Path: not-for-mail
From: Incest Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.incest,alt.sex.incest,alt.sex.stories,alt.stories.incest
Subject: Story "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" part 4A
Date: Sat, 02 Jul 2005 06:29:33 -0700
Organization: http://groups.google.com
Lines: 482
Message-ID: <1120310973.687479.180250@g14g2000cwa.googlegroups.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: 212.98.162.109
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
X-Trace: posting.google.com 1120310977 14154 127.0.0.1 (2 Jul 2005 13:29:37 GMT)
X-Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 2 Jul 2005 13:29:37 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/0.2
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: g14g2000cwa.googlegroups.com; posting-host=212.98.162.109; posting-account=OHuwPQ0AAAC-Eog3-12CI2dbbgdS3Qoh
===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/taboo.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...
Wanna more incest? >
http://www.incesttabooo.com/taboo.html