Wendy's Conquests

Wendy had had enough. Today was the day she was going to give her boyfriend, Rory, the heave-ho. She wanted him out of her house, along with his meagre belongings, before the day was done. If the tattooed, Scottish lorry driver wasn't fucking her anymore, then what use was he?

As she applied the finishing touches to her mascara in the mirror, she reflected on how this day had been a long time coming, and if the man had an iota of common sense, he should be half-expecting it. If he wasn't, then that only underlined just how much he was taking her for granted.

Wendy had met him in a bar one night. Still in his late forties, Rory was a few years younger than her and not very attractive in the usual sense, and that was even before she became aware of the extent of his random assortment of tattoos. He had an unrefined and uncouth manliness about him. If she had to sum up her initial attraction to him in one word, it would probably be 'unsuitable.' This notion of unsuitability had often attracted her to men, even in those long-ago days when she was married. In their final shouting match, just before they separated pending divorce, her husband had screamed at her, "You're a fucking slut. You just can't help yourself, can you? So long as there's a working cock within a five-mile radius, you can't keep those damned legs of yours closed."

After she'd taken Rory home, they'd fucked the living daylights out of each other for most of the night. He was somewhat brutish, handling her roughly, slapping parts that came to hand, squeezing her neck as they orgasmed together, but that was just the way she liked it. While she waited for him to recover, she traced the tattoos all over his body with her fingers, and in some places her tongue, until he was ready to go again.

At her invitation, he'd moved into her house within a week, and the sex continued to be great, until somewhere along the line, when she hadn't been paying attention, it wasn't anymore. His frequent and extended absences, on what he referred to as his Euro runs, hadn't helped. When he returned, he was invariably tired and his interest in her had noticeably waned. She began to suspect he had other women deposited along his regular routes.

Wendy would have given Rory the boot much earlier, if it weren't for her own distractions with Stuart, her daughter's boyfriend. He dropped by one morning on his way to work, and she liked to think that one thing led to another, but the truth was, at that stage, she hadn't been properly fucked by Rory for ages, so there was no way Stuart was leaving the house without satisfying her ravenous cunt. There was certainly a part of her that felt guilty, but her relationship with her daughter, Erica, had never been the warmest, so her thoughts of contrition didn't last too long. A sulky and argumentative child from the day she spoke her first words, the girl reminded Wendy too much of her father.

Stuart's visits became quite regular for a while. Sometimes in the mornings, but thankfully, because that wasn't her favourite time of the day, he began to visit her on his way home from work, claiming to Erica, he had to stay late in the office. However, like all good things, their affair eventually came to an end when Stuart and Erica decided to get married. He informed Wendy his visits had to stop because he was determined to become faithful to his fiance, or what chance would their marriage have of surviving? That was that, it seemed, although Wendy still took some pleasure in how his eyes slavishly followed her around the room whenever she paid a visit to their apartment. The hole left by Stuart's absence, pun intended, only served to highlight how neglectful Rory had become to her needs.

Then there was her recent birthday party. Late into the evening, when she'd returned to her bedroom to freshen up her makeup, she'd heard some furtive noises out on the landing. When she peered through the crack of the door, she saw that Rory had cornered someone, and the unfaithful brute had his hand up the slut's skirt. Wendy was about to rain down all sorts of hell and damnation upon the pair, until she suddenly realised the slut being fingered was none other than her other daughter, Caroline.

That stopped her in her tracks. Her relationship with Erica was already strained. Did she really want to fall out with Caroline as well, despite the provocation? Her hesitancy only lasted a mere seconds, but by the time she resolved to act, Caroline's husband came up the stairs, and Rory ducked into one of the back bedrooms.

That had occurred some weeks ago, and while she had stewed and contemplated all manner of outlandish reprisals, nothing practical came to mind. She'd have taken some scissors to Rory's clothes and thrown them out the bedroom window but given the lack of quality and quantity of his attire, it just didn't feel like the act was commensurate with her sense of betrayal.

In the meantime, Rory was away far more than he was at home, and when he did return, it was only his occasional treats, perfumes and wine from France, or Belgium chocolates that prevented the quarrel which was a long-time brewing.

The night before, she'd finally resolved to break up with him. In the end, there hadn't been a massive row or confrontation. To her mind, things had just meandered towards their inevitable conclusion. Rory had come home late after a four-day absence, while he did another of his Continental runs, and slept in one of the spare rooms, without so much as coming into her bedroom to say goodnight, never mind giving her neglected cunt a long overdue seeing to.

The following morning, she'd heard him get up early and knew he was likely having his breakfast and may even be about to set off again. Wendy resolved to act. Today was going to be the day alright, and while she wanted to make sure she'd said her piece before he left, she took the time to dress and apply her makeup before she descended to the kitchen. Wendy had always credited herself with a sense of style, but she was also determined to remind the Scottish rogue of what he would soon be missing.

Standing before her mirror, Wendy gave herself one last inspection from the top of her shoulder length, blonde hair down to the black, three-inch pencil heels of her shoes. She was looking really good, even before her age was taken into account, and she knew it. Her intention was to dress exactly as she had, the night she'd attracted Rory in the bar. A red, silk blouse, with long sleeves, and enough buttons opened to reveal the deep cleavage of her 36DD breasts, along with her short, black leather skirt, which showed off the trimness of her waist, and the length of her still shapely legs.

Wendy breezed into the kitchen. "Rory, we have to talk..."

However, the rest of what she had composed, as she descended the stairs, became caught in her throat, because she found that her boyfriend was not alone. Seated opposite him at the breakfast counter, was a priest, fully attired in a dark suit and white, clerical collar.

"Ah, Wendy, this is my son Kevin," said Rory with a beaming smile. "I said you wouldn't mind him staying the night."

"Did you indeed," responded Wendy coolly, still trying to process the scene she'd walked into. Rory never talked much about his life outside of where it intersected with hers. She was certain he'd never told her he had a son, much less a son who was a catholic priest. That was the sort of detail one tended to remember.

"I hope we didn't wake you up making too much noise and such, when we came in," continued Rory. "It was very late. I put Kevin up in the spare bedroom while I slept down here on the couch. Would you like some breakfast, Pet? I've already scrambled some eggs, and I could make you a couple of slices of toast in a jiffy."

"That's okay," said Wendy. "I'll just pour myself a cup of instant coffee." As she picked up the kettle, she took the opportunity to take a closer look at Kevin. He was young, still in his mid-twenties, she reckoned, but he certainly wasn't a 'hot priest,' nothing like the one she'd seen in Fleabag. He'd a crewcut haircut, a thin, wiry frame, and Rory's unremarkable face, with a similarly long, thin nose. He wore a pair of wired and circular spectacles that gave him a bookish look, something Rory could never be accused of.

"Kevin was ordained last week," said Rory, barely able to conceal his burgeoning pride.

"Congratulations," said Wendy, feeling compelled to give the young man something of a smile. She took a seat at the breakfast counter opposite him, as she sipped on her coffee.

"He's the first one in our family's history, that I know of at least, to take up Holy Orders," said Rory. He was talking too brightly, smiling a little too broadly. Nothing like his normal grumpy, early morning demeanour. "He's waiting for news of a posting in some far-flung part of the world, and I thought he could stay here with us for a while."

Because of her boyfriend's unusually bright and breezy manner, Wendy already suspected there was a favour to be extracted from her, and there it was.

"That's if it's okay with you, Mrs. Desmond," piped up Kevin, his voice sounding squeaky and immature.

"Ach, Kevin, call her Wendy," interrupted Rory. "Of course, she won't mind. You'll be company for her while I'm away on one of my Euro runs."

"Are you sure, Mrs... I mean, Wendy?" asked Kevin. However, before she could tell him that in truth, she wasn't entirely sure, far from it, the young priest continued. "I was living at the seminary, but they need all their places for the new intake, not to mention the foreign students coming over here to study English."

As he spoke, Wendy noticed the way his eyes kept drifting downwards, following the line of her succulent cleavage, then, when he realised that she'd noticed, he quickly brought his slightly wide-eyed gaze back up to her face. It occurred to her that given his age and vocation, not to mention his unprepossessing looks, the poor boy was probably still a virgin. This may be the closest he'd ever gotten to a decent sized pair of breasts since he'd suckled on his mother's teats. She reached across the counter for the small milk jug, deliberately stretching lower than was really necessary, knowing it pushed her bust forwards to strain against the confines of her bra and silk blouse.

Kevin's eyes were drawn to the cleft between her breasts in the same way as a rabbit's can't resist the lure of car headlights. It seemed getting dressed up hadn't been a waste after all. All her adult life, Wendy had grown used to the way men eyed her body, especially her chest, and never tired of the pleasurable sensation it gave her. She couldn't recall her body ever having that effect on a priest before, and, she had to admit, she got a delightful and fiendish kick out of it.

She said, looking directly at Kevin, "I suppose, you could stay in the boxroom at the end of the landing for a while. How long do you expect it will take for your superiors to post you abroad."

"Aye, that's bonny," said Rory before Kevin had the opportunity to answer. "Didn't I tell you, Son? Wendy won't mind you staying in the slightest, I said, she's a big-hearted woman."

*******

As the days progressed, and Rory went back on the road, his son, Kevin proved to be a polite and considerate houseguest who largely kept to himself. When he wasn't out doing whatever priests-in-waiting were expected to do, he spent the rest of his time in his room, only surfacing when Wendy called him for meals.

On those occasions when they ate together, she made sure to apply her makeup and dress provocatively in short skirts and tight fitting, low-cut tops. She couldn't help herself. There was something deliciously devilish about observing the way his eyes were drawn to her body, as a thirsty man salivates at the sight of a frothy beer. A life of celibacy had to be tough for a man of his age, his relatively young body still being overwhelmed by copious amounts of testosterone, but for Wendy that only stoked her sense of playful wickedness.

One day, as she came along the landing, Wendy knew Kevin was already in the bathroom because she could hear the water running. The door couldn't be locked, as the key had been mislaid years before, and this gave rise to a most mischievous idea. She would go inside with the intention of hopefully embarrassing the young man, adding another facet to her silent campaign of teasing. Then as she tiptoed closer, she experienced a thrill of titillation when she noticed the door was already ajar.

Wendy peered inside. Kevin was in the shower and the steam was rising. Much of the glass screen had fogged up, but not the part that revealed his lower torso.

Kevin stared down at his erection, trying hard to will it away, but, if anything, actually making it persist. He didn't want to touch it; he knew what that would lead to. His organ seemed to be perpetually hard these days. Not surprising really, when he thought about it. His father had left him alone in a house with a woman who dressed as if she was the latter-day Whore of Babylon. How could she walk around with so much of her flesh on show, and not feel shame? That big, bulging chest, those long legs either bare or covered in nylon stockings, and those plump, red-painted lips.

It was typically inconsiderate of his father. The man had been mostly absent in Kevin's life, especially after he'd left his mother, and ran off with another woman. This was one of the very few times in his whole life that Rory had stepped up to help him, and, of course, it would have to involve one of his dirty floozies, as his mother collectively referred to the various women in her ex-husband's life.

He had only just been ordained a priest, and now, thanks to his father, he was staying in a house where the very personification of lust, one of the deadly sins, paraded around him every day in short skirts and high heels.

Carefully, Kevin soaped his body. With a tremendous effort of will, he worked the lather into his chest and along his limps, fastidiously avoiding the affected, and oh so very sensitive, organ. If he could get through the rest of the day without touching it, then his body might take care of itself through an nocturnal emission while he slept. That couldn't count as a mortal sin. Could it? Not if it happened while he was unconscious. Surely not?

Wendy could barely believe what she was seeing. At first, she thought it might be a trick of the cubicle glass and steam, somehow magnifying the sight. In so many other ways, the young man was such a skinny and unappealing specimen. In a perverse way, one that she had not closely examined, it was his unattractiveness, as well as the fact that he was a newly minted priest, which goaded her on to more extreme teasing. Not that she'd previously entertained the possibility of letting anything actually happen. However, now, as she stared at his engorged and enormous cock, it occurred to her how she might get back at Rory for fooling around with her daughter. A reprisal of perfect symmetry. She felt her nipples harden at the prospect. It occurred to Wendy that in addition to revenge, if successful, she might even have her cunt finally given some satisfaction at the same time.

"Oh, I am sorry, Kevin," she called out, announcing her presence. "I didn't realise you were in here."

Kevin immediately stood to attention, turned one way, then another, before he had the presence of mind to snatch the towel, he'd left hanging on the handle of the shower door, and hastily wrapped it round his waist, while water still poured down on him from the shower head. His cock was too big and enflamed for the towel to cover his mortification, so he turned to face the wall and finally answered, "Eh... That's okay, Mrs. Desmond. I'm just about finished."

"Don't hurry on my account," Wendy replied sweetly. "I'll come back later." Then she left the bathroom, her mind racing with schemes. She'd already resolved to fuck the priest.

*******

That evening, Wendy pulled out all the stops. Instead of eating in their normally quick and functional way at the breakfast counter, she laid out their evening meal in the dining room, set the lights down low, and put some soft jazz playing in the background. She wore a red, sleeveless, and backless, mini dress, one that she normally only wore at parties, as it clung to all her curves and showed off her legs.

Kevin must have sensed the change in her attitude because he entered the dining room with an even greater trepidation than he normally displayed around her.

"What wine would you prefer, red or white?" she asked when he was seated. She'd placed a bottle of both on a nearby dresser.

"I don't drink wine," replied Kevin, a nervous croak in his voice.

"Nonsense," said Wendy cheerfully. She rose from the table and began to uncork a bottle. "All priests drink wine, surely. Isn't it part of the service. That whole bread-and-wine thing?"

"Yes, but that's non-alcoholic altar wine."

"There you go," she said pouring a glass of red and placing it beside him, while briefly resting her free hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure it tastes much the same in any case."

During their meal, Wendy tried to maintain a light and breezy flow of conversation, talking about everything and nothing. She had already emptied her third glass when she noticed he was only half way through his first.

"Don't you like this wine?" she asked, getting up from her seat. "I've got a very nice Chablis, if you prefer."

"No, that's okay," said Kevin, "besides, I have to..."

Wendy, ignoring his mild protests, reached for his glass, but instead of picking it up, she knocked it over, spilling most of it into his lap. "Stupid, clumsy me," she said contritely. "It's all over your trousers."

"That's all right," replied Kevin, shuffling in his seat.

"Here, let me mop up what I can with this napkin." Without waiting for his consent, Wendy began to dap the cloth into the young man's lap, while bending forward, the low cut of her dress giving him an excellent view of her breasts. "The quicker it's mopped up, the less likely it will leave a permanent stain."

"Please, It's okay. Eh, thanks... Really, there's no need... I..."

Wendy couldn't be sure if his erection was already there before she'd contrived the little accident with the spilt wine, or whether his youthful cock had sprung into life as the result of the massaging motion she was making with the cloth. She suspected the latter, although what really mattered was, she could actually feel its length and girth, and his organ felt as impressive as it had been when she'd briefly seen it earlier in the shower.

"There, there," she said, now slowly pressing down on the napkin, "I think I pretty much got it all." This was almost proving too easy. In her long experience, a man usually needed far less provocation than she was already providing Kevin, to reach out and grab hold of her. The only thing to be decided was whether he'd first go for her tits, or would it be her arse, all of which she'd put in very easy reach.

However, Kevin did neither. He backed away in his chair, raising it on two legs and almost caused it to fall backwards. "I... I..." he stuttered, as he scrambled to his feet. "I really need to use the bathroom."

With that, he was gone, leaving Wendy alone in the dining room holding a wine-stained napkin.

Later, she scolded herself for coming on too strong, too soon. It was partly the fault of the amount of wine she'd drank so quickly. Getting a man, even a much younger man, to fuck her, had never required much in the way of seduction before. Once she made it clear she was up for it, the rest followed, as night follows day. However, she had to acknowledge, this time she had set her sights on a man who'd sworn himself to a life of celibacy, so it was going to take the application of all her womanly guile, if she were to eventually have her way.