She awoke, right hand between her legs, middle finger buried deep in her pussy. The wetness coupled with the sensitivity and a kind of empty feeling in her chest told her that she had orgasmed in her sleep again. A tear trickled down her cheek to join the wide stain that already lay on the bed sheets.
Brenda divorced her philandering husband three years ago. She had married him in her early thirties, but after ten years, his constant string of affairs had become too much to bear. On their tenth anniversary (which he forgot) he was out fucking yet another work colleague and didn't bother to come home. When he did, he found that she had dumped two suitcases of his clothes in the porch. He tried to get in using his key, but the door was locked and bolted from inside. After calling out to Brenda and knocking loudly, he picked up a rock from the front garden and in his frustration smashed one of the windows. Unfortunately for him, one of the neighbours in this peaceful suburb had already made a call to the police. Two officers on their way back to the station to finish their shift were no more than a quarter of a mile away when the call came through and arrived at the house just in time to see the glass shatter. He was arrested.
By the time Brenda's husband came home again -- this time sober -- she had already consulted her legal advisor and started the divorce proceedings. He didn't even attempt to get in, but picked up the suitcases and threw them in his car and drove away. He knew where he could find somewhere to stay. If he hadn't been arrested he would have gone there sooner, to be with the twenty seven year old secretary that he had been screwing for the last three months. He was glad to be rid of his frigid bitch of a wife.
Actually, Brenda enjoyed sex. It's just that her husband was her very first lover and her own inexperience made her reluctant to experiment or even to consider anything new. Jack's lack of patience meant that before long his only interest was in getting to his own climax. Very, very occasionally she would experience an orgasm herself, but only when she had been anticipating his penetration for some time -- such as on the day of her tenth anniversary. She had been dressed in a way that he liked; a wrap around dress that allowed easy access to her lace clad breasts. The outline of her suspenders and stocking tops was visible as she practised walking sexily in front of a mirror. She could almost hear the wetness as she walked; it was as if her pussy lips were rubbing against one another. But he didn't turn up. The exotic meal she had prepared had gone to waste and the expensive bottle of wine had gone to her stomach.
Now, three years after he had gone she was desperate. She couldn't bring herself to masturbate when conscious, but her sub-conscious took over in her dreams and more and more frequently she awoke to find the sheets in disarray, her pyjamas askew and soaked with sweat and her pussy leaking with her come.
Brenda got up and had a shower. The spray felt good on her body and although the water was warm, it had a cooling effect on her skin. The soap helped her hands slide across her breasts and her nipples still tingled at her caressing touch. For as long as possible she avoided slipping her hand down there, but when it was the last place to wash she had no choice. Her pussy lips felt swollen and sensitive and the hood of skin at the top made her shiver each time her fingers inadvertently touched it. She wanted to do it, but didn't think she should, so she took her hand away and turned to face the jets of water coming from the shower head. It was a mistake.
The sensation of the streams playing across her nipples only served to heighten her arousal and as the fluid travelled down between her breasts, over her stomach and was directed into the valley between her legs, it trickled across her clitoris and she gasped. Her knees buckled and she closed her eyes and gave in to the temptation, her fingers working furiously as she strove to climax. At first she used her right hand, leaving her left to pinch her nipples and squeeze her breasts, but then it joined the other hand and the fingers penetrated her lips, while she continued to rub the swollen hood.
Brenda could feel the waves building up within her body. She slumped to the tiled floor, spreading her legs as far as they would go. She imagined that they were somebody else's hands -- not her ex-husband's -- and she squealed and grunted through her orgasm.
*****
Later that day, Brenda sat eating her lunch alone. She spoke to herself, if only to hear a friendly voice, "Oh, Brenda, what am I going to do with you?"
She thought about it for a moment and then answered her own question, "What you need is a man inside of you."
She was shocked at her own admission, but sitting there thinking about it, imagining a dick embedded in her pussy made her feel dizzy. She now knew that she had to find a man, if only for a quick one-night stand. She was at the same time both disgusted and fascinated by the idea, her feelings and desires.
It took a few more days before Brenda finally convinced herself that she should do something, but then she realised that she had absolutely no idea how to go about it. She dragged through her memories recalling when friends had told her about the goings on at nearby hotels. She assumed that if she went alone to a bar, then somebody would try to pick her up.
The following Saturday, she spent nervously shopping for something to wear that evening. Eventually, she plumped for a simple black cocktail dress. It was perhaps a little more figure-hugging than she would have liked, but the length came to just above the knee and more importantly, it made her feel good. She already had some black leather shoes with four inch heels and a small clutch bag at home, so she was now all set. Or was she? She mentally scanned her underwear drawer and realised that she didn't have anything black. She headed for the nearest lingerie shop.
The selection of black in her sizes appeared limited, but this was the only establishment she was going to be able to get to. She found a beautiful lace design including suspenders, but couldn't find the briefs in her size to go with the bra and belt. All they had was a thong. She really wasn't sure about it, as she had never worn one before -- even though her ex-husband had bought her one once. Deciding it was that or nothing (and here she thrilled at the mere idea of going commando), Brenda made her purchases and headed home.
Having had a light snack at about 6pm (in case she was taken for a meal), she showered and got ready to go out. She took her time and luxuriated in the erotic feel of dressing up, starting with the suspender belt and stockings. She put on the high heels and paraded up and down in front of the mirror. Although she had a little spare flesh, she considered she didn't look bad for her age -- except for the dark brown, bushy triangle between her legs. When she pulled on the panties she knew that it didn't look right; there were tufts of pubic hair sprouting from either side.
She headed back into the bathroom. Having taken a pair of nail scissors from the cabinet, she slipped off her knickers, sat down on the toilet seat and began trimming the hairs. After a while she had neatly shortened the entire region, but when she put her panties back on she was still less than pleased with the result. She walked back into the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of her dressing table and picked out the tube of depilatory cream that she used on her legs earlier. Reading the label, she smiled when she read that it was safe to use (with care) on her pubic region.
Twenty minutes later Brenda stood in front of the mirror once more and admired her handiwork. She had neatly styled the shortened hairs into a tiny delta shape. She put the panties back on again and confirmed that there was no longer any hair being displayed. Just to make sure she squatted down with her knees spread wide apart. It looked good, sexy. So much so that she wondered how it would feel, so she ran a finger either side of the gusset and marvelled at how smooth it felt. She pulled the gusset to one side and was pleased with the way it looked. Re-covering herself, she idly ran a finger over the silky material -- and nearly fell over! She almost came from one single touch of her labia and clitoris.
Just after 8pm Brenda pulled into the car park at a hotel about five miles from home. She was worried that she might see somebody she knew, but breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the bar and could see no familiar faces. She made her way to the bar and awkwardly perched herself on one of the stools, nervous in case she showed just a bit too much leg.
"Yes madam, what can I get you?" asked the barman.
"Oh, er... a vodka and orange, please."
While she sipped her drink, Brenda used the mirror behind the bar to scan the room; there appeared to be three couples, two men in the furthest corner booth talking quietly but animatedly and three further men dotted around. She tried to catch the eye of the seemingly single men, but only managed it with one. She smiled sheepishly and he replied with a straight-faced nod, before turning his attention elsewhere.
After more than an hour had passed, along with another drink she still hadn't been approached. One of the couples had left and another looked as though they were leaving also. Another man had come in, but he had made is way straight to the one that Brenda had smiled at. She could be wrong, but they looked as though they might be a gay couple.
Feeling down, she decided to call it a night -- two drinks was her limit if she was going to drive home.
She swivelled round on the stool and stepped down, suddenly aware that her skirt had risen high enough to display the band at the top of her stocking. She tugged her skirt down.
"Hi."
Brenda jumped at the sound of the man's voice. He had approached her just as she had turned round.
