The first time I fucked Wendy, I knew she was a cock slut. Away on a weekend with a large group of friends which did not include her present partner, she had, unbeknown to me, already screwed one of our mutual friends. I had split up with my girlfriend through pressure of work. This was my first break in several months, and almost my first sex in as long. Does ex-sex count?
When Wendy, after a couple of hours of drinking and chatting, asked if I would still respect her in the morning if she slept with me that night, I was gobsmacked. I had never thought I would hear a woman speak those words. Did she think I was going to say no? This was a fine looking woman, with a smile that lit a moonless night. The body didn't quite match up to the smile, but for a 40 year old with two grown children; she was in good nick. Shoulder length blonde hair, highlighted from a bottle, bobbed around an oval shaped face, nice brown eyes, and those luscious lips and shiny white teeth. Her cheek bones were high, reminding me of sexy Scandinavian women. At times, with a few touches of make-up and at the right angle, she was truly a stunning beauty.
At 5'4" tall, she was about the right height for my 5'10" frame. In English dress size she was a 12 with a very nice length of leg and wonderful calves. A pair of 4" heels gave her added height, and tightened all the right muscles. Her breasts were fairly small, with a softness and a slight droop that made them a pleasure to toy with. Nipples that were large and brown, and high set meant her breasts actually looked rather pert. As quite a lot of bum and tit flashing went on in our, often drunken group, Wendy had cottoned on to the fact that when flashing, she would keep her arms raised, thus making her tits look larger and more pert than they were. She did have very suckable nipples. Her stomach was reasonably flat, small love handles on her hips and her bum was on the larger size, which seems standard with English women.
My previous girlfriend had been an athlete of a high standard, with a killer tight body, abs to die for, and a set of breasts so firm and high that a surgeon could have used them as a mould. Indeed she once modelled for a sculptor who carved her shape in stone. I swear the guy was trying to get in her pants, but Miss Innocent was above any nonsense. The statue did look fantastic in the photos I saw. All before my time, so I wasn't too bothered.
Perhaps I was too hard on Wendy. Comparisons were never going to do her any favours when matched against a girl 10 years her junior, no kids, and a training regime that would have killed most people.
What Wendy had in trumps was a heart of gold, a bubbly, friendly nature, and a caring personality. She was warm and kind, in thought and deed. I really, really liked her. Did I mention that she was to turn out as being as horny as hell; and open to the adventures that the next several years would bring us both.
That first night. Those strange words. I switched from pints of beer to Vodka and orange. Beer bloats, Vodka makes me horny, and OJ, well it has Vitamin C. Must be good for something. An hour later, as closing time approached, we made an unobtrusive exit and escaped to my room without our friends noticing us leaving together. Our group was a tight knit one, but some discretion is always appreciated.
As the door closed behind us, we fell into each others' arms, tongues intertwining madly, as we mashed our mouths together. Wendy had on a loose blouse and jeans, me a T-shirt and chinos. Fingers were working frantically at buttons and zips, and clasps.
We found ourselves kneeling on the bed, Wendy in everyday knickers and bra, me in boxers and a pair of chinos caught somewhere between knees and ankles. Wendy was pushed back onto the pillows, her bra slipping over her outstretched arms, my lips descending onto her nipples; nipples that grew larger and harder as I suckled. I alternated between her mouth and her nipples. Then I started kissing down her sides, over her stomach. My fingers dipped into the side of her panties to brush her sparse and downy pubic hair. No trimming here I thought, no sexy Brazilian of the past. As my fingers brushed across Wendy's pussy lips, they opened and a flood of juice escaped. Wendy was soaking wet. Leagues beyond the moistness I had expected.
Rapidly I pulled her cotton briefs off her. It is amazing how quickly this can be achieved when lust is rampant. Holding an ankle in each hand, I spread her legs wide and gazed at her dripping cunt. It was a mess. Stray pubic hairs were stuck with pussy juice, her lips were red and swollen nicely. They shone in the dimmed lights of the room. The entrance to her pussy was open too, looking like a small black hole in space. I pushed her legs back slightly. Her tightly puckered arsehole looked very trim and tidy.
I may have mentioned how sexy her pussy looked, and how wet. Wendy possibly replied that she had been horny for several hours having decided earlier that she was going to fuck me tonight. Mentioning that I was going to tongue her for hours seemed a normal comment for me. Wendy seemed surprised. It later transpired that most of Wendy's conquests had been fairly drunken escapades involving little foreplay, an energetic fuck, and little post-copulation cuddling. Her three long term relationships had typically lapsed into a rut of a Saturday night romp after a night out drinking, or tired sex after the kids had been put to bed. Little passion, little mystery and no imagination. No wonder this woman was ready for adventure.
I loved devouring her pussy. I explored every nook and cranny, I dipped my tongue inside her as far as I could, I sucked, bit, nibbled, hummed over, lapped and blew on her clit. I slathered my tongue over her anus too, much to her surprise. I smiled as I felt her jump a little. I would save that treat for later I thought. It took her quite a while to come that first tongueing, but she went over the top like a First World War soldier. Gasping and yelling, her breath short and rapid. I kept her peaking with two fingers pulsing against her G spot. Wendy did not squirt but the wetness flowed from her like warm honey from a tipped-over jar. She soaked my fingers, my knuckles; she coated my lips, mouth and chin, and there was enough left over for me to swallow a couple of times. It was fantastic.
The glazed look on her face made me feel like a million dollars. Her eyes were huge, her breathing rapid, her tongue ran over dry lips, and she garbled in some unintelligible language. I recognised the word God, several times. I guess it may have been Latin then.
