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From: Incest Man <incestman@graffiti.net>
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 11A
Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2006 00:07:25 -0700
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 11A
I sat dumbfounded while viewing my first foreign-language
film -- so amazed, that at first I didn't feel Martha nudge
me with her elbow in the dark theater until she did so
insistently. I turned to her. She smiled and wiggled her
fingers near my face. Understanding, I held her hand in
mine. She smiled again, playfully, and hugged our clasped
hands against her thigh over her skirt. She rubbed my arm
cozily, and turned back to the movie.
I had never seen such a film. The movie was "Bicycle
Thief," which had been released years earlier. The lilting
rhythm of the original, unedited Italian dialogue rolling
off the actors' lips, the newness of their attitudes and
the earthy acting style -- all of it had me, as had
happened so many times since I arrived in New York, sitting
with my eyes bulging and my mouth open.
When we left the cinema I was dazed. Everything I knew
about acting and theater production and movie-making had
been expanded beyond my expectations. I sat wordlessly at
our late dinner in a Village beatnik coffee shop.
Martha asked, "Is anything wrong? You look lost."
I explained with difficulty, "My brain is working
overtime."
And it was. So many impressions were striking me at once
that I was soon exhausted trying to sort them out and keep
track of everything. We took a long walk all the way
uptown to her apartment, during which I had to inspect
every store window and peer around corners to see what was
there. It seemed every inch of Third Avenue presented
something new and exotic. Martha was pleased that I was so
enchanted.
"It's a little intimidating," I mused aloud as we strolled
with Martha hugging my arm.
"It doesn't really frighten you, does it?"
"It's a lot like being in the middle of something that has
no beginning and no end. And that movie -- now I have to
learn about the theater all over again. From scratch. All
of this... it just keeps going, doesn't it? It never
stops."
"Oh, it stops. At around 4 A.M., for an hour or so."
In her apartment as we prepared for bed, Martha told me
about the schedule for tomorrow. I had Fiore at ten, and
Ronnie would meet me at noon where she worked at 33rd and
Madison. She would take me to the eyeglass dealer and help
me choose a set of frames. Then I was free, until Martha
returned at around five. Martha would wake at six and be
ready to go to a meeting at Columbia by seven.
"I dread these things," she said, slipping out of her
skirt. "So political, so artificial. Everything is
numbers, bureaucrats, committees. For such educated
people, there seems to be no one person who can do or
decide anything alone."
I watched her. She removed her bra, her panties. She
stood naked, her flesh glowing in the lamplight. She
reached into a drawer for her pajamas -- blue ones this
time -- and started unfolding them.
My balls ached. I was accustomed to her making the first
move or giving the first signals. Holding back, I felt
myself tremble. I looked down at my shaking hands. How
long, I asked, would I continue to be so unsure of a woman
who so obviously desired me? Or was it just the vitamins
and Fiore's workout? Or was this really me, my new
sexuality more demanding that it was back in Memphis?
Almost always, sex with Martha was prefaced by moments of
relaxed conversation and sweet touching. That, I told
myself, was the emotional warm-up. What I felt now was
spurred not by emotion; it was almost entirely physical.
Standing in my underwear, I looked at her nakedness as she
talked about the meeting and unbuttoned her neatly packed
pajama top. She was luscious. Her breasts jiggled lightly
as her hands worked at the buttons. She stood with one leg
on the floor and the on the bed, as she rambled on. She
had the pajama shirt unbuttoned and would soon have it on,
covering her pink-tipped breasts.
I stopped thinking. I walked to the bedside lamp and
turned it off. She stopped talking and looked up at me. I
stared daringly into her wondering face as I approached
her. I dipped my head, licked a breast, found her nipple
with my tongue, and sucked.
I heard her murmur "Hmm. Hon." Her fingers held the
breast to my mouth and I suckled gently. I raised my head
and placed my lips into the warm hollow of her throat. She
sighed pleasurably as I kissed and licked my way up her
long throat. I looked at her. She was smiling at me, her
eyes narrowed and warm and sultry.
"Your mouth feels good on me," she said.
I held her by her shoulders and gently laid her on the bed.
She lay with her legs spread, smiling at me languidly from
the dark as I removed my underwear. She saw that I was
already stiff. I walked to the end of the bed, my dick
wobbling, and knelt on the mattress. She grinned and
pulled her knees up and opened her thighs and waited. I
moved forward, and placed my head directly into her crotch,
gently spreading her cunt with my hands, and gave her a
long, slow, wet lick along her slit, from bottom to top.
"Yes," she breathed softly, "Oh, hon, yes."
Perhaps it was the lecherous hunger in my mouth and
movements that heated her so quickly. Holding her furrow
open with the spread fingers of both my hands, I saw her
nub was swollen and ready. I held her open, her clit
totally bared and defenseless. She looked down at me as I
dipped my tongue. I licked, circling slowly. She uttered
"Ah!", and gritted her teeth and watched my eyes watching
hers. Then her eyes closed, her neck tensed, her raised
knees fell aside and opened her smoothly tendoned thighs
under my shoulders. I circled my tongue again, not
directly on her clit, but around the firm rim of her cunt
lips. After a moment I gently sucked her clit.
She caught her breath. ""Ah. Nice."
I settled my mouth into her mound. Yearningly I started
sucking her clit the way she might suck my longer cock,
using my lips as a warm cone sliding up and down her
stiffening length. Her thighs stiffened, the tendons
throbbed. She gave a soft, surprised "Oh!" Her head fell
back and she gasped irregularly, her hips arching.
Unrelenting, I sucked and stroked with my wet inner lips in
a steady rhythm, feeling the smooth swell of her furrowed
mound against my face, feeling her thighs flutter and her
hips flex. Soon I heard her moan achingly toward the
ceiling, "It's so good. Oh, it's so GOOD!". It did not
take long for her to signal that she was near cumming. Her
entire body quivered for a few seconds, then her thighs
widened even more and she began a slow, sensuous writhing
of her hips.
I stopped, with her close and gasping and writhing. I rose
over her, my erection swaying, my tip glistening in the
dark. I knelt over her with my knees astride her head. I
grasped the headboard as I raised my hips and dangled my
cock over her mouth.
She looked up, surprised. Her eyes narrowed wickedly.
"Yeah," she whispered. She reached behind her head and
bunched the pillow so that her head leaned forward
comfortably. She smiled into my eyes as she gathered spit
in her mouth and then extended her tongue to slowly and
completely wet me with long, lingering licks.
I grinned down at her. I heard myself whisper lecherously,
"Yeah. Mmm. Suck it. Suck."
With a single movement of her head forward, her mouth
enclosed me, wetly, hotly, immersing me entirely with warm
spit and clinging flesh. I grunted and sighed at the
poignant, itching pleasure as she drew her mouth back and
along my entire length with a long slurp. Then she mouthed
my tip gently with the soft inside of her lips. My cock
jerked against her mouth.
"Hmm," she breathed. She leered mischievously at me,
whispering, "I love this."
"Suck," I whispered. "Suck my dick."
Her eyes widened lustfully at my words, and she enclosed me
again, nodding with slow, regular, spitty, lingering sucks.
Her mouth moved only an inch or two, her lips riding loose
and slick up and down my cock, the pressure of her tongue
on the underside creating most of the tantalizing sucking
effect.
I sighed hotly, grinning down at her, thinking that what
Martha did when she sucked was not really sucking; it was
mouth-fucking, pure and simple. Martha, I thought, knew
how to make her mouth feel almost exactly like a warm,
affectionate, perpetually moving cunt. Her skill had not
diminished with time; soon my cock began its mad twitching
against the roof of her mouth and I felt the beginnings of
my climax ooze into the tubes under my cock. I gently
pulled away, her mouth loosing me with a little slurp.
My eyes on hers, I watched as I slithered down,
straightening my legs and settling onto her. The surprise
on her face softened when she saw me rise on my arms and
angle my cock toward her opening. She continued to gasp,
her breath broken and her eyes staring helplessly, pleading
to be filled, telling me she was still near orgasm. My
cock touched her firm, drippy outer lips. Her thighs fell
open again, and her pelvis lifted to me, her cunt lips
welcoming, kissing, grasping, encircling my tip. I moved
forward. And her eyes glistened and I exhaled with the
pleasure of my slide into her, the familiar slickness of
her welcoming channel, the clinging, loving comfort of the
gripping flesh of her that my cock had known so well
before. My shaft lurched upward, saying hello to her
secret place, and she clinched me in return. And I began
to slide in her, luxuriate in her, with long and deep and
slow and powerful and steady strokes, my butt tightening in
the warm hair and my belly grazing hers.
"Fuck," she whispered happily, her eyes glistening.
"Fuck."
I watched her panting. I felt her spasm wetly around me.
I tightened my tummy and moved upward on her slightly,
brushing her seeking and swollen clit on every glide in and
out of her, and her eyes flared with pleasure.
I whispered as I moved, "Are you close?"
She nodded, quickly, her eyes shifting and her breath
shuddering.
I said, "Look at me. Cum in my eyes. I want to see your
eyes while you cum."
Her eyes widened again, excitedly. Unsmiling and seemingly
entranced, she parted her lips and tried to speak, but
couldn't. She gulped thickly, and started panting. Her
eyes melted into a longing, helpless stare. Her nails
clamped into my shoulders, her taut arms quivered.
Balancing on my right hand and still moving inside her, I
swooped my left arm under her, around her trim waist, and
held the small of her back in my spread palm. I felt the
muscles in her hips lurching under my skin. I whispered
"cum" to her, encouraging, helping, and whispered "cum"
again, watching her eyes, watching her mouth part and her
eyes glaze and watching her lips mouth the word yes and
watching her gasp and mouth yes again and then feeling her
stiffen, suddenly, taut as a wire, her pelvis grinding her
firm clit against my shaft, and then her sudden, moaning,
low-pitched, frenzied "Yes!" and she was cumming, her cunt
fiercely clamping, her neck straining, her face nodding and
pitching forward in small spasms as she stared at me and
came, and I held her cheek with my hand and smiled into her
face and crooned as her father might, "Yes. Yes," and her
face and feverish eyes froze with pleasure and after a
moment while she was cumming her throat uttered that
strange, animalistic sound she sometimes made, something
between a groan and the whimper of a helpless infant, and I
held her face tenderly and slowed my fucking to make it
last for her, and she shuddered, stiffened, shuddered, and
finally her face fell forward and her arms enclosed me and
she hugged me to her and opened her mouth against my
shoulder and seemed to scream quietly against my flesh
there, and she relaxed, and whimpered, and gasped for
breath, and then fell back with a sigh, her eyes tearing
and her mouth moving with the word Steven, and her face
soft and loving as her fingers held my cheeks, and she
whispered plaintively, "Cum in me. Cum inside me," and I
raised on my arms and looked down at her body stretched and
spread under me and began lancing into her strongly again,
steadily, deeply, and trembling with long-held lust I felt
again the new pleasure of the nub of her womb nip at my tip
deep inside her, and she tightened her cunt on me
imploringly and soon I felt the blessed release and gasped
and shook with it, seeing below me what I had always
suspected, that as my glistening shaft pumped into her
auburn tuft her tummy did indeed move, but subtly, her hips
rotating in a slow tiny circle so that her slithering cunt
could wring cum from me, asking ruthlessly for it all, and
I slowed and groaned and kept twitching upward against the
roof of her cunt and gushing hotly, hearing the faint slosh
of me in her, and hearing her sweet "mmm" and her softly
hissed "Yes" as she raised her head to watch me fuck into
her, and with my last, slowing strokes she sighed a long,
quiet, contented "aahh," and I stopped, and collapsed on
her, feeling her neck hot against my face, and she hugged
me warmly and cuddled into me, and reached down between us
for me to raise my belly so she could give my cock a tug as
she liked to do, and then she hugged me again, my breath
hot and damp against her neck, and her hips writhing
happily as my twitches waned inside her. She raised her
legs around me, her body now enclosing me completely in her
heat and damp flesh and the scent of warm milk that came
from her.
She was still catching her breath. Against my ear, she
gave a low, pleased chuckle. "Lord, do you know how to
fuck."
I panted, my aching balls empty.
After a few moments I whispered, "Don't you have to go to
the bathroom?"
She sighed wearily. "Not really. It's not the right time
of the month."
"Maybe you should be sure."
"I'd love to sleep with your cum in me."
"Mother nature would love it too."
"Mm...Okay. But hold me a little longer. Wait 'til you're
asleep."
At the window, the warm summer night sent a breeze that
made the curtains whisper sleepily. For a few minutes, I
thought, New York was stilled. My mind whispered silently:
Stay. Stay here. Keep holding her. Hold this moment.
Unaccustomed to sleeping for more than five or six hours, I
awoke on Monday a little before six. Beside me, I saw that
Martha had changed into her blue pajamas while I slept. I
touched my lips to her cheek, and got out of bed and
dressed and made coffee. I had been sitting in the dining
room only a couple of minutes before I heard the same soft
knock at the door that I'd heard the day before. Going to
the door, I cleared my throat loudly, as before.
"Steven?" Ronnie called softly from the other side.
I opened the door, removing my glasses first. Ronnie
waited in the same pajamas and bathrobe as yesterday.
"Steven," she said. As before, she made the same begging
gesture and sheepish grin. "Sugar?"
"Sure," I said, extending my arm into the room. She
tiptoed into the kitchen. I sat waiting at the dining
table until she tiptoed out again, holding a coffee cup
half-filled with sugar. I opened the front door for her.
She glanced at the sofa, which of course was made up and
intact as before. "What a fireball," she whispered,
slithering into the hall.
I closed the door and turned to hear Martha rustling in the
bedroom. In a few seconds she appeared in the living room
doorway as she had yesterday when Ronnie borrowed coffee.
Martha slumped in her pajamas and scratched her side. Her
face was half-covered with the same fuzzy tousle.
"Ronnie again?" she slurred.
I nodded. "Right. She ran out of sugar."
"God...she's so disorganized."
She stumbled into the bathroom. I read the Sunday New York
Times that I had not finished the day before. After a
minute I heard Martha dropping things in the bathroom
again. In a few seconds she emerged, carrying an armful of
cosmetics and drifting toward the kitchen. She stopped in
the kitchen door and sniffed, testing the air. She turned
to me, her eyes still half-closed behind the hair in her
face.
"You made coffee again?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, looking up from my newspapers.
She paused, seeming to fall asleep for a second or two,
then drifted toward me and dropped the cosmetics on the
table and shoved the table away from me with her hips, and
then settled with a plop onto my lap and buried her face in
my shoulder. She kissed my neck. She nestled into my
shoulder for a minute, her breathing still noisy and
sleepy.
She pulled her head away and looked at me, eyes hooded.
"Kiss me," she murmured, a little drunk with sleep.
We kissed, warmly.
She pulled away. Still sleepy, she gazed without
expression at my mouth. She shifted on my lap, closer to
me, her arms around my neck.
"Kiss me again," she murmured.
I did, for a long sweet minute.
She pulled away. She paused. She made a sound that was
something like a little whimper of frustration.
"Kiss me again," she murmured.
I did, more longingly this time, giving her lips a little
lick while we were still connected.
Pulling away, she experimentally ran her tongue around her
lips. "Mm. New sensation." She looked at me, her
half-closed eyes hidden behind her hair. Mostly, I saw
nose, lips, and chin. "You never did it that way before."
"I didn't?"
She shook her head no. She leaned down. "Kiss me again,"
she murmured.
I did. This time she gently invaded my mouth with her
tongue, which wrestled wetly with mine for a few seconds.
When she pulled away she rested her forehead against mine.
"Do you know what you did to me last night?" she
whispered.
"I have a vague recollection," I said.
"Try to remember. I want you to do it again when I get
home this afternoon."
"I'll consult my notes."
"Okay." She rubbed her nose listlessly. "Remember," she
said, "Fiore at ten. Ronnie at twelve. Then rest. Then
me."
"Okay."
"You were very good last night."
"Mm. Thank you, Miss Scarlett."
"We're seeing West Side Story tonight, don't forget."
"Will we have time for that, and for you when you get
home?"
She said, "Mm-hm," and then tilted her face again, her
mouth parting. "Kiss me again," she murmured.
I did.
Finally she pulled away, patted my shoulders, and rose.
Gathering her cosmetics, she sighed, "What a delicious
mouth," and she drifted toward the kitchen, again she
stripped quickly, affording me another view of her perfect,
lithe body from the rear, and stepped into the shower.
I thought, my groin aching from the past three days: Fiore,
I thought, help me with this.
Continued...
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