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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
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Subject: {ASSM} rp "Forays 1" {Pendragon} ( MF cons lact ) [1/2]
Date: Tue, 27 Jun 2000 19:10:22 -0400
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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 for all
reproduction necessary for normal Usenet propagation. 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.
I read alt.sex.stories.d. If you have any comments or
requests, please post them in that newsgroup or E-mail them to me
at anon584c@nyx.net. Please use "{ASSD}" at the beginning of the
subject line of any posted reply.
If you save erotic stories and you prefer that other
household members not be exposed to them, I recommend that you
use a file zipped with the PKZip option -spassword. (Where the
password that you choose would, presumably, not be "password.")
This still leaves the titles of the files and the fact that they
are encrypted open to anybody.
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.
# # # #
FORAYS
by Uther Pendragon
Part 1
Jeanette Brennan thought "post partum depression" was a damn
patronizing concept. "Post partum exhaustion" had been more like
it. Her husband Bob had done what he could; but he was teaching
a full schedule, and breast-feeding isn't a task that can be
shared. They took to going to bed at nine p.m. so that each of
them would get something like six hours of sleep during the next
ten.
The tide finally turned, however. Her baby -- The Kitten --
decided that it *was* possible to sleep without light coming in
the windows and to entertain herself without a parent in
attendance. She remained on demand feeding, but the demand was
becoming more predictable.
Bob rose at seven; if The Kitten didn't wake herself before
he left at eight thirty, he changed her and brought her in for a
feeding anyway. Similarly, if she seemed likely to wake shortly
after their bedtime, they woke her before then.
Given a little sleep, Jeanette's body had completed most of
the recovery from multiple traumas, and the metabolic adjustment
to milk production was complete.
She began by catching up on the housework which her husband
Bob thought that he had done. But years of secretarial work had
raised her standards of efficiency while they had lowered her
house-pride.
The day came when the windows were open, the diaper bag was
awaiting the driver, she and The Kitten had both eaten, and there
wasn't a household task until time to prepare dinner. She turned
on her computer and corrected the translation which she had
stopped in mid-stream two months before. She saved her work when
The Kitten cried. Her breasts agreed with her baby, it was time
for some nursing.
If not quite so infatuated with The Kitten as Bob, who had
been known to go into verbal ecstasies over the baby's kicking
her legs, Jeanette found many of her daughter's habits adorable.
Perhaps the most endearing occurred during nursing. The Kitten
would stop every few sips to look up at Jeanette's face as if to
say "Thank-you, Mom."
At first Jeanette had responded with only a silly grin, or a
"Pretty baby" or "You're welcome." Over time, however, she'd
fallen into the pattern of sharing her thoughts whenever
Catherine looked at her. Even in the dark, she'd start talking
when the sucking paused, and stop when the sucking resumed.
Sometimes that produced coherent sentences with long hiatuses.
More often the thoughts went on while the speech was suspended;
an eavesdropper would have been reminded of listening to a radio
with an erratic connection.
Now she decided that she would speak French to her daughter,
at least when they were alone. Maybe The Kitten would understand
"Dorme!" better than "Go to sleep." She could hardly understand
it less well.
She was as tired as ever that night, but over the next week
and a half she learned to pace herself. A little talk or a toy
dangled in front of her face kept The Kitten interested and awake
for longer periods of the day, which kept her asleep for longer
periods of the night.
The Kitten didn't like afternoons or the sound of the vacuum
cleaner. Jeanette figured out a way to nurse her in the sling
while vacuuming in the morning. The baby adjusted. Jeanette
learned to share the afternoon naps. Once a day, she turned on
the cranky old shortwave before taking The Kitten to the rocker.
Radio France Internationale filled her mind while her baby
drained her body. When The Kitten looked up at her, she
summarized what the announcer was saying.
Jeanette decided to be sure of her new capacities before
telling her husband about them. Bob, teaching the last two weeks
of summer school, had his own overload. It was a time for her to
think again about their relationship, though.
In the first year of their marriage, Bob had seduced her.
The word was accurate. Patiently, tenaciously, deviously, he had
discovered or created a sensuality in her that she hadn't
known in the previous eighteen years. She, in turn, had
discovered a tiger caged somewhere deep within the scholar and
punster whom she had married.
Pregnancy had rather spoiled both. From her fourth month
on, she had been afraid of freeing the tiger. What had been
Bob's techniques of extending their sensuality had become
makeshift replacements for real intercourse during the pregnancy.
When the makeshifts were no longer necessary, she and Bob had
been happy to abandon them.
Bob had comforted her when she thought that she would never
be a mother; he had cherished her through mood swings and nausea;
he tried to do his part of caring for the baby and the household.
She knew what he wanted, and she had enjoyed it too. He deserved
to have it. As for her, she wanted her tiger.
As she laid her plans, she included Bob's other appetite.
On Friday she put a napping Kitten into the Snuggli and visited
the corner grocery.
- = -
Whether Bob Brennan were remarkably unperceptive or not is a
matter of one's priorities. Frazzled as he was, he enjoyed the
taste and feel of his wife's lips and tongue during his welcome-
home kiss. He appreciated the spring of her hips under his
hands. He noticed that she didn't need to be comforted with a
chaste hug after the kiss, and even that it had been days since
she had. That thought brightened his outlook. Willing as he was
to hug away Jeanette's depression, he much preferred to see her
happy.
He didn't notice that she was wearing an office dress or
that the dining room table was set.
"Love you," he said.
"I love you, too. Now go look at your daughter while I
finish up." Ten minutes later, she called him to dinner.
"I can't," he called back. "I'm trapped."
"Goofus!" she said as she removed his little finger from The
Kitten's tiny grasp. "She's asleep. Let's eat while we can."
"Isn't she the cutest baby in the whole world?"
"Yep. But it is possible that we are prejudiced."
"Objective reality," said Bob. Then, when he saw the meal
on the table: "When did you get corn on the cob?"
"Today," she answered in conscious parody of his style. But
he was too taken by her cooking to mind.
"And the dining room. And spare ribs. What's the
occasion?"
"Last day of class; we are proud parents; sun is shining;
I'm glad I married you. One of those."
"You didn't have any choice about marrying me. I cleverly
monopolized your time through three years of high school until
all the desirable boys were taken."
"Say grace."
"Grace," Bob said, as she knew he would; but then:
"Almighty Father, We thank you for the food that is before us,
the baby that you have given us, and the wonderful wife that you
have given me. Amen."
Jeanette's "Amen" was the last word that was spoken for the
next ten minutes. Then Jeanette brought up current events. Once
the staple of their dinner conversations, this had been abandoned
five months before. Bob raised his eyebrows but dealt with
Jeanette's issues, mostly he just asked what she had heard. He
resolved to catch up on *Newsweek*.
They were still talking when the baby cried. "I'll get her
this time," Jeanette said. "You get the dishes." Bob washed and
dried the dishes before settling down to write the tests for the
summer classes. "Your turn," Jeanette said sometime later. He
changed The Kitten and returned to work. When he saved his text
and turned off the computer, Jeanette and The Kitten were
playing. "Ta tette," Jeanette was saying, touching the proper
place, "ton bras, ton coude, ta main. Veux-tu jouer avec papa
jusqu'a tu as faim?"
"'Jouer,' indeed," Bob responded. "Maman wants your diaper
changed before she feeds you." His tone, however, was adoring.
He took over the game. "This is Catherine's nose, this is
Catherine's finger, this is Catherine's knee."
When he brought a recently-diapered Catherine into the
bedroom, Jeanette turned to her side and placed the baby's mouth
on her breast. Barely noticing that the car seat was by the head
of the bed, Bob gazed at his family with adoration, and a tiny
tinge of lust.
"Your lecherous papa is staring at us like a voyeur,"
Jeanette told The Kitten. "Are we going to exhibit ourselves to
a totally clothed audience when you're wearing only a diaper, and
I haven't a stitch on under this sheet?" She cocked her head
toward the small one at her breast. "She says that you'll have
to strip if you want to stay."
"Tell her not to talk with her mouth full," replied Bob. "I
didn't hear a word that she said." But he was already stripping.
"... haven't a stitch on under this sheet," sounded much more
arousing than "covered from the waist down by a sheet" would
have. By the time he crawled carefully over to the far side of
the bed, he was stiffening.
"I told you that Papa was lecherous," Jeanette confided in
her totally oblivious daughter. "I bet he is wishes that he were
in your position."
"I certainly do."
"Well, that's taken. You'll have to find somewhere else."
Bob took that challenge. He started with Jeanette's hand
and kissed each knuckle. He traveled up her arm in slow stages
heading for her neck. Kisses there brought quite satisfactory
shivers. Then he licked the back of her ear.
Jeanette forced herself to wait while Bob kissed a path
downward at his own slow pace. When he reached her hip she
parted her legs. When he started kissing the insides of her
thighs, she threw off the sheet so she could watch him. Soon his
head was pillowed on her left thigh, his body sprawled behind
her, and his lips inches from her lower ones. She could see his
eyes, but they were focused on her mound.
Bob was already hard before he inhaled the wonderful odor
that told him that he was desired as well as desirous. He
expected her to stop him and call him back up, but he was going
to enjoy this while he could. Parting Jeanette's outer lips with
his fingers, he found her wetter than she had been in months.
One lick along the crinkly line of the joined inner lips brought
him the heady taste of his love. He tried to ignore his
throbbing erection and keep his licks gentle. After parting her
inner lips, he looked up along Jeanette's body.
Jeanette had watched Bob's head while she felt his lips and
tongue. Their eyes locked just as his tongue touched her core.
Love poured out of her through that connection as warmth flooded
up her abdomen. The Kitten, first hunger sated, was playing with
her nipples and only occasionally sucking hard. Bob alternated
licking her inner lips and blowing across them. Borne on these
erotic sensations, she floated away from her cares and plans.
Perversely, the gradual realization that she wasn't going to
stop him this time hardened Bob until he wanted to be inside
right then. Staring into her love-filled eyes, he willed himself
to concentrate on her feelings. When she finally looked
elsewhere, he noted the tightening of her belly muscles. Her
unused nipple seemed less prominent than before, but it was still
dark red. He licked up toward her clitoris, hard on the way
there -- gently when he was near. He saw more tension. He blew
a warm, gentle stream of air across the top of her labia. She
shivered. He licked gently until her face took on a look of
worry. Then he sucked in the entire front portion of her lips.
She tensed even more and looked as if she were in agony. Even
when her thighs closed about his head, he continued licking and
sucking. He was rewarded with distinct tremors through her body
and moans that reached his ears despite the thighs pressed
against them.
Jeanette felt every individual sensations from breast and
vulva warm her entire body. Then she felt only the heat. It
pulsed, burning within her. Then she was the pulsing flames.
She cried out in time with the pulses. Then she was gone, and
there was only the flames.
Then there was nothing, nothing at all.
When the trembling stopped, Bob felt the tension go out of
the legs squeezing him. Although the weight was still a
discomfort, he didn't move. Having had that close-up view of
Jeanette's orgasm filled him with awe. He felt that a crick in
his neck or a sore ear was a minor price for the privilege and
feared that mentioning them might lessen the frequency of his
chances. When Jeanette raised her right leg, however, he moved
quickly. Experience had taught him that she wanted a little
cuddle right now.
And cuddle they did.
The Kitten, whose first nine months of existence had --
after all -- included a lot more motion than her last one, no
longer objected to a little shaking while she was being fed. She
fell asleep with her father's hand, as well as he mother's arm,
on her. "Bob," Jeanette whispered, "her car seat is on the floor
by the head of the bed, do you think that you could put her in
it."
"Sure," Bob whispered back. He was vaguely aware that The
Kitten, once she had decided to sleep, would sleep through a rock
concert. The occasion seemed to call for whispering anyway.
He doused the light and reached for the little box before
returning to bed. They resumed the cuddle, but Bob's hands
strayed. He made space for Jeanette to roll over on her back,
then came forward again so that he could kiss her. There was
another break while he rolled on the condom.
"Love you," he said.
"Love you. Want you," she replied.
Positioned between her legs, he kissed each breast once
before moving forward. He found the spot and slid inside.
"Stop," she said when he was fully sheathed. It took an effort,
but he stopped. She wrapped her arms about his chest and her
legs about his hips. "Now," she said. The multiple sensations
in this position more than compensated for the restricted
movement. Clasped in every way possible, he stroked in her slick
softness.
Jeanette was filled with her lover and sheltered by him.
She hugged him and guided him. She luxuriated in the slow
motions across her sensitized breasts, against her swollen labia,
and deep within her. Then the particular sensations merged into
one glorious whole.
Bob felt her stiffen beneath him and tighten around him.
Then all he felt was his own throbbing ejaculation.
Jeanette felt Bob drive into her. She heard him grunt. He
shivered above her and throbbed within her. That brought her to
her own culmination.
They lay panting for a bit until Bob gathered enough energy
to clasp the end of the rubber and pull out. Then they
rearranged the sheets and cuddled in a spoon. "Love you," he
said.
"Love," she murmured back.
Minutes later they were asleep. Hours later The Kitten woke
them.
- = -
Bob usually avoided the laundromat on Saturdays, but having
put it off until after the last class he had little choice. He
packed three weeks back copies of *Newsweek*, since they were
discussing current events again. Jeanette napped while he was
gone, figuring that he would appreciate a rested lover more than
a neater house.
After discussing the world at dinner, they got around to
their own day. "I felt like a wuss," Bob said, "taking the car
the three blocks to the laundromat." Bob's standards for being
in shape came from summers as a road construction worker in his
late teens. "The laundry is heavier these days, though, despite
the diaper service."
"It *is* remarkable how The Kitten goes through clothes,
seeing as I often keep her in just a diaper."
Bob laughed. "God, but I'm glad that I married you," he
said through his chuckles.
"Me too." They had time for a long kiss and a light hug
before Bob started the dishes. Then he checked out the tests
that he had written the night before. The first was too long,
the second too short; both needed to be balanced on periods and
type of question. Bob had long ago found write-and-rewrite
faster and more effective than write-carefully-once.
The Kitten awoke while he was at the computer. He broke to
change her sopping diaper -- he often marveled at how the kidneys
in Catherine's tiny body could process such a huge volume of
water -- and deliver her to her mother. He had work to do and
not an excuse in the world to stay and watch the two of them in
the rocker. But pictures of Jeanette's bare breasts with the
Kitten sucking on one interfered with his work for the rest of
the evening.
Jeanette was similarly distracted. The thoughts that she
shared with her daughter were all about "ton papa," "le tigre,"
"librai," "feroce," and even "seduirai."
The thoughts that she kept to herself were much more
explicit. She decided that she would encourage Bob to take her
through one climax orally. That was teasing all by itself, and
her plans might not allow her to have an orgasm while he was
inside. She would delay him even after that until he was really
desperate. Then she would hold his phallus, maybe apply the
condom herself, at least guide him inside. Finally she would
touch behind his scrotum when he began moving quickly. She
appreciated her gentle, caring, scholar; really she did. But it
was time for a change.
She wouldn't have a husband for a while; she would have a
tiger. And he wouldn't have a climax; he would have an
explosion. "Ton pauvre pere," she whispered to her daughter who
had finally let the nipple escape her lips. "Il ne soupcone
rien." And then it was time for another kind of change.
"I," she told the unsuspecting father after she had laid the
baby down, "need a shower. Your daughter is a sloppy eater."
She was expecting, indeed inciting, a response about "your
daughter." Bob disappointed her.
He had other things on his mind. He could picture in
exquisite detail the area that Catherine had got "sloppy."
Rather than repelled by the slobber, he was attracted by the
long, erect, nipple. The word, "shower," evoked images of a
totally bare Jeanette under cascades of water. He could see,
much more clearly than the screen before him, the stream running
down her belly and soaking the furry mound before concentrating
between her thighs. Jeanette had a habit, perfectly innocent and
quite practical, of parting her legs and thrusting that mound
forward into the shower's path when she wanted to rinse that
area. This memory evoked other memories of similar motions
responding to his thrusts.
"Y'know," he said "I always feel grungy after working in the
hot laundromat. I should shower, too."
"Do you want to go first?"
"No."
"Bob!" Jeanette said two minutes later.
"You asked if I wanted to go first; I didn't." She looked
as sexy as he had imagined, even sexier a moment later when she
started laughing. Giggles always shook her breasts enticingly.
Jeanette thought fast. She had created an elaborate
scenario for evoking her tiger. She knew that her considerate
husband would back off if she told him that she had their evening
planned. There were drawbacks, however.
"Do you want me to wash your back?" he asked.
"Would be nice. I've already washed my front."
"You know, we can't be too careful of the cleanliness of
anything which is going into the mouth of a tiny baby."
Jeanette was not impressed. Blankets, stuffed animals, and
her own toes went into that baby's mouth. "You mean that we
shouldn't allow any other mouth to leave its germs on such
things?"
"Well ... we don't want to be fanatical about hygiene. I'll
do your back." But he also did her legs, starting at her feet
and moving up her thighs. She decided to put her scenario on
hold. Backing off was a poor start for a tiger, and there was a
certain charm to being the pursued.
Bob moved the washcloth up Jeanette's left thigh until she
stopped him. He began again at her right foot and washed up her
leg. This time she didn't stop him. He soaped her delta with
elaborate care.
"I had already washed there," she said.
"Then we have to rinse it twice." This took so long that
the hot water began to run out. Bob hurriedly washed while
Jeanette stepped out. He was shivering when she met him with a
towel.
"Sorry," she said. She began to dry him vigorously.
"Hardly your fault."
"I *was* thinking that a cold shower would be appropriate.
But," she said as her brisk rubbing with the terry cloth skirted
his erection. "it didn't seem to work."
"Worked fine. I wanted to dry you."
"Still can." He took the towel that she handed him and
patted softly at what dampness remained.
"The cold shower worked. I was absolutely, totally, cured
of any concupiscence by the shower. Then I stepped out and found
the most arousing girl in the state of Michigan (as well as in
the state of nature). A saint, a statue of a saint, would have
responded as I did." Jeanette took down her robe while he was
spinning this blarney. "Uh, that robe looks heavy, do you want
me to carry it for you?"
Jeanette laughed, but she didn't put the robe on for the
short trip to the bedroom. She also rolled her hips
exaggeratedly. Bob actually considered her normal walk sexier,
but the explicit invitation thrilled him.
Their kiss in the bedroom was entirely different from the
friendly calm of the one at the end of supper. They stood naked,
with his leg between hers pressing her well-washed mound.
Meanwhile their tongues dueled, and played tag, and tasted each
other.
He broke that kiss to cover her cheek with tiny pecks. When
he reached her breasts, he kissed an elaborate pattern all over
the smooth skin without touching her nipples. He knelt to
continue lower.
Her arousal had begun, not in the shower, but in the rocker
as she plotted his seduction while nursing baby Catherine. Most
of the evidence had been washed away, and her abdomen was devoid
of taste as he kissed and licked there. As he approached the
twice-washed hair, however, he detected the maddening scent of
absolutely fresh arousal. He grabbed her hips to hold her to him
as he pressed his lips against her mound.
Jeanette's legs were beginning to feel very shaky. "Bed,"
she said.
"Rocker?" he responded.
"Man has lovely ideas," she thought but only said "rocker."
It took a minute for Bob to fetch the Trojan and sit in the
rocker. Then she sat on his knees while watching him roll the
rubber onto his erect phallus. "Looks easy," she said. "Bet I
could do that." He hissed at the thought, and she giggled. She
leaned forward so they could share a long, teasing, kiss while he
parted her labia and stroked between.
But she was beyond any need for foreplay. She moved forward
and settled over the wrapped erection. "Slowly," warned Bob even
though this position never produced deep penetration. And she
did move slowly, sinking down, impaling herself on her husband.
Finally, when she was resting completely on him, Bob started the
chair rocking.
Bob felt her touching him, guiding him inside, engulfing
him. Surrounded by the smooth, slick, softness, he gripped her
hips before starting his motion. Every time the chair rocked,
her nipples brushed him as he moved within her. His hands left
her hips and stroked up her back before caressing her breasts.
"This one," Jeanette said lifting her left breast towards
him. He took it in his hand and kissed the tip before sucking it
into his mouth. He nursed where his daughter had an hour before.
At first, the touch and taste of the nipple were enough. But
then, rocking harder, he sucked firmly. It was only a tiny taste
of milk, but that taste was so warm and sweet. His phallus
swelled within her warmth in anticipation. His hands slid down
to her hips again.
Every motion of the rocker was transmitted to Jeanette
through motion of Bob's chest on her nipples, his thighs under
hers, his groin rubbing across her swollen labia, and his manhood
inside her. When he held her breasts, recalling which one had to
be preserved for The Kitten's immediate took all the attention
that she could apply. Once Bob's talented tongue and lips were
adding to the sensations, her connection to the outside world
frayed even faster. The acceleration of the rocking was capped
by the sensation of her milk flowing.
She moaned as the climax seized her entire body. It took
her into pulsing ecstasy.
Bob was stroking inward when he felt the first clasp of her
vagina. This took him over the top. He had to abandon her
breast as he instinctively drove deeper within her. He pulled
her tight against him and sucked on the nearest piece of skin.
He gushed, and gushed, and collapsed.
Both his legs were asleep when The Kitten's cries called
them back to responsibility. Jeanette eased herself off him.
She pulled the condom out of herself and chucked it in the waste
basket before answering her daughter's cries.
The crisis was soon past. Bob cleaned the rocker off while
The Kitten drank herself to sleep. "Well," said Bob, "her lungs
are healthy."
"Looking on the bright side, are we?"
"Well, it seems to be a time with a lot of brightness in it.
Are you feeling as chipper as you've looked today?"
"I really think so," she answered, suddenly serious. "I've
turned some sort of a corner. I'm getting slightly more energy
every day, and she's slightly less of a hassle every day. Do you
want to try getting her to church tomorrow?"
"I'd love it. Think we could?"
"We'll try." They'd tried, unsuccessfully, two weeks
before.
Continued in part 2
FORAYS
Uther Pendragon
1997/10/31
2000/06/26
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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