Seducing Robin: Things We Do For Lust Bk 3

by Sean Geist

  Peter

  Around halfway through October, things got hectic around the clinic. Construction of the expansion wing was almost complete and most of the other vets were busy setting up the operating rooms, making sure all the equipment was operational, and writing protocols for all the different procedures we would offer.

  I would have been doing the same, but I was tasked with hiring new staff. We expected at least a thirty percent increase in business within the next six months and four full-time doctors weren't going to be able to handle it. I'd already hired three assistants and one fellow who was going to run our in-office drug dispensary. The only position left to fill was for a staff veterinarian.

  My first thought was to call Kelly Cho in Seattle. I already knew she was a stickler for detail when it came to her work. I saw that first hand at a seminar in Las Vegas, earlier in the year. I knew she'd make a top notch addition to our team. Plus, there was the added bonus of her being gorgeous and wonderful in bed. She was the first woman I'd slept with, other than Robin, since our marriage. We hooked up and she showed me how much fun sex could be. She helped me find my confidence and, for that, I'd be eternally grateful.

  My dreams of having an office fuck-buddy were dashed within moments of me calling her. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that there was no way in hell she was leaving her low stress, non-profit job. Her husband, Tom, made enough money for the both of them to continue in their hedonistic lifestyle. Plus, Phoenix was too fucking hot.

  She told me how much she enjoyed her visit and was looking forward to a time when Robin and I could travel to the Pacific Northwest to see her. I didn't tell her about my ultimatum and my doubts about being married for very much longer. Instead we exchanged a few more pleasantries and said our goodbyes.

  That's how I found myself sitting across from a tall handsome brunette, wearing a practical navy blue pants suit with a frilly pink blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck. Her name was Nancy Sloan and, according to her CV she graduated from Ohio State in the top quarter percentile.

  “I see you were working part-time at the Humane Society in Columbus,” I said, trying to gauge why a highly skilled doctor would work for such low wages and then up and move away. “What brings you to Phoenix?”

  “My husband,” Nancy said, her voice was stern and professional. “He's in sports medicine and got hired by the Cardinals. We couldn't pass it up.”

  “Can't argue with that,” I said. “What drew you to veterinary medicine?”

  Nancy explained how much she enjoyed working with animals and how little she thought about health insurance companies. Her ultimate goal was to, one day, open her own practice or maybe specialize in horses and larger animals; maybe she would even do both.

  “There are lots of horse owners here, in Phoenix, so that doesn't seem too far fetched.”

  “I did my research. Bob, that's my husband, also got offered a spot up in Seattle with the Seahawk's organization. He let me pick.”

  “A very wise man, your husband. Nice to see you're happy where you landed.”

  As we talked I couldn't help but become intrigued by this woman. She was bright and witty, despite her serious exterior, and the more I looked at her the more I noticed how lovely she was.

  At first glance her long straight brown hair and brown eyes made her seem plain, ordinary, especially since she wore her hair in a ponytail and hid her eyes behind a pair of stylish but sensible glasses. As I sat and interviewed her, I imagined taking her out to a bar. She'd let down her hair, remove her glasses and unleash her stunning beauty. With her almond eyes, her graceful nose and her adorable chin, she brought to mind a slightly older Natalie Portman.

  As she talked, I was spellbound by her lips, perfect lips. She picked just the right shade of lipstick to draw attention to them, without being overly obvious. I, so much, wanted to kiss those lips. I felt myself getting hard and I was suddenly glad I had chosen to remain behind my desk and not conduct the interview from the seat next to her. That would have been awkward and unprofessional.

  About as unprofessional as walking around my desk and kneeing in front of her, unbuttoning her blouse and running my hand inside to cup her modest breasts. I imagined her sigh, her perfect lips parting. I was being a very bad man, groping this woman, this doctor. I imagined leaning in to kiss her and that's when she slaps me. It's stings and I pull my hand out of her blouse and touch my sore cheek.

  That's when she slaps me again, on the other side.

  “Did I tell you to stop?” she says. Her face is frozen, stern, with no hint of frivolity.

  I return to groping her and she grabs my face and pulls me in for a kiss. My tongue tentatively explores her mouth, but hers is urgent, forcing it's way into me.

  How had I become so submissive in my own fantasies.

  As we kiss, I undo her pants and pull them down past her knees. She lifts her butt up off the seat to make it easier. She's wearing a thong, a red lacy thong, that clashes with her pants suit. I pay no mind. I push the material aside and begin exploring her wet folds with my fingers.

  It had been three weeks since I had sex with Angie – if you call what we did, sex, which I did – and I was exceedingly horny.

  In my mind, we were kissing and I was finger-fucking her, when I felt her gently push down on my shoulders. I resisted at first, wanting to continue my digital ministrations, but soon her pressure increased and I submitted. I placed my head between her thighs and greedily lapped at her pussy. Her musky scent drove me wild with desire. I imagined having to impress her with my oral skills so she would except the job we offered, instead of the other way around.

  I licked around her engorged labia, bold dark folds, wets with her arousal and my saliva. My tongue lapped at her pebbly skin. Then I moved to her slit, delving deep, thrusting my rolled up tongue in and out as far as I could.

  I heard her moans, high pitched and loud. I knew at that moment she was screaming and everyone in the office was going to know she came.

  “Oh... OH... That's right, Doctor Wilkenson, lick my cunt. Just like that.”

  I licked and flicked and slurped.

  “Oh yeah! Oh yeahhh!” Her grip on my hair increased as her moans grew louder.

  I twirled my tongue round her clitoris and sucked on it, rubbing my tongue along the smooth skin underneath.

  “Oh! OH!” Louder and louder, her juices flowing, the walls of her vagina pulsed as the climax overtook her and I felt a blast of clear fluid in my face.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she screamed.

  “Yes, Doctor Wilkenson,” Dr. Sloan said to me. She was looking across the desk at me, her blouse buttoned up, her pants still on. “I accept your offer.”

  “When can you start?” I asked.

  As we worked out the details, I hoped to God my erection would go down before I had to stand up.

  ***

  I was getting into a bad habit. I had an open arrangement with Robin. I could date whoever I wanted, sleep with whoever I wanted and I kept going back to Angie. My next date with the beautiful red-head was on Halloween. Angie had been invited to a party a bunch of her friends were throwing and she asked me if I wanted to go. Although I knew the crowd would be much younger than me, I decided to say yes.

  “We have to wear costumes?” I asked.

  “It's a Halloween party, of course you have to wear a costume.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Don't tell me you're going as Lucille Ball.”

  “Very funny, no. I did that last year. This time I'm gonna be a sexy Ginny Weasley.”

  “Huh?” The reference went right over my head.

  “Ron's sister.”

  “Still no clue.” But I was getting a faint feeling I should know what she was talking about.

  “Harry's girlfriend,” Angie said.

  “Harry, as in Harry Potter?”

  “Yeah, brilliant, ain't it?”

  “Uhm.” I didn't like what that meant for me. “So you want me to dress as Harry Potter? Harr
y Potter, the boy wizard.” I emphasized the word boy.

  “Don't be a spoil sport.” Angie was pouting. She looked so cute with her pushed up lip and flared nose. “You'd be Harry, as an adult.” When it didn't seem her childish act was working she quickly shifted gears. “I'll make it worth your while.” Angie's pout turned into a grin, her eyebrows raised, her eyes became hooded. She winked at me and I caught her drift. Ginny was going to get nasty with Harry.

  So we rented a wizard's robe and scarf from one of the many costume stores that pop up this time of year. Angie used a little black eyeliner to make a lightning shaped scar on my forehead and I found a suitable sturdy twig to use as my wand and, Presto Chango, or whatever, I was Harry Potter, the boy who lived.

  The party should have been fun. A group of young adults, playing dress-up and drinking beer, dancing and flirting, how could it not be? I looked around me and saw a vast assortment of costumes. Sexy nurses, sexy vampires, sexy nuns, and that was just the guys. The women got really creative. I saw Aphrodite, Wonder Woman and one red-head, not Angie, obviously, dressed in a tight black leather suit and mask doing her best Black Widow, as portrayed by Scarlett Johansson in the Avengers movies. In fact, Angie, voluptuous Angie, had the most modest costume there.

  Overall, lots of eye candy. Unfortunately the conversations were all pretty shallow and the music; fuck, was it awful. I was a child of the late eighties, early nineties. I liked Pearl Jam and Nirvana, hell I'd even take Guns 'N Roses over what these kids were listening to: Katy Perry, Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga. My ears wanted to detach from my head and wait for me out in the car. Despite the free booze and Angie's presences and the promise of carnal treats after the party, I was not having a good time.

  Instead, I was reminded of my first Halloween after Robin and I got married. She had moved into my small house in Glendale while we waited for our new house to be built. We decided to stay home that night and get dressed up and hand out candy to the kids.

  There was no booze (maybe a little wine), no music (fuck it, yes, we had the jazz station playing in the background), and no sexy costumes (oh for three), but we had a great time anyway.

  ***

  Three Years Prior

  “I vant, to suck, your blood,” Peter said in his best, worst, Bela Lugosi impression.

  Robin shrieked like a little girl as he playfully lunged for her from behind the bedroom closet door.

  It was their first Halloween as a married couple and they wanted it to be special.

  Peter had rented a fairly expensive black cape with a red velvet lining. He wore it over a black tuxedo he had acquired a few years before. Robin had sewn in an exaggerated collar for him. His finishing touches were white pancake makeup, bold black eyeliner, blood red contact lenses and realistic plastic fangs with a little red food coloring.

  They weren't going out, but the couple planned to give any kids who stopped at their house to trick-or-treat a moment to remember.

  “You're going to give a few kids nightmares with that get-up,” Robin said as she pulled away and inspected her husband's handiwork. “Nicely, done.”

  “Isn't scaring kids the reason for the season?”

  “Okay, I'll direct all the angry parents in your direction.”

  “Look who's talking. Your costume isn't exactly warm and fuzzy.”

  Robin was dressed like a witch, straight out of a Brothers Grimm nightmare. She wore a frumpy black dress with lots of tears in it; she got it from a thrift store so she didn't mind destroying it for her art. She stuffed it with crumpled newspaper to give some heft to her thin frame.

  “The breasts look good on you,” Peter said.

  Robin smacked him with her straw broom. She had stuffed the bosom of the dress to add two cup sizes – for realism. She made up her face with sickly green foundation and added a few moles and warts using tips she found on a theatre make-up website. She wore ratty sandals with a pair of gaudy multi-color socks. She topped the whole thing off with a tall pointy witch's hat.

  Her costume was the opposite of sexy.

  “No one's gonna want to suckle from these puppies,” she said, groping her stuffed breasts with her free hand.

  “I might,” Peter said, re-affecting a Transylvanian accent.

  “You're funny, Peter,” his wife said. “You go get the candy ready. I need to finish teasing my hair.”

  When she joined him in the kitchen, Peter was amazed at how scary and different, she looked, specially with her hair ratted up and shooting out in all directions. She wasn't his petit gorgeous wife this evening, she was a real fairy-tale witch, getting ready to hand out enough candy to give every Hansel and Gretel who knocked on her gingerbread house diabetes.

  “Don't stand there gawking,” she said. “Pour me a glass of wine before I turn you into a frog.” She screeched out the last bit trying to sound like the wicked witch, but Peter was reminded more of Golem. It didn't matter. They were going to have a fun night.

  They were carefully sipping wine, so as not to ruin their make-up, when the doorbell rang.

  “Let's go scare the shit out of some little kids,” Peter said, as he grabbed the bowl of miniature Snickers, Mounds, and Milky Way bars.

  “Right behind ya, Count.”

  Robin and Peter, or more accurately, the wicked witch and her royal vampire sidekick spent the next few hours spooking and then calming down dozens of neighborhood kids, out enjoying the Halloween tradition of asking for bribes of candy in exchange for not TP'ing or egging one's home. They were visited by superheroes, cowboys and indians, princesses and princes. There was even one pair of kids, no more than five or six, dressed like Hansel and Gretel. The children's mother wanted a picture with the witch and Robin was more than happy to oblige. She gave the woman her e-mail address, so she could get a copy of the picture.

  The kids kept coming and the monstrous couple kept handing out the candy and no one threw any toilet paper or eggs at their home and all was well.

  “That was so much fun,” Peter said, as he closed the door on the last visitor of the evening, a seven year old boy who had dressed up as Chewbacca but had taken off his mask because it was so hot. “Now, it's my turn for a treat.” Peter took the last of the little mounds bars out of the bowl. “You want one,” he said as he passed the bowl to his witchy wife. “Still a couple Snickers left.”

  “No, I've got an idea for a better treat,” Robin said. She turned to head into the bedroom. Her overstuffed bustle swishing back and forth. “You finish locking up, Count, and meet me in our bed chamber.” She did a half turn and blew him a kiss.

  Dissonant thoughts fought for control of his body. Peter knew his beautiful wife was somewhere underneath all that ripped fabric and green and black facepaint. He was aroused and repulsed at the same time.

  He let Beasley out into the backyard to do his business and put away what little candy was left over. Like every night, Peter checked to make sure all the doors were locked and all the lights were out. He let the dog back in and made sure he had plenty of food and water before rejoining his wife.

  When Peter opened the bedroom door, the sight that greeted him left him immobile. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't the vision that appeared before him.

  “I've been waiting for you, my pretty,” Robin said, her voice crackling. She was laying on the bed on her side, her bottom leg stretched out the other bent at the knee. One arm supported her head, the other was akimbo.

  She wore a green and black corset, one Peter was unfamiliar with, that pushed her modest breasts into mouthwatering cleavage. She also wore the tiniest pair of dark green panties over suspenders and sheer black stockings.

  Her extremely sexy outfit complimented and contrasted with her face, still made up with warts and moles and sickly tones, and her hair, still teased out and ratty. Robin had turned from a wicked witch to a sexy witch, and her husband's libido was doing cartwheels.

  Peter looked at his wife's body, lean and curvy with just enough skin show
ing to tantalize. he got hard imagining himself lost in his wife's treasures. Then he looked up at her face and shivered. His mind trying to dig through the layers of facepaint but unable to. He thought about closing his eyes, but he couldn't.

  He wanted to fuck this witch, warts and all.

  “I vant to suck your boobies” Peter said, returning to his horrible accent.

  “Come and get them, my Count,” Robin said as she lay back spread eagle on the bed. “I'm your treat this evening.”

  Peter quickly shed his shoes and cape and vest and dived into the bed. It creaked in protest from the extra weight. He buried his face into the fleshy mounds created by his wife's corset. He rubbed his face back and forth in the valley between her breasts, reveling in the feeling of her flesh against his.

  He pulled back to admire his handiwork, a Pollock painting of white and black and red makeup smeared on her pale pink skin.

  “You're so beautiful,” Peter said, looking up into his wife's sickly green face. No accent this time. He was serious.

  “Liar,” Robin said, picking at a loose wart.

  Her husband moved up until the couple were face to face, his body pushed against her. She could feel his growing erection through her fine silk panities and his tuxedo trousers.

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Peter said. He kissed her neck.

  “Then you must be blind.”

  Peter pushed himself up, his hand planted on either side of Robin's shoulders, his cock pushed even harder against her mound. For him, her beauty burned through the makeup. “Robin, I can see fine. When I look at you, my heart melts. I see love and joy and fun. I see adventure. I see your inquisitive nature. I see the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  Peter took a finger and ran it across her face. “I see your beauty on the outside,” he pointed to her chest, “and the inside.”

  Robin felt her heart beat with passion for this man looking down on her. When they first met, that fateful rainy night, her emotions were awash in agony and pain over her injured dog, but she still had room inside her to crush on the cute vet taking care of it. That crush grew to infatuation and lust and finally love.