Page 04
"Allen."
"Shhhhhh."
As if resigned, Mrs. Robinson settled back against the counter, lifting the dress even higher. I inhaled gently so she wouldn't hear and rebuke me for being gross. I wanted to sense her in every way, sight, smell...touch. I leaned forward.
"Allen!" Mrs. Robinson's cried, alarmed.
Too late. I fell into the sexy, chocolate brown panties, nose first, my hands tightening behind her thighs to counteract the anticipated thrust to dislodge me. It came, mashing her pussy into my face.
"Allen!"
I moved my nose from side to side. "Mmmmmmm."
Her hands clutched my head, my hair, pulling, trying to push my face away, but her effort was futile. My arms tightened and I opened my mouth to plant a puffy-lipped kiss squarely on the front of her panties.
"Allen," she cried, her voice weaker.
I opened my mouth wide and tried to cover her mound with my mouth but only succeeded in skidding my lips across the silky panties. Mrs. Robinson expelled a loud sigh. I closed my mouth a little and thrust my tongue out to execute a well-placed, long lap up the front of the panties. Keeping my tongue pressed against the panties, I shoved it down and returned but this time with the tip crooked stiffly inward, finding and following the intriguing groove I had first witnessed an eon ago.
"Oh, Allen," Mrs. Robinson sighed.
I let the dress go but pushed my hands up underneath, finding and molding her ass, pulling it forward to increase the pressure of her pussy on my tongue.
"Allen."
I wiggled my head, producing a burst of short sighs, then licked like I was eating that ice cream cone the first day. Her fingertips curled in and clutched my scalp hard. I licked faster, slipping my tongue underneath where the panties widened and digging it upwards, finding and following a wider trench which opened as the panties soaked into her skin.
"Oh, God. Allen, oh Allen."
I released my tight grip on her ass, found the waist of the panties, and started dragging them down. I expected a protest but none came, not until the legs were lower than my mouth and the wet material began separating stickily from the charms it covered.
"No. Allen, oh no."
She tried to close her legs but my knees prevented her.
"Yes," I mumbled into her muff.
The panties snapped downward and my mouth was upon her bare, wet pussy, my tongue thrusting easily through her slick groove, then finding and sinking into her sacred hole. Her fingers almost crushed my skull but they were pulling inward rather than trying to push me away. I stiffened my tongue and shoved it deep into the hole, into her cunt, so hard I could feel my head lifting her up onto her toes. I retreated, retrieving my tongue, and lapped her pussy like the happiest Labrador in the world, forcing a series of uncontrolled 'uhs' and 'ohs' from Mrs. Robinson's sexy mouth.
I don't know why it took me so long to think of it but when I finally slipped my longest finger into her hole and began plunging it in an out in a regular rhythm, the tenor or Mrs. Robinson's voice began a steady rise, rising higher and higher in concert with more and more frantic gasps for air. When I thought she was as close as she could get, I yanked my finger out and replaced it with my tongue, shoving my mouth up hard in an effort to get it as deep as possible and shook my head, guessing that would feel good but not really knowing whether it would or not.
Mrs. Robinson liked it.
"Ohhhhh, ohhhhhh, ohhhhhh," she gasped louder than before as her thighs scissored on my around my head and her hands yanked it deeper into her pussy.
My face was suddenly awash and her sighs subsided as the muscles in her legs relaxed enough that they didn't feel like they were about to break. She sank down until her toes douched the floor for the first time in minutes, followed by her heels, but she was unable to hold her weight and I was forced to hold her up until her thighs stopped quivering.
I pushed the panties, which were hung up around her ankles, off her feet and stood up. The dress fell into place and if you had just walked into the kitchen, you might have thought Mrs. Robinson had simply been on a vigorous run. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing still irregular but her eyes shone. There was none of the recrimination or anger that I had expected. I made a production of pushing her panties into my pocket.
"These will get me through," I said, turning away.
"Allen, wait!"
I turned back. Mrs. Robinson grabbed a tea towel and held it up to my face. Delicately, she dabbed at my chin and rubbed down my cheeks.
"There. Get a ticket for me. I want to come too."
"Again?" I laughed, immediately regretting my crude joke, but she laughed.
"Away with you. I don't know why men always get so cocky afterwards."
****
I could hardly keep still during dinner. Who would have thought it would be so easy. Earlier this same afternoon, I couldn't even get there and yet, just over an hour later, I walked right up to the man and ordered three tickets for the baseball game on Saturday. After that, I had the balls to saunter over to a refreshment booth and order an Orange Julius, then sat on one of the mall benches and casually sipped at it until it was gone, reliving my successful penetration of the mall and wondering why in the world it had seemed so difficult. In the retelling, as I casually sauntered into the mall, I wasn't walking stiffly and clutching the panties in my pocket, like I was even now. But hey, history is always rewritten to look grander than it really was.
The tickets were burning a hole in my pocket. Mr. Robinson knew something was up. How could he not? My excitement was particularly well hidden. It was Mrs. Robinson who couldn't hold back anymore.
"Allen went on another adventure to the mall today."
"Oh, yes," Mr. Robinson responded, looking from her to me, awaiting further explanation.
I remained silent.
"Yes. He went right down to the bottom floor, deep into the bowels of the mall."
"Ahhh. What was so important that you had to venture so far, Allen?"
"Show him," Mrs. Robinson interjected excitedly.
I tugged the tickets out of my pocket. Thankfully they weren't in the same one as the panties. "These," I stated casually, tossing them onto the table in front of Mr. Robinson's plate.
He looked at them, twisting his head to line up so he could read. Then he simply stared.
"Baseball? You bought...baseball tickets."
Mr. Robinson's face lit up.
"Are you sure, Allen?" He looked at his wife. "That's wonderful, but is he ready?"
"He's right here."
Mr. Robinson looked at me.
"Are you sure you're up to it, Allen?"
"Yes, of course. Mrs. Robinson says I am, so I must be."
"Well... that's marvelous, that's...awesome! We'll go to a game!"
Mr. Robinson stood up and his fork clattered onto his plate and bounced onto the table. He leaned forward, grasped my right hand and Mrs. Robinson's left, and pulled us both up to our feet.
"We're going to the game. Here's to the game!" he shouted.
"To the game," we yelled, then sat down at the same time, laughing.
There was no leg show that evening but I didn't care. In a way, I felt it would ruin the new spirit in the house by leaving Mr. Robinson out. We all watched a movie together and talked about it during the commercials. It was a great evening and I felt like a real part of a wonderful family. Gary was a lucky guy. I wondered what it would be like to be in a real family where a son and his parents could get along so well. I wished Mr. Robinson knew about what had transpired between me and Mrs. Robinson, and was okay with it. I imagined Gary sitting in my place and being the one with the special relationship with his mother. Would his father condone it? Could they live together sharing this beautiful woman? Could they live with me in that knowledge?
That night, while I waited hopefully for Mrs. Robinson's nightly visit, I imagined myself with my parents. What if they hadn't been killed? Could we live like that? Try as I might, I couldn't imagine it. The problem was disturbing. I couldn't visualize either of my parents. Their forms were vague, even when I pictured myself doing to my mother what I'd done to Mrs. Robinson that afternoon, I couldn't see her face or hear her voice clearly. What was wrong with me? They hadn't died that long ago. Was I still so traumatized that I couldn't even see them? Had I been in the crash?
I shook my head, tossing the thoughts of my parents out of my mind. Instantly, it was filled with a stark image I had seen the first time I had entered the mall in the afternoon but only now remembered. It was a woman, sitting on a bench at the far end of the side hallway that led to the public washrooms. She was breast-feeding her child but the scene was wrong. A baby rested in a carriage beside her. The mother seemed embarrassed and she looked away as soon as she caught sight of me approaching. Her face was hidden but she couldn't hide the fact that the child she was breast-feeding was at least four years old, if not more. She was ashamed, I could see that, but why did it disturb me so much?
She was coming, walking sexily toward me though I knew she wasn't trying to be sexy. The disturbing mall scene melted away.
"Hello, Allen," she said. She put her knee on the bed but didn't lie down on top of me as she now usually did. "Mr. Robinson is very pleased. I told him I was going downstairs to make some tea and he asked me to thank you again if you were still awake."
"That's very kind of him," I said.
"Yes, it is but, more importantly, I think he's too excited to go to sleep."
"You mean, you can't stay long?"
"That's right, but you deserve a reward for your bravery today."
Mrs. Robinson put her knees on the bed, one on each side of me, but kept herself lifted up on outstretched arms. Her breasts hung down and pressed so hard against the flimsy material of her nightgown that her nipples were clearly evident. It made me think of the woman in the mall breast-feeding her four year old son. Before I could think, my mouth went into action.
"I saw a woman in the mall breast-feeding her child today" I blurted out.
"Oh," Mrs. Robinson seemed amused. "What made you think of that, Allen?"
She shifted her weight from one arm to the other, making her breasts sway from side to side.
"It wasn't her baby," I said.
"Of course it was. I'm sure she wasn't breast-feeding someone else's baby."
"No. I mean she had a baby in a carriage but she was breast-feeding an older child, her son."
Mrs. Robinson looked startled, and suddenly uncomfortable.
"How old?" she asked.
"I don't know. Four, maybe older."
"Did that bother you?"
"I guess so."
"Why? Did your mother breast-feed you when you were older?"
I hadn't thought of that. A weird feeling overcame me but no memories popped into my head.
"Maybe. I don't know."
"Do you think it was wrong of the woman to comfort her son?"
"I don't know. I guess, maybe."
"It's never wrong for a mother to comfort her son, Allen." Mrs. Robinson's voice was firm, filled with conviction.
"I guess not."
Mrs. Robinson lifted her left hand, holding herself up with only her right. Deftly, she slipped a finger under the bodice of her nightgown and pushed it aside, freeing her left breast which immediately dangled lower, bouncing with the sexiest motion I had ever witnessed.
"Here, Allen. Try to imagine how comforting it might be for her son."
On that note, Mrs. Robinson lowered herself until her nipple nudged my lips. Though dry, they opened readily and let her stiff nipple poke into my mouth. The feelings that hard nipple stirred within me was incredible. I lifted my head from the bed, straining to get as much of Mrs. Robinson's tit into my mouth as I could as she released a low, throaty, I-told-you-so chuckle. Her hand curled under my neck to hold my head tight to her breast and she arched her back to feed me more of her tit. My hand slipped inside her nightgown and closed over her other breast.
"Do you like it?" she hissed.
I nodded and mumbled enthusiastically around her tit.
"Can you remember, Allen, what it was like to suck your mother's tits?"
I shook my head full of tit. The throaty laughed rolled forth again.
"I bet you loved it. I bet you sucked your mom's tits as long as you could, long after you were a baby."
I shook my head but her words somehow ringed true. Had my mother breast-fed me after I was a baby? Had I harassed her for a tit whenever I was anxious? I'm sure the woman's little boy pressured her for a tit because he saw her feeding the baby but I didn't have a younger brother or sister like that woman, so why would I do that? Why would my mother let me? Already, in my mind, I was accepting it as true. Somehow, I knew I had, but how did Mrs. Robinson know. She and my mother weren't close friends but they must have know each other. Had they confided? Had Mrs. Robinson let Gary breast-feed far longer that the norm, like my mother? The thought of it made me so fucking horny.
I pulled away. "I love sucking your tits, Mommy," I cried, then buried my face in them.
Mrs. Robinson grasped my head in both hands and rubbed her tits across my face, feeding one nipple into my mouth and then the other. My hands slipped around her waist and then up onto her ass. Clutching my hands, I bunched her nightgown higher and higher. I wanted another pair of panties.
"Oh, Mommy," I cried, whenever my mouth cleared for a breath.
Mrs. Robinson went wild whenever I said it, grinding her pussy onto my cock. We were both getting carried away. I hoped she wasn't aware of it as I was because I didn't want it to stop. The nightgown was up. I pulled it over her bum and slid my hands over her almost naked cheeks. Almost? They were completely naked. I couldn't feel any panties!
I pushed my hands together until my fingers met in the crack of Mrs. Robinson's ass. I kept one there while I explored downward, the heel of my fingertips sliding over her little asshole and beyond, finding and slipping through a very hot and wet pussy. Plunging a finger into her cunt from behind, I lowered my other hand, index finger seeking, finding, then probing into the treasure the other had passed over. I nudged into it, listened to Mrs. Robinson's grunting appreciation, then shoved a second finger into her cunt.
My hips were churning underneath her and only her flexing knees kept Mrs. Robinson positioned atop my throbbing cock. The thought of my cock made me aware of its desperate need. I withdrew my fingers from Mrs. Robinson's cunt and slipped my hand underneath her left hip. On the next upward withdrawal of her pelvis, I deftly slipped in and, grabbing my shorts, yanked them down, freeing my frantic cock.
"Oh, God, Allen. No," Mrs. Robinson cried upon feeling my bare cock on her tummy.
Still, she didn't try to get off and on the next upward withdrawal of her hips, I angled my cock up. Mrs. Robinson landed above it and it skidded along her pussy lips. Immediately, she clamped her legs around it. I returned my hand, reaching over the back of her thighs to find and explore her soaking wet lips. Mrs. Robinson continued grinding her mound on my pelvis, her thighs squeezing my cock. Obviously, she was okay with our bare genitals rubbing together. We would rub ourselves until we both came.
But I wanted more than that. I kept meeting Mrs. Robinson's downward grinds with upward, twisting thrusts of my own, my sex sounds matching hers with increasing intensity and abandonment, but I didn't try to get inside her and I think that's why she let her guard down. It was only later, when it felt like she was starting to get there, reaching the place of not return, that I quickly grasped my cock between her legs and shoved forward, discovering her entrance with a blind man's luck.
Oh, heaven of heavens. What a feeling. So exquisite, so overwhelming. So new and yet so familiar. Mrs. Robinson protested with a loud groan but, if anything, she welcomed me inside her with such a vigorous clutch I don't think I could have pulled out if I wanted to.
"Nooooo," she wailed, but when I started in for my second thrust her muscles grabbed me and lifted my cock, so hard my hips rose off the bed.
"Noooooo," she cried, following me down, her hips flexing quickly as she threw half a dozen mini thrusts at my next invasion and a half dozen more on the way down.
"Fuck me, oh Jesus, fuck me," she whimpered as I countered with my own rapid series of hard upward thrusts, our bodies slapping together.
I circled her waist to hold her while I fucked hard and fast, delighting in the way I threw her body all around. She was gone, in her own world, swinging wildly above me like a rag doll. I was losing control. Who was I kidding? I had already lost control, heaving my body up mightily, as if I was trying to fuck right through her. I felt as if I had been reborn, that I had lived before and fucked this same woman, my favorite woman in the world, of all my former lives. This one, this woman, was the best!
I grabbed her hair and tugged as gently as I could, tilting her head back. She moaned in abandonment, looking for all the world like a wild animal. I loved it. She loved it. We came.
We must have laid there for ten minutes without saying a word. The first five minutes, neither of us could have spared the breath to speak but the last five must have been out of reverence for what had just happened. I had no regrets and I sensed she had none either. Maybe, we just didn't want to part, didn't want to end our first time. She felt so fucking wonderful, even now, sweating on top of me, her hair a mess in my face, the odor of our sex wafting over us.
"Whew," I finally spoke.
"Whew," she agreed.
"That was incredible," I gasped.
"You shouldn't call me Mommy."
"I called you Mommy?"
"Yes, you shouldn't."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
"Don't worry about that. It's just that it makes me go wild."
"Oh. I didn't notice."
Mrs. Robinson laughed loudly. "Uh huh."
"Can I call you Mommy again?"
"At your peril, but I prefer Mom."
"I like living dangerously."
"I know. It makes you hot to call me that doesn't it?"
"Yes," I admitted. "I don't know why. Mom," I added.
"Forget it," Mrs. Robinson said. "There's no repeats, not tonight, anyway."
"Mom," I cried plaintively.
"Whining won't do it," she said.
"Mom," I said more forcefully.
"Don't wear it out."
I took her advice and remained mum.
Mrs. Robinson got up and tugged the nightgown down her legs, then pulled the lapels over her breasts, making sure each was properly covered.
"I know why you like calling me Mom," she said, then quickly turned and walked rapidly away.
"Why?" I called, but she didn't answer. She was gone.
Why had she said that? Why had she known that my mother had breast-fed me past babyhood? I mean, she could have just seen my mother doing it, but I had the feeling she knew more than that. If my mother confided in each her, hat implied Mrs. Robinson must have breast-fed Gary too.
So what it mean when she said she knew why I liked calling her Mom? Did Mrs. Robinson know something else about my mother and me? Is that why it made her go wild when I called her Mom?
My God, had she had sex with her own son? No, no, that couldn't be. Or could it? No, she couldn't have actually done it with Gary, but maybe she fantasized about it. Maybe that was why he seemed unhappy about my presence at first, thinking her fetish, if he knew about it, could actually lead into something with someone other than their son. But then he seemed so happy about me getting better, and anyway, I wasn't a very good-looking guy. I was pretty geeky-looking. Surely, I wasn't a real threat?
