index


Message-ID: <39718asstr$1039363803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} rp "For Elise 05" {Pendragon} (MF voy rom lac wl) [5/5]
Date: Sun,  8 Dec 2002 11:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


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, 1999, 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 ELISE
                       by Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net


Part 5

Jeanette awoke when Bob tossed the blankets away from her front.  
He deposited The Kitten in her arms and plucked out his special 
pacifier.  The Kitten attached herself to the breast, and then it 
was time for mother and daughter to catch another forty winks 
while the refueling was accomplished.  Bob, however kept standing 
there after he'd tucked the blanket around them.

"It's Sunday," he said, "the Sunday of The Kitten's baptism.  
We have Vi and her boyfriend in the other room.  You should wear 
something when you come out.  I love you."

"Love you too."  It was too early to deal with the rest of 
his message.

She did not, however, return to sleep.  Bother!  She loved 
Kathleen, she had really wanted her here, but she didn't want her 
here before breakfast.  Once she'd managed to go to an office 
five days a week starting earlier than this; she would manage to 
get to church today.  

She sketched out the day, and then remembered the previous 
day.  Not bad, no great disasters, and The Kitten had been a real 
hit.  The day led to the night.  Her face burned, but she 
couldn't see what they could have done differently.  Of course, 
she and Bob had other times to make love.  She had planned to 
skip that night, had worked so that Bob wasn't going to need that 
night.  On the other hand, they were in their own home and 
wearing wedding rings.  She wasn't about to apologize.  

The Kitten had fallen back asleep.  She wasn't worrying 
about her guests.  And they were really her guests and her 
ceremony.  Boy!  From the age of one, life was all downhill.

She returned The Kitten to her crib, where she stayed on her 
back for a wonder.  She put on the nightgown, robe, and 
slippers -- she might have to spend a good deal of time waiting 
in line for the bathroom on the chilly linoleum.  But, when she 
got there, only Bob was awake.  "Do you think Charles will want 
cereal?" he asked when she came out from her shower.

"Lactose intolerance.  He certainly won't.  Which means that 
you should make the tomato soup with water for lunch."  Bob 
stirred a wonderfully smooth cream-of-tomato soup, even though 
their milk began as powder.  How could a man so sloppy about some 
things be so obsessive-compulsive about stirring soup?

She was eating her eggs when there was a ringing sound from 
the living room.  They both made a motion towards it, were 
stopped by the sight of the hanging sheet, and saw each other 
realize that it was the sound neither of the phone nor of the 
buzzer.

Murmurs from the other side of the sheet yielded to 
Kathleen's emergence, dressed in the robe they had given her.  
She headed into the bathroom.  Fifteen minutes later, she emerged 
showered, brushed, but still dressed in the robe.

"Do either of you need it?" she asked.  On head shakes, she 
called, "Bathroom's yours."  Charles was dressed in robe and 
pajamas and carrying his clothes when he came through.  He 
emerged clean, shaven, and wearing a robe over his trousers 
before Kathleen joined them.

Charles looked as sheepish over breakfast as Jeanette felt.  
The Brennans -- Brennans by birth -- didn't seem to be bothered 
by their memories of the previous night.  "I didn't expect to see 
you up before eight Jeanette," Kathleen said.

"I wasn't.  The Kitten and I had a little snuggle, but even 
that began...?"  She looked at Bob.

"Maybe eight.  She was sopping.  Sometimes that bothers her, 
and sometimes it doesn't.  This morning it did."

"But my alarm rang at eight!"

"Did you switch it to Michigan time?" Bob asked.  "Anyway, 
we have plenty of time to get to church.  Does anyone need to do 
anything before then?  Except The Kitten, of course."

No-one mentioned anything time-consuming.  Charles went to 
dress and pack.  Jeanette noticed that he and Kathleen seemed to 
dress separately, even if they slept together.  But, perhaps, 
that was a matter of space scheduling.  When they heard the sofa 
bed chunking against the frame, Bob went to show the trick of 
putting it up.

They changed The Kitten's diaper at the last moment, dressed 
her in her nicest dress, wrapped her against the cold, and took 
her out.  Ensconced in her backwards-facing car seat, she let 
Kathleen entertain her while the car warmed up.  

When they were actually moving, Kathleen apparently noticed 
her satisfaction.  "You really don't think that I should put 
Char's family through the surprise, do you?"  

"Dear, I never wanted to be *that* sort of a sister-in-
law, but...."  It was her best imitation of Katherine.

"Yes, mother."  

"I think that you either want a future with this guy or you 
don't.  A future with him means a future with his family, willy-
nilly.  Even Bob has to go to my mother's awful Christmas 
parties.  

"Anyway, from what he said, his mother is likely to welcome 
you.  So don't make her situation worse by offending his father."  

"You do listen to Mom's advice, don't you?"

"Listen all the time.  Much of the time I take it.  
Sometimes it doesn't fit.  Maybe this advice won't fit you, but 
think about it."

"She's afraid that you don't stand up to Bob enough.  He 
rides roughshod over you."

"Kathleen, he spoils me rotten.  And no, I don't stand up to 
him.  The closest I came in years was over your visit."

"Well, you have to stand up to Bob.  He's as pigheaded 
as...."

"I think the comparison you want is 'pigheaded as his 
sister.'  And I do stand up to him on some things, things where I 
can afford to lose.  But, if it's important, if it's really 
important to me, I tell him that.  I *ask* him for it."

"Well, you shouldn't have to ask him for it.  You should be 
able to decide."  Jeanette tried to picture stamping her foot and 
demanding that Bob hug her or else.  She and Bob wrangled all the 
time, seldom before company, but all the time when alone.  But it 
was recreation.  She didn't even *want* Bob to stop his 
puns, and he didn't want her to stop complaining about them.  

"Anyway," Kathleen broke into her thoughts, "have you got 
any recordings?"

"A couple.  You?"

"I think I have enough."

Kathleen started paying more attention to The Kitten.  
Jeanette pulled the car into the lot at the church.  They were 
still running ahead of schedule; they were among the first cars 
to arrive, and she could park fairly close to the door.  Bob, who 
had directed Charles into a more distant spot, didn't catch up to 
them until they were inside.

The Brennans' usual seat was on the left of any one of three 
pews a little forwards of the middle.  Bob usually made a point 
of sitting far enough from the aisle that a visitor would feel 
comfortable sitting next to them, but this morning they took the 
edge as they would have to get up for the baptism.  Charles went 
in first, then Kathleen, then Jeanette with The Kitten, and then 
Bob.

"Hi Pumpkin," said Kurt from behind them.  Jeanette had 
occasionally had visions of his answering "What name shall be 
given to this child?" with "Pumpkin."  The Kitten didn't mind, 
however; she gurgled at him.  When he had tapped her nose a few 
times while she tried to impale her eye on his finger instead, he 
turned his attention to the adults.

"Kurt," Bob said, "This is my sister Kathleen.  And this is 
Charles Johnson, a friend of hers from medical school.  Dr. 
Johnson is checking out her parenting skills."  Kathleen had 
obviously been expecting something like this; she had her arm 
behind Jeanette on the back of the pew.  She pinched Bob, who 
didn't deign to notice.  After a few handshakes and another 
session with The Kitten, Kurt wandered off to his usual seat.

Bob's next introduction included: "Dr. Johnson is here for 
an unstated purpose, but definitely not to check out Kathleen's 
parenting skills."  This earned him another pinch.  "Watch out, 
Charles," he said when that couple had left.  "This girl isn't 
satisfied with anything you say."

"Bob," Jeanette asked, "could you keep it civil?  The Kitten 
and I feel like Alsace and Lorraine."  Being married to a 
historian for more than a decade should teach you something.  
After that, Bob dropped the teasing.  Kathleen could have learned 
a lesson from that, but she probably hadn't.

She passed a hymnbook to Kathleen.  "Do you need another?" 
she asked.  

Kathleen shook her head.  "We can share."

                             - = = - 

Bob stood when the minister asked about visitors.  "My sister and 
Catherine's godmother, Kathleen Brennan.  Charles Johnson, a 
friend of hers from medical school.  Dr. Johnson currently lives 
in Cleveland."

The Kitten enjoyed the getting up and sitting down and 
singing.  In between, she was passed from lap to lap.  Half way 
through the sermon, however, she got bored.  Bob, as usual, took 
her out behind the pews and walked back and forth.  The motion 
was all the entertainment she needed, but occasionally an usher 
came by to admire her.  

The ceremony went smoothly, but when the water splashed over 
her head, The Kitten was annoyed.  Jeanette had brought the 
bottle of milk she had expressed on Friday; sticking that in The 
Kitten's mouth quieted her.

There was a small party afterward, catered by the women's 
society.  It was silly to go home from that and serve lunch 
immediately, but time was winding down.  Somehow stories seemed 
appropriate.  "By that time," Jeanette told them, "baths were 
heavenly; you weigh so much less.  But the tub looked grungier 
and grungier.  I hadn't scrubbed it in months.  So I asked Bob to 
take on one more task.  He asked if he could do it slowly.  What 
could I say?"

"Well," Bob said, "it hadn't developed suddenly."  There was 
only so much time that he could spend on his knees leaning over 
the bathtub before the position caused discomfort.

"So, the next bath I take, there is a band of glistening 
white.  It is about eighteen inches wide and runs from the rim to 
the bottom.  Slowly, day by day, it expands in both directions.  
Then the bottom, which had never been awful, glistened as well."  
There was a lot of illogic in the world, but some people made it 
a fetish; three people chuckled over his proceeding logically.  

Well, four people were laughing; but the Kitten was probably 
not following the conversation.  She looked entranced by her 
toes.  He could remember baring her tiny feet and admiring those 
toes once -- such incredible detail; but he'd got over that.

"So," Kathleen said later, "there aren't one hell of a lot 
of desirable psychiatric residency programs in Cleveland.  You 
think of big cities, you know; they're all big.  But Chicago is 
five times as big as a city, three times as big as a metro area.  
And the biggest cities somehow have institutions which attract 
patients from further afield.  Anyhow, I have applied to two 
places in Cleveland, but I didn't rate them at the top."

"And," Bob asked Charles, "how about you?"

"A first-year resident fresh out of med school is 95% like 
an intern.  Somebody has to fetch and carry and fill out the 
forms."

"The five percent?"

"I'm in the one program for the entire residency."  

"So you guys are likely to keep those long-distance bills 
for the next three and a half years," Jeanette said.  As if the 
long-distance cost was the chief detriment.

"And it's not as if I would want Kath to take a residency at 
an institution where she didn't want to be.  Whatever I think of 
psychotherapy, her training is her whole future."

"Well," said Kathleen, "damned by faint praise."

"Everybody needs a friendly ear.  That helps loads, as does 
a hot bath and twelve hours of sleep.  But running a motel 
doesn't require medical training, and I don't see where listening 
does either."

"There is a little bit more involved than listening, Char."  

"The ear helps; nobody has actually shown by control groups, 
let alone double-blind experiments, that the mouth has any 
positive effect at all."

"There are times when you sing a different tune about the 
positive effects of my mouth."

"Kath!"  Charles said, thereby erasing the small uncertainty 
about what she had meant.  The man was no tactician.

"So, do you want some prints of the pictures we took today?"  
Of course Kathleen wanted pictures; you'd think that Jeanette 
wanted to change the subject.

"I really would appreciate that," said Charles.  "I'll give 
you my address before I leave."  Oops!  Well prints were cheap 
enough.

"I'd like some, too," said Kathleen.  "Apparently I'll get 
to see the family this Christmas."

Jeanette had recently seen a hospital from the other side.  
She asked some questions about the cast of characters.  "I could 
never figure out who all those people were.  So some of them 
addressed as 'Doctor' were lowly interns like you."

Charles and Kathleen tried to clarify some of the roles.

He had a question of his own.  "And, when the obstetrician 
says, 'Get that guy out of here; I already have two patients; I 
don't need three.'  Who guides him out?"

"Probably the circulating nurse," said Charles.  "But if I'd 
been an intern in there, I might have done it.  Or even a junior 
resident.  Doing what the doctor wants done hurts nobody's 
training long-term."

"Bob!" said Kathleen.  "You didn't wimp out?  Jeanette never 
told me."  She hadn't?  It was the funniest event of a not-so-
funny time.  Jeanette had been in *pain* in there.

"Listen Kathleen," Jeanette said, "and listen hard.  There 
is *one* person in the entire universe who hurts because I 
hurt.  And it hurts him worse than it does me.  I don't think 
that is funny.  I've been a friend to you.  My friends don't 
tease Bob because my pain hurts him.  Never!"  

"Well," Bob said, "I thought it was funny."  Maybe he 
shouldn't have told that particular joke.  She had been hurting, 
and that had mattered more than anything at the time.  He found 
that turning times of pain into humor eased the memory, and so -- 
sometimes -- did she.  But her pain was central to that time.  
Let her make the jokes.

"I didn't."  Her voice sounded like she was crying.

"Jeanette," said Kathleen, "I swear that I'll never mention 
it again.  You only have to ask, dear.  Wasn't The Kitten good at 
her baptism?  I don't think anyone can blame her for crying about 
being splashed."

While that was one subject that they all agreed on, it took 
several more minutes for the conversation to reach its previous 
pitch.

When he thought that they still had plenty of time before 
Charles's scheduled departure, Jeanette got up and returned with 
a package of food for his trip.  She said, "Well, Charles, it was 
nice to have met you.  I expect that I'll hear more about you 
from Kathleen now."  Bob checked his watch.  Half an hour left; 
had Jeanette got the time wrong?

"Tell him goodbye, Bob."  He shook hands -- that tone 
allowed no questions.  "Now you guys check out the living room, 
both of you.  I don't want anything left behind."  She pulled the 
curtain across the doorway again.  Then she gathered up The 
Kitten, handed her to Charles for a last hug, and took her into 
the kitchen.  Bob followed her.

Charles and Kathleen disappeared behind the curtain before 
the light dawned in his skull.  

                             - = = - 

Jeanette sat on a kitchen chair while Bob got out the papers he 
had put away on Charles's arrival.  The Kitten, a little early by 
Jeanette's reckoning, pawed at her breasts.  She'd skipped the 
jar feeding the previous day because that wasn't the side of her 
daughter that she wanted to present to guests.  Did she want to 
skip it again today?  Yes.  First, her breast was full to the 
point of leaking; The Kitten had last been fed by bottle. Second, 
she was emotionally drained; she didn't have the energy for that 
struggle.

She brought The Kitten to her breast.  "Hold me," she said.  
Bob stood beside her and held her head against his stomach.  It 
gurgled.  She'd rather be held like that and hear his stomach 
rumble than have him go off to another city and hear The Mormon 
Tabernacle Choir.  A minute later he moved away.  It wasn't far 
enough away that she didn't hear him pass gas.  He pulled up a 
chair and sat beside her with one arm around her shoulders and 
the other hand helping to hold up The Kitten.  

A half hour later, Kathleen went past them heading for the 
bathroom.  

She had stopped crying when she came out.  Bob dished up 
three big helpings of chocolate-fudge-swirl ice cream.  When The 
Kitten was burped, Bob handed her to her godmother.  "Thanks 
guys," Kathleen said.  "I don't know how I'll be able to stand 
another 43 months of this."

They let her wear the Snuggli almost until she had to get on 
the train.  They waved the train out of sight, and then returned 
home.  

The Kitten, who had been especially good for her guests, got 
fussy earlier than usual.  Jeanette couldn't blame her, feeling 
about the same way herself.  On the other hand, they were really 
bad company for each other.  The mood hadn't affected her 
daughter's appetite, however; after all, she *was* Bob's 
daughter too.  Burped, cuddled, with the special Kitten-goes-to-
sleep tape playing, she was finally laid on her back.  She rolled 
over and went to sleep.

Bob had stripped the sofa-bed.  She washed the dishes to let 
him finish grading his papers.  Defiantly decadent, they ate 
another round of ice cream after their supper of leftovers.

This time she made sure to insert the diaphragm when she got 
ready for bed.  Bob being still hard at work, she wore the robe 
to bed.  The sheets were chilly without him, and lonely too.

"Just hold me," she said.  He did, but she felt him laughing 
against her back.  "What's so funny."

"'I can make the sun rise if I command it at the right 
time.'  What would I have done if you hadn't asked me to hold 
you?"  Well, he would have held her; Bob was good that way.

"Sometimes, I need to be hugged; other times I just enjoy 
it.  Stay like this for a while."  So he did, kissing her 
shoulder through the robe occasionally, but staying away from the 
sexy patch on the back of her neck.  He stayed away from her 
nipples, too; but his hand supported her breast when it wasn't 
caressing her belly.  

She moved forward for a moment to pull up the back of her 
robe.  He completed the job, and their legs could touch skin-to-
skin.  He slowly got an erection against her butt. 

"Want to lose the robe?" he asked.  There were about a dozen 
layers of cloth between their waists, and his shoulders were not 
touching hers anymore.  Well, she did; then she got another idea.  
She checked the clock.  The Kitten would wake up again sometime 
within the next hour; if not, she'd at least feed if awakened.  

"Can you lie on your back?"  He turned over immediately.  

She climbed on top.  There was a tube of KY in the 
nightstand drawer.  When he was thoroughly covered, she eased 
herself back.  "Don't want to make love," she explained -- a 
little late, "just want to snuggle."  

It took more of an effort than usual to accommodate his 
size.  But there was something sensuous about the stretching.  
Then she was sitting on his groin, and she was gloriously full.  
She wiped her hand on the sheets; he adjusted the robe in back so 
it was under the covers.  He came almost out, however, when she 
lowered herself onto his chest.  He pulled the covers up and 
tucked them around her shoulders.  

Then he slowly stroked her back and scratched lightly around 
her shoulder blades.  His body was motionless under hers except 
for his breathing and an occasional thrust to keep a little of 
him inside her.  Except for her arms, everywhere they touched was 
skin to skin.

She just rested her breasts on his chest, letting the sparse 
hair on his chest tickle her nipples.  She could feel him inside 
her, feel him under her, feel his warm hands on her back.  The 
scratching felt good.

"I love you, you know," he said.  She did know.  They 
watched each other in the light from the dining room and the dim 
night light.

"I just want to be held," she told him.  "Later, maybe, 
after the feeding."  

"I hate to tell you this...."  Well, she knew that he was 
inside her.  Who had done it, after all?  Still, this was being 
held.  He cuddled her, and she cuddled part of him.  She gave it 
a little squeeze to demonstrate.

His face showed that he had felt that.  She made kissing 
faces to him and he sent some kisses back.  But, when he came out 
a minute later, she was glad to relax.  She lay more directly on 
him, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I do love you.  I love your bright wit and your care.  
Y'know, it took even Vi a minute to figure out what you were 
doing saying goodbye to Charles early.  I love your warmth and 
being inside it and being against it."  His erection hadn't gone 
down much, and now it was lying pressed along her groove.  
Really, if you wanted erotic sensations (which she didn't 
particularly, right now) there were more from that pressure than 
there had been when he was inside.  "I love your sexy looks and 
sexy feel."  She loved his sexy feel, too: his legs between hers, 
his chest under hers, his hands on her back, his voice rumbling 
beneath her.  "I love the way you care for The Kitten."

They looked at each other again for a long while.  He made 
kissing motions again, and she moved up so that they could have a 
real kiss.  They lost contact below, but their tongues played 
before she got tired of that position.  She moved down again when 
holding herself up became an effort.  She rested her head on his 
chest and kissed his shoulder occasionally; he licked at her ear 
from time to time, only reaching the back top....

If she was asleep, The Kitten's first stirrings awoke her.  
She got off Bob and stood on the floor.  "I can," Bob said in a 
quiet voice.  But he really couldn't have, not without her 
getting up anyhow.  

She changed The Kitten, who did not smell like a proper 
bedmate.  Then she said, "Move over."  Bob gave her a lot of 
space and swept the covers off that side.  She managed to doff 
the robe while still holding The Kitten to her breast.  Then she 
eased herself into the bed.  Bob covered her but made sure that 
The Kitten had plenty of air space.  Then he fit himself against 
her back.

That was nice for a bit, with his hand helping her hold The 
Kitten.  Too much had happened to sort it out for her daughter, 
so she confined herself to "Belle Catherine... souce Catherine... 
habile Catherine" and an occasional "Trouves-tu la leche bonne?"

When Bob's petting got more intimate, she opened her legs to 
encourage him.  "You wouldn't want to just lie here with Junior 
inside would you?" she said.  From his motions in back of her, he 
would.  She arched her back as much as possible, and he moved 
back inside.  Their backs couldn't touch like that, but you can't 
have everything.  Then he went back to scratching her back, very 
gently, with the backs of his nails.  You can have damn-near 
everything.  

She lay in bliss for the longest time.  The Kitten quite 
finished her meal, rolled over, and went back to sleep.  She was 
on her back, which was good; but if she rolled again to get on 
her belly, she might tumble off the edge of the bed.  Jeanette's 
arm was there to prevent that, but she had no illusions as to how 
long her attention was going to remain on her baby.  Well, this 
had been bliss.  "I have to get up now," she said.  Bob rolled 
away, freeing her and emptying her in one motion.

She put The Kitten in her crib, where she woke long enough 
to roll over onto her belly.  Once up, Jeanette considered it 
wise to visit the bathroom.  Bob had been extremely nice to her 
tonight, after the two of them having been extremely nice to 
their guests.  It was really his turn.

When she had cuddled back against his warmth, she said as 
much.  "This has been really delightful.  I've loved it.  I bet 
you want to finish, though."

                             - = = - 

Well, yes.  He wanted to finish.  On the other hand, the evening 
so far hadn't been his hardest task of the week.  "Hard," come to 
think of it, might apply; but "onerous" certainly didn't.

"What do you want?  I've loved this so far."

"I want you to have what you want."  She paused "So long as 
it isn't *too* athletic."  

"May I kiss you?"  She puckered up.  Imp!  They had a 
smacking kiss, and then he really kissed her, loving her tongue 
and the roof of her mouth as he wanted to love her down below.

"Anywhere you want."  He wasn't going to take that too 
literally; probably her nipples were still sore.  He pecked her 
lips, kissed her eyebrows, and started his journey downward.

He kept to the smoothness of her breasts, and only pecked at 
one peak.  Her belly, however, deserved the full treatment that 
it got.  She writhed to avoid his kiss on her navel, but that was 
ticklishness -- not soreness.  By the time he arrived at his 
goal, she was ready for him and smelled like it.  A few kisses on 
her mound allowed him to savor that odor.  

At the prompting of his hands, she rolled over on her side.  
The ease with which she did that was suddenly a pleasure to see, 
though it was really months old.  He rested his head on one thigh 
while she eased the other one down over him.  They adjusted the 
covers so that he could breathe while she had some protection 
from the cold air.

Now her odor came full force.  He licked the thin ridge of 
joined lips, slowly working them open while tasting her richness.  
He licked each lip in turn, only the tiniest corner of his tongue 
even approaching her nubbin.  When she was writhing around his 
head, he withdrew his tongue completely, and then flicked it 
forward to touch her clitoris.  She gasped.  

He worked his hand between their bodies and then his finger 
into her tunnel.  He widened it until another finger fit there.  
He flicked his tongue across her clitoris again, and then pressed 
his fingers against the top of her vagina.  After all these 
years, it still took him a bit of rubbing there before he located 
the bump that was her G-spot.

Now she was his indeed.  He would lick around her clitoral 
area until she tensed, then rest his tongue while his fingers 
tickled her inside.  When that seemed to bring her close, he held 
his fingers still while he licked her lips.  His tongue would get 
closer and closer to the clitoris until it actually touched.  
When she was moaning from that, he would concentrate on his 
fingers again.

Finally, with her fingernails digging into his scalp, she 
pled:  "Please Bob.  Oh please.  Now please."

He kept his fingers rubbing against each other and against 
her.  He pressed his face forwards for the centimeter that it 
could move.  He locked his lips around the front of her valley, 
and he sucked and hummed.  When she began to go over, he licked 
directly across her clitoris slowly but repeatedly.

Her thighs almost crushed his skull, and she clasped his 
fingers again and again.  When those strong, surging, clutches 
turned to flutters, he stopped all motion.  Soon after, the 
pressure on his head dropped.  

He escaped from between her thighs and turned her over on 
her back.  The bedclothes were a tangle under her, but he 
couldn't stop for that.  He took the familiar position between 
her legs, found the entrance, and pressed home.  

Before she actually came down from her previous high, he was 
stroking inside her.

                             - = = - 

Jeanette, when she could still think, had thought that it was 
typical of Bob that he would choose to stimulate her orally when 
he was offered almost any sort of sexual activity.  Not that she 
was afraid that he would neglect his own climax; she'd been 
married to the man too long to suspect that.  But he took 
pleasure in her pleasure almost as much as he suffered from her 
pain.

Then she'd let herself sink into her feelings.  The prelude 
had been a blizzard of kisses.  He'd sneaked up on the place 
where they both knew he was heading, but his kisses had also 
expressed his love for some of the other parts, like her belly 
which was no longer so lovable.  She'd felt aroused, sure, and 
also tickled; but she'd felt loved even more.

The love hadn't gone away when he was licking her nether 
lips, but the arousal had certainly overtaken it.  First, he took 
a deliciously long time licking her open.  Then, he had teased 
her with his tongue until she desperately wanted him inside.  
Then his fingers had entered her as a kind of security deposit 
for the real thing.  After that, she had mostly lost track of the 
particulars.

 From Bob's busy lips and fingers and, most especially, 
tongue, would come one sensation after another.  Each would send 
a shudder of pleasure through her, each would increase her need 
for the next.  He had pulled her upwards and wound her tighter.  
It had been delight; then it had been glory; it had become 
torture.  She had begged him for release.  

Instead, the torture had increased.  Already tightly 
stretched, she had been stretched doubly -- triply, until she'd 
broken.  And, when she'd broken, she'd broken free to soar.  
Connected to the bed by only the sensations at her center, she 
had risen into the heights.  It had been joy.  It had been 
freedom.

It had been over.

And, when it was over, she needed Bob.  That part down 
there, which had been all of her that mattered a second ago, 
wasn't *really* her.  She needed her husband up next to her 
head where she lived.

Magically, he was there.  And not only there whispering in 
her ear, but there for all of her.  His faced filled her vision; 
his wide torso sheltered hers from the night and its fears; his 
legs were over hers and between them.  And, there between her 
legs, he occupied her center; he filled her where she had been 
empty.  The only parts of her that weren't touching him were her 
calves and feet.  So she curled them in against his thighs to 
take care of that.

"Oh Jeanette," he said, "I love you."  And he loved her very 
thoroughly, loved her moving out, loved her coming in.  Loved her 
moving against all those parts that his previous love had 
sensitized.  He loved her faster and faster, he loved her deeper 
and harder, and she loved him back.

Then his love filled her completely, poured more love into 
her.  And her love matched his and took her away.  She soared 
upward again. 

And, when she returned, she returned to being held in Bob's 
arms and still filled with his love.

Later, of course, the passion was only a memory -- lovely a 
memory as it was.  The magic proof of his love for her, the proof 
which had taken her with him to glory when it had pulsed out of 
him and into her, was a messy smear congealing on the sheets and 
her thighs.  Love can give you a warm glow, but it is a more 
comfortable glow when the covers are on top of you, not tangled 
beneath you.  

Later, they straightened all that out.  Later they were 
parents who checked their offspring and turned her on her back.  
(She turned onto her tummy again.  The hospital hadn't palmed her 
off with a girl who wasn't Bob's daughter.)

Still later, she woke to find Bob gone.  He came back in a 
minute and slipped into his side of the bed.  "Bob" she asked.

"I'm here," he said.  And he was.



The End
For Elise
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
1999/12/28
2000/08/17
2002/12/08

                              - = - 

This story carries the codes: (MF voy rom lac wl) 
The code, "wl," means that some, at least, of the sex in the 
          story is between husband and wife.

For other codes, and how they can help you find the stories you 
want, see:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/code/scfr.htm
The Story-Code FAQ for readers.


This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans.

The next story in the series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/fat_a.htm
"Forget All That" 

The first story in the series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/forever.htm
"Forever" 

The directory to the entire series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan.htm"> 
Brennan Stories Directory 


For non-Brennan story of in which sibling relations are 
important, see:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/story/april.htm
"April's First" 

The directory to all my stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+