Wendy ch.10: The Wedding
Wendy drove the first five miles before making an excuse about being sore from the day before. She pulled off the road just outside the city limits. I opened my door, preparing to go around to the driver’s side when she spoke.
“I’ll slide over,” she said, motioning for us to changes places by me passing under her. It would have been faster if she let me go around the car. First, she slid her copious butt to the center section of the seat, then rolled onto me, meeting me face to face.
“Hello,” I greeted her tits, which were pressed against my chest. She lingered there, enjoying our closeness until I placed my hands on her hips and lifted my pelvis to meet her mid section.
“Move over,” she ordered, poking me in the ribs
I was settled behind the wheel and had guided her Oldsmobile back onto the road before she got completely settled in the passenger’s seat.
“What’s wrong,” I asked, “wasn’t my couch comfortable, how come you’re sore?’
She glared at me, blushing. “It wasn’t your couch that made me sore, it was your cock pounding my pussy,” she said, mocking anger, half-smile on her face..
After having Thanksgiving dinner with Marcie and Tad, I had suggested to Wendy that we drop by my house.
Reminding her of the comment, ‘now that we’re fucking,’ which had become her standard answer for every occasion, “I’m going to bend you over the couch,” I had said.
“Hummm, sounds like fun, did you do that with Mrs. P?”
Actually, I hadn’t. Mrs. P had never been to the cottage. But knowing that Wendy would not experiment without hearing the details from a past experience, I said yes, thinking of Ellen, my first sex pardoner, who had bent her frame over the back of the couch and said, “come and get it.”
We entered the cottage by the back door. I let Wendy go first, down the hall with the kitchen on the left and the bathroom on the right. She stuck her head in both rooms, sniffed, and briefly looked around. Next was the dining table on the left and the back of the couch on the right. She stopped and turned to me.
“This must be the famous couch where you bring women to bang their backside into submission.” It was a statement, not a question. She inspected the couch with disdain, as if I had brought her to the slums and she was only indulging me because the experience would be something to tell her grandchildren.
She mentally took measurements, judging how her body would fit. Taller than the others with whom I had exchanged pleasantries while driving my cock into them, Wendy had a quizzical look on her face as if to say, ‘is this going to work?”
“Mrs. P is short, isn’t she?”
“She’s not as tall as you, neither was Brenda,” I admitted, immediately wishing I had not mentioned Brenda.
“Who’s Brenda?”
“Just someone who came to the wedding,” I tried to sound casual, thinking, ‘just someone that made Mrs. P. never speak to me again.’
“Tell me about her.”
“Sometime I will,” I promised, wanting to get on with the task at hand, convincing Wendy that the couch would be a good fit, even for a woman of her stature.
She had briefly looked around at the rest of the room but we hadn’t gotten further than the back of the couch, where she stood with her hips resting there, almost sitting.
“How did it happen, with Mrs. P, I mean?” Wendy’s voice had taken on the high-pitched sexy level that I had gotten to know as her ‘pouty’ tone. Her eyebrows were raised in that same quizzical look she used when asking a client how he planned to pay, a check or cash.
Knowing that she would need the details in order to know what was expected, I decided to give her a vivid description that would make her want to re-enact what I would describe. So that she would not be able to see my eyes as I spoke, I pressed my body to her and whispered into her ear.
“Well, she came here one lunch time to give me the news that her children were away and we could be together that night.” This had never taken place with Mrs. P. She would never have come to see me on such a mission. She would have telephoned, after the shop was closed. It had been Brenda who had come to the shop, been told that I was on lunch break, and ventured into the cottage to see me. Now I was skipping over Ellen and substituting Brenda for Mrs. P. “She went to the shop and Priscilla told her I was here. She came through the back door, calling my name. I was surprised to see her. We met right here. I took her into my arms and kissed her.”
I brought my lips to Wendy’s mouth. She seemed to be getting into the role, moaning into my mouth. Her legs were open just enough for my cock to nudge her pelvic region.
“What was she wearing?” Wendy, always the perfectionist, needed the details.
‘Shit,’ I thought to myself. It had been mid-August. Brenda was dressed in shorts and a cotton shirt. I had unbuttoned the shirt and found the clasp holding her bra in place. Though it had been over two years before, I could still feel her smooth skin as I rolled her tits in my hands.
Wendy was wearing a silk dress with a mixed pattern of flowers, nuts, and berries; it was her Thanksgiving dress.
“Something like this,” I whispered into her ear while unbuttoning the four buttons at the back of the dress. We had not taken Brenda’s shirt off, it had not been necessary. I had found the catch to her shorts and dropped them to her ankles. She had stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. All that remained were her panties.
I could tell that Wendy’s lawyer mind was churning. Something was not right. Did Mrs. P really wear dresses with high collars and buttons in the back?
I lifted the dress and Wendy raised her arms to permit its removal. She was wearing a slip. Of course, it was November.
“When did this take place?”
“What difference does that make?”
Even in her state of arousal, Wendy had worked it out. She remembered that my affair with Mrs. P had come to an end shortly after Marcie’s wedding, in August.
“It makes a difference. Mrs. P would not have come here when Marcie was here. The only time it could have been would have been August, after the wedding. She would hardly be wearing a slip, would she?”
I had been caught in a lie. Embarrassed, I didn’t resist when she pushed me away.
But she didn’t reach for her dress; perhaps I still had a chance to salvage something from my muffed attempt to bend her over the back of the couch. After all, as she so often commented, ‘now that we’re fucking.’
“It wasn’t Mrs. P, she never came here, it was Ellen I was describing,” I said, thinking, ‘Ellen was here in December, close enough to November, even for Miss Wendy Perfection.’
“Why didn’t you say so?” Wendy said in her perky voice as if to say, ‘we can work with that.’
I shrugged, wondering myself why I had tried to substitute Mrs. P, then used the time with Brenda for the description.
“What was she wearing?”
Wendy watched me closely as I thought what I was going to tell her. Ellen had worn a bathrobe, usually over a nightgown but on the night we did it on the back of the couch, she had been naked under the robe.
“She wore a robe,” I answered truthfully.
Wendy, dressed in bra, panties, stockings, garter belt, high heel shoes, and a slip, stared at me, appraising my answer.
“Got one?”
I bit my lip, contemplatively. Marcie had given me a robe when I was a sophomore in high school. I tried to remember if I still had it, having worn it exactly twice.
“This will work,” Wendy said enthusiastically when I produced the robe.
She must have taken thirty minutes in the bathroom. I took off my clothes, except for my boxers and socks, noticing how chilly the room had become. Naturally, I had a condom tucked in each sock, staying true to the script. Ellen had insisted we use them.
The first thing I noticed were her bare feet. The rob, a men’s small, must have shrunk while it hung in my closet the four years. The sleeves were short and it was too small at the shoulders. There was a three-inch gap down the front, showing bare skin from her tits down to her bush. Only at the middle, where the belt hugged her stomach, did the two parts meet. Timidly, she approached me. I was overcome with her courage. No wonder it had taken so long for her to get ready.
We hugged and I kissed her. My hands roamed her body, rubbing her back through the robe to generate some heat. I felt her hands on my bare back, exploring, clear down to the crack of my ass, then back up.
The robe separated easily and I felt her nipples against my chest. Still locked in a deep kiss, I cupped her tits, rolling the nipples. I threaded one hand inside the robe and felt her bare back, tracing the vertebrae down to her ass as she had done to me.
“How does this work?” she asked in a childish voice, making me wonder if she was really ready or merely going through with it to support her claim, ‘now that we are fucking.’
She wanted description, a script to follow. It had been so simple with Ellen. She had been in charge, bending over the couch and saying, ‘come and get it.’
Wendy was more refined than Ellen, she would be offended if I told her how Ellen had put it. I moved my lips to one of her nipples and at the same time, reached down and flattened my hand over her bush. Her arms tightened on my back as her legs opened to my touch, a slight moan escaping her lips. I slipped a finger between the lips of her pussy and to my surprise, she flooded my hand.
Knowing Wendy’s affinity for realism, I gave her the straight story.
