I didn't say anything, for one thing, because it was all true, I was imagining the exact scene she had described; and for another, because she had slid down my body and was placing her lips close to my cock. Her breath wrapped around my dick and I shivered. My cock was still covered in her juices and my cum, and watched as her lips moved right next to the very tip of me, while her hand moved slowly up and down my shaft. “You're thinking about his greedy little eyes, undressing me in front of the whole class, and his dirty mind thinking about how he would like to be the guy I let fuck me so my boyfriend can watch. Just spreading my legs open and taking it, so he can see me submitting to another man for him.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I lifted my head to get a better view as she swirled her tongue around the tip of my cock like it was an ice cream. She looked up at me and smiled.
“I'll give you an incredible blowjob,” she told me, and squeezed my aching cock, “if you tell me the truth right now.”
“Okay,” I managed to say, like an idiot.
“Did you want to see me flirt with another man?” She moved her hand up, rubbed the precum that was practically gushing from the tip of me around in a lazy circle, and then moved down. “Even just a little?”
Who knows what I heard? Who knows what she even said?
“Yes,” I croaked, and I moved my hand to the back of her head. It was an involuntary reaction, and for a brief moment I thought she might get mad.
But I had given Anna what she had wanted, and as I soon learned, she was all about keeping her agreements. She gave me a final grin, and then, with her eyes still locked on mine, she opened her mouth and swallowed my cock, moving down the shaft at an excruciatingly slow pace.
When she reached the base, her hand appeared from nowhere, and feathered her fingers over my balls. I could feel another climax building, though it was hard to believe, and I balled her hair into a fist.
Anna stopped just as I was about to come, and the sensation that seized me was almost unbearable. She walked herself up, on her knees, to just above my cock, which was twitching wildly above my pelvis. I waited, almost too wound up to stop myself from grabbing her and pulling her down onto me so that I could have the release she had taken from me just a moment before.
She held my cock in one hand, and pulled her soaked lips apart with the other. She guided my prick, with no more deference for it than she would have had for an animate dildo, to her clitoris. She began to rub it over her swollen button, and she looked up at the ceiling as she did.
Now she was simply using me, grinding the ache in my cock deeper and deeper inside of me as she moved my head over her hard little button. The tip of my cock was covered in her flesh and her juices, but she abandoned the rest of me, and left me to watch her make herself come, using the head of my cock as her tool.
She rocked her hips without setting them down, and I stopped breathing as I watched her: a magical, unreal creature, who for a moment seemed to be an illusion or a dream I would wake up from with a huge hard-on. She moaned, and her legs shook as she came.
And then slowly, slowly, as though it were some kind of ritual and she was the goddess of it: she lowered herself onto me, and by the time her throbbing wet pussy reached the base of my cock, and her juices stuck to my balls, my eyes were clenched shut as my second orgasm of the night roared through me.
9: THE FIRST GAME
This was how it began. It was Anna who essentially created the game, and Anna who initiated it. Even though it might seem, from the story, that I was just getting dragged along by her, it didn't feel that way at all. Or maybe better put: it didn't matter. Because Anna had accurately read my desires, with the same uncanny ability she would take to her marketing career. And likewise, with the same extraordinary perception, she delivered to me exactly what I wanted.
She jumped right in on our next date. She had insisted on driving halfway across the city, going to some place where they served a specific kind of Dominican food that I had to try. The bar was lively, and there was a place for dancing.
Which of course, I did not do.
There are a lot of reasons for my not dancing, but they can be easily reduced to two main ones: I am a white guy from the suburbs of Portland, and I am a computer science major.
Anna was looking especially stunning in a red halter dress that somehow accented the part of her that was Latina. It accented the shade of her skin, brought out the wild color of her eyes, and clung magnificently to her curves from the waist up. It flared at the bottom, and grazed her long legs as she walked. Even though the perfection of her ass could not be seen in all its glory, the dress hinted at it. It was almost more tantalizing that way.
A very savory aspect of Anna was that she enjoyed wearing skirts. She played such masculine hardball in so many areas of her life, but when it came to the way she dressed – and this is still true – she was always sexy and feminine.
I was mildly uncomfortable with all the dancing, and the gallons of hot sauce Anna was dumping on her own food and mine. “Try it,” she was insisting. “This one has a lot of flavor.”
Dutifully, I tried sauce after sauce.
“Yeah. No. Yeah, this is just burning my face off again.”
She bit into some kind of empanada and smiled derisively at me.
We had a few beers, and watched the dancers. My mood was lightening with each drink, until I was almost considering taking up dancing.
Then Anna leaned across the table and smiled at me, taking my hand in hers. “I have the guy,” she said, and she was almost shouting because a live band was playing.
“Huh?” I said.
“The guy. The guy I'm going to tease you with. I have him picked out.”
Her words made their way slowly through my brain, and I was, of course, uncertain I had heard or understood her correctly. She turned her head, toward the bar, turned back to me, and winked.
I watched as Anna slinked to the bar, winding through the crowded table with ease and grace. She sat down on one of the tall chairs and leaned just so, so that the fabric of her orange-red dress slid from inch after inch of her thigh. She was wearing some incredibly sexy shoes, which I noticed for the first time: a tropical-looking wedge of wood that was wrapped around her perfect feet with straps of canvas the same color as her dress. Her foot was bent into a perfect arch, and her carefully groomed toes, painted the exact color of the fabrics, peeked out at the end.
The bartender visibly changed his mood as she sat down. He was attending to a group of girls, a gaggle of undergrad-aged blondes with whom he almost certainly had an excellent chance. He was a fit Latino with an unbuttoned shirt and waves of jet-black hair, probably an accent he took care to enhance, and that seemed to be exactly what they were there for.
But when Anna st down, she drew him away. The girls, who were pretty and cheerful, looked suddenly dull and tawdry next to the magnetic Anna. He hurried the order, smiling at Anna, and then approached her.
I watched Anna's body language. She was leaning in to the bar, chatting him up. I couldn't see her face, but I watched the bartender's reactions, and it was easy to imagine what she might be saying. She wasn't sure, she was almost certainly cooing, what kind of drink to try. She leaned her elbows on the bar and got close to his ear. She made him press his lips together before a self-satisfied smile.
I sat, watching her. It took awhile for the whole thing to reach my consciousness: that this is what we had talked about before, in bed. That this was, in fact, what I was interested in seeing. This was the game that I wanted her to play.
There was the excitement of not knowing how far she would take it. Not just that first time, but any time she did it.
The bartender was not her mark, though. As soon as he got busy and had to attend to other customers, I felt a pang of disappointment. Tension had been building up inside of me as I watched her flirt with him, and it seemed to get sucked out of me as soon as he walked away. But Anna had more in store for me. She threw her
hair over her shoulder and looked in my direction.
Don't worry, the look said. It was infused with Anna's incredible confidence. It turned me on even more.
And sure enough, it was only a minute before he came up to her. Anna always managed to give exactly the right cues to exactly who she wanted to come to her. Maybe she had fluttered her eyes up to catch his for just a moment, given a small smile, twisted her napkin in her fingers, looked down as though she were shy. Who knew?
But there he was, the guy she had singled out. He was a great-looking, tall Latino, wearing a very plain set of jeans and white shirt, buttons not partially open. He stood next to Anna's chair and set his drink down on the bar. Anna flipped her hair, and I could see her face as her mouth opened up in a wide smile. Her fingers fanned out and traveled down her throat as she laughed appreciatively at the joke he must have told. Their bodies moved closer together.
I watched, and inside of me my feelings were a soup of contrasts. I was turned on watching Anna suck men in with such ease, seeing her exude her sexuality on someone else. It was voyeuristic, sure, but there was something about her doing it for me that was incredibly hot. Almost like I had exerted control over Anna, who was uncontrollable.
Mixed with that feeling, although it may seem paradoxical, was the sense that it was all out of control, that it could spin into something nightmarish at any moment. The danger of not knowing what Anna would do next made my stomach squeeze and flip-flop, and jealousy was pacing like a trapped animal inside of me. All of it threatened to explode, and I had no idea what would surface if it did.
The two of them looked at the dance floor, and Anna shrugged and grinned again. She put her hand on his arm and moved her head in a way that made it clear she was apologizing for not being a good dancer.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, and placed his lips on the top of her hand.
Don't worry, I could almost hear him saying. I'm very good.
There was a light piece of music playing, and I still have to guess at whether it was salsa or merengue or samba or any number of many dances I cannot do. The two of them fell into an easy rhythm, and it turned out (unsurprisingly), that Anna was quite good.
I had turned my chair to watch them, and for a few minutes it was sort of like a Disney movie. Sweet, light-hearted dancing, and the two of them smiling and making the occasional, zany, salsa mistake and laughing. Moving a little closer to each other. Spinning, shaking, but all very distanced.
The song ended.
A new song came on, one which seemed to cause a stir within the crowd. A very fast techno beat was layered beneath a trumpet playing, and around me a number of people stood up to get onto the dance floor.
I frowned, because there didn't seem to be anything to the song that was all that special.
Anna and her man had looked at each other and smiled with excitement. Now they were dancing at a rapid pace, in precise movements that almost seemed like they had to have been rehearsed, and he was spinning Anna around and around. Her red skirt was lifted up into the air, and every now and then a flash of her black, lacy, boy-short lingerie came into view. Just a flash; the rest of the time it was just a teasing blur of her long legs, moving to the beat, and a swirl of fabric.
It was very entertaining.
And then.
The music that had led into the song came to a sudden halt, and the entire crowd on the dance floor seemed to expect it, because they all spun into their partners' arms at that moment, and slowed, and clasped each other in a different kind of embrace.
The beat changed to something more traditional sounding, and slower-paced.
Anna was now pressed up against her man, their fingers intertwined, their eyes locked. The light-hearted flirting of the previous song was gone, as was the frenetic dancing of the first part of this one. Now they were dancing, pressed against each other, their light sweat mingling. This kind of dance was not about fun. It was about sex.
It practically was sex, they way they were doing it.
Now his hand was on her lower (very lower) back, and I could see he was inching it down, down to her ass, probably pleased to find that it was hard and round, and full of promises he couldn't see beneath the fabric. Their faces were very close together, and their lips were only inches apart.
I had a very stiff erection under the table. Their bodies, locked close together, moved back and forth. A sort of slow-motion grind. Every second brought them closer, and his hands lower and more insistent. Anna was smiling, encouraging him.
She twisted so that her back was against his chest, and I watched with a cocktail of feelings as his hands began migrating upward from her slender stomach, to her ribs...until they brushed past her breasts, taking way too long in their travels up her arms, which she had extended for him to grab for a spin.
Way too long.
He was getting a nice, big feel of my girlfriend's perfect breasts.
She opened her eyes, and looked directly at me. She winked.
They began grinding, because although it was set to a different music and they seemed to be combining some actual dance steps into their movement, there really was no other word for it. His mouth was moving closer to her neck now, and I could see from the way that he was tensing up, he was thinking of some way to turn her to face him.
To get her lips underneath his.
And then to draw her in, until he could take all of her.
I twisted uncomfortably in my seat.
Our waitress – a very attractive Latina with a narrow waist and a huge pair of tits, blocked my view to ask me if I wanted anything to drink. Her interference sent a knife of anger through me. I barked my drink order at her, and she furrowed her brow in surprise and annoyance. I didn't care. I just wanted her to move.
When she cleared my view of the dance floor, they were gone.
My heart stopped and my cock stabbed at me with pleasurable pain. Had they gone already? Maybe Anna had seized her chance, and escaped to the bathroom, where she was now bending over a toilet, her skirt up around her waist, her hands on the wall...
But her red dress caught my eye in my peripheral vision. They were merely walking back to the bar. Anna was fanning herself. I'm so hot, she was saying.
I liked that Anna was in such control of this man. She wasn't acting like herself. She was waiving much more wildly than usual, channeling her inner Latina. I could see she was dumbing herself down a little, sexifying her movements a little more – playing the game she played best, the art of selling. Tweaking everything she did so that he could not resist her, and thought she was really interested in him.
It was textbook. She touched her throat, she leaned so that he could see her cleavage. She laughed at everything he said, her eyes attentive and glistening with her excitement and rapt attention.
I began to admire her expertise, and I was really getting off on the fact that she was doing it when the thought occurred to me, cold and hard and very suddenly:
Then wasn't that precisely what Anna was doing to me?
Manipulating me?
As though she possessed some kind of extrasensory perception, she turned her face toward me at that moment, and looked into my eyes. She didn't wink but the wink was sort of implied in that moment. A knowing look, a sharing look.
Did it matter if she was manipulating me?
What the hell did I care?
The man had moved closer to her now, and his hand reached out and rested on her thigh. Anna lowered her eyes, leaned in, and listened to whatever he was whispering in her ear. She smiled, and her eyes briefly fluttered up to meet mine. She nodded, and then he turned to the bartender.
She mouthed:
Now.
This first time we played the game, I was in a limbo at that moment, racking my brains for what she meant by that.
I was sure it was now she had mouthed. But I sat there, looking stupid, my cock having robbed all of the blood from my brain.
She widened her eyes, and pointed at the do
or.
Then she placed a hand on his arm, and said something to him in her coquettish way.
She was walking toward the bathroom.
My eyes moved from side to side. I watched him take a sip of his drink, turning to survey the room with the smug expression of a man who believes he is going to get laid.
But Anna was on the dance floor.
In the back of my mind, the ideas were all mixing together, but not very quickly.
“Oh,” I said aloud, as the whole picture hit me at once. “Fuck.”
I paid with a fifty because I had no change. Later I would learn to pay for each drink as it came. To be ready whenever Anna said now, to leave the man she had teased so mercilessly.
Now had meant run away.
Not sure if I was doing the right thing, I stepped out into the parking lot. I gave a last glance at the poor guy at the bar. He had a smug expression that made it hard to feel completely sorry for him, but it was a terrible thing Anna was doing.
She ran up to me from the side of the building. She was flushed, smiling. She grabbed my arm. “Okay. We have to go,” she said. She had intense excitement in her eyes.
She led me out to the car, and she had the keys in her purse. There were so many things going through my head, and she was smiling at me every few steps, totally in control of me, leading me like a dog. I didn't even think to drive my own car. I just followed her, and sat in it, waiting for wherever or whatever she would take me to next.
She rolled the windows down and let the wind blow her hair around. She was still radiating heat from the club, from her dancing, and our running to the car. She drove without saying anything for a few miles, then her right hand moved over to my side of the car.
She managed to get her hand into my lap, unbuckle my pants, and reach in to grab me, kneading my balls and driving me crazy – all while driving. I just stared at her, and let her do it. There was nothing else I could do. I had never let her drive my car, and she was doing it the way she seemed to do everything: fiercely, and competitively, even if no one was around. She was driving way too fast and had scraped the undercarriage a few times as she hit potholes or took steeply changing hills.
The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel Page 8
