Message-ID: <7579eli$9804041659@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 4D"( bf mF mF+ )[13/52] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to . Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6g5mb0$fep$1@sparky.wolfe.net> The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you read at your own risk. These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way to encourage them to continue entertaining you. The copyright of this story belong to the author, and the fact of this posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well. This particular series is by Santo J. Romeo. That might even be his real name. The version that I have copied used his initials, and I have followed suit. It is more a tragic story of coming of age than simply a sex story, and individual segments might not contain any sex. The entire story, however, is a hot one. ======== **** WARNING **** WARNING **** WARNING **** THIS DOCUMENT IS A SEXUALLY GRAPHIC STORY ABOUT AN INTENSE SEXUAL, EMOTIONAL AND INTELLECTUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN A TEENAGE GIRL AND A YOUNG BOY AND THE COURSE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP OVER A PERIOD OF 10 YEARS. IT IS A DRAMATIZATION ABOUT REAL PEOPLE AND THEIR CON- FLICT WITH SOCIAL EXPECTATIONS. IF THIS SUBJECTS OFFENDS YOU OR IF SEXUAL LANGUAGE UPSETS YOU, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT THIS MATERIAL SEEN BY UNDER-18 OR OTHERWISE UNQUALIFIED PERSONS, DELETE THIS DOCUMENT. THIS DOCUMENT IS COPYRIGHTED 1994, 1996 BY SJR. SO--HEY, YOU CAN COPY IT BUT YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT OR SELL IT UNLESS I SAY SO. ==================================== THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE by S.J.R. sjr <73233.1411@CompuServe.COM> ============ PART 4D: Martha Jane and my mother helped walk me into our apartment, where they settled me on the sofa and placed a wet rag over my face. Mom called our closest relatives, my Grandma Rose Ricci, to hurry over in their car and get me to nearby St. Joseph's Hospital. But Grandma Rose was too distraught to drive and she called my Aunt Frances, who in turn was so distraught she called my Aunt Josephine, who in turn was also so distraught she called her neice, my cousin Josephine Louise, whom they all knew drove like the wind at all times. Within 30 minutes Josephine Louise arrived in Aunt Frances' black 1947 Dodge, the car packed to the hilt with relatives like clowns in a circus act. They rushed into our little apartment and shook the walls with their hysteria. Martha Jane, stroking my forehead and cheek with the cool wet cloth, watched calmly with me as yet another car drove up and Grandma Rose and the Ricci's and Gagliano's got out. Soon the place was so full, no one could walk. "My God," Martha Jane whispered incredulously. "How many more of them are there?" "No one knows," I said dryly. Amid the moaning and wailing and my Aunt Frances swooning into a chair, her husband, my Uncle Johnny, cooly and sanely brought the crowd to attention. "You all remember why we're here," he said, gesturing toward me with his hat. "We gonna take him to the hospital, or we gonna stand around and faint?" They all gaped at each other momentarily, then everyone started issuing different instructions at once. My mother and Josephine Louise edged their way through the panic and calmly lifted me into Josephine Louise's arms. "Come on, Speedy," she said, carrying me with one arm around the back of my neck and the other under my knees. "While they work this out, we'll go to St. Joseph's. Follow me, Betty," she said to my still distraught mother, and she wiggled her way through the crowd, through the kitchen, and out to her car. My mom and Martha Jane followed, with Uncle Johnny almost casually in the rear, hat in hand. The last I heard from the others, they were still screaming at each other in my living room. At St. Joseph's I was cleaned, poked, wrapped, injected, xray'd, gowned and wheeled up to a bed with a window overlooking the project a few blocks away. A doctor who looked and sounded like Joel McCrea with a Southern accent told everyone I was a sturdy kid and no great damage was done--although I would have to keep my arm in a sling for a day or two to keep from stretching torn muscles around my left rib cage, and I'd have a fat cheek for a while, and I'd have to wear a thick pad on my side for a few weeks to restrain movement there, and I was warned to not strain myself by attacking any more trees. I was in St. Joseph's for two days, strapped tightly in a corset to keep my torso immobile, and continually monitored by a nonstop parade of Italian aunts, uncles, godparents, great- aunts and uncles, great-grandmother Nifa and her two morbid sisters, cousins, near cousins, and a number of people I never saw before who claimed they were related. Nurses groaned and complained, shuffling people in and out of the waiting room and forced to keep count of how many people were in my room at one time. I was kissed on the cheek by innumerable elderly aunts, most of whom appeared grieved as if I were dead and laid out in my coffin instead of propped up in bed. I was obliged to "be nice" and appreciative and, as Josephine Louise whispered to me with her luscious, red, magnificently sexy mouth close to my ear at one point, "Look as if you're in mortal pain, Speedy. These old Victorians just thrive on melodrama." Martha Jane visited me each day, but we were hardly able to have a few words between ourselves. On the second day she had enough time alone with me. While the others were out getting coffee, we had a brief chat. "I'll bet you just love all this attention," she said. "Martha Jane, you know I feel so creepy around them. I get the same questions: Hi, Speedy, how are you? How old are you now, Speedy? How are you doing in school? What do you want to be when you grow up? Did it hurt bad? Was your--?" She interrupted, touching my hand. "Now, hon. You should be grateful all these people care so much for you. Your Grandma Rose has been so nice, they could have just sent you straight home two days ago, but your Grandma Rose is footing the whole bill so you could be more comfortable here." "But--" "But nothing, Speedy. You have to admit, that was very generous." Guiltily, I conceded, "Well, I do like my Grandma Rose, she's the only one I like." "And your poor Aunt Frances and Uncle Johnny--" I groaned and slapped my forehead. "No, not Aunt Frances." "Stop that, hon, I know she's hysterical and a lifetime of criticism every five minutes, but she means well." "No, no, not Aunt Frances..." I groaned in mock dismay. "Stop, it squirt," she reprimanded gently. "They all love you, and you know it. You devil, you're just eating all this up. It's more attention than you or anybody else gets in a lifetime." "Okay," I pouted. "Don't say okay unless you mean it." "Okay." "I gotta go study, hon." She rose and gathered her sweater over her shoulders. Leaning down to me, she looked back at the door to see if anyone might be listening. She whispered, "You get well. Hear me?" "Okay." "Because..." She licked my ear. "...I miss us." I smiled, blushing. "Me too." With a peck on the cheek she was gone. And just in time for the return of Aunt Frances, Uncle Johnny, Grandma Rose, Aunt Josephine, Aunt Lucille, Aunt Mary, Uncle Louie, Mom, my sister, Aunt Catherine, my *other* Aunt Catherine, Aunt Yiya, Aunt Theresa, Grandpa Joe, another Aunt Josephine, Uncle Vito, Uncle Lawrence, Aunt Cecilia... By the end of the second day I felt well enough to start getting unbearably bored again. Whenever I shifted restlessly my injured side ached and cramped. Except for visits to the restroom and the coffee shop, Aunt Frances and Uncle Johnny were a permanent fixture in the room, Uncle Johnny sighing restlessly and winking at me now and then, recognizing our mutual discomfort. The worst part of the day was when Aunt Frances began cajoling my mother into moving out of the project. "But I want my children and I to have our privacy," my mother objected, trying to be as nice as she could about it. "And where would we stay? I wouldn't want to take rent money from all my relatives. I just can't live that way." "But, Betty," my Aunt Frances pleaded. "You and Speedy could live with *us*." On hearing that, I raised my eyes to Heaven. Please, Jesus. Not that. My mother said no, it just wouldn't work. She thanked Aunt Frances. She told her she had a good relationship with my stepdad- to-be, it looked as if they were steady now, and perhaps they would marry in a year or two. I was grateful for her persistence. Not only would I not be able to bear seven days a week of Aunt Frances, but leaving the project meant leaving Martha Jane. Aunt Frances didn't let up all day, but Mom didn't give in and didn't even appear to be tempted--for which I was deeply grateful. Maybe there really was a God. In a spare moment, when no one was looking, I found myself unable to resist the urge to stick out my tongue at Aunt Frances. I did so, mildly, about half an inch of it. And just as I did, Aunt Frances looked at me. I withdrew my tongue immediately, but already her big round eyes had widened and her eyebrows rode halfway up her forehead. She turned to Uncle Johnny, beside her. "Johnny, did you see what he did?" "What'd he do, Frances?" asked Uncle Johnny, trying to keep awake. "He stuck his tongue out at me." Uncle Johnny's repressed laugh started out as a smirk, then he deftly transformed it into a wheeze, and then a mild cough. "Forget it, Frances. The boy don't feel well." Three or four weeks later, when Martha Jane was with me again, my cheek had cleared but I was still wearing the heavy restraining pad at my left side, held in place by thick layers of gauze around my middle. Martha Jane turned the lights out early. I had already got into bed and was lying on my back when she turned out the last light and walked over to the bed. In her jeans and white shirt she lay down beside me and began taking off my clothes in the dark. When my shirt came off she traced the bandage with her finger. "That's horrible what that little rat did to you." "I can take it," I said stoically. "Sur-r-re, you can, cowboy." she said. "You sure threw a fit. I knew you had a temper, but...I had no idea it was that much of a temper." I sat up while she removed my shirt. She unbuckled my belt and unzipped me, shoving my pants to my knees. She stood up, pulling my pants off past my feet by its legs. "I hope you never get so mad at me that you direct that awful rage at me, Speedy." "I can't hurt people," I said. "What do you mean, you can't hurt people?" "I can't hurt people. Only things. I can't hurt them, even if I hate them." "Why not, hon? You had every right to take that tough kid and beat the--" She stopped herself, and continued removing my socks. "I'm sorry. I don't mean that. You had every right to, but you wouldn't have done it. Because you're sweet, hon. Even though you don't like your Aunt Frances and all those other people, you wouldn't hurt them. You're a very brave boy. It takes courage to be sweet." "He had me so angry," I said. "Why do people have to take from others like that? Poor Stepper, he's so poor and he doesn't have anything. And he can't help it if he's black. Why does the world do that?" "I don't know, hon. I wish I had the answer." She had removed my socks, and now she grabbed the sides of my underwear. "Lift," she said. I did, she pulled, and I was naked. She stood looking down at me in the dark. Silently she unbut- toned her shirt, looking at me with a gently intent gaze. All the buttons undone, she shifted her shoulders back and the shirt seemed to simply breathe off her. Then her bra. The moon glowed along one side of the swell of each gently sloped breast. She unbuckled the belt at her jeans, twisted the top button open, pulled the zipper down. "That horrible, violent day is all over now," she whispered. She pulled down her jeans, dropped them on the floor, and slipped her thin panties down her long, perfect legs. Her auburn tuft glowed like a softly lighted powder puff in the moonlight. I was getting hard watching her. My cock weakly stirred and straight- ened. A slab of moonlight fell directly on it. It rose, slightly. Martha Jane looked at it and bent down and slowly, one finger at a time, she put her hand around it and held it so that only the tip stood out above her gentle fist. "I don't know why people have such meanness," she went on, almost absently, watching my cock. "I don't know why they have to hurt each other. When they could give themselves pleasure and affection." "I would never hurt you, Martha Jane," I whispered. "I know you wouldn't, hon. And I hope I never hurt you." She leaned down and licked the part of my cock that protruded above her fingers, then lightly sucked it. "He's so sweet." I gulped, and my cock stirred. She felt it and grinned. "He can almost talk," she said. She lay down beside me near the window and our arms went around each other. Propped on one elbow, she caressed my chest. I lightly squeezed a nipple. "No more meanness," she whispered. "No more hurt. No more hate. Wouldn't it be wonderful if that could happen?" "It happens here," I offered, "when I'm with you." "What a beautiful thing for you to say, Speedy," she breathed, surprised, her eyes glowing. "What a lovely thing to say." She held my face in her hands and pressed her cheek to mine. Her lips at my ear, she whispered, "How can I make you feel good? We have to be careful with that thing on you. You can't move very much." "I don't know," I pondered. "I wanna make you feel good, too." "I know what," she said, and got onto her knees beside me and bent over my chest and held her face over mine. "I know what we can do." "What?" She kissed my nose. She kissed my right eyelid. She kissed my lips. "You just wait..." "What?" I asked again. Her voice was a langorous, barely audible whisper, mildly taunting, motherly, lecherous, all at once. She bagan softly, "The management of this establishment is establishing new management." She kissed my ear. She raised her face above mine again and touched a finger to my lips. "Don't talk," she whispered. She was so quiet, I heard the "k" in the last word linger in the air for several seconds. She nipped at my throat, around the side of my neck to my other ear. One of her nipples grazed one of mine. She put her lips onto my ear. "Don't move." She kissed my neck, licked my neck, trailed kisses slowly across my chest with tiny, almost unheard little puffs and lickings. She kissed not with her lips, but with the inside of her lips. She put her lips on my left nipple and softly opened them, made a tiny pool of the inner lining of her lips around my nipple, and gently sucked. My cock got very hard. She used the tip of her tongue, only the tip, to move down my chest until she got to the bandage. Then she looked down. "You're hard," she observed aloud, under her breath. "How nice." It was so quiet and still in the room I could feel the moonlight on my stiffened, upright cock. My eyes were closed. Now I knew why she swallowed so much when I did this sort of thing to her. It was something to replace speech, for there were no words for the pleasure she was giving me. Watching my cock intently, she moved as if in slow motion, and still on her knees she stretched her neck elegantly forward in the dim light and poised her head straight over my erection. She opened her mouth. She lowered her head, straight down, slowly and cau- tiously, hardly touching my cock with her mouth. When her head was all the way down, and her lips grazed my pubic fuzz, she closed her mouth around me fully, sucked, and drew up. She did this four times, wetly. Soon I throbbed and felt a drop of my nascent cum being siphoned up my shaft into her mouth. Apparently she tasted it. She came off me, licked the inside her mouth. Then she turned to face me, hovered over me. She lifted one leg over me, her knee settling into the bed on my other side. "Careful," she whispered. "Don't let me hurt you." "It's okay," I whispered back. It always seemed so sacrilegious to talk aloud at such moments with her. Like shouting in church. Her face over mine, her knees on each side of me, her back raised so we didn't touch below the waist, she looked down and positioned each of her nipples over each of mine, then pressed into me. "Does it hurt your side if I press my titties on you like that?" "No." I mouthed the word, rather than speak it. I was speechless, enchanted, amazed. "I'm not really sure how to do this," she whispered with a nervous little laugh. "I never did it before. Let's see..." Closing her eyes and rising on her arms, she bit her lower lip in deep concentration, and down below she slowly and tentatively hunted in small movements with her wet cunt, searching for my standing cock. Her outer lips found my tip, circled two or three times, wetting me, then lowered. With a long sigh she took me all the way into her. She looked down. "That okay?" she asked. "That feels so good!" "Yes, it does...verrry good." For a while she experimented, sometimes moving up and down on me; sometimes circling just my tip with her warm slithery outer petals; sometimes taking me all the way and grinding her clit against my shaft, which she seemed to enjoy the most; sometimes taking me in only halfway and pumping rhythmically for a while. Several times she asked me if my side was okay, and I told her it was. She searched and discovered patiently and ardently, often breathing her pleasure in my ear with the most obscenely graphic phrases she could think of. In time she became less careful, gradually more swept up in her heightening pleasure. Soon her wet channel became more snug around me and then began contracting irreg- ularly, at which point she would stop and pant over me for a moment. Then she would start again, growing tighter around me, her grinding more urgent and more intuitive. As her breathing grew more ragged, she began sighing and whimpering. Gradually she assumed more often the position of settling tightly all the way down, squeezing me, rotating subtly on my shaft. And eventually she stiffened, her straightened arms quivering. Her grinding became so intense she rocked the bed, and I knew she would be unable to stop this time around. She began to chant, "oh hon...oh hon...", and then she began to sing, "oh hon...!" and finally she groaned loudly, "Oh, yes!" and her head snapped forward and she writhed her clit furiously against my shaft, holding her breath, and I circled my hips in the opposite direction against her, and she answered with a low groan, "Yes...", and her cunt clamped on me madly for a long moment. Then she passed her peak, her head fell back and then forward, and she slackened, holding still, gasping deeply and loudly and quickly, her hips and back softened and I saw her breasts had swollen against me and were hot, a vein on one side of her neck throbbed and I reached up and sucked it and her hips jerked once, making the bed squeak, and her neck was hot and salty with sweat and I stroked her hair as if strewing balm on her agonizing pleasure, and she rested, still sucking me inside now and then, and I felt her hot cuntlips drain wet around the root of my shaft. Twice my cock had felt the long moment of sweet tickling inside her as she moved on me, twice I had felt some of me seep into her, and I was content with both her pleasure and mine. Continued... ==================================== THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE by S.J.R. PART 4D -30- -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |