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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.
Some people might think that the first gift was better than the second. Really, though, Jeanette is ready enough to take care of my sexual needs; she's much slower confessing to her own. A day of her requesting, let alone commanding, my services to her erotic needs is the finest gift that I could imagine. It behooved me to act grateful. Besides Jeanette is a much better bedmate when she is happy.
She is happy more often than I really deserve. She had dropped out of college and gone to work so that I could continue in school. All that we did for her education was to share one of the courses that I was taking at the time. She would read the book and discuss it with me. We'd studied a classic on Asia's response to the West the previous semester. We had a book of perspectives on the Russian revolution scheduled for the upcoming semester. It was a far cry from being a full-time student receiving credit. On top of that, Jeanette has the burden of more than half of the housework.
Anyway, I fixed dinner as far as I could. There is an art to making cream of tomato soup creamy, especially with powdered milk. I had it creamy when Jeanette came home.
We had a kiss-and-hug. Jeanette broke the kiss but curled into my hug. I pulled her into my arms. She leaned against me in silence. My brain knew that it was my life partner who needed my sympathy and support; my phallus responded to all those soft parts of my sex partner pressing against me. When she straightened I loosened my hug without letting go. "Bad day?" I asked.
"Really it wasn't. Sort of good news. Talk at supper." She took over the cooking and made fried rice.
After grace, the first bites, and compliments from each on the other's cooking, came the time for her to speak. I ate in silence while she gathered her thoughts.
"Deedee," the office manager, "said I could try out for data entry tech the next time that they had an opening."
"That sounds like good news," I responded. "Don't you want to?"
"I want to very much. The pay's better, the work's sitting down, you don't have to handle the stinky paper. Unfortunately, I don't type well enough to get the job."
"Will they let you practice?"
"It's more complicated than that. There are computer programs which will teach you typing. That is what I want to study this semester. I really don't mind being an office worker this next five or six years, but I want to be a successful office worker. I know that you think that it is hanging in limbo, but I go to that office every day. I can't say 'These next eight hours don't matter; Bob thinks of it as limbo.'"
"You're projecting on to me ideas that I never had," I said very defensively. "I'm sorry that you have to work instead of going to school. But I never wanted it to be worse for you than it has to be. That you do want something doesn't mean that I don't want it." I keep having to remind her of that.
"I do want this," she said. "I want this very, very, much. That means that I want to put that study ahead of some academic possibility." She was being unfair. I wanted her to study so she wouldn't turn into a drudge. I didn't want her to stay a drudge so she could do the study.
"So what, specifically, do you want?" I asked.
"I want to buy that program and concentrate on becoming a good typist."
"Makes perfectly good sense to me. Aside from your satisfaction, which is very important, the investment looks likely to pay off fast."
We returned to our food. I had the feeling that the discussion wasn't ended; the relation of her study to our study was unclear, for one thing. But Jeanette obviously preferred to get herself clear before bringing up the rest in discussion with me. I ached for her to lay out all the problems she saw for me to solve; but she wouldn't until she saw some sort of a tentative solution herself. The hardest part of marriage is remembering that the woman you love is also an autonomous individual.
I washed the dishes and read the book on the Russian Revolution. A few minutes before eleven, I presented myself to my mistress for twenty-six hours of servitude.
I was in my robe, but Jeanette surprised me by being fully dressed. "Light the candle," she ordered. I did. "Undress me," I unbuttoned her blouse. "Hang it up." I hung up blouse and skirt. I put her shoes into the proper pockets, and her slip on the proper hook. I removed her panty hose and put them in the bag. (She doesn't trust me to get those through a washer.) I removed her bra and took it to the laundry hamper. I removed her panties, always an enjoyable experience even when -- as now -- I was restricted to touching only the sides of her hips. These, also, went into the hamper. I think Jeanette was trying to drop a gentle hint about where dirty laundry goes.
Be that as it may, the process revealed my lovely darling in her increasingly naked beauty. When I returned, I knelt before her and looked up. The position put my nose about one inch from the curls covering her mons. I took a deep breath and asked, "What does My Lady require?" The odor was so heady that I almost missed her answer.
"Stand at the foot of the bed." I did so. Jeanette got into bed and then scooted down so her feet were hanging over the end. "Knead my feet."
"I'm sure you do," I said as I took her left foot in my two hands. I worked over her foot gently, if ignorantly. I looked at her face in the dimness to see what felt good and what didn't. On the way to her face there was a powerful distraction.
I had seen Jeanette naked often, if not often enough. I had seen her mound and the beginnings of her lips. I had even seen her lovely vulva spread open for my lips and tongue. This perspective, however was new. I was holding her foot in a way that had the leg a little separated from the right one. The smooth thighs approached each other but did not meet. At their junction were three creases. The folds between were sparsely covered by hair. That juncture was an erotic magnet, and I needed all my will power to look past it to her face.
When I had done all I could think of to ease her foot, I moved on to her ankle. I held it while gently moving the foot back and forth. Then I put that foot down and moved to pick up her right one.
"Mmm," said Jeanette when I was far along on that task, "I should have had you do this before."
"Do you want to continue up your leg?" I asked as I reached her right ankle.
"Not now. I want you to take the knots out of my back." I kissed her instep before I eased her foot down to the bed. "Tickles," she said, but didn't order me to stop.
She rolled over, and I knelt over her with my butt a little above her waist. She flattened herself as I began to massage her shoulder area. I tossed the sheet and blanket over my shoulders like a cloak, putting us in a tent which held in our heat. I had given Jeanette back rubs before, but she had been sitting down with me standing behind her. I had to feel my way along in this new position. Meanwhile, as my hands worked down her back, I moved my body farther down the bed. Junior, although fully engorged and pointing up, occasionally brushed over her hips. Later, my hands reached those mounds. I gently rubbed and squeezed them, pushed them together and spread them apart. I put my hands on the sides of one thigh and kneaded that, my finger brushing against her outer lip. With my head well under the covers, I could see almost nothing but could smell much.
When I moved over to her other thigh and repeated the process, Jeanette started to squirm. It was about time; I'd been squirming since I'd started on her shoulders. I bent to kiss each of the globes before me. "Bob!" she gasped. Then she asked, "Can you reach the pad?" The pad raises her hips and cants her mound upward to ease the access of my mouth. She was inviting the most intimate kiss and offering the most intimate openness.
"I love you," I said. I got half out of bed while Jeanette turned over. Then she raised herself to let me slip the pad under her sweet derriere. I began kissing her thighs as soon as I clambered under the covers. Soon, she was squirming in earnest. She reached both hands down to pull my head to the juncture of her thighs. I resisted for a moment before remembering that she was the boss this night. Having parted her labia to allow my tongue access, I slipped my arms under her legs and up to her breasts.
I was in sensory overload. I could feel her smooth mounds and stiff nipples with my hands; but I also felt her hips against my clasping arms, her legs against my torso, and her thighs against my face. With each breath, I inhaled the scent of her desire mixed with the soapy freshness of her fur. My tongue tasted her juices and also felt the slickness of her valley and the tiny swelling at its top. I could hear her breath quicken or catch in response to my actions. Only sight was deprived by the position and the covers.
As I licked and sucked, her nipples thickened and stiffened, her areolae became bumpy under my finger tips, and her breasts got hotter under my palms. Her soft belly firmed against my forearms, her thighs pressed down on my shoulders and tightened against my face. The magic bud rose against my tongue and lips. Her hands in my hair pulled me against her with more insistence.
Then the bud withdrew. Her taste and then her odor changed subtly, adding a hint that was almost metallic. Her thighs hardened to iron. Her belly did the same and then convulsed. Her mound pressed against my face as she clawed into my scalp to draw me harder against her. Even with her thighs pressed against my ears, I could hear her.
"Oh Bob. Oh do. Ah? Ah? Ohhhhhhhhh! Oh. Oh? Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhh. Ahhhhh!" There was silence while she squirmed under me. Then, after a last "Ohhh," she relaxed.
Every part which had been iron turned to sponge. She was damp with perspiration. She gasped for air.
I moved to lie beside her and tuck the covers over her. I hugged her shoulders as her breath slowed. Finally, she moved her head toward me. "Oh Bob," she said.
"Does My Lady want a kiss?" I asked.
"So had I, for a few minutes."
"Your lady definitely wants a kiss." So we kissed until she broke it to breathe. I kissed her forehead, eyebrows, her temple, and the corner of her eye. By the time I got to her nose, she pulled me back to her mouth for another long kiss.
Putting her hand on my face seemed to remind her that she was in charge. She stroked my arms and chest and back. Then her hand strayed lower and she grasped Junior. "I am yours to command this night and day," I reminded her, "but some parts of my body are not mine to command."
"Party pooper," she complained. But she moved to tickle my thighs and heft my scrotum instead. If this brought no threat of orgasm, it raised my desire to a fever height. I kissed a rapid path down to her breasts, moving beyond her reach as I did. She giggled, and the breast I was kissing jiggled.
"Say when," I said. Then I returned to trying to tickle her areola with my tongue without touching the nipple. I almost succeeded. Then I sucked as much of her breast into my mouth as I could. I slowly withdrew until I was sucking just the nipple. I kissed a path down that breast and up her right one. While I repeated my teasing there, I reached down to clasp her mound and vulva.
Jeanette spread her legs wider for me. She wiggled under my teasing above and below. Then she said, "Come inside now!" I spread her labia with my fingers to comply with her command. The pad remained in place, lifting and presenting her for my insertion. I rubbed my engorged glans up and then down her moist valley once. Her portal was gloriously juicy, and I slid in easily. Fully engulfed, I stopped to adjust my weight on my elbows so I could still reach her breasts. Kissing them is out of the question when in this position. I did kiss her mouth briefly before straightening. She crossed her ankles behind me and pulled me in tight.
When she relaxed her legs, I began a slow stroke. The warmth, the tight clasp, the slippery friction, all increased the desire that I had brought form the previous teasing. From her harsh breathing, her legs up around my waist, and her hands clutching at my shoulders, I knew that she was close as well. I was trying to hold back my orgasm when she said, "You first; please come."
I drew almost out, and let myself go. I buried myself in her wet heat, and shook, and shot. She was one moment behind me, thrusting herself against me and clutching and pulsing around me. Her orgasm was almost as satisfying to my mind as mine had been to my body.
When she relaxed, her legs carried me out. I pulled two Kleenexes as soon as I had caught my breath. We each dabbed ourselves and the worst of what had spilled on the pad. I blew out the candle and helped remove the pad. Then I returned to bed and hugged her.
"Does My Lady want a song?" I asked.
"I want a story." She meant one of my history "mini- lectures."
"How about Eeyore's birthday?" I teased.
"Wanna true story." I thought for a moment.
"Well," I began, "after the death of Alexander, most of the Middle East was broken up into kingdoms under Macedonian rulers. Egypt was one such kingdom; we call it Ptolemaic Egypt because, except for Cleo, all the rulers were named 'Ptolemy.'
"In order to befriend and reward the Jewish community in Egypt, one of these kings (I dunno which one; no-one ever Ptolemy) commissioned a translation of the Jewish holy books into Greek. This translation, called the Septuagint, became the Bible of all Jews outside of Palestine. It was later accepted by the early Christian Church as its first Bible." I snaked my arm around her to cuddle a breast.
"But the Jews of Palestine," I went on in a flat -- easy to sleep to -- voice, "continued to speak Aramaic and use Hebrew in worship. They ignored the Septuagint. After the fall of the Temple, many rabbis foresaw the Diaspora. A committee of them sorted out all the books that Jews considered holy. They selected the canon of Jewish holy writings, the 'Torah.'
"Despite the time which had elapsed since the Septuagint, the Torah contained fewer books, and particularly rejected the most recent. The Septuagint, after all, was a government contract. The translators continued as long as they could, and one even tossed in a book by his grandfather.
"When Jerome began his translation from the original languages into Latin, he became aware that the Old Testament of the Christians was different from the Torah of the Jews. He applied name 'Apocrypha,' or 'hidden' to those books and parts of books, in the feeling that they had been hidden from the Jews." Jeanette pressed back against me as she settled down to sleep.
"Despite that linguistic ploy, Christian scholars became clear that the Apocrypha were -- in general -- less important works. There was a desultory debate through the centuries as to whether they should really be considered part of the Canon. (Before Gutenberg, entire Bibles were rather a rarity.) The forces for exclusion were probably always a minority, although Jerome himself had held that view.
"Luther, however, belonged to the party of exclusion. His translation of the Bible into German crystallized the issue. If a Catholic preferred his Old Testament without Ecclesiasticus, he was no longer part of the loyal opposition tracing back to St. Jerome; he was in league with the arch-heretic. Soon thereafter, the Catholic Church defined the Canon in an official Council.
"Protestants reacted similarly. To include the books which Luther had excluded was to bow down to the antichrist in Rome. From then until today, a major division between Catholics and Protestants is which group of Jews you are going to follow on choice of holy books. (As a result of all this, Catholics have the story of Hanukkah in their Scriptures but do not celebrate it. Jews celebrate the story but don't have it in their Scriptures.)
"Catholics called the books outside the Torah, 'Deutero- Canonical.' Protestants by the old name, 'Apocrypha.' But now rhetoric took over. The choosers of the Torah, and probably Luther, did not regard the Apocrypha books as evil, but merely as secondary. Now that it was a sign of division, however, the description of the books became much worse. They were 'False Scripture.'" I paused to listen. Jeanette had fallen asleep.
"And," I finished briefly, "'apocryphal' came to mean 'false.'"
. . .
I awoke with a naked Jeanette cuddled in my arms. Fun as that was, I soon needed to get up. After showering, shaving very carefully, starting coffee, and eating my cereal, I snuck back into the bed. She'd moved from the best position, but we still touched as I lay beside her. I was almost dozing myself when she first stirred. I ducked her morning stretch.
"Bob?" she said. I'm usually out of bed when she awakes.
"Yes, Mistress. Does My Lady wish me to fetch coffee?"
"No." She got up and headed towards the john. Jeanette describes herself as "not exactly a morning person." The Sahara is "not exactly a swamp." I'm always surprised that she can find the john before she has her coffee. This morning she managed once again, stopping on the way for her first cup. I followed and handed in her second cup.
I considered myself a coffee drinker before I married Jeanette and discovered what real coffee drinking (and real coffee) was. I now save coffee for days when I have a test or have pulled an all-nighter. Then I drink a half cup of her coffee diluted with a half cup of milk.
"Here is your third cup of coffee, Mistress," I said. "Does My Lady want her love slave to wash her back in the shower?" This passes for a subtle reminder at that time of day.
"Hmmm?" she said. She was already wearing her shower cap. "Did you wait for your shower?"
"I had a shower this morning."
"Come in." I brought in extra towels. I adjusted the shower, which always means getting scalded and chilled in succession. Jeanette got into the tub then. She backed into the shower for a minute. Then she turned to face it. "Wash my back." I washed it with thoroughness, diligence, and a very soapy washcloth. She turned to rinse. "Hand me the cloth." She proceeded to wash her face and the front of her torso.
She was teasing me. I had expected to wash all of her, and she knew it. On the other hand, I got to see that beautiful body under her own ministrations. My reaction was obvious, and her own nipples also rose to the occasion. "Wash my legs," Jeanette said. I soaped up the cloth and wash her right foot. I proceeded up the leg to her thigh and then to the junction of her thighs. I was getting that area very clean when she said, "That's not a leg."
"Yes, Mistress," I said, and started on the other foot. I proceeded as before, including the special attention to the junction.
Finally she said, "Now dry me off." We had received lovely towels among our wedding presents, and I used them lavishly to dry her. I was thorough everywhere, but especially on her most sensitive zones.
After cooking and serving her breakfast, I cleaned up and reported to her in the bedroom. As I lay on the bed, she used bandanas to tie my wrists to a rope passing along the head of the bed.
She gave me a long sweet kiss on the mouth. Then she kissed all over my face. She's right, the ears do tickle. So do various parts of the neck. She had no mercy, and -- despite my wiggles and groans -- I asked for none. She was clearly surprised at the response of my nipples to her lips. As she was dressed in a robe alone, I got rubbed by various soft parts even if I couldn't reach them with my hands.
As she got closer to my groin, Junior stood higher to greet her. "Well, slave," she said, "didn't anyone ever teach you that it isn't polite to point?"
"That's not my fault, Mistress. Junior is doing that on his own."
"Humph. Fine excuse. I suppose I should beat him with the blacksnake whip instead of you." Despite our lack of any whip, the very idea wilted me somewhat.
"Please Mistress. That would be misusing your tools. Neither of us is a blacksnake."
"You think that blacksnake whips are only used to whip blacksnakes?"
"Yes Mistress. An entirely different sort of whip is used on garter snakes." She was trying to hide her laughter, but I could see her a shaking where the tip of her breast pressed against her robe. By a remarkable coincidence, I was looking there when they began to shake.
She began to tickle me under the ribs. When I was laughing from that, she kissed my navel. That tickled more. I was gasping when she relented. Her next move was to wrap a hand- towel around my head so it covered my eyes. Secured with safety pins on the side, it made an effective blindfold. Her kisses were no longer patterned in long trails, but were scattered at random. Only the shifting of the bed warned me where she would strike next.
She concentrated on my chest and gut at first, sucking a nipple or licking around my navel. Then she shifted to a position where her weight was centered right next to my hip. She could kiss either thigh, or she could kiss around my navel. Finally she planted a long kiss right where Junior separates from the scrotal sack. I suppose that I would have jumped almost as much from sticking my finger in a live socket. She giggled. Then she blew a stream of warm air starting from the base and going toward the glans. I almost came; I almost fainted. She giggled again.
She was off the bed for a moment. She moved from the floor to the bed between my legs. I felt something warm brushing the inside of each of my thighs. It felt smoother than her hand. When the brushing got to where my thighs were closer together, the sensation moved toward the front of my legs. Suddenly, there was something hard next to that smoothness. I realized that she was caressing my legs with her breasts, and that I was now feeling her nipples. These two hard, smooth, nubbins made their path up the top of my legs, across my hipbones, and to each side of my straining phallus. I moaned. I was writhing by this time, and she could not avoid all contact with my turgid member.
She shifted from her knees between my legs to what must have been her feet outside them. The next contact that I had was her nipples brushing across mine. Our nipples can meet when I'm on top, but not when she is. I lifted my midsection off the bed with several ill-aimed thrusts, but never reached her. "Bad boy!" she said and rolled to her side and bounced off the bed and to her feet.
A minute later, she was back on the side of the bed nearer to me. My knees were still raised from the attempts to lift myself off the bed. I felt her slip something under them. She licked each nipple, then blew on them. The path of her breath wandered back and forth down my chest, pausing for her inhalations. She licked a spot just below my breastbone, and then blew a slow path from there down the midline of my belly. When her breath touched my glans I couldn't help myself. I thrust up once more. She evaded me easily.
When I came down, the pad was under my hips. I had often enjoyed the increase in Jeanette's accessibility which the pad provided. Now it increased my vulnerability, and I didn't enjoy that at all. Jeanette patted my butt, missing my testes by half an inch, and moved up toward the head of the bed. She kissed me thoroughly, tongue in my mouth before she eased off to let mine in hers. One breast was crushed onto my arm and the other onto my chest. Her hard nipples were pressed into me by the sweet weight behind them. We enjoyed that kiss for minutes before she stood up.
"Stay right here," she said. I was out of breath, blindfolded, and tied to the bed. I doubted that any future command would be so easy to follow.
My love is an athlete, able to move with absolute silence when she so desires. Nonetheless, there were ways of following her progress with my ears. First, the creak of a board just outside the bathroom. Some stirring in the bathroom itself was followed by a repetition of the creak. There was a sound at the kitchen sink of something being slowly filled. So I was shocked when I felt a light kiss on my shaft. Again, Junior sprang to full erection. I felt myself being straddled. "Jeanette?" I asked.
"Who else could it be?" She giggled.
"So who's in the kitchen?"
"I left the cold water running into a jar. It isn't going to bankrupt anybody."
"And," I continued, "you snuck in here."
"Were you surprised?"
"Scared out of my wits."
"Small loss," she said, much nearer my ear. "You never used them anyway."
Doubtless, my response would have been devastatingly witty. When I opened my mouth to make it, however, a nipple dropped inside. Promptly forgetting everything that I was going to say, I sucked and licked contentedly. After a very enjoyable while Jeanette said, "Let go." She removed her breast when I opened my mouth. Then I was surrounded by Jeanette and kissing the valley between her breasts. "Turn right slowly," she said. I guessed that she meant my head. As I followed directions, I could kiss a path up her breast to the other nipple. I enjoyed myself there, as well. Finally, she raised herself.
She moved back down my torso and grasped my shaft. I felt my tip touch her moisture. Then she impaled herself on me with one slow motion. "Be careful," I warned her when I was totally surrounded and she was sitting on my hipbones. "I'm at the edge."
"Well, stay on the edge." I wasn't sure that I could. She raised herself a little and began moving from side to side. That motion excites her more than it does me, but it hardly leaves me unmoved. I ground my teeth and clenched my fists in an effort to keep from coming. I felt myself swell within her and knew that it was a losing battle. Suddenly, she tightened herself around me and raised herself so that the constriction moved up the shaft and pulled on the head. I raised myself off the pad in my effort to fill her. When I could no longer hold the position, she followed me down and enclosed me . My seed poured into her. My phallus pulsed with the effort. My body shook from the release. I could hear myself grunt and groan. It seemed to last forever.
Her orgasm followed mine and seemed brief. Then she collapsed onto me. I grasped her head, all that I could reach, and held her in a long kiss. Her tongue entered me on one end as my phallus left her on the other. Sweet as the weight was on my chest, sweet as the kiss was in my mouth, they did somewhat interfere with breathing. I survived, however, and even caught my breath. "I love you," I managed to gasp when she raised herself to undo the blindfold.
"Love you too," she said. She fumbled with the bandanas for a moment until she could free my hands. "Oh Bob, I do love you. Could you hug me close?" I could, I did. I pulled the sheet over us and clasped her tight by her shoulder and butt. "Oh Bob,"she said. "You're so nice to me." Reality check: Jeanette had just spent the morning building me up for what might well have been the orgasm of my life.
"Not so nice as you have been to me," I said.
"It was fun for you too?"
"You should know. You were there."
"You're the nicest husband that any woman ever had."
"Can I get that in writing?"
"No. You are a slave and it would just spoil you. You're a messy slave, too," she continued. "Go in the bathroom and clean yourself off. Then bring a washcloth back for me." We were back in the game.
I got to wash her belly before she took the cloth to do the more intimate areas herself. Then she ordered me to study while she prepared lunch. When I answered to her call, she sent me back to get dressed. Apart from grace, lunch remained inside the game. After I washed the dishes it was bedroom time again.
I fetched a kitchen chair into the bedroom at Jeanette's direction, then stripped again. By this time the apartment had switched from too cool to too warm, and the change in costume was welcome. Jeanette had brought the kitchen timer with her, and set it for an hour. "We are going to kiss," she said, "and that doesn't include anything below the chin."
We kissed for an hour. I don't think that we had done anything like that for years, and never while we were naked. I explored her mouth, and she explored mine. We spent minutes just with our lips together sharing our breath. I kissed over her face, she kissed over mine, and we just rubbed our cheeks together. We were touching tongues when the timer went "ping." Jeanette broke that kiss and rubbed her cheek across mine until she reached my neck. That brought her ear too close to ignore; she shivered as I kissed it, but didn't push me away.
Considering the flood it had produced two hours before, I figured my prostate had to be hors de combat for hours yet. If so, Junior hadn't heard the news. He was perking right up, and occasionally Jeanette brushed against him as she moved. Her own nipples were also erect and brushed against me, sometimes pressed against me, as we shifted from one kiss to another. Jeanette took no notice of these touches, but she returned my hands to her shoulders whenever they began to stray.
Finally, she broke the latest kiss, got up, and led me to the chair. When I sat down, she ordered me to hold on to the seat with both hands. She took my head in her hands and directed my mouth to the part that she wanted to be kissed. Actually, she moved her body more than my head; it was as if I were a machine tool and she the part to be worked.
She started by smothering me between her breasts, then moved her breast tips to my mouth, first one, then the other, then back to the first. I licked and sucked whatever was in reach. When I run things, I deal with one breast and then with the other. I made a note that she might want more frequent switching. Most of my attention, however, was on her soft, smooth breasts and lively nipples. These grew with my attention to them and retreated when my mouth was elsewhere.
For me to reach the tops of her breasts, Jeanette had to come close. She did that by straddling my legs. Junior, conscious of her openness and closeness, strained unavailingly upward. Then Jeanette retreated and moved my lips down the outside of her breast to the swaying underside. The position became quite awkward. She let go of my head and backed to the bed. She sat on the edge.
"Keep your hands to yourself," she said. "But come here."
I knelt between her legs while she guided my lips to her nipple, between her breasts, and then across the undersides of both breasts. She leaned back as she guided me onto her belly, where I felt both the light pad of flesh and the hard muscles beneath it. She kept me a good distance from her navel as she guided me slowly toward her delta of curls. I took a deep breath and smelled the undeniable evidence that she, as well as I, had been aroused by this play. I groaned.
She pushed my head back. "Go sit down," she said. When I was in the chair, she walked out. I don't know whether the always-lovely swing of her hips was enhanced by deliberate teasing on her part, by her unconscious response to her arousal, or by my own increased sensitivity; maybe it was all three. In any case, it took real willpower to stay seated as I watched her sway out the door.
She granted me a short john break, as well, before we started over seated on the bed. This time, she held me to her breasts more briefly before leaning back and leading my head lower.
When I reached her delta, she guided me around and down the top of her leg to her knee. "Mistress, may I use my hands to support your leg?" I asked. I couldn't see how they were going to be kissed properly otherwise.
"Very well, but keep them below the knee." That could work. Moving her leg around, I managed to kiss a band a little above the knee. I went on to kiss a trail along the bottom of her thigh half way up from there. I replaced her foot on the ground and kissed the inside of her thigh just above the knee. She squirmed at that but didn't order me to stop. I moved up very slowly, but she stopped me when I came within reach of her hands.
I went back to repeat the operation on the other thigh. Under her guidance, I kissed each thigh alternatively all the way to her pouting lips. Again, the fragrance testified to her arousal as it fueled mine. This time, she directed my lips onto that sweetness. The taste was even more heady than the smell. Most exciting of all was the knowledge that she was asking for this, commanding it really. My beloved is always desirable, but this time she was -- both body and mind -- desirous.
When she relaxed her grip, I parted her outer labia with my fingers. When I licked the line where her inner labia met, she shivered under me and clutched my hair tighter. "Be gentle," she said. "Be very gentle and concentrate on the lips. And stay there until I ask you to move." I tried to be gentle.
I held the outer labia apart and licked each inner one. I gave them a gentle kiss before parting them. Then I licked each one, as softly as possible from the bottom where they were coated with attar of Jeanette to the top where I avoided her clitoral bud. Even breathing on this sensitive point led to shudders on Jeanette's part. I licked her labia and breathed across them. I rarely touched her clitoris, and then only with my tongue tip. I looked between her breasts at her face; she looked back at me with a worried expression, then dropped her head down. I kept licking lightly until she gripped my head again. She called my name as she pulled my face against her center. She moaned as I began sucking.
Then her orgasm washed over her. Her taste changed again. She thrashed so that it was hard to keep my mouth on her. Her moans almost sounded like singing. Her hands were claws in my hair. Her legs were tight against me. Love possessed me as strongly as the orgasm had possessed her. This lovely woman was responding this dramatically to my efforts, my tongue, my love.
After a long time, it was over. She relaxed all at once. I wanted to hold her, but she had told me not to. So I hugged her hips from that position and told her a little of what I felt. "Lovely darling," I said, "sweet girl, wonderful woman," for surely that had not been the actions of a girl, "beautiful, beautiful, Jeanette. I love you. I can't tell you how much I love you. You're the sweetest, sexiest, woman in the whole world. I'll never, never, deserve you; but I am going to try. You are so wonderful."
"And," she responded with ragged breath, "can I have that in writing?"
"Just as soon as I get up. This is too wonderful a position to abandon just yet." I'll admit that I love Jeanette much more in moments like those than I do the rest of the time, but the language can't express the difference. We rested with my head on her thigh and her hand on my head. Her breathing evened.
After a while, she said "Bob" very softly.
"Do you think that you could do that again?" I almost came at the question.
"Would you like me to?" I asked. She isn't cruel, but she is a tease. I feared that she might be teasing out of misunderstanding of how important this was to me.
"Oh yes," she said.
I started on her thighs, with kisses on alternating sides. I tried to make that the only difference in what I did. The major difference in my sensations was that my own face was coated by her moisture by then; I was saturated by her perfume wherever I was.
We each continued down the same route as before. When she had finished, I rested in the knowledge that she had asked for me, had responded to me, twice. I was silent while she recovered, having said all the words I knew. I don't know how long we were like that, with her collapsed across the bed and me curled up on the floor between her feet.
"Bob," she said finally.
"I love you," I responded.
"You too. Do you think that you could go sit in the chair."
"Sure," I said too confidently. My position hadn't been chosen with circulation in mind, but I sprawled from it to the chair and pulled myself up. Once I was seated, Jeanette got herself on her feet. She, too, was less agile than usual. I scooted forward in the chair as I saw where she was going. She straddled me and reached between my legs.
I had had a raging erection for most of the previous two hours. It had softened, however, in the last glow of resting together and softened more while I was struggling with the rest of my anatomy. It didn't take long for me to expand in Jeanette's hand, however. She rubbed my glans along her cleft three times before I was too hard to manipulate that way. Then she eased herself down around me. She was in my lap where she belonged, and I was inside her where I belonged.
"Don't get up," she said.
"I wouldn't," I said. I had surprised her once by doing so, although I'd thought that I had warned her. This time, "I couldn't" was probably more truthful. "I love you," I said, and then we kissed.
Holding the kiss, I began to shift from side to side. This is not a position that offers much movement, but I really felt the movements that we did make. I not only moved in and out of her as we moved from side to side, I also rubbed across her cleft and lower lips. When I wasn't bending her back so I could kiss her breasts, they were rubbing across my chest or filling my hands. We spent a lot of time with our tongues playing tag.
Then she pulled herself tighter against me and stiffened. I grabbed her butt and pushed myself as deep into her as possible. She stifled her scream on my shoulder as she clenched around me again and again. I responded by pulsing within her as my seed poured out. I ended a moment ahead of her, and almost couldn't support her when she collapsed.
By the time she got up, both my legs were asleep. I staggered over to the bed and collapsed. I think that several hours passed before Jeanette woke me with an announcement of dinner. Again, she insisted that I wear clothes to the table.
"Can we talk seriously?" she asked.
"Anything Mistress wants."
"I quite specifically don't want to discuss this with my love slave. I want to talk to my husband and equal about our family's future."
"My wife and peer has the floor."
"This is all tied in. I was reading the book the other night.
"No. Let me start over. Your family wants something from me, maybe for me. They call it 'college graduate.' My boss is a college graduate. I think most of the salesmen are. I listen to them and listen to your family. It isn't the same. I don't go to faculty parties, but I'll bet that they are closer to your parents' talk than to the salesmen's.
"As we stand now, we're planning to get you your Ph. D. Then I start back in school, probably part time. Maybe I'll graduate at age thirty." I was dying to say something, but she had the floor. "Then I'll know what a college graduate of twenty-two knows.
"Bob, that isn't enough! Your sort of people don't respect people who only know what they learned in courses."
"My sort of people love you dearly," I broke in, floor or not.
"Your family," she said, "are loving sweethearts. They'll love me as long as I'm not vicious to you. I'm not worried about them. But the only person at the Brennan, Senior, table that I can compete with is Vi, and she has me beat in psychology and business. I have three and a half years of education on her. Not everyone at your family's intellectual level has their sweetness, nor their reason to tolerate me. That's what I'm worried about. I don't want you to be ashamed of me."
"I'll never be ashamed of you! As to my family, don't be at all sure that their love for you is a byproduct of their love for me. The only fault that my sister finds in you is that you chose a dork like me."
"Vi is sweet," Jeanette said. This couple is not unanimous on that issue.
"Anyway," I continued, "the 'my sort of people' that I was thinking about is me."
"I know that you love me, Bob. I just don't want it to be 'even though.'" She loves me even though I'm a slob and can't sing.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I've started to read your Newsweeks. Your family talks about things at table. Can we do that?"
"Current events? Or academic oddities."
"Current events. I love your mini-lectures, truly I do. But let's save them for when we're in bed." I was just as happy. Jeanette often brings the day's tension to bed with her. So I spin her a tale of how England acquired the dog breed, "Alsatian," and America the meat brands, "Victory" and "Wilson," or some such. These tales relax her. As foreplay it wouldn't impress Alex Comfort, but it seems effective. After a while, though, thinking of the next tale gets to be work. "I want to participate, even though I do enjoy listening to you talk."
"You could try the old Scientific Americans that I brought from home," I suggested. Jeanette gave me The Look. I was perfectly serious; reading those magazines is one way I keep in touch. "The articles are aimed at the non-scientist," I continued. She looked, if possible, more dubious than before. "Okay," I conceded, "sometimes they miss."
"Anyway, I want our dinners to be more like your family's than like the salesmen's talk at work." She was being generous to the Brennans. I can remember entire suppers devoted to whether I had provoked an action of Vi's.
"I can live with that."
"But you read those magazines to broaden your knowledge, don't you?" I nodded. "And those summer books?"
"Only partly. Most of the summer books are auxiliary to history. The history of technology books bring up things that don't get discussed in the courses. But what people did depends on what they could do, and that depends strongly on technology. The memoirs and biographies round out my understanding in two ways. Some of those people were movers and shakers, but all the books show what it was like to live in those times. I borrow some books from PastorJim because I want to deepen my understanding of the Christian faith, but also because the history of Europe is the history of Christendom from a century after the death of The Prophet to the nineteenth century.
"And, finally, it's such a relief to read without taking notes or worrying about exams. If I know this stuff, it's a bonus. I can easily risk forgetting it." Actually, as she knows, I put all these books on vertical timelines -- four millimeters a year. I've done it since high school, but it's more of an obsession than a study guide.
"You wanted me to take notes on FRC," Jeanette pointed out.
"You have to have both in your life. I'm not ashamed of being a history major with a superficial understanding of modern scientific discoveries. But to get real intellectual enjoyment, you have to have some area in which your understanding isn't superficial. You know as much about the recent history of Asia as most history majors. You'll know as much about the Russian revolution, too."
"Taking back the floor," she began. I nodded. "Bob, if I returned to school, they wouldn't let me in that class. There are prerequisites, and I don't have them. I started the book. It assumes you know what the Mensheviki were and what happened in 1905." I started to speak. "Don't tell me those details. Do you have any class this semester which is open to freshmen?"
"Well, really you are a sophomore. There are freshmen in German, but they had it in high school. Every class this semester has prerequisites, except Anthro."
"Taken it. Got ahead of you there. What courses are on your agenda for next year that aren't advanced history?"
"I had planned on one more German course and a history of Western philosophy. I can change around. I'll have more than enough for a major."
"Bob, 'The Gift of the Magi' was a cute story; but they didn't give up their joint future. I'm working so that you get an education. We are not going to impair your education so that we can have a fun time studying together.
"Boy, they let history majors get away with murder," she said, jumping off the topic. I could see her point. Chemistry majors can't take a "chemistry of pigments" course in the art department for distribution.
"The history of philosophy is the center of what people need to know about philosophy. Want to try to study it together?"
"Sure. But you don't have to worry about my brain's stagnating until then. I had another idea.
"I got a B in French," she continued, "but I didn't deserve it. I sort of half-learned the vocabulary for the section. I remember thinking how much clearer it would have been if I had really known the vocabulary. But someone kept distracting me so that I didn't have all the time I needed to study."
"So now it's my fault."
"Everything is Bob's fault. Haven't you learned that by now?"
Well, I could remember taking an adorable girl out for dinner, finishing the meal by 7:30, and "walking her back to her dorm" until 11:00. It interfered with my study; it must have interfered with hers. I could remember holding her close while I kissed her. Jeanette tastes good even after she has eaten mustard. I could remember caressing and licking and sucking her lovely breasts. I could remember hugging her for hours while her thigh pressed my erection and mine pressed her mound. I could remember stroking up her smooth thighs to their sweet junction when we could find enough privacy . I could remember clasping that junction and rubbing the thin panties against her last secrets.
What I couldn't remember is any demands that I let her get back to studying.
"Seriously," she continued in a changed tone, "it was mostly my fault. It was a little your fault. You're big on my 'getting an education,' but you didn't worry much about whether I was learning anything. It was a little the fault of the teachers; they asked so much and required so little." I must have looked confused. "The course covered so much material, but they were satisfied with a very superficial understanding of it."
"So what do you want?" I asked.
"I want to buy that program to improve my typing."
"I thought we'd decided on doing that."
"I want to run my education."
"That's fair," I replied. "Because the computer program costs joint money, we decide about it by consensus. Your education is ultimately your decision. It's a little like 'games.' I'm your husband, you owe it to me to give my ideas serious consideration unless they are very distasteful to you. However, it is your body and your mind. So you decide what you are going to do."
"When the typing thing is finished, I'd like to go back over the French course. I still have the college book, if not the high-school ones. In preparation, I'm going to memorize all that vocabulary. I'll use my lunch hours to do that."
"Is that any kind of break?"
"I think it will be, really. Actual thinking would distract me from my after-lunch duties. But rote memorization sounds like something that is a step up from the work without being likely to stick in my mind when I return to work."
"I'm sorry. I thought that you enjoyed FRC." We had sessions in bed on Saturdays which mixed in joint discussions, my quizzing her, and petting. I had enjoyed them greatly.
"Loved it, especially the Saturday discussion section; but we can't be peers on this book. Besides, I am going to concentrate on typing."
"So," I said, "read any good newsmagazines lately?" Between the sexual games and the intensity of the family meeting, we were both emotionally exhausted. The situation in Washington did not get the attention it deserved. As a matter of fact, it was fairly late when we got up from table. I didn't know if Jeanette had anything planned for the night.
"Having a merry Christmas, dear?" she asked.
"Delightful. Have I mentioned that I love you?"
"You went much further than that."
"I meant every single word of it."
"You'd better wash the dishes and bathe before you come back to bed." I don't want people to think that I wash the dishes after every meal. We have enough dishes to take us through two days. They could probably last a week. On the other hand, Jeanette has a housework fetish. She'd assign her love slave to wash dishes however few were dirty. She knew better than to expect the pattern to last beyond that night.
The task she set me when I did rejoin her was to lie still with my hands clasped behind my head while she kissed me. This was easy enough while the kisses were on my face. The lovely, open mouthed, kisses didn't need my hands, either, as long as my tongue was free to meet hers. The sweet suction on my nipples was much harder to endure without a reciprocal hug.
The real problem came when she approached my groin. I had had two explosive orgasms that day, and knew that a third was impossible. Junior, however, was less sure. When her kisses trailed down to my waist, he stirred. When Jeanette kissed the insides of my thighs and then my scrotal sack, he firmed. By the time she was kissing Junior himself, he was fully erect.
She took the tip, and then the whole glans into her mouth. Slow sucking kisses turned to imitation fucking. My obedience could not stand the strain. I clasped her head in my hands while it bobbed up and down over my turgid member. Time stood still, and then I erupted into that sweet, warm, mouth.
I remember a hug with her breasts pushing into me and a kiss with her mouth tasting more salty than usual. I remember nothing more of that night.
The End Fortuitous Uther Pendragon 1997/02/09 1997/04/30 2000/04/18 2001/11/12 2002/10/04 2003/11/05 This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans. The first story in the series is: "Forever" The next story in the series is: "Voortrekkers" For another story about another couple planning their future, see: "Trust" The directory to the entire Brennan series is: Brennan Stories Directory The directory to all my stories can be found at: Index to Uther Pendragon's Website