Friday, November 7, 2008

"Washday With Wendy" Part 1

by Julius
Copyright 2003


Fate intervened in small ways at least four times that day.

The first occurred when Paul decided to save his self pleasuring until the evening. It wasn't an easy decision, he'd woken up piss proud with an erection that a cat could have sharpened its claws on. But he resisted the urge to pull himself joyously into the morning. So he perched awkwardly on the toilet and struggled to bend his "rod-of-steel" down just far enough to void his screaming bladder.

The second? Fate gave him a glorious sunny Sunday contrary to the forecast, which led him to sit on the sun-deck with his second mug of instant coffee.

The third made Wendy decide to do her washing and to hang it all out on the line in her back garden. Her garden's back fence was Paul's garden's back fence and he sat and idly watched.

Before we get to 'Fate stroke number four' perhaps a word or three about Paul and Wendy. Both of them were spouseless. Spouseless because said spouses had run off with each other. Wendy's was older and richer than Paul. Paul's was a lot younger than Wendy. Older men like younger women and younger women have a thing about older men so it wasn't quite as inconceivable as this recently unspoused couple might have thought.

Paul and Wendy barely acknowledged each other. Each blaming the other, in part, for their empty bedrooms and domestic loneliness. Neither wanted reminders of their less than happy new conditions. Paul thought Wendy was old enough to be his mother. In fact Wendy was old enough to be his mother. Wendy didn't think about Paul's age, she just wished Paul had kept his wife satisfied and at home. With attitudes like that the good neighbourlyness had deteriorated into a sort of armed neutrality. 'twould have likely remained thus if the aforementioned fourth stoke of Fate hadn't struck.

Paul sat sipping and staring. The nearer pulley of Wendy's clothesline squeaked abominably. One wicked squeak for every couple of items of laundry. Squeaks that hurt his ears, threatened, he thought, to loosenhis fillings. Paul swore again to sneak out after dark and oil the evil thing.

Her washing surprised him and he began to wonder about this older woman. It must be hers surely! She lived alone ... now. The line filled with everyday nouns: towels and T-shirts and pants and pillow cases. But she was hanging out a lot of adjectives too: frilly and lacy and brief and outright outrageous. Wendy was too old and too big surely for what was moving along the line towards him, squeak by irritating squeak.

What about the fourth event? Well, it was a sharp, snapping noise and a woman's voice saying "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

The clothes line had broken and Wendy's wash lay on the grass. Paul had three choices really, get up and casually walk indoors or sit and watch the woman struggle, or help. Given that this woman's husband had screwed up his marriage and was now, presumably, screwing his sweet, young, delicious, unfaithful little bitch of a wife, options one and two had a certain poetic suitability to them. So, being the gentleman he thought he was, he chose option three and went to help.

By the time he'd scrambled over the fence Wendy was angrily unpegging clothes and throwing them into the clothes basket with considerable vigour.

Paul managed to re-rig her washing line. There was enough spare cable wound on the tensioner and hanging off the loop attached to it to let him knot the line at the break. With a struggle he got the pulley over the hook in the doorpost.

"That should do for now, but you need to buy a new one, this'll only break again," he told her, wiping his hands on the seat of his shorts.

"Thanks," said Wendy, "I'll leave the heavy stuff off and put them out later." She bent to pull a shirt out of the basket.

Paul picked up the box of clothes pins, stood it on the deck railing and reached for the shirt, "Here, let me help."

Wendy wore a loose, white-cotton blouse. The first time she bent over she advertised her lack of bra. At each subsequent bend Paul was treated to a view of swinging breasts. His brain told his cock this was a good thing and his cock agreed. Paul wore nothing under his shorts and by her glances he knew Wendy knew about his cock's unashamed enthusiasm.

They made no eye contact, she seemed to be cleverly avoiding it. This spared him the worst of the embarassment of a jutting erection. Eventualy he and his cock managed to get the latter vertical and only moderately obtrusive. There was something mildly irritating to him about the uncontrollable reaction to this older woman. 'You just don't lust after little girls or old women ... it's indecent!' his brain told him sternly. The same brain of course that had promped the soaring of his cock in the first place!

Then the underwear started arriving in his hands. Brief they were but tiny they weren't. His eye caught several labels, 'Large' and 'Extra Large' but the brevity and the design of them kind of threw him. There were thongs and crotchless panties and lacy half bras and a teddy or two. On his wife, the styles would have been delicious, on a woman of Wendy's generous size, not to mention advanced years, they bordered on, on, ... well, on indecent. That's the way his mind served it up anyway.

Inevitably the phrase, 'She's old enough to be my mother,' popped into his mind again. But she kept reaching down into the basket and flashing her well endowed chest and his stupid cock kept its upright posture. Well, they were big breasts and Paul was a helpless focuser on breasts. He had always thought 'the bigger the better.'

Wendy slowly regained her earlier good mood as the washing line filled up again. Paul, she'd had a job even remembering his name, had delighted her with his male reaction. She was having a hard time avoiding his eye and at the same time keeping her gaze off the very obvious swelling under his shorts. She enjoyed his eyes on her breasts every time she bent. It was good to have a male eyeing her and thinking male thoughts. 'Damn it!' it was good to be near a male again, even if it was the fool who'd let his wife slip away. His silly, air-headed wife who'd lured away her own husband. Her Frank, no not her Frank anymore, who'd given the bitch a lift at the bus stop and never really come back except to sheepishly gather his possessions.

Wendy watched his reactions to her underwear as he took it from her and hung it up. His every thought flitted across his face. Surprise and embarassment, curiosity and not a little disapproval. 'She was too old for such things, too full of figure' she could almost hear the thoughts ... she thought him too nice to use the word 'fat'.

She offered coffee, he declined, she insisted and he accepted and sat while she went inside. Wendy found herself in the kitchen wanting to get changed into something prettier, smarter, more feminine. That would be too obvious. She wanted to have him stay a while, not to frighten him off. She craved company, male company. She was too horny too often for her years she thought. Could she get him to like her? The double break up had made them both hostile. With a jolt she realised she wanted him and immediately called herself a fool.

She went to her bedroom and found a narrow belt and slipped it throught the loops of her shorts and buckled it snug, drawing the shorts into her waist, making them ride higher. She undid another button of her blouse. Taking a ribbon she swept her grey hair into a pony tail wishing she'd gone blonde again the way she kept intending. Stepping into a pair heeled sandals she went back to the kitchen and the coffee.

When she re-emerged with a steaming mug of coffee in each hand Paul noticed she was different. The ponytail, the sound of heels on wood. She seemed changed too in some way, happiness up/sadness down. Her air rather than her appearance. He sensed his mood improve too. His loneliness lifted a little, company at last, even if she was ... he pushed the thought away.

They talked and sipped. He commented on how odd it was to see your own house from a different viewpoint. Theytalked of books read and movies watched and agreed about the lateness of Spring.

Then to his considerable surprise she asked, "Do you miss her?"

"I'm still angry and it's all mixed up with loneliness. But I don't want her back."


"I seem to go through a lot of batteries these days!" her hand flew to her mouth, "Oh my God I don't believe I said that!"

The chuckle that had bubbled in his throat at her first remark broke free at her second and they shared the humour.

She got to her feet, "Gotta go pee, don't go, I'll be right back."

He watched her go. Wide she was but she moved nicely and the worn and frayed denim shorts were worked between her ample buttocks in a rather bewitching way. The grey pony tail swung like any other pony tail, its youthfulness a happy contradiction of her years.

He grinned, they were sat not six feet apart. He listened with a smile to her steady tinkling flow in the bathroom and imagined her sitting there.






She sat, shorts at her ankles and wished yet again that she'd tinted her hair and put on her make up, most of all worn a bra. 'Oh well young Paul, take me as I am,' she said to herself, then added, 'Please!'

The toilet flushed and Paul nursed his cooling mug. She emerged again, with a tray with the coffee carafe, cream and sugar. "Thought you'd like a second cup, you haven't pulled a face about my coffee."

"No I haven't, I mean yes please."

She'd put on lipstck, a pale glisteny pink, it suited her. She poured coffee and left him to add cream and sugar. She sat and asked, "Were you married a long time?"

He started to talk and, without realising it, rather opened his heart about the seven year marriage, childless and steadily cooling. Wendy was a good listener and just let him talk, her eyes never leaving his face. She shifed position from time to time. When she drew up her right leg and wrapped her arms around it, resting her chin on her knee, she wasn't being deliberately provocative. But it was that pose that sparked Paul's desire or at least made him aware of it.
As soon as his eyes dropped she knew too that it had affected him but she chose not to change her pose. The denim of the shorts was tight on her, they were old shorts and had worn and stretched to accomodate a little more Wendy than the when she'd bought them. In this position they were more than just tight, they sliced deep between her legs. Just a scrap of faded blue with a frayed, faded fringe of white and blue on either side. And ... another fringe on either side of that; dark, almost black curls that gave the lie to her grey mane. Any warm blooded male would have trouble looking away and it took several long seconds before Paul could get his eyes up to meet hers again.

When he glanced at her she was gazing off into the trees, but she felt his look. She closed her eyes and said, "Go on."

Poor Paul, trying to tell his tale to this woman, while his eyes kept wandering down to that cruel scrap of denim. The fronts of her thighs lightly tanned but on the insides they were white. He imagined how soft and silky that pale skin would be. His erection was back now, an isistant thing, hot and eager in his shorts.

Wendy allowed her eyes to slit open and watched him through her lashes. His hunger was very apparent. She sensed he was beginning to forget her years, she could almost feel the want in him. God knows she was feeling her wants. Her insides had strained towards him even as he'd climbed the fence and since then, conscioulyand unconsciouly her longing, her need, had been growing stronger.

In her head the words, 'Just ask to fuck me, just ask!' formed. Her pussy seemed to glow. Her breathing was faster and she could feel her heart in her throat. 'Just ask to fuck me, damn you!'

His eyes crept up from her crotch to the low pitched swell of her braless breasts. He wondered how they'd feel in his hands, heavy and soft, warm and fluid. His eyes came up to her face. He actually gasped, her eyes were open, grey and wide, a small smile on her lips. She stared at him saying nothing.

Then "A penny for your thoughts?" she asked softly.

"I was thinking how attractive you are," he reponded. He thought it sounded pretty lame but he could hardly tell her what he was really thinking.

She thanked him as a lady would and wondered why people weren't more honest.

Wendy let her left leg move to the side, opening her thighs wider, then she moved it back, slowly opening and closing, opening and closing. It was hypnotic, Paul's eyes kept flicking down. She wondered how it would look if she were naked, opening and closing herself like that.

Paul wondered the same. He wondered if she was wearing panties under the shorts or a thong like those he'd helped to hang on the line. His erection ached, he was struggling with emotions he could barely control.

"You're not wearing any underwear are you?" she asked him.

He shook his head, wondering how she knew.


"Girls look at pantylines too Paul," she said, answering his unspoken question.

Now she'd taken the iniative she almost relaxed. "Take him out, before he hurts himself" She gestured at his crotch so there'd be no doubt about what she meant.

Paul glanced around nervously, but she reassured him. The sundeck was invisible to neighbours but for his house ... and he was here! "Go on!" she urged, "let me see him! You're not shy are you?"

He sure as hell was, but her tight-denimed crotch and the swinging knee and the challenge in those grey eyes seemed to leave him no choice. He reached awkwardly into the leg of his shorts and struggled his erection out into the sunlight.

"Oh my!" she breathed. It wasn't a bigger than average cock but it looked rather splendid and the sight of it jolted her senses. She felt her face flush, the blush of arousal across her chest and the hammer of her heart in her throat. She just stared and the beautiful cock stared back

They were both now caught between self-restraint and hunger. He was happy to let her set the pace but the effort to control himself was awful. Something inside just wouldn't let him move towards her. So he sat waiting, his cock jutting out. His hand still clutched his shorts and he kept slowly pulling and easing on the fabric gently squeezing his balls and this made his cock wave up and down at her.

Wendy lowered her foot to the floor and as if pulled towards him she got to her knees and moved across the deck. With a hand on each of his knees she knelt with her mouth just inches from the head of his cock. It was nearer purple than red and its slit glistened wickedly. Thick veins ran the length of this beautiful penis and she fancied she could see the hot blood pulsing in them.

Paul was all but screaming for her lips or her fingers to touch him. His arousal seemed to thunder in his ears. He suddenly realised that he might just come all over her face without either of them moving. He stared at his cock, it lifted with every beat of his heart. She looked up at him, "It's beautiful, may I touch it?"

"Oh God, yes! Yes! Yes!" he almost sobbed the words.

She took him between a thumb and forefinger gently, oh so very gently, knowing he was on the very edge of coming. She lowered her head and pressed her cheek gently again his cock. He groaned at the touch. She sighed at the hot velvet feel of him. She'd yearned, and prayed for a cock since forever. Dreamed of one like this. Alone awake, alone in the shower, driving alone, alone on the street, always wanting, wanting, wanting. She pressed her closed eye against the head feeling the slickness of his drooling precum making him slippery against the lid. She turned her head and did the same against the other eyelid. He squirmed in the chair. He felt his balls churn, his insides trembled, he was a caress, a heartbeat from gushing.

Wendy released his cock and got to her feet. She stood astride his thighs. She undid the belt and the big copper button at her waitband, slid down the zipper and forced the shorts down her thighs as far as her opened legs would permit. The scent of her swept overhim. Perfume from soap was there but it was the woman's muskiness that forced the half groan, half growl from him. She wore tiny blue panties, light blue at the waistband, but the darker blue of her wetness where they dived into her cleft.

"Unfasten my blouse Paul, please," she asked softly. Paul almost protested, the wet crotch of her panties hovered inches above his desperate cock and she wanted tit play. She read his mind, "There's no rush Paul. Tease me a little, please me a little, we don' twant you going off early do we?"

She was right he knew but he was desperate to have her sit that sweet thing down on him, impale herself. He feared his cock would split soon, it was so hard!

She watched his hands tremble as he unbuttoned her blouse. His eyes bored into hers, begging. She realised he was horny beyond anything she'd ever seen. To think she'd done this to him! The last button slipped undone and he opened the blouse exposing her breasts. His "Oh God!" delightedWendy.

He forgot the throb of his cock for a few moments ashe gazed at the swell of her breasts. Her nipplesglowed like big raspberries begging for lips andteeth. Her breasts round and heavy sagged with theirweight. White and wonderful, he'd never seen anythingso beautiful.xxx
She could tease him no longer.

Wendy stepped back and knelt again, moving herself between his knees. She lifted her breasts, held them apart and leaned forward letting his cock nestle between them. Then she brought them together enclosing his cock.

He watched, not daring to breathe. She leaned her head forward and let a mouthful of saliva drool down into her cleavage. "Let yourself go Paul, before you burst,we've got all day if we want."

Instinct took over and he thrust up and out and his erection slid up between her breasts. Squashing herself between her hands she made a wonderful tight tunnel for him to make love in. Helping, encouraging with words and movement Wendy leaned foward burying her face in his shirt making her cleavage a hidden private place for his cock. Together, in just a few breast-squeezing thrusts they took him to the promisedland. He came, sobbing and moaning. She felt his cockpulsing between her breasts, felt his essence spurt from him out from between her breasts, hot, so very hot on her throat, splashing on the underneath of her chin. He seemed to come forever, bucking and writhing under her with a sobbing desperation.

Wendy loved every moment of it. The movement between her breasts, the pressure on them, the wonderful feel and smell of Paul's orgasm.


Further down, her wet pussy, still wearing the triangle of her panties wept and begged and begged for attention. Wendy crouched, head and breasts on his lap. In her mind she whispered to her pleading pussy "Shh! patience, we've not finished yet!"

She sat up, her face radiant. He opened his eyes and stared at her. She seemed to glow. He smiled then looked down. She was wet everywhere from his coming. Chin, throat, those lovely big breasts, the cleavage between. The smell of him was strong, drifting up with their heat. A bolt of joy, a woman who didn't care about the mess of sex, its wetness, the sweet smell of it.

She looked down too and gave a low chuckle, she slipped her hands under her breasts and hefted them. They glistened. "Been saving that for a while haven't you?"

He laughed, "No not really," then blushed furiously at the admission he'd made with that phrase.

She heard the words and saw the blush and then smiled, "Don't worry, I'm playing alone a lot lately."

Then a thought crashed in on her. He'd likely make some excuse now and get up and leave her on her own again. She'd been kneeling, wet pantied, happily dreaming of this lovely man's cock doing wonderful things to her. The desperate longing was still there, still waiting, waiting. Patient Wendy and her patient pussy, 'Oh God!' how was she to stop him leaving.

Paul moved in the chair, trying to sit up. 'Oh no!' Wendy began to panic, sure enough, he was going!

"I gotta go for a leak," he said.

She reached out and took his now shrunken cock in her hand, "Poor little guy," she bent and kissed its head, tasting him, revelling in the scent of him.

"Lucky little guy," Paul said happily.

She fondled him and murmured, "Does he have to leave so soon?"

"Maybe he can hang on a little while if you'd like him to stay."

"Oh I don't want him to leave just yet, he looks tired, Silly words she thought, but she was so scared she would have said, done anything.

To Wendy's joy Paul's cock stirred in her hand and began to swell, stiffen. She watched with delight."Maybe we can find him some other fun things to do?" Gently she nursed him back to full erection and began to hope that Paul and his cock really would stay.

Paul's hand strayed to touch her nipple, making her gasp. "I think he'd like that," Paul said softly and now Wendy dared to hope.

She got carefully to her feet but stayed bent over, resting her free hand on his shoulder. Her shorts slid down her legs to rest around her ankles. "I gotta go too, maybe you could hold her for a little while."

To Wendy's delight, his hand dropped from her breast and slid betwen her legs gently cupping her mound. She let out a little squeal of delight at his touch. "Hold her ... tight," she told him and clamped her legs together as his hand curled to hold her.

She was helplessly, happily wet down there she knew and now he must know too. Her gone-away husband had hated that about her and Paul's next words horribly familiar, "My heavens but you're wet!" but these, words were said with surprise and delight.


"I'm sorry, I get that way when I'm aroused."

"Don't be sorry, it's beautiful," he said gently and his hand moved, caressing, massaging her sex, her helplessly wet sex.

She squeezed his cock, "Is it true a guy can't pee with an erection?"

"That's what they say." But Paul was finding speech difficult with them holding each other and her blouse open and her incredible breasts swinging in his face.

She stood, releasing his cock and taking her breasts away. He let his hand come away from between her thighs as she stepped awkwardly out of her shorts.

Wendy reached for the now freed hand and urged him to his feet and playfully grabbed his erection again and led him to the patio doors, "Don't want you to burst do we?"

At the bathroom door she told him "Ladies first," she saw the pained look and the beginnings of a protest. "You won't go away will you?" she said squeezing hiscock.

Paul groaned and said he'd not go away and would she please hurry. "I'll come with you, but just hurry," so Wendy led him into the bathroom with her and sat on the toilet, still holding him.

His cock softened and drooped in Wendy's hand and as always she wondered at the way this remarkable organ changed so much, so quickly.

She leaned forward and took its head between her lips. Amazingly the gesture was lost on Paul, the sound of Wendy's seemingly endless stream was driving him crazy and he bent at the waist and squirmed like a little boy.

Wendy thought she'd never seen anything so cute. Finally she was done and reached for toilet tissue. When she pressed the lever the rush of water was one of the testing moments in Paul's life. He was truly desperate as he dropped his shorts. She raised the seat for him and stepped aside. She rested one hand on his ass and slid the other over his as he aimed himself.

Finaly, with a groan, he let himself go and the flow began. "Please let me hold him," she whispered and he let her replace his hand with hers. There was a sweet magic to that moment for Wendy, holding his velvet smallness, feeling the trembling rush inside his cock. Tenderness swept over her and she actually began to cry, silently, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Intimacy denied for too long.


"Please stay a while!" said a glowing Wendy.

No comments: