Her hand was on my cock, though, and it was the only thing I could think about. My balls ached from the half hour she had tortured me, and my head was pounding with pent-up lust and a strange residual left by jealousy and excitement.
She pulled into a strip mall. I had no idea where we were, at all.
It was a pretty risque place to park – it wasn't that late, and some of the lights were still on. The parking lot was bright, and there was no dark corner to hide in.
But there was no stopping her. She turned the car off, and slipped her panties off gracefully.
My cock was already out, so climbed over and hopped on to it in one easy motion. Her pussy was so wet I could feel her nectar dripping onto my balls immediately, and I glided right into her like a knife in butter.
She tipped her head back, and her mouth was open. She rode me hard and fast, and she came like a rocket. She screamed and her pussy clenched on my cock, rippling with wave after wave of her orgasm. I let her hot, soft muscles spasm on my cock, stroking me like a mouth. My cock felt like it was going to split open, but I loved it when she came first, and then I pounded her while she moaned with her leftover ecstasy, until I spilled my cum into her.
She let me grab her and move her body over my cock, just as I had imagined that man from the bar doing. Her eyes were open but they were distant, and I came in almost no time at all thinking about how she was probably imagining the same thing: his big, thick cock, dark and pulsing, ramming up inside of her while he grasped her with his huge hands and held her up with his enormous arms.
I found myself hoping, as I burst into her sopping wet pussy, that she was imagining his cum filling her up. Instead of mine. Or with mine.
Even though I was also hoping that she was not imagining that at all.
What was I thinking? I didn't even know anymore.
There was nothing wrong with her imagining that, I thought, as we panted on each other, both of us sweaty and tired. That's what this was all about. Imagining these things. It's all I wanted to do: imagine.
Except.
Anna had gone a little bit further than just imagining.
I leaned into her full breasts, and felt a fear unlike any other I had felt before creeping in on me.
Or was it excitement?
It felt like an adrenaline rush at a really bad moment, like the time I had been skiing and started a jump over what I thought was a small drop and looked down to find fifty feet yawning below me, and no way to turn back the clock...maybe there was no end to the depth below me, the danger that awaited me. It was exhilarating, but I felt it deep in my crotch: it was also terrifying.
She slipped off of me and plopped into the driver's seat. “Phew,” she said. She seemed more satisfied than ever. “That was great.” She had quite the glow on her cheeks now, and she seemed so completely contented that I just smiled back at her.
It was short, but it was one of the best fucks I had ever had. At the time, I couldn't quite put my finger on why. It was only later, as we went through more and more games, and we became closer and closer, that I could see it for what it was: I had a desire to see Anna get fucked by other men. It turned me on. I really wanted to see it.
Anna kept playing these games while we dated. Always the same set-up: we would go out, and she would pretend to be single. I would watch her flirt with another man, and then we would leave the scene and return home (or sometimes not get all the way home) to fuck ourselves silly. There was a night we fucked in the bathroom of the bar where she had seduced some guy, and we literally climbed out of a window to avoid running into him on the way out, because he seemed a little like a tough guy who would go into a rage if he found out what was going on. At the height of our addiction – because that’s almost what it became – we were doing this three times a week.
But after I proposed to Anna, she seemed to lose interest in her games. She played them with less enthusiasm, or didn't want to do it some evenings. Until she stopped suggesting them altogether.
The idea sort of faded in my mind as well. We settled into married life, and the sex was still good, but became more routine.
It didn't happen in any kind of sad way – just that way that I think life goes for everyone. Passion sort of loses its punch, new habits get formed, security in the relationship builds and the fantastical jolts of adrenaline and serotonin are no longer delivered for staying up late to fuck. The chase ends, and people get tired.
We still loved each other and had a passionate relationship...just...we took the time to floss our teeth before hopping into bed now, and we didn't prey on poor young men in bars for our own amusement. Or challenge the boundaries of our love to get a high.
And then John arrived.
10: ALL OVER AGAIN
So there I was, seven years later, married now for five years. Obsessed again.
Only this time, I felt the pull more strongly. I didn't just want to see Anna flirt with another man. I wanted to see some very, very dirty things.
I wanted her to go all the way.
Maybe I had kept things pent up all these years, and they had just concentrated inside of me.
But now I was like an addict. I was spacing out, spending all of my time thinking about Anna fucking John.
One night at dinner, maybe a month after he moved in, a few weeks after my obsession began in earnest, Anna slammed her fork down on my plate. Evidently I hadn't been listening to her.
“Brian. I said, you missed the deadline for that Rice project.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know,” was all I could say.
“What in the hell is going on with you?”
Her tone wasn't admonishing; it carried the overtones of real concern and a lightheartedness to it. Anna was the real breadwinner in the relationship, and we both knew it. I might be the one paying for vacations and fancy dinners, but Anna had the real job, and Anna had her shit together.
“I can't concentrate,” I said.
Anna smiled, confused. “Too much porn on the internet?”
“Something like that.”
She stood up and opened the refrigerator.
“Seriously,” she said. “What do you need to do so you can get back on top of things? Take a break?”
I looked at her.
She turned to me. “Do you have...sexual needs that aren't being fulfilled?”
Even though it was the kind of joke Anna often made, the timing was uncanny and the question took me by surprise.
“Something like that,” I said. My voice was low and had taken on a tone that made her face change.
She narrowed her eyes. “You really do.”
I said nothing.
“Is it something you want me to do?”
My chest felt tight.
“It's John.”
Her face did not register shock, at least. She was quiet. She was thinking.
What was she weighing, in that mind of hers? I had no way of knowing. I knew that Anna was a calculating woman, a person who did not make rash decisions, even if they seemed spontaneous. She weighed her options carefully – but since I couldn't know if she was honestly attracted to John, or honestly interested enough in this fantasy to take it all the way, I could have no idea what she was measuring in her thoughts.
“If you aren't careful, I'll start to think you're serious.”
I realized that it was now or never. I wasn't certain about Anna's tone: if she was serious, or if she was teasing again.
I felt the same queasiness as the first (and only) time I bungee-jumped.
I made sure that my voice sounded serious. I lowered it to nearly a whisper, and delivered this sentence almost monotone:
“I think I am serious.”
Here it was. The moment of truth.
Anna's lips parted, and her head tilted just a tiny bit. Her expression went flat, and I had no idea what she was going to do. She left me wondering for a full couple of minutes, and the silence in the room was almost deafening.
I nodded.
“Because I am, too.”
I exhaled. I hadn’t even realized that I had been holding my breath.
She laughed suddenly. A strange laugh, and it made me laugh nervously. She held her hand to her cheek. Then against her mouth. She shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said. “That was just kind of tense.”
It still was. At least for me.
But now Anna-The-Planner was at work. Anna-Make-It-Happen.
“Okay,” she said, and she was using the voice I knew she used in meetings, to lead people, to convince people. “What is it you were thinking?”
I covered my eyes and shook my head. Anna's cut-and-dry approach to some things really made me uncomfortable. “I don't know Anna,” I said. “I...I guess I just imagined it sort of...developing naturally. Like...you're attracted to John. And then you just kind of...” I stopped. No, that wasn't really what I had been thinking.
“No,” I said, echoing my own thoughts. “No, that wasn't really what I was thinking.”
I opened my eyes.
“Want to know the truth?” I said. For some reason I felt suddenly bold.
I watched Anna respond. She liked it. She was twisting inside of herself with expectation. She grinned and nodded.
“I want you do it. I want you to sleep with John. But I want to control it. I want to tell you what to do.”
Anna had her hand on her hip.
There was a strange element to our relationship at play here, and that was Anna's desire for sexual domination, which was evident and which she admitted to readily. It was combining now with her real-life lack of tolerance for anyone at all telling her what to do, which was also evident and which she not only admitted to but practically bragged about. The two were competing inside of her now, and I was enjoying the show of conflict on her face.
Anna hardly ever had to grapple with this kind of thing in her own mind.
She tapped her fingers on her pelvis, from the pinky to the pointer, in two steady, neat drum rolls. Her lips were pouting, her eyes were narrowed in concentration. Anna, I knew, was making an extensive list of pros and cons, weighing her options and desires, calculating all of the possibilities, good and bad.
She was almost terrifying.
“You tell me what to do,” she repeated.
I nodded.
Her face changed. Her decision was made. Her conscious mind sort of rolled from where it had been hunched over a desk and thinking, to now, the moment with me. She stepped toward me. She was smiling, but that could be a bad thing.
Anna liked to surprise.
She pulled on my shirt, and made me step toward her.
This was the moment.
“And what would you have me do?” she said sassily.
And this is where my seriousness disintegrated, and I had to laugh a little.
“Jesus,” I said. “I have no idea. I hadn't thought it all the way through.”
It was true. I hadn't expected Anna to take it all so seriously. I hadn't expected Anna to be so willing.
And now? Truth be told, I was a little bothered that Anna was so willing. I knew it didn't make any sense to feel that way. This whole conversation had been my idea. The obsession was mine. I had no justification for wanting Anna to resist it, just so, just some perfect amount that made me feel...like what?
Anna's hand was finding its way between my skin and my sweatpants.
Strangely, a small pang of disappointment was knocking at my chest. It wasn't exactly what I had envisioned.
She brought her lips close to mine, her wry smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Would you have me do incredibly dirty things?”
My cock responded to her touch. My cock was thinking for itself, filling up, ready to be treated to whatever it was I would ask her to let John do to her.
But in the back of my mind, a pang of disappointment was tapping at me.
What had I wanted? What was it reasonable for me to want?
“Would you ask me to do filthy, degrading, humiliating things?”
I would. That's exactly what I wanted her to do. That's what I wanted to see John do to her. It's what I imagined all the time.
Didn't every man want his wife to talk like a filthy little whore, as well?
Grab his cock, start to slide down his body, with her lips opening wider and wider. Going where he hoped she would go: to his cock?
But it was bothering me. It bothered me right through Anna smiling with her lips at the tip of my cock. She asked me if I would ask her to suck John's cock, and I said yes. She asked me if I would tell her to take the whole big thing, and precum began to ooze from deep inside of me, and I said yes. My voice was a hoarse whisper. Her mouth was wet and she swallowed all of me, her hand clamped around my balls and squeezing.
But I had lost the thing that had really made me most excited.
Control.
I had wanted to convince her. I had wanted to push her into it. I had wanted her reluctant. Virtuous and in need of prodding. Who knows exactly what I had envisioned?
But with her eyes closed, and her mind free to think whatever she wanted as she slurped on my cock, who knew if Anna hadn't simply played me? Who knew if this was my idea at all? Anna was an expert marketer, and one thing she excelled at was subterfuge. Under-the-radar advertising.
She sold people things they didn't need or want, and she made them think the whole thing was their idea.
What if Anna wanted John all along?
She sucked hard on my shaft, with a hungry, almost violent suction.
It felt terrific, and I could feel my orgasm being pulled out of me, almost like I was unwilling (except, of course, I wasn't: it was hot as hell). I came hard and yelled at the ceiling.
That part was good.
But part of me was still unsettled.
11: THE BOOTS
Even if Anna had tricked me somehow, and even if Anna was back in control of this game that I had started, my obsessive thoughts and her wild sexiness were not making it easy for me to step back and think rationally about where we were going with this.
We went shopping the next day.
It was a planned trip. By that I mean, we had planned it before the conversation from the night before.
But Anna was racing to the goal now, and part of me was superheated with excitement. Part of me had a hard-on all day watching her finger black lingerie and give me a complicit smile.
But another part of me wanted to stop what I had apparently put into motion.
Everything she looked at now was something sexy, and everything she touched could be the thing she would wear to have sex with John.
At a shoe store, Anna took things to a new level.
She found a pair of knee-high brown leather boots. They had five-inch heels, they were clearly the pride of the store. An elephant would have looked sexy in them.
Anna ran her fingers up and down the smooth brown leather of the boots. Then she flipped the model shoe over and her eyes widened a she looked the price.
“One thousand dollars,” she said. She started to put the boot back, but an idea occurred to her. I could see it forming in her mind.
“Hmmm,” she said. She looked at me, and twisted the boot playfully in her hand.
I was a few steps ahead of her, or maybe right in pace with her. But I waited for her to deliver her idea.
“What if we made things a little more interesting?”
I played innocent. “What things?” I asked, as if I had no idea.
“Well...” she said. “You have things you'd like me to do...”
I nodded, and I looked around the store a little nervously, trying to get an idea if anyone was listening as much as to make sure that no one was looking, because I could an erection growing in my pants already.
“And I feel like, I should have some kind of...bonus...waiting for me at the end of it. After all,” she stro
ked the boot seductively, like it was a cock she was working into a frenzy, “I never work for free.”
See the thing about Anna? She liked to be submissive in bed, and someone who didn't know her well might read all kinds of things into that that simply weren't true. Because Anna gave up only the control she decided to give up. The rest she kept for herself. The rest she twisted and manipulated.
Her hands were moving up and down the soft leather of the boot, like it was an enormous cock.
I looked at her expression.
However much I may have wanted to put the brakes on everything; to tell Anna there was no way I would pay her to have sex with another man; to laugh in her face and go home and do something clean like have cookies and tea; I couldn't. I couldn't stop any of this, because it was leading me, not the other way around.
Anna knew it.
And so did I.
“So you do what I want, and I buy you these boots?”
She bit her lip. “Exactly.”
You have to understand that I love Anna. And maybe this is all part of it. But right then, just then, I wanted John to do the most fucked-up things to her. Something about her turning the tables on me this way made me want to see walk her around his room on a dog leash.
I took the boot from her and set it down in its place. “Let me think about it,” I said, and my own calm, beneath which I was raging with all kinds of filthy ideas and desires, surprised even me. “That's a pricey boot.”
I could see that Anna liked the way this game was panning out. It flashed across her face. I wasn't sure if she wanted to hide her pleasure or not, but her face returned to its usual cheerful, dangerous unreadability. She let her hand linger on the boot, and then she walked past me, the slightest smirk on her face.
Or did I imagine that expression? As soon as she was behind me, I no longer trusted what I thought I had seen.
All I knew was that my wife had just agreed to let me give her instructions about what I wanted her to let another man do to her, for the price of a leather boot.
The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel Page 9
