The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel

by Butler, Arnica

  “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 was 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 time 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 posi
tioned 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 yougoing 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.

  15: TURNED TABLES

  I got up after a short nap, and sat in the kitchen with Anna in the latest hours of the night. She worked and I pretended to work, but all I was thinking about was the dildo in her ass, and her upcoming time with John.

  I went to bed.

  When I woke up in the morning, she was dressed and punching 1:11 into the microwave for her coffee. She looked well-rested.

  I had an erection that was pushing against my underwear and my sweats. My very first thought in the morning had been the dildo in Anna's ass. I desperately wanted to say something about it now (well, I desperately wanted to bend her over the counter, to feel its small bump protruding from her little hole, to turn her around after I inspected it and get her to suck my cum from my cock).

  The microwave beeped. She poured the coffee from a mug into her metallic canister for the car, unafraid of spilling it on her white blouse.

  “Gotta run,” she said. She moved her fingers down my body, and brushed them over my cock. “Don't get too excited,” she said.

  I smiled.

  The thoughts going through my head at this point were so perverse and so lewd that I could barely retain an expression on my face that did not seem obscene.

  I sat down at the kitchen table, where my computer was still waiting.

  But all I could think of was Anna.

  Anna sitting at her desk at work, squirming with a butt plug inside of her. Anna thinking about John. Anna's ass aching as she walked down the street, Anna screaming as the tip of John's cock passed the outside of her ass, because even though she had squirmed with a dildo inside of her all day long, it was still too big not to make her squeal…

  I went upstairs and took a shower, my hands on the stone wall as I jerked myself off and came in almost no time at all.

  It was going to be a long day of anticipation.

  I sat staring at the text.

  Inside of me I felt like a wild animal had been set loose. I was actually going to start crawling the walls, banging my head, screaming and pounding my chest.

  Calm the fuck down Brian.

  I read it again.

  [Anna]: He can't do it tonight. Emergency depo. Take me to dinner instead?

  I knew, from the way that my heart was pounding, that a dizzying rage was building up inside of me, that desperate thoughts were percolating from my mind – I knew at that moment, for certain, that I had a real problem.

  Tell him to cancel his fucking deposition, I actually wrote, but had at least the sense not to send it.

  I paced the house.

  I threw my phone and almost broke it.

  I was losing my mind.

  I went back to the shower to cool down.

  I agreed to Anna's dinner alternative, though I had no interest in it. I didn't want to see Anna in a restaurant, even if she did flirt with other men.

  I wanted to see Anna on all fours on John's bed, turned around so that I could have a nice view as he spread her tiny asshole wide open and then fucked her raw.

  I wanted to watch John's cum dripping out of her torn-up hole.

  But after I cooled down, I could think more clearly. I knew these were selfish thoughts. The thoughts of an addict.

  So I agreed to go to dinner.

  I went in a daze, as I did most things now. Anna had arrived in the car, already changed into a tight red dress. She hadn't gotten out, and hadn't given me the chance to release any of the pent-up hunger I was feeling. She did it so casually, as though none of this had ever happened.

  I was almost angry with her in the car, though I knew I had no right to be. She drove and talked about ordinary things, and seemed to have moved on completely from the idea of fucking John that night. She was not addicted. She didn't care or think about it at all.

  And I was in the passenger seat, sweating with my obsession.

  I followed her through the restaurant, watching her beautiful ass in a tight red dress, thinking of all the things I would love to do to her. Most of them were beyond obscene by then.


  Memory, like I keep saying, is a funny thing. Sometimes when I remember this night, I think I knew it was coming. I embellish my memory of my own thoughts as I watched Anna walking through the restaurant. She had reserved a table, and it seemed like the kind of place that needed a reservation long before she could have made it, impromptu, that afternoon.

  Did I even notice that at the time? It's hard to say.

  In some memories of this scene, I had a sixth sense, a premonition that something extraordinary was gong to happen.

  Other times, I remember myself as utterly clueless.

  And still in other memories of my memory, I had a sense of foreboding.

  I remember only that I felt as if I hit a brick wall when we rounded a corner and Anna collapsed into a booth. My entire body went completely numb. I turned my whole body, not just my head, to face the hostess who had escorted us there.

  I must have stared at that girl forever, like maybe if I did that, she would take me out of this scene. I remember every detail of her face. She was a teenaged blonde, a girl whose jaw shape and thin, jutting lower lip revealed that there were many, many people in her family tree with the last name Fitzgerald, and that her voice would be nasal, like she always had a cold…

  She was staring at me, blinking, annoyance making its way down her face like a slow drip.

  I could feel my heart as I looked at her, this weird little girl. She waved the menus toward the table again. Big, leather-bound menus, for big, leather-bound restaurants.

  My heart was kicking me from the inside, extra slowly.

  One.

  Two.

  I wanted to explain to her that I could not sit down there, that I couldn't even look in that direction. Because in that direction, sitting in that booth next to my wife, was the man who had been fucking her.

  Who? Yes, it's confusing. Fucking my wife, little girl.

  I had this one-sided and unreal conversation with the hostess, and she was growing more than impatient. Now a look of fear mingled with her annoyance.

  Anna tugged violently at my shirt sleeve, pulling me down into the booth as she simultaneously scooted around.