The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel (4 page)

Anna always laughed.

“Or that he has a girlfriend you will be able to have sex with at some time in the future.”

“Sick.”

But Anna didn't actually need any of that explained to her. She knew every man she met would gladly fuck her. She just enjoyed pretending like she was clueless sometimes, for comedic effect.

The only thing I didn't know is if she knew
exactly
how crazy it drove me, seeing her flirt with other men. 

I looked at the clock. 5:30. Only half an hour until John arrived.

I went upstairs and sat on the bed, watching Anna through the open door to the bathroom, inhaling her soaps and shampoos. I pretended to be deliberating between two shirts as she came out wrapped in a towel, and threw open the drawers.

I liked watching her as she actually thought about several outfits. I savored the sharp-edged sweetness of watching her be choosey about what she would wear. Selecting her outfit with care, deliberately not getting fancy, and not getting too casual.

She made an unusual choice, and selected a pair of tight jeans and a white t-shirt. I watched her first slide a black lacy boy-short pair of underpants up onto her creamy skin.

Nothing unusual there. Right? She wore those all the time.

I imagined them traveling down her body in reverse, being peeled away from her taut body by John's large, black hands.

I shook my head.

She trotted into the bathroom – still having completely ignored me – and kicked the door shut with her foot.

I did not get to see the rest.

I pulled a shirt over my head, and found myself briefly considering what to wear for John as well, before I went downstairs to decant and drink some of the wine.

Anna skipped into the kitchen. Her hair was damp, which she had done on purpose. Everything about her was on purpose, from the shade of her dark blue jeans, and the fact that she was wearing jeans at all (she always wore skirts) to her bare feet, to her white shirt.

To her white shirt, a thick material that clung to her skin, and showed off her tight stomach, her long torso, her lack of any trace of body fat, and...her breasts. Her full breasts with the dark areolas and the dark nipples, which were unencumbered by a bra. This was not by omission, but rather
because
Anna thought every single thing through.

The effect was very satisfying, I had to admit. Because the material was thick, it was not outrageous. But the outline of her nipples
could
be discerned, if you were looking right at her breasts, and once you saw it, you had a hard time not looking there to see it again. It was, in fact, the only thing either of us could think about. I caught John trying to look, trying not to look, trying to look at something else. It was deeply satisfying to be united in the same struggle, and Anna was also very pleased with herself. I could tell. She had a smugness behind her smile.

John graciously pretended not to notice the food was from a deli, nor did he ask for recipes or ingredients or praise her cooking. But after several glasses of wine, I became the drunkest person at the table, and was immediately suspicious. Suspicious of his complicity in her lie.

I watched them. They became embroiled in a conversation about some legal decision that had been made in a case that affected marketing, and after a few minutes I had no handle on the conversation whatsoever. John became very animated as soon as he realized that Anna was a formidable conversational partner, capable of navigating legal terms and complicated legal questions without batting an eye.

I poured myself more wine.

I couldn't tell if I was miserable or delighted, watching John and Anna, who seemed to be constantly moving closer and closer to each other, looking deeply into each other's eyes.

Don't be fucking idiot, Brian. No one is looking into anyone's eyes.

They did though, seem to be doing just that.

I liked the idea of Anna thinking of John as a sex toy. I liked the idea of Anna thinking about him paying his rent by making her come; I like the idea of her sucking his cock, taking it up the ass, screaming in pleasure as he filled her completely. Working it off when she couldn't get the toilet fixed in a timely fashion (I filed this idea, which had only just occurred to me, away for later use).

I did
not,
I realized miserably, pouring my sixth...or maybe seventh?...glass of wine, like Anna talking to John excitedly about legal matters I could not understand. I did
not
like the way they were leaning their heads together, making private jokes in legalese. I didn't like the way she was smiling for him.

I was getting grumpier and grumpier, when John seemed to pick up on my foul mood. “We're being really rude,” he said. “It's like that when I go to my sister's place – she's a musician, right, and they start making all these jokes like, I can't
believe
Edwin started off that concerto in D-flat...and I'm like, ha ha ha ha ha.” He imitated nervous laughter, and made a face not entirely different from my own expression.

Fuck, I really wanted to dislike the guy. But it was hard.

“What is it you're in, again, Brian?” he said, making a gesture toward the wine I had placed, rather piggishly, on my side of the table. I nodded that he could have some.

Anna's face had fallen a little: she had been enjoying her rigorous – and private – discussion with John.

“I do computer science stuff, mostly coding for websites.”

“You freelance, right?”

I always hated admitting this, because everyone listened to my answer and then sort of looked at Anna like:
you poor dear
.

“Yeah,” I said, and I was sucking in my breath to say more about it, defending it automatically as I always did.

But John shook his head, pouring wine. “Man, that's cool. I wish I knew how to do something like that. One of these days, everyone is going to figure out lawyers are full of shit, and I'm gonna be out of job. But coding...everyone needs that. And,” he added, raising his eyebrows with his eyes on the wine. “It
would
be nice to make my own hours.”

He smiled.

I had to hand it to him, he was a really nice guy. A nice, upstanding, successful, charming guy.

And hot. An athletic, muscular man. 

In truth he looked more like the kind of guy a woman like Anna should be with. There was the ethnicity thing, which was weighing heavier on my mind than I wanted to admit to myself that it did: they looked like two people who
belonged
together. And maybe I was imagining things, but Anna's personality seemed to have changed around him.

Stronger.

Less demure.

More...black.

But there was also some kind of rapport between the two of them. The Anna I used to know, who got really involved in discussions, whose eyes lit up at the first whiff of intellectual debate, whose face flushed as she took on her own, passionate side of an argument, was coming back to life in front of my eyes. This was more like the Anna I dated, the Anna I fell in love with.

It was just like old times.

Except:

The flushed cheeks and the eyes filled with excitement, the waving hands and the clenched fists swiping at the air for emphasis – none of that was for me. It was all for John.

The handsome black man who lived in my basement now.

I poured myself more wine and tried not to make a fool of myself while John explained the details of his specialization – a very lucrative- and complicated-sounding sector of financial law that I could not understand a word of. I watched his face, which was almost a cliche of a good-looking black man's face – strong jaw, full lips, large nose, eyes that were darker than his skin and set into a permanent, determined squint, as though he were always trying to remain calm and measure something. I stared, when he wasn't looking, at his broad shoulders. The drunker I got, the more he seemed to tower over me at the table.

At the same time, John was a very pleasant man. And I was being a huge dick.

Anna, at some point, looked at me helplessly and with the tiniest bit of disdain. She gave me a small frown, the one she reserved for when I had too much wine.

And I had.

When the conversation somehow slid away from me, and resumed with Anna speaking passionately about something or the other to do with regulations in advertising, I stood up and mumbled that I was going to the bathroom.

Then I went into the guest bedroom, and fell asleep on the bed.

4
: THE NEXT MORNING

“Oh god,
”
I moaned, adding a little more pain to my voice than I actually felt. I rubbed my eyes. “I am so sorry I fell asleep.”

Anna was by the window, dressed impeccably for work in a black and white skirt made of tiny checks, and a plunging white blouse that promised and delivered on being see-through. Her waist was cinched by a thick black belt and her golden brown hair was pulled up in one of her elaborate work-buns. She took a sip of her coffee without turning to me. “Yep. It was pre-tty embarrassing.”

She was amused.

One very nice thing about Anna, as if there weren't already enough lovely things about her, like how her ass looked in this skirt, was that she was quite forgiving of my occasional forays into over-drunkenness.

She was forgiving in the sense that she didn't harass me about them. She was brutal in the sense that she did not do anything to soothe my pain. I sometimes felt like she hid all the painkillers on purpose, just to make her point without nagging.

I rifled through the cupboard. Vitamins, galore.

“There any Ibuprofen in here?”

Anna tossed her coffee in the sink and offered no assistance. “Gotta run,” she said, and approached me to give me a quick peck on the cheek.

The scent of her body rapidly awakened all of the feelings I had the might before. I grabbed a bottle of zinc tablets and popped the lid off. “How late did John stay, then?”

The tone of my voice was pretty laden with jealousy.

Anna rolled her eyes. “All night,” she quipped.

I stuffed three zinc tablets into my mouth. “All night, huh? All night doing what?”

Anna reached past me for her keys, which she never misplaced and never forgot. I looked down between her breasts.

She crinkled her nose. “The nasty,” she teased.

She looked at my face, and I have no idea what she saw there as I munched on zinc tablets and considered the idea of her and John doing “the nasty,” and whether her “nasty” was as nasty as the ideas I was coming up with in my own mind.

“You stink. John went home like fifteen minutes after you went to the bathroom.” She held her hands up in quotation marks for
the bathroom.
“Bye.”

My wife left the house with her signature wave, a hand up in the air without turning around, and each finger curling down into her fist. 

I sat down in my office and tried to do some work, but my head was pounding.

I gave Anna and John some thought as I lay down in bed, gave myself an erection, and jerked off in the shower. My imagination was dulled by my hangover, and I played out a very quick and dirty, vanilla scene, in which John pressed Anna up against the wall and hammered himself into her while she gasped and moaned in delight.

Then I gave it no more thought. I got to work.

I guess you could say that was my last day of freedom from obsession. The last day that I had a mere fantasy in my mind. Fantasies, you retreat to at your choosing. But Anna being fucked by John would not remain only a fantasy much longer. It was going to become, very quickly, an obsession.

I don't know. Memory is a tricky thing.

Did I see it coming?

5
:
THE BEGINNING

It happene
d
that very night. The beginning of the obsession.

We tried to ignore it. Anna lay on her back and folded her hands neatly over her stomach. She closed her eyes. I turned to look at her face, to see if she was going to break, but she was good. She looked still as stone, asleep like a statue over a tomb.

Two floors beneath us, emanating from the only place it could, were the voices of two people who were having the most raucous sex either one of us had heard in a long time.

The woman's voice was gasping, wheezing like an accordion: a shriek on the way in, a sigh on the way out, the pace increasing with each passing moment. Underneath her shrill tones, we could hear the lower, more serious baritone of our renter. He was delivering instructions to her. His voice was muffled and we didn't know what he was saying, but the tone of it alone was turning me on.

I turned to Anna. Still serious and still.

Suddenly, a bang ricocheted through the building.

Anna's eyes flashed open, and she turned to me.

When our eyes met, we burst into laughter.

“All he does is sleep,” she said, imitating Sheila.

“It's unhealthy,” I rejoined.

“They are
really
athletic,” Anna said.

We both closed our mouths and listened for a moment. Now, it was only the woman's voice, really rising to a nearly-hysterical shriek.

Anna widened her eyes.

We both knew what was going on there, if there was no more noise from John.

The climactic shrieks of the woman John was entertaining reached an incredible level, and then collapsed.

“He must be really good,” Anna said, teasing me.

I wasn't entirely sure what sensation traveled through me.

The truth was, I was jealous of every man my wife spoke to.

Yet, at the same time, I liked thinking about her with another man. Since John had moved in, I had cataloged every gesture, every glance, exchanged between the two of them. I savored them at night and spun them into elaborate fantasies. I was still waiting for a chance to engage Anna in the same game of teasing we had played after he had signed the rental agreement.

The woman down below us screamed. It was almost call-the-cops screaming, until it ended in gasping, with her yelling – very clearly through all the floors of the building - “Oh fuck baby that's the spot!”

Anna covered her mouth. “Again?” she said.

“Tell me,” I said, because my cock was hard and I felt particularly brave. “What would you do if, say, John had a problem and you couldn't fix it right away?”

The idea had occurred to me at the dinner she had invited him to, and now I wanted to play it out.

Anna let her hand slide away from her face. The screaming had died down.

“Fix. Like...a leaky faucet or something?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“And I went over there, in very short-shorts with a toolbelt on...”

“And your tight tank-top.”

“I don't have a tight tank top.”

She laughed at how serious I got.

“Okay, so I go over there in a tight tank top I buy at Wal-Mart for just this porno, and I wear a toolbelt, and I bend over the sink and wiggle some stuff around, and I'm like, “Sorry John, I can't fix this plumbing.'”

“And then he says, you have to do something. You're the landlord.”

“And I say, well...I can't get another plumber in here until Friday, but I
can-”

“Check your hose.”

Anna threw a pillow on my head and pretended to suffocate me.

“Oh god. Oh god that's so bad. Your
hose?
”

But she was on top of me now, and in my mind she
was
checking John's hose. Checking it really, really closely. It was leaking.

“You're having some sick fantasy right now, aren't you? And it's full of puns about the plumbing!”

I threw Anna off of me and down onto the bed, holding her down by her arms. “Good god, woman. You freak me the fuck out with that shit!”

She did, really, freak me out when she read my mind like that. But I was too heated up now to give it too much thought.

Anna just grinned.

“We can't afford to lose our tenant,” she panted. Her lips were parted in her mischievous smile, and she was grinding her hips against me.

“We also can't afford a plumber,” she continued, in a breathy voice. “But I could work it off, I guess. Or do something to appease him, in the meantime.”

“And what would that be?”

My cock was hard now, pressing into the flesh of her thighs. I had her pinned to the bed and I could tell she was in the mood for that kind of sex.

She licked her upper lip. A shudder went through me. Every now and then I feel like I step outside of my own life and only then realize what I have on my hands with Anna. Gorgeous, incredibly sexy, dirty-minded Anna.

“I've never been a landlord before,” she said. “I have no idea what kind of payment would make up for a leaky faucet.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“It's not a very
big
problem,” she continued teasing. “Not worth a piece of my ass, certainly...”

Oh god, she was turning me on, filling my head with images of her taking John's cock inside of her tight ass.

I wasn't, truth be told, as in to anal as the modern porn industry seemed to believe all men should be. It was something we did every now and then – and less so as more time passed – whenever we got a little tipsier than usual or got caught up in one of those seemingly random, really hot sex moments.

I liked the
idea
of it more. The domination of it. And as I sat there thinking about it, I knew it was true that I would prefer to watch someone fuck Anna in the ass than I would even want to do it myself.

I flipped her over anyway, and yanked her by the ankles. She complied willingly, knowing that what I wanted was her body to fold and her ass to be up in the air. She let her arms get dragged up above her, and lay there, submissive and ready for me. She probably would have let me do it.

Her cunt was dripping wet, and placed a thumb against her clit to make her squirm a little as I admired my view. Her hair covered her face, and her knees were spread slightly apart to give me full access to her engorged pussy. Or, if I wanted to, her tight little asshole.

I pushed my boxers down and went to her wet slit.

She moaned for me, putting on a real show.

“What will you say to him?”

“I'm sorry,” she moaned.

I thrust into her deeper, fucking her hard the way I loved to imagine that John would, punishing her for not getting the sink fixed.

It seemed almost impossible, but again I was ready to come in mere seconds. I had to fight to keep it down, and fight to rid my my mind of all the filthy images I was conjuring up, of John fucking the shit out of Anna in every hole, and every possible way.

But Anna was wetter than ever, and after just a minute she was working herself up to come. I felt her muscles squeezing my cock.

We had stopped talking, and now there was nothing but the slap of our skin against each other. I couldn't see Anna's face beneath her hair. I wondered what she was thinking of.

Who she was thinking of.

If it was me, or if it was really John. And how she would be more than happy to apologize for some landlord foible by getting bent over his kitchen counter.

She bit into the pillow as she came, and I felt her juices welling up around my cock with every squeeze of her pussy, and then I grabbed her buttcheeks and dug in hard as I ground my seed into her sloshing wet cunt.

I fell asleep.

I woke up to the neighbor's barking dog, who was really going at it. My vision was blurry and I waited until the red lines of the clock settled into something legible: 2:17.

I rolled over in the bed, knowing that in all likelihood, Anna would not be there. It was not uncommon for her to get up in the middle of the night and go downstairs to do some work. It was better than the nights she turned the light on and began scribbling furiously on a notepad she kept by the bed, until she turned out the light and lay beside me, oozing a fitful energy that wouldn't allow me to sleep.

I closed my eyes. The dog was still barking, but with less enthusiasm. I vaguely heard something heavy scraping along the ground, but I was starting to doze off and didn't give it much thought.

Anna's voice tinkled through my near-sleep.

“Oh hey, what are you doing out here?'

My eyes snapped open. For some reason my heart was instantly racing, and I was wide-awake.

Had I actually heard her?

Then, the low baritone of our renter. His words were unintelligible, but his tone was friendly.

The dog started to bark again.

“Oh no.” Anna.

More baritone voice.

The voices lowered.

I sat up in bed and craned my neck, as though I would hear better by pointing my ears in that direction. They were still outside, but they had lowered their voices to a low rumble and a soft tinkle.

My chest felt like someone was squeezing it, and my stomach turned with an unfamiliar feeling. It was both pained, like jealousy, but also excited. Like the first stages of love: thrilling, full of sharpened edges, charged with dopamine.

I crept up to the window, which was open. A light breeze was whipping the gauzy curtain in the silver light of the moon and the sodium-gray of the streetlights. I was crouching, sneaking up to my own window.

I knew, as I crept in the darkness, that I sort of wanted to see something illicit. I was hoping to find Anna with her hand on John's arm, or John placing his big, basketball-gripping fingers on her lips.

I lifted my head slowly, and looked out at the street.

John was wearing gray sweatpants, the expensive kind you see at places like Urban Outfitters, that somehow just look better than regular sweats. Or maybe it was his body, perfectly proportioned, holding the material just so. He had no shirt on, and the muscles that had hinted at themselves beneath his dress shirts were exactly as I expected: lean, youthful, and hard. 

They looked good together, John and Anna. Their dark complexions, their perfect, exotic bodies. 

They were leaning lightly on their respective trash bins. They were almost three feet apart, and a dull disappointment flopped in my stomach.

But as I watched Anna, who had crossed her feet and was pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, the excitement started to build. She was inclining her head toward John, smiling as he spoke. Now she was tipping her head back and grinning, nodding in agreement. She twisted her foot, she tucked her hair behind her ear again. She leaned closer and put her thumbnail between her teeth as she told him something. Smiling.

How romantic it was, I thought, half-bitter and half-intoxicated. Two workaholics meet in the dead of night, taking the trash out because they are awake with their brilliant thoughts.
-Oh, hi, what are you doing here? - -Me, too! Oh, man, what a coincidence.-

Sparkle, sparkle, charm, charm.

John was jerking his head in the direction of the house now. 

Anna looked hesitant for a moment.

It was all so obvious: he had asked her in for a drink.

She looked up at the house. She shifted a little, scraping her foot on the driveway.

Her voice said something short.

She looked back up -

I ducked.

Then I heard a little scraping, then footsteps. A gentle puff that passed through the house as the door opened and closed.

I scurried back to the bed in case she was going to come upstairs right away.

That was good, right? Anna had decided to come back inside, and turn down John's drink.

It was what I should have wanted her to do, right?

Of course it was. I closed my eyes.

My mind, though, started to craft a fantasy. It began with the scene I had just witnessed. John and
Anna, leaning on the trash cans.

“We're both up,” John said, his voice low and laced with flirtatiousness.

“We are,” Anna said suggestively, twisting her hips lightly.

“I'm not going to get any more sleep.” John.

Anna put her thumb to her mouth, and he watched her, drinking up her full lower lip in his mind, imagining how it would taste in his mouth, how it would feel when he bit into it with his teeth, how it would rub him like heated silk on the underside of his cock, just before her mouth closed around his entire shaft...

“Me either,” Anna said, her hands itching to touch his bare chest, and feel his hard flesh beneath her palms. Imagining the heat of his body pressed against her, pressing her down into the sheets, his cock filling her up and making her writhe in pleasure...