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FOREPLAY hurt Bob more than hurt
"Foreplay" {Pendragon} (MF rom wl oral)
FOREPLAY
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, 1996 - 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.
If you have any comments or requests, E-mail them to me at
anon584c@nyx.net.
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.
# # # #
FOREPLAY
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
BOB Brennan finished his second sandwich and started to stack
dishes while still seated.
"Lovely dinner Mrs. Brennan."
"Oh Bob," Jeanette answered. "If I made more...."
"You make more than I do. That's for sure. You cook better,
too. I don't moan and groan about being a drone."
"You planned that!" Actually, he hadn't. It had come after
"moan and groan."
"I'll never tell. Look, you are a lovely woman. You are a
great wife. We put *your* education on hold. Self-depreciation
makes no sense. Anyway, I like fancy ramen. I like toasted
cheese sandwiches. I like the cook." He got up to kiss
Jeanette.
She pulled his face into hers for a minute's kiss, then got
up so they could kiss standing. Each had hands on the other's
rump. He started to knead. Jeanette broke the kiss.
"Do I have time for a shower and ..." she asked. They were
perfectly open with family, friends, and casual acquaintances
about using contraception. Somehow, between themselves it had
become a verbal hiatus.
"I'm going to let the dishes soak. Get prepared, but not the
shower."
"Dirty dishes and a dirty wife?"
"I washed the dishes yesterday, and the game begins with a
shower."
JEANETTE went into the bathroom, stripped, reached out and put
her in the hamper. She prepared and inserted the
diaphragm. Then she used the toilet.
Inserting the diaphragm bothered her. She loved sex -- truly
she did. But she wanted it to be spontaneous. There had been
times, before the marriage, when she could have been swept across
the divide. Bob, of course, was committed to not betraying her.
She'd expected to enjoy marital intercourse but had been
surprised at how *much* sheer pleasure she received.
First Bob's hands and then his penis had wrenched orgasm
after pulsing orgasm from her. She had enjoyed them all, but the
honeymoon had included a gorgeous dinner and two luxurious
breakfasts. She had enjoyed them too. The future would be
better if it included all these pleasures than if it didn't, but
not immeasurably so.
If she could only keep three memories from the honeymoon, one
would be the fifteen almost uninterrupted days with Bob. Another
would be the repeated times he gasped and chanted his love and
passion for her in the starlit tent. If she could only keep one,
it would be the memory of Bob's stopping to worry about her pain
at a point when, she now knew, he would have ignored a fire in
the room. Then he looked so concerned and sorry that he had
her.
In between, of course, he had her. But, if you are
spontaneous, the first time hurts. She had been offered options
and refused them. Her pain Bob more than it her,
probably more than any pain of his ever had. Bob put her
interests before his, as often as not. No one else in the whole
world ever had.
What Bob called games bothered her more than the
contraception. She was not above planning a little something
herself, like preparing a meal that could wait before ambushing
Bob with her bra off. But those ideas arose spontaneously, they
weren't scheduled. She didn't plan beyond just having sex while
Bob wanted to plan different kinds of sex.
He had suggested one night a week for experiments, or games.
She had agreed on the condition that she could choose half the
games. He agreed.
She had taken first choice last week. If he wanted games,
Jeanette could play games. She had chosen 'missionary.' It had
seemed a triumph then. Bob was not going to be in a mood for
compromise tonight.
BOB rinsed the dishes under the faucet and stacked them in soapy
water.
The dishes were fancy enough to serve company and could go
from freezer to microwave without damage. They didn't have a
microwave. They were newlyweds.
He figured that Jeanette was subconsciously looking for a
fight. Seducing a woman who was feeling negative is not the
easiest task in the world, but Bob felt the future pressing in
on him. Jeanette had said "no" to premarital intercourse. He'd
traded that for nominal agreement that "Marriage is about sex."
Any agreement of that generality with Jeanette was nominal.
He suspected that anything major that they did not adopt in
the next nine months, they wouldn't try. Cunnilingus, standing
sex, sitting sex, doggie style, these were his goals. Subtle
variations could follow. Sex was never going to be as central in
her universe as it was in his, but this year was on his side.
Sex was what newlyweds did. If, this year, he could show her all
the joy, then it would become important enough.
He loved this girl, a that he was usually careful to
call a woman. He had gladly promised to have sex exclusively
with her. He agreed that the marriage license was a license to
seduce rather than a license to rape.
But she, quite unconsciously, governed their sex life with a
veto. If you talked about it, it wasn't romantic and
spontaneous. If you didn't talk about it, it was an unacceptable
surprise. She thought it was perverse to plan times for sex, he
thought it was perverse to plan activities which meant that there
would be no time for sex.
After stripping outside the bathroom, he went in and hung all
his clothes on the back of the door. She was standing in the
tub, dressed in a shower cap. Period.
Her beauty kept taking him by surprise. He felt that the
lush curves on hip and of the 19-year-old were an
undeserved bonus. The he had fallen in love with had been
14 and straight as a stick.
She was 5' 8" and stood absolutely straight. Her face was
cute, rather than beautiful or sexy, with wide-spaced blue eyes,
a button nose, and a wide mouth. She had made the girls' track
team in High School, and her body still carried no superfluous
pound. She stood with the balance of a cat.
Strong legs met in a wide cantilever (whose widening
explained why her times had barely improved between her sophomore
and senior years). The delta between was wide and outthrust.
All the trimness of the rest of her body was denied by the
lushness of the black curls covering that area and by her proud,
high breasts. These were B cups, and they came directly forward,
staring now at him as directly as he was at them. The pinkish
brown areolae were nearly as wide as the four fingers of his
hand. The nipples could stand out, as he knew, more than a half
inch. They were a quarter inch now, and starting to grow under
his inspection.
He wasn't the only one doing inspecting. His erection was at
four o'clock, and she was smiling at it. He brushed his teeth at
the sink before he spoke.
"The name of the game," he stated in a formal voice, "is
foreplay. The second stage is a shower in which Bob washes
Jeanette and himself."
"You're no fun. That's not fair! Why second?"
He knew that she would get to the main question sooner or
later. He joined her in the tub, took her hands and put them on
his shoulders, pulled her chin up, and kissed her.
He pressed her lips with his for a second before parting his.
Her mouth opened, but his tongue explored the insides of her lips
first. When he went between her teeth, she opened wider and met
him with her tongue. These played tag until his dodged back into
his mouth. When hers followed he on it gently. Junior
had moved from four o'clock to two o'clock, and it was time to
take a shower. He broke the kiss.
The tub was a new one-piece fiberglass molding. It had two
rubber anti-skid pads semi-permanently attached to the bottom.
All the plumbing had been installed during a Clinton
administration, the tub-shower in Bill's, the rest in DeWitt's.
Jeanette got far back while he adjusted the faucets. He lifted
the diverter and got scalded, then frozen. When the flow had
normalized, he soaked. They shifted places so she could soak
while he soaped. When they shifted again, he began to wash her.
JEANETTE could learn to enjoy this, sex play apart. Her back
really got scrubbed. He knelt to wash her legs and feet. She
didn't feel that her needed so much attention, but the
attention was very gentle.
The first time they had done this, Jeanette had explained
that the amount of soap and soapy time that he had given her
cleft was probably bad for the sensitive skin there. She should
do the washing. She had expected arguments, maybe a promise to
do it better. He had agreed with suspicious alacrity. Then he
claimed that, since any remaining soap was a threat to their
mutual pleasure, he should help on the rinsing. Today he helped
quite thoroughly.
Okay, it was a turn on. So was the memory of that supple
mind. She would love Bob even if all they could do was talk.
He rinsed what parts of himself hadn't been hit by the shower
in passing. Then he got out and dried himself while she rinsed
herself off and turned off the water. There was easily room for
two in the tub. There was barely room for two in the rest of the
bathroom.
He was waiting with a luxurious terry-cloth sheet when she
stepped out. They had of gorgeous new towels. The wedding
presents had been heavy on bath towels, much better than punch
bowls.
He wrapped her in the huge towel. Then he rubbed her down
with a normal one, except where he patted her down with it. He
was ridiculously protective of her breasts. He sat on the
commode to rub her legs and to pat between them. He started out
the door.
This was not a turn on. She stopped at his hanging clothes,
removed the underwear, dropped them into the hamper, and
continued on with both their clothes. "And he was *such* a neat
camper," she confided to the ceiling.
He followed her through the kitchen and living room to the
bedroom. He always managed to be behind her when she was walking
naked, and many times when she was clothed. She had given up
when they were in the house alone. She rolled her hips
exaggeratedly.
She hung up his and her blouse and skirt in the closet,
and his trousers on a hook. When she returned her attention to
Bob, he again used a public-announcement voice.
"The third stage is a brief period in which Jeanette stands
here and Bob kisses her in lots and lots of places."
"And when does Jeanette get to kiss?"
"When Bob kisses her on the mouth. And, of course, next week
when it is her game." She was beginning to regret her
gamesmanship.
"And why are we standing here when there is a perfectly
comfortable bed over there?"
"Because kissing you on the bed is the *fourth* stage."
At that he turned her to kiss the back of her neck. That
tickled and she wiggled. Bob put a hand on her butt, partially
to restrain her, but she knew he was also enjoying the wiggle.
As his mouth proceeded down her back it got less ticklish, and
she stopped wiggling. He knelt to reach her butt. This kiss
disturbed her without making her feel at all sexy.
He got her to turn around so he could reach the undersides of
her breasts. She had to bend over for him to go further up in
this position. She did, and he licked up to the crest of her
right breast. The gentle suction on her nipple made it pulse
with her heart beat and strain outward. Then he nibbled across
the valley and on her other nipple. Feeling the
awkwardness of the position, she straightened suddenly.
He kissed the bottom of that followed by a trail down
her belly. He stopped at the belly button to give it a smack,
but he didn't try to enter it with his tongue this time. He held
her butt to keep her against his lips. He licked and a
slow trail down her belly to her fur and then kissed all over it.
He ended at the very bottom of her delta where the cleft was
about to begin.
She was antsy, and her knees were beginning to feel weak.
BOB could sense that Jeanette had passed the point of diminishing
returns. He let her go, and she got into bed. He lit a scented
candle before turning out the light. The candle lit the bed
indirectly from the top of the dresser. She lay in a dimness
with shadows which danced when drafts hit the candle.
He brought an internal struggle to bed. He was determined
that the play had only begun. He wanted Jeanette writhing in
desire for him before any penetration began, and he wanted to
approach this goal slowly, passing along all her minor erogenous
zones before he hit the major ones. Junior, on the other hand,
wanted to climb inside Jeanette's lovely and stroke there
until he exploded.
Bob started by kissing Jeanette all over her face, little
pecks on her forehead and eyebrows, real kisses on her cheeks, a
line of kisses down her nose. Then he reached her open mouth.
His tongue and hers met in a race to penetrate the other's mouth.
They pressed together, they played. She slipped hers under his.
He reached for the roof of her mouth and just made it. He
withdrew. She followed, to fall into his trap. He closed his
lips over her tongue and gently, then hard. He licked the
underside of her tongue once, and tasted sweetness.
JEANETTE was beginning to get into this.
Candlelight was romance. She had been a tough girl, a
student and athlete who got good grades and good scores by hard
work more than aptitude. She dared anyone to think that she was
a dreamy romantic. Only Bob ever took that dare. She never
admitted it to him, but she loved him for it. Similarly, she
never asked for protection, never -- really -- wanted it. That
Bob wanted to protect her always confounded her. Little kisses
on her forehead were protective. By the time, Bob had reached
her mouth, the notion that this was the wrong kind of sex had
faded beneath the notion that this was the right man.
She met his mouth greedily, chased his tongue willingly into
the trap, enjoyed it all.
Then he broke the kiss to drop to a more comfortable
position. They kissed again and their tongues played between
their mouths. She retreated, he followed, and she him.
They relaxed into a quiet kiss, lip to lip.
Meanwhile, she enjoyed his caresses. He started at her
shoulder and stroked down one arm, returned to the shoulder and
stroked down her side to the hipbone. He was always fascinated
by the way that stuck out when she lay on her side, to her it
just did. He was silly to find it sexy, but -- in her present
mood -- cutely silly.
The next stroke crossed the side of her left breast, and then
his hand returned upward to cup the breast. He broke the kiss to
start a little chain of kisses down her jaw line. She expected
him to take a fast trip down her neck to the breast, but instead
he moved toward her ear. That tickled, and she wiggled, but he
licked surfaces that she had forgotten she had.
"Now, I'll have to wash it again," she teased. "And I sold
my body to get it washed in the first place."`
"This is washing. Haven't you ever seen a cat."
"You don't qualify." She was tempted to grab Junior to prove
it, but that would really be cheating.
Now, he started on her neck. This was a different kind of
ticklish, and he tapped her nipple from time to time to emphasize
it. When he pushed on her shoulder, she turned at his signal,
even if it came at an odd time. He continued to kiss her neck
and ended up at the voice box when she was lying straight. These
were very gentle licks, and he didn't suck as he moved down the
front of her neck until he hit bone. From there, his kisses were
demanding as they traced a diagonal path toward her left breast.
Ascending the breast, he became more gentle. He licked all
around the areola before settling in on the nipple. Once there,
he played elaborate games. He would suck it in and then lick it,
rub his lips in opposite directions and then suck it in again.
She never figured out if the elaborate mouth play was supposed to
distract her attention from the hand stroking down her belly
towards her vulva. If so, it didn't work. It was definitely a
nice feeling, though.
When his hand got to her delta, she spread her legs to give
him room. He simply rested his hand there between her legs for a
bit as if to imitate warm, thick, panties. She squeezed her legs
together to say, "Hello, hand." Then she relaxed to give him
room. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and in the
entire top of her breast. He pulled back slightly to let it all
ease out. He increased suction on the nipple, but it popped out.
He kissed that nipple with a peck.
"I love you," he said on the way to the other breast.
As he at that nipple, he began to move his hand down
below. On the pubic bone, he pressed down fairly hard with the
heel of his hand and then let up, repeating this in a slow
rhythm. When he eased up, his fingers moved gently over the
outsides of her folds. Neither the suction on her breast, nor
the motion between her legs brought on any sharp desire. All she
really wanted was a little more of this.
The feelings, and the consciousness of being loved, and the
dancing candlelight all worked together so that she floated in
sensuous satisfaction and a bit of desire.
Nevertheless, when he kissed her right goodbye to move
between her legs, she was glad enough that the time had come.
She was ready, if not aching, for his entrance.
When he was kneeling between her legs, she scooted over
towards the edge. They had learned to give the wet spot only
necessary room. Bob suddenly looked very tall from her
perspective, and Junior -- which she normally saw foreshortened
-- looked correspondingly large. She felt a shiver of
anticipation.
Then he bent over, lifted her leg, and kissed her ankle. The
foreplay wasn't over.
BOB kissed his way up her calf to her knee. He sensed that this
wasn't doing much for either of them and hurried until he was on
the inside of her thigh. There, just above the knee, he lavished
a long wet kiss. From there he inched higher, with pecks and
licks and sucks. She squirmed all the while. The squirming
became more serious as he neared his goal. He reached his hand
around to open her nether lips.
It was the first time he had really looked at it. God! She
was beautiful there. He couldn't believe that he had tickled,
toyed and pronged within such perfect beauty without knowing it.
Her bounteous outer lips were covered by black curls. Her
inner lips were pink petals, thin to translucency in one
dimension, long, and broad. It must have been a trick of the
light, but it looked for an instant as if there were a glow from
within. They had emerged slightly from between her outer lips
before he had parted those, and had carried a little of the
moisture out.
The complexity where all the lips met at the top was beauty
folded into beauty like a rosebud just opening. Just below,
there was a tiny node that he knew must be her clitoris. It
looked more complex than the little nodule that he had touched.
"Bob, is something wrong?" Jeanette reminded him that he had
stopped all activity. He was supposed to be arousing *her*.
"Nothing could be wrong. You are absolutely beautiful."
"Pfft. You think ..."
"Love, don't fight me on this. You can't see."
At the sight, he had forgotten to breathe. In speaking, he
inhaled; and all the scent that he had freed by parting the lips
struck him at once. There again was beauty, but his hindbrain
got another message. The pressure to grind his face in that odor
was so great that he could only avoid it by redirecting it
upward. He kissed her mons pressing against it until he was
afraid that he would even that.
He recovered and returned to her exposed cleft. He closed it
gently with his fingers before kissing each of the outer lips.
He licked the length of the edge of the inner ones from
between. Here he got his first taste of her, slightly sweet and
unbearably heady. He spread the inner labia to lick up each
side. Trying to be gentle, he licked the area around her
clitoris. Then he touched its head with his tongue tip.
When he had begun kissing, she had stiffened. Then she
relaxed a little. Now she was stiffening again. He hoped it was
passion rather than rejection, but his own passion was too
engaged to find out.
He pressed his lips over the top of her cleft and widened
them out. When he had as much as he could take while avoiding
most of the curls, he in. Holding the suction, he licked
the edges of the captured area. He let go and licked again. He
withdrew enough to focus his eyes. As the clitoris looked
slightly higher, he tried another touch.
The smell and taste had communicated directly to Junior,
bypassing his brain. It was throbbing and demanding direct
participation. He ignored it as well as he could. Jeanette was
starting to move, a very slight undulation. This ended one
worry. Her passion, also, was involved.
He caught one of her inner labia between his lips and
gently, then licked the edge. He licked across the top of the
cleft, catching her clitoris as he went. She stiffened more.
He figured that she was in fine shape, but he didn't think
his back could last. Besides, this was supposed to go slow. He
looked up at her across her belly. It took a moment but she
focused on his face.
"Pass me that pillow down here, would you?" She did, and
cooperated in getting it under her hips. "I love you. A lot."
JEANETTE felt the kisses pass from her calf to her thigh. Three
feelings tangled in her bath of lubricious compliance and partly
drained it. The first was that it tickled, the second was that
the kisses were arousing for all that, the third was that he was
about to kiss her where she was unclean.
He stopped. She was sure that her smell had turned him off.
Then he mumbled something about "Beautiful."
She flushed at the compliment, even as she rejected it. But
he was speaking with conviction and then kissing her with force.
She felt loved and kept silent.
When the actual kiss came, she rose up to tell him that this
was unacceptable. That message from her head met another message
coming the other way that it was thrilling. She collapsed back
down.
No single caress was repeated. She was again swimming in
sensation. Later she would want more, but now she only wanted
this. Soft pulses started from her groin and she moved with
them.
Then he asked her for the pillow. It pulled her out of her
reverie. She passed him the pillow which had been under her
head. Lying flat down was better somehow. When the pillow was
adjusted he started over at her closed labia.
Soon the sensations began again. As she sank into them,
there was a tightening between her heart and her stomach, as if
there were a string between them. She reached down to pat his
head, then held it to her. Soon the string stretched from her
throat, which had tensed, to her groin.
Waves of sweetness rolled out of that kiss, and the string
vibrated -- very slowly -- with those waves. This pulled her
body into that motion. Then she stopped noticing her body.
There was only the string and Bob's lips and tongue. The
string tightened and tightened. Bob was on her center,
and there was only that sweet suction and the tightening string.
The string got unbearably, chokingly, agonizingly, tight. Then
it broke. And there wasn't anything at all. Except joy. She
flew through joy, floated through joy, pulsed with joy, fell
through joy.
She felt herself hit the bed. Bob's face was above hers,
looking worried in the flickering light. He was asking questions
but she couldn't answer until she caught her breath.
"Are you all right? Are you okay? Is anything wrong? Can I
do anything?"
The code of their marriage. "Are you all right?" means "Did
you have an orgasm too?" Well probably she did, something had
happened, and -- in a moment -- she would remember what. "Are
you okay?" asked if the contraceptive was in place. Hell of a
time to ask. "Is anything wrong?" not in the code. But nothing
can possibly be wrong when you feel this right. You can shut up
and let me catch my breath.
Finally she pulled herself together, even if her breath still
came in gasps. He really looked worried.
"I'm all right." And she *was*. That much she could
remember. "What's wrong?"
"You looked real out of it."
"Was.... You've passed out ... and snored.... Just roll you
over."
"Oh God!" He looked overjoyed. That sweet had worried
about her.
She started to cry. Love overflowed for this caring boy.
She grabbed his head and kissed him. After a second, she
adjusted the kiss and opened both their mouths wide and pushed
forward with her tongue. She wanted all of him.
BOB knew that the pillow shift had cost him some of her passion.
It had also improved his access along with his comfort. He began
more or less at the beginning, with kisses on her outer lips
followed by a slight suction on the two inner ones together.
Then he parted them to lick each and then the central cleft. By
this time, Jeanette was as taut as ever. A look over her belly
and between her sweet found her lying flat looking at the
ceiling. Even from his vantage, she looked grim.
She grabbed his head and held him in place. He loved that
response. He licked over the top area, once, twice. She tensed
even more, but he'd lost the clitoris. Had he put on too much
pressure? Well, there was nothing to do about it now. He went
back to the licking and hoped for the best. He repeated the
tonguing of the central cleft while listening to her breathing.
It was definitely shallower. He explored all the junctions at
the top with his tongue and her breath came shallower yet.
He settled down to a rhythm of a kiss at the top
region alternated with a lick over the top half of her cleft.
Her breathing came louder and her belly tightened until it almost
raised her head off the bed. He kept on the pattern despite
worrying whether he would start to irritate before she climaxed.
By now, he was soaked in her odor and taste, and his own sexual
tension was more than a little pressing.
Then she shuddered. Her hips were moving in a slow roll. He
stopped worrying, she was there. He kept and licking
while waiting for the inevitable conclusion. Her hips kept
rolling and her body kept shaking. Her breath was noisier and
she seemed to be hissing. He was when her nails bit into
his scalp and she clutched him to the place. He tried in
rhythm, but -- under those circumstances -- wasn't going to pull
back the half inch that licking required.
Her nails let go. She rolled once more before seeming to
collapse. He wiped his lips, fearing that her opinion of her
ambrosia would differ from his, and moved up her body.
When he saw her face, it was utterly vacant and streaming
tears. His panic was strong enough to damp his passion.
"Are you all right? ... Are you okay?" Hell, they'd turned
those into special meanings. "Is anything wrong?" Her face
finally looked inhabited, but she was breathing like a steam
engine. After a while he asked: "Can I do anything?"
She visibly gathered herself together.
"I'm all right."
It took a while to communicate. She didn't have her breath
back yet. But it dawned on him that she had had a monster of an
orgasm. His smile stretched so wide it hurt. Her passion, like
her beauty, was newer than their love. It was no free bonus,
however. He'd slaved for every inch of progress. He loved her
passion much more than her beauty, because it was closer to the
spirit which enchanted him.
He was overjoyed. She was overjoyed as well and showed it
with one of her sloppy, ill-aimed, kisses. These were the
sweetest kisses in the world, because his favorite control-freak
athlete only let her emotions over-rule her reflexes once in a
blue moon. She hit his chin with her open mouth the first time
and then moved him to meet her. They opened wide in an attempt
to hug tongues. It can't be done, but the attempt is fun.
He tried to move enough to enter her during the kiss, but all
the angles were wrong. She finally let him go. With the freedom
to move, the angle was excellent. As he spread her lips, placed
himself, and pressed slowly inward, she was almost chanting:
"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!" That was when he was actually in
her entrance. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Yessssss."
Then he met her mouth again, and he had entered her
everywhere.
JEANETTE could tell that he wanted all of her, as well. She
finally let go on top so that they could join on the bottom. She
could tell that he felt their oneness at that moment as well as
she did. Even with her cheering him on, he was careful of her.
He slid in rather than plunging in. The gentleness of this man's
care brought tears to her eyes. She felt every movement of the
slow entry, she felt him touch her mouth with his, and she felt
another gentle penetration, this time by his tongue. She felt
his first slow withdrawal and reentry. Then she felt nothing
more.
Somehow, she tensed immediately. All the love and all the
friction came together. She moved against him while he moved
within her. Then something else was moving her. Again she flew,
but this time it was through love. She came back, or almost
back, to find that he was still moving within her. She heard him
call out his love, and she flew through those sensations again.
She came almost back and felt him drive deep within her and
pulse. She seemed to feel his semen hit the sides of her vagina.
He called her name, and she flew out into love and joy and
warmth, but not very far. Then she fell quite slowly, and he was
above her and in her arms and in her when she met the bed.
"Oh God, love," he said. She agreed completely.
He started to move away, and she tightened her hug.
"Say when," he said.
BOB was amazed at her response. At his first stroke within her,
she was tightening. On his second, her head dropped back from
the kiss. On his third, he felt her pulsing around him. He
pushed forward and made only thrusts without withdrawals. He
thought that this should carry her through without setting him
off. After a moment, he saw that this was impossible. Her
clutching sheath was driving him over the brink. He resumed full
strokes, abandoning any effort at control.
God! she was sexy. He loved her passion and told her so.
"Love you. I love you. Love. Love. Love you. Love."
Then the outpourings of his passion came from his phallus, while
his mouth was reduced to grunts. He heard none of them, he felt
nothing outside. In his mind there was a roaring flame in the
foreground and, far distant, something spurting out of him.
Finally, the last was accompanied by "Jeanette!"
She was, miraculously, still pulsing around him. God! This
was the sexiest in history, but he could no longer do her
justice. Whatever was leaving him now was by her action, not
his. He was starting to shrink. Then she stopped. She focused
on him in moments. He felt weak everywhere, and they both were
covered with sweat.
"Oh God, love," he said.
He'd crush her if he dropped from here, and he needed to
drop. He started to back off. She held him. For the sexiest
girl in history, he could let his bones hold him up.
"Say when."
After a second, or maybe a year, "When."
She handed him a tissue, and he wrapped it around Junior as
it came out, a much-chastened boy. He sat back on his heels as
Jeanette dabbed herself and rearranged herself and the covers.
Then he blew out the candle before getting under the covers close
to her. She scooted back the last inch. A little leg adjustment
got them as tight as sleep would allow.
"Christ, woman," he said. "You don't know." What she didn't
know suddenly eluded him. How sexy she was, what her passion
made him feel, how much he loved her? Maybe all of those things.
Luckily she had her own topic for discussion.
"Do you remember, long ago, warning me against Junior?"
"Couple of times."
"I said that it didn't sound all that bad, and you said, 'I
want our first time to be in a bed with you chanting "yes," not
in a field with you screaming "no."'"
"Really. How were you?"
"Just 15."
"Insufferable kid. I don't know whether he should have been
charged with statutory rape or verbal excess."
"He was a nice boy, and he cared for me. It was quite
reasonable in context."
"He loved you dearly. That doesn't redeem the fact that he
loved the sound of his own voice much too much. Um..."
"Oh, go on."
"You were chanting 'yes,' a few minutes ago. Had you been
thinking of that?"
"Yes. Conscious reference, really."
"I thought ... On our wedding night you said quite clearly,
'yes.' I'll treasure that always. I thought that you were
referring to that. Turned me on, quite."
"I don't mind you remembering these. I just don't want some
incoherence thrown into my face as an argument. Know what?"
"What, most beauteous of women?"
"I was responding to that line on our wedding night, too.
I'm just not too hot on chants."
He carefully moved his hand from her to her breastbone
before hugging her very tight.
He loved her courage. He loved her passion. He loved her.
JEANETTE had only Bob's arm to hug, so she hugged that. After a
while, he moved his hand back to her breast. She patted the nice
hand once and then reached down to pat his leg.
"Have I mentioned that I love you?" he asked.
"Not often enough."
"Bob loves Jeanette," he sang. "Bob loves Jeanette. Bob
loves Jeanette. I love you."
He couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. The last note was
almost a snore. It was the most beautiful song in the world. He
cradled her. He cherished her.
His leg jerked; his breath roughened; his hand relaxed.
THE END
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
1996/07/30
1996/10/22
1997/04/21
This is one of a series of about the Brennans.
The next in the series is:
"For Him"or_him.txt
The first in the series is:
"Forever"orever.txt
The directory to the entire series is:
Brennan Stories.Directory
A non-Brennan involving a good deal of teasing
is:
"Moving Experience"
The directory to all my can be found at:
Index toiUthertPendragon's Website