With Wendy’s Consent

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This isn’t really a second chapter, but it is a sequel, to “With Wendy’s Guidance,” which evidently left some readers wanting more of Wendy, James, and the nameless narrator lucky enough to have both of them.

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As you recall, as I certainly do, and often, early April of my junior year at college was very…interesting. Dear, sweet Wendy, my gorgeous and sexy girlfriend, had vacationed cross-country with her parents, and I’d headed off to a speech convention, which turned into my first experience fucking another guy.

No, really.

Don’t get me wrong, there is no way I’d leave Wendy for anyone else, regardless of their experience or sex. She is, for me, the ideal woman in so many ways. Happy, vivacious (that’s a great word for her!), and totally in love with me, Wendy simply had no equal in any of my past relationships.

Her hair was a wonderful mix of auburn and copper, above and below, a gorgeous mane that spilled down her back, since she’d let it grow out the past few months. When she showered, it now stretched down to the small of her back, and more than once she came out of the bathroom naked except for her tresses, through which her nipples would play peek-a-boo until she lay down, warm and eager, next to me.

Like most redheads, her skin was fair as marble, but much softer and warmer. She had worked to get a little color, and sunbathed in the nude sometimes to avoid the inevitable cottontail she would have earned wearing a swimsuit. Her deep blue eyes and engaging smile were the least of her beauty, and far more than I thought I sometimes deserved. She kept fit, with a flat expanse of tummy between her inviting bush and the delicious breasts she flaunted every time she had the chance.

Any other woman might have run screaming from the room when she found out I’d let an old friend, a guy no less, fuck me when she was out of town. Wendy was different; she loved to ask me questions about it, and clearly wished she’d been able to watch, and maybe even participate.

Once when I was out of town visiting my parents for the weekend, she got herself off over the phone while having me recap those April exploits with James, my speech and erstwhile fuck partner. She urged me to describe, again, the sensation of having a cock in my mouth, and the feel of James’ loins spurting hot semen all over my tongue and face. “God, honey, I wish I’d been there!” she said as I heard her orgasm releasing. I came myself, remembering the fun I’d had, and wishing she’d been there, too.

It was early June, and my last final had been on Tuesday, in History. Wendy had studied the whole week on Art Appreciation, and the Thursday morning final would be her last for the school year. For four days, we had no sex at all. Strange, I know, but my Wendy could really focus when necessary, and I’d pulled a couple of lonely all-nighters studying in the campus library until they threw us all out at midnight. Too tired to be horny, I’d promised myself I would work on her as soon as we had the chance.

Wednesday night, she came into her room, where I was sleeping, and practically passed out until morning, fully clothed. I awoke as she was sitting up, pulling off her blue pastel sweater to replace it with something less rumpled. Since meeting Wendy, I always slept naked, not wanting to have anything delay our need to rut, morning, noon or night.

My cock was fully awake, even though my eyes were bleary with sleep, and I reached over for her bare back as her sweater hit the floor. “Morning, babe,” I mumbled, cupping her ass at an angle that threatened to sprain my wrist. “What time’s your final?”

Wendy turned, and favored me with an exhausted grin, the kind that told me she’d rather have been fucking lazily all morning and afternoon than doing anything else. “About twenty minutes, honey. No time to take care of”—she stroked my erection quickly and lovingly through the sheets—”Mister Happy right now. Can’t miss this one. The final’s half my grade.” She turned and leaned over to kiss me, opening her mouth too briefly, even as she patted my cock with her free hand, letting her tongue pass between my lips with a quick promise of more later. “We’ll take care of him, and you, when I get back. Wish me luck!”

She pulled a fresh pair of overalls out of her dresser, shimmied into them, and strode out of the room while pulling on a lemon yellow sleeveless top, which barely hid her bra strap, or anything else I wanted to get off of her body so I could get her on top of me and start to fuck. Her beautiful, full breasts, surmounted by soft, pink nipples just the right size for nibbling and sucking on, filled my mind and I moaned softly, but she didn’t hear me, or pretended not to. I could almost feel the warm wetness of her absent cunt, first rubbing on my crotch, her moan as she popped it inside her, and the motion of her hips humping me as she squeezed the walls of her pussy together, riding bakırköy türbanlı escort me for all I was worth.

The outside door slammed, and I heard Wendy lock it, then her footsteps down the walkway fading as she went to her car and drove off. All the while, my right hand was working on my shaft through the soft cotton sheets her parents had bought, almost like flannel, and a deep, luscious red that brought out the best in our lovemaking.

With my darling girlfriend gone for at least a couple of hours, and horny as hell, I started to jack myself off in earnest. The sheet was thin enough that the shape of my erect cock was plain to see to anyone else in the room, or would have been if anyone had been there, but I was alone, and ready to get myself off. Stroking my hard-on through the cover felt almost like Wendy rubbing through my pants at the theater, or just before she slipped out of her shirt or sweater and bra to go down on me.

I imagined being inside her, and that my fist was her cunt, until I started humping the air, lifting her phantom buttocks off the mattress, driving inside her as deep as I could go, and hearing her moans as I thumbed her clit with one hand, gripping her ass with the other. Then, I mentally shifted her position, so her imaginary mouth was on my very real cock.

I circled my shaft with my right hand, folding up some of the crimson sheet into a makeshift hole, a sac for my cock to fuck. Panting hard, I used my left hand, which (in my mind’s eye) couldn’t reach her ass while she sucked my cock, and ran my left thumb and forefinger over my straining head, simulating her velvety tongue. I knew it wasn’t a real blowjob, and didn’t care.

Telling myself that jacking off would help me last longer for her later, I humped the air in earnest, fucking her mouth with as much intensity as my poor horny imagination could muster. A small dot of pre-cum darkened the sheet at the very top of my cock’s fuck-tent, and I knew I was close.

Since April, Wendy loved to watch me jack off, urged me to do it some mornings when I awoke ready for her, sometimes joining me herself, naked and rubbing her clit, spreading her wonderful reddish bush to show me the pink gates of heaven just beyond the cloud of red pubes. She told me once she gladly would have lain back and finger-fucked herself while watching me do myself, but she just had to watch, and didn’t want to waste any opportunity to see me taking care of my own pleasure.

“Imagine,” she once whispered to me, spreading her lips with one hand and massaging her swollen clit with two fingers of the other hand, “imagine you’re fucking him again, letting him suck your cock. Aah!” She probably would have closed her eyes to watch the scene in her own head, but she would have missed seeing my orgasm, and that was what she wanted.

“Fuck him in the ass, honey! I want to see your big cock inside his ass, pumping him full of hot cum. Oh, honey, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. His legs are up in the air, and you’re fucking his ass like it was my pussy. Keep fucking, keep fucking! Ah! Ooooh!” she panted, and I was very close then, too, watching and listening not only to her words, but the slickness of her juices, a slippery, wet sound as she brought them to coat her clit, rubbing it to the point of her own orgasm.

Her voice had risen in approaching ecstasy, and I saw the effort it was taking her not to scream her next words. Instead, they came out in a husky whisper, taut with need. “Cum, baby! Cum in his ass. Don’t pull out yet! Oh, God I want you to cum on him and in him, shoot your wad all over his face and chest, but the first spurt has to be inside him, in his asshole. I want your cum inside him, honey! Do it. Oh God you’re close I can tell oh fuck him fuck him fuck him oh baby I’m cumming too can you feel it…I…I…I…”

We came at the same moment, a trick we’d managed only once before with me inside her, and Wendy had immediately bent down to take my still spurting cock into her mouth, sucking the cum out of it, nearly making me shoot again seconds later. In the following moments, she’d transferred her mouth to mine, sharing the still-warm load she’d taken from me, with me.

I love my Wendy so very much.

My legs were shaking now, quivering with the need for release. I knew I was going to cum, and the memory of the taste of my own semen had me even hornier, if that were possible. Whipping off the covers, I started jacking my naked hard-on even faster, and felt the low roar of a building orgasm deep in my balls and belly. Without stopping to consider, I bent double, still masturbating, and brought my feet up to the headboard, aiming my cock at my own face below.

The first shot missed my open mouth, jetting instead onto my chin, where my eager tongue caught an edge of it, the merest promise of what was about to arrive. Gasping with the force of my orgasm, I felt the second bakırköy ucuz escort spurt shoot into my open mouth, laying a line of fluid down the center of my tongue. It was hot and sticky, slippery, and I kept myself still, having found the “sweet spot” on the second try. My cum gushed into my mouth, four, five more times before the flood became a trickle, and I unbent, lying on my back and swallowing.

After the pulsing in my loins and the shaking of my legs had subsided, I glanced at the clock. Just after nine o’clock, so Wendy would be returning in another hour or so, if the final went well.

Levering myself out of bed, I went into the bathroom and showered the cum away before soaping my body off, then washed my hair. Rinsing the last of the cum off my lips and off my tongue, I stepped out and toweled off, noting my cock was still sort of semi-hard, pleased that I could still take care of Wendy when she returned in another half-hour or so.

Shaving quickly, I put on a pair of patterned boxers, then tossed on a loose pair of jeans and a blazing red t-shirt adorned with the lightning bolt and white circle of The Flash. No socks, since I didn’t expect to be wearing even this much by ten-thirty. A bowl of cereal and some apple juice on the side table, I flicked on the remote, and started watching TV, my mind completely off the shopping channel I settled on, and on Wendy’s naked body, and how we would celebrate her final, and her birthday.

Birthday?! Aw, fuck! I put down the bowl on the coffee table, sloshing only a couple of drops of milk onto it, and wishing not for the first time one of us had a dog to clean up spilled food, then bounded to the kitchen, where her wall calendar was posted by the phone. It was kind of girly, with pictures of kittens tumbling about with yarn, or sitting bemused in wicker baskets. She privately called it her Pussy Calendar, since she used it to track her periods, chuckling over being so naughty, even just with me.

I looked at the current week, and saw the times of both our finals. I didn’t live with her, at least not just yet, but she’d carefully included mine on the calendar too. Scanning to Thursday, I saw the note for her final, showing eight to ten o’clock, and a little star inked at the bottom right corner, the color of gold. I pulled the calendar gently off the hook, and flipped back to March. My birthday had the same gold star scrawled in the same spot.

It was her birthday, and I needed to do more than just fuck her to help her celebrate. My Wendy deserves that, for all she does. Thinking furiously, I realized I would have to take her to dinner at least. Fuck! You selfish asshole!, I berated myself. She was great on your birthday, and you need to do something! Right fucking now! I knew she would forgive me if I forgot; it was finals and she was like that, but I was damned if I was going to make her feel like I had forgotten.

Tossing on shoes and socks, and leaving a sticky note on the door promising to return soon, I drove down to the supermarket six blocks down the road, which had a decent if fairly generic floral department, and bought a bouquet. I’d worked in a flower shop in high school, and found roses to be appreciated but a little obvious. Checking, I saw they had snapdragons, the flower of desire, and a few pink zinnia, symbols of my lasting affection. I had the bewildered and obviously clueless middle-aged woman at the floral counter add a dozen of each to a dozen red roses, showing (of course) my love for Wendy.

I made it back to the apartment with my fragrant bundle of blossoms and hurtled up the stairs to find my note was still there. Good! I made it back before Wendy. I crumpled the note and tossed it in the wastebasket, setting the bouquet aside gently so it wouldn’t fall off the kitchen table, out of sight of the door to her apartment. Grabbing the phone, I glanced at the stove clock. It was just after ten, so I called her favorite Italian restaurant, and thankfully found a table for us at around nine o’clock that evening.

Straightening the living room as best I could with the minutes left to me, I tossed the now warm bowl of cereal in the disposal, and washed the few dishes in the sink, before wiping up the spilled milk from earlier. Her bra and panties from the previous weekend were still next to the couch, mementoes of our last passionate coupling, and I picked those and some other pieces of clothing off the floor, tossing them into the wicker laundry bin in her room. Making the bed, I was relieved to see that my cum had only, or at least mostly, only hit me, and there was no visible trace of it on the sheets. Tossing the bedspread over it and fluffing the pillow, I hoped it would show my careful consideration of how best to surprise her, and not betray the frantic speed with which I’d started.

Then, I settled down to wait. I should vacuum, I thought, then saw it was ten-thirty already. başakşehir escort That won’t do. I want her to come home to a clean apartment, not see me in the middle of cleaning it. The living room looked fine, so I sat back to watch the television, which had remained steadfastly on, diligently entertaining an empty room even as I’d run around to cure my omissions.

After what seemed a long time, I looked again at the clock in the kitchen. Eleven straight up. She was late! I hoped her final hadn’t been a disaster. That would make any of my preparations seem inappropriate. I pictured Wendy collapsed against me, sobbing with the knowledge of a wasted Spring quarter.

This time I did vacuum, then dusted the living room, hoping that she would be happy when she got home, dreading that she might not be. When I finished, it was nearly eleven-thirty, and still no sign of her. By now, I was concerned something had happened to her, but had no idea what it might have been.

Just before noon, she came through the door, leaving it open behind her. At the sound of her key, I’d grabbed the bouquet, still fresh, and held it behind my back. Wendy walked in with a couple of paper sacks from the same store whose floral department had, I hoped, saved me, and set them down.

“Happy birthday, gorgeous!” I handed her the bouquet with a flourish, and swept her into my arms. She beamed at me, and accepted my kiss gratefully. Something clinked in them. “What’s that, Wendy?”

“I picked up a couple of things, in case you forgot it was my birthday. Thank you for not forgetting! I love you!” Laughing, she returned my embrace and kissed back fervently, and I felt my cock responding to the lovely warmth pressed against me. Cupping her ass, I started to kiss down her neck, intent on getting her breasts free of their underwire prison.

“Ahem.” Shit, the door’s still open! I turned my face from the hollow in Wendy’s neck, still nibbling at it, and saw a guy coming in after Wendy and shutting the door. He wore a light navy windbreaker over a polo shirt and cream-colored slacks, and I almost didn’t recognize him, at least with clothes on.

Wendy kissed me again, grinning. “Guess who I ran into after my finals?”

It was the guy who I’d watched on top of me, his dick pistoning inside my then-virgin asshole, and the same guy I’d swapped cum with after our mutual blowjobs, and the one person Wendy fantasized about seeing me get hot and heavy with. If anything, my cock was harder than ever, when I replied with a weak, “Hello, James.”

The bag, it turned out, contained some Chinese food for lunch, and three bottles of wine. I arched an eyebrow at her, and she whispered in my ear, “It is my birthday!” Nibbling on my earlobe for a fugitive second she pulled reluctantly away, and helped me get some plates out for the three of us to eat.

She’d certainly bought enough food, and I knew we’d have plenty of leftovers, no matter how much James partook in the minor feast. Over spring rolls, sweet and sour pork and Mongolian beef, we chatted about school. James had, it turned out, been in Wendy’s Art Appreciation class, which seemed odd, since he was a Communications major, working on breaking into radio. Speech forensics was more his style, not art.

“So, when did you decide to take the course?”

He smiled, blue eyes twinkling over a mouthful of the beef. “It turned out I needed some more General Ed credits, something outside my major. Wendy didn’t tell you we’ve been in the same class all quarter?” She hadn’t.

“Honey, I barely saw him. I mean, you’re the one who really knows him, right?” She did well to hide the sardonic leer I knew was lurking behind her innocent smile. She knew, and I realized that James knew she knew that he’d been the one, my first blowjob. It seemed impossible that the subject hadn’t come up while they were in class, or study hall, and she was right.

I do know him better, and not just in a Biblical sense. I laughed at the image of what my old minister would have said to the sight of my sucking off another guy, letting him shoot his seed—that’s what they called it in the Good Book—into my mouth and swallowing all of it. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

What the hell is going on? Does she want to talk more about it, maybe get his memories of the event? Still, it was her birthday, and I wasn’t going to spoil it for her. I shifted in my chair, and regretted it instantly, as the taut denim rubbed at my shaft, awakening it as I wolfed down my lunch, wishing I was gorging myself on her tits and pussy instead. My hard-on twitched in sympathy, wanting to bury itself in a warm, moist place right now, but being held back like a horny dog by its master.

“So, James, what did you think of the class?” I hoped they didn’t realize I was trying very hard to change the subject away from double entendres.

He grinned again, his twinkling blue eyes the perfect complement to Wendy’s own, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Why is he here?

James told us both how much he’d enjoyed the class, and Wendy’s insights into many of the artists, Monet and Klimt in particular, though I could swear that at least once he’d left the “m” out of the latter’s name. Wendy must have heard it too, because she chuckled a couple of times.

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