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EFFORT movies showing orgies the screen
"For Effort" {Pendragon} (MF rom wl)
FOR EFFORT
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
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 th 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 industry which was much less
censored than contemporary book publishers were. Hollywood was
producing showing orgies on the screen. You could go down
to the Bijou and see a 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 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 kissing women like this ... " This time
he reached over to her right 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 magic. "I love you," he said again as he moved
from one 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 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 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 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 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 hear
her cry since she was 16. She damn well wasn't going to break
her record now.
"Well, I know 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 a 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 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
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, 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 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 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 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; 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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
This is one of a series of about the Brennans.
The next in the series is:
given.txt
"'Forgiven'"
The first in the series is:
forever.txt
"Forever"
The guide to the entire series is:
brennan.txt
If you enjoyed "For Effort," you might enjoy this about
another couple:
inn.txt
"Inn"
The Index to Uther Pendragon's FTP directories is
index.txt
End of File