Wendy’s Pink Lipstick Conversion, Phase II — Sunday, Part II


“My plan was to sit behind Sham in the early going. That changed when I felt the power beneath me and Secretariat broke sharply.”

Ron Turcotte, jockey for Secretariat


Sara kissed Wendy goodbye after the church service, a chaste but lingering kiss on the teenage girl’s lips while standing outside Sara’s car door.

“Gosh,” said Sara, practically giggling. “I don’t know when I ever felt so.”

Sara reached for Wendy’s hands, but Wendy pulled them back, suddenly self-conscious.

“Wendy, don’t,” Sara said. “After all that.”

“I know, it’s just that.”

Sara bent her head, reached into her purse as she swung it from her hip to the front of her body, and rummage through the contents, pulling out a small cardboard box with white and pink labelling. The cover showed a half open sheet of pink pills in foil. Sara tore open the sealed container, slid out a foil-wrapped sheet of pills, and handed it to Wendy, who lifted an eyebrow.

“Take one of these when you get home,” Sara said. “I don’t know if your time’s coming on, but they help tremendously with the cramps.”

Sara leaned closer to Wendy.

“They also prevent pregnancy,” she added with a poke to Wendy’s belly. “You know, for your date with Brad tonight.”

“Sara,” Wendy protested. “I’m not going to.”

“You might,” Sara said. “You might. Anyway, they really do help you through your periods.”

Mary’s voice broke through the conversation.

“Wendy? Are you ready?” asked Wendy’s mother.

“Hello, Miss Love,” Sara said. “It was a beautiful service today.”

“Well, yes, yes. I suppose it was,” Mary stammered, taken aback. To her mind, the service felt off, strange, and far more, well, unrestrained than she liked. Any more of that, and she’d have to find a new place to go on Sundays.

“You have a lovely little church,” Sara added as Mary took her daughter’s hand, almost pulling her away from the forward adolescent with bright red lips in a green dress.

Sara ran to the back of her car and opened the trunk. She grabbed two of the shopping bags from their shopping trip yesterday.

“Wait, Wendy,” she shouted after them. “You almost forgot these.”

Wendy blushed behind her makeup as her mother gave a questioning glance at the pink and frilly large gift bags.

“Just some stuff from the mall, Mom.”
* * *

Wendy stared out the car window during the drive home, watching strip mall, gas station, realtor office, closed bank, drug store, and roadside café roll by in a continuous landscape of commerce and trade, desperate and thriving by turns. Where one business lined its lot with well-trimmed hedges and neat, potted plants under clean, shiny windows, its neighbor allowed broken bottles in the parking lot, cracked curbstones, or even a cracked window, covered in dirt and dust. Some signs said Open, some said Closed, and others said For Lease. Where clean, well-dressed families climbed out of clean, well-cared for automobiles to eat Sunday dinner in clean, well-lighted family restaurants, the homeless in dirty, torn pants and shirts shuffled head down and spitting into the weeds growing through the cracks of a lot for an abandoned used car dealership across the street. Police cars prowled both the main streets and the side alleys, menacing and always present.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that Sara lately, honey.”

Mary’s voice broke through Wendy’s thoughts.

“And?”

Mary sighed internally.

“Are you sure she’s a good influence on you?”

“Oh crap,” Wendy exploded. “What more do you want from her? She went to church with me didn’t she?”

“You were late.”

“Oh, cut the.”

“Did you have to wear all that makeup? To church?”

“What? You said I should.”

“I said you could.”

Wendy turned to face her mother angrily.

“I look good don’t I?”

Mary darted a glance at her daughter before returning her eyes to the road.

“Yeah, honey. You look fine.”

“Okay, then.”

The drive home passed in silence, and Wendy stared out the car window.
* * *

Wendy slammed the car door, stormed across the garage, threw open the door to the kitchen and stomped, high heels and all, up the stairs to her bedroom. She tossed the packet of pills onto her dresser, flung her shopping bags on her bed neatly made-up in its pink duvet and pink frilly pillows, stepped out of her pink heels, huffed, and undressed to take the second shower of the day. She scrubbed her face clean and ran hot water over her hair, not using shampoo but just rinsing; she soaped and lathered her body and emerged from the tiny shower bath with its white and pink polka dot curtain that she used to hate so much. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe pink does suit me.

She towel dried her hair, then blew it dry while brushing out her tangles.

She walked into her closet, remembering Sara’s huge area, bigger than Wendy’s own room. She flipped through her shirts on their hangers, finding a pink long sleeved cotton pullover that suited the crisp weather well. Then she rummaged through one of the gift bags until she found what she was looking for. The very sheer pink set of bra and G-string underwear Sara had urged her to buy. She stretched her arms through the bra straps, struggled for a few seconds to hook the back, then stepped into her panties, pulling them past her knees and thighs until the thong of the G-string split her labia in the midst of her blond bush. She still hadn’t shaved or even trimmed, but her muff felt smooth and soft as she ran her hand across her mound, remembering how Sara had pounded her with her fingers in church. A week ago wearing panties as skimpy as that would have felt weird, uncomfortable. Now Wendy understood how Sara could like wearing them so much. They just felt good.

She pulled on the pair of jeans she had worn last Monday with the holes in the seat and knees, found a pair of white ankle socks, and slipped her feet into a pair of pink sneakers which she hardly ever wore. She pulled her hair into a tailed, tied it with a scrunchie, and surveyed the results in the mirror of her vanity. A week of using the pink face cleanser Sara had given her had left her skin clean, flawless, radiant even. She looked but could not discover even a hint of an intruding pimple. Her acne, never too much of a problem, had disappeared altogether. She really could eat potato chips again.

Her pullover clung tightly to her body, showing off the swell of her breasts and the inward curve of her waist before ending where her hips regained the swell of her chest. She had never really liked the shirt before, uneasy with the way it showed the bounce and sway of her tits. Now she smiled to herself at the effect. She looked, she knew, if not outright hot, then at least attractive and even desirable. And that had certainly never been a concern of hers before meeting Sara. She turned to show the side of her ass in the mirror, slipping a hand through one of the rips in her seat to feel the smooth skin of her ass. She pulled it out immediately, shocked at how easily even doing that turned her on. Should she strip and rub one out? Did she even have anything to do today except get ready for her date with Brad? Just then the phone on her dresser rang. She recognized the number at once. Maddy.

“Hey Maddy, what’s up,” she said after picking up the phone.

“Hey you, do you want to ride to the bookstore with me?”

Even though Maddy had a driver’s license, her mom and dad owned only the one car, which they rarely let their daughter drive. So Maddy and Wendy still rode their bikes whenever they wanted to go out. Just like in 7th grade.

“Yeah, actually. That’d be super. I really need to get out of here for a while. Mom’s driving me crazy.”

“Mine too. Meet you on our corner?”

“Yup.”

Wendy put down the phone, sprinted across the room, and spun around to grab a tube of Pink Sunshine Spice from the drawer of her vanity. She wasn’t going to put it on. Maddy would think that’s weird. It’s just that. She hated to leave home without it, she justified to herself, licking her dry lips. She tossed the tube in her purse and hung the purse over her shoulder.

“Mo-om,” Wendy yelled while hurrying through the kitchen, “I’mgoingtothebookstorewithMaddyI’llbebackinacoupleofhoursorsookay?”

Wendy’s mother was upstairs and didn’t respond.

“Okay?” Wendy shouted.

“Okay what?” Mary yelled from the top of the stairs.

“Thanks, Mom, I love you!”

Wendy slammed the door while pushing the button for the garage opener, pulled her bike from the corner of the garage, straddled it and rode down the driveway out onto the street, leaving the garage door opened behind her, but not caring as she sped down West Pigeon Street on her green 10-speed with its curved top tube and wire basket attached to the handlebars.
* * *

Maddy and Wendy lived a few blocks from each other, not much more than half a mile, and had grown up in the same neighborhood almost from kindergarten. Where West Pigeon met Apple Blossom Road, Maddy’s street, it formed a third street running north. The intersection formed a small triangular plaza with a lone scrubby birch in the midst surrounded by three benches. Long years of habit had made this Wendy and Maddy’s meeting spot, which they simply called “our corner.”

Wendy saw Maddy waiting for her, straddling the seat of her blue 10-speed, with her blue hoodie covering her dark hair, styled in pageboy haircut. Maddy grinned when she saw Wendy.

“Ready?” she asked.

Wendy just nodded.

“Let’s go!”

Maddy took the lead, riding a bike length in front of her friend. From time to time, Maddy stood up in her pedals to accelerate or climb a small hill. Maddy wore baggier jeans than Wendy, but Wendy still saw how her friend’s ass filled the seat of her pants as she leaned forward off the seat to push her bike faster. She doesn’t have a bad body at all, Wendy thought. She wouldn’t have any problem finding a guy if she dressed a little more flattering to herself. Showed a little more skin, wore tighter clothes. Then Maddy turned a corner, Wendy followed, and they both rolled into the parking lot of Cottonwood Shopping Center.

Edge City Books, New and Pre-Read, offered the inhabitants of Edge City a plethora of eclectic subjects, ranging from mainstream to esoteric. Times had gotten a little rough for the small shop, but the owner and operator, Ed Dvorak, kept it going. Mostly by not giving a damn and focusing only on books, and not trying to add say, car tires, children’s toys, video games, specialty teas and coffees, music equipment, ice cream or Army Navy surplus. No, dammit. He sold books. Just books. And none of that damned audio crap either.

Course, he knew some publishers liked to stick a website address, or CD, or DVD, or some other shenanigans into the books, slip it between the pages all secret and hush-hush like, but he couldn’t stop that. He didn’t like it. But he couldn’t stop it either. But he wasn’t going to sell tacos. He’d eat ’em, sure. Hector’s (two doors down), sold the best tacos in the sovereignty, and Ed had an established problem with Hector’s special red sauce getting stuck in his register keys, but that didn’t mean he had to sell ’em. Wasn’t going to. No way, no how, come hell or high water.

He nodded to the two furtive teenagers shyly entering his store. He recognized them. Harmless. A cut above, actually, willing to buy something more literary and adult than, say, The Attic Flowers of Perth. Or Shirley of Seven Gables. Not a bad book by any stretch of the imagination. Just not his cuppa. Sure, he’d read it three times. But he wouldn’t a fourth.

Wendy and Maddy giggled past Ed.

After a half an hour or so, Wendy restlessly paced the aisles between the rows of bookshelves, beginning to feel a little itchy. She licked her lips continually, and repeatedly squatted to look at books on the bottom rows near the floor, closing her eyes in pleasure at the way the thong of her panties wedged into the folds of her pussy, now growing damp and warm, or crammed into the crack of her ass, splitting her like floss and rubbing against her sensitive rosebud. She wondered if anyone walking past would notice her squirming in her jeans, half writhing against the thrusts an unseen and imaginary lover.

She seemed to hear Sara’s voice.

“Are you going to fuck a bookshelf for me, Wendy? Are you going to squirt all over your favorite little books for me?”

She groaned quietly as she gripped the edge of a bookshelf and pulled herself to a standing position, pressing her dry lips together and sliding her tongue between them to keep them moist. Oh god. I need to come so bad. I need to put on my lipstick. I definitely need to put my lipstick on. Why did I ever take it off? She swung her hips from side to side unconsciously as she sashayed to the restroom.

The door was locked to the unisex restroom, and another woman waited in the hall, a middle-aged woman about forty, dressed in a dark green, knee-length skirt showing off her wide, maternal hips, a woman slightly older than Wendy’s own mother. Wavy platinum blond hair emphasized her heavy makeup and rich, deep red lipstick. Wendy smiled shyly as the woman turned to greet her.

“It shouldn’t be much longer.” She stopped midway through her sentence when she saw the heavy eyelids, glossy eyes, and dilated pupils on Wendy’s face. “Oh my.”

Suddenly the door opened, and Maddy emerged from the restroom.

“Oh, hey, Wendy. I’m going to go upstairs. When you’re finished meet me up there, okay?”

Then Maddy disappeared down the short hall and around the corner.

The blond woman held the door open for Wendy.

“Do you need help, dear?” she asked. “Do you need to go first?”

“Um,” said Wendy, nodding. Then she ducked under the woman’s arm as she held the door open.

“Well,” said the woman, stepping in as she closed the door behind her. “I’d better just make sure you’re all right.”

Wendy hurriedly scrambled in her purse for her tube of lipstick.

“Please,” said Wendy in a pleading voice. “I just need to put this on.”

Wendy leaned over the sink counter to move her face close to the mirror to apply her pink lipstick. The blond woman moved behind her and ran her hands over the curve of Wendy’s ass, sliding her fingers into the tear of her jeans and roaming her hands over Wendy’s soft flesh. Wend stuck out her ass and parted her thighs, inviting the woman to touch the folds of her pussy, begging without words for the unknown woman to finger fuck the steaming wet heat of her searing cunt.

The woman caressed the soft hair of Wendy’s blond carpet, then she slipped one finger, two fingers beneath the thin string of Wendy’s panties and slid them in without resistance into Wendy’s warm, wet, and slippery hole, hot and slick with juices that by now had soaked her panties and dripped to drench her denim. The woman unclasped Wendy’s pants button and unzipped her jeans. Wendy shuffled her legs, coaxing her jeans to the floor. The woman continued stroking and fucking Wendy’s pussy, the smell of her arousal filled the restroom, and squishy sounds of Wendy’s plopping lips echoed off the walls.

“Oh, god,” Wendy cried out as she layered coat after coat of Pink Sunshine Spice onto her swollen lips. “Oh god I’m going to come all over your hand.”

“Not yet,” the woman said as she spun Wendy around, grabbed her left arm and forced Wendy’s hand up her skirt. “I need help too. I need help so much, so, so much.”

Wendy’s lips burned as she gazed into the red lips of her unknown partner. She held the palm of her hand still against the damp heat of the woman’s pussy, covered in a strip of quickly soaking panties. She’s not wearing a G-string, Wendy thought. But plain panties. Suddenly the woman leaned in and kissed Wendy’s pink lips with her full, red mouth. Wendy shut her lips against the intrusion, but the woman persisted, parting her own lips and running the tip of her wet tongue of the clinched lips of Wendy’s mouth. Wendy’s lips slowly parted, and her tongue tentatively met the strange woman’s.

Soon the older woman and Wendy passionately engaged in a fierce and fervent exploration of tongue and lip, groaning into each other, mouth to mouth. Wendy began to move her hand around the woman’s snatch, her heart racing as she felt the woman’s heat and moisture, as she felt the damp, soon to be drenched pubic hair of the older woman in front of her. She slipped her fingers below the gusset guarding the older woman’s pussy and touched the strange woman’s slick, enflamed labia. Then she slid a finger into the woman’s love hole. The bathroom was filled with the wet sounds of hands stroking into soaked pussies, the aroma of arousal, and the high-pitched tormented mewling of women in heat on the verge of orgasmic breakdown.

I’m touching another woman’s pussy, she thought. I’m tongue kissing another woman in a bathroom, someone I don’t even know, and I’m going to fuck her with my hand until she comes. I’m touching someone else’s pussy besides Sara’s.

The woman broke her kiss and held Wendy tightly against her, Wendy pumped her crotch against the woman’s hand as she groaned in the woman’s shoulder just above her breast.

“Oh my sweet, sweet girl. Oh my sweet, sweet little girl. That’s right. That’s it darling. Come on my hand, sweetness. Come all over my hand, my sweet, sweet little honey,” she cooed into Wendy’s ear, pumping and thrusting her own groin against Wendy’s fingers. “I’m going to come all over your hand, my sweet, sweet darling girl. My wonderful little angel.”

Suddenly the unknown woman went rigid, she grabbed Wendy’s wrist between her legs and held it there, squeezing it clinched in her tightening thighs while she planted her red, open mouth upon Wendy’s mouth, groaning and mewling. Secretion poured over Wendy’s hand. Then Wendy suddenly trembled, shuddered, went still and came. A flood of Wendy’s orgasmic fluids washed over the woman’s hand, cascaded down her legs and fell like rain upon the crumpled jeans at her feet. Wendy broke the open-mouthed kiss.

“Oh god oh god oh god oh god.”

Wendy collapsed in a heap on the floor, first leaning on her elbow, the slowly falling completely flat on her back against the tile floor of the bathroom. Wendy turned her head to the side to stare straight at the toilet bowl. She smelled urine on the floor, but she remained motionless, too exhausted and sated to care.

The woman adjusted her panties, smoothed out her skirt, checked her blouse in the mirror, and wiped her mouth using tissue from a dispenser on the counter to mitigate some of the smudges of lipstick.

“Well,” she said, looking down at Wendy slumped on the floor, “I imagine you’re going to be here for a while. I’ll lock the door behind me.” The woman sighed. “Aren’t you just an unexpected little treat.”

When Wendy regained her composure, she held up her pants, which were still soaked, in front of the hand dryer and waited patiently for her jeans to dry. She had to push the white blower’s shiny steel button several times. But no one knocked on the door. That was some comfort, at least. She took a piece of tissue, wiped her mouth of excess lipstick, re-applied a layer of her own pink lipstick, and left the restroom, finally relieved. But why was she so horny all the time, and why couldn’t she say no to women?

Oddly enough, Wendy didn’t dwell on the events in the restroom. It just didn’t seem real to her, and she wanted to wait, to let it sit a spell and brew, before she thought about it. So she put it out of her mind and explored the bookstore with renewed and undistracted interest. She walked up the stairs to the second floor, found Maddy. Maddy’s lip curled slightly in disgust as she frowned at Wendy’s pink lipstick and the strange smell coming from her friend, who looked disheveled and bedraggled.

“Are you okay,” she asked, concerned. “Do we need to go?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. I just. I just had to go really bad, and um.”

“Tea am I, tea am I,” Maddy replied, holding up her hand.

They walked through the aisle on adolescent sexuality.

“Oh my god,” said Maddy, holding up a thin, blue and white paperback. Wendy read the title. “Jillin’: A Teen Girl’s Guide to Sex and Sexual Liberation by Helen Vendler.

Maddy opened up the table of contents and read it to Wendy. How to masturbate. When to masturbate. Where to masturbate. How often. Guy/girl sex. Girl/girl sex. Same sex attraction: orientation vs experimentation. Pregnancy, avoidance, termination, and fruition. Menstrual cycle. They flipped through the pages and saw drawings and photographs of female anatomy and sexual positions.

They both laughed at it, but when Maddy started to put it up, Wendy said, “No. Wait. I think I’ll get it.”

“Really, Wendy? C’mon. You’re kidding, right?”

“Well. I mean. What can it hurt?”

“But it’s silly. It’s just the usual blah blah written by mothers and bored housewives who want to be down with the kids.”

“Well, I mean.”

“Suit yourself. Your money.”

Had either one of them known anything of the publisher, it’s likely that they would have replaced the book upon its shelf. But they didn’t know, and they didn’t replace it. The Diana Group.

Wendy saw one last book that caught her attention in the section on local history. The Secret and Untold History of Edge City by Jack Randall. Intrigued, she pulled it from the shelf and opened it, flipping through it rapidly. What Ever Happened to Betty Blake, ran the title of one chapter. The Hightower Meteorite and Reno Arroyo Time Slip, ran another. Who Are the Roadmen, ran still another. Is the Consortium Real. And on and on and on. The last title made her laugh. Bad Moon Rising: Werewolves in Reno County?

Okay, she thought. I’ll bite.

Again on her bike and following Maddy home, Wendy came to a decision.

It’s really not a bad ass at all. Maddy has a lovely ass.
* * *

Wendy, famished, wolfed down a peanut butter sandwich when she came home, following it with a tall glass of cold milk. She looked at the black and white Felix the Cat clock on the kitchen wall, wide cat eyes shifting from side to side behind their lids to the swing of the pendulum tail. Just after three. Brad said he’d pick her up at seven, so that meant she had a good four hours. She swept upstairs, drifting in her mind, and floated down the hall to her room, avoiding her mother. She considered her clothes, trying out options in her mind, wondering what to wear. She went to her bed and withdrew items one by one from the two shopping bags given to her that morning by Sara.

She lifted the top item. The sheer pink babydoll from the night before. Wendy lifted it to her nose, breathing in the smell of her own body mixed with Sara’s wonderful and lingering aroma, of spiced perfume, sweat, and her amazing sex. Her fingers traced the embroidered hem, remembering how she had lifted the babydoll past her hips to allow Sara to touch her, to caress her, to drive the rubber phallus deep inside her. The agonizing cries of her pleasure echoed in her memory, how she shuddered and moaned, giving in to every gentle demand made of her by the needs of her own flesh and the loving, encouraging coos of her, well, lover. I mean. Well, it felt good anyway.

Sara forced her to buy everything in pink, against her loud and remonstrating protests. Please, Sara, she had said. Not more pink. I don’t even like pink. I hate it.

“Well, what color do you like?” Sara had asked.

“Green.”

“Green? Really?”

“Hm hm. Light green, a pale light green.”

“No,” Sara shook her head in dismissal. “Pink looks good on you. Pink suits you. Not green.”

And that was the end of that. Pink it was.

She pulled out a set of very sheer, pink dotted demi bra with very cheeky sheer panties, also dotted, with a pink dotted garter belt. Sara had also ordered her to get several nylon hoses, also pink, to complete the ensemble.

“You’re going to look so hot in that, baby,” Sara had promised in a voice hot with enticement.

Wendy carefully laid the lingerie beside the gift bags and took out a light-weight, loose, hot pink ruffled teddy in silk charmeuse. Although the outfit closed at the bottom to form a soft one-piece nightwear, the holes for her legs were so loose that Sara, or any other woman, would have no problem at all sliding a hand over her thigh to caress her upward, upward, through the leg hole, beneath the silk, and over her mound, to penetrate the warm, wet folds of her soft pussy in the midst of her golden thatch with one long finger, two long fingers, nails long and polished bright red or pink, three long fingers, wet, so wet, her snatch dripping over the loving, welcome hand in pulsing spasms of heat and lust.

Wendy stood beside her bed, bent at the waist, her head almost level with her mattress covered in its pink duvet, as she propped herself on one elbow while rubbing herself frantically over the rough denim crotch of her jeans. Her knees sank to the floor. She unfastened the top button of her jeans, and her hand slipped beneath the slow unravel of her zippered fly.

“Oh god, oh god,” she murmured aloud. “I need this so bad.”

She fumbled in one of the sacks for another garment, any garment, that she could touch, smell, put her mouth on. She pulled out another pair of panties, this one less revealing than the others, covering more skin although still very sheer. Sara had picked it out for one reason. When she pointed it out to Wendy, the teenager gasped. The pink fabric of the crotch was split into two thin strips.

“Crotchless panties,” Sara had said with a wink. “Just what you need, I think.”

The babydoll from last night lay nearby. Wendy pulled it close to her face with one hand, smelling and kissing the aromatic silk, tasting the stale smell of Sara and Sara’s sex. She rubbed herself beneath her jeans, brushing the hard stub of her clit and sliding her fingers through the warmth of her wet folds. She plunged her middle finger into her pussy, fucking her hand while rubbing her clit with the side of her thumb, then she moved her index finger inside her. She smashed her babydoll against her face, readying for her approaching climax.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she moaned as the climax vibrated through her, shaking her like an oak, shaking the very roots of the mountain, battering her mound. A floodgate opened, her mind awash in bliss, she slowly removed her fingers from the warmth of her center. She held them close to her mouth and spread her fingers, marveling how her juices spanned the tips of her fingers. She smelled her musk deeply and took both fingers into her mouth, remembering the taste of Sara on the pink dildo they had shared.

Then she slipped off her jeans, stepped out of her panties. She grabbed the hem of her pink pullover and began to raise it over her breasts and head when the phone rang. Her cell phone. Which meant Sara. It could only be Sara. She finished puling her shirt over her head, dropped it, and picked up her mobile phone, standing next to her bed wearing only her sheer pink bra.

“Hi Sara,” Wendy answered.

“Hey, Wendy, what’s up? Are you getting ready for your date with Brad? You sound a little out of breath.”

“Um. I’m fine, I just ran up the stairs.”

“You know, Wendy. I’m a little worried about your date tonight.”

“Um.”

“I’m worried he’ll want you to suck his cock, and you won’t be able to do it just right. I know we practiced last night, but I really think you should practice some more.”

Sara paused.

“Do you still have that movie in your computer?”

“Um.”

“Turn it on.”

Wendy did so.

“I left a surprise in one of your gift bags,” Sara trilled over the phone. “Go and get it.”

Wendy, now sitting on the bed, shifted over to reach the bag she hadn’t gone through yet. Tipping the bag over she immediately saw her surprise. A long, pink dildo, not the same one Sara had used on her, but longer, well over a foot long, just as wide in girth as the one last night. She picked it up. Much more flexible than the dildo used on her last night, Wendy gasped to herself when she saw the two matching ends, each one shaped like the bulbous head of a tremendous pink cock.

“Are you holding it? Do you like it? It gave me goose pimples when I put in your bag, girl.”

“Hm hm.”

“Start the video at your favorite scene. The blow job by the pool. When it starts put one end of the dildo in your mouth. Follow what that slut does carefully. Just do what that whore’s doing. You know the one, don’t you? The whore you said you wanted to be. The one whose friend came all over her face.”

“Oh god, Sara.”

The movie clip started. Wendy watched the blonde in the video swallow the tip of the man’s dick, and, observing the action studiously, she opened her mouth and placed her lips over the cock tip. She remembered Sara’s instructions from last night, how not to let her teeth touch the cock, how to use only her wet lips and tongue, how to swirl her tongue around the cock, moving slowly up and down the shaft. The woman in the video deep-throated the cock, and Wendy deep-throated the dildo.

“Is it good and wet, Wendy?

“Hm hm.”

“Take off your pants and panties.”

Not wanting to admit she already had done so, Wendy pretended to shift in her bed for a moment, then she spoke up.

“I’m ready.”

“Are you wet, Wendy? Are you hot and wet?”

“Hm hm.”

“Then stick the other end of the dildo into your hot pussy while you keep sucking.”

Wendy stacked her pillows against the wall and propped her lower back against them to bend over her belly. Spreading her legs wide, she touched the other cock end of the dildo against the lips of her pussy, already wet from masturbation, watching the blow job, and hearing Sara’s voice, careful to keep her lips wrapped around the cock tip in her mouth. She shivered as she felt the tip of the dildo inching into her quivering, burning pussy. Her hips shook as she watched how her labia wrapped around the girth of the dildo, stretching to receive the rubber sex toy.

“Fuck yourself with that dildo, Wendy. Fuck yourself and suck your cock at the same time. You might have to bend over in Brad’s car, so you need to get used to working in tight spaces. Shake your hips like you’re Brad with his cock in your hot mouth. Pretend you’re sucking Brad’s cock. My god, Wendy, you’re really going to suck his cock, aren’t you? On your first date with him. You’re going to go all the way, aren’t you? Just like that little whore in the video.”

Wendy groaned.

“Switch ends, Wendy. Suck the end you have in your pussy. Suck off all your juices. Just like we did last night.”

Wendy squealed. Then she flipped the dildo around, stuck the end wet with her saliva in her steaming center and engulfed the cock tip covered in her vaginal fluids in her mouth, sucking and licking at the wet, pungent, tang of the slimy secretions. Her hips shuddered as she neared another orgasm.

“You can’t come Wendy. You already came twice today.”

Wendy removed the plastic cock from her mouth.

“Four times,” Wendy said.

“What?”

“Once at the bookstore and once in my room just now.”

“You had an orgasm at the bookstore?”

“Hm hm.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, I was just so horny, Sara. My god, I’ve never been so horny, I’m horny all the time now, Sara. And I almost fucked a bookshelf, I was so hot. So I had to go to the bathroom. But there was this woman there, and she followed me in. Oh god it was so embarrassing, and I was so turned on.”

“Wait. What?”

For the first time in her existence, Sara sounded flabbergasted. She listened in disbelief as Wendy told her about the events earlier that day, about the older woman in heavy make-up and platinum blond hair with deep, cherry red lips. When Wendy finished her story, she heard Sara on the other end gasping and grunting into her phone.

Finally Sara spoke.

“You’ll let any woman finger you, won’t you Wendy?”

“It wasn’t like that, Sara. I couldn’t help it. I got so horny. I couldn’t stop it, and when she took my hand to touch her pussy, I swear I didn’t move a finger, but then she started kissing me, oh god it was wonderful, and I couldn’t help moving my hand around her bush. She had a bush, Sara, and it felt so good to touch it while she touched me. It felt so good to kiss her, to have her tongue in my mouth while I fucked her with my hand.”

“But you said she was around forty! My god, Wendy, she could have been your mother.”

“What? Gross.”

Wendy held the dildo in her left hand, slowly pushing it in and out of her wet pussy to wet, plopping sounds.

“Do you think she can hear you?”

“What?”

“Do you think you mother stands outside your door while you masturbate thinking about older women?”

“Sara. Don’t. Please. Stop.”

“She’s out there right now, listening to you fuck yourself to your new dildo, listening to you suck your own pussy juices. Listening to you fuck yourself because you’re so horny. Does she know that you get so horny you’ll let any woman touch you?”

“Oh god, Sara,” Wendy groaned. “Please. Don’t. Stop.”

“That you get so horny you’ll let any woman have their way with you? Kiss you? Fuck you with their fingers, any woman, any older woman in makeup and red lipstick, any woman at all gets to have you when you get so horny? And you’re horny all the time, aren’t you Wendy? Any woman at all, it doesn’t matter who.”

“Don’t, Sara. Stop. I’m going to come.”

“Do you, Wendy? Do you get so horny any woman can have you?”

“Yeah. Oh, god, Sara. I’m so fucking hot right now. Oh god yes. Any woman can have me.”

Wendy plunged her dildo deeper into her quivering and steaming sex.

“You get so horny you want any woman, no matter who, to finger fuck you, to kiss your pussy, to put her hand up your ass? To feel your hot bush, to run her fingers through your soaking hot golden bush?”

“Oh god, Sara. Please..”

“You can’t come Wendy. What if your mother hears you? What if she’s standing outside the door while you’re so horny you’d let any woman do you?”

“Oh god, Sara. Don’t. Please.”

“Are you going to come Wendy?”

“Yeah.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Take your that cock out of your cunt, you nasty little girl. You don’t get to come. You have to save it for Brad.”

“Oh god, no, Sara. Please. Please let me come.”

“You’ll have to wait till tonight. Now get ready for your date. Good-bye, Wendy, and don’t you dare play with yourself. Oh, and one other thing. Guys are pretty stupid. When he starts fumbling around with the buttons on your shirt, just do that part for him. You’ll have to undo your bra too. They can only handle pullovers and jeans.”

Sara gave one last order before ending her call.

“Don’t forget to take your pink pills. Absolutely take two of those pink pills.”

Wendy’s hips jerked and shook as Wendy slowly removed the dildo from her drenched groin, trying to hold back her rising orgasm. The lips of her pussy gaped open, her secretion clung to the pink, glistening cock, and Wendy fought the need to refill the aching void left by the absent dildo. She stretched out on her bed, brought the dildo to her mouth and sucked off her juices. A tremor ran through her, but obeying Sara’s last words she remained still, putting the dildo aside, and waited for her extreme horniness to pass, to fade to an acceptable level of desire where she could still function. If she moved her legs now, though, she would come. And come hard.

At last Wendy felt able to stir. She walked to her dresser, fetched the package of pink pills Sara had given her that morning, broke open the seals to two of the pills, and tossed them in her mouth, which was too dry to swallow them. She grabbed her bath robe and headed towards the shower. Her mother was walking up the stairs as she walked past.

“You’re taking another shower? Good grief. How many are you going to take today?”

“Mom!” Wendy scolded, holding the pink pills under her tongue. She flung her hands up and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her. She reached for a Dixie cup next to the sink, filled it with water, and swallowed the two pills.

Wendy didn’t wait for the water to get warm. She didn’t use warm water at all. The cold water helped.
* * *

Later, refreshed, feeling almost normal, Wendy picked out the clothes she’d wear. She found a loose, pleated white skirt that billowed around her thighs, her new pink, crotchless panties, and another sheer, almost transparent, half cup pink balconette. She pulled her chair up to her vanity, sat down and begun the long process of applying makeup, pink eyeshadow with dark eyeliner along the waterline, mascara, and her pink lipstick.

She wondered what she should do with her hair, but finally decided on pulling it back, as usual, and braiding her hair into a long loose tail. She applied a fresh lavender-scented deodorant, the pulled a transparent pink blouse from the shopping bag. The smell of the store still clung to it, but she slipped it on, leaving two buttons unfastened at her waist, and three buttons unfastened at the top, revealing the cleavage formed by the swell of her breasts and the transparent bra. She inspected herself in the mirror to see her breasts visible below the blouse and bra, her dark areolas clearly exposed. Her stiffening nipples protruded from the bra, poking beneath the thin fabric of her pink blouse. She’d have to wear a jacket or her mother would never let her leave the house. If she saw her looking like that, her tits on view to the world.

She took a small glass bottle of perfume from the shopping bag, opened the lid, and sprinkled a small amount on the area behind her ears and the back of her neck. Just like Sara showed her how.

Mary twitched nervously when she saw Wendy in her makeup, a frown played upon the corners of her mouth, dancing a little jig of maternal disapproval. My god, she thought, she looks like a prostitute. Who taught her to put on makeup? I’m definitely going to have to show her this week. And that smell. Well, the windows would be rolled down tonight. Good thing she’s wearing that jacket. But she pulled up the needle on the music of the jig, forced her corners up, and broadcast a smile at her daughter. After all, this was Wendy’s first date. My baby’s first date.

Suddenly a honk blared. Both Wendy and Mary jumped. Mary glanced doubtfully at Wendy.

“He’s not going to.”

“Mom.”

“I mean.”

“Stop it, Mom. This isn’t 1987.”

Mary kept her mouth closed tight. What was the use, anyway? Mary had lost touch with things, with the world, with her own daughter, really, since Bill’s heart attack. Still. Shouldn’t a boy.

“I have to go now, Mom. Don’t worry about me. Everything will be fine.”

“Oh, I know, baby. It’s just that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Also, I think Steve might drop by later tonight, while you’re out.”

“Mom!”

“While you’re out.”

Mary hugged Wendy tight against her. She’s really growing into quite the young woman, Mary thought to herself, letting her daughter go with a slow release of her hands.

As a matter of fact, Steve bumped into Wendy on the front steps on her way out.

“Hey Wendy, you look great.”

“Okay, Steve.”

“Hot date with that guy tonight?” Steve gestured with a jerk of his head.

“Hm,” murmured Wendy noncommittally.

Steve leaned in close to Wendy’s ear.

“Hope you get lucky, then,” he whispered.

Steve turned to go in with a chuckle.

“Creep,” Wendy said under her breath.
* * *

Edge City Starlight Drive-Thru, built in 1952, had seen its share of ups and down. Having spent its golden age long ago, decades ago, during those heady years of teenage exuberance, the 1950s, of bobby socks and rock and roll, of soda jerks and drugstore diners, flying saucers and teenage Frankensteins, 45s and hot rod Fords, of denim jeans and James, James Dean, it had weathered the late 70s, limped through all the full years of the Gipper’s 80s, saw a minor resurgence in the 90s, and almost, almost flourished in this new century.

It had passed from its original owner, Jerry Hollingshead, who to his dying day rambled to anyone who’d listen about how he had seen the Hightower meteorite barely miss the drive-in’s giant screen during its 24-hour showing of Queen of Outer Space, to an eclectic, eccentric, and ramshackle collection of hippies, yuppies, bankers, and one half-breed guitar player from the nearby Onamaho reservation. Hey, he called himself half-breed, and the nomenclature stuck. But only to those who knew him well enough not to get knifed using it. And they rarely used it, preferring their own appellation. Twig.

Twig could always be found at Starlight. He swept it, painted it, polished it, doted over it, rocked it to sleep on cold winter nights to the entire track of Love at First Sting, turning up the drive-in’s audio system especially loud for the finale, Still Loving You. He sold tickets, took the money, less and less cash these days, more and more sliding a plastic card through a gizmo whose function he barely understood but detested. The exterior walls keeping out the unpaying remained sturdy, whitewashed, and clean. He trimmed weeds, thistles, and grass along the edges, kept the marquee up-to-date, made sure all speakers on each lot worked. He shared responsibilities running the projectors.

Tonight hopped. The third weekend of Rock ’n Roll Forever, Dude showed no abatement in young people flocking to see the actress playing Grrl! Jonez, the protagonist singer of a movie ostensibly about an over-the-hill rock band reuniting for a final gig in tribute to the rumored death of the lead singer, Vinnie Vitriol, who disappeared two decades prior to the current time of the movie, never to be seen or heard from again after suffering a nervous breakdown during that year’s Battle of the Bands. The boys liked it because the actress, Tiffany Tifford, spent much of the movie clad only in sparkling tube tops and tiny booty shorts clinging to every curve of her ass and hips. The girls liked it because the actress, Tiffany Tifford, spent much of the movie clad only in sparkling tube tops and tiny booty shorts clinging to every curve of her ass and hips. Curiously enough, the actress, Tiffany Tifford, enjoyed making the movie, mostly because she spent much of the time wearing only sparkling tube tops and tiny booty shorts. Anything to show off every curve of her ass and hips. That was sure money in the pocket.

Wendy adored the way Tiffany dressed.

When Wendy removed her jacket in the passenger seat of his Jeep, Brad adored the way Wendy dressed. Any lingering doubt he may have harbored on how the night would progress quickly vanished as he stared slack-jawed at her tits stretching the thin pink fabric of her blouse, nipples sticking bullet-like from the sheer cups of the pink bra.

“Gosh, Wendy,” he said. “You look nice.”

Wendy smiled, blushing under her foundation.

“Thank you,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I wanted to look nice for you.”
* * *

Who made the first move that night abides as a mystery. Surely Wendy scooted a little closer to Brad during Vinnie’s breakdown, which included staring blankly at the audience, mouthing mutely into the microphone, playing random chords on his electric guitar, and finally, after dropping the guitar by its neck off the low stage, turning around to disappear into the back entrance, running across the parking lot, and into a blank night. Equally certain remains the fact of her placing a hand on the console, just past the gear shift, on Brad’s side of the vehicle. These facts stay incontrovertible, but elements of self-deception may very well persist. Her thighs continued to press the other, knees touching, although Brad desperately, desperately would have loved to part them.

In all events Brad could hardly be said to have been a passive participant, against every evidence of him seeming to want only to enjoy his strawberry slurpee. Did he not also lean a shoulder closer to Wendy? Did he not, after putting the tumbler of his frozen fruit drink in a holder near the console, brush her hand with his? Did he not, in fact, clearly, demonstrably, and with salacious intent, clasp her hand in his, while stroking her palm with the side of his thumb? These things are true and more besides. He turned to her first. Yes. Turned that athletic, chiseled, strong-chinned face towards Wendy, gazed at her with those deep, deep brown eyes in their wide almond-shaped setting, and smiled his ruggedly handsome smile.

“Hey,” he said.

Wendy looked at him shyly, lowering her eyes.

“Hey,” she squeaked back.

“You wanna make out now?”

“Um. Sure.”

Ah. The eternal lovesong of youth.

As Wendy tasted the strawberry flavor of Brad’s mouth, she felt his large, strong hand on her thigh. She pressed her thighs closer together, and met his tongue with her, swirling her tongue around his as he kissed her lip, opened his mouth wider, exploring her mouth and the taste of her mouth. Her lipstick burned on his lips. He needed to taste more of her. He moved his body over the console, forcing Wendy back against her seat, shoving her a little towards her window. Brad covered her knee with his hand, attempting to gain entry at point further removed from the goal, but Wendy held firm.

More gently now, he slid his hand down her calf, caressing the back muscle, lightly touching the area behind her knee. Wendy trembled. The pressure on Wendy’s knees eased but they stayed touching. Brad broke the kiss, smiled at Wendy, and placed his lips on her ear. Wendy’s knees parted, and things might have gone amiss, but a sudden tap on the window brought both parties up for air.

Twig stood outside the passenger window.

“Not here,” he said.

Brad nodded. Wendy looked at her lap.

“Wanna finish watching the movie? Or do you want to get out of here? I know a place we can go.”

“Um.”

“You got it, babe.” Brad turned the ignition, threw the Jeep in reverse, and backed up with his right arm stretched over Wendy’s passenger seat.

“I know just the place.”

So Wendy never did see how Grrl! Jonez, supported by her back-up band of old farts and Saturday night rock stars, won the Fate Hills Battle of the Bands with her bluesy jazz rendition of Pink Houses. Never saw the camera focus on a balding, fat, middle-aged man in the crowd flashing a bittersweet smile as he gave a discreet thumbs up and turned his back on the stage, the silver letters VV in glittering cursive embroidered on the back of his leather and denim jacket. Never saw how an agent for Epic Sub-Altern Records posed for the cameras while handing Jonez and her band a giant check and the guarantee of a recording contract.

Edge City, nominally flat, dropped and rose suddenly in places, narrow roads and lanes wrapped around abrupt cliffs and hillsides, trails dived without warning into hidden shrub-lined ravines and small canyons of scrub brush and dry creek beds. Wendy quickly lost herself in the maze of narrow roads, gravel drives, and new landscapes. Delighted with the new, enchanted with this strange, glowing wonder of seeing the world, the world at night, as if for the first time, she saw with new eyes, eyes far from home, far from known friends and companions, sharing the crisp, salient projection of clear images passing swiftly, too swiftly, sharp and present even in passing, and her heart quickened. A thrill surged through her veins, the trembling ecstasy of new birth, of a new reality glimpsed beyond the borders of her adolescence.

“O brave,” she thought—

“There it is,” Brad said, his voice breaking through the cloud of her illuminated fog.

Wendy squirmed in her seat, suddenly aware of the rising heat in her groin, the dampness growing between her thighs. She shuddered as the strips of her crotchless panties parted to the sides of her engorged and pulsing labia, the contact with the fabric on the sides of her fleshy folds and open air on her wet lips enflaming them further. She longed to pass her fingers through her bush, to spread the heat of her moisture, to feel the heat of her moisture, and feeling it, to bring it to her mouth, her pink lips, to taste. God, my pussy, she thought, spreading her thighs wide, her mound dripping onto her seat.

Brad’s Jeep crept along a rough gravel trail through scrub oak and small boulders, the small rocks and pebbles crunching beneath the turning tires. Wendy bumped on her seat with every jerk, rattle, and knock of the four wheel drive, groaning at the continual rocking motion. The trail led to a wide area by a creek bed, where teenagers gathered on weekends to drink, smoke, make out, and have sex. Several shadowy figures moved dance-like around a bonfire, throwing logs and wood onto bright yellow flames ascending to the night. Brad drove quietly and slowly past, beat his hand on the outside of his door to one of the figures, as Wendy slid a hand between her thighs, just above the inside of her knee. Her fingertips stroked her skin nervously.

She moved her hand slowly to the hem of her skirt.

Brad chose a clearing he knew, far enough away from the big clearing to avoid rowdy kids and drunk jocks. A tacit agreement had been made not to mess with anyone in that spot, which was meant for fucking and privacy. First come, first serve, but Brad had put the word out. Anyway, Sunday was a slow night. Usually. Those bonfire kids were a bit of a surprise all the same.

He put the Jeep in park, turned off the ignition, and turned to face Wendy, and saw where her hand was.

“Maybe we could get in the back seat,” Brad suggested.

“Hm hm,” Wendy agreed.

Once in back, Wendy scooted to the middle of the seat to join Brad, who leaned over to put his firm lips over Wendy’s soft mouth, still coated in the pink lipstick that seemed to adhere to her lips like a second skin, a fine membrane of warmth and desire. Brad, touching those lips with his, stiffened, and he involuntarily humped his pelvis at Wendy. His heart began to race, and he pawed at her tits with one hand, trying to unbutton her shirt.

“Here,” Wendy said, “let me.”

Brad leaned back to watch Wendy methodically unbutton the remaining buttons on her pink blouse. With her shirt fully open, she reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She lifted the cups above her breasts and jutted them out at the boy in front of her, doing a little dance with her shoulders. Brad returned his mouth to Wendy’s, pawing and fondling each tit in its turn, rubbing her nipples between his thumb and index fingers.

“Kiss me down there, Brad,” Wendy said. “Make me feel good. Kiss me on my breasts.”

Wendy, marveling at her courage, pushed Brad’s head down gently with both her hands, wordlessly imploring him to kiss her upon her nipples. And Brad kissed them. Suddenly, as a man famished, he covered her tits with his mouth, hungrily sucking on her tit almost to the point of biting. Wendy winced.

“Not so hard, Brad. Gentle. Softly.”

Brad relaxed, enjoying the fresh taste of Wendy’s skin, salty and clean at the same time. He nibbled and licked the hardening nipples, sucked at them with puckered lips, then kissed his way back to Wendy’s mouth, nibbling and playfully kissing cheek to ear.

“Oh god, Wendy,” he said. “I need it so bad.”

Brad moved his right hand down Wendy’s body, sliding his open palm along the lovely curve of her slide, feeling her soft flesh, exploring the slope of her hip and ass. He reached the edge her skirt and moved his hand below the hem. Wendy lurched forward, thrusting her pelvis at the young man. His hand quickly found the open gusset of her panties, and he rubbed her hot and wet fuck hole with the side of his thumb before stretching a finger to jut into her steaming cunt, massaging her bushy mound with the heel of his open palm. Brad’s mind spun at the heat burning through his hand.

“That’s it, Brad,” said Wendy, remembering both how Sara had talked to her and the videos they had watched together. “Fuck me with your hand. Fuck me good.”

Hardly a virgin, Brad loved Megan, at least he appreciated fucking her, but Megan never talked like that. Wendy’s pussy covered his hand in her secretions, unbelievably wet, warm, no red hot, trembling, shuddering, Wendy thrust and gyrated against Brad’s hand. Brad gazed down at the half-nude girl below him. Torn between two breasts, he devoured one and then the other, covering each one in the fluid of his saliva, biting, nibbling, and flicking the solid nipples standing alert at the peak of her tits, his tongue hot against the flesh of her breasts.

Wendy groaned.

“Take out your hand, Brad, and put your fingers in my mouth. I want to taste me. I need to taste me.”

Mute, shocked, almost senseless, Brad pulled his finger from Wendy’s pussy and offered his hand to Wendy, who engulfed his fingers with her mouth, sucking his hand whole from knuckle to fingertip, desperately attempting to quench her thirst for the juices of her pussy.

Brad pushed his groin forward. Wendy reached her hand down to touch him between his legs. Wendy stroked his hardening length beneath the rough fabric of his denim jeans. Her breath came shorter and shorter in gasping bursts of air, inhaling and exhaling almost in the same breath. Wendy slid further down the seat and spread her legs, opening them for the young man, one leg high on the back seat, the other extended between the gap between the two front seats. With her skirt raised over her hips, she fully exposed her golden, drenched, and gaping pussy to Brad.

Wendy reached for the button of Brad’s jeans, unfastened it, and quickly pulled the zipper down. Brad grabbed the waist band and pushed his jeans to his knees, sat down, and clumsily pulled his pants over his ankles and off his feet. He placed his jeans carefully between the door and the seat. His cock leapt out, bouncing, hard, huge to Wendy’s hungry eyes.

“Hurry, Brad,” Wendy pleaded. “I need this so bad. I need you to fuck me so bad.”

Brad climbed over Wendy, looming over her torso with his torso, broad shoulders and strong arms arched over her on either side, one arm leaning on elbow against the seat back and the other gripping the edge of the flat seat, near Wendy’s trembling and eager head. He positioned his waist over Wendy’s, pushed the head of cock against the wet opening of Wendy’s hot house rose. He looked up at Wendy. Wendy nodded. With one push he entered her. A cock, a real cock, entered Wendy for the first time in her life.

Held to the seat by the weight of Brad and the constant thrusting of his cock, Wendy bent and lowered the leg resting on the back of the seat. Then she pulled her other leg over and wrapped Brad with both her legs. Clutching him between her thighs, she guided him with nudges of the back of her calves, spurred him with the back of her heels.

“I am become woman,” Wendy thought to herself. She raised her arms to press her open hands against Brad’s masculine, firm, muscular, solid and flat chest. She swept her hands admiringly over his chest, his sides, his back as she rocked to Brad’s motion, rocked to Brad in the heat of his need.

“This is it,” she said to herself, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “This is what it means to be a woman.”

He could have been anyone, she realized with a start. He could have worn anyone’s face and carried anyone’s body. Oh, but he had such a lovely body and such a beautiful face. Tall, powerful, muscular. It almost overpowered her own soft flesh, overwhelmed her emotions with his solidity. Not weaker, not that exactly, she felt a peculiar power in guiding his strength, in riding his power, as a trainer might with some mighty animal, a beast easily capable of crushing but made docile and tender. She remembered her father, how he loved to watch horse racing, and how Wendy, even as a young girl, a child, thought it funny how such tiny jockeys could manage such sovereign horses. Brad loomed over her, but she rode him, and she knew it. He was doing everything easily. His stride was beautiful, she never felt such strength. God he felt good as she wrapped her legs around his back, receiving his thrusts and shoving her pussy back at him. She caressed the back of his shoulders with the flat palms of her hands. Then, lifting her lips to his neck, she playfully bit his ear lobe.

“Easy boy,” she whispered.

Brad groaned and came, pouring rope after rope of hot semen into Wendy’s aching sex. When he finished, he struggled off Wendy and fell back against the door, extinguished. Wendy gazed longingly at the cock bouncing and softening in Brad’s lap, glistening in come and pussy fluid. She knew instantly what to do. Without asking, without speaking, she propped herself forward, shifted her legs to the floor of the Jeep, sat on her knees, and bent over to place her mouth over the tip of Brad’s long but flaccid cock.

Amazed, Brad caressed the side of Wendy’s head, running his fingers through her silky, soft golden hair, her luxuriously, gloriously blond hair, her braid by now unraveled, leaving her hair to flow wildly upon her shoulders. He gasped as Wendy brought his expired penis back to life. It sprung rigidly from his lap, but Wendy continued to suck, moving her lips up and down the shaft of his cock, trailing saliva from her pink lips. Loud slurping noises filled the Jeep as Wendy lifted her lips from Brad’s cock head only to plunge once more in a fierce and rapid deep throat. Sara had taught her quickly and well with that dildo.

Brad moved one hand to grasp for his trousers and reached into the front pocket.

Then she felt something salty at the tip of Brad’s dick, something good, something a little different from the pungent tang of her own secretions, something viscous. She tongued the hole of Brad’s cock, hungry for more. She remembered the blow job video and began jacking Brad with one hand while bobbing her head in a tight suction, her pink lips locked to the shaft as they slid up and down, up and down, up and down, quickly, quickly, quickly.

Brad’s cock trembled, and Brad groaned.

“Oh god,” he said. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

Wendy’s mouth spluttered after a blast of come shot through her mouth, followed by another and another. Blech. She lifted her mouth of his cock in disgust, come pouring out of her mouth as several more ropes splashed across her face and rolled down her cheeks, her pretty chin, and dripped onto her exposed tits, streaming into the valley of her cleavage.

“Smile,” Brad said, holding up his phone.

Wendy looked up at the phone and smiled brightly, happy with self-satisfaction, beaming with a renewed confidence in herself. She had done it. It tasted something awful at the end, but she had done it. She had fucked and sucked a real dick.

She blinked in the phone camera’s flash.

“Get on the side, spread your legs, hold them up by the knees with your hands and keep smiling. I want to get all of you.”

Wendy scrambled to the sweet, come dripping from her chin, grabbed her knees with her hands and smiled brightly at Brad’s phone.

Another flash.

Brad pulled a towel from below the driver seat. He held it out to Wendy.

“Thanks, Wendy. That was terrific. You can wipe yourself off with this.”

Wendy scrubbed her face with the towel, then ran it over her chest, before dropping it to the floor and buttoning her shirt.

“You should sit on it,” Brad said, getting dressed in his turn. He took the towel and laid it flat on the passenger seat.

She started to notice it on the way home, not fifteen minutes after Brad had pumped his come into her. An odd, burning sensation that only grew in discomfort until finally Wendy rocked back and forth in the passenger seat, holding her groin area, tears welling in her eyes. The area around her face burned and her chest felt like someone hot wax on it, a hot wax that did not cool but only increased in heat.

“Is everything okay?” Brad asked.

Wendy nodded.

“Just hurry okay? I just. I just think I need to get home.”

Come began to leak out of her vagina, and as it dripped down her inner thighs a painful burning dripped with it. Wendy had rarely felt such a pain. She squeezed her eyes closed to choke back tears.

Wendy practically jumped out of the Jeep when Brad pulled into her driveway, opening the door as soon as Brad turned in, and leaping out before Brad could stop the vehicle.

“Um, maybe we can do this again?” Brad asked out the window as Wendy hopped up the front steps, unlocked the door and disappeared into the darkness of her house.

Brad looked at his cell phone.

“Probably not,” he said to himself.

Wendy quietly ascended the stairway to her room, not wanting her mother to greet her as she walked past, but the bedroom door on the other side of the mezzanine was closed. Low moans and the creaking of her mother’s bed drifted across the open space of the second floor.

Wendy shook her head.

“What are we becoming?”

Wendy hurried to the bathroom and stopped the tub. Flinging off her clothes, she stepped the tub and turned on the shower, not waiting for it to get warm. Her pussy burned, burned painfully with a fierce, acidic heat that only increased as time passed. She fumbled for the shower head, unhooked it from its hanger, and, spreading her legs, sprayed her groin while she rubbed her vagina while streams of semen and vaginal fluids poured out. Slowly the burning dissipated. Wendy re-attached the showerhead, turned on the hot water spigot for the bath, and reclined in the tub sighing with her legs spread wide.

“I didn’t even come,” she said aloud as the pain began to subside.