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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 4A
Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2006 14:23:09 -0700
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 4A
I had a bad cold. It was just before Thanksgiving.
Wearing a heavy brown flannel robe, I sat up against the
headboard as Martha Jane settled near me on the bed and sat
Indian style. In her hand she had a bottle of green cough
syrup, a bottle of cod liver oil, and a bottle of ear
drops.
"Okay, hon, time for dessert."
"That's not dessert," I complained.
"This is dessert for sick folks." She shimmied her hips
into the mattress to get comfy. "Now, let's see, what does
this say...?" She examined the label on the cough
medicine. "One tablespoon. Okay!" With a giddy smile she
fished for the spoon in the paraphernalia she had gathered
in a large dish towel spread on the bed. She held up the
spoon. "One tablespoon!" she announced. Seeming to enjoy
every minute of it, she unscrewed the cough medicine, held
the spoon up as she poured the dark green gunk, and
carefully brought the spoon toward my face. "Oookay...
a-a-all for you, hon. C'mon. Yumyum. Yumyum."
"Yumyum Yuch!" I pouted.
"Come on now, you don't want to stay up coughing all night
like you did last night, do you?"
I frowned at the spoon.
"C'mon. It tastes good."
"I already had some of it and I know it doesn't taste good.
It's terrible, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth for
hours."
"Well, Speedy, it doesn't taste good because it's medicine.
Medicine isn't supposed to taste good."
"Why don't they make it in the first place so it *does*
taste good?"
"'Cause if it tasted good in the first place, you'd drink
it all the time. You'd live on it, and then it would make
you sick."
"If it's medicine, why would it make me sick?"
"Listen, stop bein' so logical. Here. Yumyum. C'mon."
I opened my mouth and she tilted the spoon into it. I
swallowed and grimaced.
"There, I knew you'd like it."
"Yech."
"Now where's the cod liver oil..."
"Yecch!" I growled, as disgustingly as I possibly could,
stretching my mouth into a horrific grimace that went from
ear to ear. I held the pose as if frozen into it.
"Oh, stop. It can't taste that bad. Here..." She
carefully squeezed an eyedropper of amber oil into a spoon,
and then squeezed the juice from half an orange into it.
As she did this I sat rigidly against the headboard as if
long petrified, my face still frozen in the same gruesome
pose.
"Speedy, stop making that ugly face. Now, here...here's
your cod liver oil. Come on, stop makin' that face and
swallow this."
I looked her straight in the eye, with the same face.
"Speedy, that is the ugliest thing I ever saw. Stop, so we
can get this over with."
I let my face relax, sighed heavily, and opened my mouth.
The orange juice didn't do much to hide the bitter, fishy
taste that clung to the inside of my mouth. "Yah!"
"That's a good boy, that's two outta three. Now let's get
this off the bed so you can lie down and I can fix those
ears." She placed the dish towel of goods on the side
table and sat up on her knees on the bed, holding the
bottle of ear drops. "Lie down on your side. C'mon,
you've had earaches before, you know what to do. At least
your ears can't taste this."
"They can too," I insisted.
"Lie down the other way first, hon, facing away from me.
That's right. Now, here..." She bent over me and placed
the tip of the filled eyedropper into the opening of my
ear. The sudden contact of the cold glass tip made me jerk
and quiver involuntarily.
"Oh!" She jumped and pulled her hand away. "Oh, Speedy,
did I hurt your ear?"
I shook my head no. "It itches!"
"Oh my god, don't do that! You almost gave me a heart
attack. I thought I hurt you!"
I coiled up into a ball and feigned a low, pitiful groan,
then another.
"Oh, behave. You're not funny. Be still."
I relaxed on my side and then cringed as the cold thin
fluid filled my ear with a small roaring noise. "It
itches. Eeew, it's so itchy."
"It'll settle in and be okay," she said, stuffing a piece
of wadded cotton in my ear. "Now turn over so I can do the
other one ..Turn over."
I lay still.
"Speedy, turn over so I can do the other one."
I sat up and pretended I was in a breathless daze. "What?
Did you say somethin'? I can't hear. Where am I?"
Holding the ear medicine in one hand and the eyedropper in
the other, she started to laugh, resisted it, and closed
her eyes patiently. "Speedy, please...you'll make me laugh
and spill this stuff all over the bed.
Now...please...stop."
I groaned, "Okay," and laboriously rose to turn over on my
other side. Already weak, I feigned an even greater
weakness, moving slowly and spasmodically, writhing at
every turn as if in pain. "Oh...Uh...Mr. Holmes...uh...
call Dr. Watson right away... it's the deadly, poisoned
ear drops...cgh, cgh."
"Speedy, if you make me spill this..." She started to
laugh again, and held it back with clenched teeth. "Stop,
or I'm gonna spank your butt 'till it falls off on the
floor."
On my side facing her, I lay still.
On her knees, she shuffled closer to me. "Honestly, I
never in my life saw anybody go through such agony...Now
here, this is the last one."
Once more, the cool fluid rushed into me and leaked over my
eardrum. I shivered again with the same itch in my ear as
before, and Martha Jane sealed my ear with cotton. Then
she sat back and sighed, drooping.
"I am exhausted from this! You're worse than a room full
of sick puppies."
I smiled like a Seraphim.
"Don't you smile at me like that, you little devil." She
leaned closer to me and half-whispered, scowling. "Hon,
you have to get well. We can't fuck while you're sick like
this, you're too weak. So there."
She rose from the bed and brought the bottles and
table-cloth into the kitchen. While I heard her running
water and cleaning I made myself comfortable in the bed,
lay on my side, and pulled the covers up to my neck. I
shivered as the 'flu coursed through me, but soon the
blanket warmed me and I relaxed.
Martha Jane turned off the lights, except for one small
lamp in the living room. Then she came into the bedroom
and turned out the ceiling lamp using the switch on the
wall by the door, and reached under the bedside lamp to
turn off the last light in the room. We were dimly lit by
the glow from the small living room lamp.
Martha Jane hiked up the legs of her jeans to make herself
more comfortable in bed, and quietly lay down beside me.
She put her palm on my head briefly. "You still have a
little fever," she whispered. She fiddled with the
blankets and straightened my pillow. She felt me tremble.
"You still have chills, hon?"
Lying on my side, I nodded slowly.
"Well, don't you worry, they'll go away soon." She
stretched and pulled blankets about, soothing out the
twists and tangles that were made while we struggled
earlier with the medications. "You just stay nice and warm
and...take your medicine the way you're supposed to,
and...before you know it...you'll be well and gettin' right
back into trouble, good as new." She rested on her elbow
beside me. "You ready to go to sleep?"
I nodded. At that moment another chill went through me. I
clasped my arms closer to fight it off.
"Want me to keep you warm?" she asked.
I nodded.
She moved closer to me and put one arm around my head to
slightly lift and cradle me onto her bosom. "There we
are," she said, and as soon as I was settled against her
she unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open loosely. Then
she pulled her bra up, baring her breasts, and wiggled down
so that her left nipple grazed my cheek. I reached up and
kissed the brownish pink bud. "There...," she whispered.
"Sleep, hon."
The shivers made a brief pass through me as I fell asleep
against her softness.
...A week or so later I was standing in Martha Jane's
kitchen as her mother, a thin lady who looked much older
than my own and who resembled her darker brunette daughter
more than her fair, auburn hair Martha Jane, carefully
handed me a large tablespoon filled with dark green syrup.
Her mother always spoke slowly and with a slight rasp,
having never completely overcome the lung problems that she
developed from the long and severe illness following her
husband's death in the war.
"There," she told me, "now go in the bedroom and give that
to Martha Jane. And be certain she takes every drop of
it."
"Yes, ma'am," I said. Holding the filled tablespoon
face-high before me, I walked carefully through their
living room and into Martha Jane's bedroom. She sat up in
bed, a pink wool blanket up to her waist, the place
littered with used Kleenex and her schoolbooks. Her eyes
and nose were swollen and red. In one hand she held a
thoroughly used tissue.
I grinned maniacally at the door and chanted, "Yumyum."
She winced. "Don't yumyum me, you-- -Is it already time
for that awful stuff again?"
"Yumyum."
She called into the kitchen, "Mother, I thought I already
took this stuff!"
"It's three times a day, Martha Jane," her mother called
back.
"Oh my," she moaned. I had climbed onto the bed and, on my
knees, moved closer to her with one hand holding the spoon
and the other cupped guardedly beneath it.
"You were right," she said, sniffing. "That stuff really
does taste awful. And you can taste it for a week!"
"Yumyum," I said, moving the spoon closer.
"Oh," she whimpered, wincing again. "Do I have to?"
I nodded. "It hurts me more than it hurts you."
"Right," she muttered, eyeing the spoon with mild terror.
"Oh...all right." She opened her mouth and I dipped the
spoon inside. Mugging and wincing, she took it all,
swallowed, and slithered her tongue around thickly. "Oh,
that is so disgusting! This is supposed to be the atomic
age. Can't modern science do better than this?"
Her mother came into the room and retrieved the spoon. She
stood beside the bed shaking her head.
"Look at this," her mother said, indicating Martha Jane's
books and papers all over the bed. "Look, she won't even
stop when she's sick as a dog. I don't know what to do
with her, Speedy. She was awake half the night studying,
and if she wasn't studying she was coughing *and*
studying."
"I have to graduate," she muttered petulantly. "On time!"
"But, Martha Jane, you can't learn very well if you don't
sleep. You need rest, dear."
"Yes, mother, I know. I know, and you're right." She
sighed and played nervously with the Kleenex, which she
brought back to her nose, and blew into it. "I hate people
staring at me when I'm sick. I'm so ugly."
"Alright, I'll go back in the kitchen. Speedy, you visit a
while and try to talk some sense into her."
Her mother left and I started to settle on the edge of the
bed, but Martha Jane said, "Don't get too close," holding
up a hand. She sneezed suddenly, and held out her palm,
indicating the box of Kleenex near my knees. I gave it to
her and she plucked a new tissue. "I hate this."
"I'm sorry," I said, and sat on the bed anyway. I leaned
forward to kiss her.
"No," she whispered. "You'll get this same cold again."
She held the Kleenex to her nose and sniffled. "Well,
alright, a little one. Right here-- -" she indicated her
forehead. As she held the Kleenex over her nose I leaned
forward and gave her a noisy kiss. "Thank you, Speedy.
I'm sorry, hon, you're really sweet. Don't pay any
attention to me. I'm sick!"
"Is this gonna keep you from school?" I asked.
"No, no, it'll just slow me down. I'll have to work like
the devil to keep up. I already worked myself to death,
getting in school a year ahead of my age to begin with. I
hope it doesn't hurt my grades." She settled against the
pillow behind her and gazed out the window. "I have to
make those grades. I have to get out of here. I have to
get out of the "Lauderdale Courts U.S. Government Housing
Project"."
Though I wanted her to get well, the thought that she might
soon leave the project was disturbing. Fortunately for
her, the Christmas break would soon be underway and she
would not miss many of her classes. And I knew she still
had the winter and spring to go before graduating. But by
this time it was something she mentioned with more
frequency than I found comfortable.
Falteringly I tried to think of the questions that would
give me more information about what might happen in the
near future. "Would you move out as soon as you graduate
high school?" I asked.
"Oh no, hon, I still have college to go. You can't get a
decent job with just high school, at least a girl can't.
Not in good ole Memphis, Tennessee. My poor sister got her
diploma and she hardly earns peanuts. She was hoping she'd
make more, and she wanted to rent a place for all of us.
But she can barely support herself, and she gives mother
money to keep us goin'." She sighed again longingly and
shook her head. "Why can't she marry some filthy rich man
who shows up here in that driveway with sacks of money...?
Oh, well, Evelyn wouldn't do that. She wouldn't marry just
for money."
"Would you?" I asked, half smiling, half not.
"No," she said directly and firmly. She blew her nose.
"But I wouldn't complain if some was included."
I had no idea what to do about her completing high school,
going to college, and leaving. But I knew she was unhappy
where she was. Heedless of the fact that the forces of
time and economic necessity and all the rest of it were far
beyond my control, I was determined during the following
weeks to please her so well that she might have second
thoughts about never seeing me again. Within a few days
she recovered from her cold and used the Christmas break to
work feverishly on catching up with her studies. Trying to
make myself indispensable, I checked with her daily during
the holidays to see if she needed anything. If she needed
note paper I volunteered and ran to the drug store to get
it. I trailed along with her to the library and looked up
several of her books.
The weekend after Christmas, Mom had a date and Martha Jane
sat with me, but I spent the entire night waiting on her,
fixing dinner and washing the dishes, bathing and cleaning
up while she studied. I even prepared the bed myself so
that by nine o'clock she came into the bedroom to check on
me and found everything in place.
"Well!" she said, sliding into bed and hovering over me
with a warm smile. "You didn't even need me here tonight,
did you? You did everything all by yourself."
"You were busy," I said.
"Yes, I was. And so were you. And I'm glad you let me
study, hon, I needed it. And don't think I didn't notice.
Now, is there anything I can do for you?"
I didn't answer. But I could see a sultry look in her
eyes. More than likely, in the pause that followed while
we searched each other's eyes, she saw something similar in
my own.
She whispered softly, "I'm all sweaty. I have to clean up
a little. You wait right here and don't go anywhere."
She rose, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. I
heard the bath water running for about five minutes, and
later she opened the door, turned out the bathroom light,
and came into the room wearing her wrinkly old bathrobe
that she had worn for years. The apartment was, like all
the others, not very warm in winter. Her robe didn't fit
that well any more, seeming a little short, more like a
short sarong than an ankle-length garment. And it was too
tight around the shoulders, so that even when she held it
closed in front the lapels ventured outward, revealing the
soft glimmering swell of her breasts.
She had just started to slide into bed when I got up and
scooted down, off the foot of the bed and onto the floor.
"Wait a moment, madam," I said, rather elegantly and
formally. "The, uh, services of this establishment go
beyond cooking dinner and making beds."
"Oh, really?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.
"It includes turning out the lights," I said, walking
around the bed and shutting off the bedside lamp. In the
dark I continued, "And many other services to insure that
you rest peacefully during your stay with us." I removed
my underwear.
She asked primly, "And do the services include the manager
of the establishment making himself nekkid?"
I answered, "Yes, madam. They also include the management
making the guest nekkid, too."
"Oh my," she whispered. "I'm shocked. And pleased."
I reached for her hand with mine, and pulled slightly so
that she rose from the bed and stood before me. I noted
that we were just about the same height now. She was only
slightly taller. In a single motion, but gently, I pulled
off her robe and dropped it to the floor. It was, I think,
the first time I had undressed her myself. I whispered,
"All madam has to do now is lie down."
"And then what happens?" she whispered back.
"Management...manages."
"I can't wait."
She moved into the bed, going near the other side to give
me room, and I followed. I stayed on my knees, watching
for a moment as she lay flat on her back, stretching to get
comfortable. Her hands were behind her head, her slim body
stretched out in the moonlight. She spread her thighs
slightly, just enough to show me in the dark that she had
begun to moisten and open. I hovered over her, surprised
at how, more and more, I should be so deeply affected by
the sight of her. Then I settled on my elbows close to
her.
She started to put one arm around me, but I whispered, "No.
Don't move."
She lay silently and waited. I began to softly, slowly,
and wetly kiss her, starting with her nose, her face, her
neck. "You don't have to do anything," I whispered. It
took me about fifteen minutes to move my lips from her neck
to her toes, and up her thighs again. By then she was
trembling and sighing. Whenever she tried to help, I would
tell her to lie still. One time she asked me, "Don't you
want me to do anything for you?" I answered simply, "You
are." From that point on she gave herself to my mouth and
hands.
Finally I lay between her thighs, my mouth nipping at the
sensitive skin along the tendons and muscles there. She
gave a series of small gasps as she felt my lips licking
toward her cunt. Watching her from below, I shortened each
lick as I moved upward, closer. I have no idea how these
techniques ever got into my young head. I simply learned
from her responses. I could see the tension in her
tightened fists as I neared her center. I knew that when
she held her breath she would be completely ready for the
touch of my mouth directly on her. Soon this happened.
She lay tense and breathless, her thighs and tummy
stiffened expectantly. I removed my lips from her
completely for only a second or two, then lowered my tongue
to nestle directly and lightly on her clit. She exhaled
and whimpered, and her hips swiveled once. I removed my
lips again for another brief pause, then curled my mouth
into her slit, took her clit in my lips, and gently sucked.
Surprising even me, she whimpered helplessly, and started
cumming immediately. This was sooner than I had planned,
but I was not one to interrupt. Still sucking, I arched my
tongue rhythmically and slowly along her nub. She
stiffened, and her hips rose slightly off the bed. Her
head rolled languidly to one side. She uttered a strange
sound that I can describe only as the sound of a beautiful
young woman cumming deep and hard, and I could feel her
tummy and taut thighs quiver around me through most of it.
Soon her hips fell back to the bed and she let out a long,
breathy "Oh! God!". I continued my gentle suck, waiting
for the subtle sensations that told me her hot clit had
stopped swelling, and soon her thighs jerked once and I
knew she was returning to earth.
I moved away from her as she regained her breath and I
licked her cunt petals lightly, smelling the cum and the
remains of the bathroom soap on her, nipping at her thighs
again, and rose to lie fully on top of her. For a moment I
kissed her neck and her nipples. Then, rising on my
elbows, I aimed my cock by sight and slowly and fully
entered her.
"Oh hon," she gushed, though she still could hardly
breathe. "God, that feels so good!" I didn't move. I
could feel her clasp me inside, once for several seconds,
then two or three contractions around my shaft that waned
in strength.
I rose on my elbows. Slowly, the new young animal in me
rising gradually and fully until I found myself
unexpectedly breathing through clenched teeth, I looked
down at where we were so deliciously joined, and wordlessly
and with a deliberate and unchanging rhythm, I fucked her
until she came again. I said nothing until she gave a
final quake and went entirely rigid, and as she lay
suspended and frozen in pleasure I moved my lips near her
face and breathed "Cum...cum..." again and again, wavering
only when I felt that odd tickle in my cock sliding inside
her, and the soft writhing of fledgling tubes in my lower
gut that I could not resist told me with a startling jolt
of pleasure that a drop of me was oozing into her.
By the time she relaxed we were both overcome. Neither of
us could move. Eyes closed, she lay stroking the back of
my neck. Finally she whispered. "You are such a wonderful
fuck." To which I could only mutter into her bosom, "I had
help."
With her cheek resting on my head I felt her face form a
wide smile. Without seeing her, I could envision her teeth
gleaming in the dark.
"Flatterer," she purred, sounding sinfully pleased.
Continued...
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