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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 7C
Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2006 14:11:23 -0700
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 7C
We reached the top of the stairs. She stood in the middle
of the living room, looked about, and turned to me. "I'm
so tired of this," she sighed. Suddenly she squinted and
then frowned hard; her eyes closed and squeezed small
pearly tears that tumbled quickly down her cheeks. "I'm so
tired of this," she wept, and covered her face quickly with
her hands.
I went to her and held her lightly but closely. For a
minute she shook and cried as I silently stroked her hair.
Soon she calmed down.
"I'm so silly," she moaned, sniffling loudly.
"You're dead tired," I said. Firmly, I held her away from
me and looked into her reddened, wet, tired, absolutely
beautiful face. "You get right over to that sofa and
relax. I'll get the other stuff."
"Oh, independent me, look at how well I'm holding up. I'm
sorry, I guess all this just...hit me all at once."
"Go to that sofa, or I'll carry you over there and nail you
to it."
"Oh, all right..." She whimpered like a defeated little
girl and brushed the wet hair from her face and went to the
sofa. I moved to the door, and by the time I turned around
to look at her she had fallen onto her back on the sofa,
her head against an armrest and one foot dangling onto the
floor. She sniffled again.
I stood by the door and shook a warning finger at her.
"Now, don't you move until I'm finished."
Three quick trips up and down the stairs, and I finished
the job. I set the last box onto the floor and saw that
she seemed asleep with her head nestled on a cushion
against the armrest. Grabbing some paper towels from one
of the boxes, I went to her and knelt on the floor beside
her, and reached up to wipe her forehead.
Her eyes opened and she smiled wearily. "Oh, look at ME!
I feel as if I need a nurse. No, don't-- -" she took the
towel from my hands, folded it, and gently wiped the sweat
from my face. She whispered sweetly, "Thank you, hon.
You've done enough for me already. I'm sorry I organized
this so badly."
"You did fine," I said. "We moved two carloads in a little
over an hour."
"Stop being so nice to me. You've always been too nice to
me. I wonder why you didn't just blow your stack and start
yelling when I was having a stroke in the car coming over
here."
"You were tired."
"You're too nice, hon. I wasn't just tired, I was
overworked and disorganized. And just plain mad. This
must be the fifth time I've moved my stuff in a year. I
can't depend on anybody, everything I do goes wrong, I rush
into things before I know what I'm doing, I worked myself
to death for god knows what, I took on too many classes
this semester...I'm a mess."
"Just another lady genius working her way through college."
"Stop. Be a Clark Gable and slap me around a little and
bring me to my senses."
"I could never do that."
She blew her nose. "No, I guess you couldn't. I'd
probably slap you back, anyway."
"You probably would. And you're bigger than me."
"Not anymore."
"Well...you're older."
She wiped her nose. "Yeah, but you're catching up." She
crumpled the towel and pitched it on the floor and took the
fresh towel that I had in my hand. "What a big grown-up
girl *I* am, right? I can't believe I broke into tears
just because I fell on my rear end."
"Stop apologizing for being worn out."
"Listen...how the heck are we gonna get you home?"
"I don't wanna go home."
"I'll call a cab."
"That costs too much."
"I can afford it. Anyway, I owe you something for all
this."
"No! I'll take the bus."
"But you won't get home until after ten."
I shrugged. "I wanna stay here for a while."
"And do what? You've already done enough."
"It's nice here. I like it, it's a great apartment. Right
now, I just want -- " I stopped.
"You want?"
I didn't answer. I suddenly became aware of how, over the
past few months or perhaps over the past few years, I'd
become so indirect and timorous. I was thinking about that
and about how to reply to her, when she laughed bashfully
and blew her nose again.
"Hon, we can't...uh...I'm so embarrassed to admit this, I
have never admitted this to you, but...well, we can't."
"Can't what?"
"You know. It's...I'm having my period. It started
today." She suddenly hid her face with the napkin. "Oh,
god, after all we've done together, why am I so
embarrassed? Oh, I'm so messed up."
I said to her flatly, "That's not what I was thinking
about."
"What? What do you mean, then?"
"I wasn't thinking about that, that's not what I wanted."
"Oh. I'm sorry." She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Oh,
WELL! We know where Martha Jane's mind is, don't we? Oh,
brother! I'm sorry, hon. What did you want, then?"
I hesitated, only briefly, wondering why I waited and why I
could not be direct with this young woman. I started to
say, "Well..." and rose on my knees so that I looked down
at her, and stuttered, "Well, I just wanted-- -". I
stopped, looked deeply into her questioning face, and then
put my arms around her and placed my head on her chest,
just below her breasts, and hugged her.
She asked, surprised, "This is what you wanted?"
I nodded against her.
I felt her fingers at my temple, stroking my hair. "That's
all you wanted?"
I nodded. "Just for a while."
"You sweet." She stroked my hair for another moment and
then said, "Wait a minute, hon, lemme get my shoes off." I
lifted and she reached down to pull off her loafers and
said, "You too, hon." I removed my tennis shoes as she
stretched lengthwise on the sofa and reclined along and
against the backrest. She held her arms up to me. "Come
here and let's cuddle," she said.
I lay half on top of her, and she curled up closer to me
and held me with my face in her neck as stroked my back and
my hair.
She said after a while, "I think I'll like this place.
It's so nice looking out the windows at the trees. It's
the first comfortable dump I've seen since I started
school."
"I like the breeze in the leaves," I said.
"Yes."
We talked, not moving, then rested silent for a while.
Then we talked.
I did not tell her much about myself. I was uncertain
about what was happening to me or who I had become. She
talked about her mother and how her mom's health had
gradually improved after being courted and spoiled for
years by her boyfriend, Mr. Buchanan. He owned an office
supply house and did well financially and had a beautiful
home in East Memphis. Martha Jane said she didn't like the
man very much. He was nice, very generous with his time
and money and his displays of affection. And patient; he
had now spent some years waiting for Martha Jane's mom to
get over her fears of disappointment and her feelings of
inadequacy about her ill health. But Mr. Buchanan was
old-fashioned, very "Memphis" and close-minded about women.
He adored her mom, but the only virtues he could see in any
female were subservience and physical beauty. He gently
but constantly urged her successful sister Evelyn to quit
her job and find a husband. He had respect for, but meager
agreement with, Martha Jane's independence or her liberal
politics. He felt that a woman's place was in the home
rearing babies and baking turkeys. He had helped Martha
Jane in small ways financially with her schooling, but he
wanted to marry her mom and he wanted Martha Jane and
Evelyn to live in his home and not in their own apartments;
he wanted them to stay in his home until they were cured of
their career ambitions and could get themselves married and
"raise a family in the proper way."
"There is no way for me to talk to him," Martha Jane said,
still stroking my hair. "He agrees in word, and then
disagrees in action by not supporting anything I do or
believe. And if he tells me one more time how pretty I am,
I think I might get very angry and do or say something
stupid that I'll regret and that he probably doesn't
deserve. He's been very good to my mother-- -and my
mother, unfortunately, agrees with him. I wouldn't want to
mess it up for her."
We fell silent for several minutes. We listened to the
wind filter listlessly through the trees.
She said, "You haven't talked much."
I shook my head no.
"Is there anything you want to tell me?"
Again, I shook my head no.
"Hon, that light over there on the table is in my eyes.
Can you turn it off?"
I rose and turned off the only lamp in the room. I stood
there until our eyes became accustomed to the dim moonlight
and the faint glow from the light in the kitchen.
>From the sofa, she looked up at me with two small points of
light in her dark eyes. "I'm sorry I'm having my period."
I shrugged. "I wasn't even thinking about it. I just
wanted to spend an afternoon doing whatever it is you
usually do."
She grinned. "Really?"
"Really."
"Come here and lie down."
I went to the sofa expecting to lay with her as before, but
she stood up and motioned for me to lie where she had been.
"Go ahead, hon."
I lay down lengthwise and face up, my head against the end
armrest. She knelt on the floor beside me with her head
onto my chest. "It was getting a little cramped the other
way."
"I'm sorry, you should have said something."
"No, no. It was nice." She lifted her head and looked at
me. Her voice took on that strange, mesmerizing, throaty
quality that meant she had something particularly intimate
to say. "I never told you when I was having my period.
That's the first time I've admitted that to you. Or to
anyone. I don't know why it's so embarrassing. Every
other female I know just gabs and bitches about it every
time it comes around."
"That's okay."
"Are you embarrassed when I mention it?"
"Of course not."
"It's getting late."
"Yeah. Phooey."
She lifted her head off my lap and reached up to gently
part the folds covering the zipper of my jeans. She neatly
held the cloth folds open with one hand, and with two
fingers of the other hand she lifted the zipper latch.
"You'll have to be starting for home soon."
"Yeah," I whispered, my voice getting wobbly and thick. I
swallowed. "Yeah, I guess so."
Fiddling with the zipper tag, she continued: "That time a
few months ago, when we had a whole week together and your
folks were on their honeymoon...I had my period for three
days. They don't usually last very long. But that's why I
disappeared." She slowly pulled the zipper down. With two
fingers she found and parted the slit in my underwear. "I
was afraid to let you see me in that condition..."
She used the same two fingers to feel the contours of my
rapidly expanding organ and to give it a squeeze. She
deftly took hold of my tip, sending a thought-destroying
tickle through my cock and into my spine, and pulled my
flesh free of the clothing. My cock stood straight up,
twitched, and hardened more. I could feel every blood cell
in my body turn on a dime and begin a journey to and
through my loins.
"Such a nice shape, " she whispered to herself, and softly
curled her fingers around me. "The skin is so soft, but
underneath it's so hard... so warm in my hand." She
tightened her grip at my base slightly and slid her long
fingers slowly up and then enclosed my tip. A bead of
pre-cum greeted her fingers. She smiled and breathed,
"Mmm. Yes."
I swallowed again, hearing my loud gulp echo through the
room. I said, "I hadn't expected this."
"That's what makes it so exciting," she said, almost to
herself. She looked at me. "I know you weren't in the
mood, but...do you mind?"
I smiled and had to take a deep breath to get enough air
into me to be able to answer her. "You don't expect me to
make a big fuss about protecting my virtue, do you?"
She looked back at my cock and studied it, as if
contemplating where to start and how to go about it. "You
have such a nice dick," she said sweetly, and the next
thing I knew she opened her mouth wide and leaned down to
me and, her hand near my root holding me straight up, she
lowered and slowly, wetly, fully took all of me into her
mouth, shoved her tongue against the underside, and lightly
sucked me all the way to the tip, back down, and up again.
I think I heard someone gasp and I'm pretty sure it was me,
since Martha Jane's mouth was occupied at the time. My own
voice sounded far away. She lifted her mouth from me and
wet her lips and scrunched down to make herself more
comfortable, and repeated the move in the same way, once,
twice, three times, sweetly and softly sucking. By the
fourth suck I knew every ridge and curve and hollow in her
tongue. My eyes closed and I floated somewhere else in the
room and her mouth floated with me; I heard only the soft
sound of Martha Jane breathing through her nose and the
sound of my own irregular gasps and sighs and the wind in
the leaves outside. Slowly, she repeated the long
lascivious suck, her lips and mouth and tongue relaxing
their grip as she moved downward, then renewing their
molten hug as she sucked upward. And again. And again.
My balls tightened.
I gasped, "I don't...think I'll last very long."
And as soon as I spoke the hot, itchy pleasure of a strong
and remarkably easy cum obliterated all except her mouth;
her rough little tongue began making tortuous circles
around my immersed tip as her mouth pulled a long hot
squirt from me. Undaunted, she continued without pause and
another hot eruption bathed her tongue and bounced off it
toward her throat. She swallowed loudly, but she didn't
pause or waver. Her sucking strokes were shallow now, her
lips tightening on me and her tongue circling lazily, and
then I felt three warm cumshots leave me in quick
succession and she swallowed them as if they were one.
Continuing to siphon and swallow me, she worked her
maddening tongue until my pleasure-choked body jerked
slightly, once, and rose again into her, and her tongue
drew one more wildly eager spurt that bounced against the
roof of her mouth and which she gulped with affectionate
greed and a happily surprised little "Hmmm!". The rest
flowed from me in swiftly weakening trickles until her lips
and tongue could find no more. With a final gulp and a
contented sigh she removed her mouth and closed her fist on
my cock, giving it that last long tug that she liked to
give when I was finished, draining the last thick drop of
me onto her extended tongue and drinking it down. Then she
gently and briefly fisted me while I shrank. She grinned
and giggled childishly. "I couldn't help myself. Was it
good?"
Still breathless, I told her it was.
She watched my wet cock wither as she calmed it with her
strokes. She licked her lips, blushing and smiling when
she saw me watching her.
She chuckled, still stroking. "Look at me, licking my lips
like a German shepherd! You do taste good, y'know, creamy
and hot and...just slightly salty...but the part I like
best," she went on, her voice dropping to a sensuous murmur
as she watched her hand stroking me, "is how wicked I feel
when you squirt on my tongue."
It was only then that I realized how iron-rigid my body had
been, and only then that I noticed I had not been breathing
during the entire orgasm. I was still breathless. My body
relaxed with a sudden sag. I took a long deep breath.
Then her incredibly soft, smooth cheek touched mine and she
kissed me on the neck.
She whispered, "I love the way you cum." Uncontrollably I
held her to me as tightly as I could and buried by face in
her hair, and she hugged back with a playful groan.
I wanted to cry: it was not so much the mind-boggling
pleasure she had given me as it was the lovingly erotic
nature and ways of her. But I found I somehow could not
tell her so. I didn't know why.
I refused to waste her money on a taxi. I took the bus
home, luckily meeting every transfer just in time. The
lack of passengers at stops along the way speeded the trip.
It was still later than usual when I arrived home a little
after nine-thirty, but there was no argument about the late
hour. When I arrived I found the TV was not on, as it
usually was. At first it appeared no one was in the house;
I knew that my step dad would be working late at the
grocery store and that my sister was staying at her
godmother's, but it seemed my mom was gone as well.
It was not until I walked into the hallway leading to the
bedrooms that I found my mother curled up on her bed and
vomiting small amounts of blood ...
Continued...
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