"Forays" {Pendragon} (MF cons lact)
FORAYS
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do
something else.
This material is Copyright, 1997, Uther Pendragon. All
rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long
as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous
permission.
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
anon584c@nyx.net
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 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 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 paused, and stop when the 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 with the
Kitten on one interfered with his work for the rest of
the evening.
Jeanette was similarly distracted. The thoughts that she
shared with her 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 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 after she had laid the
baby down, "need a shower. Your 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 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 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 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 towards
him. He took it in his hand and kissed the tip before it
into his mouth. He nursed where his had an hour before.
At first, the touch and taste of the nipple were enough. But
then, rocking harder, he 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 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.
- = -
The Brennans had spent two weeks camping on their honeymoon.
Each had packed one change of clothes and three changes of
underwear. When they had needed a trip to Paris to secure the
primary sources for Bob's dissertation, they had packed one
suitcase apiece one night and were in a cab an hour and a half
after the alarm went off the next morning.
For The Kitten's first trip to church, they packed a diaper
bag only slightly smaller than the suitcase that had sustained
her for two weeks in a foreign land. The preparation time
took almost three hours, including brief periods for her
to dress and eat. But they made it.
There was a time early in the service for welcoming anyone
who was there for the first time. "It's not really her first
time here," said the pastor, "but Bob, do you want to show us
Baby Catherine?"
Bob stood and held The Kitten out so all the congregation
could see. "Catherine Angelique," he said.
The Kitten mercifully fell asleep early in the service.
Jeanette, who found the pastor's style of preaching reminiscent
of Bob's lovely, calming, talks late at night, stayed awake until
the middle of the sermon.
After the service ended, she felt as if she were holding
court. More people were standing in line to see the new baby
than to shake the pastor's hand. "Isn't she the cutest baby in
the whole world?" Bob asked.
"She is adorable," was one response, "and sleeping so
peacefully." That didn't last, and Jeanette had to feed her
before leaving.
"Enjoy yourself?" Bob asked when they had got home.
"The people are so nice."
"People usually are," he replied. "And most people liked
you even before you had a baby for them to coo at."
"You're projecting," she said. "Are church people nicer
than other people?"
"Church politics can be every bit as petty as departmental
politics, but the people care about each other. You seem to have
enjoyed this excursion."
"I did. I think I'm up to taking another night class next
quarter." Faculty families were entitled to one free-tuition
class.
He knew that she could read his face but not his voice. He
looked at The Kitten, which he did too often for it to be a clue.
"We spoke about your taking a regular class when you weren't
going into the office every day. Are you up to that yet?"
"Actually, it would be easier on me. But I wouldn't trust a
babysitter with The Kitten yet. Evenings, you'd be home."
"Schwartz is teaching a course on Balzac at a time that I
don't have classes. Maybe you could take that and leave The
Kitten with me in the office."
"I'd love it, if they would let me."
"You would need permission from the instructor. Do you want
to call him up?"
"Don't I need to visit his office?"
"He's doing some sort of oral exams next week. He wouldn't
mind if you called him on the phone today."
"Bob Brennan, you set this up!"
"Only to check his schedule. You'll still have to convince
him. Charm him with your accent, gal."
Jeanette's heart fluttered while Bob hunted up the paper on
which he'd recorded the phone number. Then she took a deep
breath and dialed. "Professor Schwartz," she began, "Je
m'apelle Jeanette Brennan."
It was a long conversation. "Bob, he'll let me."
"Of course he'll let you. are just putty in your
hands."
"They are starting on selections from *Scenes de la Vie
Privee* and *Contes Drolatiques*. I told him that I had read the
latter, but I'll have to get the edition that they are using.
The second half of the quarter will be on *Le Pere Goriot*."
"Say the name of that book again. I love it when you talk
dirty to me."
Jeanette strongly disliked the word "cunt." Long after she
had lost all her modesty about Bob kissing her "down there," she
winced at the word. She had persuaded Bob to cut back on his
use of the term, but only at the cost of frequent teasing.
Teasing, however, is a two-way street. "Goriot, Goriot, Goriot,"
she said. He didn't mind her teasing -- well, didn't mind it all
that much -- but considered her giggling enjoyment of it
excessive. He pouted exaggeratedly, and she reciprocated. He
kissed her lower lip, as she had expected. They had a long,
satisfying, kiss.
"Lunch now," he suggested. Normally, Sunday's main meal was
"dinner" in the early afternoon. That was not going to work
today. "If your menu can wait, I'll fix something for supper."
That sounded delightful to her. "Are you sure that you have
time?"
"A breathing space until Tuesday. Then it's panic time
until I can get the tests graded." That was true.
Another truth was that Bob believed that Jeanette had a much
greater capacity for enjoyment than he did. Watching her
pleasure was often the most fun he had out of bed. He planned
these little surprises, and didn't want them diluted by having
Jeanette distracted by petty tasks.
He got to see even more of the pleasure than he had
expected. Jeanette asked him to move the rocker to the kitchen
doorway the next time that The Kitten was fed. He got glimpses
of the two of them and overheard a coherent, if sporadic, lecture
on Balzac. Bob's French was good enough, and Jeanette's diction
to the baby was exaggerated enough, so that he could have
followed the content. Instead, he kept his mind on the cooking
and gloried in the varieties of happiness in Jeanette's voice.
She alternated between cooing at The Kitten and enthusiasm at the
expectation of having her mind fully engaged after so long.
She thought the meal quite delicious and said so. He had a
lot of experience broiling chicken and preparing home fries, but
he suspected that cooked-by-someone-else was the spice that
turned the simple meal into a feast to her mind.
Jeanette dug out her copy of *Contes Drolatiques* and
read it when her didn't need her. She didn't forget her
plans from the night before, however. When The Kitten finally
settled down for a post-prandial (and pe-prandial) nap, Jeanette
cleaned up and prepared for bed. She was lying in bed reading
when Bob brought The Kitten back in.
Bob took one more hack at his tests before printing them
out. He eased the pacifier into the Kitten's mouth before she
was really awake and presented her to her dry, hungry, but
still stoppered.
"What time is it?" Jeanette asked.
"Twenty 'til. But she wasn't going to sleep much longer."
Jeanette made enough space in the bed for Bob on her left before
rolling over on her right side. The Kitten found that and
nuzzled for a moment. The first sip persuaded her that she
really was hungry; she went at it with a will. Bob cleaned up
the changing table and himself. He came back in prepared for
bed. "'Was it for this I kicked the stairs,' something,
something," he misquoted Millay, "'that now, domestic as a
plate, I go to bed at half past eight?'"
"Well, now we know the reason for the epidemic of teen-age
pregnancy. Teenagers *like* to go without sleep."
None of the teenagers that Bob remembered seemed likely to
enjoy changing diapers all night. He didn't say so, however,
having more pleasant tasks for his mouth. Jeanette who couldn't
take an active role, contented herself with telling The Kitten
nice things about her father. When Bob had parted her knees and
was kissing a line up the inside of her thigh she said, "Ferme
les yeux, ma petite. Ton papa est sur le point de pecher. C'est
un pe'che' grave ou, du moins, un pe'che' graveleux."
Bob's chuckle, in those close quarters, was a tickle
arousing in itself. He took her accusation of committing a grave
sin, or even a dirty one, about as seriously as the idea that The
Kitten need shut her eyes to avoid seeing him through her whole
body. "Mais non," he said. "C'est *une* peche. Je vais donner
un baiser a une peche tres souxe, une peche tres *drolatique*."
And he did give her a kiss on her "sweet peach." It more than
made up for his puns.
Now he had mentioned it, Bob noticed that the area that he
was kissing did have a resemblance to the cleft of a peach. The
juice, however was much tastier. Spreading the lips apart with
his fingers, he backed off a few inches to focus. Her inner lips
were nearly together, a luscious red, and glistening in the scant
light. He returned to lick them, catching the dew. As he
increased the pressure of his tongue the folds parted until he
could touch the valley between. As he licked up toward her magic
nubbin, he felt Jeanette stiffen in reaction.
Jeanette had been anticipating her tiger for hours; The
Kitten had gone into the mouth-play phase; Bob had taken even
longer on the preliminary kisses than was his habit. Jeanette
was primed for his attention. Then Bob stopped after a few
kisses and all she could feel was the alternation of his warm
breath and the cooler room air on her sensitive flesh. His first
licks came as a relief, the later ones as an incitement. When
his tongue finally traveled up the groove toward her clitoris she
needed it there. She tensed in anticipation, only to have him
retreat teasingly. "Please," she said. "I need that."
Bob stiffened in surprise at her words. As they sank in,
all that stiffness concentrated in one place. She had often let
him know that she enjoyed his sexual ministrations, but she had
hardly ever actually asked for them. He resumed the upward
progress of his tongue. Lightening the touch as much as he
could, he continued until he touched her clitoris. She shivered
at that touch, and he shivered at her responsiveness.
He was, aside from his head, behind her in the bed. He
slipped his hand up to the base of his chin and then forward
until he was touching her. While still licking around her inner
lips, he managed to get one, and then two fingers inside. He
turned his hand until the palm was against his chin. The pads of
his fingers explored the front of her while his tongue
circled her clitoral area without quite touching it. When his
fingers could detect the little bump, he began rubbing it.
He resumed the lightest of tongue-touches on her clitoris.
"Yes," she said, "Oh, Bob, yes!" He responded to her stiffening
by rubbing harder inside her. Her orgasmic clutches bound his
fingers so that he could no longer stimulate her there. He
responded with a kiss to her clitoral area. He heard no
words now, and the sobs he did hear were muffled by the thighs
clasping his head. He didn't stop until her thighs
relaxed.
Jeanette welcomed Bob's fingers. She wanted to be filled
there, and the fingers were a beginning. But every sensation
from below and even from her fueled the need for more
stimulation. "Yes," she told Bob to encourage his tonguing. And
it was yes, very much yes, completely yes. And the yes poured
through her and burned through her, and then there was no more
sensation at all. There was hardly any Jeanette, for that
matter.
And then Bob was holding her, and The Kitten was clamped to
her. And she was coming together again. Bob was kissing her
neck and whispering love words to her back. Her breath returned
and The Kitten relaxed. Then The Kitten let go of her and fell
back. Bob's erection pressed against her butt reminding her of
her earlier plans. First The Kitten would have to be safe from
the action.
Not until he was fully on the bed hugging her, did Bob allow
himself to remember the sensations of Jeanette's orgasm. He had
frequently, if not frequently enough to sate him, observed the
external signs of her stiffening and undulating. Almost always,
however, when he had been able to feel the clutching which was
the essence of her orgasm, he had been too deep in his own needs
to appreciate it fully. This time, she had asked for his
tongue's caress; this time, he had felt the center of her
response. His tiny bit of forethought about the French course
and his relieving her of one of the myriad of meals she cooked
paled in comparison to this privilege. He loved her, but would
never have the means of expressing how much.
That gratitude for what he had received was in ironic
contrast with his hunger for something more. Wonderful as it had
been to be in the presence of her orgasm, it hadn't provided him
with any relief. His mouth and chin were soaked with her juices,
and the odor was driving him berserk. These thoughts drove a
stream of endearments from his mouth. "Darling, beloved,
sweetheart. Oh you are so ... I love you so much. You can't
tell ..." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I *do* love
you," he finished.
"Enough to change the baby again?" she asked. Too much to
leave her there alone. But if one of them had to move, it might
as well be he. When he got The Kitten to the changing table
though, the situation was worse than he had expected.
Jeanette heard his exclamation. "Is something wrong?"
"She shat!" he called. "*While* I was changing the diaper."
Well, yes, she'd done that before. It was not helping her
evoke her tiger, though.
"Do you want me to take care of the mess?"
"No," he lied.
"Now Kitten be nice to Daddy," she called. There is a time
for French, and a time for fueling tigers. "He has to clean you
up and spread some ointment and get you in a fresh diaper and
wrapper. And all that time he is going to want to be back in
bed. He'll be thinking about Maman's peach. He's already tasted
it, and he wants to taste it again. He's remembering kissing it
and thinking what else he might do to a peach. He might want to
lick it again, or he might want to push himself into it and see
if it is soft all the way through.
"And," she continued after completing her preparations,
"Maman is in a hurry too. She is getting cold remembering Papa's
nice warmth. She wants him next to her, and lying on her to warm
her up. He might even have to rub against her to keep her warm.
If you keep him too long, external friction might not be enough."
She felt that the last statement would keep him warm without
compromising her delicacy.
Bob felt the situation was frustrating enough before
Jeanette spun her talk of what he might (might!!) want to do. He
was on his way to the bathroom to wash the ointment and fecal
matter off his hands when Jeanette asked him to bring a washcloth
back for her breast. He watched as she cleaned the area
carefully. "Could you do me one more favor?" she asked.
"What is it?"
"The Kitten wasn't very hungry. You know that I can produce
enough to meet almost any demand, but every low demand period
reduces my capacity." He knew that, but wasn't following this.
In his aroused state, the discussion of her produced a
hell of a lot of distracting images. "Well, I could get out
that pump and figure out how to operate it now. But I would
rather have you finish the job for her. Could you do that?"
Ordinarily, he would have killed for the chance. Bob had
taken a few sips from Jeanette's breasts, an occasional treat
during their recent bouts of foreplay. He loved it, but he
wasn't in the mood for foreplay right then. He wanted to sink
himself into his sweet wife's sweet and pump there until he
exploded. "I'll get the pump," she said.
"No!" That would be the worst of all possible worlds. As he
sank down on his back beside her, she turned so that the
was next to his mouth. He noticed that she was breathing hard
and that both nipples were erect. "At least," he thought, "the
breast pump wouldn't get that reaction from her." As he settled
back with the long, smooth, nipple in his mouth, his hand stroked
her body.
Whenever Jeanette had a pause in actual physical stimulation
in the past two hours, she had spent the time planning or
anticipating the denouement. She was keyed up until the desire
in her loins had turned to an ache. She lay on her left side
leaning over so her right was in Bob's mouth. His
was as arousing as any of his fancy licking had ever been. She
hadn't known whether there actually was any milk left but, she
felt it flow at the same time as Bob's stroking hand reached her
mound. She opened her legs in invitation.
Although his erection was actually painful by this time, Bob
quieted as he tasted the sweetness of her milk. A moment later
he parted her labia with his fingers and realized that milk was
not the only fluid that she was producing. As he and
swallowed, he stroked her wet valley. Too tense to pursue his
usual goal of stringing the pleasure out, he stroked over her
clitoris as soon as he had gathered the liquid. Soon, Jeanette
gasped and pulled her away. "Enough?" he asked.
She'd yearned for his magic fingers in her cleft since he'd
come back from changing The Kitten. When they finally arrived,
however, they hadn't soothed the itch at all. They inflamed it
instead. His mouth on her added to the delightful
torment. She quivered inside until she feared that he would
notice. Every time his finger passed over her most sensitive
spot she jumped a little. Then she jumped more than a little,
moving back enough so that her nipple popped out of his mouth.
"Enough?" she heard, from a great distance.
"Yes," she said. "Enough" was an inadequate description; a
little more of that stimulation would have made her forget her
name, let alone her plan. He reached for the box, and reached
for it again. "We agreed that I would control the
contraception," she said.
"We what?" That agreement had been on their honeymoon.
He'd had a box of condoms on his side of the bed since they had
resumed intercourse after the childbirth. Hell, he'd had them
there before she'd got the diaphragm.
"Lie back," she said showing him the packet. He grabbed,
but she was too fast for him. "I told you that putting them on
looked easy enough for me to do it." He didn't doubt that she
could roll it on. He did doubt that he could hold back during
the rolling.
Once she had the packet open, she grasped the base of his
penis with two fingers and a thumb of her left hand. Junior,
their pet name for Bob's phallus, quivered under her hand.
She relished anew the soft smoothness of the loose skin over the
hot hardness underneath. It was so sensitive and responsive in
her hand, and yet could be so steady in its driving friction
within her. "Now which side goes on?" she asked aloud while Bob
writhed. "Oh yes, I see." She carefully placed the dry side on
the tip before slowly rolling it on. She brushed the hair away
from the base when she neared it. When she was quite done, she
dropped down on her back still holding onto the base. "Now come
here," she said pulling gently.
Bob kept his eyes closed and his teeth clenched during the
entire application of the condom. First he felt her grasp him at
the base, and then the slow roll down the entire length. He
climbed over her at her summons. He parted her lips while she
pulled him forward. As soon as he felt her entrance, he shoved
inward.
The warm clasp within, her gasp of appreciation, the push of
her hips to meet his thrusts, all were only at the far periphery
of his perception. The center of his perception, the entirety
of his attention was occupied by the sweet friction and his own
driving need. He growled as his long thwarted lust was soothed,
then exacerbated by the rubbing of his maleness on her
smoothness. Tension filled both his mind and his body. It
seemed as though his need was an express train rushing up the
tracks toward the back of his head. To keep ahead of it he drove
faster and harder into her. He barely felt her heels drumming
on his thighs or her nails clawing at his hip.
He felt only the explosion which shook him as the train
overwhelmed him, poured through him, and left him through his
pulsing cock. He yelled his triumph through the final pinnacle
of his tension. Then he collapsed.
She gloried as he filled her with his first stroke. Then he
growled in her ear and increased his speed and force. He was not
only filling her; he was possessing her, taking her, mastering
her. For a few strokes, a tinge of actual fear overtook her
arousal. Then the arousal redoubled. He drove into her so hard
that she shifted up the bed with each stroke. He growled again
and gripped her shoulders, pulling her down to meet each of his
lunges. She, too held on, grasping his hips. She was afire now,
her body trying to move to meet his, but his lust and force
defeated hers. Every thrust of his hips pushed her legs further
apart and upward on his torso. She could hear him grunt with
every thrust even over her own gasps and moans.
When her climax overtook her, stiffened her and tightened
her around him, he was still able to move through that clench.
Then he shouted something incomprehensible and pressed against
her harder than ever while he shook against her and pulsed within
her.
Then he collapsed over her while they both panted for air.
Her tiger was back, more fierce than ever before. Or had
been here. Bob asked "How are you feeling?"
"Glorious!" She was also feeling a little sore in a few
places, but mentioning that would spoil the mood. He seemed to
relax again above her. "Also a bit squooshed." He rolled over,
freeing her lungs at the expense of her leg. She could deal with
that later. She enjoyed his hug.
Later she asked "Can we readjust?" They rearranged the
bedclothes, the condom -- still miraculously on Junior, and
themselves. "Face away from me," she said.
Bob had been afraid that he had her, then relieved that
he hadn't. Facing away from her sounded like a punishing exile
at that moment. Then she pressed against him from the back. All
he got in huggable position was one of her arms, but he hugged it
hard. There were two damp points pressing into his back; and
Junior, who never did recognize his limits, tried to stir in
response. "I seem to have got carried away," he murmured.
"Sorry. I don't know what got into me."
"I don't have that problem," she said.
God! She was in a ribald mood tonight. He sighed with
happiness and patted her hip. "I love you Jeanette," he said as
he started to drift off. "And you, too, Kitten," he added in a
louder voice.
"Love you both," she responded. Then, after he was almost
asleep, "G'night, husband," and something else in a much lower
voice.
In context, he figured sleepily, it could only be "G'night,
daughter." But it had sounded more like "G'night, tiger."
The End
FORAYS
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
1997/11/01
2000/06/26
This is one of a series of about the Brennans.
The next in the series is:
forlorn.txt
"Forlorn"
The first in the series is:
forever.txt
"Forever"
The list of the entire series is:
brennan.txt
Brennan Directory
Another in which child care figures prominently
is:
dream.txt
"Perchance to Dream"
The list of all my can be found at:
index.txt
Index to Uther Pendragon's Website
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