The Secret Sex Lives of Wanda Mitty

‘Try a lick, one of you,’ Dan suggested. ‘Oh – OK, both of you.’

Patrick, a skinny and tattooed kid who barely looked old enough to be an intern, groped below Wanda’s elevated bottom and found the knot of her rectum with a fingertip.

‘Good idea,’ Barbie encouraged. ‘That always turns me on.’

‘You like a finger up your bum?’ Patrick asked.

‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Barbie straightened, abandoning Wanda’s pussy, twitched her hips towards Patrick and dropped the bottoms of her scrubs.

Looking into each other’s eyes, Barbie and Patrick reached behind and worked a finger up each other’s bottom.

Fuck, it was turning into an orgy. Wanda didn’t mind that, even if it meant that she was no longer the centre of attraction on her own. She was proud of not being a selfish lover, which reminded her of the last intern … Betty Lo. Half-Chinese, small and very intense but with a childlike innocence about her. She was … playing with Wanda’s nipples, admiringly, wonderingly, as if they were the first nipples she’d ever encountered. Well, they were rather nice, of course. Perfect cones, but with flattened tops, almost always erect and very resilient. Wanda liked to have them played with, but a bit rougher than Betty’s careful caresses.

Dan said, ‘Give ’em a bit of a pinch, Betty. Make sure she feels it.’ He rocked a little as he spoke, gently fucking Wanda’s mouth. That wasn’t exactly just leaving his cock in but Wanda didn’t blame him. Her mouth was, after all, irresistible.

Once more Dan made a suggestion. He was definitely in charge. ‘Ken, why don’t you fuck her now?’

‘Bum or pussy?’

‘Maybe we could find a way to do her both ways at once? Not many girls can sleep through a three-pronged fucking.’

Eve said –

‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ in Wanda’s mother’s voice.

Wanda eased her hands up from between her damp thighs, careful not to let the sheet over her expose what she’d been up to with her fingers. ‘Mm?’

‘Brunch today, remember? With Henry and Lucinda?’

That was right. Today they’d have brunch with her fiancé and his mother, her mom’s best friend. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it? Maybe, if she could keep her terribly lewd imagination under control.

Chapter Four

Her mom sent Wanda back to change three times. Each time it was for shorter heels, longer skirts and more modest tops. Damn it! Henry had been kept busy working on some sort of business merger and she hadn’t even seen him, let alone had any private time with him, for almost a month. She really deserved a chance to turn him on a little. Even her make-up was toned down at her mom’s insistence.

‘The Chandlers are a prestigious family,’ she said, often. ‘Decorum is de rigueur.’

Wanda hated to admit it but her mom was a prude and a snob, very old school. At least, she was where Wanda was concerned. For herself, short skirts or ones with slits and less than modest necklines were fine. Not that she couldn’t carry it off. Parked in her very late forties, she still had the body of a twenty-year-old.

The outing was a chance for Wanda to wear her engagement ring. It had nine diamonds, set in a square pattern of three threes. She didn’t know much about gems but each stone had to be at least a carat, so the ring was too much for the supermarket. For a swanky restaurant, it was fine.

Although The Captain’s Table’s brunch was a buffet; the maître d’ greeted Wanda and her mother and showed them to their table, where Lucinda was waiting, alone. The elegant woman, as slender, lithe and tight-skinned as Wanda’s mom even though she had to be at least five years older, rose to embrace her. The two mature women air-kissed to both sides, then pecked each other’s pursed lips. The contact was brief but, Wanda felt, electric. Were her mom and Henry’s doing the horizontal? Wanda shuddered and thrust the thought away. Those were images she certainly didn’t want sneaking around inside her head, waiting for their chances to soil her fantasies.

Wanda had a seat on a bench against the wall, under a cartoon of a bare-breasted mermaid riding a seahorse, side-saddle, of course. Wanda took the seat that’d be directly to Henry’s head-of-the-table right. Lucinda sank into the seat that’d be to his left, between him and Wanda’s mom.

‘Henry’s sorry he’s late,’ Lucinda explained. ‘He’s picking up his cousin, Kitty, who will be joining us.’

‘Kitty?’ Wanda asked.

‘They’ve been playmates since they were children,’ Lucinda continued. ‘Best pals forever and all that.’

Playing what? Doctor? That wasn’t a very charitable thought. Wanda shoved it away to join her nasty suspicions about Lucinda and her mom. Kinky fantasies starring herself were bad enough. If she started involving friends and family, that’d be really sick. Too sick to even tell Dr Sullivan about?

Leggy waitresses in musical comedy versions of sailor suits brought champagne and orange juice. Wanda sipped and then swallowed. It was early in the day for alcohol, but a Buck’s Fizz barely counts, right? Then again, she’d skipped breakfast. She pushed the flute three inches further away, then pulled it back. What the hell! She deserved some fun in life.

Lucinda turned her head towards the entrance and brightened. ‘Here he is!’ she sighed in a tone most people would have reserved for the Second Coming.

Despite herself, Wanda found that she was straightening and pulling her tummy in. He was only a man, after all. He might be six-foot four, ruggedly handsome and charming, with a boatload of money, but he was still human. Right?

Henry was wearing navy espadrilles, crisp white pants, a smart blue blazer and a cravat, and he held a captain’s cap under his arm.

‘Henry always likes to dress up,’ Lucinda boasted.

Does he? Did that mean that he was metrosexual, or simply gay? Was he planning to marry her just to be his ‘beard’?

Kitty, her black hair in a pixie-cut to match her big-eyed pixie-face, also wore a blue blazer, with a mid-thigh white pleated skirt, bobby-socks and deck shoes. They were co-ordinated. She wasn’t. Kitty was showing her legs off. She wasn’t.

With a great effort, Wanda stopped grinding her teeth. She rose into Henry’s warmish embrace and cheek-kiss.

Lucinda made the introductions.

Henry declared that he was famished and suggested they raid the buffet. Good idea. Food would give Wanda something to sink her teeth into, apart from Kitty’s elegant neck.

Henry was right in front of her in the line. He took lots of raw oysters so Wanda did likewise. So did Kitty.

‘Oysters, huh?’ Kitty remarked.

Not sure what the girl meant or was implying, Wanda just nodded.

‘You might want a lemon wedge,’ Kitty prompted her.

‘I was hoping for lime,’ Wanda replied, trumping the reminder but still taking the advice.

Kitty ignored that and said, ‘I was hoping for some tongue. I’m very fond of tongue. How about you, Wanda?’

‘That depends,’ Wanda replied, leaving off the ‘whose tongue’ that had almost sprung to her lips.

‘You’re right. It certainly does depend, on so many things.’ Kitty gave Wanda a brief fluttering wink, which Wanda interpreted as ‘whose tongue’ plus ‘and where it’s licking’.

Perhaps the girl wasn’t such a bad sort, after all. She was more slender than Wanda, which meant she was a bit skinny, of course. It was impossible to tell about her tits, under that blazer and a horizontal striped boat-necked cotton sweater. Wanda suspected that her own were better, or, at least, bigger.

The buffet line started with lobster tails. Wanda chose one that was arched high out of its split shell, like it was struggling to be born. There were a variety of pâtés, herring, shrimp, crab and lobster. Wanda took a serving each of the crab and the lobster. A blob of Russian salad and a few black olives absolved her conscience about taking all the high-cost, high-protein offerings, so she was able to feel fine about the two paper-thin slices of very rare roast beef, with creamed horseradish.

Henry dropped a couple of gigantic butterfly scampi on top of her beef. ‘These are very good,’ he told her.

‘Thank you, Henry.’ She could always skip supper, and breakfast tomorrow. Maybe lunch, as well.

Back at the table, a heaped bread basket plus little pots of dressing and drawn butter had appeared. Kitty shed her blazer and dropped it onto the bench seat beside her, though a waitress whipped it away in less than ten seconds. Her sweater was skin-tight so that Wanda could see that she had cup-cake tits, small but firm and projecting, with obvious nipples. Not bad. The hem of the sweater was cropped and elasticised, leaving a three-inch band of bare tanned skin at her midriff. Neither Lucinda nor Martha, Wanda’s mom, showed any sign of disapproval, whereas, if it had been her dressed like that, she’d have been given a slow verbal roast in hell for it. Perhaps it was because Wanda was ‘spoken’ for and Kitty wasn’t? That’d be some compensation.