A Pendant for Wendy

Okay, I ran up against the deadline for entries into the Winter Holiday comp. So here it is; my effort at Toys and Masturbation in time for the closing date.

As per the competition guidelines the entry is a stand-alone piece, but it could also serve as the precursor to further chapters. There’s scope for more if there’s any interest from out there, and if I have the opportunity to continue. Anyway, we’ll see what the interest is like first.

It’s a fairly short scene — just shy of 11k words — that sees Vince giving his mother’s best friend (Wendy) a pendant as a Christmas gift. Wendy had never looked at Vince in a carnal way before, but the gift makes her reconsider.

As usual, I hope you enjoy the piece. Feedback is good, especially on whether to continue it or not. If it dies on its arse then I won’t bother thinking about it. Please forgive any errors that remain in the text. I self-edit and often miss howlers. If there are any typos or obvious fuck-ups herein, please drop me a note to tell me where, etc.

Okay, time to get on with it. Thanks for reading.

GA — Benissa, Spain — 6th December 2013.

It was Christmas Day, and Wendy had been fighting her own feelings for most of it, ever since the scene in the kitchen with Vince. Finally, in bed, lying in there in the dark she succumbed to the desires she’d struggled against for hours.

Wendy’s fingers found her vulva. She hadn’t meant to do it, no conscious decision had been made, but the yearning had been overwhelming. She gasped and squirmed in the bed as the fingers of one hand worked between her legs, the fingertips of her free hand tracing the outline of the pendant at her throat, its newness still unfamiliar.

“Oh God,” she mumbled as lust fought for supremacy over morality, the burning emotion claiming victory when her finger split labia tacky with desire.

She teased herself, fanning the flames of ardour, gently rubbing her clitoris, her mind filled with what-ifs as she indulged the fantasy.

What if he hadn’t passed her that small gift-wrapped box?

Then Wendy would never have known how he felt.

What if his mother wasn’t her oldest, dearest friend?

Then she would be riding him at that very moment, feeling him beneath her, his solidness inside her, their flesh sliding.

What if she encouraged him now that she knew how he felt?

And then, when her ardour flared brighter, hotter, Wendy’s imaginings grew wilder.

What if she threw back the quilt and crept to his bedroom?

He would welcome her, Wendy was sure of that.

What if she dared? Where would it end?

“Fuck,” Wendy mumbled into the dark. “Just once,” she gasped.

And she let herself go, succumbed to the yearning, her fingers stirring her sex, the liquid squelching coming up from between her legs.

The pendant had been the catalyst — silver, delicate, a gift-wrapped surprise from Marian’s son that had altered Wendy’s perception completely. She’d taken the little box from him, seen the anxiety in his expression during the clandestine act, the realisation coming on a rush of understanding: he was young, only nineteen, and he had a young man’s desire for an older woman.

How long had he agonised over the giving of the gift? Vince must have been weak with worry about giving such a memento to his mother’s best friend; he must have been building himself up to the moment, no doubt prevaricating endlessly before steeling his resolve. Wendy imagined his feelings in the seconds before he made the approach. His guts like water, throat dry, heart pounding, totally without a clue about how Wendy would react.

“Please, Wendy,” Vince had muttered, his cheeks flaming while his eyes moved everywhere, settling anywhere she wasn’t. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s just a present from me to you. A personal gift.”

He’d left her speechless and staring after him as he’d retreated, Vince rushing from the kitchen after making his covert move.

For the rest of that Christmas Day, while everyone else laughed and joked and over-indulged, Wendy, a guest in her best friend’s home, kept looking at Vince. The images popped into her head, unbidden, unwanted while Wendy struggled to keep her mind pure from carnal thoughts.

It was odd, Vince was just the same, physically unaltered, but Wendy was seeing him through a woman’s eyes for the first time, appreciating Vince for his male attributes, assessing him as a potential sexual partner. In the past, all those years, he had simply been Vince, Marian’s son, and it came as a shock to Wendy when she realised Vince had grown into quite a good-looking young man, that he was tall, broad across the shoulder and athletically graceful. She wondered when it had all happened and why hadn’t she noticed earlier, and Wendy distanced herself in her mind, appraised Vince objectively, and was shocked at the ripple of interest tingling in those parts of her body sensitive to such nuance.

In the blink of an eye, in the time it took to pass a small gift wrapped package from one hand to another Wendy became obsessed by Vince. He was on her mind constantly, her body reacting. Outwardly, to everyone else in the house she remained her usual self, while inside her emotions and feelings seethed.

But Wendy fought against her body’s rebellion. She knew she could never allow herself to act on the attraction to Vince. The risk was too great; she valued Marian too much. The betrayal of trust was too much to contemplate. The price of time spent loving with Vince was too high. So all through the afternoon Wendy waited for a chance to confront Vince. She rehearsed the words she would use, envisioned the scene, replaying it over and over in her head until she had succeeded in convincing herself that she had the strength to politely thank Vince for his gift yet resist the physical lure.

The day passed into evening before Wendy’s opportunity arrived. Marian’s husband was snoring in front of the television, Wendy’s own son had left the house for a kick-about on the Rec with Dean, Vince’s younger brother, and Marian was speaking to her mother on the phone.

“Vince,” Wendy said. “I need to talk to you.”

She saw Vince’s throat work as he pretended not to hear, his eyes on the muted TV.

“Vince,” Wendy repeated. His face swivelled towards her and she glanced at his father, indicating the kitchen with a nod of her head. “Talk,” she added. “Now.”

Vince threw a look towards his father and took the hint. He wasn’t sure of Wendy’s mood and didn’t want to risk any raised voices and subsequent scenes of embarrassment.

“Okay,” he mumbled, rising reluctantly.

They were both in the kitchen, Vince with his backside up against the counter, knuckles white as his fingers gripped the edge, Wendy between him and the door.

“Why?” Wendy whispered? “What’s it all about, Vince?” She fingered the pendant and questioned Vince with her eyes.

Vince shrugged, refusing to meet her stare.

“I … Uh … I like you, Wendy.” He was mumbling, evasive, cheeks flaming. Vince shrugged again, feet shuffling. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Wendy sighed, her head moving slowly from side-to-side, her attention focussed on Vince’s face.

“It’s a heart-shaped, pendant, Vince,” she murmured.

The blush on Vince’s cheeks deepened and he shrugged a third time.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” His voice came out as a gurgle, his eyes going everywhere as he still refused to look at her. “I thought you might like it.”

“So why the secrecy, Vince? Why didn’t you put it under the tree for me to unwrap this morning?”

He looked at her then, a quick glance before his eyelids flicked up and down like Bardic lamps. His throat worked as he blinked, and Vince swallowed heavily.

Wendy pressed on, determined to make him reveal how he felt.

“It’s lovely, Vince,” she murmured. “I love it. It’s a thoughtful gift. Thank you.”

“Duh-do you really like it?” Vince stuttered.

Wendy nodded with enthusiasm. “I do, Vince. I love it. But…”

Vince winced, perhaps knowing what would next come from Wendy’s mouth.

Wendy paused, conflicting emotions swelling — Should she really ask?

“It means something, doesn’t it?” Wendy scooped the pendant from her breastbone. “The heart, that’s significant, Vince, isn’t it?”

Vince stared at the pendant dangling on the end of its chain.

He gulped and nodded, croaking, “Yeah … It does.”

Wendy sighed at the admission. “You know nothing can happen.” It was her turn to shrug. “Not that I’m not flattered, Vince. Truly, believe me, I am.” She let the pendant drop and heaved another sigh, sweeping an arm away from her body in an expansive, all-inclusive gesture. “But your mum’s my friend,” she said. Wendy paused again, her stare fixed on Vince’s eyes as he gazed back at her. “My friend, Vince,” she emphasised. “There could never be anything between you and me.”

“But…” Vince began. “If she wasn’t…” He swallowed heavily once more, cheeks ballooning as air hissed out of him. “Would you…? I mean … Me? Would you be interested?”

What disturbed Wendy after an afternoon of thought on exactly that subject was just how interested she was. She looked at Vince and saw him staring right back at her, and the intensity of that look in his eyes, the feral hunger, sent a flood of heat towards that indefinable place somewhere south of the pit of her stomach. Wendy felt her nipples tighten while a low, barely perceptible lub-lub pulsed in her clitoris.

“That isn’t the point,” she replied, evasive as her stare broke away from Vince’s face. “And as much as I love the pendant and appreciate the sentiment, nothing can happen. Never.”

Vince closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, and Wendy saw the tension in him as the muscles in Vince’s jaw worked. His hands came off the counter and bunched into fists.

She knew it was stupid even as she moved. Then she was in front of him, close enough to touch.

“Give me a hug, Vince,” Wendy murmured. “Come on, give me a hug and then forget about me. It just can’t happen.”

Wendy swallowed as the lie came out of her. It was as though her mind was cleaved in two, a sensible, moral part of her screaming no while somewhere else entirely, in that place inside where lunacy lives — because what she was doing was crazy, recklessly courting danger — Wendy wanted Vince to touch her.

Vince hesitated, eyes huge and round, his jaw hanging.

“Wendy,” he mumbled.

“A hug, Vince.” Wendy’s arms opened in invitation.

She took a single step and then he was there, his arms around her with his face pressed into the scoop between Wendy’s shoulder and her throat.

Vince squeezed, pulling Wendy into a bear hug.

Then he was babbling, muttering into her ear. “You smell gorgeous. You’re so sexy, Wendy. I … I can’t help it. I look at you and I feel … I feel…”

“I know, Vince,” Wendy replied. Her heart thumped, suddenly too small for her chest as desire ballooned inside her. “I know exactly how it feels. I feel it too.”

Vince pushed her away from his body, his fingers around Wendy’s upper arms. He gaped at her, chest heaving as he sucked in deep draughts of air.

“You do?” he boggled, incredulous. There was a pause while Vince absorbed the revelation. “I look at you, Wendy,” he said, “and I want to touch you.” Vince sighed, eyes rolling, his fingers squeezing the flesh of Wendy’s arms. “I want to touch you and kiss you and … and … and I want to look at you naked, Wendy. I want to look at your … at … at your boobs. I want to do things to you. I want … I want…”

“You want to fuck me, Vince.”

There was a fire between Wendy’s legs. She could feel the desire oiling her pussy; her clitoris throbbed, the pulse moving up a gear, the yearning cranking to the next reckless level as her body’s demands increased.

She hadn’t meant to use such a crude expression; Wendy hadn’t intended for that sentence to come out at all, let alone deliver it with such glutinous intent apparent in her tone.

Wendy pressed against Vince, moving into him with a smoky, feline full-frontal caress, her body moving against his.

His hands went to her buttocks, and the words came out of Wendy, her voice thick and curdled with lust.

“Isn’t that it, Vince? That’s what you want to do. You just want to fuck.”

“Shit, Wendy,” Vince gurgled. She heard him gulp, his fingers squeezing the cheeks of her backside as she writhed and wriggled, desperate to rub her vulva with either her fingers or Vince’s thigh. “You don’t know how much I want to do it with you. I think about it all the time, Wendy heard him mutter.”

Then Wendy swallowed, her breath rasping, lust surging.

“Do you play with yourself and think of me?” she asked.

Vince didn’t reply with words, he was too busy nuzzling Wendy’s neck, his hands between their bodies, fingers tight over Wendy’s breasts. He nodded and mumbled something indecipherable.

The image that came into Wendy’s head burst the dam. She pictured Vince naked, his cock in his fist as he stroked its length, eyes fixed on her.

“You wank and think about fucking me, don’t you, Vince,” Wendy gasped. She pushed the young man away, eyes locked on his face.

Vince nodded. “All the time, Wendy,” he grunted, his stare hot-eyed and feral. He pawed at the bulge in his jeans, the movement drawing Wendy’s attention. “I think about all the stuff I want to do to you, Wendy,” he groaned. “About fucking you and what it would be like if you sucked me.”

“Oh God,” sobbed Wendy. “Vince…”

And then Marian’s voice smashed into Wendy’s consciousness.


Wendy rubbed herself and thought about what might have happened if Marian hadn’t called. She imagined Vince’s mouth locked with hers, their tongues sliding and slipping over and over. Wendy pictured herself squatting, skirt bunched around her waist, fingers inside her own knickers, tickling her clitoris as she held Vince’s length in her free hand, her lips wrapped around the cock-head.

Things had been so heated between them that Wendy could easily see herself braced against the kitchen counter, her buttocks thrust back as she offered herself to the young man, while the reality was she was in her bed, groaning, pussy sluicing around her fingers, three digits wedged into her opening.

“Fuck me,” she grunted to her fantasy lover. “Fuck that pussy, Vince. Drive your cock into me and make me scream.”

It had been a close call, Marian’s voice preceding her arrival by mere seconds. Despite her manipulation of her own sex, vulva greasy, clitoris tingling, insides beginning to clench, Wendy winced at what might have been if she and Vince hadn’t broken away from one another. The scare had cooled Wendy’s ardour, given her such a fright that she vowed to leave it alone, to never take a risk like it again. For the rest of that evening she’d avoided the hungry looks Vince threw at her, made sure there was no opportunity for him to make any further advances. Wendy had made an excuse, muttered about it having been a long day and fled to her bedroom.

She had kissed her son goodnight, wished everyone a merry Christmas and then taken refuge, claiming the onset of a headache.

Vince had paused at her door and knocked.

“Go away,” Wendy had hissed. “Leave me alone, Vince.” And then, in a desperate effort to get rid of him she had said, “Tomorrow. Talk to me tomorrow, Vince. We can’t do anything now. They’re just downstairs. It’s too dangerous.”

With great reluctance Vince had left, expression downcast as the light from the hall backlit his face and he closed the door.

At first Wendy had been relieved Vince had gone. She was surprised that he hadn’t pressed the issue, the ardour of a young man at nineteen being what it was. Wendy had thought Vince might protest and make some clumsy attempt, but it seemed residual authority as his mother’s friend had persuaded Vince to leave her alone, a psychological throw-back to when he was younger and easily influenced.

Then, in the dark, the memory of what occurred stirred. Wendy’s libido, which had been on simmer all evening, boiled over and she began to imagine different scenarios.

Soon enough she was writhing and panting and fingering her pussy, desperate to orgasm.

Her climax hit, finally rolling over Wendy in a hot rush that had her gasping and muttering obscenities into the dark.

But the problem was that orgasm did nothing to dilute her desire. She lay on her side, hand wedged between her thighs, knees drawn up as the fantasy continued.

Wendy started again, gasping at how over-sensitive her clitoris had become, wincing and moaning yet unable to resist the demands her body placed on her for relief.

She threw back the quilt after flicking the switch on the bedside lamp, cursing as she unzipped her holdall and rummaged for the rubber dildo she had stashed inside a folded tee-shirt.

Wendy clambered back into bed and splayed her labia with her fingertips, sighing as her opening accepted the first inches of malleable latex.

She got herself there by fucking the dildo in and out in a hard and fast frenzy, punishing herself for her lewd imaginings about her best friend’s son.

“Fuck,” Wendy hissed, with her fist tight around the girth of the dildo as she jammed it home. “Fuck that big cock into me, Vince. Oh, baby, yes, it feels so fucking good.”

She came again, grunting and biting back on the bellow she wanted to let rip, the pleasure forcing great gasps from her chest.

But even that climax couldn’t take the edge off Wendy’s craving.

She lay on her bed, naked, chest heaving as she looked down past her breasts to where the dildo hung out of her body, half its length still inside her. Wendy knew what was going to happen next. Even as she denied it to herself, as though caught in some out of body experience she watched herself ease the dildo out of her body and roll upright so she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t,” Wendy muttered to herself.

But she stood up and walked to her bedroom door, lifting the dressing gown from the hook.

The door opened and Wendy padded along the corridor, bare feet against the carpet, the house quiet around her, night sounds of cooling radiators, Marian’s home breathing softly in the aftermath of Christmas.

She arrived at Vince’s door and hesitated, casting a glance down the hall towards Marian’s room. Wendy turned, swivelling hallway around as though she’d changed her mind, but her desire was too strong, morality defeated by lust.

She reached for the doorknob, sighed once, and the twisted it, pushing the door open.


Vince was tugging his cock when the door opened. He had revisited the incredible scene in the kitchen, the time when Wendy had invited him to hug her. At that moment he thought a hug was all that would be forthcoming, but she’d surprised him by her response to his admission over how he felt. She had smelled so good during that embrace, with the scent and the heat coming off her, Vince had been aroused by the assault on his senses and Wendy’s proximity. He’d blurted how he felt about her on a rush of need for her to understand, and she had replied by saying she knew how it felt.

Then his hands were full of her. Through her clothes admittedly, but he was touching Wendy where modesty and propriety had forbidden before. She was there, her buttocks taut under his fingers, his cock stiff because of it.

The things Wendy had said! Her use of profanity had shocked and thrilled Vince. He had never heard Wendy swear before, and her use of the words fuck and wank, hearing them come from her and the timbre in her voice as she uttered the obscenities filled him with that desperate urge, the deep drag in his vitals that could only be assuaged by his climax.

Vince moaned and worked at his cock, his head filled with imaginings of Wendy’s ripe, voluptuous body revealed to his hungry stare. He was hard, rigid in his fist as he pumped away, wishing Wendy would ride his cock, her big tits swinging before he mauled at them and sucked her nipples between his lips.

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