Wendy

Chapter 4: Mrs. P

Walter, our van driver and general handyman looked puzzled when I said I would ride along to the flower wholesaler. Priscilla had not arrived so I left her a note to explain that we would be back soon.

I told Walter that I had not had time to prepare a list of what we needed. I had not slept well and had trouble concentrating.

"You don't look so good Kid," Walter said. "What happened?"

I did not want to talk about my misfortune of getting slung from the bosom of a female. "I got beat up for telling the truth," I said jokingly.

By the time we got back to the shop Wendy had called twice to check on my condition. Priscilla was dumbfounded by Wendy's line of questioning. She eyed me with suspicion; I could tell the questions had made her curious.

I went into the house to call Wendy; wanting to forestall further conversations about me. "I'm fine," I said. "Now stop talking to Pris. about it."

"Cotton, I'm so relieved. I feel badly about what happened. What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Humm..." I answered. "I'll think of something."

"You're Frisky," She giggled. "Did Ellen really say that? The timing seems so, well, inappropriate."

"About being prepared?" I had a feeling that was what she was referring to.

"Yes," she said, in the raspy high pitched voice that drove me crazy.

"I know what you mean about timing. It took me by surprise. I was shocked to hear her bringing it up at this point. We had spent the afternoon going over the steps in detail and the subject of protection had not come up. I was pissed!"

There were sounds coming from the other end of the line that I could not place. It could be the from the phone cord rubbing against something, I thought. Then it came to me. Wendy was making a soft noise at the base of her throat.

"Ah, Cotton?" She said hesitantly. "Were you pissed last night?"

"What do you think?" I joked. I considered telling her about the date I had missed with Sandy. I wondered what I had really missed.

"Did you stay pissed at Ellen?"

"Oh my No! She was just stalling. That's what she told me later. She handed me a condom and told me to put it on. She was stalling because she needed some time to recover. That's all. The being prepared part was just her fulfilling her role as teacher. I bought condoms the next day. Ellen told me about a guy she knew who carried one in his sock so that is what I've always done."

"Which sock?" She said with enough rasp to make her sound sexy.

"Why don't you try to find out some time?"

"Are you really okay, Cotton?"

"Sure," I said. "That's not the first time I've taken a knock on the head while trying to get laid."

"Oh?"

I should have kept my mouth shut. I knew what was coming.

"Tell me," she said.

It was Saturday morning, our busiest day of the week. I was needed to help take phone orders and to answer questions to customers. Walter and Pris would be swamped and mistakes would be made. Chaos would rein!

I extended the telephone cord out as far as it would reach; stretched out on the couch and considered how to begin. I would have to be careful. Mrs. P was well known in the town. She may have even been a client at the law firm where Wendy worked. I had always referred to her as Mrs. P but even that could be dangerous. Recklessly, I began.

Mrs. P called one night and wanted our display picked up. Marcie spoke to her at length. She first suggested that Walter could go first thing in the morning. There was chatter from the other end. Then Marcie said we could get by without it until the weekend. More chatter. Marcie yielded, saying she would send me.

"I'm sorry, Cotton, you'll have to go. She doesn't want us coming tomorrow for some reason. It's just the display, Walter picked up everything else this afternoon. She wouldn't let him bring the display because she wanted her kids to see it when they got home from school. Now she wants it out of her house." Marcie was holding back but I knew by her tone that she did not like kowtowing to this women.

It was the 11th of April. I later recorded it in my journal because it was the first time Marcie had called me by the nick name Ellen had given me and it was the first time I was permitted to drive the van alone. These events were minor compared to the real reason the journal entry was made.

"Cotton," Marcie called to me as I was leaving, "be polite but don't let her give you any Shit!" That would also go in the journal, I thought.

Mrs. P had held a women's gathering at her home that day and we had handled the floral arrangement. We had delivered the various pedestals, vases and baskets early that morning. There were enough pieces to fill the entire down stairs, including a giant center piece for the dining room table.

Once everything was inside Marcie sent Walter back to the shop and me to school. She would remain to set everything up and arrange the flowers.

I was glad to be excused because there had been some discussion between Mrs. P and Marcie concerning the placement of the items we had brought. I overheard Mrs. P complain that one of the baskets we had brought did not match the others. As I went out the door I heard Marcie say that basket was slated to go in front of the fire place.

"The display is to go there." Mrs. P said with a tone of finality. I nearly went back to remove the odd basket but thought better of it.

The 'display' was one of a kind. Marcie had designed it and a blacksmith had fabricated it for her. It was made of wrought iron and had been painted white. It stood over four feet high and barely fit in the van. A large number of cut flowers could be placed in the slots in the circular top and the spokes that extended from the center. It was in demand. We got wedding jobs because we were the only company with such a lavish piece. It only weighed about forty pounds but was awkward to handle.

It was a short distance to Mrs. P's home. I backed into the drive and opened the van's back door. The house was dark except for a light at the back of the house. We had entered through the front door that morning but I headed toward the light. Just as I approached the back door the light went out. I recognized Mrs.P. She motioned me in silently. It was a short wave of the hand; a commanding beckon

I followed her along a porch which spanned the back of the house. We entered the kitchen which was also dark except for a lighted clock on the stove. I noted it was 9:36 p. m. She made a sharp turn and headed down a hallway. I recognized the passage and knew where we were heading but would not been able to navigate through the maze on my own.

A street lamp in front of the house gave off just enough light for me to make out the shape of the display in front of the fireplace.

"My children are asleep upstairs so you must do this quietly," she whispered.

I shrugged, wondering if she wanted me to take off my shoes or something. When I bent to get a good hold on the display I heard a hiss.

"Don't take it without removing the flowers, those are long stemmed roses."

I knew what they were, Marcie had inserted three dozen yellow roses in the slots. They peaked out around a bow made of wide yellow ribbon. Naturally Mrs. P. wanted to save the roses.

She disappeared for a minute then re-emerged, bringing with her a basket to hold the roses. I untied the bow and proceeded to remove the prized flowers.

Mrs. P walked backwards in order to guide me down the hall towards the kitchen. She warned me at the most, three times to be careful. As we navigated the turn at the kitchen, I saw the time on the stove clock. It was 11 minutes to ten. I wanted to ask why even one light hadn't been turned on.

I repeated the phrase, 'The customer is always right!' silently to myself.

We moved along the porch. I was breathing easier as the path was wider and the door was only a few feet away. Mrs. P stopped in her tracks causing me to bump into her. It was pitch black and I had not anticipated the stop.

"Cotton? That is your name isn't it?" she whispered as she turned towards me. Her hairline seemed to be about even with my chin. I could just make out the whites of her eyes.

I realized she could not see my nod, "yes, it's my nickname."

"Cotton, would you do something for me?"

I bent down so the display would not make any noise when it met the floor, "Sure."

"I need a roast from the freezer and I can't reach it, would you?"

We had just passed the freezer. I had not noticed it on the way by. I followed her until we banged in to a large box with a lid that she lifted.

"It's there on the left," she said, holding the lid open and pointing inside. I moved around her and leaned into the cold steam that was rising through the dark opening. If there was something down there I would have to find it by feel. Why doesn't she turn on the lights, I thought.

I leaned over the side and reached out as far as I could. Other than cold air I felt nothing.

"It's farther down," I heard her whisper.

I reached out with my right hand and felt a package.

"That's not it. You need to go lower, more to the left."

My feet left the floor and my weight shifted until my hand touched the bottom. I thought my hand would attach itself to the cold steel. I supported my weight with one hand while I felt around with the other. Something moved and made a rolling sound.

"That's it," she said. I wondered how she knew. Did she have an ear for the roll? Had she practiced rolling her roast around the bottom of the freezer so she could recognize its roll? I also wondered how I would be able to get the frozen roast and myself out of the dark cavern.

I grabbed the bundle with one hand and pushed with the other. With a swinging motion I moved my legs in a propelling motion with the hopes that my feet could reach the floor.

Just as my shoulders approached the surface where warm air meets cold Mrs. P dropped the lid. It glanced off of the back of my head and I felt it hit my rump which must have been at the highest above the side of the case. It made a thud as it bounced, coming to rest on my bottom. I had lost the roast and was suspended, arms waving; trapped by the weight of the lid.

Mrs. P became a bundle of terror. From the depths of the freezer I could hear her. She stammered, wheezed, coughed and made choking sounds. I remained trapped by the heavy lid.

"Don't bother with the roast," she coached as she freed me by raising the lid.

I was determined to bring up the prize. I felt around for football sized package. I felt the frost soaked paper wrap that held the roast. Like a quarterback, I grabbed the ball in both hands and tucked it under my left arm. With an exaggerated move, I flipped myself over the side and fumbled the ball. The package sprayed from my grasp and hit the floor rolling. The lid slammed down, echoing the sound the dropped package had made. Unruffled by the noises we had made, Mrs. P grasp me with both hands and pulled me to her.

Her body was pinned between me and the freezer, arms wrapped around me tightly with my nose in her hair. My legs felt wobbly and feared that I would collapse. I placed my hands on each side of her and clutched the top of the box to brace myself against sliding down. Our bodies were pressed together, and I felt her warm thighs touch mine. She made halted gasping sounds and her body shook.

Mrs. P placed her hands on mine, pressing them down slowly without any effort at all. She propelled herself upward, and our bodies never lost contact as she did so. Sitting perched at the edge of the lid, her bare legs were folded at the knee and her feet pressed to the side of the case. Her thighs supported my arms as her her hands found the back of my head. Gingerly, Mrs. P patted it as if checking for blood, or a raised spot, she found neither. Sobs were beginning to escape from her lips.

My face was pressed to her bosom with her chin resting on my head. She cradled it in her arms.

We moved in a gentle rocking motion for what seemed like minutes.

I brazenly took advantage of her concern by accenting the movement with an open mouth, trying to make contact with her right breast. I moved my lips over the part that was peeking out above the open neck of her dress and I was almost certain that my chest was rubbing against her panties as we rocked. Her hands moved on my back and clutched my shoulder blades tightly. Her butt seemed to move even closer and I could smell her musky scent of arousal. Mrs. P suddenly clamped her legs together against my rib cage.

She lifted her chin from my head and placed her hands on my shoulders. I held my breath, certain it was ending. A sudden jerk on my jacket made me drop my arms and the jacket dropped to the floor. I tilted my head but could not see a thing, nothing! Then I felt her lips on mine. Her mouth was open and the kiss was as equally crushing as was our embrace.

The position I was in was uncomfortable. I found myself having to stand on my tiptoes in an effort to even our height. The women must have sensed my discomfort and took corrective action. She leaned to her right and I followed. Our mouths were joined together on the same level but we could not hold that position for long.

Leaning farther to the right, she took me with her. I placed my right knee and my left hand on the box and boosted myself to a position above her. We only lost contact for a second. I placed my left hand under the back of her head as we slid backward onto the flat surface. My right leg found its way to between hers, while my knee was making rhythmic contact with her pussy.

Our tongues frolicked in unison, her arms moved over my back and my right hand replaced my knee between her thighs. Her mouth became unlatched from mine when my finger made contact with her panties but only for a second. The panties were soaked, and her lips bounced back with renewed pressure as one of my fingers stretched the leg-band wide and inserted it into her. Mrs. P arched as I moved my finger in and out.

I moved my hand to the waistband and tugged. Her butt lifted up from the box and I pulled at the waist band with only one hand, but it was no use.

She broke our kiss and pushed me to the side. With another butt lift her hands moved the panties down and her left leg came up to free itself, leaving them to dangle around her right ankle. I used the few precious seconds that I had to unbutton my jeans and push them down.

Mrs P pulled me to her. There was no need for conversation. She was the trainer and I was her pet elephant. The women tapped my left thigh until I was on my knees between her legs. As I pushed my shorts down I felt her hands there too, helping me!

Her small hand found my cock and squeezed it gently. She tugged and I moved forward too fast, stabbing at the wrong spot. "No," she said with impatience, "Higher." She guided me to her pussy entrance and rubbed the head up and down against it. I let her have her way with me and hoped that I would not waste the seed that was boiling within me. I pushed into her moist pussy but stalled like a revving engine in neutral with a slipping clutch.

Grunting, Mrs. P bucked causing her legs to fold at her waist and her butt to rise up off the surface. Like an automatic transmission that shifts from first to second, we were fully joined. Soon we were in the highest gear and it was ecstasy.

She squirmed under me. I feared that she would move us too near the edge. Her arms were no longer around me. Mrs. P's hands were firmly planted on each side of the enamel box with her legs drawn up to her side. This combination allowed her to buck and push back hard with my every lunge.

I tried to kiss her but I was unable to catch her head which was turning from side to side to my lunge cadence. I stopped abruptly.

Her head stopped moving, and she dug her heels into my hips as if to give me a kick start. I tried to kiss her but she still resisted.

"Fuck me!" she hissed. "Hard!"

That was all I needed to hear; it was an acknowledgment that we were actually doing what I thought we were doing. I banged away with renewed energy. I felt her cunt walls tighten around my cock. Her legs were now locked around my waist; she was letting me do the work. Her fists hammered my back. Her slender body was awash with sweat. We were both panting and I knew I could not keep that pace for long.

I slowed down a little. Mrs. P's hands moved to my head and drew it down. She whispered in my ear. "Just a little more," she coaxed, and I felt her pussy walls grip my cock then loosen, grip and loosen again.

"I'm so close, please! Give me one more," she moaned.

That's what I needed to hear, I slammed into her and she folded her legs back again to give me a straighter shot. I placed my hands under her ass to hold her in that position an inch above the surface.

"Like that!" her voice was a faint whimper, "Yes, like that, please, oh please, I'm.. that's it! Yesssss."

I believe we said 'Yesssss,' in unison. My balls rocked from the blast followed by another blast.

I collapsed, her legs straightened and I no longer felt her hands on my head. We were both out of breath and neither of us could speak. The afterglow was exhilarating. My prick lay on the enamel surface of the freezer.

"Get up, get off of me," she said, tapping my side. Like a trained animal, I responded.

I slid off the freezer and touched the floor. Mrs. P was stirring behind me, and when I turned to help her down, I and realized that my jeans were around my ankles.

"Get dressed and go home," she ordered as she pushed my extended hand away and hopped to the floor.

My jacket was at my feet. I picked it up and found the display, then inched toward the back door. The telephone began to ring.

"What's this about you needing an aspirin?" Marcie asked as I came in. She stood at the far end of the house at her bedroom door, dressed only in a long night gown. Her hair was in rollers and there was white cream on her face. Marcie did not move my way, for which I was glad.

"Huh?" I was in a daze. 'What was she saying?' I thought to myself.

"Did you bump your head? How did that happen?" She stood there, waiting for my answer.

"I was getting a piece of meat," I answered.

Marcie gave me one of her 'I-am-so-angry-at-you' looks as she slammed her bedroom door.

Thinking of what I had just said struck me as funny. Then looking down I burst into laughter upon seeing that I had put my jacket on inside out.

"Did you leave something out?" Wendy brought me out of my meditative state. This was the first time she had interrupted the account; I had forgotten that she was in my audience.

"Leave something out?" I needed clarification.

"Like protection?"

"You're good! You'll make a good trial lawyer," I said.

"Well?"

I didn't have one. I had thrown on a jacket and grabbed the keys to the van. The need for having a condom in my sock had not entered my mind.

"I guess you could say I was unprepared," I answered.

Mrs. P came on Saturday morning to settle her account. There was a discussion about the invoice and she wanted something taken off because one of the baskets did not match the others. Marcie argued that it had been worked out satisfactorily. 'Had her affair not been a success?' Five percent was mentioned. One percent was offered. They settled on a three percent reduction of the bill and a single white carnation which Mrs. P pressed against her breast like a trophy.

Marcie frowned at me as if to say 'shue! Why are you hanging around?'

Mrs. P stepped toward me and inquired about my head wound, noticing the bump on my head now. Her concern was genuine although her voice was more dramatic than I thought necessary. Her patter continued on through the door and I followed because it seemed expected and also because I wanted to. As the door closed behind us she turned to peer back at me. There was an almost pleading expression on her lips.