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From: Incest Man <familyincestfamilyincest@yahoo.com>
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Subject: story: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" (bf mF mF+) Part 13B
Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2006 00:18:43 -0700
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 13B
We dropped by Martha's place, changed clothes and then
spent the rest of the afternoon on the Staten Island Ferry.
Martha showed me what she called the "expected tourist
attractions" -- the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street, City
Hall. As dusk approached we walked uptown toward Greenwich
Village, where she took me to a hairdresser for a very
expensive haircut. Gradually, Martha cheered up.
Gradually, I became more sullen. We strolled through New
York University and stopped in a couple of book emporiums
on Broadway.
"Wanna get anything?" Martha asked as I fingered a volume
in a pile of books on a table at the Strand Bookstore.
I gave a rueful little laugh and pointed at one of the
books. "An out of print copy of 'Gregory the Great'," I
said. "Brother Martin back home would give his eye teeth
for this."
"Why don't you buy it and take it back home for him?"
"I'd want it for myself. Brother Martin loaned me that
book from the school library as a special project. He said
he didn't want to waste my time in basic English, so he
gave me extra credit for writing a report on this book.
It's great. Whoever thought a biography of the first great
Pope of the Church could be so good? Wouldn't it be great
if I could-- -?" I stopped and sighed.
"If you could what, hon?"
"If...if I could absorb all this. Just stay here and go
through every one of these things. There are books and
ideas here that go back hundreds of years." I shook my
head. "I'd never be able to do it all."
"Nobody can do it all, Steven."
"But I want to."
"Nobody can, hon."
"The problem is, I wouldn't even be able to get started.
Why start with one, when there are thousands, tens of
thousand, even hundreds of thousands, of books in here? I
wouldn't finish Chapter One before I'd have to get on a
plane back to Memphis."
She smirked. "So that's what you've been thinking about.
I thought so."
I sighed again, and shoved my hands into my pockets.
"Yeah."
"Come on," she said, "Let's go find dinner."
We had dinner at a small place in Greenwich Village and
then took the bus home. I lounged on the sofa. Martha
plopped into the fluffy old easy chair beside her small
fireplace.
"What'll we do tonight? It's not even eight o'clock and I
didn't make plans for tonight because I wanted you to have
one night to call the shots. You know your way around the
city a little now, so I thought you'd like to set it up
yourself for a change."
"You plan real good, Miss Martha."
"That's not an answer. Just tell me what you want to do."
I yawned. "Oh, I dunno."
"Steven...I've been leading you around town for a week now.
In fact, I've been leading you around all your life. I
didn't bring you to New York to lead you on a leash. I
brought you here to open you up. I brought you here to
show you that the whole world isn't Memphis and you don't
always get punished for saying and doing what you want."
I smiled gratefully, and shrugged.
"Oh, c'mon. Talk to me."
"What do you want me to say?"
She sighed impatiently. "It's not what I want you to say,
it's what YOU want to say. It's what you want to do."
"I don't know what I want to do."
"You wanna just sit here and mope about going back to
Memphis? You're not in Memphis yet, Steven. You're still
in Manhattan. With me. You're here. Now. Stop going
over the past and stop worrying about the future. You see
what that sort of thing did to me this afternoon at work.
I said what I had to say about it, and then I moved on."
"Okay, well...First of all, I'm a little tired."
"Right, I'll buy that. Sounds reasonable. I am too,
actually."
I paused. She waited.
"Steven" she said quietly. "Talk to me. Wanna just talk?
A nice, restful Thursday evening, talking my head off would
be very nice. I've got you to do a lot of things, but I
still can't get you to talk. I haven't forgotten who you
are, Steven. I know you're still young and unsure. I know
that New York is intimidating, and it was for me when I
came here. But you still have feelings and ideas. I wish
I could figure them all out on my own, but I can't."
I thought for a moment.
"Well?" she said.
I sat up straight. "Come one, let's take a shower."
She laughed. "That's what you want to do, take a shower?"
I walked to her and took her hand and gave a little tug.
"Come on," I said.
We showered together. "How exciting," Martha said
sarcastically as she soaped her hands.
"This is a prelude to what's next," I said mysteriously,
swabbing my shoulders and arms.
"Hon, everything's a prelude to what's next, and this gives
me a pretty good idea what it will probably be. But do you
have to shower to talk?"
"You'll see," I said.
At the end of our shower I asked her to re-soap her hands
and make the suds thick and slippery. "Now," I said,
holding my cock, "Get me hard. Come on. Get me really
hard."
She smiled at me quizzically as she worked on my cock.
"Steven... what are you up to? This is a heck of way to
start a conversation."
"You'll see. Come on, do it."
When I was fully erect I asked Martha, "Are you wet?"
She said, "Of course I am, what do you think?"
"Okay," I said, and I rinsed the soap away quickly and then
in one smooth motion I picked her up and carried her into
the bedroom.
"Steven," she complained, "We're still wet from the
shower."
"I don't care," I said, and tumbled her onto the bed.
She looked at me wonderingly as I turned out the bedroom
light and then stretched her out on her back and opened her
legs and lay on her and looked down to aim my cock and then
slowly and deeply and yearningly entered her, sighing as I
enjoyed the sweet long slide inward. Her eyes widened and
she whispered, "Oh, my. Steven. I have to thank Fiore for
more than just my nineteen inch waist. Mmm."
I slid in and out a few times. I muttered a little
breathlessly, watching her hips adjust to my length, "I
love your nineteen inch waist. I love getting big and hard
and going into you." When I felt thoroughly lubricated and
comfortable I slid all the way in and held myself there and
embraced her closely, one arm around her waist and the
other around her neck, and hugged her and nestled my face
against her neck. I lay motionless, my cock deep and snug
and hard and wet inside her.
"Now," I said, "we can talk."
She laughed quietly, snaking her arms around me. "And I
thought you said you weren't a good conversationalist."
She kissed my cheek. "This is a very sexy way to have a
talk."
I kissed her neck. "Listen. I don't know how to tell you
what I'm thinking because I'm not thinking right now. I'm
feeling. I'm feeling how good it is to have you holding me
and to just be inside you. I'm feeling how good it is to
walk in Central Park with you and go to a deli and eat
matzo ball soup. I'm feeling how good it is to feel good
with you. I don't like to spend a lot of time talking
about how I feel. I have to do something about it. I have
to put my feelings to work. I don't want to spend a lot of
time analyzing them and talking about them, I want to do
something about them. I don't want to just look at books
and look at movies and read plays. I want to do them. I
want to make them real, I want to make them into something
I can touch and see and hear and taste. I don't want to
just look at you or think about you, I want to hold you and
lick you and fuck you. You are my feelings. When I put my
fingers around your waist I'm feeling I'm your waist, and
when I touch your skin it's because your skin is my
feelings. And when I fuck, what you feel when I'm inside
you is what I'm feeling. I was a little scared with Ronnie
last night, and with you, because what you and Ronnie were
feeling was what I was feeling. When Ronnie was sad, I was
sad. When Ronnie was afraid that I wouldn't let her have
her full pleasure, I felt it too. I didn't want to just be
friends with her, I wanted to give her pleasure, I wanted
to feel with her when she felt that release, that comfort,
that closeness. And when I saw you wanting the same
pleasure I wanted the same pleasure for you and I wanted to
feel it with you. I wanted it to be so good I'd never
forget it, and I wanted to make it so good for you, you'd
never forget it, either. I wanted it because I felt you
wanting it. I want it because that's the way you make me
feel. When you were upset this afternoon I didn't just see
it, I felt it. When you're happy I don't just see it, I
feel it. When you're almost cumming and not there yet, I
feel it, too."
I hugged her. "I don't want to just think about going back
home, I want to go back home and do something. I don't
want to look at New York and think about New York, I want
to do New York. I don't want to think about being here, I
want to be here. I don't want it later, I want it now. It
won't do me any good later. I need it now. I needed
everything yesterday and I want to do everything now. I
don't want to think. I don't like thinking. I want to
feel it and do it." I licked her ear. "I love your ear.
I love your neck." I kissed her neck. "I love your
nipples and your navel and your legs and your feet and your
cunt. When I go inside you I don't put a dick in you, I
put all of me in you. I put my body and my thoughts and my
feelings, my past and my present and my future in you.
When I cum the only thing I think and the only thing I feel
and the only thing in the whole world for me is cumming,
and there isn't anything else. And I don't want there to
be anything else."
I stopped to pull my arm from under her neck and stroke her
hair.
"Baby," she whispered. Inside her, she hugged me.
We talked for an hour. I did most of the talking, hugging
her and stroking her hair and kissing her neck, and she did
most of the listening. Now and then when I softened inside
her she would lift my face and watch me talking to her and
squeeze me inside until I was hard again. After a while I
stopped talking and we fucked for a few minutes, slowly and
lovingly, and it was one of the few times that I fucked
Martha while not watching her; I fucked gently and deeply,
nestling into her neck and listening to her breathe. When
the pleasure mounted beyond anything more than an
affectionate, friendly probing, I would stop. She would
ask a question or make a comment and I would start talking
again. Mostly, she listened and watched me and let me know
with small contractions inside her what she was feeling. I
talked about the things I yearned to do, the person I
yearned to be. She asked me to describe that person, and I
expended so much time and so many words trying to explain
it that she asked me to give her a name, someone I knew who
mirrored what I thought I wanted to be. I mentioned
Gregory Peck. She laughed out loud and said, "But, hon,
don't you see? You're describing someone else, not
yourself."
She wanted me to tell her what my plans were, precisely,
when I returned home. I told her I'd keep working. She
asked why I was so willing to sacrifice the things I really
wanted by wearing myself out with a paper route. I told
her I wanted a car, I wanted freedom to move around, I
wanted the clothes, friends, and independence others had.
She said having what others have wasn't as important as
being myself; I should be in the theatre, and I had better
opportunities for a future in college if I spent more time
in activities at Christian Brothers. I told her I didn't
want to be in high school, I wanted to be in any other
place. She was amused and somewhat awed by my willingness
to risk everything I had for everything I didn't have. She
said I should work with what was available. She told me I
was trying too hard to be everyone but myself.
"I'd like to be," I said earnestly, "like you." And she
laughed and said, "Like me?" and then she frowned and
stroked my hair and said, "Steven, I don't want you to be
like me. I want you to be you. And I don't want you to
work yourself to death the way I did. Oh, sure, you have
to work hard, but I gave up everything to get through
Memphis State in three years instead of four, and kept
weekend jobs on top of it. And you know what it got me?
It got me worn out. Not quite twenty-four years old yet,
and I'm all worn out and frustrated with work. It got me
used to not taking my time and made me want everything and
want it to be perfect. Take my word for it, you have to
stop and look around and realize that the whole world isn't
going to pay attention to you just because you're working
yourself to death."
"But you got out of Memphis," I said.
"Yes, and you'll get out, too. But it was part luck and
part hard work and part nerve. I could just as well have
been picked by another school, but it happened the way it
did. The same way we just happened. And some things,
Steven, don't happen. You can't make things happen, you
can only make yourself available. Don't count on things
happening that you can't control. Don't you remember what
you said to Ronnie, you can't make someone be good to you
if they don't want to? Oh, you seem so passive and
easygoing on the outside -- but you're very aggressive,
aren't you?"
We got out of bed for a few minutes and had a snack. Then
we embraced in bed again and Martha sucked me to an
erection and I went into her and we hugged and lay still
for a while. She asked me about Karen. I told her as much
as I could remember about the incident, though I hesitated
to go into it with any great detail. Martha said that
disappointment was the norm when it came to intimacy. "Not
everyone's a perfect partner," she said, "and some are
lousy. It all depends on who you're with. Remember what I
said about being able to fly on your own, Steven. You
don't always have someone around to show you the way or to
validate yourself. That's why you have to be you and have
what you have, not be someone else and have what someone
else has. God, I wish you'd believe in yourself. I wish
your folks would give you just a little break, a little
recognition. But they won't, Steven, not any more than Mr.
Buchanan or Evelyn would give it to me."
The pleasure of being inside her soon asserted itself. I
began talking less and moving more frequently in her for a
few minutes before we started talking again. Soon I lifted
on my arms and fucked steadily.
She whispered, "Don't keep stopping, Steven, it's feeling
good."
"Did I talk your head off?"
"You sure did. Now I want you to fuck my brains out."
I watched her as I moved and she put her arms around my
neck and looked down at me pumping in her.
"Hon, it's nice." She looked up at me and saw the pleasure
in my face. She smiled softly and churned her hips under
me, and I felt her inner muscles writhing and sucking.
When I moaned she smiled happily and whispered, "Know what
I want you to be? I want you to be you. I want you to be
fifteen and strong and full of cum. I loved watching you
with Ronnie, watching both of you discover each other and
please each other. I don't want you to get old and mean
and moody, Steven, I want you to always be new and pure.
And you're so very sensual, and so intense, and you really
know how to give pleasure. I want you to be yourself and
enjoy me, and not worry about what was or what might be.
Stay young for me. I feel so young when you fuck me like
this. It was so good, the very first time."
"Martha, you're...gonna make me cum."
"But I want you to. I want you to cum when you feel like
it. Come on, just cum. Don't cum because I do, cum just
because you want to."
She began tightening on me, smiling into my eyes, and I
stopped and fought for breath and she asked, "What's the
matter?", and I moaned, "It feels so good!"
She grinned. "It's supposed to, Steven!" She began moving
her hips gently under me, up and down, sliding her cunt on
my shaft. The suction she created was overpowering.
"Come on," she taunted. "Come on, I want you to be selfish
for a change. There's nothing wrong with it."
My head snapped back and I groaned again.
She kept up the rhythm and began seriously milking me as
she moved. "Come on," she whispered. "Come on."
"Oh!"
"I'm not your mother, hon. You won't lose me if you don't
always please me first, don't you know that? Right now, I
want you to please yourself first. Let me just give to
you, and I won't ask for anything, and you don't have to
give anything back. You're allowed to do that, you know.
I'll let you because I know you'd do the same for me."
I gasped and closed my eyes and raised high on my arms and
began pumping into her. She ceased her undulations and
held her pelvis against me and closed tightly on my cock.
"Yes," she whispered, "Oh, yes, hon. Take it. Take what
you want."
I began to stroke deeply and strongly in her, my pelvis
seeking her deep on the in stroke, relishing the tickle of
her cervix as it nipped and grabbed my tip.
"I'm other girls," she whispered hotly. "I'm everyone you
ever wanted. I'm all those others and now I'm saying yes.
I'm Josephine Louise and I'm Karen and I'm Ronnie and I'm
not saying no. And I like it, Steven. I like it and I
want it."
I burrowed more deeply into her than I had ever gone
before. And I was bigger and harder and more seeking than
ever. I fucked deliberately and deeply, and soon the grip
of her inner warmth changed and became less rhythmic and
less purposeful and became more erratic. She became
slicker and hotter, and I saw her eyes close, and her smile
vanished and she squinted and frowned in surprise and
concentration.
"God," she breathed suddenly, "you're so big."
And I whispered "Fuck" and shifted on my arms and raised on
my toes and my toes dug into the bed and then I had the
balance and the leverage that I wanted and I started
stroking, smoothly and strongly, as deep as I could go and
as far back as I could go. I became a fucking machine and
all I wanted to do was fuck. I was near cumming, but I
wouldn't let it happen yet. I clung to the hot, primal
itch that I felt on the edge of letting go and I wanted to
stay there. I forgot about how close Martha might or might
not be to cumming; I just wanted to fuck and keep on
fucking as long as I could. Her sighs and whispers were
indeed those of Josephine Louise and Ronnie and everyone
else I'd lusted after; her seductive crooning had implanted
them clearly in my mind. I forgot about Martha's body as
my universe focused exclusively onto her cunt, on her
pelvic muscles straining and quivering against mine, her
clinging inner woman, and she wasn't Martha, she was the
primeval cunt my leering, slurping beast wanted to fuck,
and my beast demanded the delicious, licking pleasure, and
vaguely I heard her amazed gasp, "God, you're hard! You're
so hard!" and then I heard her hoarse moan, and I felt her
cumming and her hot, slithery, woman cunt spasmed with it
and my cock felt it and rejoiced and grew and plunged and I
wanted to keep fucking, keep fucking like this forever. I
felt her relax a little and I fucked and pushed and my
bursting shaft sought more, more pleasure, more
lusciousness, and soon she stiffened again and I heard her
gasp "Steven!" and I wanted more and got bigger and harder
and she jerked and relaxed and then came again, and then I
grunted and felt my face smiling as my cock leapt upward
against the roof of Martha's curling, writhing nethermouth,
and my tip pulsed and the slit grinned against her womb and
the cum poured out and then gushed out and then exploded
out and somewhere in my gut my happy beast grinned and said
Yeah, yeah, and my tip twitched and the hot cum gushed and
then I heard Martha scream a high, muffled scream, and my
victorious cock slowed so that I could ruthlessly prolong
and enjoy and own and remember the long moment and she
screamed again and the satisfaction and the sweet release
washed around my dick and through me, and then the
blinding, tickling peak hit me and I ceased to exist for a
long, liquid instant, and my cock throbbed, pleased,
bloated with pleasure, purged, slick with her juiciness and
my cum, and Martha lurched under me and ended her cum with
a whimper and my whole body sighed and slowed and relaxed,
my balls aching with a pleasant emptiness, and I opened my
eyes and saw her face flushed, her eyes squinting, shut,
and her mouth gasping for air, and then I realized that her
nails had dug into my neck and it felt good, it felt
exhilarating to see her completely worn out, trembling,
limp, clutching me as if afraid, and I gave a long sigh of
pleasure and embraced her again, and cuddled her and gave
her mouth a long, firm kiss, and when it was over she
gasped loudly and her head fell against me, and I pulled my
cock out of her and watched it glisten and drip with us and
I pushed in again and enjoyed entering her once more, and
did it again and marveled at how good it was. And then she
curled into a tight ball and she was whimpering, mewing,
crying like a little girl, her knees pulled up against me,
and she nestled into me and broke into a long fit of quiet
but wrenching cries. I stroked her back softly and held
her, one hand cradling the back of her neck and pressing
her tear-wet face into me, and she cried for a little while
and then she began to relax, sniffling noisily at first.
And then she seemed to rest but was still curled up and
holding onto me and the odor of semen and warm milk was
strong in the room. The curtain rustled against the window
frame.
She whimpered, "That was so good!"
I nodded against her head.
And she breathed nervously, "Steven, that was so good it
scared me." And in her voice I did indeed hear the
childish relief one feels when a terror has passed, and she
softened against me and seemed tiny. Soon she fell asleep.
I lay awake for a long time, listening to the breeze from
the window. I remembered dimly hearing Martha scream. I
drifted toward sleep, feeling somehow changed. I didn't
know why I felt that way.
Continued...
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