This is the fifth installment of
Mrs. Hart's Ache, Chapter III,
Interlude II: Bethany
Please include it under the category
Novels and Novellas
. For the sake of your readers, I've included an index which defines some of the more obscure terms.
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This is a simple tale of retribution, wherein the young hero teaches the mother of his girlfriend a few manners while enjoying a few adventures – sexual and otherwise – along the way.
This is a tale of yet another of our hero's playmates, Bethany. They share the sports of windsurfing and fucking. They're very good at both. But in this tale, Bethany has a bit of a problem. Our hero is only too glad to assist. He can't solve the primary problem, but he does know how to get his lady-friend back on track.
Mr Snake to the rescue…
Happy reading.
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Mrs. Hart's Ache
III The Ladies in My Life (cont.)
Interlude II: Bethany
"
…Got my ass kicked by my Aikido sensei. Whacked off a couple of times. Did Bethany…
"
Next, there was my pal Bethany: she is a 22-year-old grad student. We met last year at the Gorge, wind surfing. She's a crazy lady when the wind is up. Being too involved in her studies (graduate work in Computer Engineering), she doesn't have time for a serious relationship. We're more pals than lovers.
Pals that fuck.
Long and lean at 5'11", 135, she's got a six-pack gut too. She has dark green eyes, and straight dark blond hair that hangs almost to her waist. She's an double-A cup with bee-sting breasts (I mean, she has no tits), gumdrop nipples and the
skinniest
little ass.
She's also tanned to a golden brown over her entire body except for four little bitty triangles of white: her chest, centered over her nipples; her mons; and the point at which the crease of her ass meets the small of her back.
She wears
very
small, totally phat bikinis on the beach.
Bethany fucks like she windsurfs: crazy. She's all over the bed; against the wall; hanging from the headboard. And that's just the foreplay. Bethany also has a fair-size clit that she loves to have sucked.
Bethany swallows too.
My pal called one afternoon a few weeks ago. She was almost frantic. She had been in the lab working a problem 20 hours a day for two solid weeks. She'd hit the wall. Nothing worked, not even a supreme pizza with extra pepperoni.
The only answer was an emergency session with me to get the cobwebs swept out of her brain. She didn't sound at all like herself, so I dropped what I was doing and grabbed a couple of things. I wrote a quick note for Mom, then cruised over to Bethany's place.
She lives in a duplex near the university. When Bethany answered the door in her robe, I could see that this would take some doing. She was a mess. She looked like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in a week. Her eyes were red, her long hair hung lifeless and stringy. Her body looked sort of caved in and boneless. She appeared to be twice her age, and then some.
Taking her to bed and fucking her brains back tracking may have been the ultimate answer, but there was work to do before she was ready for that.
For a woman, Bethany isn't that concerned about her looks. Less so than most straight women I know. But she wouldn't let even me, her pal, see her in such a state unless she was really strung out over her problem. I think she realized it at the last minute, because she welled up, began mumbling that she wasn't feeling so hot after all and tried to call it off.
I knew better. I just took her hand and led her to the kitchen and made her sit at the bar while I made tea. I gabbed away about something while putting the water on to boil, but she just sat there looking uncomfortable.
She excused herself after a minute and went into the bathroom to make herself a bit more presentable. While she was gone I pulled the hip flask from my jacket and put a healthy slug of Jameson's in her mug. Then I filled a tea ball with her favorite brew, an Anxi Oolong.
By the time she came back, the water was ready. She looked a little better. She'd washed her face and combed her hair but still looked terribly tired. I poured her mug full and let it steep for a couple of minutes, then presented her with the tea-&.
Her eyebrows went up when she took a sip. For the first time since I'd arrived, a tentative smile played along her lips. I watched her drink the tea while I gabbed some more, then made her another cup and watched her drink that too.
While she drank the second cup, I began massaging her shoulders. Two healthy shots of good Irish Whiskey will get anyone relaxed. I could feel the tension leaking out of her body as I worked at the muscles of her neck. She groaned with pleasure occasionally, but otherwise just sat silently with her eyes closed and let me work my magic.
Before she was completely limp, I let her finish her tea while I ran a tub of hot, hot water with bath salts sprinkled in.
Her bathtub is one of those huge old cast iron monstrosities, large enough for two comfortably and three if they're friendly. While the water ran, I stripped to my boxers. Then I gathered towels and led her to the tub. She started to open her robe, but I stopped her. I made her stand quietly while I slipped the robe from her shoulders.
Bethany was left standing in a camisole and bikini panties. I massaged her neck for a moment. Then I slid the thin straps off of her shoulders, and gently tugged the camisole down her slender body, taking her panties down her legs with it. Behind, she has that small triangle of untanned skin centered on the upper curves of her asscheeks. That tiny patch of white flesh is startling: stark white against the deep tan of her legs and back.
Her rosy-red nipples crinkled to pebbles when a waft of cool air hit her chest. The water was just too hot for her to slip in comfortably. She took it in stages before she was finally stretched out.
I pulled her hair over one shoulder and laid over the shallow hump of her right breast, then put a folded towel behind her neck. She laid completely relaxed, with her eyes closed and her head perched on the edge of the tub. The water rose to her chin.
Three small triangles showed white against her tan, one each centered on the shallow humps of her breasts and the last bisecting her mound, barely reaching the top of her puss. Her nipples are naturally large berries centered in half-dollar sized rose areolae.
When she was settled, I put a few of my CD's in her changer and listened for a moment as Mr. Davis eased into "
A Touch of Blue
". Then the towels went into the dryer to warm, and I changed the sheets on her bed.
By the time I got back to the bathroom, Bethany was half asleep. I rinsed a washcloth in cold water, and dabbed the sweat from her brow. Then helped her drink a glassful. Last, I turned on a trickle of hot water, and spent an hour ministering to her while she floated there, relaxing.
When last note of that magic trumpet trilled away, the music switched to classic Van Morrison. "
Moondance
" came on as I knelt down behind her and washed her hair twice and massaged conditioner into her scalp gently. I dried her hair, brushing it until it shone. Then I retrieved the towels, shut off the water, then pulled the plug. She could barely stand, but I got her to her feet, then dried her with the still-warm towels.
She made to step shakily from the tub, but I wrapped her in a fresh towel and scooped her up in my arms. She put her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder as I carried her to her bed. I wrapped her in her comforter and left her for a moment to take care of my own ablutions, and to gather her razor, shaving cream and a bowl of hot water.
She woke up a bit as I spread her thighs and shaved the faint dusting of fine blond hairs from her puss but didn't say anything. She just gave me a dreamy smile, then closed her eyes again and relaxed to the blade.
I gently wiped the remnants away, then smoothed aloe lotion into the skin. Her puss was wet by that time, the lips fat, crinkled and shiny. But she needed sleep more than sex.
The afternoon sun was low by that time. I cracked the window, closed the curtains, then slipped out of my boxers and into her bed. I fluffed a couple of pillows against the headboard, then laid back and gathered her into my arms. She roused enough to kiss my cheek, then closed her eyes, laid her head on my shoulder and was zonked in about 30 seconds.
It took me a few minutes longer, but listening to her breath helped. The last thing I remember was hearing the closing bars of "
Into the Mystic
".