Cheater - Part 5

The wee hour of the following morning finds Blondie sitting up in bed, reflecting upon the previous days disastrous and humiliating attempt to seduce Alexander. Sleep won't come to her. Over and over, she can't help but to fantasize about what could have happened if Cookie had not come home so unexpectedly.

Knowing full-well that she's never going to get any sleep unless she fills a certain need, Blondie slips the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, pushing the flimsy garment down to her hips. Wriggling it under her butt and finally kicking it to the foot of the bed, Blondie slides down under the bed covers. With George Foreman droning away on the television, demonstrating his latest lean, mean, grilling machine, Blondie lets a hand slip between her legs, a fingertip gently circling her pearl. 

Minutes later, a finger plunged deep inside, she lets out a stammering moan as she imagines the boy's manhood driving into her, pounding her again and again. She's scarcely aware of her phone alerting that someone is at the front door when a wave of heat flushes through her. It's only been a few minutes and already she can feel a huge climax welling up inside her.

Eyes squinted tightly shut, teeth gritted together, she nearly there...and then she hears the bedroom doorknob turning. Freezing, her body quivering internally in anticipation, it takes every ounce of concentration she has keep from blurting out. Feigning being half-asleep, she rolls to her side of the bed, away from the opening door.

Blondie: (faux-sleepily) How was your day, dear?

Dagwood: (tired-sounding) Long. Dithers was his usual slave-driving self. Just wanna sleep.

Her legs drawn up in an almost fetal position, hands clamped between her thighs, the housewife tries not to visibly tremble as she listens to the sound of rustling clothes. Pulling the bedclothes down, Dagwood can't help but notice his wife's state of undress as he climbs into bed. She almost always wears a nightgown to bed...unless she wants something. A little smirk crosses his face...tired be damned. Untying his pajama bottoms, he lets them slip to the floor. 

After throwing the covers over himself, Dagwood cuddles up to her, spooning as he wraps his arms around her waist. She can already feel his generous manhood growing, pressing into her thigh gap. Looking at him out of the corner of her eye with a devious, little smirk, Blondie suddenly finds herself imagining that it's Alexander about to torpedo her from behind.

Dagwood: You've been waiting for me to get home, haven't you?

Blondie: Mmmm-hmmm.

Shielding her eyes with her arm, a single shaft of light shines through the curtains. It's late Saturday morning when Blondie finally begins to stir in bed. Naked, save for a sheet covering her from the waist down, the blonde housewife looks around the bedroom, blinking...is it a.m. or p.m.?

As she slowing begins to wake up, Blondie vaguely remembers, some time in the wee hours of the morning, Dagwood's phone ringing and him saying that he had to go back to the office...followed by a long string of expletives. What few words she could get out of Alexander at dinner last night seemed to involve basketball and chillin' with friends today. Likewise, Cookie had said something about going downtown for some 'hottie shopping and a latte'...whatever that means. 

By her recollection, she has the house to herself for the majority of the day. But, first things first... She needs to start the day off with a nice, long, hot shower...or better yet, a bubble bath. If anything, to relax and start the day off right, but mainly to wash off all of the early morning cake batter that has dried to her inner thighs.

Gallons of hot, sudsy water and a lavender bath bomb later, Blondie sinks down into her garden tub. Uncaring if any of the neighbors are looking, the usual Saturday afternoon culmination of lawn mowers and leaf blowers blaring outside, she doesn't even bother to draw the curtains around the tubs bay window surround.

Blondie: (thinking) Oh gawd, yes. I needed this.

A glass of white Zinfandel in hand, only the tops of her boobs can be seen jutting out of a sea of bubbles. Phone in hand, Blondie puts on a sultry, half-smirk and then pops a selfie. Satisfied with the picture, she taps out 'wanna join me, baby?' and hits send.

An hour or so later, having dozed of a hand full of times, the prune-fingered blonde rises from the slightly chilly water. Standing, covered in bubbles, arms raised over her head, Blondie stretches in front of the huge window. Out of the corner of her eye she sees movement and has short bout of embarrassed self-consciousness. Herb, their next door neighbor, stares at her from across the fence, a pair of hedge clippers in his hand. Her embarrassment only lasts for a split-second, replaced with an amused smirk as Tootsie walks up behind him and smacks him in the back of the head, angrily scolding him as he flees towards their house. Tootsie, knowing full-well what her best friend is up to, shakes her head, returning an equally amused smirk.

With Tootsie looking on, Blondie grins as she ever so slowly pulls a curtain in front of the window, giving her a little wave just as the transparent sheer obscures her figure. Letting out a laugh, the blonde steps out of the tub and grabs her terry cloth robe. Smiling to herself, she makes her way back to the bedroom to get dressed.

Blondie: (thinking) Oh, I needed that.

Back in her usual capri pants and a button-up, sleeveless blouse, Blondie strides into the kitchen. She still has plenty of me-time left until the rest of the family comes home, but it's also 'Spaghetti Saturday'. One of those family traditions that, well, she can't recall the last time they hadn't done one. The pasta only takes a few minutes to prepare, but the sauce...an old, handed down family recipe...needs at least three or four hours to simmer. Plenty of time curl up somewhere with a racy romance novel and the rest of that bottle of white Zen...or just go back to the bedroom, find a nice toy, and rub two or three out.

All of the ingredients in a giant sauce pan, Blondie turns on the burner, giving the mix a taste test before covering it and letting it cook. Just as she brings the wooden spoon to her lips, Daisy jumps up, begging for food. Startled, she can do little but watch the red sauce spill down the front of her white blouse and onto her pants.

Blondie: (angrily) Goddammit, Daisy! Shit. This is what I get for letting Dagwood feed you table scraps.

Looking down at the oily stains, Blondie rolls her eyes and heads straight for the laundry room, unbuttoning her blouse as she goes. Having left her phone on kitchen counter and now out of ear-shot, she's unaware that a text tone has sounded. It's Alexander, responding to the risque text intended for Dagwood. 

Alexander: (texting) OMG! SRSLY? *heart* *smiley face with hearts for eyes* *heart* OMW!

Blondie, having called him 'Dumpling'...and sometimes 'Baby'...for most of his life, he automatically assumes the text is for him. He's never heard her call Dagwood that. 'Honey' or 'Darling', sure...but never 'Baby'. Having been playing basketball for the past couple of hours, he hadn't seen the text until just now. Six blocks away from home, Alexander makes a flurry of half-assed excuses for his sudden departure to his friends, and then bolts towards the parking lot. He'll be home in less than five minutes...three is he runs all of the lights and stops signs.

To be continued...

Original Art by Fluid Bound

Commissioned by Phillipthe2