by Lainey Fox
Stephanie un-clicked her seat belt and sat nervously, wondering what to say. She avoided Lance’s eyes and looked up her driveway.
“So, this is the house huh,” said Lance, leaning over Stephanie to look where she was looking, his shoulder pressing against her breast.
She had made sure she wore one of her fancy bras, and the lace pressing against her nipple made lights shoot up her spine. Lance’s head was inches from hers, and she could feel his breath on her neck.
“Yes. Thanks for dropping me home, you really didn’t have to, Alan was going to pick me up.”
“Well I’m a gentleman aren’t I?”
Stephanie turned towards Lance, her lips tantalizingly close to his. She wanted to kiss him, wanted him to kiss her.
“You are. A very English gentleman. Are you always so well behaved?”
Lance kissed her lips, taking his time on letting the kiss end.
“No,” he said.
Their lips quickly returned to each other and Stephanie felt Lance’s hand exploring her breasts. She knew she had promised Alan that nothing would happen without him, but she needed to see what was lurking beneath those jeans. She reached over and rubbed his crotch as Lance began kissing her neck and pulling a strap down off her shoulder. She gasped when she felt what was pressing against the denim; surely this was a sex toy, or a deformity. She couldn’t see over Lance’s head so had to feel her way over the thing under her hand. She moved her hand down his thigh, tracing it’s length. It practically reached his knee, and felt almost as thick as her arm.
“Take it out,” she gasped, and Lance made an ‘mmmm’ sound so low it could have been an engine idling. He pulled back from her neck and unzipped his jeans, his eyes fixed on hers.
“Are you sure you can handle it?” he asked, reaching down into his pants with his right arm and reappearing with an organ so big seemed like some kind of sleeping animal.
Stephanie was in shock - her mouth open in astonishment. She reached over gingerly, trying to pick it up with her hand, but it was too big. It twitched, a beast getting roused from slumber. Stephanie tried using both hands, and realized with a smile that she was now forming the shape she had made to Alan on their bed only a week ago as she described the size of the cock she wanted. Now it was between her hands for real, and she began to stoke it, a little awkwardly. Within moments it had reached its full height.
“My god,” she whispered, and let out a giggle, “I don’t know what I am going to do with that.”
“Well, let’s find out,” said Lance and he put his hand behind Stephanie’s head.
Stephanie froze. “No,” she managed to say, “we have to wait. We need to do this with Alan.” She suddenly wanted to get out of the car.
“Well he’s home ain’t he?” asked Lance with a smirk.
“He’ll call you,” Stephanie managed to blurt out, pulling her strap back up and opening the car door. “My god…” she said again, stepping out into the stillness of her driveway.
Chapter 3
Alan stood in the shower, letting the hot water spray over his scalp. Looking down at his penis, he thought about what was waiting for him next door. He could hear Lance’s deep voice, his accent, his small talk. How can he be so calm about this? It’s like he’s a professional, Alan wondered. Staring at his penis, so flaccid and oblivious to the whole situation, it seemed to him like a strange, useless growth had appeared between his legs. He rubbed it a little, trying to rouse it into existence. Nothing. He turned off the shower, dried off, and looked at himself in the mirror.
“Hi Alan,” he said softly to his reflection, “so you are about to watch your wife get fucked by a giant black man. How do you feel about that?”
He stared at his reflection, wanting something to happen, some course of steam to come out of his ears. Nothing. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into his bedroom.
Lance was kissing his wife. They were sitting upright, and were both naked. He had let them get a head start on purpose, using the shower as an excuse to have a moment to himself to prepare. It didn’t really work. Standing there, staring at the scene in his room, Alan felt totally unprepared. He looked at the contrast of skin tones before him; Stephanie so pale and soft she almost blended into the sheets, Lance so dark, wrapped around her, engulfing her like a shadow. He went over to the arm chair at took off his towel, sitting himself down on Stephanie’s dress pants and a floral blouse.
The kissing intensified quickly. Lance had his hand between Stephanie’s legs, and was rubbing away at her pussy, making her moan. Alan watched as two long dark fingers disappeared between her swollen pink labia, making his wife coo with pleasure. And then he saw Lance’s cock. It was fully erect now, and Stephanie was struggling to figure out how to jerk it off. She had both hands wrapped around it, and was moving them up and down hurriedly, as if she was working some kind of pump. For an instant Alan wanted to help her, but that thought quickly passed in a hiss of disgust. He felt the strange growth between his legs start to grow, and instinctively brought his right hand down to stroke it.
“Make it wet, luv,” said Lance, lying back on Alan’s bed.
He stretched himself out and sighed.
“Comfy bed you got, Alan,” he said.
Alan said nothing. Stephanie glanced at her husband guiltily, then smiled, and turned back to the monster that was looming in front of her. She began licking it, up and down, kissing it and pushing saliva from her lipsticked lips all over it. She spat on it, stroked it, and began sucking on its enormous head hungrily, moaning and fondling Lance’s cleanly shaven balls with her right hand. Lance reached between her legs and began sliding his fingers in and out of her now dripping pussy again. Alan could hear how wet she was getting, noting to himself he had never once seen her so covered in her own juices. Clear sticky fluid was running down Lance’s thick wrist, glistening in the soft light of their bedroom. All of a sudden Lance picked up Stephanie with both hands and spun her around, as if she was a doll, positioning her hips above his face.
“Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmm” he enthused as he lapped at her, his fingers spreading her ass above him.
Stephanie was trying to fit Lance’s cock in her mouth, saliva spewing out of her mouth obscenely as she fixed her eyes on Alan, who was immobile, sitting in the arm chair like a tired old king. He had given up on stroking his penis, and had both hands neatly placed on either arm of the chair. Lance got out from underneath Stephanie and positioned himself behind her, she on all fours, still facing Alan.
“Alright Alan, let’s see if she can handle this aye?”
He spat in his hand and rubbed it over the head of his cock, then began rubbing it over Stephanie’s ass, sliding it down between her cheeks until it found her gaping wet opening. He pushed the head in slowly, and Stephanie winced, letting out a cry of shock. Alan felt himself growing again, this time with vigor, and he leaned forward in the chair, suddenly enthused.
“Yes Lance, you give it to her, give her what she wants,” said Alan, wringing out his suddenly hardened shaft.
Lance laughed, “You poor sod,” and took Stephanie’s hips with both hands.
He pulled her slowly back towards him, his face staring intently at what he was inching inside of her.
“There you go baby, that’s it… that’s it…” Stephanie’s eyes were closed tight, her mouth open in a silent gasp, her beautiful hair now plastered haphazardly over her forehead.
Alan raised himself in the chair, trying to get a better view. Lance saw this, and withdrew himself quickly from Stephanie.
“Oh, you want to see do you?” He flipped Stephanie on to her back, climbing off the bed and pulling her legs with him. “How’s this then?”
He spread her legs wide apart, and bent down to lick her but instead spat on her engorged mound. He pulled her to the edge of the bed, and standing, began to ease his monstrously enraged cock into her again. This time she seemed to accept it more easily, and reached down with both hands, spreading her lip
s and rubbing her stiff little clit.
“Fuck me,” she moaned, “fuck me now, Lance, put it all inside me, I want it all inside me…”
Lance expertly began to ease his dark, vein ridden member into Stephanie, pausing after each inch was won, sliding it out ever so slightly, then pressing forward again. His hands were kneading Stephanie’s breasts, pulling at them, then releasing them. Only half of his cock was inside her, but that was all she could take. Lance began to move his hips in a slow rhythm, in and out, Stephanie’s pussy lips stuck to his shaft with each movement. Lance began to build up speed, sweat forming on his furrowed brow.
“Yes… yes,” he moaned slowly, over and over again, in time with each thrust.
Stephanie seemed at ease now, and tried to reach around Lance’s back, instead having to make do with a hand on each taught hip. Aland stood, his hand now moving in time with Lance’s giant cock, stroking himself with fascination at what was happening on his bed. He felt giddy, wanting to cum, wanting Lance to cum, wanting Stephanie to cum. Stephanie began to moan in a way that seemed completely alien to Alan, as if she was possessed. Her hand began working away double time at her clit, almost a blur it was moving so fast.
“Not yet baby, not yet…” came the voice of Lance through clenched teeth. He thrust himself in deeper, his balls now slapping against the underside of Stephanie’s soft ass.
“I can’t… I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” screamed Stephanie, her head craned up, trying desperately to see what was burrowing into her.
She let out a sudden wail and began shaking, her legs moving so violently Lance had to grab hold of them, pinning them under each giant bicep. He pulled her legs up close to her chest, lifting her off the bed and let out a scream of his own:
“Fuuuuuuuuuck!!!” and he began twitching, his hips moving in spasms, Stephanie’s palms slapping against his stomach.
She pulled herself off him, his giant glistening cock now out in the air, still spurting cum and twitching like a dancing python. Stephanie got on her hands and knees and opened her mouth, trying to catch as much of the white spunk on her tongue as she could.
Alan was now reclining on the armchair, Stephanie’s black dress pants wrapped around his rapidly deflating penis, soaking up his sickly load of sperm. He let out a long breath, audible and somewhat out of place. Lance and Stephanie looked up at him from the sweaty embrace they had collapsed into.
“Alan,” said Stephanie, panting, “what did you say, darling?”
“Nothing,” said Alan, his thin lips curled at the corners into a smile.
Watching My Hot Wife –
My Rival, Her Lover
Book 1 of Watching my Hot Wife – My Rival, Her Lover
By Lainey Fox
Copyright © 2016 by Lainey Fox
& Scarlet Lantern Publishing
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
Chapter 1
The Mercedes SL-7 quietly parked outside the Goodman house. From the driver’s side, a lady stepped out. Clearly, she was jumpy and excited. Nonetheless, peculiarly regal in appearance. She was wearing a velvet-silk red one piece, that extended down to her knees, which then revealed two silky smooth legs covered in sleek translucent black stockings. Her hair was like a lion’s mane, carelessly dropping to her neck, curly and fluffy, of a dark brownish tinge. Her skin tone was a rich shade of ebony, visibly well-cared for over the days, with a sensuous shine to it.
Jane Goodman had a large plastic packet on her right-arm. ‘Versace’, it read.
Treading confidently and happily, she walked up to the door, and knocked it gently, but impatiently, once. The door opened slightly with her light taps to the wood.
“Oh… he’s left it open?”
Jane turned the knob and the door clicked open with a near-inaudible creak. Anyone with a slight sense of luxury could infer that this was a well maintained, upper class home.
Royal silken tapestries hung on the windows, which themselves were quite large and donned with the finest invisible glass. The floor was laden with expensive white-marble tiles, and a 1960’s chandelier replica hung from the ceiling and cast a faint ochre yellow hue upon their well-furnished drawing room.
“Richard?” Jane mumbled, putting the Versace packet gently on the sofa.
“O Richy? I’m home,” she called out; this time much louder.
“Be there in a minute, sweetheart,” came the reply from Richard’s room, up in the first floor.
“Yeah alright,” sighed Jane, as she walked up to their bar to pour two glasses of red-wine.
Letting herself fall on one of the numerous sofas scattered lavishly across their drawing room, Jane looked around at their own house, and soaked in the luxury. Taking one sip from her glass, the marvel turned into a sense of self-accomplishment, and Jane congratulated herself. Their house was exactly the way she had always wanted it. It gave her a sense of freedom to feel that all this was her own idea, for Jane was a self-made interior designer.
That by itself is a whole long success story about a young confident woman, who one day just up and about decided to follow her heart’s calling, and take interior-designing seriously. Jane had always worked hard at it, since she was in her teens and after quite a few lost-opportunities had finally managed to get her art acknowledged by the Modern Art Emporium of Florida, after which her career had always rose uphill. Today, Jane Goodman was one of the most successful and highly sought Interior Designers and received high-end contracts from Las Vegas to California, and even to one or two well-reputed housing projects in Southern France.
“My darling wife!”
Richard’s voice broke her trance. She looked back at the stairs to find her husband reluctantly shuffling down to the other end of the drawing room.
“You sure took your time!” Jane retorted as her husband walked up to her.
“Yes my dear. Work is a bit hectic,” he said as he stood beside the glass table now, looking down at her with a smile on his face, scratching his head stupidly.
Richard Goodman was in no way financially destitute with his own work. He was an author, and wrote self-help books about confidence, peace, and the general human-armada of telling emotions. There are always are critics, and some would even smirk at “Richy” Goodman for having such a bland career… until they knew that he was a bestseller. Apparently, he did have some chops when it came to helping people, and Jane appreciated well what her husband did. Aside from that, Richard also has been running his own website-domain of late, owing to his recent popularity amongst adolescent American males.
“What work?” Jane rose from the sofa. “Your last book sold out pretty well, and is still selling. Right? You need to take a break Richy…. Oh! Which reminds me, by the way…”
Jane turned around to pick up the Versace packet from the sofa.
“Happy Birthday, Richard,” she smiled. “Remember that suit you were ogling at the other day at the mall? It’s yours now!” she winked. “I asked Betsy to pick it up this morning.”
Richard reluctantly picked up the suit from the packet and turned it around in his hands. “This is amazing darling. Thank you, really.”
But Jane easily spotted a forced sense of appreciation from his voice.
“Something wrong, Rich?”
It was as if Richard was waiting for this question. He dropped the Versace immediately on the sofa.
“Caesar Wiles,” he said.
“Who’s Caesar Wiles?”
“Oh! Just some young nut… “ said her husband. “He’s an underground author of sorts. Seems to have built quite a fan following for himself over the
last eight months or so,” Richard fumbled.
“And he’s bothering you?” asked Jane softly, taking Richard’s right arm and clasping it into hers. Richard seemed distracted.
“Er..yeah..y-yeah. He er…has…actually….declared publicly that my writing sucks.”
Richard was emphatically and visibly disturbed at that last word.
“Awww darling” said Jane in her well-practiced sensuous voice, which till date never failed to make an impression with even the most hard-hearted and distracted of males. “Don’t worry about it. Criticism is only natural in every line of work,” said she, gently pecking her husband on his cheek.
Richard only shrugged in response.
“Remember how my designs were initially panned by the State Art Committee?” she continued while gently and surely dropping down to her knees. She caressed Richard’s lower torso, cautiously pulling his pants down. “But you told me to say strong, remember?”
