Final Fling

British English spelling and grammar.

Another that was here before. Re-imagined and corrected.

Set before the invasion of mobile phones. The student, and everyone else, is over 18.

***

Final fling

It's a Victorian house - originally five bedrooms, now four. The smallest has been converted into an en suite bathroom and there's a downstairs toilet near the side door. I'm Mark, and it's all mine, handed down through three generations. So when I married Wendy we signed a pre-nup. If she ever has sex outside the marriage, she leaves with nothing but her clothes. If I play away from home, she gets half the value of the house. I could raise that much without selling it.

I've made a few other changes and updated the kitchen. A garage was built on one side. There was space for a double but the council wouldn't approve that. Still, there's room for Wendy's Audi between it and the side door. And the house is barely five minutes' walk along the towpath to The Mash Tun. Our sex life is great. I bought her some sexy lingerie and when she wears it she's transformed into a tigress in bed. The change from demure to slut is dramatic, and I love that dirty side of her. We're starting a family next year.

For the last few months, Wendy has been having her girls' night out on a Friday. She gets a taxi to a wine bar called The Vintner, and swaps gossip with her mate Claire. I'm told it's too upmarket for the boys' night out crowd, so they feel safe there. My night is Thursday with the pool league. Home matches are here at The Mash Tun; it's a bit rowdier than some pubs, but they do the best food.

Wendy is tall and slim, with long wavy brown hair; I'd call her attractive rather than beautiful. I love the way she walks; shoulders back, chin up. Not like a fashion model that's all 'Look at me!' Her walk is more like she owns the place. Claire is divorced and works at the same company as Wendy. She is shorter and blonde, and has bigger tits. I prefer smaller ones, but hey, I wouldn't mind seeing Claire's unfettered! We went to her place for dinner one Saturday, and met her boyfriend, Geoff. They'll be taking the plunge next year, when his company transfers him down here.

One Friday night, I was watching snooker on tv when she breezed in for our new leaving ritual. This was the third time she'd done it. I didn't mind, it was entertaining.

"What do you think?" she asked, blocking my view of an attempt on the black.

She spun like a dancer, her long pony tail flying, skirt pleats flaring. I never tire of looking at her bottom. The back of her white panties was bisected by the dark seam of her tights; an eye-catching straight line from stem to stern. I smiled, though big knickers and tights are not alluring.

I thought her hairstyle was severe. The ponytail was fine, keeping the length under control. But she had scraped it back over her ears and pulled it tightly off her forehead. I prefer it softer round her face.

"Does everything match?" I asked, as ritual demanded.

She opened her jacket and undid two buttons on her blouse, to confirm the white bra matched the plain knickers. As she did them up again, there was a roar of applause from behind her, as if the snooker crowd were admiring the show.

"Is that a new top?" I asked.

"Yes, this is the first time I've worn it."

"Nice, but there was hardly any need to undo the buttons. Once your jacket is open, I can see your bra through it."

"Oh! I didn't realise! Should I change it?"

"No." I replied. "It's ok to look sexy."

She smiled.

"You and Claire, be good!"

"What do you mean?"

"Some men get turned by huge white knickers."

"You're joking, right sweetie?"

"You know me, always joking."

"By the way, the Audi is making strange noises. Be a love and have a look at it this weekend, would you?"

"Sure."

She leaned over, kissed me, and breezed out. I was rewarded with a wonderful aroma of coconut shampoo and Youth Dew. I turned back to the tv.

I had a sudden flash of inspiration. Every time I watch snooker, I wonder where my old pool cue is. I'm suffering a run of poor results in the league and resurrecting the old cue might bring better luck. The problem is, I never manage to hold the thought long enough to have a proper search. It only comes to mind, as I'm leaving for a match, when I'm usually in a rush. Now the answer arrived out of the blue.

It's almost certainly in the small fourth bedroom; more of a junk room really. We use it as a dumping ground for stuff we're reluctant to throw out. Wendy's wedding dress, an old exercise bike. There was a delay while John Parrott took a break. I jumped up and took the stairs two at a time, just as Wendy shut the back door.

As I entered the bedroom, there was a tinkle outside - glass? Had she hurt herself? I crossed to the window. Wendy was standing directly below me, next to her Audi. Strange, she wouldn't be driving tonight. There's always a frisson of excitement, when you spy on someone who's unaware. As she bent forward, the blouse rode up her back. I've seen it thousands of times, but this was more exciting.

I hesitated in case she came back in. But it was not something broken; it was her car keys. She retrieved them, opened the boot, and removed something. The raised boot partially obscured my view, but there was a brief flash of white and orange in the twilight. It disappeared into her handbag. Probably something she'd bought for Claire.

Wendy closed the boot most of the way, turned and sat on it. I've always thought that's a very feminine action. It clicked shut and she smoothed down the back of her skirt. Then she strode off down the driveway to get her taxi. Her ponytail was set high, and swayed from side to side. I started to breathe again. There was another burst of applause from the tv. That snooker audience was certainly enjoying watching Wendy tonight! John Parrott must be done, so I went back. Later realising I'd forgotten about the old cue.

Snooker over, I tried another channel and found a late-night movie; a Hammer House of Horror production. It was a similar setting to the last one. Christopher Lee's Dracula is the best. I couldn't wait till the end without having a piss. I was just washing my hands when I heard Wendy's heels clicking up the drive. They stopped, but the door didn't open. She might be a bit drunk and having more key trouble. I was just about to open it for her, when I heard a tiny metallic noise. It was familiar, but I couldn't place it. I left her to it and went back to the film.

Wendy lurched into the lounge and I got another kiss. There was an even stronger smell of Youth Dew this time, overlaid with gin.

"You finish your film sweetie. I'm going up."

Movie over, I clumped upstairs. There was no need to be quiet. Wendy's out cold once she's asleep, especially after a few drinks, and I didn't turn on the lights. Her clothes were stacked neatly on a chair. Bra on top like ice cream scoops; must be the last thing she took off. It seemed to glow in the moonlight coming through the curtains. Ever since I've known her, she's preferred to sleep with a gap in the curtains. Says it helps orientation if she needs a pee in the night.

In bed, she was still wearing tonight's cotton panties and a Miss Piggy T-shirt. She had her back to me and I snuggled up, making spoons. I reached up under the shirt and squeezed her breast. She stirred and made a soft 'mmm' noise. If she wasn't too drunk, I might get some action. I squeezed a nipple, but she pushed my hand away. Though I was sure she hadn't woken. I slipped my hand down her back and under the big knickers. I squeezed her buttocks, curious as to how much I might get away with. She pushed her bottom into me, as if encouraging anal sex. When my fingers got to her vagina, she felt wet and opened her legs a little. Then she started snoring.

There's nothing like a woman's snore to make a man flaccid! I gave up and rolled onto my back, staring at the shaft of moonlight from the curtain gap. Sleep wouldn't come; something was out of kilter. A car swished by, headlights splashing across the ceiling. There was a click, as it ran over a drain cover. A click - just like a car boot makes.

I sat up. Wendy had taken something from her car as she'd left. And the small noise I'd heard near the door was her sitting on the boot again, closing it quietly. Curiosity aroused, I knew I wouldn't sleep until I'd investigated. I got the torch from my bedside drawer and went down in my bathrobe and slippers. Taking Wendy's car keys, I let myself out and unlocked the Audi boot. The white and orange secret had been returned. The moonlight revealed it as a plastic bag from Sainsbury's.

Inside I found a black thong and a pair of hold-up stockings. This shed a whole new light on her twirling routine; it was to confirm she was wearing plain undies. My suspicions crept up a notch. Another thing: her surprise when I said her bra was visible. What woman doesn't check herself before she goes out; doesn't know her blouse is transparent?

The thong had its own story to tell. I was hardly surprised to detect scents other than hers. Most powerful was that of man's cum; her thong was thick with it. There was also a hint of her perfume. I suspected she had sprayed some up her skirt, to disguise the smell of sex.

I could almost see the scene unfold. At some stage, Wendy had changed into these sexy undies, and some other guy had reaped the benefits, and left her swimming in his semen. The stockings had more of the same, though being less absorbent, they showed only shiny stains. I replaced everything, and went back to bed.

Saturday I was up early, and called James; I'd known him years, and could rely on his discretion.

"Morning mate, I wondered if you could do me a favour. Amongst the electronic paraphernalia in your second hand emporium, would you happen to have a phone tap?"

"Sure." he replied. "You need to listen live, or recorded?"

"Recorded is fine."

"No problem. I've got a small voice activated tape cassette, which slips into the handset. And there's a mini player to listen to the recordings. To you mate; call it twenty quid."

"Thanks. I'll pop round about lunchtime."

"Sure. I'm in on my own today, so bring me a coffee."

Wendy got up earlier than expected.

"Mmm, that coffee smells good. I'm jogging down the paper shop. Leave me some in the pot."

She was wearing jogging trousers and a loose sweater. And a bumbag, belted in front. That would be for cash, and other mysterious essentials women have to carry.

"I'll take your car for a run later, babe. Try and figure out what's wrong."

As she left, I ran upstairs to the small bedroom; perfect timing. I observed her quietly open the Audi boot, remove the Sainsbury's bag, and stuff it into the bumbag. I imagined that would get secretly washed later.

The 'car test' took me straight to the Vintner. Claire lives just round the corner and walks there. It's in an area of the town called Burnside.

"Were you on last night?" I asked the landlord.

"It's my bar, I'm always on."

"I'll haave tonic water please. Have one yourself."

"Very civil of you, I'll have a coke."

"I wonder if you could tell me about two women who may have come in here last night."

"You police?"

"No, I'm just interested. One was tall; orange shirt."

"Ah, long dark hair, right? She was with a shorter friend with bigger tits."

"They're the ones."

"Sorry, never set eyes on them!"

My jaw dropped.

"Only joking!" he laughed.

"The blonde is Claire somebody; lives near here. She used to be known as the Burnside Bike."

"Used to be?"

"Yeah - popular girl - had a phase where she'd screw anything in trousers. But I hear she has a boyfriend now."

"You know the brunette?"

"I don't. They've been coming hee for a while. I wish they'd stick around longer to be honest, we could do with a bit more glamour."

"They don't stay long?"

"They used to. But the last few weeks, they've only stopped for the one drink and moved on."

"Do you have any idea where they go next?"

"No. But I've seen their taxi arrive, try ABC Cabs."

I left my tonic and used the bar's public phone.

"Hi. I'm trying to locate my wife's handbag. She may have left it in one of your taxis last night."

"What name sir?"

"It would have been booked by either Wendy Sampson, or Claire Fulton. Pick up at The Vintner."

"Got it; booked by Mrs Fulton. Sorry sir, nothing reported as being left behind."

"Damn! Can you tell me where they were dropped off?"

"The Fountain in Moreton."

I went back into the bar.

"I wonder if you could answer some more questions about those ladies."

"Try me. But I wouldn't call them ladies."

"Can you describe what they usually wear?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary when they first started coming here. In those days they stayed till late. Occasionally they'd get chatted up of course, but nothing heavy."

"There's a 'but' isn't there?"

"There is. Last couple of weeks, they've looked more sluttish. Last night they were both braless and wearing black stockings - not too concerned about flashing them either. I was surprised; I'd heard Claire's getting married soon."

"Perhaps she's having a final fling. Perhaps they both are."

"The brunette isn't; she's married."

"I thought you said you didn't know her."

"I don't. But I've been in this job long enough to spot a married woman on the prowl. Her husband probably knows nothing about it. Poor bugger!"

"Go on."

"Claire lives in Burnside, so she walks here and orders two G and T's. Her tits are unfettered and she's wearing a thin sweater to accentuate them. She sits at a table, crosses her legs and gives me a flash. Soon after, the brunette arrives; hair up in a ponytail, plain tights, knee-length skirt. She goes straight to the Ladies. Got the picture?"

"I have."

"Then she emerges like Cinderella off to the ball. Her hair is down, nipples visible through her orange shirt. Her titties are small, but those nips are so hard, you could hang pint glasses on them! The tights, knickers and bra must be in her handbag. She sits with Claire, and crosses her legs."

"She gives you a similar flash?"

"Better. Her skirt's waistband is turned over, making it shorter. Black stockings and a tiny thong - for a moment I thought it was her pubes. Mark my words; some handsome prince had Cinders last night!"

"You're very observant!"

"It comes with the territory. She changes into a slut in the toilets because her husband saw her leaving home dressed like a librarian. Hence -- she's married."

"That's been a big help. Fancy another?"

"No thanks, but you can do something for me."

"Name it."

"Tell me what you know. Call me an old gossip, but I'm intrigued, and information is power."

"OK. I know Claire Fulton slightly. Her boyfriend works up north. He's waiting for a transfer here next spring. And, you're right; they are getting married. I believe the brunette works in the same office, though I can't say I know her. The taxi takes them to The Fountain in Moreton."

"The Fountain; I should have guessed."

"Go on?"

"That's only a five minute walk from the Agricultural College. They've had an intake of foreign students, from Uganda and Ghana. So Claire's last fling is on the dark side. The married one is probably just along for the ride. You know how women fantasise about black cocks!"

It cost a tenner to coax information out of the Fountain's barman, who also asked if I was police. Eventually he divulged a couple of weeks ago the women came in for the first time, and were quickly joined by two men. The brunette was with an older white guy, and the blonde with a young black one. The white man is a college instructor. The black lad is one of the students. They left at ten thirty, and all four went outside to wait for a taxi.

"Prostitutes, you reckon?" I asked.

"I reckon the brunette's married and the blonde's divorced. But you could be right. We get a lot of part-time whores in here, just picking up college guys for fun money."

More impressive observations; he went on to say last night had been their second visit. The women had been wearing stockings, and were braless. The tall one had a transparent shirt, and there had been some serious flirting. The black guy had his arm round the blonde and kept squeezing her tits. She was kissing him and got her hand down his trousers."

"Subtle."

"The brunette's blouse was so transparent; her tits were on view to anyone. So the instructor was more interested in her legs. At one stage, the women got up to go to the loo, and he pulled her onto his lap. Her legs went flying and his hand shot up her skirt so fast, you could almost hear the splash! He got his fingers in her before she stood again."

"And they left around ten thirty?" I asked.

"Yes, though their taxi didn't arrive till after eleven. I don't know where they waited for it, but I can guess what they did to pass the time! I'll bet a month's pay those tarts went home with it dripping down their legs!"

He was crude, but accurate. It was time to go and see James. I picked up a coffee on the way.

"I'll unscrew my phone and show you how it fits."

I watched carefully.

"You remove the mouthpiece, and clip the voice activated recorder in."

A few minutes later I was handing over twenty pounds.

"Thanks James."

On the drive home, I was fuming. Wendy was having a final fling. Not before marriage; but before starting a family. She was in the kitchen when I got in.

"I had a salad while you were out. Shall I make you up a plate sweetie?"

"Thanks babe. And could you pour me a beer, please?"

While she was busy, I slipped into the lounge and set up the phone tap.

"Any idea what's wrong with the Audi?" she called.

"I think so. Do you know what a big end is?"

"No. Tell me in non-technical language."

"Expensive!"

Talk about perfect timing, the phone rang and Wendy answered. "Hi Claire, you're finally up then?"

She turned a shoulder away from me, and I took my plate to the kitchen and closed the door. Clattering about washing the dishes, I couldn't hear a thing of course. She was on the phone for a while, so I made a lot of noise going upstairs. Eventually she shouted she was off to do the Sainsbury's shop. Usually I'd go with her, but said I'd work on the Audi. She took my car and, once she was clear, I listened to the tape; the sound quality was excellent. I could even hear me clattering dishes and clumping up the stairs. Wendy was almost whispering.

'What did you get up to, you dirty bitch? You only managed moans and groans all the way home.'

'Micky took me to the mens' toilets.' said Claire. 'We did it one of the stalls. It's true what they say about blacks, he's huge! My pussy's red raw and I've done nothing but pee all morning! How about you?'

'We got in the back of Howard's car. He got my shirt off, and sucked my nipples, very different to Mark; his chin is bristly. It was exciting till he bit one. It hurt; Mark copped a feel in bed, but luckily got the undamaged one! Mine are so dark so you can't see the bruise. Howard laughed at my squealing and shoved his fingers up me.'

'Did he fuck you?'

'It was more like I fucked him! I licked his dick. He may not be as well hung as your Micky but it still felt enormous. First man I've had in my mouth since Mark - bigger than him too.'

'Did he wear a condom? Micky didn't, I don't imagine they make them in his size!'

'No. I like the taste of cum. I straddled him and barely managed to get it all in. My pussy's never been so stretched! I didn't want him cum inside me though; too difficult to hide the evidence. I intended to climb off last minute, and finish him with my mouth. He was nearly there and I was about to tell him I wanted to swallow it.'