Until then, only the cleaners, the deliverymen, and Don Pulaski would be permitted inside her home. Don’s access would be limited to the furnished areas on the ground floor, but Mrs. Smith knew he wouldn’t wander too far from her bedroom. If all went well, the room would be as seductive and beguiling as her human body.
To accomplish her vision, she’d ordered a California king poster bed with a canopy. The thick pilasters had a serpentine shape. Silk curtains hung from the canopy. The headboard was gently curved, like a woman’s back.
In addition to the grandiose bed, she purchased a changing screen with a cherry blossom design and a red velvet chaise.Cosmopolitanhad taught her that men liked to watch themselves having sex, so she’d had a floor mirror with an ornate frame positioned across from the bed. To enhance the hedonistic atmosphere, she’d purchased a series of nudes to hang above a French-style vanity. Her final touch was to scatter soft rugs over the floor and scent the air with Chanel perfume.
Mrs. Smith wanted to lure men into this room and use them until they had nothing left to give. It would likely take several men to trigger her reproductive system, especially if her encounters mimicked the fast, frenzied coupling she’d had with Don.
This hairy, blustering dimwit of a human had been easy to persuade. He’d come running when she called, entering the garage where her new Porsche sat like a black beetle in the dark.
When Mrs. Smith turned on the light and revealed herself, he’d been rendered utterly speechless. But he didn’t need to talk. She could sense lust in his slack jaw and glowing eyes.
With no suitable clothes to wear, she’d had to make do with a white cotton shift. Its scooped neck and lace trim looked demure, but the material was so thin that it was nearly transparent.
Moments before Don’s arrival, Mrs. Smith had held her head under the kitchen tap until her hair was wet. She’d then twisted the excess water from her hair and let it fall onto her shoulders, where it saturated the front of her shift, revealing the hard caps of her nipples.
She’d extended her hand to Don and softly whispered his name. He’d moved toward her like a man in a dream.
“I just got out of the shower, so I’m not dressed for a driving lesson.” Slipping past him, she’d run her fingers over the sloped hood of the car. “Perhaps you could show me a few of my car’s interior features.”
She’d lowered herself into the passenger seat and waited until he stood next to the open door. Then she’d said, “How far back can this go?”
Don’s glance had roved the length of her body. He drank in her long, sculpted limbs and the graceful curve of her neck. He stared at her lush, round breasts with their eager nipples, and let out a low, animalistic groan.
“You’re the expert,” she’d said. “Show me how this works.”
Don had watched her caress the leather under her right thigh. Finally, he found his voice and stammered, “I, uh, I don’t think...”
But even as his lips tried to form words of protest, his legs had propelled him forward.
“Show me,” she’d whispered, shattering what remained of his resistance.
He’d lunged at her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. His fingers clamped onto her breasts, squeezing and pinching. He twisted her nipples until she gasped. He bit the tender skin of her neck, oblivious as to whether her cries stemmed from pleasure or pain.
He sucked on her neck while his hand probed under her shift. She’d parted her thighs, inviting him to touch the dark, wet place between her legs.
“Show me,” she’d whispered.
Groaning, he fumbled with his belt, undid his zipper, and freed his erection.
Pulling her by the arm, he’d yanked her out of the car and took her place in the seat. Then he guided her on top of him, angling his hips so he could penetrate her.
“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take it all.”
As Mrs. Smith moved up and down, he pulled at her nipples with his front teeth and kneaded the flesh of her backside.
They’d barely gotten into a rhythm before Don had cried, “Ready, baby? Ready? Here it comes!”
Then he’d shuddered, grunted like a rooting pig, and gone limp.
As his erection deflated, Mrs. Smith had felt the liquid warmth of his seed trickle onto her thigh and soak into the fabric of her shift.
“This is only my first lesson. I hope we have many more,” she’d said as she exited the car. “Before you go, would you do something for me?”
Still caught in a postcoital haze, Don had nodded.
Mrs. Smith had opened the glove box and removed the instructions for collecting her items from Lord & Taylor as well as an envelope stuffed with cash. To her utter annoyance, that cow of a saleswoman had telephoned to say that they were unable to deliver her items until tomorrow. After expressingher displeasure in glacial tones, Mrs. Smith informed her that a member of her staff would collect them by the end of the day.
Handing Don the envelope, she said, “Stop by the men’s department and pick out a suit while you’re there. Wear it to the yacht club cocktail party next week. I’ll be there.”
