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From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} -- Wild Throw (Uther) MF wl
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Date: Wed, 30 Jun 2010 21:10:08 -0400
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This material is copyright, 2010, by 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. Any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.



Wild Throw
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF wl


"I should hang the screens."

"Hang them tomorrow, Tim. Today, I need to prepare the garden. No
sense having a bungalow if you're not going to garden."

"Somehow, your having to prepare the garden means my having to dig
up the ground."

"But, darling, I thought you enjoyed doing spade work."

"You sure talk sexy, Sally, when you're all dressed and going outdoors.
You think you're safe from your husband."

"Sexy? That was a totally innocent remark. 'Doctor, you're the one with
the dirty pictures.'"

"Your last day of total innocence was in kindergarten." Sally thought
that he hadn't much experience with kids if he thought kindergartners
were innocent. Well, let him keep his illusions. When they had a kid of
their own, he'd learn. "Okay," Tim continued, "but I'll get you one day."

He dug up the sod from the rectangle which would be a garden. She
smoothed the bare ground and prepared it for the planting tomorrow.
She got done while he was still cleaning his tools and returning them to
the garage. She took a shower, dried off, and put on her pink robe.
They'd once thought pink for her and blue for him was funny. The robes
had lasted longer than the joke. As she came out of the bathroom, Tim
headed in for his own shower.

It was still a nice day; she'd decide on what to wear when they decided
whether to go out or stay in. It was Saturday, maybe she could
persuade Tim to barbecue. One of the living-room windows opened
onto the porch. She opened it and leaned out. Here, she was hidden
enough from the street that her bathrobe wouldn't shock anybody. The
air smelled of spring and mown lawns.

"Tim," she'd heard him behind her, "what about..." she started to turn
around.

"No. Stay there." His hand on the middle of her back pressed her
down. She supported herself, and -- from the feel of it -- a good deal
of him, on her elbows on the sill. "You look quite sexy like that. Have I
ever mentioned that you have a sexy butt?" Often, but the robe was
hardly revealing.

Tim took care of that problem. He flipped the robe up so that his hand
could reach her ass.

"Tim!"

"Tell the street, why don't you?" He was right. Neighbor children were
playing on the sidewalk. Her head was out the window. If she
whispered he could claim to not hear; if she spoke much louder, the
kids would hear. She certainly couldn't be explicit, 'get your hand off
my ass.' And, while she didn't like the situation, he knew what he was
doing with that hand.

He stroked all over each ass cheek, drew a finger along the line joining
those cheeks to her thighs. Then he held her labia in his hand. At first,
he was only holding them and squeezing very gently. Then he rubbed
one against the other. Finally, his finger stroked between them, moving
forward from the back to just short of her clitoris. He stroked back.

"Touch it," she whispered.

"You'll stay here?"

"Yes. Just touch it." His next stroke was slow, agonizingly slow. But,
when -- months later, it seemed -- he touched it, he lit a fire in her
belly.
Two more of his strokes reached it before that hand left her completely.

"Tim!" This whisper might have been audible in the street; but she
needed him, and he was teasing her.

"Wait a second. This position is no good." And, then, he was closer
behind her and reaching around the front. She felt his hand sliding
around her thigh towards her labia. She also felt him lean over her back
and the length his cock press against the crack between her ass cheeks.
His robe was obviously open; she could even feel the folds pressed
against her thighs. She swayed side to side, rubbing his cock with her
ass, until his finger found her clitoris again. Then she ignored everything
else, his hand on her back, the breeze outside, the discomfort which
had been building from the position.

A warmth was spreading from her belly. It had reached her thighs and
her breasts when Tim's other hand reached her breast, too. He held her
left breast and tweaked the nipple. She started feeling even warmer.

"Like that?" he asked. She nodded vigorously, forming words would
take too much of her attention. "You'll like this better." Actually, she
liked it less. His hand left her breast and the finger of the other hand,
while it stayed on her clitoris, became motionless. He moved a little
back from her ass. Then she felt his cock beginning to penetrate her
vagina.

"Tim?"

"Shush. The neighbors will hear. You don't want them looking closely at
this." Then he was all the way in. His hand returned to her breast and
the finger brushed over her clitoris again. As the warmth spread, the
motions of his hands were joined by slight -- very slight -- motions of
his cock within her. She pushed back when he came forward and
pulled forward when he pulled back. Before the warmth claimed all her
attention, she whispered again.

"Tim, don't waste it." If he came and she stood up -- and she was
already uncomfortable with the position -- all his seed would run out.
They needed that seed to make a baby. He might be ready again after
dinner; he might produce some spunk; but that spunk wouldn't contain
many sperm.

"You'll just have to wait here. If you're nice to your husband and
apologize for making him slave all day in the garden, he might even
share some of his Thai take-out with you. We could have dinner on the
porch. Well, I and half of you... Damn!"

This last was because a ball had come bouncing into sight on their front
lawn. It looked like a small football and came to rest beside the porch
to her left. Soon a kid came racing after it. She clutched her robe tight
around her, but Tim didn't pull his hand away.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Kessel," the kid said. It was Bobby Dugan from
three doors down and across the street. "It was a wild throw, and I
couldn't catch it."

"That's all right, Bobby." Now, if he'd only go away. If he wouldn't hear
Tim's snort of suppressed laughter. If he'd go to her left and not in front
of the porch where he could see in. Thank God, Tim's robe was dark
-- a royal blue. He'd be hard to see.

"Where's Mr. Kessel?"

"He's inside." She'd meant inside the house, but Tim's shaking from
holding back his laughter showed that he'd taken another meaning.

"Oh. What are you doing?" She was being screwed by her husband,
but that was probably not an answer that the Dugans wouldn't
appreciate Bobby's hearing. And, right then, Tim started tickling her
nipple again. Tim had no sense of propriety.

"I'm appreciating the spring weather. But I didn't want to walk out on
the porch wearing a bathrobe."  And now, Tim was stroking her
clitoris, too. It would have felt marvelous if Bobby weren't right there.

"Oh." Bobby stared at her, finally took the hint, and raced off. Bobby
was maybe nine, which was much more maturity than Tim was
showing. She could hear his chuckles.

But he did know how to push her buttons. What with his fingers
brushing against nipple and clitoris, his prick filling her and not moving,
even the situation, she was turned on. The warmth in her belly
expanded and grew hotter. It turned to fire when he began slow strokes
in and out.

She clamped her jaw shut to keep from crying out as the fire consumed
her. She clutched around his prick and her whole body went through
spasm after spasm.

Her next consciousness was of being pushed further out the window
and pulled back. Tim was driving against her and shoving her away by
his grip on her thighs. He shoved her all the way out, and the only thing
keeping her from losing her balance was his pressure on her legs as he
pulsed inside her. She caught at the window sill to support her as he
suddenly relaxed.

"Tim, don't," she whispered anxiously. He popped out anyway when he
pulled away. She heard him stumble and catch his balance.

"Stay like that. You'll spill it." But she backed out of the window and
stood up. She ignored the juice flowing down her legs to tie the robe
around her. Then she lowered the window all the way.

"I'm not sure I want a child with your genes. You are vicious." She
headed for the bathroom. She'd use his washcloth to rinse off her
thighs.

The end
Wild Throw
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com


An earlier story about Tim and Sally:
/~Uther_Pendragon/story/spin.htm "Spin Cycle"


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