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From: <Meiraj@aol.com>
Subject: Move Day  Part 1  (F-M-mm, Wf, Hsb)
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Move Day  Part 1  (MMM-F, Wf, Hb) By MeiRaj     	(Copyright
1996)   May be redistributed electronically without any alteration.
May print one copy for yourself or your partner.

********* It had been a day of frustration. The moving van had come
four hours late. Our things had finally gotten to the new house late
in the day. They would not at all have gotten there that day  if it
had not been for the unexpected help we had gotten from two of our
neighbors. When this story began we had unpacked for about three
hours. But much was still left for the next day. I had had enough. So
I bid good night to hubby Max and the two neighbors who had come to
help us, and went upstairs to take a shower and go to bed. They were
still fiddling with something trying to reassemble it. 

Just when I was about to get out of the shower Max came in and joined
me. We both love shower play. He started soaping and washing me. He
pulled me away from the direct spray of water and soaped all my front,
from the face to down below to my Southern Star, and then he soaped
himself up front all the way to his South Pole. We started our soap
swaying play, holding each other skin to skin, gently moving, rubbing
our pelvic areas against each other, swinging our bodies left to right
and right to left,  like the blades of a scissors. We were rubbing our
faces too at the same time (eyes closed of course to keep the soap
out) and whenever our lips met we would hold there for a bit, kissing,
biting each other's lips. Some soap was getting into my mouth. But it
was OK.  I was feeling good. I was not tired anymore. The sideways
rubbing, left to right, right to left, got faster and faster, and when
it went past my body his erect penis, would swing the other way and
hit his thigh making  'labook, labook' sound. It was fun. I was
beginning to get turned on.

Slowing the sway almost to a crawl Max put his lips to my ear and
kissed it. He let his tongue wander into its crevices. Then he did the
same to the other ear. I am normally very ticklish. Now I felt
intoxicatingly ticklish. He whispered he was going down to give his
water-cannon salute for my Southern Star. I felt him muzzle-loading
his mouth with the warm water as he slid straight down to the Star. He
did this when we showered together. (I loved it every time. Sometimes
he would give me wand-wash first with his stiff wand, scrubbing back
and forth, back and forth. Sometimes the wand would get carried away
and release his special chemical soap deep inside the cavity. He would
then give me a cannon-rinse, and I would become squeaky clean.)  

Now to help him out in his water-cannon solute, I moved a bit and
lifted a knee as high as I could, and Max's water-cannon locked on to
the rim of my Southern Star. Soon I felt a sudden warm gush deep
inside. It was an uplifting feeling. I was pleased and proud of Max's
water-cannon. I rested my lifted leg on Max's shoulder just long
enough for him to reload. He always repeated just to make sure that
his water-cannon didn't go rusty on him. This time it was a
three-cannon salute.

Max slid back up and I repositioned and got steadier with both feet on
the ground. Most of the soap had washed off. Max held me tight, I felt
his hard thing  pressed against  my rain forest area. It was pointing
north. Taking the cue from his pointer, he kissed me hard and deep,
put his lips to my ear and whispered sexily, "Madiee, why not make my
fantasy come true? Today is a good day; We have two fellows
downstairs." My eyes were still half closed. I felt a nano-second
lightning passing through me. I had been reeling from the soap-swaying
coupled with a good luxuriant relaxed feeling from the water-cannon
solute; I was half intoxicated. And there was a tinkling feeling in my
Southern Star. I took my lips to his ear and whispered back equally
sexily, "Why not?" Max was just thrilled. He kissed me on my ears,
nose, eye brows, eyelids. He grabbed me, and lifted me up and whirled
me around. Good thing we were in a large tiled custom shower stall. In
a tub we would have slipped and broken a bone or two.  "I will call
them, I will go call them", he said, and was about to run out. 

By then my left brain had turned itself on. I felt instant anger. I
grabbed and stopped him from running out. I said, "You have it all
planned isn't it? It is a set up and conspiracy isn't it? Now I know
why the moving guy showed up without his helpers. You fixed that,
didn't you?" I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel and came
out of the bathroom. By then I was crying. I went and lied down crying
on the sleeping bag in the still empty new bedroom. My mind was
processing what had gone on and wondering what I had said and why I
had said that. Max had misunderstood me totally.

Max came right behind me with his towel in hand and sat next to me. "I
didn't mean it that way, baby!. Honest, I have not set up anything.
No, I didn't fix it with the moving company. It is a coincidence that
he was short of help and these neighbors offered to help out. I swear
that is the honest truth. I love you very much, honest I do." As he
was speaking he was also gently and softly wiping off the water that
was still on my legs, my body, my face and my hair. 

He continued, "You know Maddie, I have had this fantasy to see you
have lot of sex-pleasure. But I will never let any riffraff touch you.
I swear! When I saw you excited and turned on,  I remembered my
fantasy and thought my cupcake should have more of it. Now stop
crying! Please, please! I apologize. I apologize and I apologize." He
bent down and started kissing my tears, my cheeks, my nose, my lips
and pulled a sheet to cover me so I did not feel cold. 

I am a sucker for tender kisses. My anger started subsiding. By then I
was on my back, knees half pulled up, head resting on his thigh as a
pillow. I felt half consoled. Max had one hand on my cheeks and one
hand on my shoulder in a reassuring touch, and was patting and
stroking me in a gentle reassuring way.  

Wanting to be more fully consoled, I turned slightly left to find a
more comfortable position. His penis came into view, a few inches away
directly in front of my eyes. It  was now limp, shrunk to its flaccid
size. One part of my mind told me to move closer and take the soft
thing in my mouth, like I always liked to do when it turned small.
Another part of my mind flashed back a couple of hours to when our
helpful neighbor George's thumb had met with a big squish between a
box he was bringing in and the front door frame. He had screamed a big
'ouch' and I had run to see what had happened. I had taken his hand
and examined his thumb. Since there was no external bleeding I had
squeezed it for a few seconds to prevent any internal blood clot.
Later I had caught myself wondering if his fat and long thumb said
anything about his black thing-am-a-jig. I had wondered for a second
about the folk belief  that  the size of a man's thing-am-ajig can be
estimated by the size of  his thumbs. I had also wondered whether that
was true for back men also. 

I pulled my mind back to Max who was still feeling apologetic and
trying to console me. He was patting my back and bent down and kissed
my shoulder. I looked at him and then his penis and put my right hand
on it softly, not quite holding it. I could feel its jelly softness in
my palm. I felt I should kiss it and forgive Max who was feeling
rotten for having made me cry. But part of my mind said, "why should
I; let him be miserable. He deserves to be." So I closed my eyes to
let my thoughts wander wherever they would. 

>From time to time Max had been telling me his fantasy of me having a
>night full of orgasms from one man after another. In his fantasy he
>would be touching me tenderly, helping and assisting me have it with
>this other man; and see me come and come and come again. To see me
>moan, coo, ripple, wriggle, swish, slobber, sizzle, buzz, fizz, hiss,
>howl, grunt, gurgle, shriek, screech, squawk, sibilate, bellow, moan
>and flow noisily with Ooos and Aaahs, and go absolutely wild with
>delight. 

I had never understood his fantasy. Max himself was a strong and
virile man. He was good, very good in bed. I loved his bed-side
foreplay. We were both insatiable sometimes. But he had said I was a
bit more insatiable than him, and that he wanted to see me fully
satiated. From surfing on the Internet I had come to know that quite a
few husbands have this sort of fantasy of having their wife fucked by
other men, and witnessing it in all its detail. I think they just
project their desires of  wanting to screw around, to their wives.
Also I guess they figure that if they can first bring in other men,
then they would get a free license to bring in other women into their
bedroom. Men never understand women. I suppose men are like trees
wanting to disperse their seeds far and wide. But women are like
flower pots -  they like one planting at a time, that they can nourish
and cherish.. It is just biology, pure and simple. 

I had not taken his fantasy seriously. He used to become hard and stay
hard for a long time just telling me his fantasy. Lately I had begun
to be playful with his fantasy, especially when his pecker was
beginning to withdraw into itself. Asking him to tell me about his
fantasy was enough to instantly bring his pecker back to its hardness.
He would repeat his desire and try to get me to say yes. And I would
laugh it off  and play with his pecker. 

To return to my story, we had moved that evening to our new house
which was two hours drive from the old one. The moving van had shown
up with the driver and a small teenage boy. We had loads of stuff and
heavy stuff too such as refrigerator, washer, dryer, our king size bed
and so on. Max went out to see if any of our neighbors would help. It
was only about 5 p.m. and I thought none of the men would be back from
work yet. It was also Friday and who would want to help moving
furniture and stuff on a Friday evening? Luckily Max came back with
two of the neighbors who were in our cul-de-sac. One was a Jamaican
black named George and the other was Yanchee. They lived a few doors
away from us. We had socialized with them first at the block Christmas
parties and summer B-B-Q  block-get-together. We had had them once or
twice for a back yard barbecue but in large groups. George the
Jamaican was a marketing manager for a soap company and his wife was a
medical technician on shift work. Yanchee worked for the City doing
something computer related and his wife was an accountant in some
company. At the moment she was away in Hong Kong visiting her parents.
George's wife was on a double shift, that night as well as the next
day shift. So both George and Yanchee had  come to help us. When Max
came back with them I had felt very thankful towards them and had felt
a bit guilty for not having become more friendly with them and their
wives in the two years we had lived in the cul-de-sac. I had felt even
more guiltier when I heard that they had volunteered also to come
along to help unload our stuff at the new house and stay overnight and
until the next afternoon to help us set up the new place. . They had
brought their sleeping bags along and the plan was they would get a
ride back with us the next day when we would go back to clean up the
house we had vacated in order get our damage and rent deposit back.

My thoughts came back to the shower, the water-cannon, the
soap-swaying and yes, that nano-second lightning that had gone through
me. What did I mean when I had said "why not? And what was that sense
of flotation and wild abandonment? I suppose I was being playful,
wanting to keep Max's rod steel hard and keep it that way all night. I
don't think I meant what he thought I meant. Men are such dummies!
They sure can't speak the same language as women!
 I opened my eyes and looked at Max. He had his eyes closed and head
leaning back on the wall. No doubt he was playing his mental tapes. I
had my palm on his peter. I made a slight movement to have my thumb
and fingers go around it. I did not squeeze it; I did not want it to
respond. Peters have no mind and respond very quickly - except under
some understandable conditions. 

I closed my eyes again, and I smiled as I remembered the 'Yanchee's
prick' incident of the evening. Yanchee had worn an old khaki work
pants on account of the moving. When they were unloading the
refrigerator from the truck something or other had got caught in his
pants' right pocket opening and the pant had gotten ripped sideways in
the front, four inches wide, from the pocket to almost the front
zipper. The tear was not small enough to be ignored and needed fixing.
Max had called out to me to bring my sewing kit, but all I had been
able to dig out were a few small safety pins. Yanchee couldn't change
into anything else because Max's clothes were in boxes still buried
deep in the moving van. So I had to fix it on-the-leg so to say by
putting the safety pins. My fingers had touched his thigh about where
the pubic hairs peeked out of the sides of his brief. I had seen a bit
of his shiny black brief. It had a  red ribbing. Must be from Hong
Kong. I had also gained the knowledge that he carried his gun on his
right leg. If I wanted to I could have accidentally made my finger
slide over his bulge under the brief. I had undertaken to put the
safety pins on him rather than let him do so himself because I felt
bad he had torn his pants while helping us. Also the safety pins I had
found were tiny and I did not think his hands could manipulate them as
well as I could. As I was doing the fixing job, George and my husband
had passed us by carrying boxes and George had kidded Yanchee to be
careful and not get his prick pricked. Max had also called out to me
jokingly to be 'very very careful.' Max and George had had a good
laugh. Yanchee had blushed deep. I had enjoyed it all, empathizing
with Yanchee and laughing with Max and George.

Remembering this incident had brought on my smile. Along with the
smile had come the delayed realization/comprehension that Yanchee's
prick had gradually become happy (very happy to be precise) while I
was doing the mending. My mind had not registered that awareness at
that time. With this realization my mind wandered off to what I had
seen on the Net about penis sizes of Chinese men. The definitive
survey had said that the erect oriental penis, on average, was  5.4
inches where as the average Caucasian penis was 6.4 inches. But in
terms of girth,  the Caucasian cock was only larger by one-fifth of an
inch. These were just interesting statistics because a woman's
pleasure does not depend upon the length of the cock. It is a
difference that matters only to men, the longer it is the more the men
seem to be confident; and the more confident they are, the more likely
they are to sow their oats  widely (according to this same survey). I
couldn't help thinking that Yanchee was probably not too confident,
and thus less likely to have had a restricted sowing of his oats. I
also couldn't help wondering if he had frozen his oats while his wife
has been gone.

I suddenly woke up from my mental meandering. My left brain had
probably stalled for a while. I said enough is enough! I said to
myself that I should put an end to this fantasy of my husband or else
it will grow and grow and might even corrupt me in some weak moment. I
told myself, "Let me pretend for now to go along with Max and lead him
to kill his own fantasy". I was determined to exorcise him. I had to.
I said aloud, "Max, it is quite a jump from a fantasy of seeing me do
it with *some* other men to the fancy of me doing it with these two
*specific* guys."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Continued in Move Day  Part 2
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Would you want to guess if she will be able to exorcise hubby's
fantasy?  How far will she go?  Do you like it so far?
---------------------------------------------- MeiRaj@aol.com




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