The Secret Sex Lives of Wanda Mitty

by Felix Baron

  ‘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.’
<
br />   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.’