Brenda Bragton – Dreamwife by yowser
Jamie Bragton was no cuck. No sir.
He had himself a fine wife, Brenda Thoreau, faithful as his hunting hound Blue, and they had been married five fine years.
At first Jamie had worried that Brenda’s pure handsomeness would cause troubles. Even here in Stoutwood folks noticed her cute bottom, smiling face, and those tits that defined, perfectly, the very notion of allure.
Whenever Brenda was out in the driveway, rinsing off her Camaro, the candy-apple red one—although Chevrolet called it ‘Wild Cherry’ it was really candy-apple—the one that Jamie had gotten her as a wedding present, in her white halter top and cutoff jeans, folks would stop by just to chat, even when Jamie knew they had already talked earlier that day, at the Sunrise Inn for breakfast.
Yessir, Jamie, that wife of yours sure is a gem, Jon would say, she’s bright and cheerful and handsome as all get out, and you are one lucky man, if I say so myself.
Indeed watching Brenda wash the car was a treat, Jamie had to admit. Inevitably she’d get wet from the hose, couldn’t be helped, and the nipples on those tits, the ones everyone knew to be perky, but never said so to Jamie, well, those nipples would stand out in the white fabric and the big, dark circles around them would become clear as daybreak, and her shorts would grip her ass just a little tighter with the wetness, well, Jamie got a damn good hard-on every time he saw her washing her machine.
If it was a weekend, he just might have to take her in the bedroom after, maybe even before lunch, or out back on their porch overlooking the fields. And Brenda, bless her heart, she was always willing, she’d take that mighty cock of Jamie into just about whatever place he wanted to put it.
Jamie had worried about her, how handsome she was, but everyone in town knew Jamie, knew he could do some real damage if he needed to, wanted to, so everyone had been real respectful.
Jamie pitied those dumb hicks in town who didn’t even have a six inch dick, one that could enter Brenda just about anywhere and do some serious reaming. Jamie swelled with pride, well swelled everywhere, whenever he thought about his dick. It wasn’t just six inches, it was exactly six and one eighth inches, and Brenda said it was just about the finest cock she had ever seen, which was a good thing, since Jamie had taken her virginity himself, right after their high school prom and pledged his troth two months later, just before her nineteenth birthday.
She better not have seen any other cocks anyway, Jamie was sure of that.
Only two things kept Brenda from being featured on the cover of some glamour magazine or another.
One was Stoutwood itself, population 2,197, at the base of the foothills where Cripes Creek emptied into the Chickasaw River. Nobody ever went through town on their way anywhere else, it was just another dead-end town in the backwoods. No fashion photographer was ever going to ‘discover’ Brenda.
The second thing was her hair. It was dirty blonde, and didn’t grow that long, even though Brenda would have wanted it that way, only just to her shoulders and stopped. And no matter what Brenda did to it, it always managed to looked untamed and mussed up, especially in heat and humidity, which most of the year Stoutwood possessed in abundance.
Brenda complained about her hair once to Jamie, and he just smiled and told her that it was fine, just looked like Uma Thurman after she’d been in a wrestling match. This earned Jamie a sharp elbow in the ribs, which hurt for a couple days, and he decided not to bring the matter up again ever. But Jamie himself liked her hair well enough, no complaints on that front.
Jamie had been talking with Jon at The Drowner, beers in hand as they leaned on the railing off the back porch of the bar and looked out over the creek one sultry late-autumn Sunday. Jon was not a big guy, mostly just thin arms and legs, all his joints loose and gangly in his jeans and work-shirt, his face rubbery and expressive, an Atlanta Braves baseball hat pulled down over his fuzzy brown hair.
“How you doin’ since Marsha ditched you? What, a month ago?” Jamie asked.
Jon’s face did a cement mixer of expressions, maybe surprise that Jamie had broached the topic, then sadness, and most likely, disgust. He squinted into the sun.
“I’m okay. I’m glad to be done with that sniveling slit. I ain’t no perfect guy, let alone boyfriend, but I thought we had been okay together. She didn’t feel that way.”
“I’d hate to be out a girl,” said Jamie. “I been lucky, and feel for you.”
They could hear the last chords from the Allman Brother’s song ‘Whipping Post’ coming from inside the bar. The creek water was slow, languid as it went by the wooden jetty out to their right.
“She was high-maintenance, that’s for sure,” said Jon. “Never could please her. Glad someone else will get to deal with her shit, sooner or later. Although I wouldn’t mind if it’s a whole lot later.”
“Bitch,” he spat.
“She was pretty though,” mused Jamie.
Jon laughed. “Yep, one fine piece of ass. No tits but one sweet bottom. You know what I miss the most?”
“What’s that?”
“The way she licked my balls. Girl had a thing for that. Even before she’d take me in her mouth she’d spend a pile of time just licking my balls, taking each one in, rolling it around in that soft, little wet mouth of hers. Never met anyone like that.”
“Damn, wish you hadn’t said that, Jon. I got this image in my head right now of her slathering over your jewels. Gonna get hard myself if I think too much about that.”
Jon waved his Budweiser bottle towards the water.
“Even sounded wet when she licked me. She’d get her nose right in my sack, that tongue going up and down, sounded just like yer boots squishing around in spring mud. Then she’d take me deep in her throat, and damn if I couldn’t hold out five minutes before I shot.”
“Stop it man, this boner is killing me.” Jamie adjusted his position, trying to let things rearrange themselves.
Jon looked over and laughed.
“Yep, I miss that part. Your girl do that to you? Has to be one of the best things in the world.”
“Naw,” Jamie shook his head. “She’s good at licking, but just my cock. Don’t get anywhere too near my butt-hole, can’t say I blame her.”
They stood for a while, looking out over the water. Jamie was trying not to think about his boner. He’d have to do some serious banging with Brenda later when he got home.
“Hey, you going to the drags this Saturday?” Jamie finally asked. “Haven’t seen you there lately. Maybe cheer you up a bit, some diversion never hurts.”
Saturday night drag-racing at the Franklin County Speedway was one of Jamie’s few obsessions. Bracket racing, all amateur, handicap was handled by the best time you’d ever posted there. Couple guys in town had some fast machines. Tim Brown’s ’72 Dodge with the hemi he’d been working on, that thing could get down the strip in just over ten seconds.
“Yeah, I’ll do that. Nothing else going on.”
They had a great time that next Saturday at the racetrack. Brenda came too, she did sometimes, not always. Jamie loved the way she looked in her cutoffs and bikini top, loved the way she attracted attention, the hungry looks coming from the other guys, envy for Jamie when he had his arm around her. Brenda always looked away, playing shy, and Jamie liked how she just held on tighter to him. He was going to have to give her a good ride in the bedroom later that evening when they got home.