The Secret Sex Lives of Wanda Mitty. Felix Baron

down. She’d reach in and fumble until she found his heat. His fingers would tighten in her hair. She’d pull the entire length of his magnificent erection out into the open and inspect it, carefully and slowly, making sure to breathe on it. Her lips would part. She’d lick her lips at him. She’d stretch out her tongue, desperate for a taste but Henry’s fingers would grip tight, pulling at the roots of her hair as he prevented her from reaching her treat – and then he’d relent. Her lips would stretch wide to fit over that smooth hard dome and her tongue –

      ‘Could you sit down please, Miss Mitty? I have to measure your head,’ Mr Pink said.

      Head? Oh well, she guessed he knew what he was doing. She said, ‘Sorry. I guess I was daydreaming.’

      Mr Pink smiled. ‘That’s natural, for a young bride.’

      Had he read her mind?

      Mr Pink was meticulous. Wanda had been measured for clothes before but never before had she had the distance between her nape and her left nipple taken, then the same to her right nipple. She tried to peek at Mr Pink’s notes, just to be sure those two measurements were identical, but his fluttering hands made that impossible. When it came to her feet, not only did he measure each one’s length and width but also floor-to-arch, floor-to-instep and two diameters. Those were followed by the distance around her ankles and around her calves at two different heights. Her boots, she was convinced, were going to fit with a capital ‘F’.

      How deliciously sybaritic!

      ‘What will my outfit be like, Mr Pink?’ she asked. ‘What colour?’

      ‘I have my instructions from Mr Chandler,’ he replied.

      ‘But …?

      ‘That’s all I’m free to tell you, Miss. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise now, would I?’

      Wanda felt like stamping one foot at that but Henry wasn’t there to see her being cutely childish, so she didn’t bother.

      Chapter Seven

      A stretch limousine arrived to take Wanda and her mom to the airport. Both ladies wore plain jeans and casual sweaters. As Martha explained, ‘Air travel is an ordeal. It ruins good clothes.’

      They drove right past the airport. Martha tapped on the dividing window and told their driver, ‘You’ve made a wrong turn, young man. The entrance is behind us now. Can you turn around?’

      ‘No, Madam, sorry. I thought you knew. That was the public airport. We’ll be at our destination in a few minutes.’

      Martha ‘humphed’. Wanda didn’t say a word. The limo turned in through tall gates and followed a private road to a small jet that was parked outside a hangar. The plane was dark green with a gold racing stripe. Ostentatious?

      ‘Here you are, ladies,’ their driver told them. ‘Don’t worry about your luggage. It’s being taken care of.’

      They were greeted by a woman – oh, it was Kitty! She was dressed as a stewardess, not a ‘flight attendant’, but definitely a ‘stew’. Her uniform jacket was tight-waisted. Her skirt was two inches longer than her jacket. Even so, it had slits up the sides. She had very good legs, as Wanda already knew. And Wanda was wearing practical jeans. Damn!

      Henry liked ‘dress up’. That was fine, but it should have been Wanda dressing up to cater to his whims, not cousin Kitty.

      ‘Welcome to Chandler One,’ Kitty told them. ‘This way please, ladies.’

      There was a movable staircase up to the plane. Kitty went first, flirting her miniskirt with every step. Without making it obvious, Wanda tried to peek up but she didn’t manage to see whether Kitty was wearing anything under her skirt. Chances were she wasn’t, the little slut!

      The cabin had heavy leather armchairs on swivel bases. Lucinda was sipping what looked like a gin and tonic. Wanda sat.

      ‘No, Wanda, not there,’ Kitty said. ‘You get to ride up front, in the pilot’s cabin.’

      That seemed weird but it made sense when Wanda got there. Henry was in the pilot’s seat, in a sort of uniform with wings over his breast pocket. He did like to dress up!

      Her fiancé was talking pilot-talk into a mic the size of a pinhead. It was all ‘Wind-speed, CAT, ceiling’, and similar things that meant nothing to Wanda.

      He smiled at her but kept talking. His fingers flipped toggles and turned dials. The jets roared and rumbled. Henry began to ease back on the yoke. Wanda knew the name of that one from some movie or another.

      ‘What time’s take-off, Captain?’ she asked, and added, to show off, ‘ETD?’

      He grinned and nodded towards the window. Wanda looked out. Oh! The airfield was dropping away.

      ‘That was smooth,’ she told him.