Driving Mrs. Tandy
Copyright© 2008 by Heel
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - John Stefanovitch was appointed as Mrs. Tandy's driver on his 25th birthday. He took that as a good sign. He didn't have any reason to think otherwise.
John Stefanovitch was helping Norma with the shopping, which, for the most part consisted in carrying the bags. There were some things that were bugging him, but he wasn't sure if he should ask. Finally, he gave in to the urge.
"Norma, Mrs. Tandy has been in some kind of accident, hasn't she?"
A wide smile split Norma's face, and her head tilted to one side.
"Does she look like someone who has not been in an accident?"
She remained silent for a while, then said:
"It was a car crash."
"Her husband ... what happened to him?"
"You presume he had been with her," she said and raised her eyebrow slightly, " ... and you are right about that."
"Was he killed?"
"No, he recovered surprisingly quickly."
"I haven't seen him."
"He doesn't even visit her anymore," Norma said, her smile fading for a moment.
"Because she is not fuckable anymore."
"Nice way to put it, Norma."
"I heard him saying this, "she explained calmly, then added with a broad smile," well, is your curiosity satisfied?"
John winked at her and nodded.
On the way back, he ventured another question:
"How long has she been in that bed?"
"Nearly three mouths."
"Wow. I hope she will get better soon."
"No one knows for sure."
"What's the problem?"
"John, let's stop talking about her."
"I have to see my mother," Norma asked, "She called and said she was sick. Could you keep an eye on Mrs. Tandy for a while?"
"Ok," John said.
"I will be back as soon as possible."
He followed the nurse into the house, feeling surprisingly nervous and tense. Norma let him into her room, then turned and left.
Mrs. Tandy didn't look much different than the last time he had seen her. Plastered body, resting in a complicated maze of ropes, metal bars, and weights; bare flesh showing here and there. The only difference was that her casted left foot was lowered slightly.
John looked at the mirror placed before her face and saw that her eyes were closed. Her left arm was hanging limply, her motionless fingers almost touching the floor. She was obviously sleeping.
He sat on the chair, hoping that it would not creak. It didn't. His mind was in turmoil and he tried to direct his thoughts away from the injured woman. Unsuccessfully. He could not stop thinking about her. Looking at her while she was sleeping felt strangely awkward. It was as if he was intruding on something very private.