WARNING:
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!
This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.
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This is the sixth in my â(insert holiday name) Birthdayâ series. The first five are âValentine Birthdayâ, âEaster Birthdayâ, âDouble Birthdayâ, â4th of July Birthdayâ and âBetty Boop Birthday.â In this episode, Mr. Marcus comes to the aid of Breeâs mother, in more ways than one. Of course, Bree is not to be denied.
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âDaddy, Breann just called. Her mom needs help lifting some heavy stuff. Can you go over there?â
âGee, Pumpkin, I wish you wouldnât volunteer me for stuff like that. You know how fragile my back is.â
âNow, dear, Mrs. McCarthy has done lots of good things for our family. Itâs time we paid her back. Go on, get over there. I insist.â
I was less worried about Breannâs mother than Breann. I didnât want to get seduced again. I still felt bad about our first incident, despite how good it felt while we were doing it.
I walked over and rang the bell. Mrs. McCarthy came to the door.
âYes, oh, Mr. Marcus, what can I do for you? Please excuse me, Iâm not really dressed for visitors.â
She smoothed her cotton print nightgown against her body, accentuating the fact that she wasnât wearing a bra under it.
âCall me Harvey.â
âJuliet.â
âI was told you needed something heavy lifted. Isnât that right? Because if my daughter was playing a trick on me -â
âOh no, I do have something I need moved, but Breann was supposed to help me. Now sheâs disappeared. Weâve collected a large box full of things to go to the street for Spring Clean-Up Day next week.â
âThanks for reminding me. We have some things to get rid of, too.â
âThe problem is, the box is in the crawl space. Weâve been adding things to it all year, and now itâs too heavy to move.â
âIâll be glad to take a look at it. Just show me where it is.â
Juliet walked down the stairs and I followed. The light coming from the basement showed through her nightgown. Her body was in terrific shape. She approached the crawlspace, only two feet high.
âGee, I donât think I can go in there on my hands and knees. Maybe if I lay down and scoot backwards, I can pull the carton over here and you can unload it.â
âOh that would be great. You know, this is a hell of a way to spend a birthday.â
Birthday?
âHappy birthday. Iâll be the gentleman and avoid the age question,â I said.
âThanks. I never realized how lonesome a birthday can be,â she said.
There was no reason for this attractive woman to be alone on her birthday. Maybe there was something I could do to cheer her up, besides moving her husbandâs stuff out of her crawl space. I stood backwards on the first step of a kitchen ladder and went in, Juliet trying to assist, getting her hands under my legs and torso. Whether she knew it or not, I was getting felt up. I slid on my back towards the carton. With both hands on the box, I tried to move it closer to the edge.
âBoy, this sure is heavy. Whatâs in it?â
âAll of my husbandâs old stuff. Whatever he left behind is going out into the trash. Unless you want some of it.â
I had forgotten, or maybe never knew in the first place, that Mr. McCarthy had run off, leaving his wife and daughter behind.
âIf he left something he wanted, itâs his tough luck. The shithead,â said Mrs. McCarthy.
I couldnât understand how he could leave an attractive woman like that. It didnât make sense. I got the box within a couple of feet of the door to the crawlspace. I came out feet first. Juliet grabbed me before I fell to the floor.
âThank you, Harvey. Oh, look, youâre filthy. The back of your shirt and pants are gross. Why donât you take them off and Iâll wash them? I canât have you going home looking like this.â
âRight here?â
âNo, silly, thereâs a bathroom right over there. Just hand them out to me.â
I did as Juliet asked. Handing her my clothes, standing behind the bathroom door in my underwear, was quite exciting. After all, Juliet was wearing less.
âAre there enough magazines in there for you to read?â
I looked through the large wicker hamper they used for bathroom reading material instead of dirty clothes. Most of them were womenâs or teenage girl magazines. I guess Juliet missed some of her husbandâs reading material. There were copies of Penthouse, Juggs, Leggs - quite a sampling of erotic publications. I leafed through them, sitting on the closed toilet. The erotic images and words were interrupted by hollers of pain.
âOh, God. Oh.â
âWhatâs wrong?â I asked from behind the door.
âI think I cut myself,â said Juliet.
I wrapped the only thing available, a red towel, around my waist. It barely fit. A bulge from my recently acquired erection was visible, but I needed to see if Juliet needed my help. I came out to see Juliet, standing next to the crawlspace door, bloodstains on her nighty and the floor.
âWhat happened?â
âI started to unload the carton. I was looking at one of Frankâs erotic sculptures and I dropped it. When I knelt down to pick up the pieces, I must cut myself on some of them.â
Sure enough, there were various female body parts - head, arms, breasts, and legs - lying on the floor.
âLet me take care of those for you.â
âOur master bathroom has all of the medicine.â
Juliet walked up the stairs slowly. I followed.
âHere, sit up on the counter and let me see the damage. Iâve taken a first aid course.â
Juliet pulled her nightgown up her legs until it was barely above her knees. Her thighs were close together, protecting her modesty.
âHmm, looks like there might be something still in the skin. We should wash those out. Get into the tub.â
Juliet did as I asked, removing her slippers first. I aimed the shower nozzle down as far as it could go.
âItâll be a little cold, but warm water will make the bleeding worse.â
After running the water and testing the temperature, I lifted the plunger that brought the water up to the spray. Juliet had the nightgown lifted to her thighs. She was just standing a little too close. The water soaked the front of her nightgown just below her breasts
âPut your knees into the stream, one at a time. Maybe we can rinse out whatever is still there.
While Juliet turned, to wash each knee, I examined the wet cloth that had plastered her nightgown against her belly and crotch. Her stomach was flat, and the area between her legs was an inviting bulge.
âOkay, thatâs good. Now step out and Iâll dry you off. Do you have a towel you donât mind getting bloody?â
âWhy donât we use the one youâre wearing? The blood stains wonât show up on a red towel.â
I removed the towel, somewhat embarrassed at my half erection, from the magazines and Julietâs wet nightgown.
âTake a seat on the counter. Where are your medicines?â
âIn the closet behind you.â
I took a couple of bottles and some cotton from their shelves.
âThe cuts are clean. I donât see anything in them.â
I applied the hydrogen peroxide.
âThis will clean them out. We donât want them getting infected.â