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From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost "For These Gifts" {Uther} (MF rom cons wl)
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Date: Mon, 20 Sep 2010 22:10:05 -0400
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                         For These Gifts
                       by  Uther Pendragon
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com

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, 1996, 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.

    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.


                      #     #      #     #


                         For These Gifts
                       by  Uther Pendragon
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com


Jeanette Brennan turned from the stove as Bob came staggering in
with the laundry bag over his shoulder.  "Wrong holiday, Santa.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving."

     "Funny."  He dropped the bag on the couch before meeting her
at the doorway.  "I'm getting out of shape.  Maybe I'll go back
to working road construction next summer instead of office
stuff."

     They kissed.  "Tired of me already?" she asked.  He kissed
her again and reached for her breasts.  "Pot's boiling," she
said.  He followed her into the kitchen and watched her dump the
macaroni into the water.

     "You have a point.  I couldn't go two days without you, much
less a season."

     "Bag would be lighter if you washed every week."

     "Time would be almost twice as much, and the cost would be
greater."  She wasn't sure that the inconvenience was worth it.

     "Well, you let me manage my side of the household chores.  I
guess I can't fight about your managing the laundry part."

     "I love you, Mrs. Brennan."

     "All you want is my body."

     "Not *all*."

     "Speaking of the other one percent, go away!  Dinner is
coming together."  He took no offense at her wanting space to
work.  While she cooked and served, he remade the bed with new-
washed sheets.

     The dinner conversation was mostly about Jeanette's
supervisor who expected a normal week's output in four days.
"You have a four day weekend, though.  What do you want to do?"
she asked.  The smile spreading across his face turned into a
leer before she continued.  "Well you can't.  *I* have to work
Friday.  Anyway, your professors expect a little studying.  Do
you want the games tonight, though?  It is the end of your week."

     "This week is your choice.  Is that what you want?"  Bob
felt that he was walking on eggs.  Jeanette often asked for
something by offering it.  On the other hand, she occasionally
convinced herself that her disliking something was proof that he
wanted it.  Then she might be a martyr giving him something when
he could easily wait until Friday.

     "I think it is.  Do the dishes first, though.  I'll need a
clean kitchen tomorrow.  Thanksgiving dinner as a late lunch
okay?"

     "Great.  Fixing a treat?"

     "Turkey slices.  We're living high on the bird."

     She was appreciating the smell and feel of new-washed sheets
when he came in.  The "games" were choices of sexual behavior,
new positions on the Fridays when he chose, mostly old ones on
her weeks.  "Game?" he asked.

     "Do you think that you could be very gentle with your wife?"
She wanted to curl up in a ball and have him hug her.  She
thought that she might just scream if he touched her.  Why had
she asked for games on a night when she didn't know what she
wanted?

     "Do you mean let you alone?"  He thought that was carrying
"games" a little far even for Jeanette, who called her first game
"Missionary."

     "No.  I mean be gentle."

     Jeanette seldom showed emotion.  Her style was to take it
all until she exploded.  Tonight, however, she was visibly
frazzled.  After lighting the candle and turning off the overhead
light, he got in bed beside her and petted her far side.  His
hand didn't even pass near her breasts.  He had, perversely, a
raging erection.  Her most seductive advances had seldom had the
effect on Junior that this request for gentleness did.  He
ignored it as best he could and concentrated on her.

     His mind searched for a subject interesting enough to gain
her attention yet far enough from them to relax her tension.
"Have I ever told you how the Battenbergs became the ruling house
of Europe?"

     "No.  Didn't know that they had."  So he droned on the story
of how Prince Albert's branch of minor royalty had come to
genetically dominate the royal house of England, then those of
Russia and Greece.  It was a splendid choice.  These were people
of whom Jeanette had heard, but about whom she didn't care.  She
let the day become the past.  The next day was a glory, not a
worry.  She hadn't planned enough fancy dinners to see one as
a chore.

     He shifted on to his back with her head on his shoulder.  He
kissed the top of her head.  His caresses began to include her
breasts.  Under his slow seduction, her relaxation moved to a
different sort of tension.  He rolled her onto her back and
scattered tiny kisses over her forehead and cheeks.  Her legs
spread for his hand as her mouth opened for his tongue.

     He clasped her entire vulva when they first kissed.  Slowly,
two fingers parted her outer labia and traced the line of her
inner ones.  He parted these as well, entering into her warm,
moist valley.  Slowly, and as lightly as possible, he stroked
that moisture upward.  Her tongue pressed against his, following
it as it retreated to his mouth.  He sucked it while reminding
himself "Gentle, be gentle."

     She forgot even the morrow as the present moment became
sweeter.  He resumed lip kisses when her tongue retreated.  She
spread her legs wider, her leg brushing his phallus as she did
so.

     He responded by easing one finger into her tunnel, then
widening that opening by pressing down.  He withdrew that finger
to spread the juices it had found up to her clitoral area.  He
had long experience being gentle there.  He smoothed the moisture
into the surrounding folds, just missing the clitoris itself.
Then he returned for more lubrication before he stroked, ever so
lightly, over the bud itself.  She gasped in his mouth and tensed
under his arm.  His tongue returned to explore her mouth as his
finger repeated its journey.

     Soon, she tugged at his shoulders in silent signal.  He
clambered between her legs as she spread them further and raised
her knees.

     His hand returned to spread her labia.  He held his torso
above her as he eased himself into her.  Rooted in her, nestled
into the cradle of pelvis and thighs, he shifted his arms so that
his elbows held him up while his hands cupped her breasts.  When
he began his slow movements, she matched them.  He brushed her
nipples with his thumbs while he stroked within her warmth.  She
tensed and started to speed their tempo.  He drove in and out
forgetting all about gentleness.  His culmination came an instant
before hers.  He was already pulsing as he buried himself fully
into her clasping depths.

     She felt him fill her, throb in her.  She felt the sweet
pulse of his seed hit her before her own tension peaked.  Her
hands clutched his shoulders as her center clutched his.  She was
all tension, and then she collapsed.

     He held himself above her as they both gasped for air.  He
was ready with tissues when she squeezed him out.  Then they lay
side by side.  He carefully patted her on the shoulder.  Avoiding
the sensitive areas seemed part of being gentle.

     She knew he cared for her.  She loved him, and felt much
better about the rest of the universe, too.  The relaxation,
however, was only partial.  She wished that she could have more.
She reached for the patting hand and moved it from her shoulder
to her groin.

     "I'm sorry," he said.  "I thought you had."  He used to ask.
When she said that his asking bothered her, he tried to pay
special attention.  He'd done so, and it certainly had *felt*
like she'd had an orgasm.

     "I did."  She immediately regretted asking.  He had done
what she asked.  Now she knew he was spent.  She wondered if he
felt inadequate.  He shouldn't.  Would he feel annoyed at this
demand when he wanted to drift off?

     He finally understood that she wanted more of him.  The
darling!  He knew that he could arouse her passion, but it was a
rare treat to be asked for his.   "Oh love," he said.  It was
much too soon for Junior to be engaged in this one, but it
stirred at this evidence of Jeanette's sexiness.   "Wonderful
woman, should I still be gentle?"

     "Please."

     "Tell me when anything isn't."  He rolled so that he could
kiss her again.  He played with her outer labia while engaging in
short, separate kisses in her mouth.  He had hardly kissed her
breasts tonight, and remedying that oversight would be a pleasant
task.  He kissed a spiral up the far breast.  Before he reached
the nipple, he parted her labia.  He realized that the plenteous
moisture wasn't all hers.  He spread it upward, managing to brush
her clitoris and suck her nipple at the same instant.

     The twin touches sent a shiver through her.  She felt
herself start on the familiar journey.  As she slipped deeper
into her passion, she relaxed more into trust of her husband's
comforting guidance.  Her relaxation freed her passion.  The
spiral sped toward the inevitable conclusion.  "I love you," she
heard.  Then the suction was on her other breast.  She passed
from shuddering tautness, through undulating pleasure, to
blissful repletion.

     He watched her accept him, then forget him as she sensed
only herself.  He made a mental note that he had to do something
especially nice for Jeanette as gratitude for her expression of
desire and trust.  He felt her belly tighten and then her hips
buck.  He felt and saw her utter relaxation.  He'd had dried cum
on his penis, he did *not* want it on her clitoris.  He slipped
out of bed and returned with a wet handkerchief.  "Do you want me
to wipe you, or do you want to do it yourself?"

     "Me."

     "You want more?"

     "I want to be hugged."  He blew out the candle and complied.

     "Am I pushing the idea of games too far?"

     "No.  You may be seeking relief under the wrong statute."

     "You sure that you don't want to be a lawyer?  You lost me
on that one."

     "'I, Robert, take thee, Jeanette,' something, something,
'Wilt thou love her, cherish her, comfort her and keep her, as
long as you both shall live?' When you need comfort, I'm supposed
to be here.  Not a matter of what day it is, who chooses the
game.  When you need cherishing, I've sworn to cherish you."

     For a moment, she thought that he had mixed up the wedding
formula.  Then she knew that he had the spirit of the vows
engraved on his heart.  She snuggled harder against him, and
pulled his arm where she could hug it as he hugged her.

     "I suppose you want a song too," he said.  He wondered what
he would do if she said "no."

     "The whole nine yards."  She was luxuriating.  She knew that
she was taking more than her share that night.  She made a note
to find something nice to do for Bob. She knew that he was
keeping his promise, not making an exchange; but she had taken
the same vows.

     "Bob loves Jeanette," he droned.  "Bob loves Jeanette,  Bob
loves Jeanette, and I love you."  When he started the second
verse, Jeanette kissed each of his fingers once.

     . . .

     Bob kissed his sleeping-in wife and started his morning.
While he showered and ate, he struggled with a problem.  Jeanette
had only meant to tease a few weeks ago.  "I'm captured by a sex
maniac," she had said, "and he pretends to be such a Christian,
too."  He'd ignored "sex maniac."  He should have ignored the
second part as well.

     Instead, he had said, "Ah, but Christians believe that sex
within marriage is *right*."

     "You don't pray that way" was all she'd said.  Three things
had been clear to him immediately.  Jeanette was right; Jeanette
didn't care, she was only teasing; he did care.  He wanted to be
the adult whose faith was founded on scripture, reason,
tradition, and experience.  He was still mostly the adolescent
whose God was a projection of his snickering peers.

     He was still elated because Jeanette had *asked* for his
petting.  Would he give thanks for the meal, fine as it would be,
and not for the greater pleasure?

     The coffee maker gurgled its readiness.  Jeanette had had
her extra hour.  More brooding would take him nowhere.  He poured
a mug and took it to the bedroom.

     "Coffee," she said.  "I knew there was a reason I married
him."  She gulped the mug and then headed for the bathroom.
Benefited by the extra sleep, she realized that this was a
special day by her second cup.  She shooed Bob out of the kitchen
and began to work.  Jeanette had been planning this feast since
Bob had turned a birthday bonanza over to the household accounts.
It featured plenitude; they would have peas *and* corn on the
cob, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, *and* (Stovetop) stuffing,
turkey to make it Thanksgiving, and mince pie to make Bob really
thankful.  (Remembering his cherishing of her the night before
made her extra happy about that touch.)  She made her own
coleslaw and her own gravy.  Jeanette gloried in being a
housewife when she had the materials.  When she fetched Bob, he
looked truly impressed.  He seated her, and she waited for grace.

     "Look," Bob began.  "Pastor Jim warned us about this, but
I've done it anyway.  My family goes around on Thanksgiving and
everybody says what they're grateful for from the past year.  Not
one thing, but sort of a list.

     "Brennan Senior rules aren't our rules, and it's not fair to
spring it on you, but I'd still like it if we did that."

     "It's not exactly the weirdest thing that your family does.
Do you want me to go first?"

     "Please.  I'll sort of put my list into the prayer."

     "The year?  Well I've been planning on being married to you
for years, and this year I am.  I'm grateful for Greg's gift.
All the disasters which *didn't* happen.  Finding a job.  And I'm
grateful for your cold.  Now you'll know that when I'm negative
about messy sex it isn't rejection of you."

     He waited, then raised an eyebrow.  She nodded.  "Almighty
Father," he began.  That was the easy part.  "You have given us
so many gifts that I *should* be grateful for, health, sight, a
roof over our heads and food on our table.  But You, who know
everything, know that all my real gratitude this year is for the
woman who shares my life.

     "And most of all ..."  Here he took a breath, started to go
on, and then exhaled and took another breath.  "I am most
grateful for her passion and her acceptance of mine.  I know that
she said no with no help from me for years when that was a
virtue.  I know that this trained her to say 'no,' and that this
is mostly my fault.  I know that her first impulse is to say
'no.'  But her mind and her love for me have overcome that.

     "I thank You for that mind and for the body which says 'yes'
so often and so well.  I thank You, as I thank her, for her
cheerful acceptance of an unfair share of the pressure that money
brings on our house.  In the category of things I'm not grateful
enough for, I thank You for all the housework that she does.

     "I thank You for my father's continuing life and health, for
the gifts that Jeanette has mentioned, and for the feast which is
before us and the cook who put it there.  In Jesus' name, amen."

     "Amen," said Jeanette, but she reached for his hand rather
than a fork.  They looked at each other for a minute, but
everything seemed to have been said. "I love you," she finally
said.  It seemed inadequate, but it was the truth.

     "I love you, too," he replied.  She knew that.  He'd even
told his God so.  They dug into their feast.

     They ate to repletion and went for a walk.  What good the
exercise did for their digestion was undone by a late supper of
the leftovers.  A few slices of turkey held over for sandwiches,
two sweet potatoes, and a third of a pie were all that the
refrigerator saw of the great feast.

     They went to bed late.  Their lovemaking, although
restricted by both torpor and bloat, added one more comfortable
satiation to the holiday.

     . . .

     Bob's torpor continued through most of Friday.  He read the
assigned material for two classes and produced a fair amount of
note cards for an upcoming paper, but he did all that lying in
bed.  It was mid-afternoon before he finished putting away the
laundry which he had washed Wednesday.  At this point, he felt a
twinge of conscience; he'd not been acting as grateful as he'd
said he was.  He neatened the apartment according to his lights,
if not up to Jeanette's standard.

     At work, Jeanette did her usual job.  She burst six-ply
forms of vile-smelling carbonless copies, and put each copy in a
separate place, four of them file folders which changed from one
form to the next.  Her enjoyment of the previous day hadn't
outlived the alarm clock's ringing.  She glowered through the day
with a temper not improved by a co-worker's calling in sick.  The
longest day, however, ends, as does the longest sulk.

     Bob greeted her with a kiss and a hug.  The dishes from last
night had been put away, and the cooking utensils were washed and
on the drainboard.  The table was set.  Life was looking better
already.  "Anything else I can do?"  he asked.

     "Ramen tonight.  Can you crush the bricks."

     "I appreciate your trust in my incredible strength, but
crushing bricks is beyond even *me*."  He pulled out three
packages and started kneading them, though.

     "What are those things in the package called, then?"

     "Du-jours.  What else?"   She gave him her most parental
look, and he returned his most unrepentant one.

     After dinner, Bob pulled his chair back and gestured toward
his lap.  She sat there and cuddled.

     "You have two days ahead of you," he said, "and not even
games this evening."

     "I don't dislike the games."  He looked awfully doubtful.
"I don't *always* dislike the games.  Look, what is your agenda?"

     "Moi?"  He tried to look innocent.  It was not one of his
successful faces.

     "I remember when the first summer of road-building was first
offered to you.  You came to me and said something like, 'Do you
want to get married?' ..."

     "It was more like, 'Have you ever thought that sometime we
might get married?'"

     "I thought you were talking about eloping that night.
Instead you were planning that high wages in four months would
make this more affordable in four years."

     "More like three.  I liked what we had, I wanted it to
continue in the summer -- which it couldn't if I were in another
state; but I figured that (if it were to continue indefinitely)
that the money would eventually be more important than that
time."

     "So I finally figured out then.  But I know that you have
long-range plans.  What are they?"

     "I plan to be married to you for fifty or sixty years.  Long
enough for you?"  She just looked at him.  "Okay.  In this arena,
I'd like us to do it seated, standing, and doggie style.  There
is a position which has you lying on your back with your knees
raised and me lying on my side sort of under those knees.  Call
it a T.  And there is karezza, which means get a real comfortable
position and move as little as possible.  There are variations of
some of these."

     "First of all, 'doggie style' is horrible."

     "Now Jeanette...."

     "If you want to do anything like that, you'll have to find a
*much* nicer name."

     "Well, you are fox, not a dog."

     "You're starting to think.  You have a while."

     "But you're immune to my wiles."

     "You want to try something tonight?"

     "Do you mean that?"

     "What is this 'seated' business?"

     "I love you dearly."

     "I'm just too comfortable to get up."

     "Well, you'll have to, but only briefly,"  he said,
completely forgetting about contraception.

     When she finally went to take care of that detail, he moved
a chair into the bedroom and stripped.  Petting had brought back
fond memories, but he preferred it when it didn't end in lonely
frustration.  Jeanette came in wearing a robe, but flared it open
to hug him.  Their kiss lasted until Junior rose between them.

     "So what do I do?" she asked.  He sat on the edge of the
chair.

     "Come towards me 'till I'm between your legs....  Four more
inches.  Now sit down."

     "Aren't we awfully far apart?"

     "We'll change that in a minute.  Give me another kiss."  As
she leaned forward to do that, her breasts brushed his skin.  She
shivered slightly.  He parted his legs and, with them, hers.  She
had to grip him more tightly to keep from falling back.  He
turned his nails backward and stroked them up her thigh.  When he
reached her folds, he played with the outer lips for a minute
before passing two fingers between them.  He reached moisture
immediately.  He stroked this up her valley until she gasped in
his mouth.  His hand made two more journeys before she broke the
kiss.

     "Now what?" she asked.

     He leaned back and took hold of himself with the hand that
wasn't stroking her.  "Now you come forward and sit on me as you
do when I'm lying down."  It was a little clumsier than that, but
she reached the critical point where he was poised at her
entrance.  "Very slowly," he said.  She lowered herself as slowly
as possible.  Finally, she was resting on his legs again and he
was totally engulfed.  He pulled her hips to him and began
rocking back and forth.  After a minute or two, he sat straighter
and changed to a rolling side-to-side motion.

     She brushed his hair back to kiss first his forehead and
then the tops of his ears.  He looked up and she bent enough to
kiss him.  "Are you feeling adventurous?" he asked as that kiss
broke.

     "Ihm hihm," she replied.  She felt that this was adventurous
indeed and was certainly not expecting any more.  He stood!  She
gasped and held on tighter.  She crossed her legs behind his
hips, while he pulled her against him.  He took a couple of steps
to the bed and then stood swaying back and forth with his toes
under it.  All their hands were engaged in holding them together;
none were available for caresses.  The motion not only moved him
in and out of her but also rubbed their groins together at every
stage.

     Jeanette always felt a giddy rush when Bob lifted her.  That
added emotion to the more specifically genital stimulation.  She
was right on the edge.  Bob's muscle tension and steady, single-
gaited, pistonning drove him over first.  His twitching organ and
spurting seed took her with him.  Her fingers clawed into his
shoulders, her legs tightened around his hips, and her vagina
clasped his phallus.

     Embraced everywhere, Bob swayed, throbbing in the rivet
which joined them.  He was also trembling below that point, and
his over-stressed muscles collapsed when his orgasm was over.
He'd considered that risk back when his mind had been
functioning, and he was poised so that they would fall on the
bed.

     Jeanette had often felt like she was soaring during her
climax.  Occasionally the end felt like a drop to the bed but
never had it felt like such a tumble as this.  She bounced a
little on the mattress.  Then Bob was collapsed with his face on
her belly and his knees on the floor.  She recovered her breath
long before he did.  When he began kissing her above the navel,
she laughed.

     "That was fun," she said, "but I don't think that I'd like
it every night."

     It was a minute before he answered.  "You'd probably like it
as often as I could do it.  That was fun, as you say, but also
work."

     "Dunno.  You were impressive for a guy who was complaining
about the weight of a laundry bag recently."

     "Motivation."  They busied themselves wiping, arranging,
returning the chair (Bob could picture crashing into it in the
night), turning off lights, removing a robe, and all the other
burdens which impetuous lust lays on tired repletion.

     Finally, they snuggled together under smoothed bed clothes.

     "I love you desperately," Bob said when he was comfortable.

     "V'you too."  She was already dropping off.

     "But I really messed up the wedding vows."

     "Does that mean we aren't married?"

     "Messed them up the other night.  Looked them up later.
They go like this:

     "I, Robert, take thee, Jeanette, to be my wedded wife, to
have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to
cherish, till death us do part, and thereto I plight thee my
faith.

     "'Comfort' comes in an entirely different part of the
service."

     "I'll forgive you this time.  But I want something."

     "A song?"

     "Nope!"  He was disappointed.  He knew he couldn't sing, but
he thought that she liked that particular song.  "Instead I want
you to say the vow again."

     He repeated it until her breath signaled her sleep.  He
dropped off soon after.

     . . .

     Saturday, Bob waited until 8:30 to even start the coffee.
Jeanette wandered through the kitchen on the way to the bathroom
before it was done.  She downed one mug before her shower.  Two
mugs later, she was awake.

     "Have I ever mentioned that you look beautiful?"

     "What do you want from me this morning?"  She was smiling,
but he thought the accusation totally unjust.  He was responding
to the past night rather than seeking any future benefit.

     "Absolutely nothing.  Indeed, I have to hit the library
today.  Do you want anything from me before I cut out?"

     "Want me to pack your lunch?"

     "Already did."  And felt overflowing with virtue thereby.

     She glanced in the refrigerator.  The turkey was untouched.
The bread supply was diminished.  "PBJ and...?"

     "What's with the 'and'?"

     "Take an apple."  She handed him one.

     "Grape jelly is fruit."  But he added the apple to his bag.
"This evening okay for FRC?"

     "Sure."

     Their kiss was more passionate than was sensible for a
parting.  She giggled when he readjusted his trousers before
leaving.

     They each spent solid hours working, he filling note cards,
she filling a vacuum-cleaner bag.  If thoughts of the previous
night occurred more often to her, they interfered more with his
work.   He checked out two mysteries for her before he took his
lunch break.

     He stayed in the library until it closed, but Jeanette had
expected that. Dinner was ready soon after he got back.  They ate
and he washed dishes.  Jeanette was scanning FRC when he got to
the bedroom.

     This section covered times just within their horizon.
Jeanette's grandfather had told her stories of the Pacific
Theater.  The talk began on new information and perspectives, and
finally ended on whether it made sense for Jeanette to continue
trying to follow one of Bob's courses.

     "I don't know if I'd have put in the effort you have without
expecting credit," he said.

     "I'll get credit.  Someday I'll be Professor Brennan's wife
and the History Department is never going to look at my
transcript.  They'll talk to me, though.  I don't want to sound
like an ignoramus."

     "You're not an ignoramus."

     "Compared to you, I am.  That's okay.  I just want to be a
secret ignoramus."

     He laughed, then he kissed her deeply.  "Your mind is so
twisty.  I love it, too,"  he said before kissing her again.

     She responded wholeheartedly to the kiss, pulling his head
to her and thrusting her tongue at his.  The last hour of
discussion had been accompanied by his light caresses and a few
hugs.  She was ready to take this show on the road.  Bob,
however, had another road in mind.  He slipped down the bed and
reached for the pad that they kept nearby.  "The light," she
said.  He doused it.  In the sudden dark, he slipped the pad
against her hip.  She raised herself and then squirmed to get
squarely on the pad.

     He slipped under the sheet and between her legs.  He started
kissing her a little above her left knee and trailed kisses up
her thigh.  He continued on past the sweet junction and over her
delta and belly.  He kissed the path up her breast to find a
nubbly areola and a nipple reaching out to him.  There he licked
and sucked as his pleasure briefly overrode his dedication to
hers.  On recovery, he kissed his way down the breast, across the
valley, and up her right breast.  There he feasted again.

     Meanwhile, his fingers had been teasing what his lips had
skipped.  She felt the sensations as separate pleasures at first,
a licked nipple one moment and a slick finger stroking her labia
the next.  The sensations soon merged into a single wave of
desire peaking as her nipple was sucked deeply at the same
instant he brushed lightly across her clitoris.

     He kissed the nipple goodbye and squatted back on his knees.
One hand returned the covers over her as the other held her labia
open for his tongue.  The heady odor and sweet taste drove him to
a tender lingual assault, first on her labia and then on her tiny
clitoral bud.  Lips met lips at the same time he slipped two
fingers into her sheath.  He felt the slight bump within her and
stroked it with the tips of his fingers while he sucked gently
over the top of her cleft.  She was pressing on his head through
the covers.  He continued with his fingers as he felt her
stiffen.  Then he closed his lips until he was sucking the
clitoris itself.

     Jeanette was floating on sensuous pleasure.  Wave after wave
of it poured from her genitals, and she reached down to press
Bob's head to her to keep the waves flowing.  She felt herself
stiffen in expectation.  Then his lips deserted her.  He rose
under her arm and the covers until his lips were on her mouth.
His tongue had just thrust into her mouth when he passed between
his fingertips at her entrance.  This thrust was slower but
deeper.  When she was full below, his lips moved from her mouth
to her hairline.  The changes set her back one beat, but she
stiffened again at his second stroke.  Then her tension spilled
over into completion and she was undulating under him and around
him.  From far away, she felt him roll them to the side.

     He felt her stiffen and shifted his attack.  He moved from
her mound to her mouth as fast as he could.  While kissing her,
he was adjusting his hips to enter her body.  He spread the
entrance of her marvelous cunt with his fingers as Junior passed
inside.  He pressed between those slippery, clutching walls until
her mound was supporting him.  Then he straightened and kissed
her forehead before beginning to move.  He held himself so his
ribs brushed her nipples as Junior stroked through her inner
depths.

     She clutched around him almost immediately.  He pressed
within her and switched to a side-to-side motion that rubbed his
pubic area over hers.  When she seemed to stop, he rolled her
sideways and pulled the pad from beneath her.  He rolled back and
resumed stroking within at the new angle.  She was clutching
around him again, and he could no longer resist.  He stroked in
her clasping warmth, then pounded into it, then raised his torso
on that one pivot as he pulsed and poured into a quivering
welcome.

     When he rolled her back, Jeanette felt him touch her inside
and out in a new way.  She pulled his hips to her through the
quilt.  Her body took her back to joy but she still felt his
motions.  Then she felt his discharge.

     Then she felt his weight and her lassitude.

     When they could bring themselves to move, the covers were in
a tangle over them but mostly off them.  There was a wet mess
under them but partly on them.  Neither particularly cared.  They
moved off the mess and dabbed it up.  They adjusted the covers
and snuggled under them.

     "Love you," he said.

     "Love *you*."  She really meant it.  She looked for a way to
say it better.  "Anne going to have the baby with her in church
tomorrow?"

     "Usually does."

     "Wake me in time for church, okay?"

     Briefly, he thought of the two books for her in his
backpack.  He decided that they would be as pleasant a surprise
at lunch as they would have been at breakfast.  "Did I mention
that you are the best wife in the whole world?"

     "Have you been sampling again?"

     "Don't need to.  I have the best."  He placed his arm
between her breasts and gave her a tight hug.

     She hugged the arm for a minute and then took his hand in
hers.  She placed it on her breast.  He cupped it while he sang
them both to sleep.


     The End
     For These Gifts
     Uther Pendragon
     nogardneprethu@gmail.com
     1996/11/23
     Rev. 1997/01/05
     1997/04/26
     2000/03/19
     2001/11/05
     2010/09/20


This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans.
The next story in the series is:
/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/now.htm
"For Now"

The first story in the series is:
/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/forever.htm
"Forever"

The directory to the entire series is:
/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan.htm


A story of another couple using another technique to deal with
another stress is:
/~Uther_Pendragon/story/snarl.htm
"Snarl"



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