Wild Brenda

Brenda was two different women.

If you met her at work, where she greeted visitors, assigned rooms, and took money at the Morton Hotel at the edge of town, she came off as slightly shy, a little uncertain, but competent. That was Tame Brenda.

Demur was a word you'd apply to her if you knew words like that. She dressed simply. Hair in a pony tail, jeans and a clean white teeshirt, and sensible shoes. She spoke quietly and politely, never raising her voice, never adopting a hard tone no matter how rude or obnoxious a customer might be.

Because the Morton stood at the edge of town, woods lay behind it, and I discovered Brenda liked to take hikes in the trees as she ate her from-home sandwiches and sipped her from-home iced tea from one of those thermos bottle carafes they sell at Starbucks. It wasn't vast wilderness but it stretched between the hotel's property line to a couple farms that lay a couple miles distant. Deer, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, and so on lived in the trees. It provided a buffer zone that lent the hotel a sense of isolation and quiet.

This drew customers of the more relaxed sort.

I'd do maintenance, carry luggage sometimes, and escort baffled older folks to their rooms. The Morton had only five stories, and thirty-five rooms, with a trio of out-lying cabins that cost twice as much but offered more privacy if that's what floated yer love boat.

Brenda remained untouched by the stories told by the maids, who'd giggle about finding condoms, semen all over things like the telephone or coffee maker, even smears of blood on pillows and sheets. Vibrators, strap-on dildos, and sex toys none of us understood were found along with, rarely, folded cash, coins, dice, false teeth, and boxes of matches.

One time a thief hid a diamond ring by sliding it onto the spring-loaded cylinder that held the roll of toilet paper onto the wall bracket, and a maid found it inside the roll of toilet paper when she changed it out, which earned her a plaudit and citation from the police.

Our giggle sessions, lots of eye rolls and braying sneers, affected Brenda not at all. She'd listen, sometimes give a hint of a smile, but never commented. Rolled off her like cum off a whore's lipstick.

It was because she stuck out in our group of Morton salts, as we called ourselves, that I got curious about Brenda.

#

One day I asked if she'd like a walking companion. She said sure, why not, and we headed out. I'd brought my own lunch that day because I'd planned on asking if I could go with her.

As soon as the trees and underbrush blocked us from view, and no one at the hotel or in the parking lot could see us, she turned to me and set her lunch bag and carafe on the ground.

Startled, I watched her unbutton and unzip her jeans and lower them along with her panties. She hoisted up her tee shirt to reveal a lack of bra. She reached to cup my balls through my trousers, then squeezed, sliding her thumb up my stiffening cock. "Fuck me hard."

Gob-smacked at her language as much as anything else, I dropped my paper bag with its PBJ sandwich and my bottle of San Pellegrino water and popped open my pants.

She pretty much tore them off me.

Before I could move she dropped to her knees and sucked hard on the head of my cock, running her tongue under it, licking and swirling. Quiet grunts of greed roiling in her throat had me near coming. She popped her lips off my cock and looked up. "Go on, let it go. You'll last longer in my cunt."

Well, my knees wobbled but I let her suck down a big load, five pumps at least. She pulled the marrow out of my boner. I swayed in pleasure, and nearly fell over but she guided me to the ground, turned away.

On her hands and knees she presented herself for me. Dual globes split by a pucker over a Georgia O'Keefe wet dream, her pink showing.

Already getting hard again, I touched her pussy with four fingers, let my thumb press her anus, and slapped her butt with my other hand.

That made her groan and push back toward me. "Slam my cervix."

Unable to resist, I pressed myself into her slit and found it warm, wet, and active, squeezing like a pair of oiled hands. Stretching my hips forward, I went as deeply into her welcome as possible, hoping to feel the tip of my cock bump her cervix to give her a gasping thrill. When I did it, she moaned like I'd split her in half and it felt better than life. "Oh, daddy."

This was timid little Brenda?

She rutted like a wild boar's sow, digging her hands into the leaves and dirt, bouncing her ass up and down. I stopped squeezing her ass long enough to reach forward and squeeze her tits. I pulled on her pony tail, riding the bronco. My senses started blurring.

Muscles in her vagina wrung me dry.

I came three or four times, one after another, each one at least three pumps, every new tingle sliding me higher into ecstasy, my balls slapping at her clit, my hands holding her ass cheeks, my knees digging divots into the ground as I tried my best to cram all of myself into her.

When we both dropped flat to the ground panting, she purred.

"Fuck." Not an original comment, but accurate, I thought.

Standing, she brushed herself off.

I watched her flick bits of crushed leaf from her nipples, her knees, her elbows, forearms, and palms. As she stepped into her white panties and drew them up I nearly lost it, and leaned in to kiss her fur.

She gave me a funny look, as if puzzled why I'd do that, then snugged her underwear up and patted her crotch, as if congratulating a pet for doing something that pleased her. I found that cute and sexy.

Up came her jeans, their zipper, and she buttoned them on her flat belly, which still rippled, I noticed. Was she still having little orgasms? Women have it good when it comes to drawing out pleasure. All us guys can do is edge and that can make us sore and achy, especially if the ejaculation is ruined somehow.

Her teeshirt covered her handful-sized breasts and she slipped on a windbreaker that sported the logo of Morgan Hotel. She must've been carrying the jacket, I hadn't noticed. Too busy watching her ass sway, or measuring the curve of her slender belly.

Running fingers through her hair, she sat crosslegged and ate her lunch.

Dressing slower, my body tingling, I asked if we could do it again sometime soon. My voice wobbled, I was so spent. Or excited. Somehow I felt like a teenager again. She wasn't any kind of woman I'd met before.

"Do what? We can eat lunch together, sure."

She was back in her sweet, innocent mode, and it held true as I made banal conversation and chomped my PBJ, slurped my now-warm Italian water. Even as we hiked back to the hotel for our after-lunch duties she seemed untouched, pristine, a virginal girl who wore no makeup, no bling, and no attitude. As I said, she was two different women.

Yeah, I was puzzled, but I was also fucked dry for that day and had nothing to complain about, nor anyone who'd care anyway. I started thinking of Wild Brenda as my secret.

#

Some guy in room 3D, which tended to be one of our trouble rooms, demanded someone go up there and just look at the outrage he'd found upon checking in. Brenda asked me to cover the front but I sloughed it off on the head maid, who was glad to do it, thinking she'd get a bonus. I might have led her to such a belief.

"I'll go with you."

Brenda gave me a look mixing alarm and gratefulness. "Okay."

We rode up in the elevator standing side-by-side and I swear I wanted to hit the stop button and ravish her right there, but she was in Tame Brenda mode and I'm no masher.

We walked down the corridor in the dim lighting on those carpets patterned with tropical-ish flowers on a mauve and maroon background -- it's enough to make you hungover even if you don't drink -- and came to 3D, the Third Dimension, as maintenance called it. I'd replaced more faucets, shower curtains and even shower heads, mirrors, and repaired more cabinetry, even headboards, in that room than in all the other ones combined.

"Whatcha think we'll find this time?"

Brenda shrugged and knocked on the door.

It opened fast and a heavyset guy with a red face glared at us. "Just look at this." He strode deeper into the room, right arm stiff, finger pointing.

I looked, then glanced at Brenda, who was glancing at me.

Neither of us saw anything.

"What are we looking at here?" Look, I asked this in a polite tone, wasn't mocking the guy, but hoo boy did he go off on us.

Yelling, swearing, kicking things, flailing his arms, the guy went ballistic, postal, and nuclear all at once. I figured him for crazy and put myself between him and Brenda but it was she who deflated his rage by saying, in her small, calm voice: "We can comp you the luxury suite, sir, with apologies for this oversight." I'd been ready to start defending myself, body tense, fists clenched, but her tone soothed even me. It drained the guy of his high dudgeon. No longer affronted, he slouched and staggered a little, shaking his head. "Sorry if I offended you. It's just that, ever since I was a kid--." "No need to explain, sir. Our fault entirely. My colleague will show you to the suite." She looked at me and I nodded, automatically lifting the guy's luggage, which hadn't been opened.

Brenda returned to the front counter and I left the guy in the South Suite, the one with all the sunny windows and views of the trees and fields. We discussed it later, Brenda and I, and the maids sent in to fix what ever problem had roared through the guy's OCD. We never did figure out what had set him off, what he'd been pointing at, and I started wondering if it had been a head game to get him comped.

If so, it worked, but he'd been so far out of control it had to be some kind of psychological wobble.

Once the poor maids had given the room, already clean, a thorough deep clean once-over, Brenda decided to inspect it. Not because she didn't trust the maids but probably to try to figure out what the problem had been.

Going with her again, I waited 'til the elevator doors shut. "We could just ask the guy to specify. You know, pretend it's for our records." She smiled but didn't look at me.

We unlocked and entered 3D.

Brenda locked it from within after hangin the Do Not Disturb sign on the outer handle. She pressed against me, looking up into my face and pressing her mons pubis against my waking cock. "Let's fuck this place up."

My arms naturally fell around her. The top of her head rested under my chin. Her body on mine kept up little motions that sent me staggering toward the bed, where we both flopped with a laugh.

We bounced, and I remembered her ass bouncing while she crouched before me on hands and knees. A deep ache throbbed through by balls.

She stood over me and undressed, making sure I saw every inch of her in a slow strip tease. Long legs, tight thighs, flat belly with its mons protruding its fur coat below, her breasts firm, nipples alert, her hair loosed from its pony tail to caress her shoulders and throat, that dirty coy smile of wanton lust on her face ... Once naked, she told me to get that way.

I didn't have to be told twice, and lost my clothes as fast as I'd ever done, my erection actually getting in my way as I tore off my underwear.

She turned her back on me, then crouched, backing her dripping cunt to my lips as her own descended onto my shaft. Lapping, then thrusting my tongue into her, I let my hands ride on her thighs. Reaching forward, the tip of my tongue kept finding her clit, and she'd jump like an electric jolt had gone through her. She began grinding on my face.

My own sensations fought for control. She'd deep throat me, holding me for longer and longer breaths, then gasp me out and nibble the underside of my glans with sharp little teeth. Her tongue never stopped moving and once she snorted as my long, hard cock slid back up her throat and out of her mouth, and that sound gave me a drop of seminal fluid that intoxicated her.

Our sixty-nine ended with both of us clenching, each pressed tightly to the other, each of us caught in waves of orgasm, me filling her belly without her needing to swallow, so deep down her throat she held me, and Wild Brenda gushing enough to drown me as I gulped and bathed in her quim.

We fell flat, her on top of me, both panting.

Rolling off me, Brenda padded away from the bed and a moment later I heard the shower. Good idea, I thought. What a mess we'd made on that duvet. It would need replaced, if industrial laundering didn't save it.

Not that I cared. Once again Wild Brenda had held me captive to her lust, so sexual a pulsating wave of heat coming off her it made it impossible for me to resist, as if I would anyhow. You don't turn down such gifts.

Something Hitchcock had once said, when asked about his icy blonde femme fatales, crossed my mind. It's the school teachers and librarians and other decorous little women who carry the most sexual wallop because it's always a surprise when it's released, and it's pent-up, ready to explode. Getting one of that kind of woman to open up sexually is like unwrapping the best Christmas present imaginable.

Old Hitch knew his psychology, the old creeper.

Well, something like that. It's my paraphrase, and it sure fit Brenda.

After Brenda was rinsed, dried, and put together again, I hit the shower myself. She waited for me, a surprise, and we rode down together. She had a quiet, brief talk with the head maid, who nodded, winked, and headed up, no doubt to straighten the bed situation and replace the duvet.

#

Look, all I know is Tame Brenda tempts me to do something I've never considered ever, and that's to ask her to marry me, but I feel kinda weird because I know I'm only doing it because I know about Wild Brenda. Is that stupid of me? Am I being played?

Way I figure it, she chose me that first time we had lunch in the woods, which we do now pretty much every day regardless of weather, so she's bound to say sure, why not get married. Or would that take off the zing?

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