Wendy groaned as the alarm clock's incessant beeping pierced the morning silence, "How many times had she hit snooze," she wondered as she squinted at the digital display 8:30 AM, she was late, again. For the fourth night in a row she had lain awake, her body a coil of frustration. Bob had once again turned his back to her, his snores the only response to her advances. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed the cold floor a jolting reminder of the predictable routine that awaited her.What follows is a true story, the only embellishment being descriptions of events that occur outside the living room for reasons that will become obvious
It hadn't always been like this, before Bob, before the sobriety Wendy's life had been a whirlwind of chaos, a tumultuous cocktail of alcohol, drugs, and sex. The kind of life that could only exist in the shadows of a small rural mill town in North Carolina, a place where everyone knew everyone else's secrets. Wendy had been newly divorced, just another emotional scar added to more than she could count, but that didn't stop her from fucking her creep of an ex anyway. She had been having an affair with a married man from halfway across the state. She was a single mom moving from trailer park to trailer park, one eviction following another and then there was Bob, a random hookup from a local chat group, little more than a delivery boy from the suburbs of Charlotte willing to drive 45 minutes to bring her cheap coconut rum in exchange for just a hint at the prospect of sex.
Wendy had known Bob was just a visitor to her way of life, a voyeur to a world he had never experienced, and Wendy had known it was only a matter of time before he retreated to the stability of his suburban home and his professional job, a stability she desperately craved, or so she thought.
Wendy lit the half-smoked joint on the nightstand and inhaled deeply, the one indulgence still left to her. She stared through smokey rings at her phone beside the ashtray. With a swift movement, she grabbed her phone and launched her messenger app, tapping out a number from her past, a number she knew by heart. "Liquor store. Now. I need you." The words on the screen seemed to pulse with urgency. She knew he would come, and that knowledge brought a wicked smile to her lips. The potent marijuana was already doing its job, loosening her inhibitions, and preparing her for what was to come. Wendy took a deep breath and called in sick to work, the lie rolling off her tongue with practiced ease, "Not feeling well," she murmured into the phone the words tasting bitter on her tongue, "Just a headache," she added, the lie thickening as she listened to the concern in her boss's voice. With the call ended she tossed the phone onto the bed and walked into the bathroom.
Wendy stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was nearly 40 and it showed in the dark circles under her eyes and the sadness that had etched lines around her mouth. Turning away from the sad sight she started the shower letting the steam fill the room. Under the hot spray, she began to feel alive again, the water caressing her skin and momentarily washing away the ache that Bob's indifference had left her with. After drying off and wrapping herself in a plush robe she padded downstairs. Bob had already left for his office leaving the house eerily quiet. Her thoughts drifted to Bad Bob as she took another drag on the joint. His rough hands, his smoldering gaze, the way he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. The thought of his touch sent a shiver down her spine and she knew she needed him today more than ever. Wendy chuckled to herself over the nickname she had given Bad Bob so long ago, a private joke the two shared. She knew it stroked his ego to be called Bad Bob while she referred to her husband mockingly as Good Bob. The anticipation of his arrival was almost unbearable but she knew that the moment she opened the door the floodgates would be released and she'd be swept away in a torrent of passion and danger.
Returning to the bedroom, Wendy shed her frumpy housecoat replacing it with the silk gown her husband had given her. The fabric whispered against her skin, making her feel like a seductress from a bygone era. Wendy dug into the drawer of her nightstand withdrawing her vibrator, a reliable and silent confidant that had seen her through many a lonely night. She picked it up with a sense of purpose, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the warmth building within her. She had used it countless times but today it was merely a placeholder, a way to pass the time until the real thing arrived.
Wendy walked back down the stairs and took a seat on the couch, the silk of her gown sliding against her skin like a lover's caress. She turned on the 75" TV, the mindless chatter a backdrop to the storm of thoughts and emotions swirling through her. The vibrator hummed to life in her hand, a comforting buzz that washed over her like a lover's whisper. She applied it to her clit, the sensation immediately sending waves of pleasure rippling through her body. Her eyes closed, she let out a soft moan, her hips rising to meet the rhythmic pulsations. The marijuana had done its work, turning her thoughts into a soft haze of desire. Her breath grew shallower her body taut with anticipation as the vibrator slid lower, teasing the folds of her pussy but she knew it would not be enough. Then the unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle pierced the quiet of the morning, jolting Wendy back to reality. Her eyes snapped open, the sound growing louder and closer. She recognized the distinct growl of Bad Bob's bike, her heart raced, she took one final deep breath her hands shaking slightly as she set the vibrator aside.
With a sudden sureness, Wendy stood and walked to the back door the silk of her gown clinging to her skin. The vibrator lay forgotten on the couch its buzzing a distant echo of the passion that was about to fill her. Peeking through the curtains she watched as Bad Bob cut the engine, his leather-clad form silhouetted by the early light. He looked up catching her eye and grinned that cocky grin that never failed to make her knees weak. Before she could second guess herself, she unlocked the door and pulled it open, the cool morning air rushing in. Bad Bob sauntered up the steps of the deck his boots heavy on the wood, she stepped aside to let him enter. The door clicked shut behind them, the finality of the sound echoing through the empty house like a gunshot. His eyes swept the living room taking in the rumpled blankets on the couch, the vibrator lying forgotten. A wicked smirk danced across his face as he looked at her, his eyes dark with lust, "Looks like you had a bit of a party before I got here," he said his voice low and gruff.
Wendy felt a flush creep up her neck, the thrill of being caught doing something illicit sending a fresh wave of heat between her thighs. She stepped closer to him, her bare feet whispering against the hardwood floor, "I wanted to warm up a little," her voice a seductive purr, "But nothing compares to the real thing," Bad Bob chuckled, his hand brushing against the bottle hidden under his leather jacket, "Did you bring it," Wendy asked her voice tight with anticipation.
"Of course," pulling out the bottle of whiskey with a flourish. Wendy's eyes widened at the sight of the amber liquid, Jack Daniels, the same brand that had fueled her wildest nights in the past. She had not tasted its fiery kiss in five long years but the craving was as potent as ever. He handed her the bottle and she took it with trembling hands. The weight of the bottle felt both foreign and familiar as she unscrewed the cap the sound echoing through the tension-filled room and took a deep swig straight from the bottle. The whiskey burned down her throat a fiery path that seemed to ignite every nerve ending. The warmth spread through her chasing away the shackles of sobriety with ease. She coughed slightly, the harshness of it surprising her but the taste was like coming home to a long-forgotten lover.
"No Red Lobster?" asked Bad Bob. Wendy smiled at the memory of that afternoon, now more than a year ago. Bad Bob had picked her up in the diesel truck he used for work and she had thanked him with a blow job in the restaurant parking lot.
Wendy took another hit from the bottle, wincing as the liberating fluid went down, out of practice from the years of abstinence. It was her second shot in so many minutes. "We can't talk about that" she said with a simile, her normally light southern accent becoming thicker and slightly slurred. Wendy placed the bottle on the coffee table and without so much as taking off Bad Bob's jacket she began to undo the buckle on his pants. Her hands were steady despite the tremble in her stomach. The leather was cold and unyielding under her fingertips, but she felt heat radiating from his body. His cock was already hard, straining against the fabric of his jeans. He groaned as she pulled his zipper down with a slow, deliberate motion while his eyes never left hers.
Wendy's heart hammered in her chest as she pushed him down onto the couch, his leather jacket creaking. When his erection sprang free, thick and demanding she knelt before him, the silk of her gown pooling around her, and took him into her mouth, his taste familiar and exhilarating, a reminder of the power she had over this man. She felt his hand in her hair, guiding her movements as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the tip. For one brief moment, she pulled back, making direct eye contact with Bad Bob. The hunger in his gaze made her need spike, "Remember, this must be our secret," she whispered her voice a mix of desperation and promise. He nodded his eyes darkening with understanding. With newfound urgency, Wendy wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, the other hand cupping his tight balls. She took him back into her mouth the warm wetness of her tongue tracing the veins that stood out. The sound of his groan was music to her ears, a symphony of lust that spurred her on. Her eyes never left his, the silent communication between them spoke volumes. She knew what he liked and she was going to give it to him. The whiskey had done its job lowering her inhibitions and heightening her senses. His taste was intoxicating, a potent blend of sweat, leather, and desire. "We need to make this quick," her voice barely audible over the sound of their rapid breaths. She gently pushed him onto his back, the couch groaning under their combined weight. He didn't protest his hands moving to grip the armrests as if bracing for the storm. Wendy's body hovered over his for a moment, the silk of her gown fluttering like a moth's wings before settling onto his chest. She straddled him, her wetness coating the head of his cock as she positioned herself above him. The anticipation was palpable, the air in the room thick with the scent of their desire. With a swift, fluid motion, she lowered herself taking him in completely. The sensation was electric, a jolt of pleasure that shot through both of them. Bad Bob's eyes rolled back in his head as his hips bucked upward to meet her. As she began to ride him the couch creaked beneath them, the only sound in the quiet house.
Wendy's movements grew more frantic as the whiskey-induced haze began to lift. The reality of what she was doing crashed over her, a wave of guilt and need colliding, yet she couldn't stop, her body craving the release that only he could give her. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, the fabric of her gown clinging to her nipples like a second skin. Bad Bob's hands roamed her body, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he guided her rhythm. His breathing grew ragged, his eyes never leaving hers as they fucked with a passion that seemed to defy the very air around them. Wendy felt the pressure building, her muscles tightening around him as she neared the edge. Then with a guttural groan, Bad Bob's hips surged upwards, meeting her downward thrust with a ferocity that sent them both over the edge. They came together in a symphony of pleasure, his cock pulsing within her as she shuddered and clenched him. Her orgasm was a crescendo of sensation, waves of pure ecstasy that seemed to ripple out from her core, leaving her trembling and gasping for air.
As the intensity of the climax subsided, Wendy collapsed onto his chest, her body a wet trembling mess. The silk of her gown was plastered to her skin and she could feel the warmth of Bad Bob's sperm leaking from her pussy painting a slick trail down her inner thigh. She took a moment to savor the feeling of his heart hammering against her breasts, his ragged breaths syncing with her own. With a sigh, she peeled herself off him, the loss of his heat making her shiver. She stumbled into the bathroom the whiskey haze still fogging her vision. The cold porcelain of the sink was a stark contrast to the fevered warmth of the living room as she braced herself against it to clean up. Looking in the mirror, she saw a woman whose eyes were glazed over with satisfaction yet there was a hint of sadness lurking beneath, "Ok, you have to go," Wendy shouted over the sound of running water. The words hung in the air a stark reminder of the reality she was trying to escape. Without another word, Bad Bob zipped up his leather jacket, took a long draught from the bottle still on the coffee table, and left through the back door. As the roar of the motorcycle grew faint Wendy felt the weight of her choices settle upon her like a lead blanket. She returned to the living room, the scent of sex and whiskey clinging to the air. Her body still hummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, her mind racing with thoughts of what had just transpired. With a shaky hand, Wendy poured the remains of the bottle into her morning coffee, picked up the forgotten vibrator and scanned the room, her eyes searching for any sign of evidence. There was none, none save the unblinking eye of the nanny cam that had been hidden on the mantel hours before she awoke, a silent, unnoticed sentinel dutifully recording Wendy's every movement.
