Ela's Performance: A Romantic Wife-Watching Novel

by Arnica Butler

  She didn't have to do much, before I felt myself stiffen with the impending climax. She was down deep on me, and she grasped my cock with her hand as she slid her mouth off. She pumped my cock with my head next to her lips, and smiled because she knew I was imagining her ass full of Ari's cum, even while my own seed exploded and streaked across her pretty face and lips in sticky, white ropes.

  We had a plan.

  T HE WAITING GAME

  Then came the waiting game.

  Ela had not begun to flirt with Ari in any serious way, as she put it, until we had firmed up the plan. And then, she insisted, she needed to make it all seem natural. “Natural,” in this case, seemed to mean drawn-out.

  I spent a great deal more time, in the car, or at work, thinking about Ela and what she was doing to flirt with Ari. When she arrived home, it was all I could do to ask a few unrelated questions, or make some small-talk, before I dove in to ask what I really wanted to know: what had happened that day between her and Ari?

  “I don't really think guys give a shit about this stuff,” I told her, finally, referring to flirting. “If you say, 'I want to fuck you in my bed at home while Peter's out of town,' I feel like he'll come right over.”

  Ela smiled. “You are all the same, it's true. But...I want him to think he's sort of seducing me, you know? Like, he's gotten me to do something really naughty. Also...I think he was maybe in the Mossad.” She smiled in a way that indicated this was a joke, but maybe not. “I don't feel like he'd take very well to being a...what did you call it?”

  “A bull.”

  Ela snickered.

  She was sizing up the privacy screen I had purchased while we had this conversation. It was a (very expensive) walnut four-panel room divider, selected based entirely on the fact that it was intricately carved and therefore had numerous holes in the woodworking through which I could have a good view of the room. She hung a scarf on it. “For authenticity,” she said. She reached up and shook the screen, as though testing how sturdy it was. “Nice.” She changed the subject quickly. “Anyway. Let me do it my way.”

  So we did.

  She would text me by 6pm if she thought the day might be a good one. It was a little tricky, because I never knew if I could get out of the office fast enough to get home and hide before they arrived.

  “If I'm not there,” I said, “I don't want you to do it.”

  Ela smiled. “Of course not. Should you put some kind of sign for me? Like...I don't know, an upside-down glass on the table?”

  She was really getting off on the tradecraft of this idea, this plotting and the scheming, the spy-like things we would have to do to pull off our plan.

  “Great idea,” I agreed. I still almost could not believe that this was really going to happen. That Ela was going to go all the way.

  “I want to warn you,” she said, with her lips close to my cock after another round of sexy, fun, scheming. “Ari and I were very...” she made a face. “Dirty. Together. Is that what you want?”

  I made a sound, one I hoped she took for assent, as I pushed her head onto my cock.

  I wanted it dirty, I wanted it filthy.

  I wanted a performance from Ela that I wouldn't forget.

  Ela called me at work on a clear-blue December day. As soon as I saw her face displayed on the screen, at 1pm, I knew this was the day.

  “Listen,” she said. “I think I have it all set up, so I just wanted to give you a heads-up that you need to be...er...home tonight by around like six, if you can.”

  I was silent.

  “Peter?”

  “I'm here...just...excited, I guess.” I laughed a strange laugh.

  “I just want to check, one more time: you're into this?”

  My breath was shaky. I knew I should have had some kind of moment there, where I gave things a little more final, reflective thought. I mean, this was permanent. My wife was going to break the vows of marriage at my behest, and there was no going back from it afterward.

  But just as I had when I married Ela, I didn't feel any need to reflect more than I already had. I knew this was what I wanted. All of the thinking that needed to be done had been done, while we planned this together.

  “I'm into this.” My shaky breath did not translate into a shaky voice. I sounded solid, assured. And I was.

  “Tell me how you're going to do it.” I said, kicking my office door closed.

  “Oh, Peter, you're so funny,” she said, her voice suddenly changed and lilting, as if I had really made some kind of joke. Then crisp and businesslike. “Yeah, that's fine. Just send me the new itinerary. Listen, I have to go, we're going to start up again. I just wanted to call you and tell you it's no problem.”

  I would never have made a very good spy, informant, or anything of the sort. “Uh...” I said, my mind still not catching up to the fact that she was putting on a show, most likely for Ari, setting up some kind of back story for his benefit.

  “I love you too, sweetie. Don't forget to text me if you change your mind and want me to pick you up.”

  I got it, suddenly. Her secret code for, if you change your mind and want me not to fuck Ari Zurer.

  “Uh..yeah. You, too,” I said, lamely.

  “God, you're so bad at this,” she whispered, but her smile came through the phone. “Gotta run. Love you.”

  And she was gone.

  Ever since we had decided to be honest with each other back in the hotel room in London, I felt like things had improved between me and Ela. It didn't mean, though, that I didn't struggle inwardly with the fact that...well, wasn't it a little bit wrong to want to watch your wife with another man? Wasn't it going to lead to all kinds of problems? And if it didn't, what did that say about us?

  I reminded myself that this entire thing had begun, really, with my own paranoia about my wife. My own sense of insecurity, that she was too pretty, too young, and too...vibrant...to be stuck with a man like me. Her admission that she had known about me watching her with Christian, and her openness toward my fantasy, had dual and opposing effects. On the one hand, it was exciting beyond measure. It was what I wanted. It was something I fantasized about and she was willing to make it real.

  On the other hand, there was a part of me that couldn't entirely suppress my paranoia. It had felt good, for a while, to be convinced that Ela had never cheated on me, and that the only times she had strayed had been with Christian and at the beginning of our relationship, with Ari. Before anything was serious or exclusive. It felt good to speak openly about it, to have the assurances about questions I hadn't wanted to ask for fear of the answer, or because I didn't want to seem crazy.

  But her willingness to do this begged another question: what if this was something she wanted to do because I was unsatisfying to her? What if she decided that Ari was who she should have chosen so long ago? Not only did they have the same interests, work the same jobs, and have so much in common, but perhaps she would remember that he was the better lover, the bigger cock, the masculine and mysterious man that I was not?

  Why was it that Ela felt better about doing these filthy things with other men and not with me? She had answered the question honestly, when I had asked her about it. Because it's not really you, Peter. It's not your thing. And it isn't really my thing, either. Not all the time.

  But what if that wasn't true? Or what if Ela only thought it was true, and then discovered it wasn't? What if she got a taste for nasty sex with other men, and lost her appetite for sex with me? Plain old Peter? What if I was putting everything on the line, here, and I would lose it all?

  Ela had assured me this wasn't the case, but how can any of us know what will happen in the future?

  I spun in my chair and looked out the window. Ominously, some dark clouds were gathering in the distance. Put my fingers on my eyelids and tried to will myself into a more pleasant fantasy about what was about to happen. I tried to imagine what I would get to see, and smell, and hear.

  But so many things twisted inside of
me, and it gave me that cool, excited ache. And ache in my chest that worked its fingers down to my groin. But I still spent most of my time thinking not so much about sex, and almost entirely about whether or not I was making a huge mistake.

  Needless to say, I had an unproductive day.

  I headed home at 5:30 and sat in the stillness of our house. It was dark by that time, and I didn't turn on the lights, almost wanting to shed no light on anything until I received Ela's message.

  At 6:01, the words materialized on my phone. The device buzzed in my hand, where I had been holding it, my palms so sweaty it was a miracle I hadn't short-circuited it.

  [Ela]: It's on. XOXO.

  I blinked. I wiped my face. I was actually sweating.

  Now was the time. Now was the time to call everything off, if it was going to get called off.

  But I knew I didn't really want to. The thought came to me suddenly, and I turned over a water glass on the counter, displaying it prominently on the counter.

  Everything I was feeling, all of the risk I was obsessing about – that was what I wanted. A strange kind of relief flooded me as I understood this. This was what it was all about, all along. Risking Ela's love, in the most intimate way, to see if all of this was really real.

  The upside-down glass on the counter gave me a slight flutter in my chest. It was, after all, symbolic of the way that Ela and I shared this fantasy.

  I left the lights off, and turned on only the bedroom light to get myself comfortable behind the room divider. I sat on the window-seat, and the silence absorbed me. I let out a snort, because all at once it all seemed so lurid.

  Then I fumbled with my phone. There was a final detail to the plan that I did not want to screw up.

  I typed my message, getting it ready, and then left it on the screen, ready to send.

  And I waited.

  T HE PERFORMANCE

  Our bedroom faced the back of the house, but through the door and the hallway I had a snippet of the front yard. After what really did seem like an eternity, headlights swung across the walls and the shadows shifted in such a way that could only be a car in our driveway. Next to mine. The back story was that I had left the car behind, and Ela was going to pick me up from the airport to save on parking. If Ari asked, which he was unlikely to do.

  The door clicked open and lights made the stairwell glow as Ela turned them all on.

  I heard glasses clinking.

  Their voices at first were very loud, almost clear. They were talking about something to do with music – some unintelligible conversation about how Sergio was an idiot for starting an audition on an F sharp (“how could anyone be such an idiot?”) I rolled my eyes, though it was hypocritical. I'm sure everyone sounds like a snob about their own profession. There's just something particularly annoying about classical musicians being snobs.

  It was almost amusing, being upstairs by myself, listening to Ari and Ela snob it up.

  But then their voices dropped. Maybe there was a silence. They began to murmur.

  I imagined the scene: they've been flirting all day. A joke is made, and Ela laughs. Then one of those tense silences fills the air. She lowers her eyes and looks at her wine. She gives it her expert spin. Ari tells her, in a low voice, that maybe he should go home. A classic line, meant to get a woman to say, “no, don't.”

  Ela looks disappointed.

  “I wish you wouldn't,” she tells him. Her voice is like the warm, velvet warble of a cat. Ari knows what she's saying, but still they have to go through this elaborate dance. Because Ela is married, Ela is mine.

  She takes a sip of her wine. She can't be too eager, she has to show some resistance.

  (Although maybe, my paranoid-mind offered up – maybe Ari and Ela have contrived this whole thing together, the two of them, and I am the one being taken for a ride here. Maybe this was all a way for Ela to cheat on me without any sanctions.)

  No. It was too elaborate. Ela had plenty of opportunities to cheat without all of this...theater.

  Their voices were low, and then they were gone. I had to actually grip the ledge of the window-seat to stop myself from trying to creep to where I could, maybe, look down and see them.

  Patience, Peter. You're so close, don't ruin it now.

  What was she doing now? Were they close to each other's faces, their lips only inches apart? Was it like that time with me? I shouldn't, Ela might be saying, and her breath slides along his lips.

  There was movement all of the sudden. I heard a chair scrape carelessly on the floor. Then I heard running, and my heart began to pound faster. Had things fallen apart? My blood filled with adrenaline. Maybe Ari was some kind of rapist asshole...

  But Ela's giggle preceded her lighthearted, quick footsteps up the stairs. She was laughing, “running away” from her lover. Teasing him, so that he followed her up the stairs.

  Bringing him to where I was.

  As we had agreed.

  “I like the light on,” Ela said, as she sauntered into the room and pulled her sweater off.

  Ari shrugged, moving around the bed, casting a few looks at the room itself. They had entered the room being silly and laughing, but his face took on a serious expression now. He seemed to be appraising Ela's life somewhat. How had she ended up, with this other man? I was secretly pleased that so much of what adorned the walls was tasteful and expensive. Ela's husband, it all said, had a real job and made real money. An odd, primal pride fluttered around inside my ribcage.

  They were standing, now, on opposite sides of the bed. I could see past Ari to Ela, who gave me a look through the privacy screen. It burned right through me, her slight smile, her wink without winking.

  She was getting ready for a performance, and she was going to do it all for me.

  Everything but what I was about to see left my mind. Something in this look assured me that Ela was here not for Ari, but for me.

  She slid a finger beneath the spaghetti strap of the camisole that had been beneath her sweater. She lifted the strap, running her finger along the string. When she dropped it, it slipped down, off her shoulder. While Ari watched, she slid out of her jeans, maneuvering her narrow hips out of them without unbuttoning them. She was wearing a black pair of low-cut panties, and she slid a finger briefly beneath the fabric along her hip. Her eyes moved from me to Ari, and she bit her lip. “So,” she said. She put a bare knee on the edge of the bed.

  “How has being married treated you, Ela? Are you still the same wild, little girl?”

  Ela moved her hand from her neck, between her breasts, and down to her panties again. She slid her hand under them and ran her fingers along the hem of the fabric. I, like, Ari, supposed this was her answer. She gave a smile.

  She crawled onto the bed, on all fours, and moved toward Ari.

  I grimaced, because I wasn't going to have a very good view of what she was doing, if she was going to start sucking his cock now. Ari leaned his knees on the side of the bed, and made a grunting noise, as Ela unzipped his pants and took out his cock.

  I strained to see a glimpse of it. I was a little disappointed in Ela for not thinking about the angle she was at.

  I wanted to see what I could only imagine right now: her mouth was opening, and she was slowly taking his cock into her mouth. Her head began to bob, Ari began to moan, and slurping sounds reached my ears.

  Damn. It.

  But Ela was ready with her plan, and I shouldn't have doubted her. She only sucked for a moment when she stopped, and leaned back on her heels, stroking Ari's shaft with her hand.

  She gave him a wicked little grin. “Have you ever face-fucked anyone before?”

  I could tell by the slight start that Ari gave that even he was surprised. The whole scene, of course, was entirely incongruous with most people's versions of reality: Ela, sweet and pristine-looking, classically trained violinist, classy lady, married, was kneeling on her husband's bed and asking another man if he would face-fuck her.

  She hadn't mentioned
this particular aspect of the plan. What she would do. That she would take the lead like this. My stomach flopped.

  She didn't give him much time to answer or ponder the whole thing, but instead impishly smiled and turned onto her back, sliding under him.

  And that's when Ela's plan became clear: her head appeared between Ari trunk-like legs, after he slid his pants and underwear away. Her silky brown hair hung over the bed, and then her face appeared: she looked right at me and smiled.

  And then Ari bent his legs a little, and used one hand to guide his erect member toward Ela's mouth.

  Now that I could see it, angled down at my wife's waiting mouth, I could see that Ari's cock was extraordinarily thick, pale pink, and meat-like in a way that made it look almost overstuffed. For length, he was almost average, but this guy's cock was thick.

  And so, when Ela opened her mouth for him, her lips were quickly spread wide, and her jaw was pried open. Her eyes began to water almost immediately, as inch after inch of Ari's cock disappeared into her widely-stretched mouth.

  She left her eyes open, though, looking toward me, treating me to this one-of-a-kind pleasure of seeing a truly filthy porn performance, but with my own wife as the star. The tip of Ari's cock was pressing up against her throat now. All the way, all the way into her throat until his balls – big, dark, loose purple sacs, landed neatly on her nostrils.

  Ari ground himself into her, moving his hips not back and forth, but side to side, really smashing his whole cock as deep into her face as he could. Ela blinked, and tears dripped down her forehead, but she kept her eyes open even as they reddened and welled up with tears.

  He was in there for so long that I almost jumped out to stop him from choking her, but he withdrew after thirty seconds or so and Ela gasped: a wet, mucousy gasp. She struggled to get as much air in as she could before Ari went in again.

  “Like that? Is that what you like?”