Rosie Helps Wendy - Sex Stories

Rosie Helps Wendy

I was working at McCall’s Insurance, a medium-sized insurance agency office in Elk Grove, near Sacramento. Wendy was my boss, and we’d become friends over the last year. One evening, as we were closing up, I was complaining about having to go home to Jason and fix dinner.

When I was talking to Wendy, she invited me to dinner at Giovanni's, an Italian place nearby. She suggested that we go to dinner and make Jason fend for himself. Her husband, Jay, was at a business meeting, and he was going to be home late.

I was looking for an excuse, so I agreed to meet her there. We started with a glass of wine while we were waiting for a table.

She started by asking, “So what’s going on at home?”

I grimaced and started telling her about Jason and my complaints. They were mostly trivial. I didn’t talk about the fact that I was cuckolding him or that I was getting extra sex two to three times a month.

Wendy smiled at me and warned me, “Don’t do anything that might stop you from coming to work tomorrow.” Then she laughed. “I sometimes feel like that.”

I paused, not sure if I wanted to know, but asked, “What’s going on? Jay?”

Wendy looked at me and slowly nodded. She hesitated, then said slowly, “Jay, I just don’t understand; he keeps asking me … he wants … hell, I can’t say it.”

I stopped for a moment, thinking, “Um, well, if you don’t want to … if you can’t talk about it, then don’t. But … remember, I’m willing to listen to you and not repeat it to anyone, ...

... okay?"

We got a table and ordered, and I started talking about my friend Olivia and her problems with work, mostly difficult clients. I could see that Wendy was only half following me, so I finished by telling her about the client she’d buried in the side yard.

At that, she started and said, “What was that last? She did what?”

I laughed and answered, “I was just checking if you were listening. I think you were only halfway here. What are you thinking?"

“I guess I’m still trying to decide if I want to talk about Jay. I’m not sure.”

I looked at her and then replied, “Um, if you’re not sure, then don’t. You can be sure I won’t repeat it around if you do, though.”

About two weeks later, Wendy invited me to meet for dinner at Alfredo’s in midtown. When we sat down at the table, I could see that Wendy was fidgeting uncomfortably. I ignored it at first until I finally asked, ”Wendy, if you have something to say, just say it. Is this the same thing we didn’t talk about the last time?”

Wendy hesitated, then answered, “Uh, it’s about Jay. He’s been … been asking … talking about, about … hell, I can’t say it. I can’t.”

I looked at her and said, “Okay, what can’t you say? If you don’t tell me now, I’ll be thinking all kinds of things, Wendy. What is it? I’ve told you I won’t repeat it to anyone.”

Wendy sat there thinking when the waitress came and took our orders. When she left, she took a deep breath and rushed, saying, “Hewantsto see me withanotherman. Sex, fuck, he ...