That of course, was next week. But I was horny today. Now.
I began to sip at the coffee again, but put the cup back down again before it even touched my lips. I was too aroused to just sit there and drink coffee!
I considered calling Lynda back. No. That was no good. Even if she was still at home, she would be in a hurry, and certainly in no mood to jerk me off.
I thought of calling Mark at work. Speak sexily to him over the telephone; seduce him into coming home to fuck me. That, of course, wouldn't work either. At best, it would take him at least two hours to get home and by then who knew what kind of mood I would be in. Certainly not a sexy one. I was horny now.
Then I got an idea.
I smiled to myself. It was a good idea. It would be a birthday present. From myself to myself.
I got up from the table and went into the bedroom. I found my pocketbook, opened it, and took out the piece of paper I had hidden in the zipped compartment. With the paper in my hand, I returned to the kitchen.
I dialed the number on the paper.
"Local Reader's Service," a voice answered.
"Is this the magazine company?" I asked.
"Yes it is," a man said. "This is Ed Richards. Can I help you?"
"Possibly you can. This is Mrs. Wendy Allen. A friend of mine told me about your wonderful service. I'd be interested in subscribing to it also."
I purposely gave my words a double edge to their meaning. It was perversely exciting to know what I was planning, yet speaking so innocently to this unsuspecting man. I knew what he was going to get.
"I see. Well, that's very nice. It's gratifying to know that our customers are so satisfied that they recommend our service to their friends."
"Don't mention it. It's my pleasure."
"If you don't mind, would you let me know which of our customers it was who told you about Local Reader's? I'll give her a call and thank her personally."
"Why certainly, Mr. Richards. Her name is Lynda Conway."
"Gee. That name sounds familiar. Lynda Conway… Humn. Oh, yes!… I remember Lynda…In fact, I sold her subscription myself!"
"Did you? Lynda didn't say. She just told me of how much she enjoyed being a member." I see…"
"What do I have to do to join?" I asked. I think he was beginning to understand my meaning.
"Let me have your full name and address, and I'll be over there in a little while and explain the whole service to you personally."
I told him my name and address. "Thank you Mr. Richards. I'm so glad you could handle this personally."
"At Local Reader's," he said evenly, "we always like to keep our customers satisfied."
I was sure now that he understood my meaning.
"I'll see you shortly, Mrs. Allen," he said.
"Good-bye."
I hung up the receiver.
I had to hurry now, I knew. I had a feeling that Mr. Richards would not waste any time in getting out here. He seemed anxious enough over the telephone.
I went into the bathroom and urinated, then washed my face and neck and underarms. I giggled wickedly, then decided to wash my cunt. I pulled my dress up and ran the cold wash cloth through the lips of my cunt, inserting one finger into the hole, swabbing it out.
When I was finished washing, I sprayed some deodorant under my arms and a little Vespre on my cunt. Personally, I subscribe to the philosophy that a cunt should smell like a cunt and not a flower. But I didn't know how Mr. Richards felt about it. Some men are turned off by a raunchy cunt. I didn't want to do anything that might ruin my birthday present. The spray felt cold and tingly against the naked flesh of my cunt. I shuddered with excitement.
I went into the bedroom and took off my panties and housedress. I stared at my naked reflection in the mirror. I ran my hand across my flat stomach, down into the blonde-brown bush of my cunt. My pussy was wet with anticipation. I cupped my tits in my hands. They felt warm and soft. I rubbed the nipples and felt small flushes of excitement spread across my tits.
Quickly, I took out my makeup. I smeared the liquid base over my face, then applied a lighter shade under my eyes to hide any wrinkles or bags. I applied powder above each eye lid in short, rapid strokes, then penciled in the liner. I brushed on the mascara, then did my eyebrows. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. I put some blush on my cheeks to give me some color.
My hair! I thought. I took the headband out and brushed at my hair. Naturally, it was wild and unruly. I did the best I could, and stepped back and stared at myself.
Not bad, I thought. Thirty-five, but not bad.
Now for something to wear. I opened my closet. A dress or skirt and blouse? No underwear, although I considered a bra. No, I decided. Being nude under my clothing was sexy.
The doorbell rang!
He's here already! I thought. And I was still naked.
I grabbed the first dress I saw. The choice was a good one. It fitted me well, was short, and it buttoned down the front. That was useful when I wanted to take it off. It meant to get at my tits, all he would have to do was unbutton a few buttons.
I slipped the dress on and did up the buttons.
"Owning!" I called out.
I put the dress on and judged myself in the mirror. A little flat without the bra, but on the whole, not bad at all.
The bell rang again. "One minute!"
I made one last check in the mirror and then hurried out to the hall. I patted down my hair with my hand as I stood before the door. "Who is it?" I asked.
"Ed Richards," I heard a voice say. "From Local Reader's Service."
I opened the door. "Come in."
Mr. Richards walked in. He was rather young, perhaps twenty-two or three. He was tall and well built; the type that looks as though he once had been fat but had managed to diet off the extra pounds. He had blond hair, and was good looking in a rather craggy way. He was wearing a pair of Haired bells, and a white short-sleeved shirt. From the way he was walking, I could tell he was holding his stomach in.
"Hi! Mrs. Allen," he said. "I'm Ed Richards."
He sauntered into my living room, walking with a cocky kind of confidence. He was young and he was sharp and he knew it. He was sold on himself.
"Sit down," I told him. He sat in a chair across from the sofa. He leaned forward in the chair, giving the impression of dynamic, aggressive youth. He faced me from where I was sitting on the sofa, and he never once moved his eyes from mine. I had the feeling he was trying to hypnotize me. He had a leather pouch in his hands, and he was holding it self-consciously.
"First," he said, "I would like to thank you for calling…" He used this as a lead into his spiel about the magazine service. He said the words out of habit and memory: a well-polished delivery. He didn't give me a chance to speak: he controlled the conversation.
I sat back on the sofa and listened politely. I opened my legs slightly, and I saw his eyes catch the movement. Slowly I raised my leg and crossed it, revealing a flash of flesh.
That stopped him. He stumbled over his presentation. Just a word, but enough to let me know that he realized I had nothing on under the dress. From the way he was staring at me and talking rather absently, I knew he was staring at my cunt.
"Why don't you sit over here, next to me?" I suggested. I smiled at him.
He smiled back and stood up. He had a hard-on and it was quite apparent through his tight pants. Yet, he made no effort to conceal its presence. He stood erect, and walked boldly across the room towards me with that confident smile spreading across his roughly handsome features.
He sat very close next to me. Purposely he allowed his knee to graze the side of my thigh. Instead of pulling his leg back, he pressed it forward, into the softness of my thigh, and began to move his knee up and down against me.