Bob's cell phone vibrated on the kitchen counter, an incessant buzzing that echoed through his quiet home in the suburbs of Charlotte. He glanced at the screen; it was Wendy calling, again. Not 24 hours had passed since her last call and he felt worn thin from their nightly encounters. He couldn't keep this up much longer, it was dangerous and beginning to interfere with work. With a sigh, he picked up, his mind wandering to the time they first met only two weeks earlier.The story that follows occurs between the events in A First Time for Everything and Secrets
I. First Impressions
It was a few months after the final papers had been signed with Cindy. The divorce had left him reeling, emotionally raw with insecurity and bitterness, but Cindy's betrayal had also unlocked something completely unexpected, a deep and unbridled lust, a burning desire to shed the chains of his conventional life and live out his darkest fantasies. The visits to strip clubs had started almost immediately, a desperate attempt to fill the void Cindy had left behind, a craving for at least the illusion of physical intimacy that had been completely lacking in the final months of their marriage. Initially, Bob stuck to the more reputable places closer to home, but the thrill grew stale, and the need for something more intense grew stronger. So, he began his quest for clubs that didn't just tease the boundaries of acceptability but erased them completely. Bob eventually found his way to Leather & Lace in Gastonia, a club in a dying mill town, one of the few business establishments still open, a club where the mostly single moms needed money and the management was willing to look the other way to keep customers coming in the door.
On the night Bob first met Wendy he had not intended to go out, the club visits having taken their toll on his bank account. Sitting in the dark of his home office, Bob had been scrolling through the endless sea of mundane ads and lifeless conversations on Craigslist, seeking some sort of release. The thrill of the hunt had been lost, the excitement of the unknown replaced with the dull throb of his hand around his cock. It was there he found her, Wendy's profile picture a blur of bleached blonde hair and a sly smile. She looked like the kind of woman who didn't just have stories to tell but had lived every page of them, and Bob was hooked. Bob opened a private message and her response was instant, the digital flirting growing more intense with each keystroke. Bob knew he might be being catfished but it didn't matter, whoever this was, she, or maybe he, was sharing tales of a life Bob could only dream about. One thing was clear, this person was from Gastonia, the details of the dark corners of that seedy town were just too accurate.
In the minutes and hours that followed Wendy shared a series of escapades that pushed every one of Bob's buttons. Wendy was recently divorced but still living with and fucking her ex, a long-distance truck driver currently in Louisiana picking up oysters. She and her ex had a playmate from the Charlotte area she called Pet. Wendy would dress Pet in frilly lingerie and apply make-up, then her husband would fuck him while she took pictures. Wendy was having an affair with a married man who lived halfway across the state and she would sometimes bring along a female friend when he was in town. The tales went on and on until suddenly, there was a pause in the non-stop stream of text followed by the words "I've got to take this call. Why don't you get me a bottle of coconut rum and come over?"
Bob felt the blood rush to his cock, his mind racing with the thought of what could happen. Against his better judgment, he typed "Sure, send me your address." Freshly showered Bob grabbed his keys, a half-consumed bottle of whisky for backup, and an unopened box of condoms he had optimistically purchased when he was first separated from Cindy. As Bob headed to the liquor store for the rum he didn't know what to expect, but the idea of meeting a stranger in a seedy part of town was exhilarating. The 45-minute drive to Gastonia was nerve-wracking, the whisky burning his throat and filling his veins with liquid courage. As he pulled into her apartment complex, he couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement, his heart hammering in his chest like a wild animal eager to break free from its cage.
Bob was relieved to find that the address Wendy had provided was a completely ordinary apartment complex, each building three stories with a shared open-air staircase, a clone of nearly every other apartment complex in the area including one Bob had lived in for a time after moving out from Cindy. Sitting in the parking lot Bob hid his wallet and cell phone in the car, if he was going to be ambushed he was determined all his assailants would get would be booze and a box of condoms. Taking one last deep shot of whiskey to strengthen his resolve, Bob grabbed the bottle of rum and proceeded up the stairs to Wendy's apartment on the second floor.
He paused before her door, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. He could hear soft sounds from the TV inside, and the faint smell of smoke wafted into the stairwell. This was it, the moment of truth. He took a deep breath and knocked with a trembling hand. The sound of shuffling and a muffled "Hold on" came from the other side before the door swung open. There she was, just as he'd seen in her pictures. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, her robe carelessly hanging open to reveal a small curvy frame, bare medium-sized breasts that swayed gently as she moved, and nothing more. A cigarette dangled precariously between her lips and the glow of the TV played across her bare skin like a strobe light.
Wendy's eyes lit up when she saw the bottle of coconut rum. She took it from him, her hand brushing against his in a way that made him feel like a teenager again. Wendy stepped aside and motioned for Bob to come in, her cell phone pressed to her ear.
"Hold on, sweetie," she said into the phone, her voice thick with the drawl of a lifelong Southerner. Bob stepped into the living room, taking in the surroundings. A large, fake leather sectional sofa that had seen better days dominated the room, Jay Leno was performing his opening monologue on the TV, and a smattering of fast-food containers were stacked in piles on the coffee table. Wendy shuffled to the kitchen, her hips swaying, Bob's eyes glued hypnotically to her ass. The sound of a cabinet opening and the clink of a bottle against a mug filled the air, and the sweet scent of coconut mixed with the ever-present stale smoke.
Wendy lifted the mug to her lips as she made her way to the bedroom, Bob followed, his nerdy exterior hiding a mind racing with anticipation. Bob knew the pictures of mundane family life that adorned the dresser mirror should make him feel guilty, but they only served to heighten his feeling of conquest over another man's wife. Sitting on the bed, Wendy crossed her legs and her robe parted, revealing the wispy triangle of fuzz between her thighs. She took a long drag from her cigarette and set it aside. Leaning in, the phone still glued to her ear, Wendy began to massage Bob's crotch through his jeans. He could feel himself growing hard as she spoke to someone named Jerry, her voice a seductive purr that seemed to be directed more at Bob than the person on the other end of the line.
Her hand grew more insistent, her thumb rubbing in slow circles over his burgeoning erection. Bob's breath caught in his throat as she finally hung up. "You're so hard for me, baby," she said, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and hunger. "You must have been thinking some naughty things while I was talking to him." Bob swallowed hard, trying to compose himself as he sat down next to her. Wendy giggled, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. With a slow, deliberate movement, Wendy leaned in again and kissed Bob, her hand expertly freeing Bob's cock from the confines of his pants. Her mouth tasted faintly of coconut rum and smoke. He felt her tongue dart out, teasing him before retreating again.
Breaking the kiss, Wendy began to trail her lips down his chest, leaving a damp path as she went. Her teeth grazed his nipples, causing him to gasp. Her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him with a firm yet gentle grip. His eyes rolled back into his head as she took him into her mouth, the warm, wet heat enveloping him. Bob had never felt anything like this before, the mix of the forbidden and the taboo heightening every sensation. Wendy's movements grew more urgent, her tongue swirling around the tip of his cock as she took him deeper. He could feel the tension building within him, his hips starting to rock in time with her rhythm. He was so close, but he didn't want this to end. He reached out to touch her, his hand finding her wet and ready for him. She moaned around his cock, looking up into his eyes, her arousal clear and unmistakable. Bob gently teased her clit, feeling it swell beneath his thumb, and she responded by taking him even deeper into her mouth.
Suddenly, she pulled back, her eyes meeting his with a fiery intensity. "I want you in me," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. Bob's jeans hit the floor, the condoms in his pocket forgotten. The anticipation was too great, the need to claim her too strong. He positioned himself between her legs, her juices glistening in the dim light. He pushed into her, her tightness making him groan. She was so warm, so inviting, and the feeling of being inside her was intoxicating. They moved together with reckless abandon. Wendy's nails dug into his back, her legs wrapping around him, urging him deeper. Her moans grew louder, echoing in the small, cluttered room. Bob felt his orgasm building, the tension in his balls reaching a fever pitch. Wendy sensed it, her breathing becoming ragged. "That's it, baby, cum inside me," she panted, her voice hurtling him over the edge.
With a roar, Bob filled her with his seed, the hot, thick fluid pumping into her as Wendy's body tightened around him, her orgasm ripping through her like a tornado. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut. Bob could feel the walls of Wendy's pussy contracting around his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his cum. He collapsed onto her, his heart racing, his body slick with sweat.
As the passion subsided, Wendy rolled off the bed with a grace that belied the exhaustion that had claimed her body. She padded to her dresser on wobbly legs, her knees weak from the intensity of her orgasm. A dark, wet patch was slowly spreading across her robe as Bob's cum continued to leak from her pussy onto the sheer garment, plastering it to her skin. She grabbed the mug she had left there earlier, the warmth of the rum a comforting presence. The TV in the living room had moved on to Late Night with Conan O'Brien, playing out the punchline to a joke that seemed a world away from the sticky, sweet mess they had just shared.
Bob lay on the bed, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief and excitement. He had never felt this alive, this... dirty. And as he watched her move, he felt a thrill that was entirely new to him. Wendy opened her dresser drawer and pulled out something he had never seen before, something alien to his middle-class way of life. It was a pipe made completely out of glass, with the burned black and white residue of some unknown substance in the bowl at the end. Wendy's movements were deft as she took a small white crystal from an Altoids mint tin and placed it in the bowl. She held up a lighter and the flame kissed the crystal. The crystal began to melt, filling the bowl with a white haze and Bob realized with a start that it was something far more dangerous than he had ever imagined. His eyes went wide with shock as he watched Wendy inhale deeply, her cheeks hollowing out, and then release with a sigh of pleasure, a faint metallic smell of ozone filling the room. Wendy closed her eyes and shivered slightly, savoring that first hit of meth as the euphoria washed over her.
The color drained from Bob's face as he took in the scene before him. He had never been so close to hard drugs in his life, and the sudden reality of it sent a chill down his spine. Nervous thoughts began to swarm in his mind, a tornado of "what ifs" and fear. What if they got caught? What if Wendy turned into some kind of crazed addict? What if he contracted some terrible disease? He had seen the news stories and knew the horrors that could come with that kind of life. The whiskey churned in his stomach, mixing with a sudden wave of nausea. Bob hastily said he needed to be up early in the morning and departed.
II. Meeting the Parents
"Bob?, Bob?, Are you there?" The sound of Wendy's voice through the phone snapped Bob's thoughts back to the present. That first night should have been the end of it but Wendy had called the next day, and the day after that, the promise of easy sex was just too much to resist. "Can you pick me up and take me to my mom's around 7:00 PM?" she asked, "we can go to the club after, I promise to make it worth your while" she said with a seductive purr.
Bob picked up Wendy and drove to her mother's house as instructed. All Bob knew about Wendy's mother Janice was that she had very recently gotten remarried to a man 11 years her younger, a man only a few years older than Bob. When they arrived, Wendy hopped out of the car and dashed up the stairs. Without bothering to knock, Wendy swung the door open and stepped inside. The living room was a relic of the 70s, with shag carpet, walls adorned with ceramic figurines, and a black & white episode of the Andy Griffith Show playing quietly on a TV that was at least 20 years old. The scent of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, a thick blanket that clung to everything. Despite the outdated decor, the place was surprisingly clean, with no dirty dishes in the sink and a lack of clutter that spoke to Janice's obsessive nature.
Janice emerged from the back of the house, her eyes half-lidded and a faint smile playing on her lips. Bob could see the remnants of beauty from her youth, a ghostly echo of a woman who had once turned heads. Her long, white hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves that reminded Bob of the Farah Fawcett posters from his youth. In contrast to her daughter, Janice was thin, almost to the point of being frail. She was dressed in a long, white, button-up shirt that stopped at her mid-thigh, revealing a pair of surprisingly toned legs given her age and lifestyle.
"Hey there, Bob," Jan drawled, her North Carolina accent thick and syrupy. She leaned in for a hug that was a bit too tight, her breasts brushing against him in a way that made him uncomfortable. "It's so nice to finally meet the man that's been keepin' my baby girl happy."
Bob and Wendy settled onto the couch, Janice taking a seat on the loveseat in front of them. The TV droned on, the canned laughter from the sitcom filling the silence. Janice's legs were crossed, the tension in her thighs causing her shirt to hike up, giving Bob an unobstructed view of her tiger-print bikini-style panties. He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Wendy to gauge her reaction, but she was too busy scrolling through her phone to notice.
The women chattered on about neighbors and relatives, their conversation a blur of names and gossip that was meaningless to Bob. The couch cushions were firm under him, and he was acutely aware of the tightness in his jeans, a result of the brazen display before him. Janice leaned forward to tap the ashes off her cigarette, her shirt gaping open to reveal a tantalizing hint of her braless breasts. Despite her age, they were small but firm, her nipples pink and standing at attention like tiny sentinels. Bob's eyes darted back and forth between the TV and Jan's legs, his thoughts racing. Was this deliberate? Was she trying to seduce him? Or was it just a sign of her carelessness, a byproduct of the drugs and booze that had claimed so much of her life? Bob struggled to keep his gaze from straying too long, afraid that Wendy would catch him ogling her mother. If this was deliberate, Janice never provided a clue. As the conversation drew on, Janice suddenly winced in pain. "Baby, I could use some of those pills the doctor gave me."
Wendy sighed, rolling her eyes. She knew the drill all too well. Those pills had not been prescribed by a doctor, at least not her mom's doctor. Nearly the entire town of Gastonia was addicted to opioids and her mother was no exception. It was only a matter of time before her mother would be nearly cationic, staring at the TV screen and babbling incoherently. Reluctantly Wendy handed her mother the pill bottle from the kitchen counter. "Bob, I think we need to leave and let Mom get some rest."
With Janice's eyes now glued to the TV, they made their exit, leaving her to her pain relief. The short drive to Leather & Lace was filled with the same kind of excitement that Bob had felt the first time they had gone. The anticipation of what might happen at the strip club had always been part of the thrill for him. Bob had become accustomed to watching Wendy interact with the other men and women, each time pushing the boundaries a little further, flirting shamelessly and letting them touch her in ways that sent his blood boiling. The club was as seedy as ever, the neon lights casting a garish glow over the worn-down exterior. A rhythmic thud, thud, thud could be heard outside as they made their way to the entrance. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume, sweat, and desperation. The bouncer, a man with a shaved head and a neck that looked like a tree trunk, gave them a nod as they passed. Wendy strutted in like she owned the place, her hips swaying in a way that made every head turn. Bob followed, his heart racing as the thumping bass of the music pulsed through his chest.
They found a table in a dark corner, out of the direct line of sight of the bouncer and DJ. Wendy immediately started ordering drinks. The dancers were a mix of ages and sizes, their bodies covered in tattoos and the occasional piercing. Beside them Bob noticed a dancer, at least 6 months pregnant, seated beside a customer, his eyes glazed as he stared at the stage. The subtle rhythmic motion of the dancer's upper arm told Bob this customer was getting his money's worth under the table. Wendy's eyes scanned the evening crew and eagerly picked out a few for Bob to get VIP dances from, whispering the names in his ear and giggling as he handed over the crumpled bills. She watched him intently, her eyes gleaming as the dancers straddled him, their bodies moving in time with the music.
As the night wore on, the drinks kept coming, and Wendy's behavior grew more and more erratic. She stumbled over to the stage, throwing money at the dancers and shouting for them to show their tits. Bob felt a mix of arousal and embarrassment as the women complied, their eyes meeting his with a knowing look that seemed to say, "Your woman's crazy, but keep the money coming" Wendy was living for the attention, her laughter turning into shrieks as the dancers grew more daring in their performances. But as the night progressed, the excitement took a darker turn. Wendy's laughter grew louder, more forced, and her eyes began to glaze over. The drinks she had been downing with reckless abandon were catching up with her. Bob's buzz was wearing off, replaced by a gnawing concern. He had seen this before, the fine line between fun and chaos that Wendy often danced upon, and tonight it seemed she was teetering precariously on the edge. Wendy stumbled back from the stage, her laughter a little too loud, her eyes a little too glazed. Bob knew that look. He'd seen it before, the point where the party stopped being fun and started to become something else entirely. He had to put a stop to it before things spun out of control. He gently took her hand, trying to lead her away from the chaos of the club.
"Wendy, sweetie, I think we've had enough for tonight."
Her eyes searched his, a mix of defiance and desperation. "Come on, Bob. Just one more round, please?"
Bob felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He knew that look, the one that meant she was going to push until she got what she wanted. And what she wanted was to keep the party going, regardless of the consequences. But as he glanced at the clock on the wall, he knew they couldn't stay much longer. "Okay, one more, but then we have to go." Wendy's eyes lit up, and she leaned in to give him a sloppy kiss, her tongue probing his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of her drinks on her lips and felt a thrill run through him. But it was tainted with the bitter taste of his fear. In their short relationship, he had already seen her like this, and nights like these did not always end well.
Slamming down the last round as quickly as possible, Bob helped Wendy stumble to the exit, her legs giving way more than once. The cold night air slapped him in the face as they stepped outside, and the stark reality of the situation hit him like a sledgehammer. They couldn't drive home in this state, especially not with Wendy in such a condition. "Let's get a hotel room and sleep it off," he suggested, his voice firm but gentle. He didn't want to argue with her, not when she was like this.
"Why!?" demanded Wendy, her slurred voice suddenly belligerent. "My mom lives less than a mile from here. We can use my old bedroom."
Bob sighed inwardly. The thought of waking up in Janice's house as an uninvited guest turned his stomach, but on nights like these, it was usually best just to do what Wendy asked. They stumbled back to the car, Bob's arm around her waist to keep her upright. The short drive to her mom's place was a blur of red lights and shadowy buildings. Bob was thankful they had not encountered any police. When they arrived, Wendy fumbled with the key in the lock, finally shoving the door open. The house was quiet, Janice still in the living room lost to the world in her medicated haze.
They made their way to the back of the house, down a hallway lined with framed pictures of Janice and her younger, more attractive self. Wendy's old bedroom was a time capsule, the posters of boy bands and teen heartthrobs peeling from the walls. The bed was still made, the comforter a faded pink. It was a stark contrast to the life Wendy lived now. As they closed the door behind them, Bob felt the weight of the evening's events pressing down on him. He looked over at Wendy as she swayed on her feet, her eyes half-closed and her breath hot with the smell of whiskey. She began to peel off her clothes with clumsy, exaggerated movements. Her shirt fell to the floor, revealing her lacy red bra and the swell of her breasts. Her hips rocked as she slid her skirt down her thighs, her panties following close behind.
Wendy reached out for him, her hands trembling with need. "Babe," she murmured, her voice thick with desire, "let's fuck." But her words were slurred and her movements uncoordinated. Bob knew she was way too drunk to be in control of herself. With a gentle but firm grip, Bob helped her sit on the bed. She leaned into him, her naked breasts pressing against his chest. He felt a pang of guilt at the arousal that spiked through him despite the situation. Carefully, he laid her down, attempting to pull the covers over her exposed body but to no avail. Her eyes closed, and she was out cold in seconds, leaving him standing there in the dim room, his desires unfulfilled.
The full-sized bed was a tight fit for the both of them, a stark contrast to the plush king-sized bed they shared at his home in Charlotte. Wendy had passed out in the middle, the covers a tangled mess beneath her, leaving Bob no alternative but to drift asleep exposed to the cool evening air.
Bob slowly awoke in a state of confusion, not completely sure of his surroundings or where he was. He tried to sit up, trying to will his reluctant muscles to respond, but there was a weight on top of him, forcing him against the bed. Not his bed he realized with a start. His foggy mind slowly pieced together the events of the evening. This was Wendy's old bed and he was in her parent's house. Bob's senses gradually sharpened, the alcohol-induced haze lifting as he felt the rhythmic movement increase. His heart raced as he recognized the sensation, his mind racing with the realization that it wasn't a dream. The weight on top of him was a person, their breathing shallow and rapid. He held his breath, straining to see in the murky light, but the silhouette remained indistinct.
Suddenly, the figure moved, the soft light from the hallway spilling in to reveal a pair of hands, delicate and unmistakably feminine, stroking his chest. The hands grew bolder, moving lower, and Bob felt the heat of arousal build within him despite his initial shock. "Wendy?" he whispered again, but the response was nothing more than a soft, incoherent mumble of words. As his eyes adjusted, the silhouette grew clearer. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. It wasn't Wendy on top of him, but Janice, still dressed in the white shirt from earlier, her slender form straddling him as she began to grind herself against his erect cock. His eyes darted to the side, where Wendy lay passed out, completely oblivious to her mother's presence. Bob's mind raced, torn between the horror of the situation and the sudden, intense desire that surged through him. Janice's movements grew more deliberate, her hips rolling in a way that sent waves of pleasure crashing over him. Her glassy eyes remained fixed on the wall above Bob's head, her movements guided by muscle memory. Her hands found his, guiding them to her breasts, her nipples poking through the fabric. Bob's body responded despite his mind's protests, his fingers closing around her firm flesh as she moaned softly.
The friction grew more intense, Janice's breathing grew more ragged, and her pace increased. Her eyes never left the spot on the wall, never revealing if she was fully conscious. Her hips moved back and forth, back and forth, the wetness of her sex smearing along the length of his shaft. Each stroke brought him closer to the edge, the slickness of her pussy leaving him unable to think of anything but the pleasure she was giving him. The smell of her arousal filled the room, mingling with the stale scent of alcohol and cigarettes. It was a heady combination that only served to make his cock throb even more. With the slightest lift and shift of her weight, she changed the angle of Bob's cock and it slid inside her. He gasped, the suddenness of it all taking him by surprise. The heat of her pussy was like nothing he had ever felt before, her walls clenching around him as she continued to move. Bob's eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest.
The events of the day swirled in his head, Janice's wanton display in the living room, the seedy club, and now this. It was too much, and his body responded in kind. His hips began to move with hers, the rhythm of their fucking growing more intense. Each thrust was a silent declaration of his depravity, a betrayal he had never imagined. Yet, he couldn't stop. It was as if he was watching himself from a distance, his hands moving on Janice's body of their own accord.
With a final, guttural moan, Bob felt his orgasm crest. He shot his load into Janice, thick ropes of white-hot cum filling her, his hips jerking uncontrollably. Janice's movements grew erratic, her body tense, and she came with him, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. The moment was so intense, so wrong, that it felt almost holy. The room was filled with the sounds of their muffled gasps and the slick slapping of skin. Bob's mind raced, a mix of exhilaration and dread. He had just fucked Wendy's mother, and then he heard it, a sound from the hall, ragged breathing, and a drawn-out groan.
Looking beyond Janice to the dim light from the hall Bob could make out the silhouette of a man, a man Bob did not recognize but could only assume was Janice's new husband. "Fuuuuck" the figure exhaled with deep satisfaction, his entire body quaking. As his movement subsided the silhouette shook something wet off his fingers and without another word retreated silently back to his bedroom.
With zombie-like movement, Janice stood, never once consciously acknowledging Bob's presence. Reaching down to the floor Janice pulled up the same tiger-print panties Bob had seen earlier and covered her sloppy wet cunt. Without a word Janice left the room leaving Bob and her naked sleeping daughter, making only the slightest noise as she closed the master bedroom door.