
Message-ID: <51119asstr$1115449802@assm.asstr.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} rp "For Effort" {Uther} (MF rom wl) [1/1] <*>
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Date: Sat, 07 May 2005 03:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

===================


If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to 
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else.

This material is Copyright, 1997, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading and 
keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as 
this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous permission.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.

                           #  #  #  #

                           For Effort
                       by Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net


Jeanette Brennan felt Bob ease her robe off while they kissed.  
Understanding why she was in a bad mood, he was being especially 
gentle and cherishing.  She just didn't think that it would be 
enough tonight.  When she was naked, Bob broke the kiss for a 
scattering of kisses over her forehead.  She got into bed while 
he lit the candle and turned off the light. 

After he was beside her, he gathered her into his arms and rolled 
so that she was mostly on top.  He simply held her for a while 
before kissing all over her face.  She felt comforted, if not 
aroused.  "Oh, Bob," she said. 

"The world will look brighter tomorrow night," he said.  It could 
hardly look worse.  "Just stay like this." 

She rolled against his erection where it was pressed between 
them.  "Junior disagrees." 

"Ignore him.  I am."  They lay like that for ten minutes while 
she unwound.  She moved off and lay beside him. 

"Tell me a story," she asked him. 

"Have I ever told you how the Versailles treaty led to twin 
beds?" 

"No.  Because you made that up just now." 

"Once upon a time, in a galaxy which is -- on average -- very far 
away, there was a movie industry which was much less censored 
than contemporary book publishers were.  Hollywood was producing 
movies showing orgies on the screen.  You could go down to the 
Bijou and see a man holding a woman like this ..."  He slid his 
hand up her body to her right breast.  "or kissing her like 
this ..."  He pushed the sheet off her left breast to allow his 
lips access.  She felt the tiniest response as he licked and 
sucked her nipple.  "or even holding her like this."  His hand 
clasped her vulva, kneading her delta but not parting her lips. 

She smiled.  Bob was transparent.  "You didn't illustrate your 
lecture on the Saxe-Coburgs," she pointed out. 

"Some lectures are easier to illustrate than others.  Anyway, 
along came the Depression.  It's possible that this was God's 
judgment on lazy fair economics...." 

"Laissez faire," she said.  He was working so hard that it would 
be unfair to ignore such bait. 

"The French may have had an economics policy like you said, but 
America definitely had a policy of lazy fair.  Anyway.  It is 
possible that the Great Depression was God's judgment on lazy 
fair economics, and likely that it was due to the conditions 
imposed on Germany at Versailles; but people then didn't think 
so. 

"They thought that it was God's judgment on them for watching 
pictures of men kissing women like this ... "  This time he 
reached over to her right breast and licked until her response 
was apparent.  "or holding them like this ... "  His hand, which 
had never left her delta, now squeezed her lips in a gentle, but 
persistent, rhythm.  "So the mood switched quite suddenly.  
Hollywood opened the Hayes Office, a sort of private censorship 
organization to avoid government censorship.  They made lots of 
rules. 

"They allowed actors to kiss like this ..."  He stretched until 
he could kiss her open-mouthed.  After the first tongue touches, 
he licked the inside of her lips.  It was a long time until he 
continued.  "... But certainly not like this."  She was trying to 
silence her giggles; but silence is one thing, and hiding chest 
motions from eyes a few inches from your nipple is another. 

"I do love you, Bob." 

"And I love you."  She could tell he did.  When he finally caught 
up with the bobbing nipple, his lips, tongue, and hand worked 
their old magic.  "I love you," he said again as he moved from 
one breast to the other.  She was vaguely conscious of the truth 
that time, as well.  His love supported her as concretely as the 
mattress did.  But she was mostly conscious of her own body by 
that time.  The matching sensations from her breast and her 
center met and mingled and spread over her whole body.  She was 
warm, and tingly, and then tense.  As her arousal overtook her, 
she felt the need to be filled. 

"Now, Bob, please."  He took her hand and placed it on Junior, 
which had softened somewhat.  She held him as he climbed between 
her legs, and he was hard when she placed him where she needed 
him.  She marveled once again at the special softness of the skin 
over that hardness.  Then he was sliding in, not easily and so 
slowly.  When she was filled, she looked into Bob's face in the 
candlelight.  If he hadn't given so many other indications, she 
would never have guessed from his expression that he enjoyed sex.  
He looked quizzical and a little grim, as if this were a puzzle 
to be solved. 

He shifted so that one hand could reach her breast before he 
began to move.  These motions were arousing although very slow.  
Recovering from the lull in her sensations due to the change in 
position, she tensed again.  Just short of her climax, she met 
his motions and tried to speed them.  Instead, Bob slowed even 
more.  Excruciatingly slowly, he entered her, filled her, slid 
against her as he eased out, and paused just inside her entrance.  
She pulled at his buttocks to speed him, but he kept up the same 
teasing, torturing, pace that held her just at the peak of her 
arousal.  Then she plunged over. 

Twisting, shuddering, she felt the culmination take her.  Now Bob 
sped up.  His weight was on her, restricting her writhing.  
Pistoned within her by his driving hips, his rod fed her climax 
as it sought his.  She clawed at those hips to pull him further 
in her.  "Oh Jeanette!" he said.  Then she felt him crush against 
her center with redoubled force.  "Oh. Jeh. Net!"  Impaled, she 
felt him throb and spurt within her.  She heard him grunt 
somewhere far above her.  Then she felt and heard nothing. 

Then she felt his weight on her like a gasping blanket.  At her 
push, he struggled off to the side, taking the sheet in which he 
was entangled with him.  Enough later that she was feeling cold, 
they straightened themselves out.  They dabbed up the worst of 
the mess and moved over to avoid the rest.  After he snuffed the 
candle, she cuddled back against him. 

"You never did get to twin beds," she reminded him. 

"Didn't want to," he said, tightening his hug.  "This is too much 
fun."  And then he was asleep.  Even cocooned in his arms, it 
took her a while to follow. 

                              - = - 

"You'll be all right?"  Bob asked before he left for church. 

"I'll survive," Jeanette answered.  "I always have.  Go!  It 
would be worse if you heard it."  After the door closed behind 
him, Jeanette poured herself another cup of coffee, started the 
chickpeas cooking and dithered some more.  The phone call wasn't 
going to get easier, though, and Jeanette liked to think of 
herself as someone who faced her problems.  She dialed. 

"Hello," she heard on the other end. 

"Hello Mommy," she said.  "Happy Mother's Day." 

"I knew it was you.  Greg doesn't even call." 

"You're quite welcome.  Are you and Daddy having a nice spring?  
It's just getting warm up here." 

"Did you call for a weather report?" 

Jeanette bit her tongue to keep from saying that she got frequent 
updates from her mother-in-law.  "No," she said.  "I called to 
ask how you are.  The weather is only important if it affects 
you." 

"Well, of course it affects me.  You know how I get when it gets 
all muggy." 

Jeanette managed to find some reasonably non-controversial 
subjects.  Then her mother took the bit in her teeth.  "You 
aren't expecting are you?" 

"No mother.  I'm not pregnant."  After nearly a year of trying 
she wasn't pregnant, but she hadn't let her mother hear her cry 
since she was 16.  She damn well wasn't going to break her record 
now. 

"Well, I know young people today are selfish about that.  I'm not 
getting any younger, you know.  I want a grandchild in my arms 
before it's too late.  You two are enjoying yourselves without 
any responsibilities, but you aren't the only ones in the world.  
I know that's the style these days, but I tried to raise you to 
think of others. 

"You did, Mommy." 

"Then you don't even come home for Christmas.  I had already 
invited people to see you, you know." 

"I'm sorry, Mother.  I told you about the crisis at work.  Bob 
and I missed seeing his folks, too." 

"Bob's no good for you, you know.  You could have done lots 
better and married a man who had a social position and could 
support a family." 

"Mommy, Bob has been either working or in school since he was 
seventeen, sometimes both.  He has a Ph. D. for God's sake.  He 
is highly respected in his department and the university 
community." 

"Well, handsome is as handsome does, as my grandmother used to 
say.  He's too wrapped up in his desires to want you all fat and 
puffy.  I warned you that boys only want one thing.  You didn't 
listen, and then you had to get married." 

"Mommy, think hard.  If I had really *had* to get married nine 
years ago, you would have seen that grandchild that you say that 
you want. I wore white to my wedding, and wore it honestly." 

"You tell him that he has to think about others, too.  He never 
showed me the slightest consideration." 

"Yes, Mommy.  Look, I have to run." 

"Might as well not call as make a call this short.  Always have 
things to do that are more fun than talking to your mother." 

Jeanette hung up before saying, "Root canals are more fun than 
talking to my mother.  And, Mommy dear, right after you warned me 
that Bob was only interested in sex, I went out and damn near 
propositioned him.  If you were against it, and the only person 
in my life who cared for me was for it, how could it be wrong?" 

This was the worst Mother's Day of her marriage, which made it 
the worst day of her marriage.  The calls on her father's 
birthdays were much easier.  All over town, all over the damned 
country, people were celebrating mothers.  Jeanette wasn't one, 
and -- her body was signaling her -- she would have proof 
tomorrow that she wasn't on the way to becoming one.  After she 
shed her tears in private, she deliberately turned to practical 
tasks.  She checked on the chickpeas and started the rice for the 
casserole before showering and dressing.  She was listening to 
RFI while finishing the other parts of the dinner when Bob got 
back.  She turned off the shortwave before going into his arms. 

His kiss was brief, but he continued to cuddle her.  "Was it very 
bad?" he asked. 

"We are both unutterably selfish that we aren't providing her 
with a grandchild." 

"Did you tell her that we are trying?" 

"I never tell her anything.  We also should move 'back home.'" 

"You are home, darling.  This is our home.  We are a family, a 
real family thanks to you." 

"We are, aren't we?"  She was feeling better. 

"You are home, in the arms of your family.  And I'll hold you as 
long as you need it." 

"Oh, Bob."  They hardly shifted position, but the comforting 
cuddle turned towards the erotic.  They kissed deeply with 
tongues rubbing tongues.  He broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck 
and squeeze her buttocks.  "Dinner's almost ready," she warned 
him. 

"Turn it off or let it burn.  I'll take you out."  That broke her 
mood. 

"No," she said.  "Not today."  She moved out of his arms.  "All 
the other women will be out with their children, and I'd feel 
jealous." 

"And they will be upchucking formula on their best dresses, and 
telling the whole place that they need to go pee-pee, and 
bitching in carrying voices that they wanted to play with their 
friends instead, and complaining that the menu doesn't include 
whoppers.  And all those harassed women will look over at you 
dining tranquilly with your handsome husband, and *they* will be 
jealous of you." 

"Nonsense, it's nearly one o'clock.  Where will I find a handsome 
husband in time for dinner?"  Her heart wasn't in the quip, 
though; and Bob ignored it.  "Not today, Bob.  Please."  She 
turned away. 

He held her gently from behind and kissed the top of her head.  
"Not today," he said.  She slowly eased back against him and 
relaxed.  His hands were beginning to wander when the timer rang.  
He took off jacket and tie before setting the dining-room table. 
(Sunday dinner was too formal for the kitchen table.)  She dealt 
with the food. 

After saying "Amen" to Bob's grace, she served herself.  The 
plate wobbled under the food.  When she picked it up, she found 
an envelope addressed to "The most Charming, Desirable, and 
Thoughtful Woman in the Entire World."  Bob had written "FOR 
EFFORT" in big, black, letters on the card inside.  The goof!  
But what a sweet goof.  She jumped up from her place and almost 
attacked Bob with her hug.  When she let him go, he pushed his 
chair back from the table.  She sat in his lap for a minute 
without trying to restrain his hands in the least.  Finally, 
conscious that dinner was getting cold, she kissed him on the 
forehead and got up. 

After the first bites, she said, "Seducing a woman with promises 
of an explanation for twin beds is beneath even you." 

"And very nice beneath me she was," he replied.  "All's fair in 
love and war, and the Hague convention specifically exempts love.  
If you don't have to give back your prisoners, then I don't have 
to tell the truth.  You have me captive for ever and ever, and it 
isn't fair to try to enforce the other rules.  That settled, what 
was your objection going to be?" 

"You got lost in illustrations of what the Hayes convention 
forbade.  You never got to twin beds." 

"Among the rules," he began, "aside from those against holding a 
woman like ... You know, this story is *much* less fun to tell 
across a table." 

"Nope!  Stay there and finish the story." 

"Among the rules," he continued, "was one that a man and a woman 
could not be shown in the same bed.  Even if they were asleep, 
even if the characters were married, even if the actors were 
married.  So, in the screenplay; it's two a.m. and little Mary 
isn't home; Mom wakes up and wakes Dad in turn to worry about it.  
They have to be in separate beds.  Meanwhile, kids don't see many 
bedrooms in real life.  They see their parents', but parents 
aren't real." 

"They see their friends' bedrooms." 

"Sure.  With single beds.  But, up on the screen, they see scores 
of bedrooms that belong to married people.  Every single (I mean 
every married) couple has a set of twin beds.  When those kids 
grow up, they don't want double beds like their sexless parents; 
they want twin beds like the glamorous stars of the silver 
screen." 

"How much data is there in this?" 

"Just a little," he admitted.  "If you are going to impose the 
same standards as Professor Macleod," his dissertation adviser, 
"you are going to get damn few stories to distract you at night." 

They ate for a while before Bob spoke again.  "Do you want to 
hear the good news, first, or the bad news?" 

"The bad news," she said.  This was the day for it, despite Bob's 
card. 

"The bad news is that they won't put your name on top of the 
translations."  Bob's dissertation was based, in part, on some 
documents recently released by the French ministry of foreign 
affairs.  Bob had approached several university presses with the 
idea of publishing a translation of a much larger selection of 
those documents, with Bob providing editorial commentary giving 
the historical context.  One publisher had expressed keen 
interest.  Bob wanted the book to be "by Jeanette Brennan and 
Robert Brennan," arguing that the translator did most of the 
work.  The publisher would consider putting out a book by a Ph. 
D. with the assistance of his uneducated wife but would not 
consider putting out a book by an uneducated woman with the 
assistance of her Ph. D. husband. 

"But they will go with it?  Bob, that is wonderful!"  Jeanette 
had no interest in the order of the names on the title page.  
She'd have been happy with Bob's name all alone, figuring that 
bylines were part of Bob's world; but, since they *were* part of 
his world, Bob was sensitive to what he felt was a slight toward 
his wife. 

"Well, if you like that, you'll love this.  There are other 
documents from the same period.  They relate to the colonial 
ministry rather than the ministry of foreign affairs.  Although 
they were released some time back, they are essentially 
unavailable in English.  Heck, there isn't even a good French 
collection of them.  Anyway, we're talking about two small books 
with my notes covering what they reveal about each other and 
about institutional conflicts at the turn of the century.  It's a 
lot more work for you, four or five times the translation that 
you have done so far.  On the other hand, they'll pay air fare to 
France for the two of us so we can select the documents from the 
two ministries." 

"France!"  She had spent two weeks in Paris, and sworn to return.  
"Bob, I love you." 

"Hah!  Wait until you are trying to read that crazy handwriting 
after a full day at the office."  She loved him, anyway.  This 
time she walked around the table slowly.  He stood to meet her.  
She kissed him, first only the lips meeting, then letting her 
whole body melt into his.  He had to support her weight, but he 
never complained about that.  His hands roved all over the parts 
that weren't pressed into him, he even reached up to play with 
her ear.  She, in turn, was rubbing over his back, feeling the 
hard muscles.  When he pressed his thigh between hers, she parted 
her legs for him.  Her nipples tingled as they pressed against 
him. They were trying to drill through bra and blouse and shirt 
to find his hairy skin.  Her stomach greeted his erection as her 
mound returned the pressure of his leg.  When they finally broke 
the kiss, Bob continued, "How long can you get off from work?" 

"Marsha's eager to come in.  I can get as long as I need.  Sam 
will understand."  She had been working as the secretary to a man 
who had been the sales manager, and son of the president, of a 
small family-owned company.  A week before Christmas the 
president had died suddenly.  Sam the son, Marsha the president's 
secretary, and Jeanette had spent two hellish weeks straightening 
out business and family problems simultaneously.  Bob had brought 
meatloaf in on Christmas day.  Marsha had been half in love with 
her boss.  Both she and Sam had been devastated by grief, leaving 
Jeanette's the only cool head in the room.  Sam owed Jeanette and 
had said so; he would understand.  "How long do you think that we 
need to deal with the archives?" 

"Ma chere puritaine!" he said in his awful accent.  "We only need 
ten days in the archives, starting with what we know now.  What 
we need is time for my wife to see the country that she loves." 

"I have four weeks and two days saved up, counting this year's 
vacation but not comp time for the crisis.  After that, it would 
have to be unpaid leave.  The money is the problem." 

"That's why we have savings." 

"Bob!  Those savings are for the baby."  Then she worried that he 
would say that a baby wasn't coming anyway. 

"For three things," he said.  "The baby, Paris redux, and your 
education.  Anyway, we aren't saving to pay for the baby.  We're 
living on my income because we'll have to after the baby comes.  
The savings flow from that." 

"We're not living on your income if you don't teach summer 
school." 

"Which means that I'll have to teach summer school next year when 
you're home with him all day.  Which is all the more reason to go 
to Paris this year.  We can't spend *all* of our savings, but we 
can spend a lot.  You'll find that your time away from work is 
the tighter constraint." 

A light dawned.  This was why Bob had opted out of teaching this 
summer.  The first break in twelve years had sounded reasonable, 
but it hadn't sounded like Bob.  When she pushed him back, he sat 
down again.  "How long have you known this?" she asked.  "Bob 
Brennan, you have been saving this up because you knew that I'd 
be in a rotten mood today." 

"Well, it was coming together slowly; but yes, I knew that it was 
likely before I told the chairman that I couldn't teach this 
summer.  Do you think we could do it?" 

"We can do something.  I'll have to run the calculator to see how 
long we can stay.  I do love you."  She sat down on his lap, 
straddling him this time.  His hands went everywhere during their 
long, sweet, kiss.  She finally broke it to look in his eyes.  
She saw love there, and lust, and mischief, and some pride in 
breaking her gloom. 

Staring straight at her, he unbuttoned the top button of her 
blouse.  It was time to break this up if dinner wasn't going to 
get cold, but she couldn't bear to get up.  She unbuttoned the 
button above his belt buckle instead.  The look he gave her was 
as arousing as his hands had been.  When their arms met, she 
moved to his top button.  As soon as her blouse was unbuttoned, 
he started to tug it up.  Afraid that he might tear it, she got 
up.  His look of dismay disappeared when she said, "Faster this 
way." 

His shirt went flying in the direction of the living room, and he 
pulled down his trousers and shorts.  "Tee shirt, too," she 
insisted.  She wanted to have his warm skin against hers.  He 
complied instantly.  By the time he had sat back on the edge of 
his chair, her jeans, shoes and underclothes were somewhere 
behind her. 

They kissed while she sat on his knees.  Her nipples hardened 
more when they finally felt his warm skin against them.  Bob 
played with her labia for the longest time before parting them.  
When his teasing finger finally touched her bud, the thrill 
reached her toes.  After a few more of those strokes, she 
absolutely needed to take him in.  She grasped him and raised up.  
Bob lay back in the chair obediently while she impaled herself  
on him. 

Once engulfed, Bob clasped her butt to pull her even closer to 
him.  Soon he had her bent backward and was kissing her breasts, 
teasing one and then the other.  Wanting more, she pulled his 
head against the right one.  He sucked there, trying to pull as 
much in as possible.  Then he let almost all of it out.  He 
rolled the nipple between his lips and stroked and tickled it 
with his tongue. 

These sensations warmed her whole body, but the flashes of fire 
came from below.  Bob swayed them back and forth on the chair, 
the motion stirring his phallus within her in a way that no other 
motion did.  She provided more of the in and out motion with her 
legs against his waist and hipbones.  This motion took more 
attention than she could provide when she stiffened in need. 

That was when Bob stroked her center again.  Lightning thrilled 
through her at the first touch.  It struck again and again 
lifting her toward the peak until one bolt crashed her over.  He 
continued to stroke there as she clasped around his swelling rod.  
Then he almost lifted her with his hip thrust as he pulsed 
within. 

She was held in his arms as she came down.  "Oh God, darling," he 
said.  She agreed completely.  He kissed her shoulder, which 
shouldn't have been erotic at all.  But it was erotic, and 
comforting, and sweet. 

She was feeling a chill but didn't want to get up.  When he 
slipped out of her she had to.  They used paper napkins to get 
the first of the mess.  Bob had his trousers and shorts around 
his ankles and his shoes still on his feet.  He almost tripped 
trying to follow her toward the bathroom without pulling his 
pants up.  She wasn't very successful in suppressing her giggles. 

"It isn't fair to laugh," Bob said when he got back to the table.  
"I had just had my attention distracted by the sexiest woman in 
North America.  I couldn't be expected to attend to minor 
details."  He was chuckling himself, though.  "We haven't done 
that since we bought the rocker, have we?  'One is silver and the 
other gold.'  Damn, but I love you, gal." 

Jeanette, finding those statements rather disjointed, 
concentrated on the last.  "I love you, too.  You're a really 
sweet man."  His dressing had stopped at the waist; and, sitting 
across from him, she could see only his bare torso.  Despite his 
occasional grumbles, he was still in great shape.  "And sexy, 
too," she added. 

The look he gave her then was as intense as the one when she had 
unbuttoned his shirt.  For a moment, she thought she saw his eyes 
moisten.  Then he turned his attention to his plate.  They could 
go to Paris. 

The two of them could do anything. 


The End
For Effort
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net.  
1997/05/11
1997/10/24
2001/05/13
2001/11/30
2004/11/19
2005/05/07

This is one of a series of stories about the 
Brennans.

The next story in the series is:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/given.htm
"'Forgiven'"  

The first story in the series is:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/forever.htm
"Forever"  

The directory to the entire series is:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan.htm
Brennan Stories Directory  


If you enjoyed "For Effort," you might enjoy 
this story about another couple:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/Gjt/bla_07f
"Reassigned"  

The directory to all my stories can be found 
at:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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