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From: "Paris Waterman" <the_panda@hotmail.com>
Subject: NEW: Helen & I  Chapters 4-6 MF 
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Helen & I


By Paris Waterman


© Paris Waterman 1997

CHAPTER 4.

I awoke at 12:15 am. Bubba had been awakened moments earlier. Incoming! 
I was still groggy, but my reflexes were instantly alert. Bubba was 
under attack. I looked down through half opened eyes and found Helen 
crouched under the sheet, having placed herself between my legs, two 
hands holding Bubba erect. Hell, Bubba could have stood up for himself 
given half a chance. Helen wasn't giving an inch. Her grip was 
exquisitely tight. The part of Bubba not firmly grasped in her hands was 
in her mouth, and . . .. "Oh, OOOOHHHH! Aahhhhh! Do thaaat again!" I 
shouted, coming fully awake and starting to take inventory of my body 
parts. Helen released her top hand from my cock to caress my balls. 
Simultaneously, she started to swallow Bubba. I wasn't gonna last much 
longer at this pace. Reluctantly, I rolled away from Helen's clutches, 
and mumbled: "Let's try fucking for a change." "You're a genius Jim, " 
Helen replied, through lipstick smeared lips. She lay on her back and as 
Bubba slid in her to the hilt Helen cried, "Oh, boy," and tried to touch 
the ceiling with her toes. We began a torrid horizontal ballet.

I could still taste and smell Helen's sweet juices encrusted in my 
mustache and beard. My early morning mouth breath didn't seem as bad as 
usual, so I risked kissing her. ("Well, come on, reader - she didn't 
brush either - and fairs fair.")

Helen didn't object, in fact it was a prolonged exchange of tongues, 
saliva and I thought for a second, a filling she'd extracted trying to 
suck my tongue out of my head.

Eventually, (Okay, okay, I'm not Superman). It didn't take long (is that 
better?) before I started to cum, and cum, and cum. (I do that very 
well, thank you very much.) Ah, bliss. We held tight to one another for 
a time and I went back to sleep only to dream that my semen dried while 
we were cuddling together and we were now stuck together for eternity. 
When I later told Helen about the dream she thought it kind of romantic. 
Go figure!

CHAPTER 5.

We awoke within minutes of each other. It was about ten after six. Helen 
bounded out of bed and dashed for the shower. Feeling somewhat playful, 
and with the early signs of being able to do something constructive with 
the quasi-erection perking hither-dither, I followed. I was surprised 
when Helen halted my entry into the shower. "What's wrong," I asked. 
Helen smiled, then frowned and said, "We don't have time right now. Now 
don't tempt me. I mean it. I've got to get dressed and out for an 
important interview. Besides, I don't have a thing to eat; we'll have to 
get breakfast at the Frenchman's. I decided against the inane remarks 
that came to mind, and agreed with her. "Okay, the Frenchman's it is.

Thirty minutes later, (Yes, I was impressed with Helen's ability to make 
herself very presentable within a short time frame. In fact, she had to 
wait for me before we could leave.) We pulled into the Frenchman's for 
breakfast. Oddly enough, the Frenchman's was actually owned and operated 
by a small henna-haired French woman in her fifties named Lilly. The 
kitchen was run by her husband, a tall, thin Romanian, who was known to 
laugh and talk incessantly, while turning out the best breakfast and 
lunch food in town.

We went in, took a booth by a window looking out onto a major 
intersection as it braced itself for the new days bustling activity, and 
ordered breakfast. I led off our conversation. "Helen, last night . . . 
well, last night was great." At this point, wanting to say something 
profoundly romantic, I could only manage to stammer, " I, . . . I, . . 
.." "Jim," she was smiling at me as she said it. "I thought last night 
was sensational. Hopefully we'll have more nights like that; perhaps 
we'll even have mornings and afternoons as well. Right now I think we 
should tell each other a little something about ourselves. Would you 
like me to start it off?" And that solidified the beginning of a 
wonderful relationship, now well into its second year.

We saw each other often after that day, but never discussed the 
possibility of a future together. My wife, Maggie's status changed for 
the worse during this period and we all waited for the inevitable. Tess, 
my mother-in-law, was very much aware of our relationship and accepted 
it - being very cordial on those times Helen and I met her. Tess even 
mentioned that I'd made a good choice and never raised the subject 
again. This helped me immeasurably in deflecting the guilt that surfaced 
in the days following Maggie's passing two weeks later.

CHAPTER 6

A fresh spring rain had moved through the area only a half-hour earlier; 
making the woods fragrant and washing the city clean in the dusk. I 
inhaled deeply of the damp evening smells as I climbed out of the Jeep 
Wagoneer and strode towards Helen's apartment. Plum trees shaded the 
front of the light gray building from the rays of the setting sun.

The trees still had a few of their white blossoms scattered among their 
new green leaves, and they reminded me of other springs when Maggie and 
I stood beneath a similar canopy of creamy flowers while having our 
picture taken. But that was then - this is now, I thought, as I began 
striding towards Helen's lobby.

The needs of business had placed me 20000 miles away for almost three 
weeks. It had been three very long weeks. Minutes later I would discover 
that gap had seemed an eternity to Helen as well.

Helen was waiting for me in the courtyard on the south side of her 
building. She was standing barefooted on a wet rock walk where she had 
been watering flowers, her baggy gardening dress hanging almost to her 
tanned ankles. Her smile as beautiful now as it had been the first time 
it flashed at me. It was an easy smile, the sort of smile that made 
strangers instantly at ease with her, a disarming smile that told me she 
was not a complicated woman, a misconception I would soon learn to 
revise.

I took a deep breath of the heavy air, and enjoyed the familiar earthy 
odors of damp plants and stones. We kissed softly. I could smell the 
faint fragrance of a familiar, yet unrecognizable perfume. I made a her 
thighs.

Sitting down on the couch, she propped her feet up on a coffee table, 
and hiked her dress above her knees. (Unladylike you say, well . . . 
maybe . . .. But, I say it was by design and sexy as all get out.) Mind 
you, Bubba had almost wormed his way out of his zippered confinement. I 
could feel his one eye bulging obscenely as it thrust against the 
material of my slacks.

Helen took a long drink of her scotch, and noting the uprising I was 
trying to suppress from her, smiled lewdly. I looked away and down at my 
drink. The tall, sweaty glass was standing in a puddle of its own 
condensation, the ice having melted, leaving behind an unappealing, 
warm, off-color liquid.

Helen broke the silence, "I've really, really missed you. Let me show 
you some thing's I bought. Things to help me get by in your absence." 
With that she led me over to a toy chest. Looking in, I saw it was 
filled with sex toys of various types. Several items I recognized - 
dildos and the like, but, others I had no idea about. I got my first 
lesson as she led me to the bed. It was new. "It's our special bed," she 
whispered into my ear. I noted it had an elegant black wrought iron 
garden gate styling for both the headboard and footboard. The cotton 
sheets were striped with a fine herringbone accented in gold and black.

The comforter featured a center of gold and black paisley print, with a 
checkered border. In this setting, the sun's last rays poured into the 
room like a staged spotlight, focusing upon Helen and her long auburn 
hair - now a glistening copper fire, as it draped down across her 
shoulders. Helen was a vision of unsurpassed beauty. (That's really why 
I recall the details about the bed. Of course I stood in front of it 
taking notes before I attempted to write this. I just didn't want you 
three women reading this to think I'm a fairy interior designer.)

And so, as I stood transfixed in her radiance, she undressed me; coaxed 
me into lying down on my back; and began tying my wrists to the 
headboard. "Jim," she said serenely, "don't worry." (What me worry? Hey, 
I was numb chum.) With that said, she tied my feet to the footboard. I 
could move, and thought that if I struggled a bit I could free myself BE 
so what the heck, let the games begin.

She reached in her toy box and withdrew a small bag. Out came a string 
of 5 colored beads. Helen asked if I'd done the beads before. I said no. 
She placed a pillow under my hips. Helen picked up a tube from the 
dresser, and I jumped when she applied a lubricant to my ass. Then she 
straddled me, inserting Bubba easily into her very warm pussy, and as we 
started to screw, she reached back and stuck a finger up my rectum. 
Moments later, Helen began working a bead in there. It hurt, but then 
the bead popped in. What a sensation! She distracted me by increasing 
her pace and shoved a second bead in. Now I'm going crazy. I started to 
moan, (I'm a natural crybaby, ask anyone who's shoved beads up my ass - 
but in a moment or so, I found it was extremely pleasant.)

Helen's kissing me, her tongue snaking into and around my mouth as the 
third bead goes in. I'm soaked with sweat and have goosebumps all over 
me. It's intensely erotic!

The 4th and 5th beads follow. I can't describe the feeling, except to 
say it's wonderful. We're screwing frantically now; Helen anticipates my 
coming ejaculation and begins to pull the beads out. One-two-three.. I'm 
tossing wildly, out of control, screaming bloody murder, and I erupt in 
the best orgasm of my life. "That fuck's for you James," I hear Helen 
murmur softly, just before I fall asleep, warm and satisfied.

Helen woke me with a kiss about 9:00 PM. "Well," she asked, as a wry 
grin eased onto her face, "how did you like the beads?" She was wearing 
a translucent white teddy, with frilly stuff, (lace?) running along the 
edges. I tried to stifle a yawn, and asked where she'd gotten the idea 
for the beads and other paraphernalia that I'd yet to take a close look 
at. "The Internet," was all she offered in reply. With a mischievous 
smile she rose up from the bed and crossed the room to her PC. Moments 
later I was reading a story written by a clever woman named Sande, 
called Hot Tub Musings. It more then adequately described the events 
that took place earlier that evening. We sent Sande an E-mail thanking 
her for writing the story and telling her that we were going to try it, 
as well as several other things. We were too cowardly to admit the 
truth, about the beads, but were convinced we'd make good on our other 
promises to Sande shortly. 

For more like this, try: http://www.members.xoom/Pandas_Pen/index.html



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