Wanda snapped shut her cell and wondered if she'd have the lissome filly that day.
Sketching her from memory, the young housewife was almost petite - shorter than Wanda, at least. Trim but somewhat mousy behind her serious glasses, once she slipped them off, her face bloomed to radiance. Her sensuous lower lip and irresistible smile told Wanda there was spice and deep sweet inside this outwardly bland pudding. The girl's eyes seemed to curl into her cheekbones when she giggled, girlish and excitable.
...Excitable.
And her interest was growing, her curiosity. Wanda could tell that, too. Questions about Wanda's work, her day - and personal history she sought. Well, there was that.
Wanda looked out her window and flipped off a driver who'd cut her off. She felt a little pang of guilt about telling - Wanda grabbed the receipt she'd just jotted - Katie, yes...Katie. She was guilty about telling Katie about her time in a Philippine prison. Wanda couldn't help herself. The whole ugly story came rattling out. Katie seemed absolutely fascinated - staring at Wanda with her eyes round in fascination. That was, of course, the idea.
While she worked on Katie's washing machine – bottom-line from Sears, but new - she told her how she and her boyfriend were arrested at Manila airport. Wanda didn't know he was carrying drugs. Then she spent three years of hell before she was paroled, when friends back home raised enough money to "bond" her out through a corrupt judge until she could be retried. She skipped, had to, pretty as you please. Much of Wanda's paycheck now went to repaying her kind benefactors, many of whom had lost plenty when her bond was forfeited.
She told Katie about the nights inside, the cries from other cells, the sounds of women being beaten. A hellhole in the middle of the jungle, punishment included time in the "shoebox" - a wing of cells with no roof, nothing to stop incessant monsoons pouring in. And toughs ruled the cellblocks: Uzi, a gunrunner's girlfriend, was little more than a blunt fireplug of muscle and mean. Sister BallSac was a little higher on the food chain, and looked out for fish - for a price. She strode the yard with a butch super-buzz and her latest bunkmate following dependently behind. There was Nappy Sue, the guard who liked to shoot people for sport. All this was just bitter icing on a stale cake.
"They don't do things the way we do," Wanda said, over her shoulder. "At least, I didn't do them back then."
It was all a lie. Elaborate and quite creative, Wanda reflected. Some of it was true. Wanda had been stationed in the Philippines in the Navy. Uzi was Etzi - same fireplug but a Gunner's Mate. Nappy was Wanda's own best buddy, a shy girl from a tiny town so deep in the South it got lost in cotton.
Wanda took the exit onto surface streets and wiped her brow. "Maybe there's a film script in there," she thought idly. That wasn't the purpose of the whips-and-chains fantasy; it was constructed for something quite different, and deliberately so.
Katie was nothing less than fascinated by the story. Wanda rolled up her sleeve to show off a crude tattoo of an Iron Cross she'd done herself in reality, in a bored high school moment with Gina, her first real lover. She'd seduced Wanda in her little brother's tree house, of all places. The touch of female lips on her body, for the first time, hanging so high in the air above a carpet of smooth grass far below... just the memory made Wanda's thighs reflexively close together, squeezing her pussy lips in response to the delicious memory.
It all came rushing back, leaving Wanda a little breathless as she wheeled into the driveway of Katie's house. Retrieving her toolbox from the back of the truck, she heard the side door open to the laundry room. As Wanda rounded the corner of her vehicle, slamming the compartment shut, she saw Katie approaching, that delicious smile on her face. Very encouraging, coming out to meet me like this, Wanda thought.
"I thought you'd never get here," Katie said, and held out her hand. Wanda thought of how few of her customers bothered to shake hands; Katie's was warm and soft.
And my, my: The glasses were gone and her hair was down in thick, dark tresses that bounced with her walk. And bouncing right along were a couple of ripe breasts under a canary-yellow sundress that almost wasn't there. Well... it dropped to just above mid-thigh down below and a scoop neck above just skirted the top of Katie's soft cleavage. It would be perfectly presentable at a patio cocktail party on a summer evening. Wanda let her mind run wild a moment. The sheerness of the material was pleated, gathered into an empire waist just under her breasts, giving the whole look a healthy Grecian appeal. When Katie turned and led her to the laundry room, Wanda could discern a tiny white something covering Katie's bottom – panties or swimsuit – but no bra strap appeared above it.
Wanda had to quiet herself to keep from shaking in arousal.
This couldn't be an accident. This costume was worn on purpose, Wanda told herself, then shook off the thought. Play it cool, she counseled herself silently. Don't scare this succulent little bird away.
All of this exposure showed Katie to be quite tawny, and Wanda pictured her lying naked in the sun. As Wanda knelt by the dryer and got to work opening the guts of the thing, Katie's crossing and uncrossing legs just inches away were constant diversion. Within moments, Wanda could see the problem was merely a clogged lint screen, but she stretched out her inspection to buy time, enticed by the fragrance of cocoa butter on Katie's smooth thighs.
They made small talk. With a few well-placed and expertly camouflaged questions, Wanda learned Katie's little boy was spending the day with his grandmother, hubby was out of town and poor Katie was rattling around that rambling ranch-style duplex all alone. The fact that the child was away on the day of her repair call interested Wanda, too; everything was looking like programmed solitude for her arrival. Wanda was looking for a way to broach the subject of... sex is so coarse a word. ...Maybe, intimacy? Yes, that's it: To open the issue of close intimacy.
So, at first, Wanda was a little let down when their conversation turned to religion.
"Are you... Catholic?" Wanda ventured, more for something to say than any real interest.
"Baptist," Katie shot back, almost defensively. Wanda thought she'd heard a slight Southern twang in Katie's soft voice. She looked up and saw Katie looking down and running a finger tip over her ear; she was a little self-conscious.
"All the Baptists I know are pretty devout people," Wanda said soothingly.
"Are you religious?" Katie asked, slowly looking up at her.
"I was raised Lutheran," Wanda lied. Actually, her mother was a loud Lefty atheist and her father's faith extended solely to Jim Beam. "But... things changed in my life."
