Message-ID: <60673asstr$1286665801@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Fourth" {Uther} (MF wl rom)
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Date: Sat, 09 Oct 2010 19:10:01 -0400
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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, 2003, 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.

If you save erotic stories and you prefer that other household
members not be exposed to them, I recommend that you use a file
zipped with the PKZip option -spassword.  (Where the password
that you choose would, presumably, not be "password.")  This
still leaves open to anybody the titles of the files and the
fact that they are encrypted

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.


                             #  #  #
                             Fourth
                       by Uther Pendragon
                   nogardneprethu@gmail.com



"I enjoyed your sermon," Bob told Rev. Stanton.

"I enjoyed having you folks here," the minister answered.
Jeanette Brennan could tell that the "you folks" was to include
her.  Bob was nearly always in church on a Sunday.  "Bob tells me
this is a special day for you," he said to her.

"Our anniversary," she said.  "Four years Thursday.  As Bob
works six days a week, we're celebrating today."

"Four years?  I'd have thought that you were still on your
honeymoon."  A few people in the line behind them murmured
agreement.

She and Bob started walking towards their apartment in the
warm city air.  A block from the church, she reached over and
took Bob's hand.  He squeezed hers.  Holding hands in church
bothered her, and Bob had agreed to abstain the same time he had
agreed that he wouldn't rest his hand on her butt on the street.
Almost always, he remembered both.  "Ice cream?" Bob asked.  She
nodded. "Y'know," he continued.  "Special day and all that.  We
*could* get two cones."

It was a special day, but....  "Separate treats on our
anniversary?  Let's stick to one."  They continued on where the
path to their apartment turned aside.  They knew the man at the
ice cream shop, and he knew them.  They couldn't afford many
treats, and ice cream was a frequent one when the weather
suited.

Today, however, he didn't greet them with "One chocolate
cone?"

"I've got a proposition," he said instead.  "Guy came in here
earlier, I heard him ask for a hot-fudge sundae with chocolate
ice cream.  I absentmindedly made it with the usual vanilla. When
he pointed it out, I made a new one.  Anyway, I have a hot- fudge
sundae I'll sell you for the price of a single cone.  Want
it?"

She looked at Bob.  She liked hot fudge, but Bob loved it.

"Sure!"  Bob said.  "Two spoons?"  They took stools at the
counter.

"Fine," the man said.  "I kept it in the freezer.  It's not
quite what it was, but it's still in good shape.  Why don't you
sit in a booth, and I'll bring it to you?"

For a sundae, they could sit in a booth.  Besides, from there,
they could see the bright sun and the passers-by on the Boston
sidewalk.  The man brought over the sundae, two spoons, and two
napkins, even though there was a dispenser on the table.

She thought that Bob must be really anxious for the sundae.
He dug in with his spoon, not even letting her get ready.  Well,
she figured, this was a special day.  She'd hold back and let him
have more than half.

Then Bob held the spoon towards her mouth. The sundae was
delicious.  Cold and sweet, the ice cream melting on her tongue
and the taste of the fudge.  The love shown by that gesture was
even better.

She dug her spoon into the sundae, making sure that she got a
generous serving of fudge, and held it out to him.  He held her
hand while he tasted the contents.  Finally, he squeezed gently
and let her go.  His feet eased forwards under the table; his
ankles hugged one of hers.  She looked over to check whether the
man behind the counter could see.  There was another customer,
however; the man was busy.

They ate slowly, one spoonful for him followed by one spoonful
for her.  Freezer or no, the sundae had started out softer than
it had been when it was fresh.  Finally, the last of the ice
cream was gone.  The bottom of the bowl was covered with liquid
and a few streaks from the sauce.  "Finish it up," she said.  She
would have left that remnant, but Bob never left anything on a
plate.  He scraped it all up for another minute.

He looked a question at her.  She wiped her mouth carefully
with the napkin and nodded.  Bob wiped his own face and hands,
got up, and carried all the stuff over to the counter.

"Thank you," he said in the general direction of the
proprietor. For some reason, the shop was busier than usual;
people were waiting in line.  Bob clearly didn't want a
conversation, but some courtesy seemed necessary.  The treat,
coming on the special day, called for a "thank you."

"Thank *you*," the man answered, looking up from making a
cone.

When Bob returned to the booth, he offered her his arm.  The
amount of assistance you could receive when getting out of a
booth was minimal, but the symbol pleased her.  She held on to
his arm as they walked out into the heat.

"See you," the man called after them.  It was strange that he
spoke to them when there was so much business.  Still, both of
them turned and waved.  Then Bob took her hand and they again
headed towards the apartment.

Bob took off his sport coat at the bottom of the stairs (he
hadn't worn a tie).  She climbed ahead of him.  Bob was gentleman
enough to let the lady lead the way; he was voyeur enough to
enjoy watching her butt going up the stairs.  She'd have expected
him to get over that after four years.  He hadn't, and --
sometimes, including this time -- she enjoyed knowing that he
still found her sexy.

The temperature climbed as they did.  At the door to their
apartment, it was as hot as a steam bath.  Inside it was better,
inadequate as their air conditioner was.  Some days, there were
advantages to a one-room apartment.

The sofa bed was still out, if made.  She wondered briefly
whether leaving the bed out was Bob's attempt at subtlety.  More
likely, he thought that the celebration of their anniversary so
obviously involved bed that he didn't have to say it.  And, the
three previous celebrations certainly had.  When he had abstained
the night before, she had known why.

He hung his coat in the closet and put his shirt in to join
it. He wouldn't wear a dress shirt for another week.  "Want me to
hang up yours?" he asked.

"Presents first."  He brought the package from the closet to
the card table at the end of the bed.  The card from his sister
joined it, and the single rose he'd brought her the night
before.

She was eager to see what his mother had sent.  She'd called
on Saturday, as she did every other Saturday.  Being who she was,
she'd have called on their anniversary even if it had been off
schedule.


    "Happy anniversary, dear."

    "Thanks, Katherine.  We got a package from you and
    your husband.  And a card from Vi.  We aren't opening
    anything before tomorrow, so I can't be more specific in
    my thanks."

    "The present is just from me this year, dear.  You'll
    understand when you open it."

    Now, it was easy to tell who had selected the gifts.
    Bob's father chose something which would foster her
    interest in French; the clothes which were good enough
    for the office but not too good for the office were
    bought by his mother.  Although neither was appropriate
    for a wedding anniversary. Still, the presents were
    given by both of them except on Christmas, when they
    each gave something.

    Her curiosity had to be put on hold.  "I hope, dear,"
    Katherine said, "that your marriage is all that you
    dreamed it would be."

    Actually, her experience of marriage had been mostly
    a surprise.  However frank she was with Katherine,
    though, she wasn't about to tell her the sort of
    pleasures Katherine's son provided his wife.

    The night before had been one of Bob's "games."  In
    between talking to her (Bob knew what turned her on),
    he'd kissed her everywhere -- her back, her arms, her
    face.  By the time he'd settled on her breasts, she'd
    been ready for his entrance.  He'd been ready, too; she
    could see his erection pulse with his heartbeat.

    Instead of going on with the sex, though, Bob had
    kissed a spiral up her left breast.  By the time he'd
    reached her nipple, she'd been panting. Still, he'd
    delayed.  He must have taken twice as long kissing
    another spiral up her right breast.  When he'd kissed
    each thigh all the way to their junction, she'd pulled
    his face against her.

    If it had taken him forever to reach her center, he
    had wanted to stay there even longer.  She had arched
    against his mouth again and again. She'd been sure that
    she'd been done by the time he'd finally glided into
    her, maybe done for years.  Still, he'd evoked one more
    response on her part.

    Then, with his arms about her and his seed leaking
    out of her, she'd collapsed in sleep.  Luckily, she
    hadn't needed to get up the next morning. She hadn't
    been out of the shower for an hour when Katherine had
    called at two o'clock.  No, she hadn't dreamed of that
    before the wedding; she'd thought of sex as something
    she'd do for Bob.

    She realized that her silence had gone on too long
    when Katherine said "Oh dear!"

    "Really," she told her mother-in-law, "it's the wrong
    sort of question." She tried to gather her thoughts in
    the silence -- silence, she realized, that was costing
    Katherine long-distance rates.  "The issue isn't whether
    I'm getting what I dreamed of, but whether I dreamed of
    what I'm getting.   I wanted to be married to Bob, but
    not half so much as I would have if I'd known what being
    married to Bob would mean."

    "You're happy then?"

    "Yes.  Happy sometimes, content most of the time.
    You can be constantly unhappy, even desperately unhappy.
    You can't be constantly happy.  Still, I'm glad I
    married him.  Even besides getting to be your daughter-
    in-law."

    "That's nice of you to say, dear."  It was the honest
    truth; Katherine was the woman she admired most in the
    world.

    "Bob's at work?" Katherine asked.

    "The millwork warehouse goes six days a week.  I
    worry about the work sometimes," (Bob came home with
    splinters in his hands, and in his *shoulder*) "but
    Bob prefers it to office work."

    "Well, it's better than road work."  Bob had worked
    on a road-building crew the summers before his marriage.
    It took him far away.

    "It's better for me; I'm not sure it's better for
    him."

    "He wouldn't dream of leaving you for the summer,
    dear."  Bob wouldn't willingly spend a night apart, but
    not even Bob would tell his mother that, would he?

    "You've talked to him?"

    "Don't need to, dear.  Bob is transparent.  Which is
    convenient; he isn't what you would call forthcoming.  I
    know more about his life now that you'll tell me than I
    ever knew when he lived at home.  I hope he communicates
    with you."

    "He does."  Bob was more willing to talk about what
    George Bush should do than about what Bob Brennan should
    do, but he did consult her on decisions. Even future
    course work, although everything she knew about graduate
    work in history had been filtered through him.

    "I'm glad, dear.  But I should have known.  After
    all, you do tell me things.  He seldom did."

    "Would he really have refused to answer a direct
    question?"

    "No, dear, and he did tell us about switching majors.
    Look at your case, though.  He barely mentioned you from
    the time he could drive until the time he needed me for
    a mailbox."  Katherine had passed on his letters to her
    when her mother decided to intercept her mail.

    "I'm still grateful for that."

    "I was glad to do it, dear.  And I will admit that he
    was good about including something to me in every
    letter.  Still, I got a paragraph; and I could feel the
    thickness of the envelopes I passed along."

    "Well...." Bob had written loads to her, and most of
    that wasn't anything to share with his mother,
    either.

    "He's healthy, though?  And you?"

    "I'm doing great.  I think that southerners have an
    advantage in the summer, not that Boston is all that
    cool this time of year.  Bob would tell you that he's
    doing fine, but I worry about the work.  He really works
    hard."

    "He always did, dear.  I know that mental labor for a
    couple of years followed by physical labor isn't the
    healthiest thing.  Still, he wants the physical labor.
    Neither Russ nor he is really the type to go in for
    physical recreation."

    "Even winters, he walks a lot.  Still...."

    "Yes, dear.  We both worry.  I'm sure that he doesn't
    let his mind stagnate during the physical periods,
    though."

    "We're both studying the history of France.  We're
    still in Gaul."

    "It's good that you can share an interest, dear.  I
    never pretended to like Russ's economics."  Jeanette
    didn't think of her father-in-law as a student of
    economics, but she knew he had been once.

    "Well, it's more Bob's finding something I'm
    interested in interesting." And even that didn't express
    it.  Bob found most things interesting.  And when he
    thought about anything, he automatically thought about
    its history.

    "Of course it's interesting, dear.  I'm sure that
    he's interested in what you do, but the history of
    France would interest him anyway.  He might not read
    about it; art aside, I never have.  But he would find it
    interesting." And there the mother was like the son.
    The Brennans found every fact interesting, indeed
    fascinating.

    "That's one reason I'm glad I'm married to him.  And
    he can convey that interest."  Aside from his interest
    in physical science, that is.  Bob found all those
    electrons and things fascinating, too.  She didn't.


But once she had hung up, she'd wondered why the present
was only from Katherine.  Anyway, the delay wasn't going to be
that long; after the waiting Bob had inflicted on her Friday
night, he was lucky she didn't keep him waiting until sunset.  Of
course, that would mean keeping herself waiting, too.  So she
wouldn't be that mean, wouldn't even insist on making Sunday
dinner first.

Bob opened the card first.  It was commercial, but nice.  Vi
included a note: "Wishing you all the best, and many more
anniversaries like this one."

Then he tore the brown paper wrapping from the package.  He
handed the package inside, wrapped in special paper for an
anniversary, to her.  When she opened it, there was a nightgown
-- a very sexy looking nightgown.  She held it up so Bob could
see it.

"Pretty," he said.  "Going to model it?"

"Of course."

"Y'know," he continued, "she's my mother and all, but you'd
think that for a wedding anniversary she'd have included a
present for you, too."

"It is for me, silly.  Do you like it?"

"I think seeing it, seeing you in it, will give me much more
pleasure than wearing it will give you."

"Having you express that gives me pleasure," she said.  And it
did.  Bob thought her sexy, and pretty.  He thought her
intelligent, too, and sometimes said so.  The verbal appreciation
was one of the pleasures of being married to him, and one she
could have mentioned to his mother.

Bob started clearing off the wrappings while she took the
nightie into the bathroom with her.  She inserted her diaphragm
before donning the nightie.  It did look sexy in the mirror, her
breasts sticking out and the hair on her mound just visible.
Suddenly, she was very happy that the gift wasn't from her
father-in-law.

Bob was under the sheet when she came out.  The blinds on both
windows were down.  Not that it wasn't quite bright in the room.
She turned around 360 degrees at the foot of the bed while he
whistled.  Then she climbed in beside him.

They kissed, Bob's hands -- for once -- not touching her.
"Does it make me look sexy?" she asked.  "Is that something a
mother-in-law should give?"

"You always look sexy.  But you look especially sexy in that.
Why not?  She might have guessed that part of my interest in you
is based on your sexual allure."

"Part?"  She had meant to tease him, but once that was out, it
sounded like asking for compliments.

"You have other good qualities.  You're smart, and good with
languages, and support our family.  You're an excellent cook.  I
can't claim that your skills as a homemaker really attract me,
but you have those, too."

"I should wear a sexy nightie more often."

"Don't I pay you enough compliments?"  He sounded hurt.

"There could never be enough.  But I like the way you talk."
Truth to tell, Bob complimented her much more often than she
complimented him.  She was sorry her comment sounded like a
complaint; she hadn't felt complaining.  She'd felt sexy -- and
appreciated.

"I ..."  She started to say that.  Bob stopped her with a
kiss. This time, he smoothed the nightie over her back.

She lay back.  Bob peppered her face with kisses, holding her
right breast through the cloth of the nightie.  Suddenly, that
cloth was a hindrance; she struggled to sit up.  With Bob's help,
she got the nightie off.  Now, his hand was right on her breast
while he kissed her again.  And his chest rubbed over her other
nipple.

When his mouth replaced his hand on her breast, the hand
strayed lower.  He caressed the insides of her thighs while
kissing almost everywhere on the breast.  He finally stroked her
labia at the same time he sucked her nipple.

Running her hands over his back, she felt his hard muscles
tense as he moved.  She spread her legs in invitation.  He
continued on the outer labia, however, while he kissed a path
down that breast and up the other.  That nipple was aching for
his mouth by the time he reached it.  His suction there was
gentle, but oh so satisfying.

Then she wanted more, more suction from his mouth, his fingers
deeper within her instead of teasing the surface.  "Oh, Bob!" she
said.

He lifted his head from her breast to speak.  "Yes,
darling?"

She pulled his head back where it belonged.  He licked the
nipple.  His hand moved to her mound, rubbing the hair there a
millimeter from the clit which ached for his touch.  She arched
to bring it closer.

When he sucked on the nipple again, she lost it.  She
shuddered while fire coursed through her.

"Yes, darling," he said.  "Yes, sweetheart.  Yes, Jeanette!"
Somehow, he always spoke of the pleasure that he brought her as
if it were a gift in quite the other direction.

When she collapsed, he stopped moving his hand, though he left
it resting on her mound.  He kissed her forehead.

"I'm glad I married you," he said.

"Me too."  Even this short bit took more breath than she could
spare.

"Coming down the aisle," he said.  Sometimes Bob's jumps lost
her, but this one was totally reasonable, especially today.  "You
looked so ethereal.  You were still Jeanette, still lovely, but I
had never seen this stately creature.  And you looked so solemn,
too."  She must have looked scared, as well.  She certainly had
*felt* scared.  But, then, Bob had seen her scared
before.

He'd looked a little scared, too.  And quite handsome; Bob
looked good in formal clothes.

"And in the bus, after," he continued.  "I'd seen that girl
before, but she looked delectable, and I had to keep my hands
strictly to myself."  Funny, that isn't how *she* remembered
his behavior.  "It was sweet torture, but it was torture."

"And then, later," he continued, "you came out of the bathroom
dressed in a cloud.  I'd never seen you looking like that
either."  She'd been scared then, too.  But that hadn't been her
principal emotion.

"And, finally," she said "I was married to you.  It was the
happiest day of my life."  Well, really, it had taken her another
year to learn to be truly happy.  But she had waited for the
wedding day forever.  It hadn't been until they got on the bus
that she had really believed she would actually get to live with
Bob.  Which reminded her.  "And that night, you finally got to do
what *you* had wanted to do."  His face fell.  What had she
said wrong now?

"Jeanette, I *hurt* you."

"And," she reminded him, "you cared that you had hurt me."
Bob would never see it, he had just been Bob.  He did so many
nice things and was moderately proud of them, and they were truly
nice.  She did enjoy those extra efforts to please; but she loved
him for, needed him for, being Bob.

"That wasn't the point.  Of course I cared.  Anybody would
have. But I loved you -- love you -- and I hurt you."

"Not really."  If he could care about some minor pain for
three years, she could ease the psychological burden.  Those were
much worse.  "The pain was minor, like pulling a bandage.  And
*I* chose the pain.  It told me I was a virgin no more, that
we were truly married.  I could have eased myself into it, and
chose not to.  Even if I had done it myself, I wouldn't have
taken days stretching myself to avoid that one second's ouch.  Do
I ever?"

"You feel things so much more than I, and then you treat your
feelings so callously."

"I don't feel things more.  I don't think that's a valid
comparison.  You ease all my pains; it's just that the
psychological ones are so much more important."  He'd never see
that.

"It was worth it?"

"Seeing you care about my ouch was worth far more than the
ouch. Being married to you was incomparably more."  She wasn't
sure about that; seeing him so worried about her minor pain was
sort of why being married to him was such a joy.  "It is worth
getting up in the morning and going to work to come home at night
to Bob."  And *that* was a real pain.

"You're sweet.  I'm glad I married you."

"And I'm glad I married you."  Hadn't they had this
conversation recently?  Well, this was an appropriate day for it.
"And I'm glad I had that wedding night.  I'd trade more pain for
less concern any day of the week."

"You mean that?"

"Bob, I grew up hearing how any worry on my part about me was
selfish.  You *always* were concerned about me.  Even before
we were married.  All I thought about marriage was that I could
get hugs whenever I needed them."

"Don't I give you hugs when you need them any more?"  He did
hug her then.

"You give me hugs whenever I ask.  And I need them less often.
Need them less often because I'm married to you."  She removed
his arm and snuggled back against him.  She placed his hand on
her breast.  He hugged her again.  "And sometimes, I don't need
them -- I just want them.  And sometimes, I forget that I want
them until you give me one for free."

Bob clearly wanted more; she could feel Junior press against
her back and her butt.  Still, he didn't make a move.  He just
lay there relaxed except for the hand that caressed her
breast.

"I try to remember that you want the comfort when I want the
sex," he said.

"Well, I want the comfort.  And I wanted the comfort forever.
Actually, that isn't true.  I needed the comfort long before I
met you; I didn't want it -- didn't know that it was possible --
before I got some from you.  But you also set out to seduce me, I
remember that; and you succeeded.  So, now, I want the sex,
too."

"You do?"

"A few minutes ago, you couldn't tell?"

"You're sweet."  This from a man who went into ecstasies of
praise for her over the pleasure that she received from his
hands.  Well, from other parts of him, too.  But all the nice
things he said after his penis had brought her to climax might
have been about his own climax.  His response to the climaxes his
hand brought couldn't be.

He began to kiss the back of her neck and her shoulder.  This
was too nice for her to turn, but she wanted to kiss something of
his, too.  She took his hand off her breast to bring it to her
mouth.  She kissed each finger, then the palm.

He broke off kissing her shoulder and tugged at it.  When she
turned on her back, he gave her a deep kiss.  His tongue explored
her mouth.  She brought her hands up to hold his head right
there.  His hand traveled over her, caressing her thighs before
sliding slowly up her belly.  It came to rest cuddling her left
breast.  His thumb and finger rolled the nipple between them.

His tongue was so firm and delightfully active; his hand was
so gentle and seductively slow.  Sometime soon, he would be over
her and in her; she would enjoy that, participate actively in
that. Meantime, she enjoyed the gentleness, the slowness, of his
hand and the kiss.

Bob's hand stopped moving just before he raised his head.  "I
love you," he said.  "Do we need this?"  He raised the sheet.

"No."  Nobody could see.  Usually, she preferred a covering
even so; but this was a delightful time, and the room was warmer
than was really comfortable.

Bob tossed the sheet to the side.  He kissed the valley
between her breasts.  That was a hard kiss, not gentle at all;
but nothing there was subject to bruising.  As his lips climbed
her left breast, he was gentle again, tentative, tickly.  She
wriggled.

"Delightful girl," he said.  "Lovely woman."  He returned to
her nipple, first licking it, then sucking gently.  He kissed a
path down that breast and over her belly.  He didn't head
directly to her navel.  Instead, he gave a series of kisses right
below her ribcage and then another line maybe an inch lower than
that.

Finally, though, he kissed across the middle.  When his mouth
touched her navel, his tongue dug in. She shuddered the way this
kiss always made her shudder.  He licked there again, and then
continued on.  Soon, he was kissing an expanding spiral around
her navel.  Minutes later, his mouth reached her pubic hair.

Although she spread her legs, he broke from there to move to
her right breast.  He kissed up the bottom slope as her tension
mounted.  His suction on the nipple was a relief.  Then it was a
source of further tension.  He kissed up to her left shoulder and
down that arm.  Bob seemed to intend covering all her skin with
kisses today.

"Turn over, will you?" he asked.

"On my front?"

"Please."  She thought for a moment.  Well, she'd stand it as
long as she could.

He started on her shoulder, a comparatively neutral point.
The back and sides of her neck, on the other hand, were quite
sensitive.  She wriggled, which he seemed to enjoy.  Finally, he
started down her backbone.  As far as she could tell, he was
kissing every vertebra.  "Bob!" she said and turned back
over.

He kissed her navel once more.  She wiggled again.  He moved
up to her breast.  The licking and suction on her nipple were
more arousing, but not so ticklish.  He parted her outer lips and
stroked her inner ones.  She felt herself begin the climb again.
It would be just like Bob to think that an afternoon of his
bringing her to repeated orgasms was an appropriate celebration
of *their* marriage.  He would never mention that it was way
past his lunchtime, either.  And Bob ate his biggest meal at
lunch. Anyway, this was their anniversary, and she wanted
*their* climax.  Her lover was delightful, but -- today
especially -- she wanted her husband.

"Bob," she said, "Inside."   Obediently, he climbed between
her legs.  He stopped to kiss each nipple before he came forward
to enter her. "Oh, Bob," she said as she felt him enter her,
spread her, fill her.

"Oh, Jeanette," he answered.  Then he shifted so that his
hands were cupping her breasts.  He moved almost all the way out,
all the way in again until he was pressed against her; he brushed
over her right nipple, then her left; he leaned down to kiss her.
Then he repeated it all.  After his fourth stroke he said, "I
can't express how sweet this feels."

"Me, too," she said.

"Oh," he said after the next stroke, "you are soft and smooth.
And so warm and welcoming."

"And you are so firm and so filling."  He came all the way
into her again, pressed against her and moved his weight as he
switched his attention to his hands.  "And it feels so good when
you move like that."

"Like this?"  And he moved side to side against her.  Maybe it
was only an inch, but he was right against her and deep within
her.

"Oh yes," she said.

He moved side to side again and again while her arousal
spiraled upward again.  He moved in and out once more, side to
side once more. Then she couldn't tell the directions of his
motions for her attention had turned inward.  FIre burned within
her. consumed her.  She gasped.

He was moving, though.  His motions stoked that fire.  And he
was speaking, "Oh, my darling.  Oh! my darling.  Darling,
darling, darling... Wife!"  On the last word, she could feel him
pulsing deep within her, feel his seed spurting out.

She wrapped her arms and legs tight around him.  "Bob!" she
managed to gasp.

Later, how much later she couldn't say, he was a weight
interfering with her breathing and too hot in the hot apartment.
She pushed on his shoulder and he moved off.  He hugged her
tightly, though.  She welcomed the hug, hot or no.  She felt
desired, loved, married!





The End
Fourth
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2003/06/27
2010/10/09


This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans.
The next story in the series is:
/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/taste.*htm</~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/taste.htm>
*
"Foretaste"

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

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


almost all my stories:
/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
<1st attachment begin>

<HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy>
<1st attachment end>

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