Mrs. Robinson (Mrs. Robinson #1)

by Seth King

  I want that. I want to get fucked by that.

  “Don’t,” Ben murmured as the air went from electric to downright nuclear, preventing me from removing my diamond as he licked his delicious lips and then placed a very large hand on my thigh. “Leave it on, Mrs. Robinson.”

  7

  Ben Bradley

  I leaned forward, letting my libido take control. I was way too turned on for the whole “good boy” act Carol had told me to adopt, and Bad Ben was officially out to play. Did Carol really know how intense I could get? That my anger issues stemming from my sister’s problems and my wreck of a childhood sometimes made me push the limits of what was safe and ethical and moral? Oh well – right now, I didn’t give a fuck. All I wanted was Grace’s pussy in my mouth immediately.

  Did Grace know how fucking sexy she was? She said she looked old, but to me she didn’t look a day over twenty-nine. Her dark hair swished past her shoulders and smelled like honey and flowers, and her thoughtful hazel eyes glinted so fucking sexily in the soft light. She had curves everywhere I liked them, and the light lines around her eyes and mouth actually turned me the fuck on – they showed that she’d seen things I hadn’t seen, knew things I didn’t know, experienced things I could only hope to experience…

  I knew how to fool around, that was true. I was an expert, actually. But when it came to actual sex, I was kind of clueless. Miss Jill had taught me all the ways to please her without actually putting my penis in her and technically breaking the law, and lately, my schedule of working and taking care of Claire nonstop hadn’t exactly left much time for a social life and the pursuit of girls. But still, I knew how to make Mrs. Robinson come…

  And as warm pre-come dripped from my dick, I said a silent prayer that hot fucking sex was one of the things she’d experienced and wanted to share with me.

  “So, if you were miss Jill, I think that maybe I’d do this,” I said as I slid my hand over Mrs. Robinson’s panties. Shit, they were wet. So wet. And that turned me on so fucking much. “You’re dripping for me, Mrs. Robinson. So fucking wet. What should I do about that?”

  “Play with it,” she whispered, and I rubbed my fingers softly but firmly over her wet clit.

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned as she leaned back. “I love that. But do it slower. I want this to last. Ugh, I could do it all night, actually.”

  “Yes, ma’am – I can’t wait to watch you come in front of me.”

  I rubbed her clit over her lingerie in slow, deliberate circles, making her hitch her back and breathe in slow, ragged breaths. As I warmed her up, I looked through a back window and saw the soft glow of a swimming pool in the back courtyard. Swimming pool rich, I thought to myself, referring to the term I’d invented for the kids I’d grown up with in McLean, with their six bedroom McMansions and Olympic-sized tubs out back. Meanwhile my mom waitressed at the fancy restaurants in town and was therefore just barely able to afford a tiny little garage apartment in a country club mansion, accidentally affording me entry into one of the public school systems in the country. Because of this I’d always felt like an outsider looking in, a whore in church, and that would probably never change.

  Now I’m just a whore in a Georgetown mansion, I thought to myself as I looked down at my very sexy – and very married – client. Sure, her husband had plenty of money, but apparently not even liquor from the highest shelf could have prevented her from stooping this low. What had made her do this? Could her husband really be that bad?

  “What’s funny?” she asked, her voice husky.

  “Nothing. What do you want now, Mrs. Robinson? I’m all yours. Actually, can I start by telling you what I’d like?”

  Her eyes rolled back into her head, which I took as a yes. As I slipped my hand under her lingerie and rubbed her soft pussy, I got closer to her ear and started murmuring into it. “First, I want my tongue on every beautiful inch of you,” I exhaled, tickling her earlobe with my breath. The way I was lording over her, pleasuring her while talking dirty to her at the same time, was even turning me on. In between words I kissed her chest and then sucked on it a little, leaving little red spots to remind her I’d been there. “I want to kiss you from your earlobe to your neck to your collarbone to your belly button, and then I want my face buried in your pussy. I want to taste all of it – I’ll flick that beautiful clit with my tongue over and over again while I finger-fuck you all the while. Then I want to reach up and squeeze your nipples while I lick you and tell you how beautiful you are until you come all over my face. Then I want to kiss you and force you to taste yourself – you’ll love it, I promise. Then I want to turn you around and hold your hands behind your back and slowly fuck your tight little pussy until I come, and then I want to pull out and eat your pussy one more time, just to make sure you’re the last one to come.”

  “Good God – that woman did teach you well,” Mrs. Robinson breathed.

  “Yep, and you’re about to reap the benefits. What do you want?”

  “Everything,” she said. “Put your finger in.”

  I slipped a finger inside Grace’s pussy and did a come-here motion, hitting her G spot, just like Miss Jill had taught me. She moaned louder than ever and leaned her head all the way back. Then I rubbed my finger over her wet clit once more, slowly brought it up to my mouth, and rubbed it along my tongue.

  “Damn,” I whispered. “You taste so good. I’m impressed.”

  “Ughhh,” she groaned. “God, this is wrong.”

  “Which is what makes it feel so right,” I said as I lifted her leg slowly and draped it over my shoulder. Her eyes got large, but she said nothing.

  “So, after Miss Jill closed the blinds and laid down on the bed,” I whispered, “she’d usually guide my face down to her crotch and push my mouth into it, and she’d tell me exactly what to do to make her come. And then I’d take out my cock and she’d suck it until she swallowed that come.”

  Mrs. Robinson swallowed hard. “We can do all that, you know.”

  “But you look hesitant,” I said. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said slowly. “No one has made me feel this beautiful – or said this many nice things to me – in a very long time.”

  “Well that’s just a shame, because you deserve it.”

  I picked up her foot and placed a kiss on her sole of her toe, a trick I’d learned from Miss Jill. Mrs. Robinson closed her eyes and arched her back.

  “Ahh,” she sighed, her face screwed up with pleasure. “Fuck me,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fuck me.”

  “Right here?” I asked, slightly amused.

  “Right here.” She met my gaze, her eyes dark and hungry. “Fuck me, Ben.”

  With an explosive burst of energy I pushed her up against the arm of the sofa, knelt before her, and pushed open her legs. With her lingerie pushed aside, I could see that she was shaved – all over.

  “Fuuuck, you are sexy, Mrs. Robinson,” I said as I whipped my dick out of my pants, making her eyes go wide like a receiver. “You really want me to fuck you right now?”

  “Yes. Fuck me hard. Fuck me now.”

  Oh, God – this was it. I leaned forward, overcome with need for Grace. I was doing it, I was really doing it – I was going to fuck this woman. The head of my cock hit her, she let out a gasp – I bucked my hips and prepared to push all of me into Grace, on her husband’s couch, in her husband’s home – I took a breath and prepared to feel her around my cock, and then I’d fuck her ‘til kingdom come, ‘til I had forgotten that I had fallen down to the lowest rung of society, ‘til I forgot I was officially a prostitute –

  A heart-stopping sound made us both stop and look toward the foyer.

  Someone was knocking on the door.

  8

  Grace Robinson

  “Oh, shit. Stay here.”

  Still panting from Ben’s unbelievable skills, I fell to the floor, rose to my feet, and started creeping down the hall toward the door. Usually Grac
e Robinson would never curse in front of company, but something told me the Grace I seemed to be quickly becoming was capable of doing all sorts of ungraceful things. As I got closer, my heart shuddered and then felt like it shrank away to nothing, leaving a black hole in its place.

  It’s not Richard, I told myself again and again as I approached the door. It’s not Richard…he’s not about to walk though the door and find a hooker in our house…my life as I know it is not about to end when I open this door…

  Finally I stopped at my door, terrified by the darkened figure on the stoop. I took one last breath, gathered every ounce of strength within me, and opened the door to find my neighbor, Cynthia, smiling up at me from the fourth step.

  “Hi, neighbor!” she beamed, her piercing smile like an X-ray with a cherry on top. I didn’t know whether to sigh or have another heart attack. Cynthia Villa was a volcano of barely-contained rage held together with a smile; all gleam and sharp edges and bony elbows held out at odd angles – a velociraptor in pearls. She fed on secrets like babies fed on formula, and she was dangerous. “What are you up to this evening?”

  “Oh, the usual,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. And by “the usual,” I mean I am potentially wrecking my life by paying a stranger for sex. “Wine and Netflix, you know.”

  “Wonderful,” she said. She crept up a step and peered behind me, towards the kitchen. “The thing is, I was making a lemon tart, and I was just wondering if you had any extra lemons lying around?”

  Shit, I thought as I tried not to let the chaos inside me show on my face. Had she seen Ben? Did she know what I was doing? She had to, right? It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for her to go poking around the block looking for gossip to offer up to all the women at the golf club, but still: why tonight?

  I stood taller and straightened my dress, deciding to fight her lemony smile with something even more tart. “I’m sorry, Cynthia, but I don’t have any. I threw out the last of my fruit during a deep cleaning this morning. Can’t keep that stuff too long, or the flies start to come – that’s what I always say.”

  Her grin brightened as she reached up and patted at her strawberry blonde bouffant. She was still wearing her evening clothes and obviously hadn’t stepped anywhere near her kitchen all night – not that she ever cooked anything, anyway, as her latest divorce settlement from her latest cheating husband had afforded her a small army of staff that did everything from trim her bushes to curl her eyelashes.

  “Ah, such a shame,” she grinned. “And you’re right – we don’t want the flies coming and poking around in our business, do we?”

  I swallowed hard.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I’m disappointed, because I was really looking forward to sharing a slice of tart with you, and maybe sharing some gossip, too. Unless – ” she looked behind me again, her eyes narrowed. “Unless you’re busy? Is Richard home, by chance?”

  I shifted in the doorway to block her view. “I think I’ve had enough tart for one night, thanks. I’m hitting Netflix and bed – that new Shonda Rhimes show has been calling my name for weeks. See you at the charity event tomorrow?”

  The way I’d phrased the last question told her it was time to go. Her smile faltered for a moment, and then she rearranged her shoulders and winked at me. “Yes, of course. Wouldn’t miss it. We’ll talk then. And Grace?”

  Her cornflower blue eyes gleamed like blood diamonds, and I knew exactly what she was thinking: who is this neighbor of mine, really? What’s really going on here? What has Richard done to her? And what has she done to herself?

  “Yes?” I asked. Her eyes flitted down to my breasts, her smile as sour as the lemons she had asked for.

  “I just wanted to tell you I liked your dress. That’s all.”

  I swallowed and swung the door closed. What the hell was that? I thought as my knees buckled and I slumped against the wall. Was she simply trying to rub it in that I was a lonely abandoned shut-in, like usual, or had she seen more? And what was I even doing? This wasn’t some cheesy romantic novel – this was real, this was my life, and I was playing with fire. Actually, Cynthia Villa was worse than fire – she was ice, capable of freezing out everyone around her. Letting myself fall victim to Ben’s sexiness had been a momentary mistake, and now I needed to think this through and get real. I had a painting worth three hundred thousand dollars in my living room, thanks to Richard getting drunk at Sotheby’s and getting into a pissing contest with a rival – what on Earth was I thinking leaving a male escort alone in my house? And speaking of Ben – where the hell was he, anyway?

  I turned to glance into the living room, and that’s when I looked down and noticed it: my bra was undone, and a purple hickey was already forming on my clavicle.

  Oh, no.

  Just as my vision started to flicker and distort with panic, a door closing somewhere deep within my house brought me back to my senses. I simply had to find Ben. He could be doing anything, and standing here freaking out wasn’t going to help anything. I took one last breath and padded down the hall, suddenly afraid for some reason.

  “Hello?” I asked into the darkness. “Ben? Or whatever your name is? Where are you?”

  I turned into the living room and felt my stomach shrivel into nothing: he was gone. Where on Earth could he be? And why had he left? As my heart thundered in my chest like the clouds on a July afternoon I searched the kitchen, the powder room, even the pantry – he was nowhere. He’d disappeared, and now I had a total stranger wandering around in my house.

  But just when I was really starting to panic, I turned a corner and found him standing in the library with his back to me…and not only that, but he was directly in front of the fireplace, where our safe was hidden behind the mantle. How in the hell had he already found it?

  I grabbed the first thing I could find for protection, which turned out to be my niece’s tiny pink Dora the Explorer umbrella she’d left during her last visit. Sure, it wasn’t much, but I needed a weapon, and I wasn’t going to get killed by some prostitute – not unless I could help it, at least.

  “This has been a mistake,” I said with trembling hands, the umbrella held up over my shoulders like a baseball bat. “I’m sorry. Please leave, and don’t ever-”

  I paused. Ben was talking to someone on speakerphone and hadn’t heard me.

  “Claire?” he asked, sounding scared. “What’s wrong, are you okay? Why did you call?”

  Claire? I thought with a frown. Thinking he’d called a girlfriend, I sighed and dropped the umbrella a little. Of course he’d lied about being single – why wouldn’t he have?

  “Hi, bubby!” the person named Claire responded on the speakerphone, making me frown. I’d been expecting the alluring drawl of a cheerleader, but the voice that came from the phone was nothing like I’d expected. Bubbly and happy but somewhat muffled, she actually sounded somewhat like Mindy, the girl with Down’s Syndrome whom I brought meals to every Thanksgiving with one of the charities I sponsored.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Ben said, and I could hear relief and a smile in his voice. “How are you doing?”

  “Good,” the girl said. “I have so much fun today. Miss Sherry put on PBS in my room.”

  Ben sighed slowly, his shoulders dropping. “That’s amazing, sweetie. I thought – I thought someone was calling from your phone because you – you know what, never mind. Tell me about your day!”

  As I listened in like some kind of stalker, Ben talked to Claire for a few more minutes and then excused himself politely. After he told Claire he loved her, he hung up and turned around to face me, a confused expression on his face.

  “Um, is something wrong? Why are you holding that umbrella like that? And is that…is that Dora?”

  I blinked a few times and then looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, I had forgotten all about the umbrella, which I was still holding above my head like a psycho. I probably looked like a total maniac to him, standing in a darkened doorway, clutching Dora the Explorer
merchandise like a soldier headed into war.

  “Nothing, um, I forgot I had it, sorry…but what were you doing in here?” I asked him, dropping the umbrella. “And who’s Claire? You should’ve told me you had a girlfriend before you came. I’m not comfortable with that. Maybe you should go.”

  “Oh,” he said again, blushing maroon. “Sorry, I needed a moment to make sure she was okay, so I wandered back here. She’s not my girlfriend, she’s, uh, my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yeah, she’s, um, in the hospital for something. She usually doesn’t know how to call me on her own, so when she called while you were at the door, I was half afraid a nurse was calling with bad news or something.”

  I stood back a little, horrified by my thoughts. “Oh. You were so sweet with her – I’m surprised. Is this a baby sister?”

  He looked away. “She’s actually twenty-six. It’s…complicated. She has some issues we’re dealing with.”

  “Oh, wow. Sorry.” I slumped and scratched my elbow. “God, I feel like such an idiot now. To be honest, when you disappeared, I almost thought you were stealing or doing drugs or something.”

  He dropped his shoulders again. “Oh, thanks…”

  “Ugh, just let me stop talking forever,” I chided myself. “There’s my old foot-in-mouth syndrome again. I was just caught off guard, that’s all. Sorry. I guess I’ve gotten so used to being let down by people, I’ve come to expect the worst, so I won’t ever be surprised.”

  He nodded. “I know what you mean. Who was that at the door, anyway?”

  “Oh, um…a neighbor.”

  He looked over my shoulder. “Wait, what? What did she want? Did she see me? Do you want me to leave, or...?”

  “No,” I said, stepping forward, “if anything, that’ll only make it worse. She’ll be watching the house until her nightly glass of sherry knocks her out, I’m sure.”