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From: Incest Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" Part 4D
Date: Fri, 16 Dec 2005 13:24:23 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.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 sex stories? >
http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.html