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From: Incest Man <familyincest@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 3C
Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2006 14:21:10 -0700
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 3C
At the time, most of this went right past my very young
level of awareness-- -but I clearly understood that she was
troubled. I knew that I somehow had to stay with her and
believe in her and help her in some way. I wanted to bring
indescribable pleasure and comfort to her. She was making
me feel loved and tickly now, and I wanted desperately to
do the same for her. I found the folds of her skirt and
tried to gather them up, but had a hard time; my hands were
too small. She stepped back, not letting go of my cock,
and used her free hand to lift her skirt. She spread her
feet apart and looked down while I massaged her mound over
her panties.
"Ah, hon," she breathed. "You remembered just exactly how
I like you to do that."
As she had done, I slipped my hand under her waistband and
found her pubic hair and her soft folds. She was not wet
yet. But she moved one foot to open her legs more so I
could find her crease.
I whispered, "I want to make you feel good." Now I hoped I
was learning to talk to her as she talked to me. I was
beginning to comprehend the nature of my own very young
sensuality, realizing how so much of it was mirrored by
Martha Jane, and learning to try and contact those elements
within her. I was not yet very certain about any of it.
But now I had glimmerings of the giddy adrenal rush
generated by the allure of the forbidden that held us and
our secret world together. And I was beginning to
understand as well the paradoxical, inexplicable comfort we
both experienced by giving in to, rather than resisting,
our hunger. In short, I was getting older and more sexual,
and I realized more than ever how complex were the
emotional and physical needs that bound us. It was scary.
It was a lot like rushing blind across the avenue the way I
used to, traffic headed at me in all six lanes, not sure if
or how I could make it safely to the other side-- -but
knowing, from where I stood at that moment, I would not and
could not run back.
Martha Jane moved her head slightly, toward me. Her lips
touched my ear. Her mouth opened and I heard the thin
saliva break as she licked my earlobe. And then my neck.
Under one hand I felt the skin on the back of her neck move
and flex as she reached farther with her tongue and licked
behind my ear, then down, then into my neck again. Under
my other hand, she was getting wet.
She pulled her head back, smiling and looking down to watch
my hand working between her legs in the dark. She spread
her knees apart a little more. She softly hissed, "Put
your finger in me..." I found her hot opening, now growing
wetter, and slowly inserted what came to me naturally-- -my
longest finger. She urged quietly, "All the way in, hon,
deep..." Her eyes closed as she sighed a trembling,
breathy "Aaahh..."
"Like that?"
"Yes, baby."
I flexed my finger in her. I never ceased to be amazed at
the way the inner Martha Jane could suck on my fingers in
her. "Did that feel good?"
"Bend your finger again, inside...Yes...keep doing that..."
We continued for a while, but it soon became uncomfortable
standing up. She broke away and got undressed. Before
climbing into bed she removed my T-shirt and underwear and
had me sit up against a pillow that she placed against the
headboard. Then, naked in the moonlight, she lay before me
on her tummy with her head in my lap and started sucking
me. She sucked gently, wetly, slowly, immersing me in her
very hot mouth and holding me there. Then slowly she
withdrew, sucking upward, and came off me with a loud
swallow of the wetness she had re-sucked off me, and sighed
lasciviously. "You feel so good in my mouth. You fit all
the way inside."
She licked her lips and sucked me again in the same way,
gently but fully, flattening her tongue along the underside
and pressing slightly, then started bobbing her head slowly
and rhythmically. I was amazed and hypnotized. I began to
be aware of her physical beauty and the depths of the
desperate lust that lurked in both of us, there in the dim
shaft of light that fell across her naked back as she
licked and sucked.
She stopped and asked, "Do you know what I'm doing?"
I just stared at her. Of course I knew what she was doing,
though she had never done it so gluttonously. But I didn't
know what it was called.
"I'm suckin' you off. Do you like it when I say that?"
Once again, her eyes had a strange glint and her voice
sounded inordinately wicked.
"Yes," I whispered back, suddenly realizing how breathless
I was. And I was doing some hard, nervous swallowing of my
own. "You know I do. Especially the way you do it." I
was truly flabbergasted that there were so many ways to
bring pleasure to each other.
She returned to her sucking, which she continued for quite
some time, breaking to gently fist my wetted cock. The
cloying sensuality of her motions and words caused me to
make what I know to be a seriously wicked grin as I watched
her pump me. "That's good," I whispered.
She looked up. "Yeah?" She grinned back.
I grinned again too, into her eyes. "Yeah. Keep doin'
it."
"Yeah, honey."
"Ah..."
"Feel it, baby...enjoy it..."
And once again, her eyes and her words and her voice held
me mesmerized. She herself seemed hypnotized by my own
spellbound reaction. We fell into unalloyed devilishness,
as if demons within us had generated a chain reaction
neither of us could not stop. She wouldn't let up. The
lust in her eyes and her voice met mine, mine met hers, and
they fused. We were glued to it, tangled it in. I kept
hearing the nuns and the aunts and relatives warning me,
but all their screaming voices together could not drown the
tantalizing whispers of Martha Jane. And the more my eyes
lit up with pleasure, the more Martha Jane saw it and
gloated on it.
She gave a low, dirty chuckle and breathed, "You like it.
You like being like this with me." She kept looking into
my eyes, directly into them, into my cornea and through the
optic nerves and into my brain. As she wetly stroked my
twitching cock I heard only the wet slush of her hand in
the hot spit she had left on me, and her endless,
libidinous whispers. "You like it just as much as I do,
don't you, I can tell. I like it too. I like watching
your face while I make you feel good. I love your dick. I
love touching it. I love milking it, and sucking..." She
pumped and then sucked and then pumped me again. I was
feeling extremely strange and giddy and I knew she did too.
A dark wicked wave seemed to wash into the room and lick me
squarely in the scrotum under my balls, then lick upward
along my spine and settle in the back of my head. I could
see the reflection of these new and growing impulses in her
own eyes, I could hear her voice echoing my own rising
lechery. We fed it, and fed on it, helpless in the dark
and the moonlight. She fisted me loosely now, looking up
at me. Distinctly I felt and saw her own eyes catch the
glint of lust in mine, and she leered and fisted and kept
whispering. "I feel you liking it, I feel you jumpin' in
my hand. Such a beautiful, hard, sweet little cock. It
gets so big. How does it get so big from being so little?"
"I like you making it big," I managed to whisper back, but
only after fighting for the breath to say it. I took a
deep breath and gasped brazenly, "I like watching you watch
me."
Her eyes rose, surprised and please that I was joining her
in this hypnotic whirl. "I'm so glad you like this. Want
me to suck you some more?"
"Yes, it feels so good."
"I want to suck you and I want you to finger fuck me, like
last time."
Uh-oh! A new term in the ever-expanding lexicon. I was
taken by surprise. Another Martha Jane word. At that
point I somehow knew there would be an explanation
forthcoming. Contented, and learning for the first time
what the word "turn-on" would later come to mean, I let her
suck me and we continued our lurid whispers and glances.
Of course, I did not cum. This was fortunate, in a way,
since literally I didn't know what I was missing. But at
one point a pang of sensual tickling shot through the
length of my shaft, and I felt an oozing from me that mixed
with her spit and slickened it. I wondered if that meant I
was cumming.
But the feeling passed too quickly for me to stop and ask
questions about it. For Martha Jane had risen to a
half-sitting position beside me, her head against the
headboard. Her left leg lay on the mattress between us,
bent at the knee toward me so her inner thigh was spread to
expose her slit; and she bent her right knee upward,
keeping her foot on the bed, using her heel to spread her
right leg wide and exposing even more of her nakedness.
She shoved her hips forward so that I, lying beside her,
could fully see her auburn tuft and the widening,
smooth-lipped slit below. With one hand she spread the
silken hair that partly covered her, and wantonly
instructed me on how to touch her clit and how to insert my
finger and how to search far up inside her and find a magic
bundle of muscle and nerve that made her arch her hips and
sigh lustily and made her nipples swell in my mouth, and
she looked down, leering and watching me please her and
holding herself open for me, telling me this was her cunt,
and she said that when she felt really nasty as she did now
that she wanted me to call it her cunt, and as I pulled her
clit and stroked the tender place far inside her wetness,
her words and her voice and her sighs slid into a barely
audible stream of hissed obscenities.
And I remembered doing this to her before and making her
cum, but now I knew she wanted me to call it finger fucking
and that she liked the word and so did I, and she liked me
watching her on her side with one leg bent between us and
the other with one knee raised and resting spread away from
her so that she could use the leverage of that leg to raise
her cunt toward me and we could watch me finger fuck her,
and she liked watching while I did it, and her raised knee
soon fell and she dropped back into the pillows and spread
herself flat and gave herself over to the long cum that
seemed to be on its way, and for a long while she simply
lay and enjoy it and sucked on my finger in her. And
finally I gave her the smashing, paralyzing orgasm she
wanted, her head pressed far into the pillow and her neck
straining, her arms and legs stiffened against the white
sheets and her nipples jutting upward as she threw her head
back and suffered silently the sweet agony I was giving
her, taut and stiff for what seemed to me a perilously long
time. Her hips gave a slight jerk, and I expected her to
slide into her swooning relaxed state, but instead her head
snapped farther back into the pillow and her teeth showed
in the dark and she whimpered "Oh!" in sudden surprise,
and then "Ah!" and she came again, again, again as I moved
my fingers in the way I knew was just right for her, never
for a moment wanting to lose my way in giving her pleasure,
caring for her, protecting her in her utter nakedness,
striving to make it perfect and right for her. And
finally, with a great sigh and a whimper that I know could
be heard out in the dark street beyond our window, she
relaxed with a final lurch of her hips, and began breathing
in waves, then breathing regularly and deeply, and she made
the same sounds she made when she cried, but now they were
sounds of exhaustion and release.
I licked her nipple, my soaked hands now lightly massaging
her outer lips and inner thighs, and she put a hand on my
arm and cried, "so good!", and on reaching down to touch my
cock she found wetness there, a smear from inside me, and
she opened her eyes and looked at me and then looked at my
cock and reached down and kissed the tip, moaning "oh your
cum, your sweet cum!" She licked it off me and it tickled
terribly and I felt deep in my balls the oozing of another
smear, which she milked out of me with a long slow pull
upward on my dick, and she licked that off too with tender
relish, as if even the smallest beginnings of my cumming
were as precious as water to a parched throat. And then,
out of breath and with a final gasp, she literally fell
into me and hugged me and held on and went straight to
sleep.
We slept like that for a while, with her splayed over me as
if knocked unconscious. She awoke with a start and looked
at the clock. "Darn!" she whispered frantically, "they'll
be coming home!"
Quickly she dressed. As she did, she caught me smiling at
her from my pillow and she told me, "Speedy, you are
remarkable. My god, I wish I could tell someone about
this. They'd never believe me..." She looked at me as if
she were in shock. "How do you do this to me? Where did
you learn to do this?"
"Do what?" I asked, truly puzzled.
"You know what I'm talkin' about," she scolded mildly,
hopping a little to get her shoes on. She sat on the floor
and tied her laces. "You made cum in my mouth, too, didn't
you?"
"I...think so."
"Listen," she said earnestly, finishing her shoes and
getting up to bend over me. "I want you to grow up and
cum. I can't keep doing this all by myself. Do you have
any idea what you just did to me?" She gathered up the
wads of Kleenex and started straightening the place
quickly, mumbling, "I didn't even know anything like this
was possible. Where in the world did you learn how to do
it like that?"
"You taught me," I said.
She caught herself, pausing as if startled, and went back
to her hurried straightening. "I'm just talking, hon. You
go to sleep. Your Mama will be home soon."
She returned to the living room and her books. The light
in there snapped on. I rolled over and looked out the
window. I did not understand the significance of this nor
the problems it would cause later. But I had experienced
an unusually intense level of eroticism which I feared and
yet didn't fear, something apparently as new and exotic to
her as it was to me.
Continued...
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