Wendy Ch 11 Brenda
“See if the have a room number 9,” Wendy said with a wink when I got out of the car at a promising looking motel. It was still early in the day, no problem.
We had time to tour the greenhouses before lunch. The Bresdons were congenial hosts, serving a simple but nourishing fare, sparing us from left over turkey and pumpkin pie. They were in their thirties, just getting their start in the nursery business and anxious please.
After lunch, Wendy presented a freshly printed contract for our review. Not having had the opportunity to see it, I was furious. Glaring at her, I attempted to convey my discontent with her presumption that what she had prepared would be acceptable, to the Bresdons, to me.
To my surprise, the agreement was simple and straight forward with plenty of latitude for changes as the seasons changed. She had incorporated my suggestions and, unbeknownst to me, had spoken with the Bresdons to get their input. We selected the suitable plants for our area, plugged in tentative quantities and worked out a flexible delivery schedule. Within two hours the contract was ready to sign. Wendy distributed copies to each of us, placing mine and her copy in the expensive briefcase she always carried.
We had finished early and had several hours of daylight to explore the area. The
Bresdons wanted us to come back to have dinner with them but we made some excuse, not revealing that we had reserved a room at a local motel. We spent the rest of the day
touring the area. This was only the second time Wendy and I had been together, outside of her apartment. Thanksgiving with Marcie didn’t really count.
“Can you pick up some things for me at the drug store? I forgot to bring shampoo.” Wendy said as soon as we got to the room.
“I brought some,” I said, not wanting to leave her.
“I need some other things, here’s a list,” she said, handing me a folded piece of paper.
“Okay, I’ll walk, it’s just up the street,” I agreed, thinking the walk would do me good. I had eaten more than usual a nearby restaurant.
“No, take the car, that way you won’t be gone so long,” she reasoned.
The drugstore was only three blocks away. Puzzled, I took the car keys, wondering, ‘what’s the rush?’
I saw it as soon as I open the car door and the overhead light went on. A green silk scarf, folded in half, lay on the seat.
At the drug store I took a shopping basket and unfolded the paper that she had given me. It was a short list: Shampoo! No brand name. I replaced the shopping basket and left the store.
Stepping inside the motel room I was not surprised to see her standing in front of the bed. She wore the dress that we had used to re-enact the night with Mrs. P., the one with thirteen buttons down the front. Naturally, the front of the dress was open and I could see that Wendy had nothing else on. She took the scarf from me and tossed it to the side, a flirtatious grin on her face. I must have had a foolish grin on my face, knowing what was going to take place.
I turned toward the door, tentatively, as if to leave. Wendy grabbed my hands and thrust them to her breasts and her mouth to mine. I mumbled a half hearted protest. My belt buckle opened and I felt my pants slip down my legs. She stopped me when I moved my hands on her tits; I was enjoying myself too much. I was expected to try to leave. When I lifted my hands she caught me in a bear hug, clutching me to her.
She reached for my shorts and I pushed off of her, noticing that her nipples were at full attention.
“Call me Peaches,” she said, now covering my hands with hers. We struggled, pushing back and forth. Using her weight to her advantage she held her place.
“Okay, Peaches, I don’t think we.....”
“You skipped the chess part, tell me about your king and my queen,” she prompted me to get me back on track.
“My pons,” I began, squeezing her tits, “are guarding your rooks,” squeezing again. Her look told me to play it straight.
Looking down at my cock, “my king is showing signs of defeat, see the pre-cum? It knows it’s about to be captured.” Wendy did as I suggested, looked at my cock, then smiled at me.
“Now look at your queen. You can tell by the moisture and open lips that it
anticipates the conquest. It looks eager to capture my king. Peaches, I think it’s checkmate.”
With that, she took me by the shirt collar and drug me to the bed, falling backwards. Anticipating her move, I managed to lose my pants on the way but my shorts remained attached, making me stumble and fall on top of her.
The dress did not ripe on the first try. Undaunted, Wendy stretched both sides of the dress and tried again, bring both knees up in a jerking motion. I heard the back of the dress split up the middle. I thought of the screen door at room number 9 back at White’s Court. Was that cigar smoke I smelled? I was tempted to look over my shoulder to see if the huge husband was watching us.
From a pocket on the dress she produced a condom, already out of its wrapper. She unrolled it on my stiff cock, and drew me to her.
She pushed forward, taking me, straining, bucking, consuming me. I pushed forward and felt a jab in my ribs, reminding me that she was to do the work. I let her
thrust upward to receive my cock. She encircled my butt with her legs and held me within her range.
“Call me Peaches,” she ordered and I did.
“Peaches, you’re fucking the shit out of me,” I said, feeling the sting of her fist on my rib, stunning me. Silly me, for thinking I had praised her efforts.
Peaches was working hard, evidenced by the perspiration on her brow and the sound of grunts, coming from deep in her abdomen. I held my butt above her, letting her have her way with my cock. When her legs left my ass and her arms slacked I knew that she was tiring. I let her bring me down for a long kiss, then looked over my shoulder to make sure the jealous husband had not entered the room.
My first hard thrust was met with the expulsion of air as if I had knocked the wind out of Wendy...ah..Peaches. She tried to bring her legs up to give me better access but it was no use, they were limp. She clutched me with her arms as I hammered her.
“Call me Pea....call me Pee...”
I knew what she was trying to say, “Peaches, are you getting what you wanted? Is this what you wanted?” I was working hard, hoping the rubber would stand up to the abuse I was giving it.
She ran her hands through my hair, then dropped them to the bed, exhausted.
“Peaches? are you all right?”
She looked up at me through glazed eyes, a slim smile on her lips.
I was tiring also. Slowing, I pushed hard, making every thrust count because my balls told me there would only be a few more. Somehow, Wendy...ah Peaches, held on till I made the final plunge, releasing my cream into the rubber.
“That’s something else ‘we are NEVER going to do again,’” Wendy said when we had come to our senses, tugging on my flaccid cock with each of the seven words. I had gotten up to remove the rubber, then took my place beside her on the bed. She lay there with her arms still in the sleeves of the dress. Otherwise, she was uncovered.
“What’s that?” I asked, guarding my cock between my legs so she could not get hold of it again.
“That hard fucking you gave me, I liked it better last night on you couch, you know, slower, more contact.”
“I know,” I said, kissing her. “I like it better that way too.”
“And another thing,” she said, reaching for my cock. I spread my legs and let her have it.
“NEVER call me PEACHES again,” she said, emphasizing NEVER and PEACHES,
We lay on our backs for a long time, both practically naked. She turned her head to me. “I was just thinking, I’ve had more organisms with you in the past two days than I had with that jerk I let fuck me in law school.”
“How touching,” I said sarcastically and immediately covered my cock before she could get her hands on it.
We got cleaned up and ready for bed. Wendy wore a short skimpy thing that passed for night-wear. We got beneath the covers; she wanted to talk.
“Was that what caused the break up with Mrs. P.? You and Peaches?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
I was mad at myself, pissed for letting Barbara seduce me, embarrassed because I had been afraid that her husband would catch us, catch me fucking his wife. I went home and called Mrs. P, making an excuse that I couldn’t make it to her house because I had been detained. She was disappointed but that’s all, she believed me. It would have been okay.
“But it wasn’t okay, why not?” Wendy asked, from the darkness in the room.
The next day was the wedding, followed by a reception. I picked up Mollie and her grand parents, took them to the wedding, then to the reception. The old folks wanted to leave early but Mollie put up a fuss. I pacified her by offering to dance with her. This was acceptable but when the first song was over she wanted to dance more. I agreed to one more dance and the same thing happened. I had to reason with her, comparing her to a twelve year old spoiled child.
Having gotten Mollie and her grandparents home safely, my job was done and my time was my own. I stopped at the cottage to drop off my car and to change clothes. It was only 6:30 p.m. and hours till darkness and safe passage into the arms of Mrs. P.
The phone rang. Brenda told me she had volunteered to be the house sitter while Tad and Marcie were away, her husband having left for home. This was news to me. Why would they need a house sitter at this time? It wasn’t going to be their permanent home. They were to live in Capital City most of the time; the house on Elm Street was to be their weekend home. Brenda had instructions for me:
We were to pick up Tad’s car at the airport and bring it back to the garage. Brenda sounded nervous as she described the task to me. “You can drive me in your car and I’ll drive Tad’s car home,” she paused, “or I can drive you there in Marcie’s car and you can drive Tad’s car back,” another pause, making me wonder what difference it made, “or you can drive Marcie’s car there and back, I’ll drive Tad’s car.”
I walked the few blocks to Marcie’s house, thinking I could cross the street to Mrs. P after we had picked up Tad’s car.
Brenda had changed from the light beige dress I had seen her wear at the wedding and reception to sandy colored shorts and a sleeveless white top. She sat with one leg over a sandal covered foot, the bare knee and thigh pointing in my direction. I couldn’t help notice the summer tan on her arms and legs, a shade darker than her shorts, wondering how far the tan extended. She was 30 and a mother of two; I had no business wondering about how such things.
I did, however, wonder what was behind the house sitting job. Tad had given me a tour of the house a few days before, pointing out the fuse box and various utility shut off valves. He showed me where he kept a list of telephone numbers to call in case of emergency, adding, “you’ll probably know what to do,” as he patted me on the back. He gave me a key saying, “you don’t have to stop by every day.”