Wendy Ch. 10

Wendy ch.10: The Wedding

Wendy drove the first five miles before making an excuse about being sore from the day before. She pulled off the road just outside the city limits. I opened my door, preparing to go around to the driver’s side when she spoke.

“I’ll slide over,” she said, motioning for us to changes places by me passing under her. It would have been faster if she let me go around the car. First, she slid her copious butt to the center section of the seat, then rolled onto me, meeting me face to face.

“Hello,” I greeted her tits, which were pressed against my chest. She lingered there, enjoying our closeness until I placed my hands on her hips and lifted my pelvis to meet her mid section.

“Move over,” she ordered, poking me in the ribs

I was settled behind the wheel and had guided her Oldsmobile back onto the road before she got completely settled in the passenger’s seat.

“What’s wrong,” I asked, “wasn’t my couch comfortable, how come you’re sore?’

She glared at me, blushing. “It wasn’t your couch that made me sore, it was your cock pounding my pussy,” she said, mocking anger, half-smile on her face..

After having Thanksgiving dinner with Marcie and Tad, I had suggested to Wendy that we drop by my house.

Reminding her of the comment, ‘now that we’re fucking,’ which had become her standard answer for every occasion, “I’m going to bend you over the couch,” I had said.

“Hummm, sounds like fun, did you do that with Mrs. P?”

Actually, I hadn’t. Mrs. P had never been to the cottage. But knowing that Wendy would not experiment without hearing the details from a past experience, I said yes, thinking of Ellen, my first sex pardoner, who had bent her frame over the back of the couch and said, “come and get it.”

We entered the cottage by the back door. I let Wendy go first, down the hall with the kitchen on the left and the bathroom on the right. She stuck her head in both rooms, sniffed, and briefly looked around. Next was the dining table on the left and the back of the couch on the right. She stopped and turned to me.

“This must be the famous couch where you bring women to bang their backside into submission.” It was a statement, not a question. She inspected the couch with disdain, as if I had brought her to the slums and she was only indulging me because the experience would be something to tell her grandchildren.

She mentally took measurements, judging how her body would fit. Taller than the others with whom I had exchanged pleasantries while driving my cock into them, Wendy had a quizzical look on her face as if to say, ‘is this going to work?”

“Mrs. P is short, isn’t she?”

“She’s not as tall as you, neither was Brenda,” I admitted, immediately wishing I had not mentioned Brenda.

“Who’s Brenda?”

“Just someone who came to the wedding,” I tried to sound casual, thinking, ‘just someone that made Mrs. P. never speak to me again.’

“Tell me about her.”

“Sometime I will,” I promised, wanting to get on with the task at hand, convincing Wendy that the couch would be a good fit, even for a woman of her stature.

She had briefly looked around at the rest of the room but we hadn’t gotten further than the back of the couch, where she stood with her hips resting there, almost sitting.

“How did it happen, with Mrs. P, I mean?” Wendy’s voice had taken on the high-pitched sexy level that I had gotten to know as her ‘pouty’ tone. Her eyebrows were raised in that same quizzical look she used when asking a client how he planned to pay, a check or cash.

Knowing that she would need the details in order to know what was expected, I decided to give her a vivid description that would make her want to re-enact what I would describe. So that she would not be able to see my eyes as I spoke, I pressed my body to her and whispered into her ear.

“Well, she came here one lunch time to give me the news that her children were away and we could be together that night.” This had never taken place with Mrs. P. She would never have come to see me on such a mission. She would have telephoned, after the shop was closed. It had been Brenda who had come to the shop, been told that I was on lunch break, and ventured into the cottage to see me. Now I was skipping over Ellen and substituting Brenda for Mrs. P. “She went to the shop and Priscilla told her I was here. She came through the back door, calling my name. I was surprised to see her. We met right here. I took her into my arms and kissed her.”

I brought my lips to Wendy’s mouth. She seemed to be getting into the role, moaning into my mouth. Her legs were open just enough for my cock to nudge her pelvic region.

“What was she wearing?” Wendy, always the perfectionist, needed the details.

‘Shit,’ I thought to myself. It had been mid-August. Brenda was dressed in shorts and a cotton shirt. I had unbuttoned the shirt and found the clasp holding her bra in place. Though it had been over two years before, I could still feel her smooth skin as I rolled her tits in my hands.

Wendy was wearing a silk dress with a mixed pattern of flowers, nuts, and berries; it was her Thanksgiving dress.

“Something like this,” I whispered into her ear while unbuttoning the four buttons at the back of the dress. We had not taken Brenda’s shirt off, it had not been necessary. I had found the catch to her shorts and dropped them to her ankles. She had stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. All that remained were her panties.

I could tell that Wendy’s lawyer mind was churning. Something was not right. Did Mrs. P really wear dresses with high collars and buttons in the back?

I lifted the dress and Wendy raised her arms to permit its removal. She was wearing a slip. Of course, it was November.

“When did this take place?”

“What difference does that make?”

Even in her state of arousal, Wendy had worked it out. She remembered that my affair with Mrs. P had come to an end shortly after Marcie’s wedding, in August.

“It makes a difference. Mrs. P would not have come here when Marcie was here. The only time it could have been would have been August, after the wedding. She would hardly be wearing a slip, would she?”

I had been caught in a lie. Embarrassed, I didn’t resist when she pushed me away.

But she didn’t reach for her dress; perhaps I still had a chance to salvage something from my muffed attempt to bend her over the back of the couch. After all, as she so often commented, ‘now that we’re fucking.’

“It wasn’t Mrs. P, she never came here, it was Ellen I was describing,” I said, thinking, ‘Ellen was here in December, close enough to November, even for Miss Wendy Perfection.’

“Why didn’t you say so?” Wendy said in her perky voice as if to say, ‘we can work with that.’

I shrugged, wondering myself why I had tried to substitute Mrs. P, then used the time with Brenda for the description.

“What was she wearing?”

Wendy watched me closely as I thought what I was going to tell her. Ellen had worn a bathrobe, usually over a nightgown but on the night we did it on the back of the couch, she had been naked under the robe.

“She wore a robe,” I answered truthfully.

Wendy, dressed in bra, panties, stockings, garter belt, high heel shoes, and a slip, stared at me, appraising my answer.

“Got one?”

I bit my lip, contemplatively. Marcie had given me a robe when I was a sophomore in high school. I tried to remember if I still had it, having worn it exactly twice.

“This will work,” Wendy said enthusiastically when I produced the robe.

She must have taken thirty minutes in the bathroom. I took off my clothes, except for my boxers and socks, noticing how chilly the room had become. Naturally, I had a condom tucked in each sock, staying true to the script. Ellen had insisted we use them.

The first thing I noticed were her bare feet. The rob, a men’s small, must have shrunk while it hung in my closet the four years. The sleeves were short and it was too small at the shoulders. There was a three-inch gap down the front, showing bare skin from her tits down to her bush. Only at the middle, where the belt hugged her stomach, did the two parts meet. Timidly, she approached me. I was overcome with her courage. No wonder it had taken so long for her to get ready.

We hugged and I kissed her. My hands roamed her body, rubbing her back through the robe to generate some heat. I felt her hands on my bare back, exploring, clear down to the crack of my ass, then back up.

The robe separated easily and I felt her nipples against my chest. Still locked in a deep kiss, I cupped her tits, rolling the nipples. I threaded one hand inside the robe and felt her bare back, tracing the vertebrae down to her ass as she had done to me.

“How does this work?” she asked in a childish voice, making me wonder if she was really ready or merely going through with it to support her claim, ‘now that we are fucking.’

She wanted description, a script to follow. It had been so simple with Ellen. She had been in charge, bending over the couch and saying, ‘come and get it.’

Wendy was more refined than Ellen, she would be offended if I told her how Ellen had put it. I moved my lips to one of her nipples and at the same time, reached down and flattened my hand over her bush. Her arms tightened on my back as her legs opened to my touch, a slight moan escaping her lips. I slipped a finger between the lips of her pussy and to my surprise, she flooded my hand.

Knowing Wendy’s affinity for realism, I gave her the straight story.

“Ellen bent her body over the couch and said, ‘come and get it.”

Wendy snapped her head back and her arms relaxed to her sides. With one quick jerk of her shoulders, the robe slid to the floor. An evil grin crossed her face as she reached down and slipped my shorts over my hips. She continued to smile, devilishly, as she watched me roll a condom on my cock. Her open mouth came to mine as she reached for my cock, squeezing, then giving it a little tug. Satisfied, she turned and leaned over the back of the couch and spread her legs.

“Come and get it,” she said in the scratchy high-pitched voice that I found so sexy.

She was indeed ready. I slipped inside her and begin to thrust. She braced herself with her hands on the center cushion and her feet on the floor, moving her butt back to meet me. We adjusted her height a couple of times by spreading her legs out, then tightening them to just right. She made a throaty sound, ‘ahhhhhhhhhhh,’ as I pounded her. She was immovable, holding her ass in place as I banged her. She was giving me the ride of my life.

When the ‘ahhhhhhhhs,’ became shrill, I knew that she was coming. Her legs buckled and she was no longer pushing back. I slowed until I felt resistance again, she was back with me. A stir in my balls told me that I was getting close. I began to pound hard and heard the legs of the couch skid forward. The ‘ahhhhhhs,’ were getting faint as I felt the rubber fill with my explosion.

We were still, me slumped over her, clinging to her massive ass, she making little gargling sounds, both satisfied. I felt the walls of her pussy ‘talk’ to my cock but it was too tired to ‘talk’ back. I let it slip from her. She rose slowly, then raced to the bathroom, to clean up and dress, I thought.

“Cotton,” I heard her call to me in the little girl voice she often used.

I went to the bathroom door and listened.

“Bring me the robe, please.”

As I handed the robe to her, she wanted to know if I had brought the pie in. Marcie had given us portions of two pies as we left her house. I had forgotten to bring it in from the car but said I would go out and get it.

To my surprise, Wendy appeared wearing only the robe. We sat at the dining table, eating cold pumpkin and apple pie with milk. Wendy insisted that I remove my shirt so we would be even. The robe did little to cover her body.

We made plans for our trip the next day. We would leave early and take her car. We even went over what I would pack and what she needed to bring. We would get a motel room and come back on Saturday. ‘Hummm, or Sunday?” she grinned.

“Promise me something,” she said when I came back from depositing the dishes in the kitchen.

“Sure, what is it?” We were facing each other, standing behind the couch.

“That you won’t embellish stories any more.”

“I didn’t embellish,” I tried to defend myself. All I had done was take liberties with the characters in the story. Relenting, “I won’t.”

“Something else...” she had pulled down my pants and took my cock in her hand.

“Don’t even THINK of bending ME over that couch again,” she said, emphasizing each of the ten words with a tug, pulling sharply when she got to ‘THINK and ME.’

“Okay,” I responded, trying to free myself from her hand. But she wouldn’t let go.

“Let’s try the front side,” she said, pulling me around the couch and on top of her. What happened next was a milestone; it marked the first time Wendy and I had sex together without following a script. We made love on the couch, slowly, splendidly spontaneously. After which, she thanked me and I thanked her.

~*~

Her big car was a dream to drive. It was a clear November morning and the sun was shining brightly. Wendy opened the conversation, wanting to know about my break up with Mrs. P.

“It all started with the wedding,” I began.

**The Engagement**

Marcie told me I was the first to know. She proudly displayed the ring, a shockingly sizable stone. I acted as if it came as a surprise. She and Tad and been dating forever. It was inevitable that they would marry. There had only been one question.

“When is the wedding?” I wanted to know. What I really needed to know was where they would live and what was to happen to the flower shop and to me.

“Are you okay with this?”

‘What was she going to do, call off the wedding if I had a problem with her getting married?’

“Of course not, how could I?”

The marriage was to take place the 1st of August. There would be time for a two-week honeymoon before the state senate met to begin their fall session. They would make their home at the state capital. Tad had already picked out a house for them.

“But we’ll be here on weekends to check up on you,” she said, brushing my hair; her sisterly charms begging to be heard.

“Do you think I need to be checked on?” I said, fishing for an answer to ‘what is to happen to the flower shop and me?’ while reminding her that she was not my sister; we were not even related.

We were sitting at the dining room table where every conversation we ever had took place. I had finished my homework and was busy making entries in the ledgers. We talked until 1 a.m., which was totally out of character for Marcie. She was not a talker, especially on a school night.

Of course, she would need to move to Capital City to be with her husband but Tad had always come back to his district on weekends. They were planning to buy a house on Elm and....

I faded out for a second. Mrs. P’s house was on Elm. “What did you say? Elm? What number on Elm?”

Marcie gave me a suspicious look, but answered. The house, it turned out, was the one with the wall, where I had sat one rainy night, watching the house across the street, waiting for the upstairs lights to go out before making my way across the street and peer in at Mrs. P’s in her kitchen.

This could be beneficial to me. Surely, I would be invited to the Senator’s home occasionally and that could open all sorts of reasons to get to know the neighbors.

“Cotton,” she waved her hand in front of my face to bring me back.

For the next three hours I listened to the many reasons she had for marrying Tad, a State Senator from a ‘good family.’ She had considered the marriage for some time and as it turned out, the pros outweighed the cons.

Tad had been married before and had a child. He was also a dozen years older than Marcie. Those, plus having to leave the flower shop and me were the only cons, in her eyes. The pros were many. She enumerated them one by one, counting them out on the fingers on her left hand. When she got to the thumb on her right hand, I yawned. It was after midnight.

At a quarter to one, the conversation turned for the better and I became alert.

“We want you to stay here and run the shop,” she said. I wondered who ‘we’ was but was too excited to ask. I would be ‘in charge’ and on my own.

“We’ll look in on you on weekends and expect a full report, we know we can count on you,” she said smiling that sisterly smile of hers.

“Who’s we?” I wanted to know, knowing.

**The Wedding**

Marcie had bought a new dining room table for the house across the street from where Mrs. P lived on Elm Street. Fully extended, the table seated two dozen people. She had me pick up enough chairs from Tad’s parents home to augment the eight chairs that came with the table.

On Saturday night before the wedding, I found myself seated between two of Marcie’s college friends. Across from me was Mollie, Tad’s twelve year old daughter, who, because I been assigned the task of picking her up at her grandparent’s home and was going to take her home, considered me her date for the evening. Mollie and I were the only ones not allowed to drink wine, everyone else did.

Marcie presided over the dinner from the head of the table, Tad at her side. Together, they kept the caterers, a young couple, hopping.

Considering Tad’s status as a politician, the party was small. Marcie had invited four of her college friends and their husbands; the others were associates of Tad. With the wine flowing, the small group was laughing at the slightest provocation and becoming noisy. All I could think of was depositing Mollie at her grandparent’s house, then coming back to the house across the street without being seen. Mrs. P’s children were with their father in Oregon. We would have the entire week ahead together while Marcie and Tad were on their honeymoon. Little did I know that it was not to be.

Brenda, the lady to my right was a quiet, a refined college friend of Marcie. I noticed that she drank very little wine and only laughed when Tad got into a bread-throwing contest with one of his guests at the other end of the table. We made small talk. She told me about her two children and pointed out her husband who seemed to be having a good time with his seatmates, wives of politicians. Brenda was very attractive. We carried on a pleasant conversation. I would have been content to talk only with her, had it not been for the lady to my left.

She introduced herself as Peaches, saying that had been her college nickname. Brenda said she would prefer that Peaches use her real name, Barbara. I agreed. A big boned woman, Barbara wasted no time in draining her glass just as the bottle came our way. She waved at a large framed man on the other side of the table, elbowing me, “that’s my better half,” she confided.

I had been ordered to be nice to Mollie. She looked bored but sat up in her seat when I included her in the conversation, explaining to Barbara and Brenda that Mollie was the daughter of the groom.

“I hear you know Ellen,” Barbara said, probably because there had been several minutes of silence. Brenda’s head turned my way.

“Yes, she was here at Christmas time,” I answered, thinking nothing of the comment until Brenda looked around as if she was noticing for the first time that Ellen was not among the invited guests.

I had noticed also that Ellen had not been invited but I was somewhat relieved. It would be awkward, considering that I was devoted to Mrs. P and was looking forward to the week ahead. No children and no Marcie to disturb us.

“How is Ellen?” Brenda asked.

“I’ll bet he knows exactly how she is,” Barbara said before I could answer. I must have looked embarrassed, wishing I could slip under the table and disappear because Brenda put her hand on my arm and whispered in my ear.