Wendy Ch. 10

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” she said.

Overhearing Brenda, Barbara would not let it rest, “so you do know how she is, you found out, didn’t you?”

“Barbara, hush, you’re making Cotton uncomfortable,” Brenda said in a quiet but forceful voice.

I felt something on my ankle and glared across the table at Mollie. ‘The kid is bored, she’s playing games,’ I thought. But Mollie was deeply engrossed in conversation with the guy to her left. Besides, she was too short to reach that far unless she got under the table. I felt it again, raising my pants leg, rubbing my leg. I looked at Barbara. She was smiling at me, lustfully.

Trying to dismiss the thing that was moving farther up my leg, I turned to Brenda, trying to think of something to say.

“Is something wrong, Cotton?” Brenda asked, seeing me grimace as I felt Barbara’s hand pinch the back of my leg. She had dropped her napkin and while under the table to retrieve it, ran her hand up my leg, pulled on the little hairs and pinched me.

“No, nothing,” I stammered. Barbara had resurfaced and was smoothing the napkin on her lap.

I don’t remember what was served that night, just the wine being poured, and the bread flying through the air. There were several courses and the meal seemed to last forever.

Marcie introduced me to the other two college friends. The men had adjourned to what Marci referred to as the drawing room for cigars and brandy. I told her that I was going to take Mollie home and that I would see her the following day. Thankfully, she did not say anything about my coming back. Mrs. P was expecting me.

“Cotton, would you mind taking me to that dreadful motel?” Barbara must have overheard me tell Marcie that Mollie and I were leaving.

Mollie sat in the middle, next to me, inching closer to make room for Barbara.

“Take the little girl home first if you want, Cotton,” Barbara suggested.

“No!” Mollie was indignant, taking exception to being called the little girl, I’m sure.

She must be going through a traumatic time, I thought. Her father was taking a new bride, abandoning any hope that she may have harbored for a reconciliation with her mother. I yielded to Mollie’s desire and headed for the motel.

White’s Court was indeed a dreadful motel. Neon signs advertised ‘TV in every room’ and ‘air conditioned.’ Barbara directed me to room number 9. As she got out of my car, she thanked me for the ride and said she looked forward to seeing me the next day.

With Barbara out of the car, there was plenty of room for Mollie to move over but she remained leaning against me. Thinking of what she must be going through, I put my arm around her. She looked up at me, admiringly. We drove like that for a few blocks until I decided that it wouldn’t look right if someone saw us, my being six years older. I removed my arm from her and put my hand on the steering wheel, to the ire of Mollie.

The child moved away from me, as far as she could get. Taking my arm away had offended her. “That lady forgot her scarf,” she exclaimed, letting her voice rise.

I had noticed the scarf as we walked to my car. Barbara had a green silk scarf over her shoulders. ‘How silly, wearing a scarf in this weather,’ had crossed my mind. Other than matching her dress, it made no sense.

“It smells just like her,” Mollie had discovered. She placed the scarf on the seat between us and rolled down her window to get a whiff of fresh air. I didn’t blame her.

When we stopped in front of her grand parent’s house Mollie did not open the door as I expected she would. She sat on her side of the seat, silent. I caught on. The little flat cheated girl wanted me to walk her to the front door. I went around the car, opened the door for her and she stepped out, proudly.

My first thought was to forget about the scarf until the next day. I would place it a bag and give it to her at the wedding, saying, “You left this in my car.” How I wish I had followed through with that thought.

But what would she do with a green silk scarf during the ceremony? She would probably be dressed in white, or off white, considering the weather. The scarf was too big to fit in a pocket book. Women didn’t carry pocket books to weddings anyway. What if her brawny husband overheard me saying, ‘you left this in my car?’ What if he took it the wrong way?

I parked in front of room number 9. There was no need to knock; the door was open and I could see her standing there in the green dress, watching me. I held up the scarf for her to see why I was there. She stood there, silently, watching me.

I opened the screen door and walked toward her. Barbara took the scarf from my hand and tossed it aside. Her mouth was open and her eyes bore into mine. I turned to leave and felt her hand grip mine.

When I turned back, her dress was open down the front, right down to her round belly and the dark bush below it. She placed my hands on her tits and her mouth to mine. “Barb...ah...I..don...Barba.,” was all could say. I felt my belt buckle being released and the sound of my zipper. Her tits filled my hands. They were soft, round, and large. My pants slipped to my ankles. I tried to move my hands but she had me in a bear hug, restraining me. When she reached for my shorts, I pushed off and held her at arms length, using her tits for leverage, of course.

“Call me Peaches,” she said, now covering my hands with hers. I couldn’t relax. She was pushing forward against my hands, holding them in place with hers. We were at a standoff. Checkmate: my pons were guarding her rooks but she had her sites on my king, which was showing signs of growing under a heavy crown. Meanwhile, her queen glistened in anticipation of capturing my king.

“Okay, Peaches, I don’t think we...”

My pons felt her rooks’ nipples grow. My pons...became......pons.

Her hands moved quickly. She had me by the shirt collar and was dragging my shackled body toward the bed. Clumsily, with short steps, I followed her.

The dress was open down the front but in her haste to raise both legs, her knees caught enough of the fabric to cause the back of the dress to rip open. Hearing the sound, I thought immediately of the screen door, being opened by her husband. Suspended above her on one elbow, my shackled feet hanging over the end of the bed, I felt her guide my cock into her pussy. I couldn’t move, thinking I had smelled cigar smoke. She pushed upward to engulf more of me and wrapped her legs around my butt.

I could not move, sure that her giant husband was behind us. She was like a turbine under me, churning, grunting, grinding, using my immobile body.

The cigar smoke became overpowering, circling the room, making my head pound. Or was it the pounding my cock was taking from the piston action beneath me? I had to know if he was there. I turned my head to look. Nothing, no cigar, no husband.

Peaches grabbed my head and brought me down to her. The kiss was intense. Relieved that no one was watching, I slammed by cock into her. She gasp, surprised that I was participating in her game of folly. Breaking the kiss, I gazed down at her. She smiled, a satisfied smirk on her face, having captured my king, checkmate.

I took over the piston action, fulfilling her desires. She was getting what she came for. Her face was twisted and her breathing was labored. Little sounds, ‘ug...ug...ah..ug,’ came from deep within her. Her legs were no longer wrapped around my butt and her arms, which had clutched me so tightly to her, were now limp. Beads of sweat formed at her hairline and rolled into her eyes and down to the rolls of loose skin around her neck.

I was relentless, pounding her in her own fashion, foolishly thinking that I was teaching her a lesson, holding out as long as I could. Satisfied that I had given her something to remember, I surrendered to the boiling in my balls and let go.

Leaving, I looked back. Her two chubby legs were now flat on the bed, open to the patch at the V, my cum oozing out and dripping onto the torn dress. Her chest was rising and falling, tits spiraled loosely without form. At one corner of the dress was a wet smear where I had wiped the juices from the ‘king.’

Wendy, recognizing that we were approaching our destination, suggested that we arrange for a motel room first, before visiting with the growers.

“You can call the Bresdons to get directions and I can freshen up a bit,” she said in the seductive tone I knew so well.

{to be continued}

{my thanks to Patrick}