Path: not-for-mail
From: Incest Man <familyincestfamilyincest@yahoo.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.hetero,alt.sex.stories.d
Subject: story: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" (bf mF mF+) Part 4D
Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2006 14:25:23 -0700
Organization: http://groups.google.com
Lines: 459
Message-ID: <1155331522.995326.172320@74g2000cwt.googlegroups.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: 86.57.167.105
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
X-Trace: posting.google.com 1155331528 22533 127.0.0.1 (11 Aug 2006 21:25:28 GMT)
X-Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2006 21:25:28 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/0.2
X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; ru; rv:1.8.0.6) Gecko/20060728 Firefox/1.5.0.6,gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe)
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: 74g2000cwt.googlegroups.com; posting-host=86.57.167.105; posting-account=iMbkYAwAAABEzvBc57qWV1UoWr6vHxuA
===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 4D
Martha Jane and my mother helped walk me into our
apartment, where they settled me on the sofa and placed a
wet rag over my face. Mom called our closest relatives, my
Grandma Rose Ricci, to hurry over in their car and get me
to nearby St. Joseph's Hospital. But Grandma Rose was too
distraught to drive and she called my Aunt Frances, who in
turn was so distraught she called my Aunt Josephine, who in
turn was also so distraught she called her niece, my cousin
Josephine Louise, whom they all knew drove like the wind at
all times.
Within 30 minutes Josephine Louise arrived in Aunt Frances'
black 1947 Dodge, the car packed to the hilt with relatives
like clowns in a circus act. They rushed into our little
apartment and shook the walls with their hysteria. Martha
Jane, stroking my forehead and cheek with the cool wet
cloth, watched calmly with me as yet another car drove up
and Grandma Rose and the Ricci's and Gagliano's got out.
Soon the place was so full, no one could walk.
"My God," Martha Jane whispered incredulously. "How many
more of them are there?"
"No one knows," I said dryly.
Amid the moaning and wailing and my Aunt Frances swooning
into a chair, her husband, my Uncle Johnny cool and sane,
brought the crowd to attention. "You all remember why
we're here," he said, gesturing toward me with his hat.
"We gonna take him to the hospital, or we gonna stand
around and faint?"
They all gaped at each other momentarily, then everyone
started issuing different instructions at once. My mother
and Josephine Louise edged their way through the panic and
calmly lifted me into Josephine Louise's arms.
"Come on, Speedy," she said, carrying me with one arm
around the back of my neck and the other under my knees.
"While they work this out, we'll go to St. Joseph's.
Follow me, Betty," she said to my still distraught mother,
and she wiggled her way through the crowd, through the
kitchen, and out to her car. My mom and Martha Jane
followed, with Uncle Johnny almost casually in the rear,
hat in hand. The last I heard from the others, they were
still screaming at each other in my living room.
At St. Joseph's I was cleaned, poked, wrapped, injected,
xray'd, gowned and wheeled up to a bed with a window
overlooking the project a few blocks away. A doctor who
looked and sounded like Joel McCrea with a Southern accent
told everyone I was a sturdy kid and no great damage was
done-- -although I would have to keep my arm in a sling for
a day or two to keep from stretching torn muscles around my
left rib cage, and I'd have a fat cheek for a while, and
I'd have to wear a thick pad on my side for a few weeks to
restrain movement there, and I was warned to not strain
myself by attacking any more trees.
I was in St. Joseph's for two days, strapped tightly in a
corset to keep my torso immobile, and continually monitored
by a nonstop parade of Italian aunts, uncles, godparents,
great-aunts and uncles, great-grandmother Nifa and her two
morbid sisters, cousins, near cousins, and a number of
people I never saw before who claimed they were related.
Nurses groaned and complained, shuffling people in and out
of the waiting room and forced to keep count of how many
people were in my room at one time. I was kissed on the
cheek by innumerable elderly aunts, most of whom appeared
grieved as if I were dead and laid out in my coffin instead
of propped up in bed.
I was obliged to "be nice" and appreciative and, as
Josephine Louise whispered to me with her luscious, red,
magnificently sexy mouth close to my ear at one point,
"Look as if you're in mortal pain, Speedy. These old
Victorians just thrive on melodrama."
Martha Jane visited me each day, but we were hardly able to
have a few words between ourselves. On the second day she
had enough time alone with me, while the others were out
getting coffee, to have a brief chat.
"I'll bet you just love all this attention," she said.
"Martha Jane, you know I feel so creepy around them. I get
the same questions: Hi, Speedy, how are you? How old are
you now, Speedy? How are you doing in school? What do you
want to be when you grow up? Did it hurt bad? Was your--
-?"
She interrupted, touching my hand. "Now, hon. You should
be grateful all these people care so much for you. Your
Grandma Rose has been so nice, they could have just sent
you straight home two days ago, but your Grandma Rose is
footing the whole bill so you could be more comfortable
here."
"But-- -"
"But nothing, Speedy. You have to admit, that was very
generous."
Guiltily, I conceded, "Well, I do like my Grandma Rose,
she's the only one I like."
"And your poor Aunt Frances and Uncle Johnny-- -"
I groaned and slapped my forehead. "No, not Aunt Frances."
"Stop that, hon, I know she's hysterical and a lifetime of
criticism every five minutes, but she means well."
"No, no, not Aunt Frances..." I groaned in mock dismay.
"Stop, it squirt," she reprimanded gently. "They all love
you, and you know it. You devil, you're just eating all
this up, it's more attention than you or anybody else gets
in a lifetime."
"Okay," I pouted.
"Don't say okay unless you mean it."
"Okay."
"I gotta go study, hon." She rose and gathered her sweater
over her shoulders. Leaning down to me, she looked back at
the door to see if anyone might be listening. She
whispered, "You get well. Hear me?"
"Okay."
"Because..." She licked my ear. "...I miss us."
I smiled, blushing. "Me too."
With a peck on the cheek she was gone. And just in time
for the return of Aunt Frances, Uncle Johnny, Grandma Rose,
Aunt Josephine, Aunt Lucille, Aunt Mary, Uncle Louie, Mom,
my sister, Aunt Catherine, my *other* Aunt Catherine, Aunt
Yiya, Aunt Theresa, Grandpa Joe, another Aunt Josephine,
Uncle Vito, Uncle Lawrence, Aunt Cecilia...
By the end of the second day I felt well enough to start
getting unbearably bored again. Whenever I shifted
restlessly my injured side ached and cramped. Except for
visits to the restroom and the coffee shop, Aunt Frances
and Uncle Johnny were a permanent fixture in the room,
Uncle Johnny sighing restlessly and winking at me now and
then, recognizing our mutual discomfort. The worst part of
the day was when Aunt Frances began cajoling my mother into
moving out of the project.
"But I want my children and I to have our privacy," my
mother objected, trying to be as nice as she could about
it. "And where would we stay? I wouldn't want to take
rent money from my relatives. I just can't live that way."
"But, Betty," my Aunt Frances pleaded. "You and Speedy
could live with *us*."
On hearing that, I raised my eyes to Heaven. Please,
Jesus. Not that.
My mother said no, it just wouldn't work. She thanked Aunt
Frances. She told her she had a good relationship with my
step dad-to-be, it looked as if they were steady now, and
perhaps they would marry in a year or two. I was grateful
for her persistence. Not only would I not be able to bear
seven days a week of Aunt Frances, but leaving the project
meant leaving Martha Jane. Aunt Frances didn't let up all
day, but Mom didn't give in and didn't even appear to be
tempted-- -for which I was deeply grateful. Maybe there
really was a God.
In a spare moment, when no one was looking, I found myself
unable to resist the urge to stick out my tongue at Aunt
Frances. I did so, mildly, about half an inch of it. And
just as I did, Aunt Frances looked at me.
I withdrew my tongue immediately, but already her big round
eyes had widened and her eyebrows rode halfway up her
forehead.
She turned to Uncle Johnny, beside her. "Johnny, did you
see what he did?"
"What'd he do, Frances?" asked Uncle Johnny, trying to
keep awake.
"He stuck his tongue out at me."
Uncle Johnny's repressed laugh started out as a smirk, then
he deftly transformed it into a wheeze, and then a mild
cough. "Forget it, Frances. The boy don't feel well."
Three or four weeks later, when Martha Jane was with me
again, my cheek had cleared but I was still wearing the
heavy restraining pad at my left side, held in place by
thick layers of gauze around my middle. Martha Jane turned
the lights out early. I had already got into bed and was
lying on my back when she turned out the last light and
walked over to the bed. In her jeans and white shirt she
lay down beside me and began taking off my clothes in the
dark. When my shirt came off she traced the bandage with
her finger.
"That's horrible what that little rat did to you."
"I can take it," I said stoically.
"Sur-r-re, you can, cowboy." she said. "You sure threw a
fit. I knew you had a temper, but...I had no idea it was
that much of a temper."
I sat up while she removed my shirt. She unbuckled my belt
and unzipped me, shoving my pants to my knees. She stood
up, pulling my pants off past my feet by its legs.
"I hope you never get so mad at me that you direct that
awful rage at me, Speedy."
"I can't hurt people," I said.
"What do you mean, you can't hurt people?"
"I can't hurt people. Only things. I can't hurt them,
even if I hate them."
"Why not, hon? You had every right to take that tough kid
and beat the-- -" She stopped herself, and continued
removing my socks. "I'm sorry. I don't mean that. You
had every right to, but you wouldn't have done it. Because
you're sweet, hon. Even though you don't like your Aunt
Frances and all those other people, you wouldn't hurt them.
You're a very brave boy. It takes courage to be sweet."
"He had me so angry," I said. "Why do people have to take
from others like that? Poor Stepper, he's so poor and he
doesn't have anything. And he can't help it if he's black.
Why does the world do that?"
"I don't know, hon. I wish I had the answer." She had
removed my socks, and now she grabbed the sides of my
underwear. "Lift," she said. I did, she pulled, and I was
naked.
She stood looking down at me in the dark. Silently she
unbuttoned her shirt, looking at me with a gently intent
gaze. All the buttons undone, she shifted her shoulders
back and the shirt seemed to simply breathe off her. Then
her bra. The moon glowed along one side of the swell of
each gently sloped breast. She unbuckled the belt at her
jeans, twisted the top button open, pulled the zipper down.
"That horrible, violent day is all over now," she
whispered. She pulled down her jeans, dropped them on the
floor, and slipped her thin panties down her long, perfect
legs. Her auburn tuft glowed like a softly lighted powder
puff in the moonlight. I was getting hard watching her.
My cock weakly stirred and straightened. A slab of
moonlight fell directly on it. It rose, slightly. Martha
Jane looked at it and bent down and slowly, one finger at a
time, she put her hand around it and held it so that only
the tip stood out above her gentle fist.
"I don't know why people have such meanness," she went on,
almost absently, watching my cock. "I don't know why they
have to hurt each other. When they could give themselves
pleasure and affection."
"I would never hurt you, Martha Jane," I whispered.
"I know you wouldn't, hon. And I hope I never hurt you."
She leaned down and licked the part of my cock that
protruded above her fingers, then lightly sucked it. "He's
so sweet."
I gulped, and my cock stirred. She felt it and grinned.
"He can almost talk," she said.
She lay down beside me near the window and our arms went
around each other. Propped on one elbow, she caressed my
chest. I lightly squeezed a nipple.
"No more meanness," she whispered. "No more hurt. No more
hate. Wouldn't it be wonderful if that could happen?"
"It happens here," I offered, "when I'm with you."
"What a beautiful thing for you to say, Speedy," she
breathed, surprised, her eyes glowing. "What a lovely
thing to say." She held my face in her hands and pressed
her cheek to mine. Her lips at my ear, she whispered, "How
can I make you feel good? We have to be careful with that
thing on you. You can't move very much."
"I don't know," I pondered. "I wanna make you feel good,
too."
"I know what," she said, and got onto her knees beside me
and bent over my chest and held her face over mine. "I
know what we can do."
"What?"
She kissed my nose. She kissed my right eyelid. She
kissed my lips. "You just wait..."
"What?" I asked again.
Her voice was a languorous, barely audible whisper, mildly
taunting, motherly, lecherous, all at once.
She began softly, "The management of this establishment is
establishing new management."
She kissed my ear.
She raised her face above mine again and touched a finger
to my lips.
"Don't talk," she whispered.
She was so quiet, I heard the "k" in the last word linger
in the air for several seconds.
She nipped at my throat, around the side of my neck to my
other ear. One of her nipples grazed one of mine. She put
her lips onto my ear.
"Don't move."
She kissed my neck, licked my neck, trailed kisses slowly
across my chest with tiny, almost unheard little puffs and
lickings. She kissed not with her lips, but with the
inside of her lips. She put her lips on my left nipple and
softly opened them, made a tiny pool of the inner lining of
her lips around my nipple, and gently sucked. My cock got
very hard. She used the tip of her tongue, only the tip,
to move down my chest until she got to the bandage. Then
she looked down.
"You're hard," she observed aloud, under her breath. "How
nice."
It was so quiet and still in the room I could feel the
moonlight on my stiffened, upright cock. My eyes were
closed. Now I knew why she swallowed so much when I did
this sort of thing to her. It was something to replace
speech, for there were no words for the pleasure she was
giving me.
Watching my cock intently, she moved as if in slow motion,
and still on her knees she stretched her neck elegantly
forward in the dim light and poised her head straight over
my erection. She opened her mouth. She lowered her head,
straight down, slowly and cautiously, hardly touching my
cock with her mouth. When her head was all the way down,
and her lips grazed my pubic fuzz, she closed her mouth
around me fully, sucked, and drew up. She did this four
times, wetly. Soon I throbbed and felt a drop of my
nascent cum being siphoned up my shaft into her mouth.
Apparently she tasted it. She came off me, licked the
inside her mouth.
Then she turned to face me, hovered over me. She lifted
one leg over me, her knee settling into the bed on my other
side.
"Careful," she whispered. "Don't let me hurt you."
"It's okay," I whispered back. It always seemed so
sacrilegious to talk aloud at such moments with her. Like
shouting in church.
Her face over mine, her knees on each side of me, her back
raised so we didn't touch below the waist, she looked down
and positioned each of her nipples over each of mine, then
pressed into me.
"Does it hurt your side if I press my titties on you like
that?"
"No." I mouthed the word, rather than speak it. I was
speechless, enchanted, amazed.
"I'm not really sure how to do this," she whispered with a
nervous little laugh. "I never did it before. Let's
see..." Closing her eyes and rising on her arms, she bit
her lower lip in deep concentration, and down below she
slowly and tentatively hunted in small movements with her
wet cunt, searching for my standing cock. Her outer lips
found my tip, circled two or three times, wetting me, then
lowered. With a long sigh she took me all the way into
her. She looked down.
"That okay?" she asked.
"That feels so good!"
"Yes, it does...verrry good."
For a while she experimented, sometimes moving up and down
on me; sometimes circling just my tip with her warm
slithery outer petals; sometimes taking me all the way and
grinding her clit against my shaft, which she seemed to
enjoy the most; sometimes taking me in only halfway and
pumping rhythmically for a while. Several times she asked
me if my side was okay, and I told her it was. She
searched and discovered patiently and ardently, often
breathing her pleasure in my ear with the most obscenely
graphic phrases she could think of. In time she became
less careful, gradually more swept up in her heightening
pleasure. Soon her wet channel became more snug around me
and then began contracting irregularly, at which point she
would stop and pant over me for a moment. Then she would
start again, growing tighter around me, her grinding more
urgent and more intuitive. As her breathing grew more
ragged, she began sighing and whimpering. Gradually she
assumed more often the position of settling tightly all the
way down, squeezing me, rotating subtly on my shaft. And
eventually she stiffened, her straightened arms quivering.
Her grinding became so intense she rocked the bed, and I
knew she would be unable to stop this time around.
She began to chant, "oh hon...oh hon...", and then she
began to sing, "oh hon...!" and finally she groaned
loudly, "Oh, yes!" and her head snapped forward and she
writhed her clit furiously against my shaft, holding her
breath, and I circled my hips in the opposite direction
against her, and she answered with a low groan, "Yes...",
and her cunt clamped on me madly for a long moment. Then
she passed her peak, her head fell back and then forward,
and she slackened, holding still, gasping deeply and loudly
and quickly, her hips and back softened and I saw her
breasts had swollen against me and were hot, a vein on one
side of her neck throbbed and I reached up and sucked it
and her hips jerked once, making the bed squeak, and her
neck was hot and salty with sweat and I stroked her hair as
if strewing balm on her agonizing pleasure, and she rested,
still sucking me inside now and then, and I felt her hot
cunt lips drain wet around the root of my shaft. Twice my
cock had felt the long moment of sweet tickling inside her
as she moved on me, twice I had felt some of me seep into
her, and I was content with both her pleasure and mine.
Continued...
Wanna more incest stories? >
http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.html