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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Subject: {ASSM} rev "Forget All That" {Pendragon} ( MF rom cons lact ) [1/12]
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From: Uther Pendragon <anon584c@nyx.net>
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Subject: rev "Forget All That.01" {Pendragon} ( MF rom cons lact ) [1/12]
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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, by 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.
# # # #
FORGET ALL THAT
by Uther Pendragon
Part One:
You'll have read that breast-fed babies have fewer colds and
stomach-upsets. Studies suggest that they will be safer from
asthma and have fewer allergies as they grow up. There are even
suggestions that they will develop a higher IQ and be less
susceptible to acne in adolescence. People tell you that
breast-feeding might make you less likely to suffer from breast
cancer in later life and will definitely speed the loss of that
extra weight that you developed during pregnancy.
Forget all that.
The real reason for breast-feeding your child is that, when
you visit your in-laws, it's the only way to get her back from
her grandparents. And from her aunt. Have I mentioned her aunt?
Well, I may be exaggerating a little bit.
My husband Bob and I went home for Christmas when our
daughter was seven months old. She was quite a hit on the train,
and The Kitten enjoyed the attention for most of that time. By
the middle of the second day, however, she'd had enough of being
the cynosure of a score of strangers, enough of new sensations,
enough of being fed under a cloak. She even seemed to dislike
the swaying of the train, which she'd loved when the trip began.
As anyone who has traveled with kids will guess, this tantrum was
peaking about the time that we arrived at the station where Bob's
parents had been waiting for more than an hour.
When we struggled off the train with all our paraphernalia,
Bob apologized for The Kitten's mood. "Right," said his mother.
"And next you're going to blame Amtrak for your tardiness. Is my
namesake going to say hello?" At that point The Kitten wouldn't
let her father hold her, much less this strange woman. Katherine
was disappointed but philosophical. "Been there, dear. I mean
where you are not where she is. But we've probably all been
there too, just don't remember it." They had a baby-seat already
installed in the van. (Bob was also carrying one; car seats have
other uses.) We all got in, and we were on the road.
By that evening, after a long nap and a long nurse in
absolute privacy, The Kitten and I were fit to meet people. Her
grandmother got her first. "Come to Grandma Brennan," said
Katherine, and then, when she had her in her arms, "CATHerine
Angelique Brennan, CaTHERine Angelique Brennan," all eight steps
to "Catherine Angelique BrenNAN. That's you." The Kitten
gurgled at her. "Well I think that you *should* be proud. And
guess what?"
"Oooh," said The Kitten.
"My name is Katherine, but with a K. YOU were named for
ME!" Unimpressed, the Kitten made a grab for the string of beads
around Katherine's neck. "Don't worry," Katherine said to me,
"those beads are safe. Vegetable dyes." She did take the
precaution of putting her glasses on a high shelf.
The baby food, disposable diapers, and baby wipes that we
brought had multiplied while I slept. A table, neatly covered
with a plastic garbage bag, had been set up for "downstairs
changes," in Katherine's words. The senior Brennans had not only
been eager for our visit, they had prepared for it. I commented
on that to Bob when we were in bed that night. The room came
equipped with a dim night light; there was a quilt on the floor
and another one downstairs for any occasion in which The Kitten
needed to be on the floor; there was a changing table; The Kitten
slept in a refurbished crib. (Our bed however was still the
twin-size from Bob's teenage years. That's all right, there is
plenty of room for two in a twin bed.)
"Ihm hmm. Have you looked at the heater in the corner?" I
had. It was an electric space heater. In front of it, keeping
The Kitten from getting too close, was metal shelving such as you
might find in a tool room. "Those shelves are attached to the
walls. I might be able to pull them over on me; you're too
light; The Kitten doesn't stand a chance. There is a switch
controlling the heater; it is attached to the shelves at eye
level. A little bit of overdesign, there; but my father doesn't
miss a trick. Now, aren't you glad that you married me?"
"*Now* I am."
"Well, you have to take the bitter with the sweet." Meaning
that I would have to put up with my husband to get my in-laws.
Truth to tell, I was very happy with *him* right then; and I
rapidly became even happier. He kissed all over my face before
starting to nibble my ear. I pulled away to give him a real
kiss. Our tongues played for a bit before he began to caress me.
Bob is usually a marvelously slow, gentle, and seductive
lover. This was one of the occasions, however, when he was an
annoyingly slow, subdued, and dilatory lover. For those times, I
have some subtle hints to suggest to him that I'd welcome a more
rapid approach. This night, for example, I took his wrist in
both my hands and moved it so his hand was between my legs. He
grasped my meaning ... and my mound.
His kisses traveled over my face to my neck while his hand
kindled a flame down below. You can talk of Don Juan or
Casanova, but Bob knows *me*. He knew the spot on the side of my
neck which turns me on when he licks it. He knew how to wait
until my arousal was great enough that the turn-on was stronger
than the tickle. He knew that my nipples were sore and to lick
them very gently rather than sucking on them. He knew how to
stroke me to take me to the ragged edge of my climax.
And he knew that I wanted his kiss to muffle my cry as he
stroked me over that edge.
He knew that I loved being held by him as I recovered from
the climax. His arms were around me and his voice whispered in
my ear. "Beloved, marvelous Jeanette, sweetheart, darling,
sweet, love, darling Jeanette ..." he murmured as I gasped.
"I love you," I said when I had recovered my breath. "Give
me a little time."
"All you need." He took my right hand, however, and began
kissing each finger. When I reached my left hand across toward
him, he kissed the palm of my right. That kiss tickled; it also
aroused me. "Now?" he asked.
"Not quite." I moved down in the bed a bit. "Now." We
kissed as before. This time, however, I caressed him as much as
he caressed me. When he licked my nipple, I stroked the backs of
my fingernails down his abdomen.
"It's been two and a half days," he said.
"For me too," I answered; but I stopped at his pubic hair.
After I had toyed with this for a moment, he groaned and started
climbing over me. As soon as he was between my legs, I scrunched
down a little bit more.
He kissed me once on the lips and then came forward until he
touched me. After an instant of adjustment, Bob eased in. I
curled myself up to meet his thrust. When he was all the way
inside, filling me completely, I kissed his shoulder. "Let me,"
I said. Then I kissed down until I could lick *his* nipple,
which hardened for my tongue. He straightened more at that
attention, but it was a strain on me even so. I dropped my head
back on the bed and slid my hands up his arms to his back. He
moved slowly back and forth, in and out.
The sensations of his motions within me were delightfully
arousing; the sensations of his muscles tensing and moving under
my hands were arousingly delightful. I slid my hands down his
back until I could cup his hips which were driving our entire
connection. I felt them harden as they pushed him inward, loosen
as he eased back out. "Love," he whispered as they tensed; he
slipped deep in me, slowly filling me up. "You," he whispered as
they relaxed and other muscles pulled him back until only my
entrance held any part of him. "Love, ... you, ... love, ...
you." He was speaking louder now, although not quite at his
regular volume. His motions were still slow and steady. I
raised my loins to meet his motions, curling my belly in the
process. "Love," clenching muscles, sliding entry, curling
belly, complaining springs; "You," softening muscles, withdrawing
husband, relaxing belly, complaining springs. I used my grip on
his hips to pull myself into his thrusts . "Love," clenching
muscles, sliding entry, curling belly, straining arms,
complaining springs; "You," softening muscles, withdrawing
husband, relaxing belly and arms, complaining springs. He sped
up a little for my pulls, but he tried to slow his withdrawals
even more. I wanted none of that delay.
I tucked my fingers so that the tips touched my palms. That
rather ruined my grip for pulling him closer, but you can't have
everything. As he started inward, I straightened my right hand,
scratching his butt and a little of his inner thigh. I was still
moving my fingernails backwards, and they are the short
fingernails of a typist and mother. Still, they scratch. He
shoved forward hard. He stayed pressed into me for a second.
"Jeanette?" he said.
"Ihm hmm?" I responded. I don't know what I was asking,
much less what he was. So I tightened his very favorite muscle
around him. That started him moving again. I waited another few
strokes before straightening my left hand to scratch him again.
The very next stroke, it was my left hand again. I chose the
hands in random order at random intervals, although always when
he was coming in; I had no desire to have him pull all the way
out. Soon he was moving much faster, saying "Love" on every
thrust. He abandoned the "you"; he had to breathe sometime.
Oddly enough, my concentration on all this stimulation had
lowered my own excitement level. That was okay. I had had a
climax, I wanted to feel his. I caressed his driving butt.
Then, as he sped up once more, grunting instead of saying words,
I slowly moved a finger to the point right behind his scrotum.
Just before I pressed there, I clasped around him as hard as I
could. He shoved himself into me as if trying to reach the top
of my head.
He grunted once more. Then he was pressing against me,
shaking, and groaning. He pulsed within my clasp and I felt him
spurt deep within. Doctor Gupta can say what she wants, I do
feel his seed hit me. I could just make out his grimace in the
dim light.
Then he collapsed on top of me. After a minute I rolled him
over until I could see his face again. He looked just like his
daughter when she has fallen asleep nursing.
There is room for two in a twin bed, you need a double bed
for two and a wet spot. I seriously doubted that Bob would
change any diapers that night. Still, I was a very satisfied
woman as I drifted off to sleep. Daughters and husbands both
create messes, but my daughter and my husband are both worth it.
Continued in Part Two.
FORGET ALL THAT
Uther Pendragon
1997/12/22
1999/12/30
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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