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This material is Copyright, 2003, 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.
"I enjoyed having you folks here," the minister answered. Jeanette Brennan could tell that the "you folks" was to include her. Bob was nearly always in church on a Sunday. "Bob tells me this is a special day for you," he said to her.
"Our anniversary," she said. "Four years Thursday. As Bob works six days a week, we're celebrating today."
"Four years? I'd have thought that you were still on your honeymoon." A few people in the line behind them murmured agreement.
She and Bob started walking towards their apartment in the warm city air. A block from the church, she reached over and took Bob's hand. He squeezed hers. Holding hands in church bothered her, and Bob had agreed to abstain the same time he had agreed that he wouldn't rest his hand on her butt on the street. Almost always, he remembered both. "Ice cream?" Bob asked. She nodded. "Y'know," he continued. "Special day and all that. We could get two cones."
It was a special day, but.... "Separate treats on our anniversary? Let's stick to one." They continued on where the path to their apartment turned aside. They knew the man at the ice cream shop, and he knew them. They couldn't afford many treats, and ice cream was a frequent one when the weather suited.
Today, however, he didn't greet them with "One chocolate cone?"
"I've got a proposition," he said instead. "Guy came in here earlier, I heard him ask for a hot-fudge sundae with chocolate ice cream. I absentmindedly made it with the usual vanilla. When he pointed it out, I made a new one. Anyway, I have a hot- fudge sundae I'll sell you for the price of a single cone. Want it?"
She looked at Bob. She liked hot fudge, but Bob loved it.
"Sure!" Bob said. "Two spoons?" They took stools at the counter.
"Fine," the man said. "I kept it in the freezer. It's not quite what it was, but it's still in good shape. Why don't you sit in a booth, and I'll bring it to you?"
For a sundae, they could sit in a booth. Besides, from there, they could see the bright sun and the passers-by on the Boston sidewalk. The man brought over the sundae, two spoons, and two napkins, even though there was a dispenser on the table.
She thought that Bob must be really anxious for the sundae. He dug in with his spoon, not even letting her get ready. Well, she figured, this was a special day. She'd hold back and let him have more than half.
Then Bob held the spoon towards her mouth. The sundae was delicious. Cold and sweet, the ice cream melting on her tongue and the taste of the fudge. The love shown by that gesture was even better.
She dug her spoon into the sundae, making sure that she got a generous serving of fudge, and held it out to him. He held her hand while he tasted the contents. Finally, he squeezed gently and let her go. His feet eased forwards under the table; his ankles hugged one of hers. She looked over to check whether the man behind the counter could see. There was another customer, however; the man was busy.
They ate slowly, one spoonful for him followed by one spoonful for her. Freezer or no, the sundae had started out softer than it had been when it was fresh. Finally, the last of the ice cream was gone. The bottom of the bowl was covered with liquid and a few streaks from the sauce. "Finish it up," she said. She would have left that remnant, but Bob never left anything on a plate. He scraped it all up for another minute.
He looked a question at her. She wiped her mouth carefully with the napkin and nodded. Bob wiped his own face and hands, got up, and carried all the stuff over to the counter.
"Thank you," he said in the general direction of the proprietor. For some reason, the shop was busier than usual; people were waiting in line. Bob clearly didn't want a conversation, but some courtesy seemed necessary. The treat, coming on the special day, called for a "thank you."
"Thank you," the man answered, looking up from making a cone.
When Bob returned to the booth, he offered her his arm. The amount of assistance you could receive when getting out of a booth was minimal, but the symbol pleased her. She held on to his arm as they walked out into the heat.
"See you," the man called after them. It was strange that he spoke to them when there was so much business. Still, both of them turned and waved. Then Bob took her hand and they again headed towards the apartment.
Bob took off his sport coat at the bottom of the stairs (he hadn't worn a tie). She climbed ahead of him. Bob was gentleman enough to let the lady lead the way; he was voyeur enough to enjoy watching her butt going up the stairs. She'd have expected him to get over that after four years. He hadn't, and -- sometimes, including this time -- she enjoyed knowing that he still found her sexy.
The temperature climbed as they did. At the door to their apartment, it was as hot as a steam bath. Inside it was better, inadequate as their air conditioner was. Some days, there were advantages to a one-room apartment.
The sofa bed was still out, if made. She wondered briefly whether leaving the bed out was Bob's attempt at subtlety. More likely, he thought that the celebration of their anniversary so obviously involved bed that he didn't have to say it. And, the three previous celebrations certainly had. When he had abstained the night before, she had known why.
He hung his coat in the closet and put his shirt in to join it. He wouldn't wear a dress shirt for another week. "Want me to hang up yours?" he asked.
"Presents first." He brought the package from the closet to the card table at the end of the bed. The card from his sister joined it, and the single rose he'd brought her the night before.
She was eager to see what his mother had sent. She'd called on Saturday, as she did every other Saturday. Being who she was, she'd have called on their anniversary even if it had been off schedule.
But once she had hung up, she'd wondered why the present was only from Katherine. Anyway, the delay wasn't going to be that long; after the waiting Bob had inflicted on her Friday night, he was lucky she didn't keep him waiting until sunset. Of course, that would mean keeping herself waiting, too. So she wouldn't be that mean, wouldn't even insist on making Sunday dinner first.
Bob opened the card first. It was commercial, but nice. Vi included a note: "Wishing you all the best, and many more anniversaries like this one."
Then he tore the brown paper wrapping from the package. He handed the package inside, wrapped in special paper for an anniversary, to her. When she opened it, there was a nightgown -- a very sexy looking nightgown. She held it up so Bob could see it.
"Pretty," he said. "Going to model it?"
"Y'know," he continued, "she's my mother and all, but you'd think that for a wedding anniversary she'd have included a present for you, too."
"It is for me, silly. Do you like it?"
"I think seeing it, seeing you in it, will give me much more pleasure than wearing it will give you."
"Having you express that gives me pleasure," she said. And it did. Bob thought her sexy, and pretty. He thought her intelligent, too, and sometimes said so. The verbal appreciation was one of the pleasures of being married to him, and one she could have mentioned to his mother.
Bob started clearing off the wrappings while she took the nightie into the bathroom with her. She inserted her diaphragm before donning the nightie. It did look sexy in the mirror, her breasts sticking out and the hair on her mound just visible. Suddenly, she was very happy that the gift wasn't from her father-in-law.
Bob was under the sheet when she came out. The blinds on both windows were down. Not that it wasn't quite bright in the room. She turned around 360 degrees at the foot of the bed while he whistled. Then she climbed in beside him.
They kissed, Bob's hands -- for once -- not touching her. "Does it make me look sexy?" she asked. "Is that something a mother-in-law should give?"
"You always look sexy. But you look especially sexy in that. Why not? She might have guessed that part of my interest in you is based on your sexual allure."
"Part?" She had meant to tease him, but once that was out, it sounded like asking for compliments.
"You have other good qualities. You're smart, and good with languages, and support our family. You're an excellent cook. I can't claim that your skills as a homemaker really attract me, but you have those, too."
"I should wear a sexy nightie more often."
"Don't I pay you enough compliments?" He sounded hurt.
"There could never be enough. But I like the way you talk." Truth to tell, Bob complimented her much more often than she complimented him. She was sorry her comment sounded like a complaint; she hadn't felt complaining. She'd felt sexy -- and appreciated.
"I ..." She started to say that. Bob stopped her with a kiss. This time, he smoothed the nightie over her back.
She lay back. Bob peppered her face with kisses, holding her right breast through the cloth of the nightie. Suddenly, that cloth was a hindrance; she struggled to sit up. With Bob's help, she got the nightie off. Now, his hand was right on her breast while he kissed her again. And his chest rubbed over her other nipple.
When his mouth replaced his hand on her breast, the hand strayed lower. He caressed the insides of her thighs while kissing almost everywhere on the breast. He finally stroked her labia at the same time he sucked her nipple.
Running her hands over his back, she felt his hard muscles tense as he moved. She spread her legs in invitation. He continued on the outer labia, however, while he kissed a path down that breast and up the other. That nipple was aching for his mouth by the time he reached it. His suction there was gentle, but oh so satisfying.
Then she wanted more, more suction from his mouth, his fingers deeper within her instead of teasing the surface. "Oh, Bob!" she said.
He lifted his head from her breast to speak. "Yes, darling?"
She pulled his head back where it belonged. He licked the nipple. His hand moved to her mound, rubbing the hair there a millimeter from the clit which ached for his touch. She arched to bring it closer.
When he sucked on the nipple again, she lost it. She shuddered while fire coursed through her.
"Yes, darling," he said. "Yes, sweetheart. Yes, Jeanette!" Somehow, he always spoke of the pleasure that he brought her as if it were a gift in quite the other direction.
When she collapsed, he stopped moving his hand, though he left it resting on her mound. He kissed her forehead.
"I'm glad I married you," he said.
"Me too." Even this short bit took more breath than she could spare.
"Coming down the aisle," he said. Sometimes Bob's jumps lost her, but this one was totally reasonable, especially today. "You looked so ethereal. You were still Jeanette, still lovely, but I had never seen this stately creature. And you looked so solemn, too." She must have looked scared, as well. She certainly had felt scared. But, then, Bob had seen her scared before.
He'd looked a little scared, too. And quite handsome; Bob looked good in formal clothes.
"And in the bus, after," he continued. "I'd seen that girl before, but she looked delectable, and I had to keep my hands strictly to myself." Funny, that isn't how she remembered his behavior. "It was sweet torture, but it was torture."
"And then, later," he continued, "you came out of the bathroom dressed in a cloud. I'd never seen you looking like that either." She'd been scared then, too. But that hadn't been her principal emotion.
"And, finally," she said "I was married to you. It was the happiest day of my life." Well, really, it had taken her another year to learn to be truly happy. But she had waited for the wedding day forever. It hadn't been until they got on the bus that she had really believed she would actually get to live with Bob. Which reminded her. "And that night, you finally got to do what you had wanted to do." His face fell. What had she said wrong now?
"Jeanette, I hurt you."
"And," she reminded him, "you cared that you had hurt me." Bob would never see it, he had just been Bob. He did so many nice things and was moderately proud of them, and they were truly nice. She did enjoy those extra efforts to please; but she loved him for, needed him for, being Bob.
"That wasn't the point. Of course I cared. Anybody would have. But I loved you -- love you -- and I hurt you."
"Not really." If he could care about some minor pain for three years, she could ease the psychological burden. Those were much worse. "The pain was minor, like pulling a bandage. And I chose the pain. It told me I was a virgin no more, that we were truly married. I could have eased myself into it, and chose not to. Even if I had done it myself, I wouldn't have taken days stretching myself to avoid that one second's ouch. Do I ever?"
"You feel things so much more than I, and then you treat your feelings so callously."
"I don't feel things more. I don't think that's a valid comparison. You ease all my pains; it's just that the psychological ones are so much more important." He'd never see that.
"It was worth it?"
"Seeing you care about my ouch was worth far more than the ouch. Being married to you was incomparably more." She wasn't sure about that; seeing him so worried about her minor pain was sort of why being married to him was such a joy. "It is worth getting up in the morning and going to work to come home at night to Bob." And that was a real pain.
"You're sweet. I'm glad I married you."
"And I'm glad I married you." Hadn't they had this conversation recently? Well, this was an appropriate day for it. "And I'm glad I had that wedding night. I'd trade more pain for less concern any day of the week."
"You mean that?"
"Bob, I grew up hearing how any worry on my part about me was selfish. You always were concerned about me. Even before we were married. All I thought about marriage was that I could get hugs whenever I needed them."
"Don't I give you hugs when you need them any more?" He did hug her then.
"You give me hugs whenever I ask. And I need them less often. Need them less often because I'm married to you." She removed his arm and snuggled back against him. She placed his hand on her breast. He hugged her again. "And sometimes, I don't need them -- I just want them. And sometimes, I forget that I want them until you give me one for free."
Bob clearly wanted more; she could feel Junior press against her back and her butt. Still, he didn't make a move. He just lay there relaxed except for the hand that caressed her breast.
"I try to remember that you want the comfort when I want the sex," he said.
"Well, I want the comfort. And I wanted the comfort forever. Actually, that isn't true. I needed the comfort long before I met you; I didn't want it -- didn't know that it was possible -- before I got some from you. But you also set out to seduce me, I remember that; and you succeeded. So, now, I want the sex, too."
"A few minutes ago, you couldn't tell?"
"You're sweet." This from a man who went into ecstasies of praise for her over the pleasure that she received from his hands. Well, from other parts of him, too. But all the nice things he said after his penis had brought her to climax might have been about his own climax. His response to the climaxes his hand brought couldn't be.
He began to kiss the back of her neck and her shoulder. This was too nice for her to turn, but she wanted to kiss something of his, too. She took his hand off her breast to bring it to her mouth. She kissed each finger, then the palm.
He broke off kissing her shoulder and tugged at it. When she turned on her back, he gave her a deep kiss. His tongue explored her mouth. She brought her hands up to hold his head right there. His hand traveled over her, caressing her thighs before sliding slowly up her belly. It came to rest cuddling her left breast. His thumb and finger rolled the nipple between them.
His tongue was so firm and delightfully active; his hand was so gentle and seductively slow. Sometime soon, he would be over her and in her; she would enjoy that, participate actively in that. Meantime, she enjoyed the gentleness, the slowness, of his hand and the kiss.
Bob's hand stopped moving just before he raised his head. "I love you," he said. "Do we need this?" He raised the sheet.
"No." Nobody could see. Usually, she preferred a covering even so; but this was a delightful time, and the room was warmer than was really comfortable.
Bob tossed the sheet to the side. He kissed the valley between her breasts. That was a hard kiss, not gentle at all; but nothing there was subject to bruising. As his lips climbed her left breast, he was gentle again, tentative, tickly. She wriggled.
"Delightful girl," he said. "Lovely woman." He returned to her nipple, first licking it, then sucking gently. He kissed a path down that breast and over her belly. He didn't head directly to her navel. Instead, he gave a series of kisses right below her ribcage and then another line maybe an inch lower than that.
Finally, though, he kissed across the middle. When his mouth touched her navel, his tongue dug in. She shuddered the way this kiss always made her shudder. He licked there again, and then continued on. Soon, he was kissing an expanding spiral around her navel. Minutes later, his mouth reached her pubic hair.
Although she spread her legs, he broke from there to move to her right breast. He kissed up the bottom slope as her tension mounted. His suction on the nipple was a relief. Then it was a source of further tension. He kissed up to her left shoulder and down that arm. Bob seemed to intend covering all her skin with kisses today.
"Turn over, will you?" he asked.
"On my front?"
"Please." She thought for a moment. Well, she'd stand it as long as she could.
He started on her shoulder, a comparatively neutral point. The back and sides of her neck, on the other hand, were quite sensitive. She wriggled, which he seemed to enjoy. Finally, he started down her backbone. As far as she could tell, he was kissing every vertebra. "Bob!" she said and turned back over.
He kissed her navel once more. She wiggled again. He moved up to her breast. The licking and suction on her nipple were more arousing, but not so ticklish. He parted her outer lips and stroked her inner ones. She felt herself begin the climb again. It would be just like Bob to think that an afternoon of his bringing her to repeated orgasms was an appropriate celebration of their marriage. He would never mention that it was way past his lunchtime, either. And Bob ate his biggest meal at lunch. Anyway, this was their anniversary, and she wanted their climax. Her lover was delightful, but -- today especially -- she wanted her husband.
"Bob," she said, "Inside." Obediently, he climbed between her legs. He stopped to kiss each nipple before he came forward to enter her. "Oh, Bob," she said as she felt him enter her, spread her, fill her.
"Oh, Jeanette," he answered. Then he shifted so that his hands were cupping her breasts. He moved almost all the way out, all the way in again until he was pressed against her; he brushed over her right nipple, then her left; he leaned down to kiss her. Then he repeated it all. After his fourth stroke he said, "I can't express how sweet this feels."
"Me, too," she said.
"Oh," he said after the next stroke, "you are soft and smooth. And so warm and welcoming."
"And you are so firm and so filling." He came all the way into her again, pressed against her and moved his weight as he switched his attention to his hands. "And it feels so good when you move like that."
"Like this?" And he moved side to side against her. Maybe it was only an inch, but he was right against her and deep within her.
"Oh yes," she said.
He moved side to side again and again while her arousal spiraled upward again. He moved in and out once more, side to side once more. Then she couldn't tell the directions of his motions for her attention had turned inward. FIre burned within her. consumed her. She gasped.
He was moving, though. His motions stoked that fire. And he was speaking, "Oh, my darling. Oh! my darling. Darling, darling, darling... Wife!" On the last word, she could feel him pulsing deep within her, feel his seed spurting out.
She wrapped her arms and legs tight around him. "Bob!" she managed to gasp.
Later, how much later she couldn't say, he was a weight interfering with her breathing and too hot in the hot apartment. She pushed on his shoulder and he moved off. He hugged her tightly, though. She welcomed the hug, hot or no. She felt desired, loved, married!
The End Fourth Uther Pendragon firstname.lastname@example.org 2003/06/27 This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans. The next story in the series is: "Fortaste" The first story in the series is: "Forever" The directory to the entire series is: Brennan Stories Directory The directory to all my stories can be found at: Index to Uther Pendragon's Website