The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel (11 page)

I watched, only because I was so stunned by the abrupt ending, as John hung his head.

I pushed myself away from the hole.

The disappointment hit me hard, in the face and the chest. My cock felt like it had been pounded by someone's foot.

I used the flashlight to scramble up the steps.

Something had gone wrong.

There was a part of me that was relieved. My sweet Anna was so faithful she couldn't do it, she couldn't truly give herself to another man.

Or maybe John had something wrong with him, some perverse desire...

And then there was disappointment. That was the feeling that drowned out all the others.

Anna was closing the kitchen door gently behind her by the time I reached the top of the steps.

She held her finger to her lips to silence me.

I followed her upstairs, still uncertain of what she was going to do or say. Adrenaline was rushing through my body, and a sick nervousness.

By the time she closed the bedroom door and turned to face me, my cheeks were flushed with emotion.

“You watched?”

I nodded. I was trying to read what it was that was on her face. It didn't seem like regret, or nervousness, or defeat, or embarrassment.

It seemed like complete confidence.

She folded her arms. “I wanted to make sure that this is really what you wanted,” she said. She lifted her chin, eying my reaction.

Then she reached out with her hand and grasped my cock.

“Is it?” she said. “Is it what you wanted?”

The sweet-sick feeling had migrated up to my heart and was squeezing me almost as hard as Anna was squeezing my cock now.

She moved her body closer to me.

“You never gave me your specific instructions,” she said. “So. Now that you know this is what you want: tell me what you want to see.”

My mouth was open and I was unable to speak.

Anna smiled.

“Or just show me.” But her eyes fell down to my cock, and I knew she could feel how wet I was at the tip of it. “Although...you probably won't last as long as John will.”

She pushed me backward, and I fell into a chair.

“Anna,” I managed to say. “Look...I am so turned on by this -”

“Obviously,” she laugh-whispered, and her hands went to work on freeing my cock.

“I just...are you really okay with this? This turns you on, too?”

Anna grasped my cock in her hand and guided me to her pussy, where her flesh was wet. She slid her body down, and my shaft moved easily into her body. She shifted and I nearly lost it right then and there.

Since the idea of John, and watching Anna with him, had come into our lives, sex had been like the sex that teenagers have, quick and dirty slamming and slapping of skin. No need for thinking, or imagining: we were both right there at the edge of pleasure right from the start.

Anna took her time, knowing how close I was. If her moisture was anything to judge by, she was probably nearing the edge as well.

She moved slowly up and down my shaft, though, just not quite giving me enough to push me over the edge. She looked down at me as if to say:
Does this answer your question?

My abdomen trembled. I was so close, and Anna just kept going, maybe even more slowly, her eyes on mine.

Until finally, unable to take any more of her teasing, I grabbed her by the hips and slammed her down onto the base of my cock, while I thrust upward at her as well. She gasped with delight, a tiny bit of pain, and it took very little to send both of us over the edge. Anna's pussy was so wet that I could feel her spilling out onto my balls, dripping down to my anus, spreading out on the chair.

We laughed at ourselves after that. Right after sex, it can be seen for what it is: a little ludicrous. We decided to make a snack.

I forgot to tell Anna what I wanted her to do with John.

But Anna had it all under control, as I would soon find out.

12
: THE REAL THING

I watched Ann
a
getting ready for work each day after that, not knowing if she was getting ready for just herself, just me, or for John. Not knowing if any of these things were, at this point, completely independent of each other. I watched her choice of lingerie, which provided almost no information, because Anna wore sexy underwear all the time.

But what would she choose for John? Black, to show how naughty she was? Red for her passion? White, because she wanted to give off some air of innocence?

Would she choose something new, to entice him further under her spell? Or would she choose something old, to give him the impression that her affair with him was unplanned and casual?

How much would she tell John?

I was on my stomach, watching just glimpses of Anna in the door frame as she moved from one side of the bathroom to the other, each time in a more clothed state. Here was Anna with only thigh-high stockings, and her shower-damp landing strip glistening. Anna with her breasts bouncing as she shook her hair vigorously with a towel. Anna's hips encased in a rich brown lace (perhaps this was the one for John?”)

“Are you going to tell John?” I said abruptly.

Anna passed by the door frame again, this time with her breasts pressed up tight against the same rich chocolate lace and satin of her panties. The bottoms, I noticed now with satisfaction, were a thong, the same hue but many shades darker than Anna's exotic skin. Her two round, high buttocks were displayed neatly on either side of the satin strip.

“Tell him about my third nipple?” Anna joked. She was leaning toward the counter, applying make-up, and it gave me a nice view of two crescent slivers on her butt.

“That we...have an arrangement,” I said.

“Want me to?”

I wasn't sure about that.

I looked at the floor. Did I want her to? Or was it more exciting if she didn't?

On the other hand, it was sort of mean to John, who seemed like a nice enough guy.

But a guy who was willing to screw your wife, Brian.

“Honey?”

Anna was standing in the doorway, buttoning herself up into a silky, dark brown shirt with a stringy white pattern on it.

But who could blame him?

“Should I tell him or not?” Anna was getting impatient. She liked people to answer her quickly and economically.

“Uh...yeah, I don't know.”

She turned and went back into the bathroom. “Well...” and I could tell by the change in her voice that she was applying lipstick, “if you decide call me, because I think tonight's the night.”

My cock, which was admittedly already a little hard from watching her get ready for work, slammed into the mattress, hard as a rock.

I felt like an idiot, sitting on the bed the way I was. I mean, if I had played out this particular scene in a fantasy of mine, I certainly wouldn't have been on the bed like a teenage girl reading a magazine at this moment.

But Anna saved the moment from being awkward by being in a hurry. She kissed me on the forehead, still buttoning something on a dark brown skirt, and swept herself out of the room before I had a chance to do much of anything.

“Like 8 o'clock. I'll text you if I'm late,” she said.

She was swinging a blazer over her head as she went down the stairs.

When I look back on it, after everything that happened, I pinpoint this moment as the moment where I lost control. I became unfocused, I didn't answer her question, I was indecisive. And then I forgot all about it.

But shit happens.

Now I wa
s
really, really, really behind on work.

I was losing clients, that's how bad it had gotten.

I spent the morning in a trance anyway, staring at the trees.

This was a bad addiction. I knew it, and I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't stop myself or cut myself off.

I wondered if Anna knew how bad it was.

Was this sex addiction?

That had always sounded like such a minor problem to me. Kind of like people who say they have trouble because they are 'too rich' or 'too beautiful.'

Why had it lain dormant for so long in me?

And where was it headed?

Would I spend the rest of my life like this, just waiting for Anna to come home and screw some other man? Thinking about it all day, watching it all night, tasting her cum-salted skin for myself, and then starting it all over again?

Or would this satisfy me?

I sighed aloud.

If there was one thing I knew, it was that no vice ever satisfied a craving.
And what about Anna? Why was Anna capable of getting so much done, why could Anna take it or leave it, why could Anna concentrate on other things?

I opened my email.

It was full of angry emails about late projects, with a lot of Re: fields filled with multiple questions marks and exclamation points.

Someone even wrote a subject heading in all caps.

I closed my laptop quietly and bit my fingernail.

Okay. Okay, Brian. You're getting what you want so open your computer and get to work. 

But I didn'
t
work. I did nothing, nothing I can remember, until 7:00, when I crept into my basement. I knew Anna would be late. I knew it might take longer to convince John, there might be traffic, that hundreds of things stood in the way of Anna being in that room at 8:00 on the dot.

But so many other firsts in my life, I was too excited to care. Even sitting in the dark of the basement, waiting, was exciting. The dark around me, thick and slightly musty, the hot water heater flaming up and then turning off, the hours ticking by slowly...it was all part of the experience.

And then the door opened in John's apartment.

I heard Anna's voice.

In the hours that had preceded this moment I had created a neat pile on a chair, so that I could rest on my knees fairly comfortably to watch through the hole. I had practiced getting up and down without making any noise. I looked up, now, at the light pouring through the hole, and for a second everything seemed utterly ridiculous.

I should go, I remember thinking. Up the stairs, out the door, to John's entrance. I should bang on the door, let Anna know I wanted her to stop.

I should want my wife to stop, right?

Instead, I sat in the dark, listening to them in the apartment. The talking quieted down, and I knew they were kissing.

I did a strange thing, and sat there, staring into the dark and just listening for a few minutes. I'm not sure why. Maybe I wasn't ready to actually see what was happening. Maybe I had second thoughts. Maybe I didn't want to be disappointed by something.

Whatever it was, I listened to the sounds of two lovers moving around in a bedroom, finding their way to the bed. My heart was slamming against my chest, and I felt a heightened sense of everything: the dark, every muffled sound, the smack of their lips together. I could almost feel Anna's mouth on my mouth, or see her lips on John's lips, just from what I could hear. I was frozen in place by a cold, numbing liquid that was coursing through my veins.

Then I slowly crept up on my knees, as I had practiced, and looked through the hole. 

Was this actually happening?

I pinched myself, underneath my arm where it hurts the most. I gritted my teeth as the pain came a few seconds later, in a grating wave. No one would pinch himself like that in a dream.

This was really
my wife,
and she was fucking another man to please me.

John had his big, dark head between her legs already. Anna was splayed out on the bed, still partially clothed. They had made a lot of progress in the time I had spent on the chair, hesitating.

I couldn't wait to make her tell me all about what I couldn’t see: was he rubbing his lips over her thighs, tickling her with his late-evening bristle? How was he different than me? How did he feel against the outer petals of her vulva, while his tongue rubbed her? Did he go inside of her to taste her nectar?

My cock was throbbing by that point. I had never had an orgasm while I was awake without at least touching
something.
But I felt like I might just ejaculate all over my pants, right now.

I heard Anna moan. It did not seem fake, though what could I know? I wasn't even really certain I knew my wife at all anymore.

John placed his big hands on her thighs, and pushed them open further. Now he was right in the sweet spot, and I closed my eyes because I could barely stand looking at it. I was sure I could smell Anna through the wall somehow. My mind was playing tricks on me, drawing me into the room where they were. I felt like I could hear Anna's breath, though it couldn't be true. I even felt like I could taste her in my mouth.

I pinched myself again.

Anna twisted underneath John's bulk. I wondered what he was doing. I only had a view of his huge, bare back, and his head buried between Anna's long, toffee-colored thighs.

His head began bobbing up and down as he put the final touches on his pussy-licking, and Anna's legs wobbled and swung wildly as she tossed her hair around on the pillow and screamed and moaned.

“Oh, baby, yes, right there!”

In spite of how serious all of this was for me, and in spite of the ache in my groin, I had to stifle a laugh for Anna's private joke for me.

Because Anna would never,
ever,
call anyone “baby.” It was a pet peeve of hers.

Aside from being absurdly funny, it was also a signal to me, and the warmth of it spread all over my body. Anna was still mine, even if John was making her come at this moment. Anna was still making jokes for me, and doing what she was doing because I had asked her to.

It had been a deliberate choice to leave my pants buckled, because I hadn't wanted to jerk off while I watched this first time, and after all the teasing that Anna had subjected me to up until now, I didn't trust myself to last if my dick was in easy reach.

I wanted to wait until she same home, and then take her myself. I wanted to feel my cock inside of her stretched pussy, full of another man's cum.

Anna's screams crescendoed, and she screeched and hollered about how much she loved it, whatever it was, whatever John was doing to her. She moaned and gasped and clawed at the sheets.

It could have been an act, but it was driving me wild either way.

I noticed that her legs were shaking, with the kind of jittery motion that simply couldn't be faked. Anna might be mine, but John was certainly pleasing her in a very real way.

A stab of something like jealousy went through me.

But I liked it. I liked the danger of it.

I liked the ambiguity of it. Was she acting for me? Or was she acting for him? Was she acting at all? Maybe he was just so good, he was actually driving her that crazy.

She lifted her head and clutched at his thick, black neck as she came. She pushed his face into her pussy, and I wondered where his mouth was – inside of her? How wet she was; what she tasted like tonight.

And then she let her head fall backward, so she could look in the direction of the hole (she missed) and she smiled. A smile for me.

Wasn't it?

“Oh fuck,” she said, and I could hear her very clearly. “That's so good, that's so good...oh god, you're so good, that feels so good, I'm going to come, oh my god!”

And she did. I could tell it was real.

John finished her off like a pro, making her gasp and begin to shudder. She tried to push him away, but he kept going, just to make her scream a little. I watched her writhe in his hands, unable to escape his clutch, the pleasure too intense as he pushed her past her limits.

Then he rose from the bed, standing up to his full, enormous height.

This had been pleasant to watch, but it was nowhere near the depravity I had hoped to see. I was glad to see a mildly crazed look in John's eye: he still had plans for Anna.

He was still wearing the pants of his suit,
and he stood looking down at Anna as he slid the belt off, and unzipped them. His mouth was moving, but his voice was deep and low, and I couldn't hear what he was saying. My ears were ringing with all the sexual energy I had pushed down inside me.

But his face conveyed that he had given her a command.

Anna, for her part, had flipped over in a sexy, cat-like move. She turned her round bottom toward him, and pushed it up into the air.

Then she winked in my general direction (again, missing terribly, but these were confusing times) and really turned it on.

She kicked her feet up from the edge of the bed playfully. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back at John. She was smiling and opening her mouth and licking her lips.

I looked at my wife, acting like a trashy porn star. Her heels were still on and she looked like such a slutty, whoreish imp. Anna did a lot of dirty things, but she never did them with quite this same...act.