through most of it. Soon her hips fell back to the bed and she
let out a long, breathy "Oh! God!". I continued my gentle suck,
waiting for the subtle sensations that told me her hot clit had
stopped swelling, and soon her thighs jerked once and I knew she was
returning to earth.
I moved away from her as she regained her breath and I licked her
cunt petals lightly, smelling the cum and the remains of the
bathroom soap on her, nipping at her thighs again, and rose to lie
fully on top of her. For a moment I kissed her neck and her
nipples. Then, rising on my elbows, I aimed my cock by sight and
slowly and fully entered her.
"Oh hon," she gushed, though she still could hardly breathe. "God,
that feels so good!" I didn't move. I could feel her clasp me
inside, once for several seconds, then two or three contractions
around my shaft that waned in strength.
I rose on my elbows. Slowly, the new young animal in me rising
gradually and fully until I found myself unexpectedly breathing
through clenched teeth, I looked down at where we were so
deliciously joined, and wordlessly and with a deliberate and
unchanging rhythm, I fucked her until she came again. I said
nothing until she gave a final quake and went entirely rigid, and as
she lay suspended and frozen in pleasure I moved my lips near her
face and breathed "Cum...cum..." again and again, wavering only
when I felt that odd tickle in my cock sliding inside her, and the
soft writhing of fledgling tubes in my lower gut that I could not
resist told me with a startling jolt of pleasure that a drop of me
was oozing into her.
By the time she relaxed we were both overcome. Neither of us could
move. Eyes closed, she lay stroking the back of my neck. Finally
she whispered. "You are such a wonderful fuck." To which I could
only mutter into her bosom, "I had help."
With her cheek resting on my head I felt her face form a wide smile.
Without seeing her, I could envision her teeth gleaming in the dark.
"Flatterer," she purred, sounding sinfully pleased.
Continued...
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