Message-ID: <26057asstr$967417822@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <200008271933.NAA03958@nyx10.nyx.net> X-Nyx-Envelope-Data: Date=Sun Aug 27 13:33:35 2000, Sender=anon584c, Recipient=ckought69@hotmail.com, Valsender=anon584c@localhost From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon) Subject: {ASSM} rev "Forget All That" {Pendragon} ( MF rom cons lact ) [1/12] X-Original-Subject: (no subject) Date: Sun, 27 Aug 2000 19:10:22 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw .rm 65 To: ckought69@hotmail.com From: Uther Pendragon Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.stories.erotic Subject: rev "Forget All That.01" {Pendragon} ( MF rom cons lact ) [1/12] Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net X-No-Archive: Yes 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, 1997, by Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right for all reproduction necessary for normal Usenet propagation. 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. I read alt.sex.stories.d. If you have any comments or requests, please post them in that newsgroup or E-mail them to me at anon584c@nyx.net. Please use "{ASSD}" at the beginning of the subject line of any posted reply. 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 the titles of the files and the fact that they are encrypted open to anybody. 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. # # # # FORGET ALL THAT by Uther Pendragon Part One: You'll have read that breast-fed babies have fewer colds and stomach-upsets. Studies suggest that they will be safer from asthma and have fewer allergies as they grow up. There are even suggestions that they will develop a higher IQ and be less susceptible to acne in adolescence. People tell you that breast-feeding might make you less likely to suffer from breast cancer in later life and will definitely speed the loss of that extra weight that you developed during pregnancy. Forget all that. The real reason for breast-feeding your child is that, when you visit your in-laws, it's the only way to get her back from her grandparents. And from her aunt. Have I mentioned her aunt? Well, I may be exaggerating a little bit. My husband Bob and I went home for Christmas when our daughter was seven months old. She was quite a hit on the train, and The Kitten enjoyed the attention for most of that time. By the middle of the second day, however, she'd had enough of being the cynosure of a score of strangers, enough of new sensations, enough of being fed under a cloak. She even seemed to dislike the swaying of the train, which she'd loved when the trip began. As anyone who has traveled with kids will guess, this tantrum was peaking about the time that we arrived at the station where Bob's parents had been waiting for more than an hour. When we struggled off the train with all our paraphernalia, Bob apologized for The Kitten's mood. "Right," said his mother. "And next you're going to blame Amtrak for your tardiness. Is my namesake going to say hello?" At that point The Kitten wouldn't let her father hold her, much less this strange woman. Katherine was disappointed but philosophical. "Been there, dear. I mean where you are not where she is. But we've probably all been there too, just don't remember it." They had a baby-seat already installed in the van. (Bob was also carrying one; car seats have other uses.) We all got in, and we were on the road. By that evening, after a long nap and a long nurse in absolute privacy, The Kitten and I were fit to meet people. Her grandmother got her first. "Come to Grandma Brennan," said Katherine, and then, when she had her in her arms, "CATHerine Angelique Brennan, CaTHERine Angelique Brennan," all eight steps to "Catherine Angelique BrenNAN. That's you." The Kitten gurgled at her. "Well I think that you *should* be proud. And guess what?" "Oooh," said The Kitten. "My name is Katherine, but with a K. YOU were named for ME!" Unimpressed, the Kitten made a grab for the string of beads around Katherine's neck. "Don't worry," Katherine said to me, "those beads are safe. Vegetable dyes." She did take the precaution of putting her glasses on a high shelf. The baby food, disposable diapers, and baby wipes that we brought had multiplied while I slept. A table, neatly covered with a plastic garbage bag, had been set up for "downstairs changes," in Katherine's words. The senior Brennans had not only been eager for our visit, they had prepared for it. I commented on that to Bob when we were in bed that night. The room came equipped with a dim night light; there was a quilt on the floor and another one downstairs for any occasion in which The Kitten needed to be on the floor; there was a changing table; The Kitten slept in a refurbished crib. (Our bed however was still the twin-size from Bob's teenage years. That's all right, there is plenty of room for two in a twin bed.) "Ihm hmm. Have you looked at the heater in the corner?" I had. It was an electric space heater. In front of it, keeping The Kitten from getting too close, was metal shelving such as you might find in a tool room. "Those shelves are attached to the walls. I might be able to pull them over on me; you're too light; The Kitten doesn't stand a chance. There is a switch controlling the heater; it is attached to the shelves at eye level. A little bit of overdesign, there; but my father doesn't miss a trick. Now, aren't you glad that you married me?" "*Now* I am." "Well, you have to take the bitter with the sweet." Meaning that I would have to put up with my husband to get my in-laws. Truth to tell, I was very happy with *him* right then; and I rapidly became even happier. He kissed all over my face before starting to nibble my ear. I pulled away to give him a real kiss. Our tongues played for a bit before he began to caress me. Bob is usually a marvelously slow, gentle, and seductive lover. This was one of the occasions, however, when he was an annoyingly slow, subdued, and dilatory lover. For those times, I have some subtle hints to suggest to him that I'd welcome a more rapid approach. This night, for example, I took his wrist in both my hands and moved it so his hand was between my legs. He grasped my meaning ... and my mound. His kisses traveled over my face to my neck while his hand kindled a flame down below. You can talk of Don Juan or Casanova, but Bob knows *me*. He knew the spot on the side of my neck which turns me on when he licks it. He knew how to wait until my arousal was great enough that the turn-on was stronger than the tickle. He knew that my nipples were sore and to lick them very gently rather than sucking on them. He knew how to stroke me to take me to the ragged edge of my climax. And he knew that I wanted his kiss to muffle my cry as he stroked me over that edge. He knew that I loved being held by him as I recovered from the climax. His arms were around me and his voice whispered in my ear. "Beloved, marvelous Jeanette, sweetheart, darling, sweet, love, darling Jeanette ..." he murmured as I gasped. "I love you," I said when I had recovered my breath. "Give me a little time." "All you need." He took my right hand, however, and began kissing each finger. When I reached my left hand across toward him, he kissed the palm of my right. That kiss tickled; it also aroused me. "Now?" he asked. "Not quite." I moved down in the bed a bit. "Now." We kissed as before. This time, however, I caressed him as much as he caressed me. When he licked my nipple, I stroked the backs of my fingernails down his abdomen. "It's been two and a half days," he said. "For me too," I answered; but I stopped at his pubic hair. After I had toyed with this for a moment, he groaned and started climbing over me. As soon as he was between my legs, I scrunched down a little bit more. He kissed me once on the lips and then came forward until he touched me. After an instant of adjustment, Bob eased in. I curled myself up to meet his thrust. When he was all the way inside, filling me completely, I kissed his shoulder. "Let me," I said. Then I kissed down until I could lick *his* nipple, which hardened for my tongue. He straightened more at that attention, but it was a strain on me even so. I dropped my head back on the bed and slid my hands up his arms to his back. He moved slowly back and forth, in and out. The sensations of his motions within me were delightfully arousing; the sensations of his muscles tensing and moving under my hands were arousingly delightful. I slid my hands down his back until I could cup his hips which were driving our entire connection. I felt them harden as they pushed him inward, loosen as he eased back out. "Love," he whispered as they tensed; he slipped deep in me, slowly filling me up. "You," he whispered as they relaxed and other muscles pulled him back until only my entrance held any part of him. "Love, ... you, ... love, ... you." He was speaking louder now, although not quite at his regular volume. His motions were still slow and steady. I raised my loins to meet his motions, curling my belly in the process. "Love," clenching muscles, sliding entry, curling belly, complaining springs; "You," softening muscles, withdrawing husband, relaxing belly, complaining springs. I used my grip on his hips to pull myself into his thrusts . "Love," clenching muscles, sliding entry, curling belly, straining arms, complaining springs; "You," softening muscles, withdrawing husband, relaxing belly and arms, complaining springs. He sped up a little for my pulls, but he tried to slow his withdrawals even more. I wanted none of that delay. I tucked my fingers so that the tips touched my palms. That rather ruined my grip for pulling him closer, but you can't have everything. As he started inward, I straightened my right hand, scratching his butt and a little of his inner thigh. I was still moving my fingernails backwards, and they are the short fingernails of a typist and mother. Still, they scratch. He shoved forward hard. He stayed pressed into me for a second. "Jeanette?" he said. "Ihm hmm?" I responded. I don't know what I was asking, much less what he was. So I tightened his very favorite muscle around him. That started him moving again. I waited another few strokes before straightening my left hand to scratch him again. The very next stroke, it was my left hand again. I chose the hands in random order at random intervals, although always when he was coming in; I had no desire to have him pull all the way out. Soon he was moving much faster, saying "Love" on every thrust. He abandoned the "you"; he had to breathe sometime. Oddly enough, my concentration on all this stimulation had lowered my own excitement level. That was okay. I had had a climax, I wanted to feel his. I caressed his driving butt. Then, as he sped up once more, grunting instead of saying words, I slowly moved a finger to the point right behind his scrotum. Just before I pressed there, I clasped around him as hard as I could. He shoved himself into me as if trying to reach the top of my head. He grunted once more. Then he was pressing against me, shaking, and groaning. He pulsed within my clasp and I felt him spurt deep within. Doctor Gupta can say what she wants, I do feel his seed hit me. I could just make out his grimace in the dim light. Then he collapsed on top of me. After a minute I rolled him over until I could see his face again. He looked just like his daughter when she has fallen asleep nursing. There is room for two in a twin bed, you need a double bed for two and a wet spot. I seriously doubted that Bob would change any diapers that night. Still, I was a very satisfied woman as I drifted off to sleep. Daughters and husbands both create messes, but my daughter and my husband are both worth it. Continued in Part Two. FORGET ALL THAT Uther Pendragon 1997/12/22 1999/12/30 -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+