This story is a sequel to "Jason and the Johnsons." I had a number of requests to provide a sequel. I find sequels somewhat difficult as they can often, in my mind, fail to measure up to the original nor will they go in the direction that everyone who asked for a sequel wanted (e.g., regrettably, "My Little Brownie Cupcake," was not so well received). But, the theme of this particular sequel is different from the original, per most of the requests I received (i.e., requests to have Mrs. Johnson become involved). Please note that the characters and their relationship history are provided in the original story. Reading this sequel without the original story may not be so meaningful. In any case, please be assured, all of the characters are above the age of 18. I do hope you like it!
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The relationship between Jason and Bridget blossomed after their Saturday afternoon study session (see "Jason and the Johnsons"). The relationship had already been developing well, but they had crossed a rather important line on that Saturday afternoon. Sex was a wonderful way to express one's feelings, one's love, one's commitment.
Don't get me wrong. Jason and Bridget had not yet gone all the way. Bridget made it clear that she was not ready for that. She wanted to save that for her wedding, and Jason was fully understanding.
But, the sex they did have did go far in bringing them closer together and, besides, it was also good fun, for the both of them.
They were finding all sorts of unique and playful ways to enjoy their new found pleasures. Oral sex might not be real sex, at least according to a past President of the United States, but it was a pretty good facsimile. The fact that they had to do it in secret, outside of the awareness of their parents, particularly Bridget's, seemed to only add a sweet spice to their oral feasts.
Secrecy was indeed important. If Bridget's parents discovered that they had actually gone this far, that they had seen and touched each other's personal private parts, that Jason had placed his lips on their precious daughter's cunnie, and that, even more horrifying, that she had placed her lips on his naked, hard penis; well, they would indeed be horrified.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Johnson approved of premarital sex. Actually, it was much worse than that. They fully disapproved of premarital sex. They had avoided any such dalliances themselves when they were Bridget's age and they fully expected their daughter to follow suit. She was a Johnson girl, and Johnson girls were good girls. When Bridget would eventually consummate the relationship within the matrimonial bedroom, they assumed that it would be respectful, normal sexual intercourse. They surely hoped that she would not partake in any deviant, paraphilic acts, such as oral sex. This was something that good girls just didn't do, and never would do. Only the whores, the porn stars, the sluts, would do such things. As Mr. Johnson would say, oral sex bore no relationship with the purpose of sex: creating offspring. He would never put his lips on a woman's vagina. Just the thought of doing something like that seemed only one step removed from homosexuality (although he never really explained why). It was placing your lips on the organs through which the person expels waste material. What is loving about that? Is it not inherently a degradation? Well, if Mr. Johnson wouldn't do it for a woman, he certainly wouldn't then demean this woman in the same manner by requiring that she perform such an act on him. He was not a hypocrite.
Mrs. Johnson, though, might in fact be quite willing to do it. She had come close a couple of times to putting her lips on her husband's penis, but only when he was asleep (see "Jason and the Johnsons"). She knew full well that Jim would disapprove of any such act, and even its suggestion. He would in fact be appalled that she was even thinking about it. All that Madeline Johnson could then do was dream, and dream she did. She was terribly stricken by dreams, many of which seemed to verge on nightmares.
Such as the dream in which she was tied up by a bunch of young men. Her top was pulled down so that they could see her bosoms, and they were masturbating, right in front of her. She was trying to tell them in her most commanding, authoritative voice to untie her, but they wouldn't listen. She tried to squirm out of the ropes, but that only made her naked breasts bounce and wiggle around, much to their obvious pleasure. The scene then suddenly changed. She was on her knees while they smacked her face with their hard, stiff penises. Actually, as she recalls, they were no longer there. There were just penises. The air all around her was filled with naked penises. Some of them were soft, some were hard, some were small, some were large, but there were so many of them. They were poking her all over her face, crowding and pushing each other to try to get to her, like the air was filled with swimming snakes, penis snakes. Some of them were even trying to get into her mouth. A particularly small but hard one was having some success squeezing past her lips. It had lodged its head within her lips and was now pumping, thrusting, and forcing its way in deeper, and then suddenly the head popped in. She squeezed tight with her lips to prevent the rest of it from getting through and, for some reason, she began to lick and lap away at the head. Perhaps she was trying to give it what it wanted so that it would keep still. Then, she saw that one of them, a really, really big one, was beginning to pulse and throb right in front of her eyes, yet she couldn't turn away. She was transfixed by the sight. The bulbous head seemed to swell and expand to three times its size: so shiny, so purple, so swollen. It suddenly exploded and she felt her face become awash with huge splats of cum. She woke up, her face soaked. She wiped some of the moisture from her brow. It was her own perspiration.
She trembled with agitation. Why did she have such dreams? She wondered if perhaps she should see a therapist. She was having some pretty disturbing dreams. She thought, 'I mean, my goodness: dismembered erect penises'?
It had been quite a long time since Jim had even performed his marital duties. Madeline always looked forward to Friday. That was when they used to do it. How dull it might be, it was at least something. Jim had been very reliable about their Fridays. However, once the three Johnson girls had arrived, Mr. Johnson began to find one excuse after another: headaches, tired, not feeling well, just not quite the right time, maybe next time, and so forth. Mrs. Johnson became increasingly frustrated.
She considered masturbating, but wasn't that a perversion as well? Good girls don't masturbate. Well, if she had to confess, she would confess that she had indeed masturbated, a couple of times, but each time she would feel so filthy, so dirty, so obscene, afterward. It seemed like such an obvious failure to resist temptation. She would also at times drink too much, eat too much. It was always enjoyable while it was happening, but even as she did it, she knew she shouldn't. She knew it was wrong. It was so nice, so relieving, but so very wrong.
And, she was so very right about that. The next day she would always regret her excess drinking, her eating, whatever the indiscretion, and she didn't have to wait that long to regret a masturbation. She would feel like such a slut afterward. It was obviously something she probably should feel shameful about. Anything that you keep secret from others is obviously something that you are ashamed about, that is probably indeed shameful. If you are not willing to let others know about it, you are probably doing something that you know would be disapproved, would be objectionable, would be shameful.
And, imagine not being able to even tell your husband about something, the person with whom you should be able to share your most personal of concerns, the most intimate of your feelings, your experiences. Yet, she certainly couldn't tell her husband about masturbating. She knew what his reaction would be. At best he would confirm that her subsequent feelings of guilt were trying to tell her to control herself. Most of the time she was indeed in control, and only rarely would she give in. Very rarely. Well, actually, not so very rarely. In fact, as time went by, she found herself doing it more frequently.
It didn't help that Bridget was dating such a healthy, young man. Jason was a very good looking boy, and a very good boy. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson couldn't be happier. They had been reassured by Bridget that she and Jason were behaving appropriately.
If anything, Mrs. Johnson knew that she had been the one to misbehave, which made her feel all the more guilty. She had been gardening, braless, which she often did, as their back yard was really quite private and it felt so much more comfortable under the hot, muggy sun. But, much to her dismay, her t-shirt had eventually ripped, resulting in a most embarrassing "wardrobe accident" (see "Jason and the Johnsons). Jason surely hadn't seen much, but she was certain that he had seen at least something, and that was quite mortifying. She knew she should talk to him about it, at least to
apologize.
But, it took a few weeks to get up her courage. This would not be an easy thing to do, and so she put it off. Frankly, a part of her had hoped that it could just slip into the background but, it didn't, at least for her. Every time Jason came over she felt a bit uncomfortable, at times even averting her eyes, wondering what he must be thinking. Wondering if he was imagining her naked breast popping out of her blouse. She even began to have dreams of being with Jason, when suddenly her blouse fell open, her breasts becoming exposed. Sometimes it happened at such bizarre moments: when greeting him at the door, when bringing them cookies, when serving dinner. Finally, during another Saturday afternoon visit, Mrs. Johnson sent Bridget on an errand just prior to his scheduled arrival so that she could have some time alone with Jason, to talk with him about the "incident," privately. Her husband was again golfing and would not be home for quite some time. She was not about to tell her husband of her embarrassment, and she hoped as well that Jason had respected her modesty by not telling Bridget.
Jason met with her in the study. She had met Jason once before within her bedroom, and had frankly enjoyed the titillating implications of the setting. But, with the incident in the garden, a bedroom meeting would now be quite inappropriate. She patted a spot on the couch for him to join her. She purposely dressed conservatively in a white blouse and business skirt.
