by Felix Baron
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.
‘Thank you. I try.’
Wanda took a moment to absorb all the new information. Her ‘intended’ had his own jet plane that he piloted himself. Every day, it seemed, she had to revise her idea of how wealthy he was, and how talented, both upwards. What next? Did he perform brain surgery on alternate Thursdays?
There was a knock on the cabin door. Kitty returned. ‘Coffee, tea, or …’ She handed Wanda a Martini. ‘Henry doesn’t drink and fly,’ she explained, ‘but I find a small libation helps my nerves when he’s piloting.’
‘He’s an expert pilot,’ Wanda protested.
‘Of course he is. He’s good at everything he does, isn’t he.’ She winked. ‘It’s quite tiresome how damned talented our Henry is.’
‘Stop teasing,’ Henry told her.
‘Aye-aye, Captain.’
‘We won’t be flying very high,’ Henry said. ‘It’s only a short hop to the ranch.’
They entered a cloudbank. Nothing but fluffy white was visible.
Wanda asked, ‘Can you see OK, Henry?’
He patted his console. ‘She can, but if you’re nervous …’ He eased the yoke back and they burst into sunshine again.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s time, Kitty,’ he said.
‘Right.’ The girl took Wanda’s hardly touched glass and disappeared.
‘We’re descending now,’ Henry told Wanda. He started pilot-talk again.
Wanda looked out. They had to have passed the clouds because it was clear all the way down to the ground. The landscape was pretty much shades of khaki, except that straight ahead was a patch of lush green. It seemed that was where they were headed.
‘There’s the ranch house,’ Henry told her.
She looked out as he banked in a slow turn over a sprawling building with a red-tile roof, mainly, and stucco or adobe walls with black timbers. It was one floor, again ‘mainly’, but two high in some places and three where a tower stood in one corner.
‘My great-grandfather built the original house,’ Henry said. ‘Since then it just “grew”. I don’t think any architect would approve, but we like it. I hope that you do too, as it’ll be your home soon, or one of them.’
‘It’s lovely,’ she assured him. One of them? How many?
‘Thank you for that. The “Bar C” thanks you, as well.’
Wanda blew a kiss at the house and told it, ‘You’re lovely, Bar C.’
They crossed a paddock. A dozen horses chased the plane’s shadow.
‘What beautiful animals!’ Wanda exclaimed.
‘You’ll see a lot of those.’
‘A lot?’
‘That’s what we do here, breed and train horses.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know. How – how much land?’
‘It’s not a big spread, a little over a thousand acres, but the landscape is very varied, which is ideal for our purposes. Our horses are sold to hobbyists, pets that they can ride on. We breed for looks and disposition mainly but they also have to be ready for any sort of terrain they might encounter.’
The landing strip was only a hundred feet from the house. Once Wanda alighted, the rest of the day was something of a blur. Almost everyone she was introduced to was attractive, which sent her conscious mind scurrying for cover in case her subconscious fed these people into the furnace that drove her erotic fantasies. There was the housekeeper-cum-cook, Consuela Sigurdsson, a handsome Brazilian woman showing spectacular cleavage. She was in her fifties. Her husband, Olaf, was safe to think about, a dour little man with a walrus moustache. He was the handyman. Consuela had three helpers, all pretty young women with tight little bodies and saucy eyes. Her three sons, whose names Wanda didn’t manage to remember, all looked the way cowboys were supposed to look – rangy, with no hips, tanned faces with creases around their eyes. Their jeans were sun-bleached and worn thin, particularly around their crotches. The three managed the ranch in Henry’s absence. Any healthy young woman would have started fantasising about group sex at her first sight of them. For Wanda, it took a massive effort of will not to moisten when they each took her hand, in turn, and wished her welcome. It helped that their hands were so calloused it felt like she was shaking hands with crabs.
The eldest had breeding records he needed to consult with Henry about so it fell to the other two to help Wanda into a Range Rover and give her a quick tour of the buildings. What they referred to as the ‘swimming hole’ turned out to be a well-appointed in-ground pool, complete, to Wanda’s dismay, with three swimmers, two muscular men in tight Speedos and a lovely flame-haired woman in a minute bikini.
Where would all this temptation stop?
Lunch was informal. There was a choice of lamb chops or pan-fried rainbow trout, with buttered potatoes that weren’t much bigger than the peas they accompanied. After the meal, Henry was whisked off for more ranch business.
Kitty and Lucinda announced that they planned to get some sun that afternoon. There was a girls-only sunbathing spot on the roof. Wanda and her mom were invited.
Wanda chose a two-piece swimsuit that the saleswoman had called a bikini but had too much fabric to qualify for that title, in Wanda’s opinion. When she got to the roof, her confusion was compounded. Her mom, her future mother-in-law and Kitty were all stretched out on loungers wearing just the bottom halves of what certainly qualified to be called bikinis. Wanda swallowed hard. She blushed. She averted her eyes but the images were branded under her eyelids. Seeing Lucinda’s bare and obviously augmented breasts was a shock enough, though Wanda had to admit that whoever it was who’d worked on them had done a fine job. Looking at Kitty’s naked little boobs might have been enjoyable, under other circumstances. Her mom’s nakedness was an entirely different thing. Her breasts were nothing for her to be ashamed of, considering her age, but they were her mom’s.
And it was her mom who said, ‘You’re overdressed, Wanda. Didn’t you hear Lucinda tell us that this was a ladies-only zone?’
Somehow, Wanda managed to shed her bra, snatch up a magazine, and get behind it on a lounger. Guns and Ammo. Not exactly her favourite reading material, but changing it for another would have meant exposing her body to their eyes, and their bodies to hers.
One of the pretty young girls brought them drinks. Was she going to bare her boobs as well? Thank Heaven, it appeared not.
Wanda sank down behind her magazine. Kitty was off to her left so that Wanda was able to take crafty glimpses at her boobs from behind her sunglasses. Those delectable little tits actually tilted up at their nipples. Wanda had never seen that before, not in real life, not that she’d seen that many real breasts close up.
She’d have felt a lot more comfortable if her mom and mom-in-law-to-be had left. No
w, if they just decided to go down to one of their bedrooms and do whatever middle-aged lesbians did to each other, she could really relax and enjoy the sun. If they’d just get up, go through the door that led down, lock it behind them, then …
A shadow falling over her told Wanda that Kitty had come to visit.
‘I’ve seen you eyeing my tits,’ the girl said. ‘It’s OK. I’ve been dying to get a good look at yours. They’re beautiful.’
‘Thanks. Yours too,’ Wanda assured her.
Kitty leaned over Wanda. ‘You can touch them if you like.’
‘I think I will.’ Wanda cupped one and gave it a little squeeze.
‘May I?’ Kitty asked, her hand hovering over Wanda’s left breast.
‘Please do.’
The two young women caressed each other, stroking and compressing and then, inevitable, toying with nipples.
‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you and Henry are alone,’ Kitty said.
‘You would?’
‘Two beautiful bodies, doing beautiful things to each other. I’d enjoy watching that. Do you like to watch, Wanda?’
‘I guess I do.’
‘Henry’s a very lucky man. I bet you give him great head.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You’re a horny little bitch, Wanda, you know that. It shows in your eyes.’
‘I suppose I am.’
‘It’s the best way, you know,’ Kitty mused.
‘Best way to what?’
‘To keep a man. No man ever left a woman who was giving him regular blow jobs, and doing it with enthusiasm.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ Wanda promised.
‘And not always when he expects it, either,’ Kitty continued. ‘Like, under his desk when he’s working, or bending over his lap to do it while he’s driving. Each one of those counts as two, you know.’
‘It does? Two, how?’
‘Well, if you’re in bed and expecting a good tonguing yourself, or after he’s got you off and you fancy a taste of the good stuff. Those are good, but surprise head counts for double brownie points.’
Wanda asked, ‘Or if it’s you and your girlfriend and you both blow him at the same time, what does that count?’
Kitty giggled. ‘Four regular ones, at least, maybe five. Did you plan …?’
‘Just checking on the rules.’
‘You’re bad, Wanda.’
‘And wet.’
‘Are you?’ Kitty squirmed a hand down the front of Wanda’s swimsuit bottom. ‘Did I do that to you, Wanda? Did I make you all wet?’
‘No one else is around, talking dirty to me, so I guess you must be to blame.’
‘Are you horny, Wanda? Are you very horny?’
Wanda nodded.
‘Lift up, then.’
Wanda raised her bottom. Kitty dragged the half swimsuit down her thighs and off.
‘Spread ’em, Wanda,’ the girl instructed.
Wanda spread wide and squirmed lower down on the recliner. Kitty pulled a footstool over to sit on.
‘Pretty pussy.’
‘Purr.’
‘Pussy want a nice stroke?’
‘Purr.’
Delicate fingers smoothed over Wanda’s puffy mound. The heel of Kitty’s hand pressed down on it, tilting Wanda’s lips and parting them a little.
‘You’re leaking.’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Delicious!’
‘Purr.’
A finger of Kitty’s other hand tickled the delicate area just below Wanda’s sex. ‘Do you like that?’
‘Mm.’
‘You have to tell me.’
‘I like it.’
‘A lot?’
‘A lot.’
‘How about this?’ A finger wormed into Wanda, down low, where her lips formed a little cup.
‘Love it.’
Kitty leaned in closer and sucked up the accumulated dew. ‘Yummy.’
‘Thank you. There’s lots more where that came from.’
‘I believe you’re right.’ Using one hand to part Wanda’s lips, Kitty stroked up inside the full length of her slit. Her tongue followed, then passed the fingertips to rest on Wanda’s little pink button.
‘Oh yes,’ Wanda gasped. ‘There. Right there.’
‘Like this?’ Kitty lapped.
‘Exactly like that.’
‘Wouldn’t it be fun,’ Kitty mused, ‘if Henry were here now, watching what I’m doing to you.’
That thought sent a massive jolt through Wanda. ‘Oh, fuck, yes!’
‘He could be fucking me from behind while he watched me play with your pussy,’ Kitty suggested.
‘I can’t stand it,’ Wanda moaned.
‘But you have to.’ Kitty’s fingers formed a demanding dagger to stab into Wanda repeatedly as her tongue lashed at Wanda’s clit. It was too much. The sensations, plus the mental image of Henry watching them as he was fucking Kitty, were overwhelming. Wanda felt that she was drowning in lust and then there was the sound of a deep bell that reverberated in her bones and –
‘I think that’s the dinner gong,’ Kitty said from over on her lounger.
Lucinda added from hers, ‘Time to go get changed. Dresses or skirts please, ladies.’
Chapter Eight
Over dinner, Beef Wellington with truffles and Caesar salads, Henry had apologised for being so busy and told her that he’d make it up to her in the morning. The delivery from Mr Pink had arrived. They’d go for a ride in their new riding clothes. He’d show her the property. Would seven be OK?
In the morning? Ouch. Wanda agreed that seven would be just fine, if she could get an early call.
‘I’ll have Sandy bring you a light breakfast and your new outfit, at five-thirty then?’
Wanda had nodded. She’d have an hour and a half to get herself fully awake and dressed. That was doable. Of course it was.
After dinner, she excused herself to go up to bed. It’d been years since she’d ridden. She’d need to be well rested. Tomorrow, she’d be spending the entire day alone with her Henry. Perhaps he intended to mount more than his horse. Wanda couldn’t think of a better cure for her erotic fantasising than real sex.
She woke at five, ready to get up and go. By the time Sandy arrived with a gigantic cardboard box and a breakfast tray, Wanda had showered and trimmed everywhere that could possibly need trimming.
All she had on was the tiniest and flimsiest of her thongs. Wanda grabbed a bedspread to drag over her lap.
Sandy said, ‘You are so beautiful, Miss!’
With that reaction as encouragement, Wanda tossed the spread aside. Sandy was pretty cute, herself, in her navel-baring short-shorts and ‘tied under the ample boobs’ shirt. Wanda couldn’t help but wonder, with all the good-looking girls on his staff, how many of them Henry had …
She asked, ‘Does Mr Henry mind the way you dress, Sandy?’
The girl smiled down into her own cleavage. ‘I’ve had a woman or two disapprove, Miss, but never a man.’ She grinned at Wanda. ‘Do I offend you, Miss?’
‘Not in the least. You have a lovely body, Sandy. I was just wondering about how they like things around here. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.’
Sandy gave Wanda a long slow look, up and then down again. ‘Miss Wanda, you’re gorgeous. Mr Henry is a lucky man. I’m sure he’d approve of you taking advantage of your looks. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, and you’ve got it.’
‘My mother doesn’t agree.’
‘Oh, mothers! What do they know?’
Wanda considered that an excellent question.
There were hot croissants with fresh butter and apricot jam, plus a single fig on the side. The coffee was divine. As Wanda ate, Sandy unpacked the box. She giggled.
Wanda turned to see the girl holding up something in satin, with dark-green and gold vertical stripes – the same colours as Henry’s plane. His livery? Was he somehow ‘taking possession’ of her? She really hoped so.
‘It’s a
waspie, Miss,’ Sandy said. ‘You’ll kill in this.’
Wanda felt a femme fatale mood creep up on her. A tight waspie, sheer hose, stiletto heels and a cigarette in a long ivory holder, and she’d be ready for … What? Just about anything naughty, she supposed. Please let Henry have something ‘naughty’ in mind!
Wanda had to step into the waspie to save unlacing it. Sandy worked it up over Wanda’s hips. Inevitably, there was some skin-on-skin contact but neither of them acknowledged it. The situation was far too fraught with possibilities.
There’d been pictures that Wanda had seen, years before, pictures that she shouldn’t have looked at. If Sandy had been dressed as a sexy French maid while Wanda was leaning forward and supporting herself stiff-armed on the dresser while Sandy tightened the waspie with her knee in Wanda’s back and Henry had walked in on them … Well, the outcome could have been delicious. He’d have been dressed for riding, of course, and carrying a crop.
A crop.
Stop! She hadn’t indulged in that sort of fantasy for ages. Having those particular images in her head would have been unbearable, considering how long she’d been forced to remain celibate.
‘Pull tighter,’ she told Sandy. Perhaps being constricted at her waist would squeeze the dangerous thoughts out of her head. ‘Tighter!’
Sandy tugged hard.
When breathing became a struggle, Wanda allowed, ‘Enough! Now, what else goes with this outfit. I suppose that there is more to it, or am I to do a Lady Godiva?’
Sandy giggled. ‘You’re bad, Miss Wanda.’
She was the second person to tell Wanda that, in two days. No – the other had been Kitty, in a fantasy. Perhaps her life was going to imitate her erotic dreams? Wouldn’t that be a blast!
The riding habit was dark-green velvet. Its skirt was ankle-length and double-circular. There was a gold silk shirt with ruffles at the throat. Neither Wanda nor Sandy mentioned the possibility of her wearing a bra under it. The short jacket had puffy shoulders but was tight at her waist and wrists. If Wanda hadn’t been wearing the waspie, Sandy wouldn’t have been able to get the seventeen cloth-covered buttons done up.
The boots were matching green, in supple kid leather, with three-inch Cuban heels. Wanda had to point her toes and strain on the boots’ tabs to get into them but once they were on they felt like slippers.
