She looked out the plate glass window, bored beyond belief. Gazing at the Wirral in miniature, the many pinpricks of man-made light gave the vista below the appearance of a starlit sky...
"Are you going out tomorrow?" Her flat mate asked from the open doorway to his bedroom, "because I've got a delivery expected tomorrow and I need someone in the flat."
"No, I don't think so..." she replied distantly, as she watched the rain begin to fall from the living-room window of the thirteenth floor flat that they had shared together. Then, she paused a moment to idly wonder;
'I wonder who he is cooking for tomorrow?'
"Sorry, I can't say I'll be in ... I might have plans," she said aloud, turning from the window.
"Like what?" he had asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Well," she begun, picking up her old black leather jacket, the one that he had given her, "I'm off to the phone..."
She had put the jacket on and said, "So, I'll let you know in about five minutes. Okay?"
As she had gone down in the lift, the young woman considered her ex ... yes, certainly she had known his reputation when she asked him out: she had been told that he was a flirt, stubborn, irrational and it had not taken long for the young woman to find that the warnings had been accurate. Though no-one had warned her about the baggage he had carried with him - the baggage from his two previous failed relationships.
'Yet,' she thought, as the lift reached the ground floor and the doors opened, 'all that said, he hadn't been boring.'
She walked in the rain towards the nearby phone-box and dialled his number with speed, for this had to be done whilst the mood was upon her...
And, though he had been surprised to hear her voice, he then told himself,
'I shouldn't be...'
For it had been the petite half South-American who had asked him out, who had taught him so much of love and through herself and all that they had shared together, much about himself;
'...Then to finish with me, she sends me a Dear John letter. No, I shouldn't be surprised to hear from her at all. Not at all...
"You want to know if I'm cooking for anyone? Why?" he had said, more than a little indignant that she had presumed to ask.
"Because," she replied, "it you're not cooking for anyone else, you might like to invite me? And, if you do want me, to come for lunch, then ... well, we could play games?"
He gulped his surprise, before asking, "Like what?"
"Well," she said, in an encouraging tone of voice, "I thought that we might play that one you like ... girlfriend?"
He had gulped a second time, then asked her: "Would you like to come, for lunch tomorrow? ... Say about noon?"
She went back to the flat and dug out her little black dress, whilst thinking to herself, 'I'm not staying in tomorrow. I'm off to have lunch and then ... play games.'
It is twelve-minutes past twelve; he knows, for he has looked at the clock virtually every thirty seconds, since eleven fifty-nine.
Then the door knocker sounds twice and he rises to answer the door, quite breathless, at both seeing her again and how perfect she looks; as the wind catches her long dark hair, that she ever-so elegantly sweeps away from her face, whilst her perfume, Anais Anin he thinks, drifts on the light breeze.
Then she breaks the spell he is under, by asking him directly:
"Well, are you going to ask me in, or what?"
As he cooks lunch the couple chat amiably enough, although as she asks,
'What have you seen on t.v. of late?' his mind is not on the topic of her conversation, but rather, the reason for her being there and his answers to any questions asked display his distraction and she smiles at his apparent discomfort.
Then when they sit to eat, he finds his eyes drawn to her pert breasts, pressing against the bra and white blouse that she wears and he notices that her nipples are very hard.
"So how come you're here?" He asks, while they eat their breaded Hoki, garlic and onion mushrooms with a little pasta in a cheese sauce.
"To play games and enjoy a good dinner." She replies; "And, this is good."
His heart beats faster with her answer and he smiles, blushing a little.
Then, after they have finished eating, she tells him:
" I'm going to freshen up. While I'm in the bathroom you'll do the dishes, won't you? Then come to me?"
"Of course..." the young man tells her.
When he enters his bedroom, with two mugs of coffee, she hands him a carrier-bag and flashes him her brightest smile, saying,
"Put these on in the bathroom, so when you come back we can play 'girlfriends."'
Looking in the mirror he finds pleasure from his reflection and runs his right hand over his chest and taut nipples, already hard with anticipation. Then he leaves the bathroom, his heart beating a little faster once more. He returns to find his ex waiting for him on his bed, with her legs drawn up, music playing, volume turned low and the room illuminated by a single candle.
"You look nice, Wendy," she tells him, as he stands before her, in the little black dress ... beneath which, she knows, he is wearing the black lace garter belt and black nylon panties; whilst on his legs he wears the sheerest of stockings.
He has even made up his lips carefully in the shade, a light pink, that he knows, she likes him to wear. And he sighs inwardly with pleasure, to hear her use his feminine name and he thinks, 'it sounds so good, to be accepted by her like this. Oh - so - good.'
"Well give me a twirl," she tells Wendy, who instantly responds and turns. delighted to here, with her once again.
"Oh yes," the young woman says rising from the bed, "you do look nice."
Then taking Wendy in her arms, they cuddle, with their lips hardly touching and he wants to cry, as she finally kisses him.
And Wendy melts into her girlfriends arms as their tongues mesh, the young woman sliding eager hands over her lovers body as they kiss, toying, just occasionally with Wendy's nipples ... and his manhood hardens, with desire for her touch; that always has him feeling very wanted; as he finds from her, both approval and affection.
Her mouth coaxes and caresses, teasing him with an urgent pressure, that is also as delicate as the touch of rose petals. She plunders Wendy's lips with a kiss that is all that he had hoped for, tender and intimate, hungry and very demanding. And he watches in the mirror fixed to the wardrobe the two women kiss, as the brunette runs drifting hands down Wendy's curves, to glide over the sleekness of her hips, to embrace her lover tighter still; so that the young woman can feel the evidence of his arousal.
Wendy kisses at the sensitive areas behind her ears, nipping her earlobes gently and she shivers all the way down to her toes. She moves her hands upward as Wendy kisses, to nylon-clad legs, then higher still ... and he gasps his pleasure, until she parts from him and he stands waiting.
As the brunette withdraws from their embrace she trails the fingers of her left hand, in a feather-light touch, down Wendy's right cheek, bringing her heavily-coated lips closer, as she says to her trembling girlfriend,
"You like being my girl, don't you?" And as she backs away she hears the answer, 'yes,' murmured very quietly, as if said from a great depth. She smiles, looking at Wendy, who she wants to see before her, staring up, knowing how wet she is for the pleasures that they will share and the brunette says, "I want you to undress me."
Sitting down on the bed once more, the young woman swings her legs round, placing her feet on the floor after which she takes one pillow and puts it at the pit of her back and standing the second against the wall, she then lays back into the pillows and saying to her lover, "Start with my boots,' as she indicates her Doc Martens, 'take off my boots."
And he does, kneeling before her, taking each boot that he works on and then sitting it's heel on his hard, nylon-covered cock.
Finally both boots removed, she says, "Now my socks ... and remember, be very gentle, you know I'm ticklish."
Her feet naked, he looks to her eyes.
"Please me,' she tells him, smiling as she grasps at his erect right nipple, through the material of the dress he wears, with forefinger and thumb;
'Please me ..." she says again, as she draws him to her, with the hold she has upon him; whilst her other hand works the belt, zip and button of her coal black jeans.
She smiles at his discomfort that she knows he adores to endure for he.
"Now,' she tells him, 'stay on your knees."
As he kneels before her, she sits back and slips from her jeans and pants, so that her shaven vagina is unveiled to his eyes.
'Oh my, ' the young man thinks, 'I'd almost forgotten how good it looks. So neat and so, perfect ...
He is enraptured, as she slowly opens her thigh's ... to his ever - so hungry eyes and she says to him, one more time, quietly, "Please me ... She lifts her hips up to his face - and with eager tongue, he parts her glistening folds, slurping and sucking at her liquid essence.
He draws in the smell of her, as he begins to kiss ... the inside of her thigh's, first right, and then left ... and slowly upward.
He laps at her luscious, succulent flesh, as she runs languid fingers through his hair. Her closed eyes flutter, with her mouth forming a near perfect '0' as the young woman gasps aloud her pleasure.
He runs his tongue through her, till he finds the nubbin of flesh, that she had so wanted him to ... and he draws back the hood of flesh away from the clitoris, very gently.
As he licks at his ex, he presses himself against her mons, till his face is smeared with her fresh lubricant and pleasurable sensations flow through the woman, as he finds a rhythm that suits her and she begins to hump his face ... grinding herself against him, as he tries to meet her need.
'Oh yes,' she thinks, her passion rising, 'this is just what I wanted.'
And as she begins to writhe in the ecstasy of orgasm, she draws his face against her moist, aromatic sex ... and she 'cums,' bucking herself wildly against him, moaning loudly in the frenzy of passion that he has arisen.
Suddenly she sighs and collapses, like a rag doll, unable to move her arms, legs or head and finally sated ... she replaces the pillows, removing her blouse, then bra and she crawls beneath the duvet, saying to him:
"Well, you can cuddle with me," as he looks at her dolefully, "if you want."
He gets in bed with her, and holds her to himself, her long lustrous hair in his face, his erect cock trapped in the crease of her buttocks, through the clothing that he wears and he presses his hardness against her, in an effort to find stimulation ... and she turns her face to his and says, "No, not like that, you're my girl aren't you?" She rolls over to face him and stroking her lovers hair says, "So lie on your belly." He does. The young woman slowly slides the hem of the little black dress up exposing his thigh flesh, stocking-tops and then his panty-clad buttocks.
And, moistening a finger-tip with saliva, the young woman tells her lover,
"I know you want this ... don't you, Wendy?"
He moans his assent into the pillow, as she pushes the panties aside and slides the finger deep into him ... and he looks back, to see the look of deliberation on her face as she wonders, 'How many can he take?"
Come ten 0' clock that night, the young woman creeps from the bed and dons her clothing quietly, occasionally looking down at her ex, as he sleeps, sprawled amidst the crumpled duvet, the panties round his knees and the stockings laddered and torn. There is a look of contentment on his face. Then before she leaves, the woman writes out a note and stands it by his bedside locker:
Thanks for a pleasant evening. - Lunch was really good. So, I'd like to book a table for next Saturday. Ok ?
- Val
P.S. I do hope that Wendy is available, to serve me ?