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From: Incest Man <incestman@graffiti.net>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.hetero,alt.sex.stories.d
Subject: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" Part 7C
Date: Sat, 17 Dec 2005 02:29:23 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.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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