Wendy and John

Raising his glass to hers he whispered, "Deal, Girlfriend Wendy." They both drained their glasses and rose. "I was bursting for a pee anyway," he confided. And only Wendy knew about the little devil dancing a jig on her left shoulder

When he reached the gents he entered a stall, relieved his bladder and rearranged his wayward tool so it was aimed at his navel. He was wearing snug-fitting briefs but there was already a wet patch on them and he had to clean off the sticky secretions already leaked.

As he left the toilets, he noticed the band leader standing in the cocktail bar with a drink in his hand. John walked over and thanked him, saying how much he was enjoying their music. The musician turned and smiled, then recognised John. "And that was a pretty wild waltz you and your partner danced."

He felt a touch at his elbow and turned to se his M ... Wendy standing there. "Wow, yes, that was fun," she joined the conversation. "But please, not too many fast ones. I was exhausted after that last." With smiles all round they resumed their seats in the restaurant.

John caught the attention of the waiter and asked him to bring the sweet trolley round. Wendy had that lucky metabolism where she never had to count calories so she drooled long and hard over all the temptations arrayed thereon. John was mentally tossing coins over the sticky chocolate gateau and the profiteroles. "Do you have any hot chocolate fudge sauce?" she asked the waiter.

"I'm sure there'll be some in the patisserie." He turned to his commis, scribbling a note on his ever-present pad, making it enough for two at her request. Tearing the top sheet off he said, "Ask the Chef for this and wait until you know he has it then come back and tell me, please." Turning back to Wendy he asked, "And what would you do with that sauce, Madame?"

"Trust me on this, John. I know you; you'll love it to bits. Cut a generous wedge from that chocolate calorie mountain," she indicated the gateau. The waiter deftly manoeuvred it into a desert dish then repeated the process. By this time the commis returned with the news that the Chef was warming it now; he was told to go back and wait for it. "We've done with the trolley, thanks," said Wendy, "but snag that cream. Just before you pour the hot chocolate over it, pour a good deep moat of cream all around the gateau and then just let the sauce ooze its way down."

"That sounds like a delicious combination, Madame. The cream in my fridge is colder so we won't need to steal this." He wheeled the trolley away, leaving them alone for a minute.

"Wendy," he wondered how to say it. "Do you mean this?"

"Tonight I'm your girlfriend. Your lover, John." There it was, spelled out in the open for both of them. They both knew where this would end. "But here's our desert ..."

The chocolate and cream concoction was as wickedly delicious as promised and it was several minutes of silence broken only by the gentle tink of silver against china until they were both scraping those last smidgins of chocolate round the bowl. Eventually they sat back in their chairs sated. As the waiter cleared the table he enquired if we wanted coffee. They did, and Wendy wanted a nice brandy to sip with hers. "Try one, John, she encouraged. If you don't like it, I'm sure I'll find it a good home."

While they were waiting, the lights started dimming again as the band struck up after their break: eventually it was just light enough for safety but dim enough to provide a thin cloak of privacy. The Sommelier had his own little trolley packed with a wide selection of brandy bottles which clinked together as the small wheels picked up every little bump in its path. Wendy noticed a vaguely familiar bottle: she'd had that one before and remembered it so soon they were sipping coffee and swirling the brandy gently round the bowl. The sax player was doing a pretty good rendition of Baker Street and all seemed well with the world to them both.

The strains of Baker Street died away and after a generous round of applause the band launched into a medley of soft, romantic tunes. They rose as one and moved to the floor, holding each other close as they gently swayed and moved to the music. This time when Wendy felt his bump pressing into her tummy she pressed back and whispered, "Sir, you're a Gentleman."

They spent the next two hours sipping brandy slowly and flirting with each other at the table or on the dance floor. They both knew they had to be very discrete but they would steal a kiss here, a hug there, hands trailed briefly, accidentally, over sensitive areas. Little touches which inflamed them until eventually John had to pull away from Wendy's gentle rubbing of her belly against his rock-hard tool and she saw him fighting for control. "Let's go home, John." She led him back to the table and asked the waiter to get them a taxi. It arrived in ten minutes and the ride home was an interval out of time where they sat half-facing each other, knees touching, they could feel the tingle of anticipation sparking between them, their internal feelings suppressed but seething, they were panting for each other.

After an eternity, the cab drew up outside their house. Almost stumbling in their eagerness, as soon as the door was closed behind them they were in each other's arms, kissing feverishly, their bodies pressing together. Breathless, Wendy pulled away, crossing her legs: "I need to pee." Shedding her light coat she hurried away from her lover, leaving him in a state of suspended animation, his tool rampant in his trousers, throbbing for attention.

Wendy hurried upstairs; lust and a full bladder speeding her steps. She shed her gown and, pulling her soaking pants to one side, she sighed in relief as the flow splashed into the toilet. She turned the shower on while she stripped out of her bra and pants – they reeked of sex – and stepped under the steaming jets just long enough to get thoroughly wet. Not daring to touch her body, she gasped as the hot needles cascaded over her nipples and drummed at her pubic mound and labia. Denying herself deliciously, she turned off the shower and stepped to the airing cupboard. As best as she could remember, she posed her body in the same position as this afternoon. Dimly conscious that her aching pussy was adding to trickles of water down her thigh, she called her lover's name.

John had pulled off his jacket, cummerbund and shirt as he made his anticipatory way upstairs when he heard her call to him from the bathroom. The door was ajar when he reached it; he pushed it open and there was his vision reaching into the airing cupboard, water dripping from her naked form, now smiling in licentious invitation. "Now where were we?"

Again John stopped in his tracks and took in the vision before him. This time without embarrassment, he could let his eyes linger, fascinated by her heaving chest, the small swellings of her breasts, the huge nipples pointing at him, begging to be fondled and kissed. With a groan he closed the gap between them, his shed upper garments lying where they fell. Mesmerised by the globes, his hand groped at one while his mouth centred on the other, harshly sucking the nipple as she moaned her pleasure; her nails were raking across the smooth muscles of his back and shoulders as she pulled him into her nipple. She needed him, NOW!

He was still attacking her tits as she urgently hustled him backwards to her bedroom; she fumbled at his trousers and had them wide open by the time they reached her bed. It took him a brief couple of seconds to abandon the malleable boobs and finish disrobing before renewing his attack on the other engorged teat.

At last she had it in her hand; that engorged flesh she had been dreaming about all evening. She felt those remembered swollen veins beneath her fingers, the blood pushing back as she squeezed them. Her mind saw the bulbous head her fingers caressed; it was leaking almost as copiously as her aching pussy as he subconsciously thrust it into her hands. She was torn; she longed to kiss, to taste him but the urgency in her loins, fuelled by the waves of pleasure radiating from her tormented breasts, had her dragging him onto her bed panting, "Fuck me, John; just fuck me!"

He fell on top of her then levered his weight off. Looking down he saw her thighs splayed with one foot still on the floor. He saw the glistening lips of her pussy, dark and crinkled, spread by her fingers to reveal the inner slick pinkness. He aimed the head of his prick at the entrance and felt it enfold him as she rose to meet and urge him all the way in. The urgencies of hours of teasing and outrageous flirting drove him into the frantic humping his balls demanded.

Wendy was beating his back and shoulders with her fists in time to his pounding, each stroke stirring the fires within, each thrust making her squeal. John was in no mood to hold back and rammed home as the exquisite tickle rushed up his prick to shoot deep inside her warm cunt. He pumped his hips as the rest of his delivery pulsed out then clung onto her as she bucked against him: her foot reached up to press against his kidneys and she screamed incoherently past his ear.

Her cries eventually gave way to sobbing pants; he felt her cunt muscles tighten and relax around his prick, milking him to the last dribble as he slowly deflated inside her until the final squeeze plopped him out. She rolled him onto his back, turned and lapped gently on one of his nipples while idly toying with the other. Her hand left the sensitive bump and passed lingeringly over his torso to his flaccid tool. His whole groin was slathered with their combined juices and she knew her pussy was oozing the same sticky mixture.

"Let's clean up in the shower together, Lover." She fondled his prick. "And bring this back to life!"

~ooOoo~

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