Madonna Ch. 05

Chapter Five

Friday I missed my lunch. It had been turning into a date I looked forward to. But I settled for a sandwich over the carburetor bench so I could get out early. At 4:00 I called "that's the week, good job guys," handed out paychecks, and locked up.

When I got home Bonnie was putting the finishing touches on her face and hair. She smiled up at me in the mirror as I walked into the bedroom where she sat at her little makeup desk, and touched her shoulder.

"Don't fuck up my handiwork," she said, touching my hand lightly, "and for God's sake, wash your stinky ass."

I laughed and headed into the bathroom. I tossed my clothes into the hamper and got into the shower. I showered and shaved, trimming my goatee to sharp lines, and ran my fingers through my curly hair.

By the time I walked out of the bathroom Bonnie was ready and she looked good. She DOES know how to make the best of what she's got. Her great mane of auburn hair was done in a fluffy cap, not quite a country singer's "big hair," but enough to draw attention. A tight blouse with the top three buttons undone showed the cleavage of her small breasts with just a peek of her red WonderBra showing. The blouse was white and semi-sheer, showing off the red bra, long-sleeved with a light lace collar and lace fringe at the wrists. Her jangly bracelet, purchased on vacation once at an Indian reservation, showed turquoise in traditional blue-green but also in a striking red. Her wedding set, including the big diamond engagement ring that had taken me six years to pay for, was proudly on her finger.

A small strip of pale belly showed between the blouse and her black slacks that showed off her big hips nicely. A wide belt highlighted the flare of her hips and a vaguely triangular silver buckle pointed, suggestively, down. Spike heels with open toes, showing the bright blue polish there, completed the image.

"You look absolutely STUNNING," I said, moving toward her.

She held up her hands, palms out, the universal "STOP" gesture.

"Nuh-uh," she said. "This is art," and she used her hands to gesture from head to toe, "and I do NOT want it messed up."

I chuckled, kissed the tips of my fingers, and patted the top of her head with them.

"Come on then, wench," I said, "let's see if we can corrupt a widow."

She giggled and said, "Oh goody, let's."

I drove across the river, to the next town. Not for Bonnie and my reputations, but for Madonna's. We went in and I explained to the waitress that we had a third and I would be right back with her. I kissed Bonnie quickly and headed back across the river.

It was about 15 minutes to Madonna's place and she was waiting for me like a junior high school girl on her first date.

IF that first date was to church.

She was in a full dress, a dark blue thing with a light print pattern. It buttoned to the neck and fell to the tops of her shoes. The shoes were bad in themselves, big square things.

"Ohhhhhhh no," I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and turning her to face back into the house, and giving a push.

"David?" she said.

"We're going on a date, Madonna," I said, starting to rummage through her closet, "not to church."

Her closet was hopeless. I suppose I should have expected it. I couldn't find anything even remotely interesting so I started on drawers. I went through them like I was the SWAT team working on a drug warrant.

"We have to get you to a store," I said, chuckling as I pulled out the tight black jeans I had seen her in that first day and finding the red sweater from that day.

I crooked my finger, beckoning her, and she came as she had learned to.

I was interested to see that my fingers were not trembling at all as I started on the 30 tiny buttons that ran up the front of the dress. I got to my knees and made her hold my shoulders for balance as I untied and took the shoes off and tossed them into the corner. I stood and got her bra off as easily as the dress, my fingers perfectly steady.

When I said "arms up," her eyes got big.

I reached out and squeezed both of her tits.

"When you've got it," I said, smiling and bending to kiss her lightly, my hands still holding her boobs, "flaunt it."

She raised her arms and I worked the red sweater on.

Standing in her panties and sweater I thought she looked spectacular.

Back on my knees, I got the jeans on her, very tight over her thin hips and ass. I crawled over to the chest of drawers, found a pair of white socks, and then put them on her along with a pair of tennis shoes so white they just had to be bleached after every use.

I was aware of how much time I had spent so I didn't do anything with her makeup.

She stopped and looked in the full-length mirror for a second and when she turned to face me, for that instant with that smile, I saw the beautiful 18-year-old she had once been.

"I look like a whore," she said, but she was smiling as she said it.

"Come on," I said, "let's see what I can get for you."

She giggled and took my arm.

I led her to the Pontiac, a lovingly restored 1964 GTO, and held the door for her like a gentleman.

She giggled and said, "can we put the top down?"

So I worked the chrome level and pushed the button and the top whirred down. I didn't bother with the boot.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"A place across the river," I said, "I wouldn't want your reputation to be damaged by being seen with a miscreant like me."

She giggled and said, "David, my reputation has been ruined since your truck started being in my driveway at noon."

I laughed.

"We'll see how you feel about that in the morning," I said.

Her eyes got big. "You're spending the night with me?" she asked.

"No," I said, "I told you, YOU'RE spending the night with me."

"What," she started and then stopped.

When I glanced over she was staring at me.

"What?" I said.

"What about your wife?" she asked.

"Let me worry about that," I said.

"Oh my God," she said softly.

I flashed The Grin and patted her thigh.

At the restaurant, I ran around the car and opened the door for her.

We were hand-in-hand as we walked into the dining room.

I looked around and spotted Bonnie and headed for her table. Madonna kind of looked up at me as we started across the room without a hostess to guide us. She was with me until Bonnie stood and smiled at us.

Madonna stopped and I stopped with her, holding still.

Bonnie came to us, a smile beaming. Madonna pulled her arm free and started walking away.

Bonnie grinned at me, said, "I got this," and followed Madonna. I watched as they went through the door, wondering how it would play out. Since I had nothing else to do, I sat and ordered a beer.

A few minutes passed and I was starting to think that Bonnie had just taken Madonna home. In fact, I was looking at the menu, thinking the Surf and Turf looked pretty good for dinner by myself, when they walked back in. They weren't exactly hand-in-hand, but they were, well, companionable.

I stood and seated Bonnie first and then Madonna, and sat between them.

"You should have warned me," Madonna said, looking at me with a frown.

"Would you have come?" I asked.

About then the waitress appeared, breaking our conversation.

We ordered drinks. Beer for me. Screwdriver for Bonnie. And Madonna surprised me by ordering a Cadillac Margarita ("Double," she added).

"Would you have come?" I repeated.

She hesitated. Her eyes flicked up and right as she thought. Finally, she said, "probably not."

Bonnie reached across the table and covered Madonna's hand with hers. "Madonna," she said, her voice soft and her eyes serious, "we really have only one rule."

"Oh?" Madonna said.

"Yes," Bonnie went on, "you can always say 'no.' You can say 'no' to something specific, or you can just say 'no' to us and we'll take you right home, no questions asked, no explanation necessary. We are many things, my husband and I," she went on, giggling a little at that, "but rapist is not among them."

"Fair enough," Madonna said, and we all took a drink from the glasses that had just arrived.

The dinner conversation was mostly between Bonnie and Madonna. You can cut a few yards of a stock two-women-getting-to-know-each-other conversation and you'll pretty much be there. There were some differences in details as Bonnie explained our marriage arrangement, but besides that it was a perfectly vanilla conversation. I mostly watched, enjoyed dinner, and answered the occasional question directed at me, or threw in the occasional wisecrack, making them both giggle.

Bonnie was genuinely interested, it seemed to me, in meeting a widow 25 years her senior. She asked about how Madonna was adjusting to single life ("Poorly," she had replied). Was she getting enough support? Things like that. My wife may be a little kinky, well, all right, my wife IS a lot kinky, but she's also a caring person.

For her part, Madonna kind of circled the question that was obviously weighing on her. Finally, as we were enjoying dessert, she got around to it. "How, well, maybe, 'when' is the better word. When did you and David decide that, well, that this," and she sort of vaguely gestured to include the three of us at the table, "was okay?"

Bonnie laughed, a pleasant sound, and explained.

"Honey," she said, covering Madonna's hand again, "I love this man. Hell, I'm head over heels, crazy, stupid in love WITH this man (I leaned back in my chair and hooked my thumbs in imaginary suspenders, and did my best to look smug and self-satisfied). But I also realized that we were getting, well let's say we were getting 'predictable' in bed. So we had 'the talk' one night after I had made him cum three times (at that Madonna's eyes got big). We needed variety so we made the deal. We can both, you know, play around, but there's a couple of conditions."

"Conditions?" Madonna asked.

Bonnie giggled and said, "yeah, conditions. No skanks, male or female. We don't want any diseases coming home. And no secrets. We share everything." She squeezed Madonna's hand. "I've known about you since that first day."

"I see," Madonna said.

There was a break as she processed.

"And what do you want of me?" she asked, at last, asking Bonnie, not me.

Bonnie smiled, that smile that always made me smile back.

"Honey," she said, "I want to share in your journey."

Madonna smiled back.

"I think," she said, pausing between each word, "I'd like that too."

We finished our drinks.

"Home?" I asked the two women with me, "or dancing?"

"Oh goodness," Madonna said, "I can't remember the last time I danced."

"Well, then," I said, standing and grinning, "let's go dancing."

I paid the bill, left a good tip, and offered my arms, elbows bent in the classic gentleman's pose. I left, okay, I'll admit it, strutting a little, with a lovely woman on each arm.

The place I chose was a little roadhouse out of town, again being protective of Madonna's reputation. Bonnie and I had been there from time to time. We weren't exactly regulars, but we knew the place. I knew there would be a live band but playing at a volume that would allow conversation. It was, after all, a place to meet and be met.

We found a table, a minor miracle, or maybe a Sign ((chuckles)). The waitress found us and we ordered drinks. The band was playing a passable rendition of the Bobby Vinton classic "Blue Velvet" and I stood and offered my hand to Madonna.

"Come on, good lookin'," I said.

She danced just like she had kissed that first time - poorly and awkwardly.

I gradually got her to at least do a passable box step and I liked the way she felt, molding herself to me.

The song ended and I went back to the table, not surprised to find it vacant.

I had barely seated Madonna when Bonnie was back, a much younger man, I wondered if he had a fake ID, walking her back to the table, his hand possessively on her hip.

I stood and he took a step back but I grinned and said, "no problem."

I walked Bonnie to the floor and we danced a fast one, to Chubby Checker's "Twist" of all things.

I caught sight of Madonna awkwardly trying to imitate what Bonnie's young friend was doing.

We stayed a couple of hours, dancing, drinking, laughing. Each of the women had multiple partners while I switched between them. It was fun.

Finally, I said, "Ladies, you've worn me out, let's go home."

I was smart enough to call an Uber, well, actually a Lyft in our town, and we crowded into the minivan that showed up.

We were quiet on the way home. Neither of us was drunk, but we were well lit. And there was the anticipation. I mean, it's not like we didn't know what was going to happen when we got home.

As soon as we got in the house Bonnie put her hands on my shoulders and pushed, walking me backward until my knees met the couch and I sat.

"Wait," she said, holding up a finger imperatively.

She turned to Madonna and crooked a finger, beckoning.

"Come with me," she said.

I watched them walk down the hall, wondering what my bride had in mind.

I heard giggling from the other room and chuckled. I snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a beer and made it back to the couch before the women came back.

When they did, it was worth the wait. Oddly, for me, the first thing I noticed was NOT the fact that they were topless. Oh, I noticed that, but peripherally. I was fascinated by the change in their faces. Bonnie is good with makeup and the change she had made on Madonna's face was amazing. Gone was the 70-something widow. In its place was a 70-something hooker, looking DAMN good for her age.

Then I got to the tits.

Such a perfect contrast. Bonnies were small, high, with very big, dark nipples on large darker areolas. Madonna's were big and saggy, with very small, pale long nipples on small areolas.

I whistled and applauded.

"My new best girlfriend," Bonnie said, "insists she has never been with a woman. Wanna watch while I show her what she's been missing?"

I chuckled. "You know I do," I said.

"Toldya he would," Bonnie said, taking Madonna into her arms and kissing her.

I watched captivated. Bonnie is hardly a big woman. At 5'6" and about 140 pounds she's about average, pushing the high end on the weight range but certainly not obese. With her big hips and thighs, she is definitely pear-shaped, a body type made more obvious by her A-cup breasts. For a brief and wonderful year she had actually filled out a B cup and I had developed a taste for her milk while our son was on the tit. Then she had weaned him and wouldn't let me keep nursing, so she was back down to her 34A bra. Her nipples and areolas had stayed oversized, though.

She looked big, though, when compared to Madonna. At 5'2" and maybe a hundred pounds, Madonna was tiny. As a body type, she was the exact opposite of Bonnie. She was all boobs, her 32DD breasts sagging far down her ribs, and her small long nipples pointing at the floor. She had a hint of a dowager's hump making me suspect some osteoporosis. Her neck was tilted at a sharp angle as she looked up to meet Bonnie's kiss.

Bonnie's hands were exploring Madonna's back and Madonna had her arms around Bonnie's neck. It was a good kiss I thought as I watched. In fact, it was a damn good kiss.

I heard whispering and giggling as Bonnie leaned down, her mouth at Madonna's ear. And then hands got busy as they started searching with fingers at each other's waist, finding buttons and zipper tabs, playing and giggling as they did.

I had another drink and enjoyed the show.

And it was a good show. Bonnie got to her knees to work Madonna's tight jeans down. They both laughed loudly as Madonna almost lost her balance as Bonnie untied shoes and then removed them and the socks. Finally, with Madonna naked before her, she cupped her skinny ass in her hands and buried her face between Madonna's legs. Madonna's knees sagged.

When she came it was absolutely spectacular. I thought she had lost bladder control as Bonnie coughed, her mouth overflowing, but it was pure womanscent I smelled.

Bonnie, as I've said, is VERY good with her mouth and she brought Madonna through three more orgasms before she collapsed, spent, and I went over to help support her.

"Come on, baby," Bonnie said to her, hooking Madonna's arm across her shoulders for support, "I'm not nearly done with you."

She looked at me and said, "help me get her into the bed."

So I did, helping Madonna to bed and then sitting back in the chair by the wall to see what would happen next.

"You liked my mouth, didn't you?" Bonnie asked Madonna.

"Yes," she replied.

"Welllllll, " Bonnie said, "I like mouths too."

I knew what was coming and said, "wait a second, honey."

I went to the bed and kissed Madonna.

"Open your mouth, sugar," I said and when she did I took her dentures out and carried them into the bathroom where I filled a water glass and dropped them in it.

When I got back to the bedroom Bonnie was straddling Madonna's face, her knees locked under Madonna's shoulders. Her head was thrown back and I knew what was coming.

When she came she lifted herself, the spray of her release soaking Madonna's hair, drenching her face. I was surprised when Madonna reached up and grabbed her hips, pulling her back down, her mouth greedily seeking more.

Bonnie lifted again, this time turning so she faced Madonna's feet. She locked her knees under Madonna's arms and then slowly settled. She crooked her finger, beckoning me. I undressed quickly and went to her.

And that is how we consummated our first evening with the new lady in our life. When I entered her she was beyond merely wet. She was slick, her love nectar, that natural lubricant, thick and warm. I slipped inside her and then embraced my wife, kissing her as we both took our pleasure from Madonna. And as she took hers. Her orgasm was wet and her scent powerful as she came around me and her breath bubbled as Bonnie came in her mouth again.

We took our time. We were making love over her and she was the object of pure sexual need under us. I kissed Bonnie as I came, filling Madonna to overflowing and I felt her cum once more. Madonna was writhing under us, her mouth and nose needing breath, her pussy satisfied.

We held that position, Bonnie in my arms, our lips meeting, feeling Madonna under is, her body growing more desperate for breath, the tension of panic building, until my body surrendered and I softened and slipped out.

"Up baby, let her breathe," I whispered, holding her hands and pulling forward.

Madonna gasped like a drowning woman breaking the surface, and kept panting, paying off her oxygen debt, while we squirmed around, making her the meat in our sandwich. I kissed her, gently, tasting Bonnie's pussy and Madonna's sweat. When Bonnie kissed her I caressed down her body, finding the swollen labia and liking the way she jumped when I touched it.

We made love like that, the three of us, sharing kisses and caresses. Madonna said, "Thank you," over and over, right up until she started snoring.

I grinned at Bonnie across her sleeping body and she smiled back.

"I'm looking forward to this next month," I said.

"Me too," she said.

We smiled at each other as we bent and each took one of Madonna's long thin nipples into our mouth.

And that is how we went to sleep our first night with our new lady, each suckling gently on a big tit.