The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel (15 page)

And John was getting turned on.

Anna made herself come, panting more rapidly until she closed her eyes completely and she came in a hard shudder and a tiny squeal.

The pain in my cock was spreading throughout my torso, but I stared into the hole in the wall.

John grabbed her from the chair with two hands on her shoulders, exactly as though she were a doll. He tossed her onto the bed, and so now she was closer to me, easier to see. I lifted my head and tried to inhale the scent of the scene through the small hole in the wall, but was only given the plastery scent of broken drywall for my effort.

Anna was facing me now, and for a moment her expression did not reveal anything between us. She looked almost vacant, and I was overcome by the worry that I had maybe taken things too far. John was behind her, and his cock was in his hand.

But Anna lifted her eyes and looked directly at me. Or, at least, what she knew to be me, behind the wall, aching to see more and aching to fuck her.

Her face was dry now, but a film of cum and dried spit covered it and gave her skin an odd hue. Her hair was wet with a streak of John's cum. Her eyes burned into mine as her body began to rock back and forth, and she opened her mouth with pleasure as John's big slab of meat entered her.

I could not see it this time as it stretched her open, filling her completely, making her wince and then smile. She grinned for me and then her eyes rolled back in her head a little as she was overtaken by her own pleasure. She began to moan, and the sound that came from her lips held no affect, no drama: she was making the sound of a woman who was getting fucked hard and good by a huge cock, and there was no way to embellish it.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and arched her back, looking upward at the ceiling. John was pummeling into her, slapping against her skin, his face concentrated and contorted by his own animal lust. They slapped together for what seemed like an eternity, and I stared, my own cock spasming heavily in front of me. Behind the wall. Watching John my renter slam his cock as deep as he could into my wife.

Anna's lips parted and a high-pitched whine began to build in her mouth. It seemed to come from deeper and deeper inside of her, and then she dropped her head again to look at me, and smile, just as the height of her climax rippled through her body.

But John reached out, and grabbed her hair, yanking her head up and toward the ceiling to arch her back as his muscles strained against his skin and he yelled. He thrust even deeper as he came, pushing himself against Anna in hard, punishing thrusts.

Anna's eyes watered, but I couldn't know if it was from the hair pulling or the strength of his thrusts, going so deep inside her they nearly tore her apart.

My entire body was screaming at me now, because my cock ached, but also because I had stood, leaning slightly with my hand on the wall, in a state of near-paralysis. The pain of my arm falling asleep and my back seizing up made its way through the haze of my hard cock, and I pushed away from the wall to shake myself out.

I heard the low murmur of their voices; Anna's light like the garble of some velvet bird; John's low like a the growl of a big cat.

Negotiating something.

I leaned back to the hole in the wall, and Anna was already putting her shirt on.

John was on the bed, and he was trying to grab Anna's legs with his feet. He wanted her to stay. I watched him warily. Was there more to the way he was touching her than just lust? Was he flirting with her in a romantic way?

Anna just gave him a smile that could have meant anything. She patted his feet, told him that her husband would be home soon, and lifted her purse from the floor.

Her eyes flicked up to the hole, to meet my own hungry eyes, just before she turned and walked out.

She was openin
g
the door to our house only a minute later.

I moved toward her. She flicked on the lights, and without her telling me I knew it was to add realism to her story for John. Her reason for leaving, that I would 'come home.'

I felt a little sorry for John, because he did seem like such a nice guy, and we were being so devious and careless with his feelings. But, in the same way that my need overcame the rational side of brain when it came to questions of where this was going and how it would end, I pushed the thought away.

The painful ache in my cock pushed the thought right out of my mind.

I used a finger to beckon Anna toward the living room, away from the kitchen.

She stepped close to me in the semi-darkness, a coy, challenging smile on her lips.

I could smell the film of dried cum on her face now. She smelled strongly of sex: cum, sweat, her own juices. A sweet and acrid scent, similar to the one that she had when I fucked her, but different. The smell of another man was all over her.

I placed my hand on her jaw, and stroked her lip with my finger.

“You have such a filthy mouth, Anna.”

She closed her lips on the tip of my thumb with a half-smile.

I wasn’t sure, for a moment, what I wanted to do with my wife. Which hole, coated in John's cum, I wanted to fuck now to reclaim her and to feel her obedience first-hand.

But Anna took the decision into her own hands, as she fell to her knees, and pulled my still-unbuttoned pants with her. Unconsciously, I grabbed her hair, and I pulled her head close to me as her mouth encased my entire shaft. Her warm tongue, her hard and soft palates, the very soft back of her throat at the tip of my cock, enveloped me.

All of the images I had just seen and committed to memory, especially of Anna stroking her throat after John fucked her, crowded my mind. I came almost instantly.

Anna did not release me. She looked up at me, and met my eyes. She swallowed all of my cum, and she sucked every drop from my shaft when, as I shuddered with the last of my shattering orgasm, she slowly pulled her mouth from my dick.

She held it in her hand and rubbed the tip against her pillow lips. Almost like a kiss.

She looked up at me and grinned.

“I have to go take a shower,” she said. “You owe me a new pair of shoes.” She stood up and began to walk toward the stairs. With her hand on the banister she turned to me.

“And they are going to be
ex-pen-sive
.”

I looked down at my cock, which was still hard.

That's fine Anna. I'll buy you any shoes you want.

14
: ADDICTION

The addiction wa
s
worse by the next day. Raging. Out of control.

I woke up with a hard-on, I thought of nothing but sex. I thought of nothing but Anna. Anna getting fucked in any one of the dozens, and then hundreds, and then thousands of perverse ways I was cooking up for her.

She brushed me off in the morning.

“I'm too sore, I'm late for work,” she said. Her voice was playful, lighthearted.

But it devastated me.

The slip into depravity was accompanied by mounting paranoia. Every gesture of Anna's that did not seem loyal enough sent me into spirals of dark thoughts.

I was losing it. I watched her make coffee and thought I found betrayal in the way she didn't make mine first. She let a hand towel fall to the floor in the bathroom and didn't pick it up it was my hand towel and her carelessness with it signified that I lost her.

These were the more rational thoughts.

I knew I had to stop. I had to somehow extract us from this situation. For one thing, we couldn't have a renter living in our house who my wife was fucking. A
lawyer,
for fuck's sake, who would sue us for everything we were worth if he were to ever discover the hole in the wall through which he was being watched while he fucked my wife.

While he fucked my wife…

This was the problem. Every attempt I made at having a rational thought ended like this. With me thinking about Anna fucking John, and getting her fill of his huge cock. And in that way, the whole day would tick by, wasted on my fantasies.

How do you get out of this, Brian?

But like any addict, I wasn't really thinking of a way to get out of it. I wasn't really trying. I thought about it just long enough to convince myself that I was still a rational person. That I knew I had a problem. That I was going to do something about it.

Just enough to give myself permission to sink back into my fantasies, my memories, my plans for Anna.

I spent the mornings staring at my computer screen, getting involved in fifteen minutes of distracted work that would have to be re-done (if in fact, anyone ever hired me again, which was looking less and less likely because I was probably getting a terrible reputation by now). I drifted off, thinking of what I could ask Anna to do next. Anal, dildos, more throatfucking, bondage, dressing up like a rubber doll as I had seen in a porno on one of my more depraved days. 

Then back to reality again, back to the angry emails, back to trying to get myself under control.

On more than one morning, I went downstairs to the hole, with a quick-dry plaster I had bought. I even once got it out, had it smeared on the spatula, and was about to fill the hole in. I was inches from it.

The evil voice inside of my mind was shrugging it off, though:
there are other ways to watch your wife, John.

I got closer to the hole with the plaster.

There are videos, or you could have her meet him in a hotel, or you could sneak into his apartment and hide there...you have the key…

“Jesus,” I remember whispering. My hand was shaking.

I set the spatula down and left it there, where it dried to a hard substance that was impossible to remove.

The truth was – and I couldn't admit this to myself at the time – I liked the hole. There was something about that particular form of watching Anna that I didn't want to take away from myself.

I mean, I could. If I wanted to. I could stop any time.

On and on it went like this. 

The third tim
e
Anna slept with John it was weeks later. She did it for a purse, a brand-name purse, the color and size and appearance of which I can’t remember because I was so drunk on desire and delusional when I agreed to buy it that I could barely see straight.

I wanted her to have anal sex with John.

The scenes of extended seduction about what I wanted her to do were getting cut shorter. I was desperately maniacal, ready to fuck as soon as she walked in the door.

Anna was, as I may have mentioned, always quite liberal in bed. Back when we were dating, and for a bit when we were first married, she was willing to have anal sex. Neither of us were really into it – for me, it was hotter to play with her ass. I liked to put a finger inside of her ass while I fucked her from behind in her wet pussy.

But I wanted her to take John' cock inside of her. I wanted to see her face when that enormous piece of meat was rammed all the way up her ass.

If I had been more clear-headed, I would have given some consideration to what was driving me. I was usually interested in what I wanted – deeply, psychologically – from my sexual desires. Reflecting on it now, I still can't be sure. I wanted control, even if that seems strange that I was doing it through John – but it was almost as if I had more sexual power over Anna by getting her to do humiliating, hardcore acts with another man. A bigger man.

I was blunt about it.

“I want you to get John to fuck you in the ass.”

Anna's mouth turned one corner in an amused smile. “Shouldn't be hard,” she said. Then quickly: “To convince
him,
I mean.”

She had her arms folded over her chest. “He has a really big cock, though.”

I didn't say anything. Whatever she wanted me to buy her, which she would likely end up paying for herself because I was going to be financially destitute in a month at this rate, was fine with me. A new car, a new house, a Faberge egg. Whatever.

I agreed to the purse blindly, and then we fucked like animals. It isn't worth describing, it was over so quickly, because I had been raging with desire all day until she came home.

Two days later, she said she could do it the next night.

“But John's cock really is
big,
” she said. Then she held up an object and winked at me. I squinted at it, not recognizing what it was for a moment.

“I think I need your help getting ready for it.”

We were in our spare bedroom – and this is a detail I would remember later, later when I found out about everything. It raised no suspicion in me at the time: we had fucked there back when we first started this game.

I was already unbuttoning my jeans.

“Take your clothes off,” I told Anna. My eyes were on her little toy, though. I couldn't be sure what she wanted with it, but I knew she would direct me.

Anna climbed onto the bed. She had left her blouse on, unbuttoned, and her heels – the heels she had demanded for her throatfucking. They were incredibly sexy, but I was too hungry to linger on them for long.

She positioned herself like a prop, and again it was not a thing that made me wonder at the time, because who doesn't want their wife to get on the bed and thrust her ass at him? To have her heeled feet kicking playfully with her knees spread apart just a little, and a glistening wet cunt with a tight asshole above it, bared and exposed for his pleasure?

Who thinks much about that?

I stood behind her and slipped my fingers along her wet slit. She was as turned on as I was, and she twisted inside of her skin in pleasure. I drew her juices up from her pussy to the eyelet of her anus, and made a few teasing sweeps with my finger. I watched her body ripple. I gave some thought to making a circle around her hole with my tongue, dipping into the metallic taste of her, but the idea of it almost made me spill out right there.

And I wanted to fuck Anna. Hard.

I pushed my thumb into her, roughly, and I felt her sphincter squeeze. She gasped, and I pushed deeper. I knew she would relax. The heat of her body around my thumb, of all things, was almost too much to take.

She bent her arm around, and her fingers slipped the butt plug – a medium-sized, hard metal dildo with a sexy black ribbon on it for a tail, down the crack of ass. “Get it wet,” she said. “And then put it in.”

I obeyed her, trying to fight my building orgasm. I pulled out my thumb, and I could feel her tense up as it left her somewhat roughly. I dipped her toy into the drenched folds of her pussy, and slid it upwards to her pink hole, which was pulsing a little from its last invasion. I teased the opening with the dildo, and then I pushed it in.

Because it was smooth and slick with her juices, it slid in easily. I watched the ring of her asshole thin out as it stretched to accept the dildo, getting wider and wider.

Not as wide as John's cock. A little shiver went through me, thinking of how much more she would have to stretch to take John inside of her. I visualized his dark meat filling her up, and I had to suck in my stomach to keep from exploding all over her.

The dildo disappeared inside of her, and her flesh closed around the end like a pair of lips.

Unable to take any more, I grasped her hips and impaled her on my cock, using her feet as grips. My first thrust pushed her to the bed face-first, and we scooted forward with every thrust, until her head was banging against the headboard as I fucked my cum inside of her. My eyes were on her ass, and the dildo that was stretching it out.

For John.

“What are yo
u
going to do with it?” I asked her, when we were both able to talk. We were lying on the bed, and I was absent-mindedly pulling at long strands of her hair.

She sat up on her elbow. “Leave it in,” she said. She sat up and swung her feet neatly over the side of the bed.

“All day?” I croaked. “All night, too?”

She was buttoning up her blouse. She answered only by giving me a look and a smile.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I have to get some work done,” she said. She stood up, sliding her skirt up over her hips. She bent over to pull her underwear on underneath it.

“You should probably work a little, too, no? You're getting behind.”

I looked up at the ceiling and brought my wrist to my forehead. A knot formed in my stomach as I thought of all the work piling up, all the late projects that would probably be the end of my career if I wasn't careful. The fact that Anna was aware of it made it even worse.

She was right, of course. But it was killing the mood.

Anna, though, was not one to nag nor to linger much on anything. Her philosophy was that people would do what they wanted to do. She never told anyone what to do. She fucked with them until they thought they
wanted
to do something. The thing she wanted.

I had this thought as my eyes grew heavy with sleep. It was disorganized and started to mix with so many other, random thoughts, the way things happen as I drift off.

So it was another thing that I perhaps should have given more thought to.

But did not.