index


Message-ID: <40109asstr$1041055803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} rp "Forget All That 10" {Pendragon} (MF rom wl lac) [10/12]
Date: Sat, 28 Dec 2002 01:10:03 -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, 1997, by 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, please E-mail them to 
me at anon584c@nyx.net.  

     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
                        anon584c@nyx.net



Part Ten:
Continued from Part Nine.

"That was the best time that I've spent in that house since the 
woman I love moved out," Bob said.  We'd spent some awful times 
before then, too.  "It's a shame that I got the respite, and you 
didn't."

"You're supposed to think of your daughter's welfare first."

"Would your going out to breast-feed her have been that much 
worse?  You could have used the cape."  Which keeps anybody from 
seeing anything at the cost of keeping The Kitten and me from 
seeing one another.  I used the cape on the train, but not in 
church.  On the other hand, most people in church were facing the 
other way.  Which reminded me of the boy.

"That poor kid in church," I said, "he'll be traumatized for 
life."

"Damned voyeur, traumatization is the least of what he 
deserved."  But we both chuckled.

"I'm glad that that's over for another year," he said.

"Or forever."

"You don't mean that."

"I mean it," I said.  "The question is whether I will mean it 
next year.  Dammit, we don't have the right to bring The Kitten 
into that situation."

"Well, your mother seems more hostile towards the world 
every year."

"Do you want me here, or away?" he asked when we got home.  
The Kitten wanted only Maman just then.

"Go eat," I told him.  "We'll lie here on the couch."  Messy 
diapers don't affect Bob's appetite at all, his fight with his 
father didn't seem to touch it.  Two things diminish it.  Colds 
reduce it to nil, and he eats very lightly at my parents' house.  
So he joins his family at their late supper afterwards.  Usually I 
do too, though I don't eat much.

The Brennans were still at table when I put a sleeping 
Kitten on her quilt.  I wandered into the kitchen and came back 
with a glass of milk.  The family never seats more than four at 
the kitchen table, and that crowds it.  After the first year of 
Bob's and my visits to my family, they moved the light supper 
that the three of them eat into the dining room to let Bob and me 
join them when we come back.  "You know," I said, "I'll be 
happier with that in the past than with it in the future.  I'm 
glad that our feast is after theirs.  Discommodes you three, 
though."

"Not particularly," Bob's father said.  "You know that we 
kept the schedule the year that you were stuck in Michigan."

"Sorry," I said, not for the first time.

"Don't be, dear," Katherine said, not for the first time.  
"You know that we missed you, and it was horrible that the man 
died, but you did your duty.  You can't be sorry for that."  I 
don't think that it had ever occurred to any Brennan that Bob 
could have come home without me.

"You know, dear," she continued, "The feast schedule is 
written in stone the moment that the turkey goes in.  It's 
flexible now.  I can't figure The Kitten's new schedule.  Do you 
have any hints as to what time we should start eating."  I looked 
at her for a minute and burst into tears.  I ran for my room.

Up there, I bawled for an hour.  My mother couldn't cuddle 
her grandchild on the grandchild's schedule.  Bob's mother would 
schedule a day around The Kitten's schedule and mine.  She didn't 
think of it as a choice, even.  It was just a technical problem.  
Bob knocked and entered.

"Just remember that everybody in this house loves you," he 
said.  "That goes especially for me.  Do you want hugs or 
solitude?"  Both really.  I didn't answer.  He came over to the bed 
and knelt there.  He hugged me around the shoulders.  I enjoy 
having him touch the sexy parts most of the time, but not 
touching them at all means that the hug is a gift for me.

After a few minutes, I answered his question.  "I think I 
want solitude first."  He kissed me on the temple, got up, and 
went out.

When I came down, everybody was in the living room.  "I 
didn't mean...." Katherine started.

"All you did was express thoughtful concern," I said.  "I 
just couldn't stand thoughtful concern just then.  I haven't the 
foggiest idea what our schedule is right now.  I don't know 
whether I can pull off another jar-feeding tonight.  All I can 
tell you is that she will get cranky after four."

"We'll do it early, then.  We can always turn off the oven 
but leave it in, dear."  Which would mean a dry turkey.  There 
wasn't one person in that room who wouldn't ruin the main dish of 
a feast to have me with them.

"If you say one more kind thing, I'll start bawling again."

"Sit down and shut up!" said Bob.

Saying that I didn't want kind didn't mean that I wanted 
nasty.  He had broken the tension, though.  I went over and plunked 
myself in his lap.  He hugged me.  A while later, I sidled off his 
lap and onto the couch.  I leaned into his hug.  When he wasn't 
talking, he occasionally kissed me very gently on my head.  I 
unwound.

The conversation idled along.  In the past year, the Senior 
Brennans had acquired a CD player and a CD of "A child's 
Christmas in Wales."  Kathleen suggested that the first purchase 
was only to facilitate the second.  "Now, we do have other 
recordings, dear.  It's just that the old record was getting quite 
scratchy."

Memories led to memories.  "I'll miss Aunt Amy," Kathleen 
said, "though not to the extent of wishing her back for a visit.  
I'll bet that we still have a ton of her inevitable home-made 
candles around the house."

"No, dear, Bob and Jeanette took most of them in their first 
years of marriage."

"Sorry now that I took yours, Kathleen," I said.  "Candles 
provide a really romantic light for intimate meals and such."  
Especially such.

"Not wanting to nag, dear; but I hope you are careful with 
candles around The Kitten.  I always worried about those candles.  
You don't ever want to fall asleep with one burning, it could 
start a fire."  Damn!  Was nothing secret?

Kathleen moved from the end of the sofa to another chair.  I 
stretched out and lay with my head in Bob's lap.  Junior stirred 
under me, and Bob played with my hair.

"Hello, dear," said Katherine.  "I'll bet you're wet."  Then 
somewhat later, "My!  Do you like Grandma Brennan's necklace?"

"'Brennan' is unnecessary," I said.  The bitterness of my 
tone shocked even me.

"Did I do something wrong.  dear?"

"She only has one grandmother."

"Now, dear, that isn't correct.  However you feel about the 
other one.  Do you mind if I use the term I choose?"  Put that way, 
how could I object.

"Use the term you choose."

Katherine's attention being mostly taken, the conversation 
was reduced to three Brennans.  This being two more than strictly 
necessary, it rattled along.  Junior was semi-hard under me, and I 
knew what Bob was thinking, though we looked innocent as The 
Kitten from anywhere in the room.  I slowly rolled my head in 
Bob's lap, and felt delightfully lewd.

"Do you want me to feed The Kitten her baby food, dear?" 
Katherine asked.  The rest of Bob stiffened under me.  He didn't 
want me to get up just then.

"Please do," I said.  She would do a better job than I would.

More time passed.  Bob softened.  Katherine returned.  The 
conversation moved from Christmas to politics.  "Weld and Lee may 
come to nothing," Bob said.  "But in two cases the Senate was 
prevented from hearing material by fossil chairmen.  I expect 
Republican Senate candidates to have to carry that baggage.  It's 
one thing to vote no, it's another to not listen."

"Yes, dear, but will that fit inside a sound bite?"

"By not watching network news," his father said, "you have 
really cut yourself off from the political arena.  If it hasn't 
happened on TV, it hasn't happened as far as political 
consequences go.  Now, real-world consequences are another 
matter."

"Maybe, sir, but this is not my century, after all.  TV is 
all telling the audience, and I'm rather past the stage of taking 
lecture courses.  I *teach* seminars, now.  Anyway, Jeanette 
has a take on TV."

"I figure that The Kitten will want one in a few years.  She 
can ask for it and learn that it is a childish toy, not the 
center of adult life."  Bob's father thought that as funny an idea 
as Bob had.  I was perfectly serious.

"As both members of the firm have spoken," he said after he 
stopped chuckling, "I take it that this is a firm decision."  
There was a chorus of groans.  "Let him who is without pun cast 
the first groan."

"Oooh," said The Kitten, as if on cue.  We broke up.

"Mais non, mon enfant, dis 'Decembre,'" said Bob, a little 
late to claim any of the laughter as his.

"Dears," Katherine said, "are you really determined that we 
take the two of you as a unit?"  Bob raised his hand off my 
forehead, and I opened my eyes to look.  He was raising three 
fingers.  "Now *that* is hardly fair, dear.  On average, the 
three of you are incredibly cute and cuddly.  I'm *not* 
going to change your pants if you mess in them."

"Been there," said Bob's father.  "Done that."

Later in the conversation, The Kitten got fussy.  Katherine 
tried changing her and enticing her with the necklace.  Then she 
handed her over to me.  The Kitten settled down on my stomach.  
Bob's stomach rumbled right next to my ear.  They could have been 
talking Greek above me, I didn't care.

Then Bob's father put A Child's Christmas in Wales in 
the new CD player.  Dylan Thomas's voice, marvelous on the old 
scratchy record, sent chills through us on the new digitized 
version.  We listened to the silence for a few more minutes after 
it was over, but it was approaching Network News time.  Kathleen 
stayed down to watch with her parents.  I tore a sprig off the 
mistletoe before we three went upstairs.

By now, both my breasts were feeling full.  I would have to 
express some -- not too much, throw it away, and feed The Kitten 
off the other breast.  That was all to facilitate a visit to a 
woman who made less fuss over her grandchild than the strangers 
on the train had.

The hell with all that.  I had a husband who cared for me.  
Bob would tolerate any experiment.  "I'll go first," I said.

I came back from the bathroom clutching my robe around my 
nightgown with one hand and carrying all my clothes the other.  
"Your turn," I said.  I found the sling in The Kitten's suitcase.  
I hung it over the back of the rocking chair.

Bob came back shaved.  I think he didn't want the prickles to 
bother me that night.  The Kitten was on her quilt, not looking 
very hungry.  That was fine.  "None of this may work," I said.

"The lovely thing about marriage is that there's always 
another chance."  I had a philosopher in my bedroom.  Not, however, 
the marquis's.

He came over and kissed my hairline.  Sated with non-sexual 
comforting, I raised my face for a real kiss.  Our mouths met in a 
sweet, still comforting, kiss.  Then our tongues met, and the real 
kiss began.  Bob kneaded my seat through robe and nightgown.  I 
finally broke the kiss to say, "Don't all those layers of cloth 
impede your touch?"

He stepped back to remove my robe.  "You've lost the belt 
somewhere," he said.  No I hadn't.

"I'll look tomorrow."

"The nightgown?" he asked.

"Please."  I lifted my arms and he drew the nightgown over my 
head until it was half off.  At that point, he found the sash to 
my robe.  It was around my waist and knotted low in front.  The 
sprig of mistletoe was tied in the knot.  Bob howled in laughter.

Farewell romance.  I was standing there with a nightgown 
tangled in my arms and covering my face.  My husband was doubled 
over laughing his fool head off.  This roar of laughter filled the 
house, and probably the block.

Nobody pounded on the door asking what was so funny.  I 
managed to untangle myself.  A quick check on The Kitten showed 
her to be interested but unworried.  She had heard papa laugh 
before.

She had seen maman naked before, as well.  But the sight of 
my breasts might persuade her that she was hungry.  I hurried over 
to the foot of the bed and dropped down.  I flipped enough of the 
spread over me to hide me from The Kitten, and waited for Bob to 
quiet down.  "Get the light when you're sober," I said.

He switched off the overhead light and dropped to the bed 
beside me.  "You are," he said between gasps, "indubitably, ...  
the most lovely, ...  luscious, ...  lascivious, ...  woman 
in ...  all North America....  Love you, ...  love every 
twist ...  in your mind ...  and every curve ...  in your body.  
Let's make love!"  That last is Bob's version of "All roads lead 
to Rome."  His kiss was hot but brief.  He still hadn't caught 
his breath, hadn't stopped laughing, really.

"I don't want to do anything serious until it's time for The 
Kitten to eat," I said.

"We can wait until after she's eaten," Bob said.  He is 
patient, if not particularly attentive.  "What is 'serious?'"

"Anything involving Junior.  And stay away from my breasts."

"The Firm is growing already," he said.  "There are three new 
members."  It took me a minute to figure out that "The Firm" meant 
our family in distinction from the larger Brennan clan.  Just as 
the "Senior Brennans" were his parents.

"The question isn't whether Junior is a member of The Firm," 
I said.

"But whether he is a firm member," Bob responded.  "I love 
your mood tonight.  Were you trying to embarrass me in front of my 
family?"

"Just returning a greeting from an old friend.  If I were 
interested in embarrassing you, I would have gotten up."

"It would have been worth it," he said, "to have you in this 
bawdy mood.  One more kiss above the mistletoe."  We had that, and 
a warm, wet kiss it was too.  He ended by gently sucking my 
tongue.

Then he clambered down and started on the inside of my right 
knee.  Most of our intercourse is "missionary," and I have never 
understood the people who regard that as bland.  A little more 
than half the rest is rear entry from the "spoon" position.  This 
is also very satisfying from a physical perspective, but I think 
the emotional connections are more important to Bob.  A couple of 
times a month (unless he's being assaulted by all the stored-up 
adolescent libido of his old room), Bob likes to add a little 
variety.  He'll let me reject positions, and he makes a point of 
making these sessions special to me; most of the time, though, I 
would just as soon spend the time with my husband above me in the 
bed.  When I feel otherwise, as I did this night, Bob is always 
eager to accommodate me.

Once upon a time, kissing me down there was one of the 
occasional variations.  Since The Kitten's displacement of ton 
papa from my breasts, it has become more-or-less standard.  Bob 
seems to love it, and I certainly enjoy it.  It does extend the 
time of our love-making sessions, but I can afford the time as 
long as I don't have to go to an outside job in the mornings.

That is something that Bob will never tell his father; we 
don't watch TV because our family time is spent in love-play.  I'm 
happy about that.  Bob is ecstatic about that.  The Kitten is 
around two very happy adults who have time for her.  What we'll do 
when she gets old enough to figure out what papa is doing to 
maman is another question.  Move to a two-bedroom apartment, we 
hope.

Anyway, when Bob began kissing my thighs, he was trying to 
put icing on a cake that we serve fairly frequently these days.  
Which is not to suggest that he failed in that task.

Without the impediment of The Kitten on me, I writhed as his 
ticklish tongue and lips crept upward on my thigh.  When he 
reached his goal, he returned to the inside of the left knee.  
This trip seemed to take even longer.  "This stage ends when The 
Kitten gets hungry," I warned him.

"It doesn't have to," he said.  I sometimes have The Kitten's 
mouth on my top parts while Bob's is on my lower parts.  She likes 
this less than the quiet times in the rocker, but much more than 
the times that I nurse her in the sling while doing the 
vacuuming.

"Oh yes it does."  I had plans for my family tonight.

Bob kissed upwards a little faster.  I grabbed a pillow just 
in case, but he slowed back down when he got the outer lips 
apart.  He licked over the outsides of both inner ones.  This 
teased me without getting me close to satisfaction.  "Bob, 
please," I whispered.  I was afraid of my voice carrying outside.

"I thought that I was pleasing," he said.  Then he licked me 
open with one stroke of his tongue.  This shot a thrill like an 
electric current right through me.  I moaned and pulled the pillow 
over my mouth.  He slowed again, taking what felt like five 
minutes to stroke his tongue up the inside of one lip, then what 
felt like ten minutes to stroke it down the other lip.  He teased 
me so much that the first stroke over my clitoris tightened me in 
preparation.  I let go of the pillow and grabbed his head.

As I pulled his mouth against me, he licked the entire 
length of my valley several times very slowly.  Each time he 
reached the top, I stiffened further.  "Bob," I called through the 
pillow as the stiffness became pain.  Then fire shot through me.  I 
writhed under his sweet mouth, threw my head from side to side, 
and moaned aloud without benefit of the pillow's muffling.  I 
pulled him as tight against me as I could while I shook in 
ecstasy.

Then it was over.

He came up on the bed beside me.  "My darling, my love," he 
said.  "Oh wonderful girl, oh darling.  I love you.  You are so 
luscious.  You are so fine.  Wonderful Jeanette."  He trailed off 
into a long string of "Love, love, love, ..."  When I think about 
it in the cold light of day, I sometimes wonder how *his* 
tonguing me to ecstasy becomes an accomplishment on *my* 
part.  However, this was neither cold, light, nor day; and I 
luxuriated in his praise and his love.

Finally, I asked, "How is The Kitten doing?"

He raised himself quietly and looked at her in the night 
light.  "I think that she has four toes in, but her whole foot 
won't fit."  The Kitten can get her foot up to her mouth, but it 
doesn't quite fit inside.  This leads to a certain amount of 
discussion about which parent is more prone to put their foot in 
their mouth.  We weren't in the mood for that just then.  I did 
look.  She can be *so* cute.

"Do you think that you could change her just before she gets 
really hungry?"

"I can try."  He tried after a while, and actually got her on 
the table before she emitted a cry.  I had a dry baby in the sling 
and a willing husband in front of me.  That was the easy part.

"Sit down in the rocker," I told him.  "We are going to try 
something."

"I love you."  He'd said that earlier.  On the other hand, he 
certainly lusted after me.  The fourth member of The Firm was a 
firm member.

I straddled him and adjusted the sling.  The Kitten wasn't 
particularly happy, but she was in her first gluttonous phase.  
"Warn me before opening your legs," I said while I perched on his 
knees.  He nodded.  We weren't going to be able to kiss in this 
position, I could tell that already.  We weren't going to be able 
to fit together, either.  All my plans went for naught.

"Do you want to face the other way?" Bob asked.

"I thought that you might drain the right breast while she 
drains the left.  Not all the way, but it is too full to last 
until her next feeding."

"Come sideways," Bob said.  Well, that defeated one of my 
purposes, but not the other.  I got up and Bob moved back a 
little.  When I sat down on his legs, I could lie back on his left 
arm.  Then he could reach my right breast.  "Talk to your child," 
Bob said.  The Kitten had been a bit disturbed, but she went back 
to her regular pattern of a few sucks and a pause.  Bob's right 
hand moved over my legs.

"Ta maman t'aime," I said.  "Ton papa t'aime, ...  et ta maman 
aime ton papa...."  When The Kitten paused, I spoke; when I 
spoke, Bob paused.  He was licking and kissing my nipple very 
gently, not having yet drawn milk.  I extended the love pairs to 
"...  et ton grand-pere t'aime, ...  et ton grand-pere aime ton 
papa."  Bob made no sign of disagreement.  My seat was pressed 
against Bob's thigh.  Every movement of the rocker brushed my 
outer lips very gently against that warm support.  Meanwhile, 
Bob's hand was teasing my thighs apart.

I switched to English.  "Your grandfather was patting you...  
He recited a poem....  Maman thought that it was ... just like 
papa....  Maman said so....  Grand-pere said that, ... maman 
saying so ... was a great compliment, ... but that anyone saying 
so ... was a compliment....  Maman hadn't meant ... a compliment 
at all....  She thinks papa et grand-papa ... were both being 
silly....  But she couldn't say so....  Now could she?"

With every cycle of the rocker, Bob was able to spread my 
legs a little further.  This gave him greater access, but it also 
pressed my lips a little more firmly against his thigh.  Bob was 
sucking harder now, and drawing tiny sips of milk.  He had also 
got into The Kittens rhythm, anticipating her pauses.

"Ton papa veult ... recueillir les contes ... que ton 
grand-pere ... raconte...."  I went on to tell her how tapes of 
those stories would give her access to his voice, and her 
children and her children's children access to his stories.

I had problems keeping my voice level.  Bob's hand was on my 
mound, but the greater excitement was from the motion of my 
sensitive lips against his thigh.

Bob paused in the rocking for a moment and straightened, 
removing his mouth from my breast.  He nearly lifted me with his 
supporting left arm while he spread his legs.  When he relaxed, 
his hand was cupping me down there.  "Je t'aime," he said before 
resuming his sweet sucking.  Soon The Kitten's sucking, and Bob's, 
and the chair's motion, were all synchronized again.

His fingers began stroking me in the same rhythm, and the 
only thing keeping this rhythm together was my speech.  Now I like 
to think that I am *good* at French, and nowise worse for 
speaking it several hours a day to my daughter.  I was reaching a 
point, however, where even speaking coherent English was a 
problem.  I settled on one English phrase.

The Kitten and Bob stopped sucking, almost together.  "Oh 
love," I said, Bob's finger stroked down between my inner lips.  
The chair rocked forward.  Bob sucked more milk out.  The chair 
rocked back.  The finger stroked slowly up my valley toward the 
magic spot.  The Kitten resumed her lip play with my nipples.  
Bob's finger stopped a little too soon.  The Kitten and Bob both 
stopped sucking.  "Oh love," I said.

Then The Kitten took a long breather.  She was almost done, 
but I wasn't.  "Oh love," I said.  I said it as Bob was still 
sucking.  The tempo picked up.

"Oh love," I said more quickly.  The chair moved more 
quickly, the finger moved more quickly, Bob sucked for shorter 
periods but with more force.  As the rhythm grew I had to breathe 
when I should have been speaking.  The chair rocked further 
forward; Bob's finger, moving more rapidly, didn't stop.  A thrill 
shot through me.  "Oh love!" I shouted.

I stiffened in his arms, and he kept up all the motions 
without waiting for my speech.  I shuddered then as my passion 
flamed within me.

Then I sagged in the arms of my love.  He had to remove his 
hand and use it to support the sling.  The Kitten, who had been 
done a bit ago, decided that all that shaking was an attempt to 
starve her and clamped on again.

Now it was Bob's turn to say "Oh love."  He said it over and 
over, very softly.  The pillow was across the room; I suppose that 
the whole house knew what we had been doing.  I couldn't manage 
much worry about that, I was mostly worried that I couldn't help 
Bob hold me up, much less The Kitten.  Then I could, and 
straightened in his lap.

"Could you take The Kitten?" I asked.

"If you can support yourself."  The Kitten, having discovered 
that her tummy was full after all, was finally finished.  Bob got 
his right hand on her through the cloth of the sling and his left 
hand on her inside the sling and lifted.  I removed the sling from 
around me, and Bob extricated The Kitten.  I even managed to get 
up.

Bob put a spit-cloth on his shoulder and patted The Kitten 
to a minor burp.  "Do we want the next feeding as late as 
possible?"  Bob asked.  When I nodded, he changed her again before 
turning the Kitten-goes-to-sleep tape on.  Extraordinarily tired 
after *that* adventure, she dropped right off.

I looked at the rocker.  We'd had enough adventures that 
night too.  It was time for bed.  "Put a piece of paper over the 
diaper in the wastebasket, will you?" I said.

"You know," Bob said.  "It may simply have been that the 
position made me more conscious of swallowing, but I don't think 
I've ever had so much of your milk."  I felt a little guilty.  I 
tell Bob that his nursing on my breasts evens out The Kitten's 
demands.  The truth is that sometimes I want the extra bit of love 
play, sometimes I want Bob in an extra state of arousal.  Most of 
the time, my breasts are a little too sore for me to enjoy it.  
This was the first time that the amount of milk that he took 
mattered.  Should I feel guilty for leading him on?  I decided that 
I shouldn't.  It's like having him assigned to dishes all the 
time.  He would much rather be invited to suck my milk 
occasionally than be told that this bit of love-play doesn't 
interest me this night.

"You know," I said climbing into bed.  "Your father missed 
the whole point.  I'm grateful for what Bob-my-husband has done 
for me.  He created an entire nurturing environment; he led me 
into the realm of passion and fulfillment.  He taught me oh so 
much.  He gave me a daughter.  But it was Bob-my-boyfriend that 
saved my life."  How was that for a nonsequitur?  I'll be a real 
Brennan yet.

Bob climbed into bed after me.  He cuddled me.

"I had a whole program," I continued, "of wild, passionate, 
sex planned.  It didn't work out, and now I'm tired.  It will have 
to wait."

"It can wait," said Bob, although Junior pressed hard and 
hot against my seat.  His voice showed disappointment but not the 
slightest hint of resentment.

"Do you think that we could manage a little slow gentle love 
while we're waiting?" I asked.

"I love you," he said.  I reached for the three Kleenexes 
that we would need.  After what we had done that evening, I didn't 
need much foreplay.  Bob needed none.

When I thought that I would break if he kept teasing me, I 
turned away from him.  Our shoulders on opposite sides of the 
narrow bed, our loins meeting in the middle, we lay still as he 
made the necessary adjustments with his hand.

Then he slid into me slowly, sweetly, gently.  He pressed 
forward until he was nearly enclosed, then I pressed backward 
until I was totally full.  "Tell me!" I said while we rested that 
way.

"There in the forest," he began.  He meant on one night in 
the middle of our camping-trip honeymoon.  "I already loved you.  I 
was already committed to you.  I believed that there was no 
possible way that I could love you more.  But, there in the 
forest, you responded to me in a new way.  There in the forest, 
you gave me your passion while I was in you.  There in the forest, 
I discovered a new depth of love."  That is the story.  He began 
moving.

I don't want to suggest that I lay there unmoving.  I pushed 
back as he pushed in; I reached back to feel the hard muscles in 
his leg flex as they drove our connection.  Still, most of the 
action was his.  His hand roved continually over my side; his hips 
alternately pressed against me and receded, filling me with him 
and then almost leaving me.  He was stroking me inside and out.  
Mostly I was receiving him, welcoming him, basking in his loving 
motions.  And he, I could tell, enjoyed that welcome.

For a long while, his motions were slow.  He would pause 
after every dozen strokes or so and let his hands provide all the 
stimulus.  At first the motions were soothing sensuous pleasure.  
Inevitably, however, the time came when I wanted more.  When I 
tightened his favorite muscle, he sped up.  I grabbed his hand 
from where it was smoothing a path from my elbow to my thigh; I 
didn't even need to guide it.  He caressed down my belly to my 
mound and between my already-spread legs.  There, his finger 
ignited the fire that the slow loving had fueled.  As he stroked 
within me faster and faster, his gentle touch doubled the 
sensation.

Our timing couldn't have been better.  I felt him press 
against me, raising me to new heights.  He groaned somewhere far 
behind me.  I grabbed the pillow against my mouth.  He drove in, 
filling me.  Then he pulsed and spurted, filling me more.  That 
spiraled me upward until I fell, quaking and moaning and glorying 
in the release.

I landed in his arms, as I had so often.  As soon as I 
returned to my senses, I passed him one of the tissues.  I held 
another between my legs as he came out.  Getting the tissues ready 
beforehand isn't the most romantic preparation for sex; but we're 
stodgy parents now, not romantic honeymooners.

Continued in Part Eleven.
FORGET ALL THAT
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
1997/12/24
1999/12/30
2000/09/10
2002/12/27

This is the tenth segment of the last story (so far) in a 
series of stories about the Brennans.

More of the story can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/fat_d.htm
Parts 10-12 

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 

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>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+