"A Clean Sweep" {Uther} (mf fsolo pett)

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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.

                          #  #  #  #  #

                          A Clean Sweep
                       by Uther Pendragon
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com                        


"Well, at least I can wash the dishes," Whitney said when 
Uncle Jeremy had set out for work.  Not that loading the 
breakfast dishes into the dishwasher was any large chore.  She'd 
begged a visit to her Aunt Cassandra on the excuse that she would 
be more help caring for the newborn baby than she would increase 
the burden of housework.  And then her period had finally 
surprised her the night of her arrival. 

"Don't sweat the petty stuff, Whitney.  It's not the first 
time those sheets have seen a little blood; it's part of being a 
woman.  Anyway, I'm going to exploit you all week; I thought that 
was the reason for your visit." 

"You're sweet, Aunt Cassandra." 

"And, when you've loaded the dishwasher, you can hold 
Joshua." 

"Really!"  Whitney said.  She rushed to clear the table. 

"But bring me a spit cloth first."  Whitney brought back a 
diaper from the changing table in the bedroom.  Her cot was in 
what would be Joshua's room; but he was, at two months, a little 
young to be away from his mother all night.  She watched as her 
Aunt Cassandra carefully placed the baby on her shoulder and 
pounded on his back.  It looked a little rough to Whitney.  Then 
she finished loading the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. 

While her aunt closed the cup of her bra and then her blouse, 
Whitney carefully supported Josh's head in the bend of her elbow 
and the rest of his weight on her arm.  He was such a dear!  He 
looked up at her while she sang to him, and then sank into 
sleep. 

"You can put him down now," Aunt Cassandra said.  

"Do I have to?" 

"You'll tire of that soon enough.  But come into the living 
room and talk to me."  They settled on opposite ends of the 
couch, Joshua still in her arms.  "Is there anything you want to 
talk to me about?" 

"Not really," Whitney said.  Everything was fine, now.  She 
felt a little guilty about imposing on her aunt, even.  But she 
did plan on cleaning the place during her school break. 

"I'll probably try to get to the store this afternoon.  Is 
there anything you need?  Do you have enough Tampax?" 

"Sure."  Although she almost hadn't brought the box.  "I have 
a couple of cheap recipes that I know how to cook.  I'll write 
out the ingredients for you and then I'll be able to relieve you 
in the kitchen for two nights." 

She did fix lunch.  Then, having been checked out on her 
ability to change Josh's diapers, she held him while Aunt 
Cassandra readied herself for the store.  "I'll be back in a 
little bit," she said.  "Feel free to munch or watch TV while 
he's asleep." 

"Do you mind if I make a phone call?  I have a phone card in 
my purse." 

"Be my guest." 

This time, she did set Josh down in his crib when he fell 
asleep.  She made sure that he was on his back and tucked the 
covers over him.  Then she made her phone call.  She was running 
the vacuum when her aunt came back. 

Aunt Cassandra did work her, but she also let her hold Joshua 
whenever he wasn't at her breast or in Uncle Jeremy's arms.  The 
next afternoon, when Aunt Cassandra brought a broom and a bag 
from the store into the living room though, she insisted that 
Whitney leave him in his crib and again take the other end of the 
couch. 

"Like holding him, don't you?" she asked. 

"He's so....  I don't know, trusting or something.  And 
warm." 

"Tell me true.  Any time in the future, if Joshua and I wanted 
absolutely opposite things, can you imagine siding against 
him?" 

Could she?  Against that warm bundle of trust and those tiny 
hands on her fingers.  "Well, if what he wanted was wrong...."  
But Whitney wasn't even certain about that. 

"Oh sure.  You don't love a kid if you can't say 'no.'"  
Whitney had often thought how different her aunt and her mother 
were, but *that* line showed their sisterhood.  "The thing 
is, you weren't much older than that when I first held you." 

Whitney had heard the stories.  For that matter, she did trust 
Aunt Cass to side with her.  That's why she had called her in the 
first place. 

"Honey," her aunt continued, "you've been a wonderful help 
these two days, and I knew that you wanted to see Joshua.  But I 
still wasn't ready for a visit.  And you're not the sort of kid 
to suggest a visit the day before you get on the bus.  There was 
worry in your voice when you called." 

Was she that transparent?  "Everything's fine now.  
Really." 

"And you're not the sort of girl to let her period take her by 
surprise." 

"I said that I was sorry."  Not that she couldn't see where 
this was going. 

"How late was it?" 

"Four days, maybe five; but everything is fine now." 

"This time.  Did you tell the boy?" 

"Yeah.  I asked if I could call, remember." 

"What did he say?" 

"He was out, but I told his mother to tell him that I was 
having a great time.  He knew what I meant." 

"When you told him that you might have caught.  What did he 
say then?" 

"That it couldn't have happened.  I mean I still had my 
panties on, but he sprayed them good.  He was right." 

"Well, I would never recommend that procedure to a couple 
trying to have a baby," Aunt Cassandra said, "but it was a 
risk." 

"I know that it was stupid."  It hadn't felt stupid, though.  
It had felt exciting. 


    They'd been kissing for an hour, and she was hot.  Jim 
    had kissed her breasts and petted her thighs.  Finally, 
    he'd eased her panties down far enough to allow his 
    fingers inside the leg bands.  She'd writhed under his 
    ministrations, feeling the climax come closer and 
    closer.  When it had reached her, he'd covered her mouth 
    with a long kiss.  Then she'd tugged the panties tight 
    to keep that moisture inside. 

    It was also a promise that they'd made to each other, 
    that one of them would always be covered down there.  
    For Jim had dropped his trousers down around his knees 
    and had crawled on top of her.  He had covered her and 
    clasped her legs between his.  That had seemed safer, 
    but it had also felt as if she were his captive.  He'd 
    held her tight while his hot stiffness had stroked along 
    the insides of her thighs.  She'd reached down as far as 
    she could, and he'd moved up until her hands were on his 
    hips. 

    She'd enjoyed the strokes on her thighs, enjoyed his 
    hands on her breasts and his mouth reaching hers on the 
    top of his strokes, enjoyed the driving force of the 
    muscles clenching under her hands.  Most of all, she'd 
    enjoyed the sense of his excitement.  He'd been puffing 
    like a steam engine, grimacing as if he were under 
    torture; and it was all because of her. 

    He had pressed into her panties, providing a sensation 
    which was exciting all by itself, and she'd felt him 
    shaking above her and throbbing *right there*.  Then her 
    panties had been much wetter than she had made them.  
    She'd had to rinse them and wring them out in a gas-
    station women's room.  Bothersome as cleaning up had 
    been, she'd replayed the first part of the evening in 
    her mind again and again.  She'd repeated those memories 
    for the two weeks until her period had been due. 

    Then her memories had turned to terror, but she knew 
    that she was panicking unnecessarily; it was only a day 
    late.  When it was two days late, she'd talked to Jim. 

    "Couldn't happen," he said.  "I wasn't in you.  You 
    didn't even have your panties off." 

    "But I'm never this late.  I'm regular as a clock.  What 
    if...?" 

    "If it is true, then we'll have to decide.  I'll try to 
    find the money for the doctor.  In the other 
    alternative, all I have to buy is the license and the 
    ring." 

    "You'd marry me?" 

    "I *will* marry you.  If you'll have me.  I just don't 
    want it to be now and this way.  I think that you are 
    making a mountain out of a molehill; we're talking 'what 
    if' again.  I'd vote for an abortion, if it turns out to 
    be real -- and if I had a vote.  But I don't; it has to 
    be your decision.  I'll back that decision.  Anyway, 
    whatever other problems marriage right now would bring, 
    I'd really enjoy sleeping beside you every night.  I 
    just think that you are borrowing trouble." 


And, in the outcome, she had been borrowing trouble.  But 
she'd called Aunt Cass that night.  Aunt Cass had been available 
when she'd needed her shoulder to cry on, had thought that she 
would need her shoulder; and she deserved more attention than 
Whitney was giving her. 

She brought her attention back from the past.  "Catch!" Aunt 
Cassandra said.  She flipped something through the air.  After 
catching it, Whitney looked closely.  Her face burned when she 
saw that it was a condom.  "It's the wrong time to blush.  When 
every student in your school is talking about that stupid Whitney 
girl who let herself get pregnant, that's the time to be 
embarrassed." 

Was she supposed to give it to Jim?  She'd die.  Anyway, he'd 
take it as an invitation to intercourse; and who could blame him.  
She wasn't ready for that yet, was a lot less ready after the 
recent scare. 

"I don't know..." she began. 

"That's why you came to your Aunt Cassandra.  I do know, I'm 
going to teach you.  And if your mother hears about this, you'll 
never hold Joshua again. 

"Now take this broomstick, pretend its your boyfriend -- what 
is his name?" 

"Jim." 

"Pretend that the broomstick is Jim.  Well, not all of him.  I 
want you to open the package and roll the rubber onto the 
broomstick as if you were rolling it on Jim." 

The broom was some sort of industrial-grade push broom with an 
awfully heavy handle.  Whitney fumbled with the packet.  It was 
greasy, and she started from the wrong side and had to flip it 
over.  Finally, though, she got almost all of it unrolled. 

"Is he *really* that long?"  Aunt Cassandra was obviously 
trying to hold back her laughter. 

"Not really."  She rolled it up to where she guessed it would 
go on Jim. 

"Okay.  You got it on, which is the main thing.  That little 
flap at the end is where the sperm should end up.  If you buy a 
box which doesn't have that, unroll a little before you place it 
against his dong.  That'll give them a place to go.  Now give it 
to me." 

Aunt Cass rolled it back up, taking obvious care to get it 
into almost the original shape. 

"These things are use-once.  And it is his job to remove it 
and dispose of it.  For practice, however, I think we'll reuse 
this one, and take it off carefully.  It's not as if a tear is 
any danger so long as you're using a broomstick.  Now, think 
again.  This is Jim, or the next boy." 

"Hey!  What do you think I am?"  Whitney was fairly sure that 
Jim was the one.  There wouldn't be a next one. 

"Or imagine that it's Brad Pitt.  I don't care.  Just don't 
treat it like a broomstick.  C'mon, Whitney.  This is what the 
guy thinks is the center of his being, the center of your 
relationship.  Point again about where it would join his 
body." 

Whitney chose a place.  She wasn't at all sure, anymore.  "Now 
put two fingers of your left hand around it there.  You can hold 
it firmly, he won't even mind a gentle squeeze, but don't hold it 
tighter than you would want him to hold your arm."  She got two 
fingers and her thumb around the broomstick.  "Hold it with the 
fingers.  Place your thumb on the side closest to you."  She did 
everything she was told. 

"Now," Aunt Cass continued, "that's his ego you're holding, 
his sacred identity.  Touch the right side to the top.  He'll 
feel that and react to it.  Slowly, as if the organ meant as much 
to you as it does to him, roll it down until you reach your left 
hand.  Now, you would let go of it.  Instead, take a lower grip.  
Okay, roll it down to cover the last little bit.  When you 
actually do it, make sure to brush the pubic hairs out of the 
way." 

She felt embarrassment over her clumsiness, but also 
embarrassment over the pictures that Aunt Cass's words brought to 
her mind. 

"I really think that you have it," Aunt Cass said.  She waited 
while Whitney rolled the condom back off into a tight ring.  "Now 
look at these." 

"These" were a box of 11 more rubbers, and several compacts.  
"Thanks," she said.  "I think." 

"Well," Aunt Cass said, "it's not the sort of gift that I'll 
be offended if you don't use.  It's just that I want you to have 
them when you want to have them, if that makes any sense at all."  
It sort of did.  "These compacts all are empty, but they all 
latch well.  You can have one or two of them for carrying in your 
purse.  A couple of rubbers will fit inside any of them. 

She took a deep breath.  "Look, put the broom in your room and 
hide these and the practice rubber in there somewhere.  Don't 
hide the broom.  If we need it, it will be where you used it 
last.  Anyway, you know how to put it on.  You can practice 
without an audience." 

Whitney followed instruction.  Her aunt went to start dinner 
preparations. 

"Your father," Aunt Cass continued when Whitney joined her, 
"gave me the sort of advice that only a brother-in-law can.  A 
father can't say it to his daughter.  I was getting towards the 
end of puberty, and feeling weird -- I had all these feelings and 
all this equipment that was new or newly active.  I was supposed 
to be something which I had no idea how to be, and I wondered how 
I stacked up.  You know how that is."  Whitney knew quite well.  
"He took me for a walk around the block, we circled it four 
times.  What he told me was that boys *did* think about me 
as sexy; I didn't need to worry about that.  Boys my age didn't 
look at me and figure that I had less bosom than the playmate of 
the month; they were trying to get a guess at the shape of my 
breasts.  And, he said, they were trying to figure out what was 
between my legs.  So I never needed to worry about them thinking 
I was sexy. 

"The next step, he said, was that a boy had the same worries I 
had with a lot more to justify it.  The boy thought about sex 
morning, noon, and night; and he was pimply-faced with a breaking 
voice.  He told me that when I found the man I wanted, he would 
almost certainly think of me as sexy; he would almost certainly 
not think of himself as sexy.  If I found a way for *me* to 
think of him as sexy, and live in a way that showed that I 
thought him sexy: then the man would not only think of sex when 
he thought of me, he would think of me when he thought of sex.  
Which, your father suggested, was about a hundred times an 
hour." 

Whitney nodded. 

"Now, he didn't take that any further.  The next time that he 
mentioned that discussion was in a letter after I told you guys 
about the pregnancy.  But I'm not a total dummy.  Do you really 
think that I took all those psych. courses because I was fond of 
rats?" 

"That's what Mom always said." 

"Well, not the four legged kind.  You and Kristin are only two 
years apart; that's why you always can tell what the other is 
thinking." 

"Pfft!"  Whitney could hardly remember one occasion when her 
baby sister had understood what she had said, let alone read her 
mind. 

"Well, must be.  You wouldn't think that *my* sister 
could speak for me, otherwise.  Anyway, when you've been to 
college and seen the wide assortment of boys available, you make 
your choice.  Then come see your Aunt Cassandra about being happy 
with that choice."  Whitney really believed that she had already 
made her choice.  But she knew that tone of voice, the 
seriousness trying to hide its seriousness.  Her mother couldn't 
be wheedled out of such positions; she was sure that Aunt Cass 
couldn't either.  She wondered if she and Kristin sounded alike 
to everyone but themselves.  Horrible thought. 

                              - = - 

But that night, with everyone else asleep, Whitney thought 
about her lesson. 

She dug the opened condom out of the bag and dragged the broom 
over to the bed.  Resting the broom over a chair made both the 
angle and the height more realistic.  Was Jim that large around?  
He'd sure looked huge the first time she'd seen him, but she'd 
come to accept that organ as just another part of him over later 
petting sessions.  But Aunt Cass had told her not to treat it as 
just another part. 

She remembered the first time that she'd let him undo her bra.  
"Ohh, Whit, ney" he'd said, dragging it out into three words.  
He'd touched her skin lightly, as if it might bite his fingers; 
and then his lips had attached to her nipple and sucked until it 
hurt.  She hadn't meant to let him kiss her breasts that time, 
had meant to save that until later.  But he had seemed so 
worshipful at first.  Maybe that was how she should treat his 
organ, as something important in itself, the way he had treated 
her breast. 

The way, for that matter, he had reacted to her lower hair the 
time that she hadn't worn panties under her jeans.  He'd felt it 
often enough by then, felt the lower and more important parts; 
but when he'd pulled the jeans down and seen that she had nothing 
on underneath, he'd taken one deep breath and stared and stared.  
"It's so beautiful," he'd said, "you're so beautiful."  She'd 
been afraid for a minute that he would kiss *that*. 

Should she kiss him there?  Should she express its importance 
that way?  Girls did, but -- however excited he made her -- what 
she and Jim had between them was an expression of love.  Kissing 
*there* seemed plain dirty to her.  So she wouldn't. 

She would treat it as important, though.  She sat on the bed 
so that the broomstick was level with her breasts and pointing 
almost straight towards her face.  She brought her fingers around 
it in a light grip.  What would it feel like?  Not as hard as 
this, but warmer.  And *alive*.  Every time she had seen 
Jim's it had been moving slightly.  Which was why she had to hold 
it. 

She tried to pretend that the cold wood was Jim's living 
flesh.  She brought the rubber to his tip, his sensitive tip.  
After she felt the first rotation, she looked up into his face.  
She had to close her eyes to imagine it, but she pictured his 
reaction.  He would smile, and she would see him blink as she 
pressed until the next little bit rolled on.  She looked down to 
check how far she still had to go. 

It was a live thing in her hands, now.  It was Jim, the part 
that would enter her, the part of her love which would make her a 
woman.  She rolled it down about half way to her fingers before 
looking again to his face.  He was enjoying the experience, but 
he was also looking at her with desire -- and with love.  Of 
course, he did love her; and he would only love her more when she 
pleasured his most sensitive organ. 

She slowly rolled the band down to her fingers, and then 
dropped her fingers and rolled it down a further way.  All the 
time, she imagined his loving, and lusting, face. 

After rolling the rubber up again and dropping it into the 
bag, Whitney got into bed.  Too turned on for immediate sleep, 
she thought about what she had done.  Then she thought about what 
she would do.  Would she really put a condom on Jim?  Would she 
really let him push himself inside her?  It was her *self*, 
not something to share with Jim.  But she had once thought that 
about his touching her between the legs, and now she wouldn't 
even consider his stopping that.  She reacted to his fingers in 
ways she didn't to her own.  Not that her own weren't nice, just 
that his were different. 

Part of the problem, she decided as she began to play with her 
nipples, was that she had been playing out a scenario which she 
wouldn't really accept in real life.  And Jim wouldn't expect her 
to walk up to him and roll a rubber down his cock without any 
petting.  That wouldn't be how they started. 

He would undress her first, but her body was wearing only a 
night dress, and her mind was well beyond that stage.  She pulled 
it up to her neck in one motion.  He would stroke her breasts as 
she was doing now.  She tickled them lightly, dancing her fingers 
across their tops.  Wishing that Jim were there to really apply 
his lips and tongue, she kept her left hand brushing over her 
nipples while her right delved between her legs. 

For as long as she could bear it, she imitated Jim's teasing 
technique on her vulva.  First she slipped one finger between her 
outer lips to tickle the joined inner ones as lightly as 
possible.  When these parted, she moved the finger between them 
to carry her lubrication all around the magic button.  She 
couldn't continue the teasing much further, though.  As her 
crisis neared, she rubbed around the neighborhood of the button.  
Then she stroked directly over it and soared. 

And crashed.  She barely managed to pull the night dress down 
and turn on her side before she fell asleep. 

Her mind didn't quite wake up for breakfast, though her body 
managed to make it to the table.  That afternoon, though, she 
cooked dinner for three, leaving Aunt Cass responsible only for 
Joshua.  The pots were scrubbed, although still out, when Uncle 
Jeremy got home.  She filled the dishwasher as well, taking full 
responsibility for the meal from first to last. 

This hadn't allowed her much time for Joshua that day, but she 
did change him and hold him while his parents bathed.  They shard 
the bathroom, which -- she supposed -- was fairly common for 
married people; it would bother her, though.  Uncle Jeremy, who 
had been effusive in his praise during dinner, seemed almost like 
he was avoiding her after his shower.  He ducked into his room 
without a word.  Aunt Cass came out of the bathroom two or three 
minutes later.  She was a high color from the shower, but she did 
speak to her, after -- of course -- speaking to Joshua. 

"Are you going to thank your cousin for her nice care?  No!  
All that interests you right now is Mama and food.  Well," she 
said as she adjusted Joshua on her breast, "Mama is grateful.  
And Jeremy is grateful, too, Whitney.  There aren't many times 
that we can both take our attention off Joshua at the same time.  
And the dinner was superb." 

The dinner hadn't been bad, but Whitney guessed that the best 
flavor to Aunt Cass was the fact that somebody else had cooked 
it.  When Whitney got out of her own shower, Aunt Cass's door was 
closed, and no light shown under the door.  Suspecting that they 
would *not* appreciate a good-night from their guest, 
Whitney hurried into her room with its wooden facsimile.  She 
felt suddenly jealous of her Aunt Cassandra for the flesh and 
blood that shared her bed. 

Tonight, she wasn't satisfied with an illusory Jim.  If she 
had to play with an imaginary playmate, she'd conjure up the 
sexiest one she could.  Having had intermittent times to think 
during her dinner preparation, she'd toyed with several 
possibilities before settling on Ricky Martin. 

For Ricky, she'd wear the robe without the night dress.  He'd 
be surprised to find her in his room, but soon intrigued by a 
woman who was willing to undress *him*.  When she got him 
down to his shorts, he'd remove her robe.  She could feel his 
hands all over her, her breasts, her thighs, between them. 

When she was at the highest level of excitement where she 
could possibly stop, she pushed his hands away.  Now it was his 
turn to be naked.  She admired the lithe, bronze, dancer's body 
before stripping the shorts away.  The organ matched him 
perfectly.  It was long and straight, and his control of it was 
as perfect as his control of the rest of his body.  He froze in 
place with it proudly thrust out while she placed the rubber 
against him. 

She slowly stroked it as she rolled the rubber down its 
length, but his slow smile was her only reward.  Ricky enjoyed 
her teasing him, but he wasn't going to give in to that teasing.  
When she reached where she thought the base must be, she let go 
and sprawled back on the bed. 

His hands were on her immediately, teasing her breasts again, 
tickling the insides of her thighs.  And he penetrated to her 
wetness in a few seconds.  There his strokes began gently, but 
soon turned commanding.  She spasmed, spasmed again. 

It was a long time before the cold brought her out of her 
daze.  Then she had to roll the rubber up and drop it into the 
bag yet again.  By the time she had leaned the broom up against 
the wall and got under the covers, she was shivering.  The night 
dress and robe were too far away, though, and she soon warmed the 
sheets. 

The next day was her last full day -- and the last time that 
they would have without Uncle Jeremy.  Not that she didn't like 
him, but he did limit the topics which she could discuss with 
Aunt Cass. 

Whitney thought, while she was cleaning up the kitchen, that 
she was less sure than she had been on the previous night that 
Ricky Martin would be surprised by a girl ready to undress him.  
In the cold light of day, it seemed to her that there were girls 
all over the world *eager* to undress him.  Jim would never 
be as sexy, but being number one for Jim was one hell of a lot 
sexier than being number one million, or whatever, for Ricky. 

"I want to say again," Aunt Cass said, reminding Whitney that 
she was not alone, "I'm not recommending that you use my gifts.  
I'd hate it if I learned that you went all the way because 
protection was available.  And you should know that they are by 
no means perfect, a good deal less safe than what you have been 
doing." 

"Yeah.  Which you said wasn't particularly safe."  She was in  
no hurry to use those gifts.  She was still a bit scared from the 
experience of the previous week.  And Jim's response, even if he 
had turned out to be right, hadn't been the most reassuring one.  
He could have hugged her tight and proposed on the spot.  On the 
other hand, he could have told her that it was her problem; at 
least, he had seen it as their problem.  But she could tell that 
she would use the gifts sometime.  It didn't take a genius to see 
that they wouldn't stop where they were, and -- scared as she had 
been -- she didn't feel like going back to chaste kisses fully 
dressed.  Was that even possible with Jim?  "Where does this pan 
go?" 

"Where you got it, the lower cabinet right next to the stove.  
No!  Left-hand side.  Anyway, I'd think that panty-liners would, 
if not solve that problem, improve the odds at least.  I could 
put those pans away, if you wait fifteen minutes." 

"No.  I want to say that I handled the whole thing.  Will 
Uncle Jeremy mind if I cook again tonight?" 

"Mind?  Jeremy loved your dinner." 

Whitney decided not to mention his avoiding her later that 
evening.  "This go in the same place?" 

"You got it.  Mind you, he may well have liked even more the 
later half hour that you held Joshua.  It was the first shower 
that we have shared in months.  I kept to the tub after the third 
month; people slip in showers, even when they aren't huge like I 
was." 

Whitney hadn't thought of Aunt Cassandra's time in the 
bathroom as erotic.  Her face began to burn.  She turned all her 
attention to the counter top she was cleaning. 

"Anyway," her aunt continued, oblivious to her blush, "you've 
been a great help in all sorts of ways.  I just hope that I've 
been as much help to you as you expected." 

"Well, you've been a great help in unexpected ways.  And I 
*have* enjoyed holding Joshua.  As for the help I 
*expected*, I'm not complaining." 

"That's fair.  You're being more thorough on that counter than 
I ever was.  Finish it up a little faster; you're about to have a 
cousin who would enjoy your attention." 

And she enjoyed his attention as well.  On her last day, she 
spent time with the baby unless she were cooking or he were 
feeding.  Uncle Jeremy took over the after-dinner cleanup.  "I 
know Cassandra is anxious about my bonding, but I'll have plenty 
of time tomorrow.  Joshua won't see you for months." 

So Whitney spent almost no more time consciously thinking 
about Jim until she started packing that night.  It was much 
harder to imagine any way that she and Jim could share a shower 
than to figure out a way for them to share a bed, maybe because 
they had managed the latter already.  Well, they just would; her 
parents and sister could all be gone, or his family.  Anyway, she 
needed to concentrate on the packing.  She hid the practice 
condom under her pillow, buried the sack that Aunt Cass had given 
her among her clothes, put aside the clothes she would wear on 
the bus, and saved a place in the suitcase for her night clothes.  
These she wore to the bathroom for her shower. 

She washed her face and got all her hair into the shower cap.  
When the water temperature was adjusted, she stood with her face 
under the shower rinsing it one more time.  That was when Jim 
slipped into the shower behind her. 


    When she stepped back, it was his hands which spread 
    soap over her upper body.  He touched her everywhere 
    except a little patch along her spine, but he lavished 
    most of his attention on her breasts.  He lathered the 
    soap in his hands, spread it gently but lavishly over 
    the entire surface of both breasts, and waited while she 
    rinsed off with her hands raised above the shower head.  
    Then he repeated the process with what soap remained, 
    caressing the breasts everywhere, but paying particular 
    attention to her areolae and erect nipples.  This time 
    when she rinsed off, his hands continued to caress her, 
    still concentrating on her breasts. 

    She hesitated on the question of having his hands 
    between her nether cheeks, but he spread the soap there 
    as well; and his were the hands which spread her cheeks 
    as she bent over to let the shower rinse there.  After 
    both their hands were clean again, he soaped each of her 
    legs from mid-thigh to the foot as she lifted it to the 
    rim of the tub.  When she bent over and her breasts 
    pressed into her knee, she was conscious of them in a 
    way that she hadn't been since the year in which they 
    had first appeared. 

    She took a deep breath as he lathered up his hands 
    again.  Then his soft caresses were on her lower belly.  
    He soaped across her back and returned to the spot just 
    under her navel.  From there, his hands slipped 
    downwards.  He brushed the soap into her hair, and then 
    massaged it in -- pressing on the top of her lips on 
    each pass.  He soaped her right hip and the outside of 
    her right thigh; then her leg quivered as he brushed 
    soap upwards on the inside of that thigh, letting only 
    the soap touch -- not his hand. 

    He followed the same pattern on her left leg, but he 
    continued further upward.  She spread her legs as the 
    lather passed between them.  The foam tickled her lower 
    lips, was pressed into her by his hand, and then 
    collapsed under the pressure of that hand.  She moved 
    her groin under the shower.  Each of his hands rinsed 
    under the driving spray, stroked soap out from between 
    her lips, and was replaced by the new-rinsed other hand.  
    When there was no soap left, she stepped back; but the 
    hands remained. 

    One pressed the top of her cleft, one stroked lower.  
    For some unmeasurable time, she thought only of the 
    thrills those hands brought.  But then the water 
    splashing her feet chilled her. 


Whitney turned off the cold water and took a brief rinse from 
the tepid water flowing from the hot pipe.  She dried herself, 
being too cold to enjoy the comfort of Jim's imaginary presence.  
Indeed, she banished him while she changed the tampon and used 
the toilet.  One last glance in the mirror, however, showed her 
the high color -- and erect nipples -- that Jim would see in her 
room. 

In night dress and robe, she crossed to her room.  She latched 
the door and adjusted the broom across the chair once more.  When 
Jim returned to remove her robe, she laid it on the far side of 
her bed.  She'd learned *something* from the previous 
night. 


    Jim spent the longest time simply tickling her nipples 
    through the night dress before raising it enough to 
    reach her mound.  That hair was still damp, and he 
    combed it with his fingernails.  When she began to feel 
    too heavy for her legs to support she lay down on the 
    bed.  With her cooperation, Jim raised her night dress 
    enough to reveal her breasts.  One hand divided its 
    attention between the two breasts, the other caressed 
    between her legs. 

    That hand smoothed the skin of her inner thighs until it 
    was half way to her knees, returned as slowly until it 
    just brushed over the hair on her lips, and then rose 
    again.  Only when she could no longer stand that 
    teasing, did Jim finally part those lips.  He stroked 
    across the sensitive flesh she exposed as well as she 
    was able while her emotions spiraled towards ecstasy. 

    She resisted, however.  Slamming her legs together, she 
    rolled to a sitting position.  Jim stood proudly erect 
    in front of her while she retrieved the condom. 

    And he should be proud.  Whitney had high standards, and 
    she'd found him worthy.  She was a precious prize, and 
    she'd been rewarded to him.  He was the man who'd stood 
    by her when she'd thought both their futures ruined.  
    Before her was the first organ which she would allow 
    inside her, probably the only one; how could she treat 
    it other than with solemn respect? 

    She touched it to steady it, and then to stroke it once.  
    She fitted the condom to its tip.  She looked once 
    upward to kiss towards the place where Jim's face should 
    be.  Then she slowly and carefully rolled the latex down 
    to where her finger were.  She brushed away the hair 
    before rolling it further.  She took one more glance 
    upwards while holding the latex to Jim's shaft. 

    Then she rolled back in the bed.  This time, her night 
    dress went to her neck and her raised knees spread until 
    she could feel the strain.  This time Jim's hand cupped 
    her breast instead of tickling it, and his other hand 
    took only one, quite gentle, squeeze to her lips before 
    parting them.  This time the strokes between them were 
    firm and directed upwards. 

    When the passion rose within her this time, she neither 
    resisted nor dawdled.  His fingers soon concentrated on 
    her button.  She took a short breath, then another and a 
    third without exhaling.  When she had to let them out, 
    the sound was a faint moan.  Her nipple was pinched.  
    Then the climax hit her and carried her over while the 
    finger rubbed her clit as rapidly as possible. 


When it finally passed over, she pulled the night dress down.  
She grabbed the blanket so that it covered her when she rolled 
towards the side of the bed.  When she woke in the morning, she 
saw the rubber-covered broom handle.  Luckily, the door was 
latched and nobody else saw it.  She rolled the stiff condom up 
for the last time, bundled it in some tissues, and hid it in the 
wastebasket. 

She continued to cuddle Joshua or help with the housework 
until it was time to leave for her bus.  One of her last tasks 
was to empty the wastebasket in the room she had been using into 
the kitchen garbage. 


The End
A Clean Sweep
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com 
2000/04/12
2001/09/03
2002/01/24
2003/03/13
2004/02/27
2010/03/08


Other stories in which condoms are important are listed 
at:
p1c.txt 
Pendragon's Challenge.

Another story in which a baby figures prominently can be found 
at:
fortissi.txt 
"Fortissimo"  

This story is indexed at:
yl.txt 
Young Love 

The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm