The Secret Sex Lives of Wanda Mitty
Felix Baron

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

More from Mischief

About Mischief

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Commuting by subway can be inspirational. When you drive, you get to see all sorts of interesting people, but just quick glimpses, in passing. On the subway you get to study them, sometimes up close, and your mind is free to wander. Yes, Wanda had been known to pass her stop a few times but that’s better than rear-ending a bus because you’re daydreaming. She knew that from bitter experience.

A businessman got up. Wanda slipped into his spot, next to a little sparrow of a woman whose skinny lap was covered by an enormous macramé bag full of knitting. Her long wooden needles were click-clacking away at a furious speed, as if the only way to prevent some impending disaster was to finish the project she was working on before she got to her station.

The train hissed to a stop. The doors opened. What looked like a full basketball team, no uniforms but carrying bags of balls, crushed its way in. Just about the biggest man that Wanda had ever been so close to ended up standing with his back directly in front of her, blocking her view of the rest of the car.

That was OK. He was black and so tall that his muscular rump was higher than her head. When she inhaled, she sucked in his musk. His incredibly baggy shorts brushed his knees. It could be that he had to wear them like that to contain an enormous dangling length. Could be.

Subways are so inspirational.

Wanda was inspired.

Seated behind that wall of flesh, she was pretty well invisible.

She knew she shouldn’t, but Wanda fantasised.

There was no hair on the paler skin at the backs of his knees. If she were to lift a hand out of her lap and stroke that skin with her knuckles, it’d be hard and smooth and warm. How would he react to her touch? A handsome young giant like him would be used to being fondled by older women. He’d most likely chosen to stand there in front of her because, out of all the women and girls in the carriage, she was the one he’d chosen to be surreptitiously caressed by.

He’d twitch, but that’d be all.

Which side would he be hanging? Wanda had read, sometime, somewhere, that statistically, more men ‘dressed left’ than right. So if she let her fingertips glide up inside the left leg of his baggy shorts, sliding over skin that was so glossy it felt slippery …

Oh my! It couldn’t be! Could it? It was. There was no mistaking the nature of the heavy limpness that lolled against the back of her hand. If his shorts had been just two inches shorter, the head of his cock would have peeked out beneath them. What a monster!

It twitched against her hand. The young man shuffled his feet a little further apart. What more invitation could Wanda ask for? She curled her fingers around his shaft, just above its head. Their tips didn’t touch. What would it feel like to have that monster invade her body? Would she be able to stretch that far?

The cock in her hand thickened and tried to lift. She grasped it firmly. It wouldn’t do to embarrass the lad by allowing his erection to jut out in front of him. But she couldn’t hold it down for him forever. There was only one thing she could do.

Her hand stroked, up, then down, slowly and firmly. Did he grunt? Men did, sometimes, when aroused.

The train hissed to a stop. Her new friend made no move to get out, thank goodness. Wanda pumped him again. Could she feel a pulse? He was certainly getting warmer. Better get on with it, just in case his stop was coming up. Wanda slithered her fingers up and down, sucking the sensations in through their tips. He was so big. He must have outweighed her better than two to one – maybe three to one – but she held him fast by the root of his power. Despite his bulging muscles, she was in control of him. The way she had him now, he’d give anything for her to continue doing what she was doing. When a man’s orgasm approaches, he’s nothing but a ravenous beast. That’s a woman’s power.

His cock was straining up, making it hard for her to hold him down. She pumped harder and faster and harder and –

Ah! There it came. She could feel the pulsing through his shaft.

It’d make a mess on the carriage’s floor, but no one would know what it was, if anyone even noticed. The train stopped again. Her ebony stallion moved away to get off.

Oops! It was her stop as well. Wanda scrambled for the doors and just made it. He was nowhere in sight. It was best that way. If their eyes were to meet, it’d be so embarrassing. Even if she’d only fantasised their encounter, shame would be red in her cheeks. Sometimes she wondered if people could tell her dark secret just by looking at her. That too sent thrills of shame through her.

Even so, she simply had to stop.

Chapter Two

The Taylor Building was two blocks north of the subway station. It was a lovely day. Wanda walked it. Therapy Associates was on the twentieth floor. The receptionist had Wanda fill out a long form, though what relevance her childhood diseases had to her current emotional problems was beyond her.

Dr Sullivan would doubtless be small and slim, with a goatee and a Swiss accent. He’d wear a black jacket and pinstriped pants. Perhaps he’d have a pocket watch that she’d be asked to look at while he twirled it until she was ‘under’ and a slave to his perverse will. Would he …?

‘Miss Wanda Mitty? Come on in, please.’

So, he had an English or a Boston accent, she could never tell them apart, and he was well over six foot, built like a going-to-seed ex-quarterback, in a check shirt and expensive jeans. Her imagination wasn’t always a hundred per cent right. The lack of a pocket watch was a bit of a disappointment though.

He sat in a big green leather chair and waved her to a smaller version of the same. His desk was a sheet of glass on spindly chrome legs. It wasn’t at all the sort of desk that a girl would want to be bent over to be buggered. No doubt it was strong enough, but it looked flimsy and the thin glass edges would be hell on her thighs.

There was a file in front of him. He had a file on her already?

He opened it. ‘I see that your mother made your appointment for you, Wanda. Was it against your wishes?’

‘No, not at all. I know that I need help.’

‘Pre-wedding jitters?’ he asked.

‘Does that seem trivial to you?’

‘Getting married is life-changing. Does having concerns about it seem trivial to you, Wanda?’

‘No.’

‘Then it doesn’t to me. Is there anything about your upcoming nuptials that worries you in particular?’

‘Um.’

He waited for her to say more and, when she didn’t, he asked, ‘Tell me about your young man, your fiancé.’

‘He’s big, about your height but not so …?”

‘Bulky as me?’

‘If you like. He’s very good looking, charming, fastidious …”

‘Financially?’

‘Very well off. There are no worries there. Oh – and he draws, I’ve been told, though I haven’t seen his work yet.’

‘He sounds well rounded, then.’ He glanced down at his file. ‘Does the age difference bother you?’

‘Not at all – in fact, I like it that he’s a bit older. It gives me a feeling of security and it’s just a bit naughty, now that I think of it. I kind of like “naughty”.’

‘He seems just about perfect. So?’

‘Should I give you some background?’

‘Excellent idea.’ He picked up a pen.

‘It’s sort of an arranged marriage, but not exactly.’

Dr Sullivan nodded.

‘That doesn’t mean that I don’t love him.’

‘Of course not.’

‘You see, my mother got into genealogy. A lot of people are, what with the Internet making it so easy. There was something in our family history that’d always fascinated her.

‘Our ancestors were Puritans who settled in Oregon – mixed farming. They did OK, I guess, until the two brothers who’d inherited the farm, Henry and William, had a falling out over a servant girl.’

Dr Sullivan nodded as if he’d been expecting exactly that information.

‘One night, Henry took off with all the portable valuables, including the cash, and the girl. William searched for him, in vain. As it happened, Henry had only gone fifty or so miles, across the border into Nevada. He set himself up with the family money in the corn business and changed his name to Chandler. Not much imagination, you see.’

‘What’s your fiancé’s given name,’ the doctor asked.

‘Henry. Why?’

‘How’s his imagination?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I see. Go on.’

‘It seems that, as well as buying and selling corn, Henry cooked and distilled it. He made a lot of money, which he invested in land, at first. Later, in all sorts of good solid things, like banks and railroads. He became a pillar of the community, a church elder, all that kind of thing.’

‘And the other brother, William, your direct ancestor?’

‘He went broke. He tried publishing and was unsuccessful. For a time he was a travelling carpet salesman, failed at that, then got a job on the railroad, walking the line. William was industrious enough but a bit absent-minded. He got run down by a locomotive; but not until after he’d married and fathered two sons to continue the line.’

‘So one side of the family prospered while the other suffered?’

‘I wouldn’t say “suffered” but we were never wealthy.’

‘And then your mother found Henry’s mother, and they got together?’

‘And became mutually obsessed with healing the family rift, using me and Henry as the glue.’

‘Does he seem to resent that?’ the doctor asked.

‘He seems genuinely in love with me.’

‘Seems?’

‘Henry isn’t very demonstrative.’

‘Tell me more about him. What does he do?’

‘He sits on boards. He’s a lawyer but he doesn’t practise that. He’s on the committees of several charities, two churches, an orphanage, a private girls’ school, plus he administers the family trust and runs the family businesses.’

‘Very respectable, then.’

‘Very.’

‘Too respectable?’

How to answer that? Best say nothing.

Dr Sullivan prompted, ‘He’s ultra-respectable, and you?’

Fuck, he’d got right on it. Well, what would you expect from a shrink? She blurted, ‘I gave my virginity away when I was quite young.’

He nodded.

‘I have a healthy appetite, that way.’

‘I see. And you suspect that he doesn’t?’

‘There’s Puritan blood in the family.’

‘On both sides,’ he said. ‘The original Henry wasn’t so respectable, from what you’ve told me.’

‘My Henry wears dark three-piece suits.’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘All the time? I bet he’s even got three-piece chalk-striped pyjamas.’

The doctor smiled at that. ‘You haven’t actually seen his pyjamas yet, then?’

‘No.’

‘The physical side of your relationship?’

‘Zero. A few kisses, but not real kisses. My mother warned me, when she took me to visit for the first time, “No bad language. No flirting. Don’t dress sexy. Be respectful and respectable.”’

‘But you haven’t always been so respectable, in the past?’

‘You better believe it, Doctor.’

‘You’re sexually experienced, then; adventurous even?’ He waited in vain for her to respond. ‘And you don’t want to give up the lifestyle you’ve learned to enjoy? I’m not judging you, Wanda.’

She nodded.

‘How are your concerns manifesting themselves? I take it that you haven’t complained to your mother that you see a less than exciting intimate life ahead of you?’

‘I have, actually. She’s no shrinking violet herself. She says I’ll just have to teach him how to please me.’

‘What do you think about that?’

‘Nervous. Unsure that’d work.’

Dr Sullivan tapped his chin with his pen. ‘And the immediate effect?’

‘I fantasise, Doctor.’

‘Sexual fantasies? About your fiancé?’

‘Sexual, yes: about Henry, no.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

She blurted, ‘All the time. I forget things, miss appointments, don’t feel safe driving.’

‘Obsessive fantasies, then?’

‘Yes,’ Wanda admitted. ‘Obsessive.’

‘Then perhaps our first goal should be to bring your imagination under your control. If you control your fantasies, they can’t control you. You could establish boundaries.’

Wanda nodded. It was fascinating how he seemed to be shrinking fifty or so pounds and growing a small beard.

In a slightly Germanic accent, he asked her, ‘How about masturbation?’

‘Yes please.’

He got out of his chair and came around to where she sat. With his left arm resting on the back of her chair, he plucked her skirt up her thighs with his right hand and slid his fingers higher, to the gusset of her panties. It was eased aside. A satisfyingly thick finger worked up into her and started pumping. Would it be polite to offer him a handjob in return or was what he was doing simply a part of her treatment?

His voice, slightly raised and with that Boston accent again, said, ‘Wanda!’

‘Yes, Doctor?’ She blinked and he was back in his chair, back the way he had been.

Very quietly, he said, ‘You were drifting off into a fantasy, weren’t you?’

‘Sorry.’

‘No problem. Did you hear my advice?’

‘Advice?’

‘I asked you to keep a journal of your fantasies, totally uncensored, and bring it in with you the same time a week from now. Can you do that for me? Then we can discuss specifics.’

Yeah, and then he’d jerk off while he read them and he wouldn’t even let her watch. She said, ‘I can do that, Doctor. Thank you.’

A chime sounded.

‘That’s our time up, I’m afraid. Try to relax, Wanda. All will be well.’

On the subway ride home, Wanda still felt needy from the doctor’s interrupted attentions. She pulled her skirt up, her panties down, and touched herself to a nice little climax that was greeted by the other passengers with cheers, claps and stamping feet.

Chapter Three

Wanda woke on her back in her own comfortable bed with her sheet pulled up over her face. Or she assumed that she did. She hadn’t woken in someone else’s bed since she’d met Henry. Still, until she opened her eyes and pulled the sheet down she wouldn’t be absolutely certain she was in her own bed, would she? She might have had an accident that she didn’t remember because of retrograde amnesia – was there any other kind? You couldn’t very well forget your future, could you?

Perhaps she’d been in a coma, but there didn’t seem to be any wires or tubes attached to her. Could they be trying something new on her? Wireless monitoring of some sort?

A pleasant baritone said, ‘And this is Wanda. She’s a very special patient. We are trying some new techniques on her, very hush-hush, somewhat controversial, so you don’t talk about her case outside this room.’

A variety of voices said, ‘We understand,’ ‘Of course, Doctor,’ ‘Mum’s the word,’ and things like that.

The first voice continued, ‘Note the tone of her muscles.’

Her sheet was folded down to Wanda’s waist, immodestly exposing her naked breasts. She kept her eyelids as slits so that she could see but they wouldn’t know that she could.

Someone said, ‘Excellent.’

Someone else sighed, ‘Lovely.’

Wanda resisted taking a deep breath.

‘Wanda is paralysed,’ the voice continued, ‘but she responds to touch and seems to be thinking. Under the Electrical Brain Scanner Device, the pleasure centres of her brain show activity if she is stroked: like this.’

A firm but very soft hand caressed her bare shoulder.

‘If the touch is more intimate, like this –’ he cupped and compressed her breast ‘– her brain lights up like a Christmas tree.’

‘A sexual response?’ someone asked.

‘Certainly. We are maintaining her muscle tone by frequent massage. That’s experimental, but more radical; we theorise that the continuing sexual stimulation will eventually bring her up out of her coma. She’s already responded with twitches and flexed muscles.’

A higher-pitched voice asked, ‘Is she still capable of achieving climax?’

‘So far, four times, for sure. Two more possibles.’

A second female voice asked, ‘What will our duties be, as interns, regarding this patient, Doctor?’

‘We want to expose her to as much stimulus as possible, in intensity, kind and frequency. While you are about your duties, whenever you get the chance, I want you to stop by to visit Wanda. If you have reservations, just hold her hand and talk to her. If it won’t offend you, give her gentle caresses or whatever else you feel comfortable with.’

A much deeper voice asked, ‘Within what parameters, Doctor?’

‘Do no harm. Don’t hurt her or endanger her in any way, but otherwise …’

‘Intercourse?’ the deep voice asked.

‘By all means. Just don’t talk about it, right?’

There was a chorus of eager assurances that what happened in Wanda’s Ward stayed in Wanda’s Ward.

The doctor said, ‘That’s it for you people, for today. You can go, unless you’d like to stay here and get to know Wanda a little better?’

The deep voice said, ‘Seems like the charitable thing to do, don’t it, Doc. I’ll gladly give up some of my free time to help this poor girl.’

Apparently, he wasn’t the only Good Samaritan. They all declared their willingness to tend to poor Wanda. The doctor left. There was a click, as of a door locking.

Someone folded her sheet down to her feet, leaving her naked and ashamed.

Six faces swam into Wanda’s restricted view. Even paralysed, she managed to focus.

To her left, standing beside her head and holding her hand gently, stood a man who might have stepped out of just about any cop show on TV. He was of mixed Caucasian and African blood, with a shaved scalp, a neck that was as wide as his head and deltoid muscles that formed 45-degree angles with his incredibly broad shoulders. Wanda decided that his name was ‘Don’. No – ‘Dan’. That suited him better.

Dan said, ‘I wonder if what they’ve tried so far has all been tactile?’ He leaned down over her, lips close to her ear. ‘Wanda, baby, you’re such a tasty piece of ass, I’d like to smother you in whipped cream and lick every last drop off your sweet white skin.’ He finished with a quick but strong lap at her nipple.

‘Or how about taste?’ he continued. ‘Taste can be very evocative.’

‘Taste of what?’ Eve, a tall skinny platinum blonde, asked, with a trace of a giggle in her voice.

‘This.’ Dan turned Wanda’s head towards himself and lifted her upper body closer. A quick tug at the drawstring at his waist dropped the pants of his scrubs to the floor. Men in shirts and wearing nothing below had always struck Wanda as kind of endearing, vulnerable but dangerous, like lions playing at being cute.

Anticipating, she relaxed her jaw. His thumb pulled down with gentle power. The juicy plum of his giant penis nudged her lips and was inside the welcome wet embrace of her mouth. He was right. Tastes are evocative. The sensations of everyone she’d ever sucked, not that there had been many, in fact, far too few, swam up from her memory.

Eve said, ‘She’s in a coma, Dan. She’s not going to give you a blow job.’

‘That’s OK. I’ll just leave it in there until the swelling goes down.’

‘No matter how long it takes?’ Eve asked.

‘No matter how long. I’m a patient man.’

‘I like that in a man.’ Eve reached over to cup his dangling balls. ‘Don’t choke her, though.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

Meanwhile, Wanda savoured the flavour and the firm bulkiness of Dan, while striving desperately not to react with a lick or a suck. That was hard for a sexually deprived young lady.

The two interns at the bottom of the table, Ken, with dyed blond hair, and Barbie, with a fluffy ponytail, lifted Wanda’s legs and set her knees over their shoulders, the right over Barbie’s left, the left over Ken’s right.

That was a blast from the past. She hadn’t fantasised about sex with Ken and Barbie for a very long time. Two sets of fingers explored her, one male, one female. Her outer lips were palpated and then teased apart. Two fingers entered her, side by side.

‘She’s reacting, if getting wet counts,’ Barbie announced.

‘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.

Kitty nudged Wanda with her thigh. ‘I’m sure that we are going to become great friends,’ she declared. ‘I can feel it already.’ She rested a warm palm on Wanda’s knee and squeezed.

‘Thank you.’ That was confusing. It isn’t fair when someone you’ve decided to hate comes on all warm and friendly. And ‘comes on’ to boot!

Wanda picked up a small fork and prodded at the lobster meat, not sure how to proceed. Next to her, Kitty simply plucked her tail from its casing with her fingers, dipped it in a sauce and slowly sucked at the pinkish-white meat. There was no doubt in Wanda’s mind. The girl was fellating the firm flesh.

Kitty dipped again. ‘I do love this sauce, don’t you, Wanda?’

‘I’ve tasted better.’

‘Haven’t we all! I wonder if this is a cock or a hen lobster?’

‘Does it make a difference?’ Wanda asked.

‘They’re both good, I’m sure, but I like to know what I’m putting in my mouth, anyway.’

The blatant innuendoes confirmed that Kitty was definitely a naughty girl. Wanda liked that, even if the girl’s freedom to be openly bad made her jealous. Under different circumstances, she and Kitty could have been very good friends. Come to that, she really couldn’t hold Kitty’s past whatever-it-had-been with Henry against her.

Henry had his head back, pouring an oyster into his mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Did oysters evoke the female essence for him as much as lobster tails did the male one for her?

Her mother and Lucinda were looking into each other’s eyes as they too slurped oysters. Oh my God! If that didn’t confirm exactly what Wanda didn’t want confirmed, what would?

So as not to mimic Kitty, Wanda picked her tail up and sank her teeth into it. The sweet meat was resilient enough she could almost fancy it was alive and moving inside her mouth. On her tongue.

This wasn’t a brunch. It was a goddamned food orgy!

Four loud and burly young men brought plates that were pyramided with the buffet’s offerings to the next table. Wanda threw a glance at Kitty to see if she disapproved of the newcomers as much as she did. There was something about the young woman’s profile …

Wanda twisted on her bench seat and looked up at the cartoon. There was a definite likeness between Kitty and the mermaid. And Henry drew. As far as she could see, the picture wasn’t signed, not even with initials. If it had been, and the signature had been ‘Henry Chandler’, or the initials ‘HC’, that would have been very unpleasant.

Henry’s knee touched hers under the table. Was his hand going to follow? Please?

He asked her, ‘Do you ride, Wanda?’

She nodded. Her mother had made sure that she was raised ‘above her station’. Upward mobility had been the theme of her life, imposed by her sole parent. Her mom hadn’t been mistaken though, after all, all being well. From shoe-shop assistant to the wife of a multimillionaire would certainly be an upward move.

‘English saddle, or Western?’

‘Either – both. Not at once.’

He grinned, warming her heart. ‘Funny girl! My negotiations will be finished in a couple of days. I plan to take a few days off to get to know my bride better.’

Did he mean sex? Please, God, let him mean hot sweaty, maybe kinky, sex!

He continued, ‘I thought we could all go out to the ranch, kick back, take it easy, with maybe some riding? You have a quality about you, Wanda, that makes me want to see you in full English riding regalia.’

The men at the next table were laughing raucously.

‘I don’t have …’ she began.

‘No, of course not. Here, take this.’ Henry handed her a business card. Mr Pink, Bespoke Habits. ‘He does boots, as well. I’d like you to go see him and let him measure you. I’ve told him exactly what I want him to make for you. He makes all my riding clothes for me.’

‘Oh, thank you, Henry.’

‘Pink doesn’t do Western outfits, though, so take this as well.’ He put a black credit card on the table. ‘There’s no practical limit on it, so don’t worry about what you spend.’

Wanda had some vague impression that there was something special about black credit cards. Henry was giving her a taste of what being married to a very rich man was like. That was a kind of courtship, wasn’t it? Wanda tucked both cards away in her purse and made sure to wedge her purse between herself and Kitty, where no one would be able to snatch it. The backs of Wanda’s fingers pressed briefly against Kitty’s hip. The hip pressed back. Wanda clamped down on her imagination before it could take her where she didn’t want to go. Perhaps she should get away from the table, and the heat of Kitty’s slender young body.

‘I’m up for dessert,’ Wanda announced.

Henry laid a finger on her wrist, where it seared her flesh. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I ordered a special dessert for us. It’ll be right along.’ He lifted his other hand, sending a waitress scurrying towards the kitchen.

‘What is it?’ Martha asked.

‘Figs.’

Martha looked taken aback, which was exactly how Wanda felt. Figs?

Henry explained. ‘Fresh green Smyrna figs, slit open and some of the pulp scooped out. They’re filled with raw Demerara sugar that has been supersaturated with dark 180-proof rum. Then they are wrapped in foil and baked so that the aroma penetrates the flesh.’

Kitty, under her breath, whispered, ‘Penetrates the flesh.’

Wanda couldn’t help but echo, ‘Penetrates the flesh.’ She and Kitty exchanged sly glances and didn’t giggle.

Henry continued. ‘Once they are out of the oven, they are opened, topped with clotted cream and served very quickly, while the hot and cold still contrast. I think you’ll find them amusing. If not, there’s an ample dessert buffet to choose from.’

‘I’ve never heard of that dish,’ Wanda admitted. ‘What’s it called?’

‘I haven’t named it yet. If you like it, perhaps it will be “Figs Wanda”.’

‘Your recipe?’

‘The chef here allows me to dabble.’

Oh! He likes to dress up. He cooks fancy desserts. Please, please, please don’t let him be gay!

The chef himself appeared, complete with his high hat and check pants, and served them each with a single cream-slathered fig in a cut-glass coupe. Henry thanked him. He bowed to the table and retreated to his domain.

Wanda picked up her dessert fork. As she prodded through the cream, a perfume that could have got her drunk just from breathing deeply burst up at her. She dug in and scooped a morsel out. Oh! It did things on her tongue, soothing things, but exciting things. Her sinuses seemed to sigh. Beneath her tongue, saliva pooled. Wanda sucked in a deep breath. It tingled all the way down into her lungs. Perhaps deeper.

‘How do you like it?’ Henry asked.

Everyone but Wanda proclaimed their approval. She was too busy enjoying the contrast of texture between clotted cream and tiny smooth fig seeds. Eventually, she managed to breathe, ‘Divine!’

Kitty added, ‘Devilishly so! Figs Diablo?’

For a while, the table was quiet as all devoured Henry’s creations. That seemed to make the noise from the other table louder. There was a squeal of chair legs on hardwood as one of the oafs twisted round to glare at Henry.

‘Hey, you, sailor boy! You got four fine-lookin’ bitches there and we got none. That’s no fair! Send ’em over to us and we’ll show ’em how real men treat their women.’

Henry dabbed at his lips with a napkin, set it down carefully and stood up. ‘I suggest that you and your friends pay your bill and leave.’ His voice was soft and calm.

‘Oh yeah?’ The hooligan snatched his glass beer mug up and cracked it down on the edge of his table, leaving a glittering multi-bladed weapon in his trembling fist.

Wanda stood in fear for her fiancé, though what she could do was beyond her.

The man swung shards of glass at Henry’s face. Henry brushed it aside with his left hand and looped his right fist up and over to slam down on the man’s cheek, driving him to his knees. He swayed, then toppled to lie there, face distorted, eyes closed, blood trickling from his nose and bubbling from the corner of his mouth.

Henry looked at the man’s three companions. ‘I repeat, I suggest that you pay your bill and leave.’

The three looked at each other sheepishly. One said, ‘George was drunk.’

‘And so are you,’ Henry observed. ‘And now George is on the floor.’

The three tossed bills onto the table. Two of them lifted George by his armpits and dragged him out, followed by the third.

Wanda wrapped her arms around her hero’s arm. ‘That was magnificent,’ she told him.

Lucinda, Martha and Kitty all added their praise, but it was Wanda who got to hold him close. Under his sleeve, his arm was massive and unyielding.

The maître d’ bustled up to their table. ‘I am so sorry, Mr Chandler. I had no idea they were already drunk before they came in. I’ll ban them from the premises, of course.’

‘Not your fault,’ Henry assured him. ‘Better clear their table and take care of the broken glass, right?’

‘Of course! Immediately!’ He hustled away.

Wanda said, ‘The least he could have done after that incident is comp you our meals, Henry.’

Martha laughed. ‘He couldn’t very well do that, you silly girl. Henry owns this restaurant. He won’t be given a bill.’

Henry fixed Wanda’s mother with a look that Wanda hoped would never be aimed at her. ‘Martha, unless someone had told her, how could Wanda be expected to know that? In other circumstances, she’d be absolutely right. It would have been totally appropriate.’

Martha looked down, blushing. She mumbled something that might have been an apology to Wanda.

What a man! He tackles hooligans without blinking and he defends her against her mother, a much more courageous feat. How could a girl not love a man like that? And, as for doubting his masculinity, how utterly ridiculous that was!

Chapter Five

After brunch, Henry had a meeting. Martha and Lucinda decided to take in some art galleries, or so they said, between giggles. Wanda had her suspicions. Kitty was at a loose end and obviously hinting, so Wanda asked her if she’d like to help her shop for Western gear, for the upcoming long weekend. It turned out that Henry’s childhood friend knew exactly where to shop for stretch-fit jeans and denim short-shorts, plus a couple each of clinging micro- and hobbling-tight maxi-skirts that she promised would ‘drive him crazy with lust’ when combined with check shirts that tied to leave her midriff bare and high-heeled Western boots.

‘How does Henry look when he’s “driven crazy with lust”?’ Wanda asked Kitty, nervous about the answer.

‘You’ll see,’ was the calm reply. ‘He doesn’t go all red and slobbering, like some men, but you’ll see it in his eyes, if you haven’t already.’

‘So you’ve seen what he looks like “in heat”?’ Wanda asked.

Kitty slapped Wanda’s rear. ‘No need to be jealous, Wanda. He and I have double dated, not as a couple but as the other halves of other couples, if you get me.’

Wanda nodded, unsure.

‘You didn’t think he was a virgin, did you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘And nor are you, right? Sauce for the goose, as they say. Anyway, not to worry. I’ve seen him look at you in ways I’ve never seen him look at any other woman. I could almost envy you.’

‘Why don’t you?’

‘He’s my cousin, silly!’

‘You two wouldn’t be the first cousins …’

‘Nor the last. Let’s change the subject. Do you have your trousseau picked out, yet? I’m sure that there’s lots left on that credit card.’

So they shopped for undies that Wanda was going to have to hide from her mom, though, once she and Henry were married, it’d only be his approval she’d have to worry about. Wanda treated Kitty to a couple of things, mainly because the girl didn’t so much as hint that she expected it.

She found that she warmed to Kitty, even though …

She blurted, ‘My mom seems to think that Henry is very conservative in his ways. Is that true?’

Kitty pondered. ‘In some ways. You don’t know him that well, do you?’

‘No. It’s been kind of a whirlwind courtship. We haven’t had a lot of time alone together yet.’

‘All the more fun exploring each other’s little ways once you’re married, then.’

‘I hope so. I really hope so.’

‘Cheer up. Time for a cocktail before you have to go home?’

‘As I’m out without my mom for a change, I’ve time for two!’

Wanda felt sure that the slightest hint from her would have had them in bed together that very afternoon, but that, no matter how tempting, would make her life far too complicated. Still, if her worst fears about Henry proved correct, Kitty would make a lovely consolation prize. Henry had proved his masculinity but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t the stuffed shirt that her mom seemed convinced he was.

When she got back to the apartment she shared with her mother, her mom’d had at least a couple of cocktails herself, so Wanda was able to smuggle her secret purchases up to her bedroom. Let sleeping moms lie. There was a huge carton sitting on her bed. Wanda loved presents. She tore the box apart like a lion tears at an antelope, or, it occurred to her, like a very horny woman tears the pants off her lover.

She uncovered a giant teddy bear. It stood tall enough to come up to her nipples when its hind paws were on the floor. There was no doubt that it was a female bear. Its silky plush fur was pink. It had upswept eyelashes that were a good two inches long, a pink bow on top of its head and a tiny pink tongue that poked out between its ursine lips.

It couldn’t have a male name, so it wasn’t ‘Teddy’. Wanda decided that she’d call it ‘Edwina’, which she’d then abbreviate to ‘Teddy’. Obviously, it was not only female, it was also a lesbian bear. That’d be much more fun.

Wanda went downstairs to check on her mom. She was still asleep on the couch with a silly grin on her face. Wanda covered her with a throw, had a quick goodnight gin and tonic, and went back up to shower.

With her mom fast asleep downstairs, it was OK for Wanda to leave the bathroom naked, still towelling herself dry. One day, she hoped, she’d do the same in front of Henry. And he’d approve heartily. Of course he would. For him, she’d dance with her towel serving as a fan-dancer’s fan, or she’d even prance like a pony, like this … She high-stepped, pointing her toes, twirling and skipping to amuse her husband, her lover, her friend.

Oops! She was fantasising again, but this time about Henry. That was new. Did it mean that she was making progress? She’d have to ask Dr Sullivan when she saw him.

Edwina, ‘Teddy’, was waiting in Wanda’s bedroom, sitting up in the old rocking chair. Wanda bowed with a flourish, flinging her towel aside.

‘Lovely body!’ the bear told her in a deep but certainly feminine contralto.

‘Thank you, Teddy. I only have one bed, I’m afraid. Do you mind if we share? No? Come on, then. Oh – and I don’t have any nightclothes that would fit you, Teddy, my dear. Still, it’s just us girls, so that’s all right.

Wanda’s was a double bed but Teddy was quite bulky so they had to snuggle close, face-to-face. Wanda said, ‘Goodnight, Teddy,’ and pecked her bear on the lips. That, of course, poked the animal’s tiny pink tongue between Wanda’s lips. She’d assumed it was made of some sort of fabric but it didn’t feel at all like cloth. It felt like some sort of rubbery material, complete with a texture that mimicked taste buds.

Hm.

Wanda kissed again, a little sucking kiss. Teddy groaned appreciatively. Unfortunately, the way her toy had been made, really deep kisses weren’t possible, but tongue-tip to tongue-tip was nice, in a teasing sort of way. Wanda snuggled in closer. Teddy’s left leg flopped up over Wanda’s right leg. A furry right leg insinuated itself between Wanda’s smooth thighs. Plush tickled Wanda’s tummy. She wriggled, drawing her bear in even closer. Furry pubes pressed against peach-fuzz ones. Wanda gave a little bump. Teddy, perhaps helped by Wanda’s hand on her rump, pushed back.

This wasn’t a fantasy, Wanda reminded herself, apart from the way she interpreted the bear’s growls. This was, however, being honest, masturbation, using an inanimate object. Women used vibrators. That wasn’t considered aberrant anymore. Even so, Wanda suspected that fucking teddy bears was still considered a bit kinky, at the least. Never mind. Dr Sullivan would sort the pros and cons out for her.

Teddy growled.

‘Sorry, I was distracted.’ Wanda sucked Teddy’s little tongue and ground her hips hard against her new lover.

Tongue? Wanda experimented by pulling Teddy’s head down to her breast and rubbing that rubbery nub on her nipple. It felt nice, and when Wanda pushed Teddy’s head back, her legs slid further between Wanda’s. Wanda pressed the bear’s shoulders away and wriggled down even harder. The animal’s right leg came right up to divide Wanda’s breasts. Her left leg stuck up along Wanda’s back. Wanda reached behind herself to grab a hind paw. Her other hand took hold of the other furry ankle. When Wanda pulled up on the front leg, then tugged the back one, bear-pubes sawed on Wanda’s pussy, squishing its lips and grinding on her clit. See-saw. See-saw. There was no penetration but the friction was certainly … interesting. Very interesting. Very, very interesting.

Climactically interesting.

OK, so it wasn’t spectacular, but it was a different way to get off. That had to count for something. Perhaps that nice little orgasm would protect her from her fantasies for a while? Whatever, her sleep that night was dreamless.

Chapter Six

Wanda woke to find Teddy with her head on the floor and her hind legs up on the bed. She pulled her new friend up. ‘Teddy, how do you feel about anal sex?’ It was a reasonable question to ask a bear who might well be sharing her marriage bed one day. ‘Do you like to take big bare cocks up your tight bear bum?’

Teddy didn’t answer, of course. Wanda giggled. It had to be a healthy sign that she could joke to herself about her problem with fantasising.

It was a busy day. First, Dr Sullivan, who accepted her twenty-two-page single-spaced printout of a week’s worth of erotic fantasies without comment. He was hard to read. Wanda thought he approved of her fantasising about Henry, now, and he seemed to agree that her bear episode didn’t belong on her list of imagined perversions, as it wasn’t imagined. He didn’t say that it was a kinky thing to do but neither did he say that it wasn’t. His face was stone when she admitted to being attracted to Henry’s cousin Kitty. Perhaps that was the sign of a good therapist, that the patient had no idea what was right or wrong.

Finally, Wanda bitched about it having been so long since she’d had her hands on a nice erection – so Dr Sullivan let her spend the rest of her appointment playing with his.

After lunch, Wanda headed for her sartorial appointment.

Mr Pink, Bespoke Habits, had a tiny body and a big head. If his ears had been a bit larger and pointed, he’d have been a perfect elf. He pranced around his premises so lightly that his black patent shoes barely whispered against the thick carpet. His being such a flaming queen, Wanda had no qualms about him measuring her inside leg. She had to wonder, though, how Henry felt about having the same measurement taken.

Maybe one day she’d measure Henry’s inside leg. Both legs, to be sure. He ‘dressed left’ she thought. So when she measured his right leg, several times, she’d let the knuckles of her right hand run gently up the inside of his left thigh. Then she’d look up into his eyes, because he’d be looking down at her, and do it again, no longer pretending that it was accidental. He’d smile. She’d turn her hand and fondle the thickening length of his flesh through the cloth of his pants. Henry would put his hand on her head, giving her his blessing to continue. Her other hand would tug his zipper down. She’d reach in and fumble until she found his heat. His fingers would tighten in her hair. She’d pull the entire length of his magnificent erection out into the open and inspect it, carefully and slowly, making sure to breathe on it. Her lips would part. She’d lick her lips at him. She’d stretch out her tongue, desperate for a taste but Henry’s fingers would grip tight, pulling at the roots of her hair as he prevented her from reaching her treat – and then he’d relent. Her lips would stretch wide to fit over that smooth hard dome and her tongue –

‘Could you sit down please, Miss Mitty? I have to measure your head,’ Mr Pink said.

Head? Oh well, she guessed he knew what he was doing. She said, ‘Sorry. I guess I was daydreaming.’

Mr Pink smiled. ‘That’s natural, for a young bride.’

Had he read her mind?

Mr Pink was meticulous. Wanda had been measured for clothes before but never before had she had the distance between her nape and her left nipple taken, then the same to her right nipple. She tried to peek at Mr Pink’s notes, just to be sure those two measurements were identical, but his fluttering hands made that impossible. When it came to her feet, not only did he measure each one’s length and width but also floor-to-arch, floor-to-instep and two diameters. Those were followed by the distance around her ankles and around her calves at two different heights. Her boots, she was convinced, were going to fit with a capital ‘F’.

How deliciously sybaritic!

‘What will my outfit be like, Mr Pink?’ she asked. ‘What colour?’

‘I have my instructions from Mr Chandler,’ he replied.

‘But …?

‘That’s all I’m free to tell you, Miss. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise now, would I?’

Wanda felt like stamping one foot at that but Henry wasn’t there to see her being cutely childish, so she didn’t bother.

Chapter Seven

A stretch limousine arrived to take Wanda and her mom to the airport. Both ladies wore plain jeans and casual sweaters. As Martha explained, ‘Air travel is an ordeal. It ruins good clothes.’

They drove right past the airport. Martha tapped on the dividing window and told their driver, ‘You’ve made a wrong turn, young man. The entrance is behind us now. Can you turn around?’

‘No, Madam, sorry. I thought you knew. That was the public airport. We’ll be at our destination in a few minutes.’

Martha ‘humphed’. Wanda didn’t say a word. The limo turned in through tall gates and followed a private road to a small jet that was parked outside a hangar. The plane was dark green with a gold racing stripe. Ostentatious?

‘Here you are, ladies,’ their driver told them. ‘Don’t worry about your luggage. It’s being taken care of.’

They were greeted by a woman – oh, it was Kitty! She was dressed as a stewardess, not a ‘flight attendant’, but definitely a ‘stew’. Her uniform jacket was tight-waisted. Her skirt was two inches longer than her jacket. Even so, it had slits up the sides. She had very good legs, as Wanda already knew. And Wanda was wearing practical jeans. Damn!

Henry liked ‘dress up’. That was fine, but it should have been Wanda dressing up to cater to his whims, not cousin Kitty.

‘Welcome to Chandler One,’ Kitty told them. ‘This way please, ladies.’

There was a movable staircase up to the plane. Kitty went first, flirting her miniskirt with every step. Without making it obvious, Wanda tried to peek up but she didn’t manage to see whether Kitty was wearing anything under her skirt. Chances were she wasn’t, the little slut!

The cabin had heavy leather armchairs on swivel bases. Lucinda was sipping what looked like a gin and tonic. Wanda sat.

‘No, Wanda, not there,’ Kitty said. ‘You get to ride up front, in the pilot’s cabin.’

That seemed weird but it made sense when Wanda got there. Henry was in the pilot’s seat, in a sort of uniform with wings over his breast pocket. He did like to dress up!

Her fiancé was talking pilot-talk into a mic the size of a pinhead. It was all ‘Wind-speed, CAT, ceiling’, and similar things that meant nothing to Wanda.

He smiled at her but kept talking. His fingers flipped toggles and turned dials. The jets roared and rumbled. Henry began to ease back on the yoke. Wanda knew the name of that one from some movie or another.

‘What time’s take-off, Captain?’ she asked, and added, to show off, ‘ETD?’

He grinned and nodded towards the window. Wanda looked out. Oh! The airfield was dropping away.

‘That was smooth,’ she told him.

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