Message-ID: <60008asstr$1268100603@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost -- "A Clean Sweep" {Uther} (mf fsolo pett)
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Date: Mon, 08 Mar 2010 21:10:03 -0500
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If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law
to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do
something else.

This material is Copyright, 2000, Uther Pendragon.  All rights
reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading and
keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as
this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous
permission.

If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to me
at  nogardneprethu@gmail.com

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

 index to almost all my stories:
/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
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