Human Interest 2: A Wife-Sharing Exposé

by Arnica Butler

  Bugger it, she thought. She crossed the room as she spoke, swaying her hips slightly to add an extra layer of sex on her every move. “I was thinking. There's no reason we shouldn't have a bit of fun with this, is there?” She moved around the desk, and sat on it, pushing Arthur’s chair back with her foot. It was almost too easy, she thought.

  She had always striven not to be this sort of woman, using her sex appeal for personal gain.

  But it was fun.

  It was sexy and addictive.

  She parted her legs, and she knew Arthur could see into the folds of her skirt, right past her smooth inner thighs, to her freshly-shaved snatch. She had no underwear on. She knew her pussy was glistening with excitement, and that Arthur could smell it. And he reacted just as she had expected, and just as she had hoped: he stared right at it.

  Entranced.

  “I have a bit of a fetish, you see,” Rachel cooed. She liked the sound of her voice. She liked how the tables were turned now, and she was taking control. “And I thought, maybe you help me out with it.”

  Arthur was trying hard to compose his face into its normal, domineering sneer. But Rachel knew she was getting to him, and it felt good. God, it felt good. She moved her toe to the middle of his chair, close to the seam of his pants, where she knew his cock was throbbing beneath the fabric. She looked down at him, and smiled. “Would you like to know what I have a thing for?” she said.

  She enjoyed the fact that he looked both frightened and as though he were having quite a struggle, trying to get himself back in control.

  “Sure,” he said, and he tried to sound cavalier.

  Poor Arthur, she almost thought. He really had no hand here, and he might even be wondering what he'd gotten himself into. There was no way, no way at all, that he could possibly imagine the grand plan for revenge that awaited him. All the people who were anxious to screw him over.

  “I like to watch,” Rachel said. “I like to watch other people fucking. What I'd really like to watch, what would really get me going, is if you could fuck a girl while I watch.” She rubbed her toe over his cock, and she was pleased to feel that it was, indeed, hard as steel. She could practically feel it pulsing through the bottom of her shoe. “Who knows what that could lead to?”

  She watched his face. Oh yes, he was already there, imagining Rachel and some other woman, maybe a favorite he had already imagined hundreds of times. She could see his head spinning, his mind teeming with ideas.

  “I think,” Rachel said, and she realized she was somewhat channeling Charlotte, “that if I'm going to cheat on my husband like this, it might as well be something really spectacular, don't you agree?”

  She pressed down gently with the toe of her foot.

  “Do you think you could do something like that for me, Arthur? And then we can clear up this whole sordid business, once and for all.”

  Arthur's mouth was hanging open, but he managed to pull himself together enough to say, “I think we could arrange something.” Then he placed his hand on Rachel's ankle, and began to move up her leg, his greedy eyes on her snatch.

  Rachel watched him, and let his fingers travel further and further up her leg, until he was just a breath away from the hem of her skirt, and the juices of her pussy were within inches of his fingers. Then she slid off his desk, slapping at his hand playfully.

  “Eh-eh,” she said. “One time only.”

  She went to the door, moving her hips with deliberately exaggerated movements, going slowly so he could enjoy the view of her ass. Then she turned as she opened the door. “Let's make it count, shall we? Do you think you can work that out for me?”

  Arthur cleared his throat, and gave her a smile that was probably the most lascivious thing she had ever seen. “I'll be in touch with you, Rachel,” he said, in his most professional tone.

  She left, closing the door behind her.

  R EADY

  “Do you think someone will recognize me? Would you recognize me?”

  Josh let his eyes wander up and down the figure of the woman who was standing in front of him.

  The truth was, he'd recognize his wife anywhere, but this woman did not really seem to be his wife. This was not the Rachel Elliot he had married. The Rachel Elliot of nose-scrunching cuteness. The Rachel of the heart-shaped mouth and infectious giggle.

  The woman in front of him was wearing a dark wig, for one thing. It was a shoulder-length raven black wig, human hair, loaned by Tyra. Combined with the chocolate of Rachel's eyes, it gave her an exotic appearance, changing even her features so that she looked like Persian princess. Her lips were painted a dark red, and she was wearing a scandalous dress. It was like nothing she had ever worn before, and that was perhaps the thing that transformed her the most: this dress was only just a cut above trashy. It was a tight fitting, off-the shoulder Lycra number. One side of the dress had a huge swath of the dress cut out of it, so her taut abdomen was exposed along her ribs and down to where her hip flared.

  She was wearing knee-high black boots. There were a full seven inches between her knee and the hem of her skirt, and her legs looked like a colt's.

  It wasn't the unusual get-up, though, that made Rachel look different. It was the way she was holding herself, her chin slightly upturned, her cuteness vanquished. This was Rachel the blackmailing slut, and she felt very much at home in this skin.

  “No one will recognize you,” Josh said. “You look...Russian or something.”

  Rachel leaned toward the mirror and dabbed some more black mascara on her eyelashes. Ordinarily, she went with dark brown, because of her fair hair. Her eyes were hypnotic, coated as they were in the smokey brown-black eyeshadow she had applied.

  “You're all set?” she asked Josh. She pulled a trench coat over her outfit and appraised herself in the mirror. “Ha,” she said. “That bit really makes me look like a prozzie.” She turned to admire her own ass in the mirror. Her voice was amused, and she seemed pleased with her appearance, her similarity to a “prozzie.”

  Josh swallowed hard. On the one hand, he fucking loved this version of Rachel. But looking at her admiring herself in the mirror, showing not the slightest trace of concern or distaste, or even thought about what she was about to do, he felt a need for reassurance.

  “Rachel,” he said.

  She turned to him.

  “You're sure about this. This is...” his voice trailed off. “I mean, this is it, right?”

  Rachel came over to him, and climbed onto his lap. “I promise,” she said. “This is the grand finale.”

  Josh leaned in to kiss her, not entirely convinced by her words. She pulled back, pressing her fingers to his lips. “Don't mess up my look,” she said, and she hopped away.

  The plan involved Rachel driving Josh to meet with Xavier, and then on to an arranged meeting place with Arthur. Josh and Xavier would go to Shangri-La together, and get into the locked area with back rooms as guests of a girl named Alice, one of Tyra's models.

  From there, they would have to play it by ear to get the video they wanted. And Rachel had promised a spectacular performance, and then an end to what had turned out to be, for Josh at least, a beautiful and terrifying experiment.

  Rachel was back, and she leaned into the room. “Ready?” she said, jiggling her keys.

  “As I'll ever be,” Josh said.

  She waited for him to get to the door, and they kissed. “Everything will be fine,” she promised. It was a lovely promise; it was exactly what Josh wanted to hear.

  Still, there was something terrifying in her tone of voice. No restraint, no hesitation. Just excitement.

  What had he created?

  S HANGRI-LA

  Rachel had half-expected Shangri-La to have some sort of mystical theme. She had certainly expected it to be classier, after all the talk from Tyra and Charlotte about how it catered to high-end clientele and employed only the crème de la crème of strippers and escorts. Shangri-La was neither mystical nor particularly classy.

&nbs
p; The women were beautiful, and that was evident right away. The girls dancing on the stage were lean, big-breasted beauties who barely looked legal to work there. They had pretty faces to go with their spectacular, and often plastic bodies. They were all young, eager, and well-manicured girls with full lips and uncreased faces.

  But the place itself was only a small step above any strip club in town: the stage looked like stainless steel, which elevated its appearance, but closer inspection revealed a cheap metal that was scuffed and ill-treated. Multi-colored lights flashed continually, the girls were coated in glitter, the bar was black lacquer with rounded edges of the same scuffed metal on the stage.

  Rachel could barely see any of this because she had chosen, in addition to the rest of her disguise, to wear sunglasses. Still, the moment she removed her coat, she felt the eyes of the room gravitate toward her body. She could almost feel them moving over her curves, taking in the size of her tits, delighting in her bare midriff, imagining her without anything on but her sexy black boots.

  And she liked it.

  Arthur leaned over to her, sliding his hands around her midriff for the fiftieth time that evening. Rachel had agreed to meet him at bar a few blocks from here, because a member was needed in order to get into Shangri-La, which was totally unmarked from the outside and tucked away in the basement of an unsuspecting building. “I got you a drink,” he shouted over the music. “Sit here while I arrange the rest of it.” Even over the music, Rachel could hear the seedy tone in his voice as he said, “the rest of it.”

  Arthur stood back from her to look at her face. He leaned in again. “You like it?”

  Rachel's eyes were on a magnificently busty girl with long red hair, who was spinning effortlessly around a pole in the center of the stage. The two huge balloons of her bare breasts barely moved as she turned upside-down or bounced against the pole. Only a bright red thong covered her between her legs. She crawled on the floor and gyrated her very round ass.

  Rachel had only been a strip club once, during journalism school, when she had interviewed a few workers as part of a project for a class. She had gone at a different time, though; not while the club was in full swing like now. In some ways, she felt uncomfortable. But the prevalence of bare skin, the glittering bodies, the women whose every move was distilled sexuality, was mostly turning her on. She looked at herself in the mirror of the bar. She was not herself; she was someone else. She could do anything here, anything at all, and it was like someone else was doing it.

  She removed her sunglasses. She was pleased with her reflection, and satisfied that no one would take her for Rachel Elliot. She was far too cheaply sexualized to be mistaken for the sweet, “adorable” KRTV news reporter.

  Arthur had disappeared, without waiting for an answer to her question, and a magnificent blonde wearing a dress of criss-crossing leather straps and nothing more came to stand in front of her. “What can I get you, darlin'?” she said.

  Rachel gave her black hair a toss, and ordered a martini, much the way Charlotte would have. Playfully, with confidence. The old Rachel might have stammered and ordered the first thing that came to mind.

  “Any particular vodka?” the woman half-yelled.

  Rachel was a little surprised to hear herself with a fake, Slavic-sounding accent, as she leaned across the bar flirtatiously. “All vodka is same,” she said. She was fully aware of the figure she was making, and the eyes on her to either side: her legs were crossed, and the dress was riding high on her thigh, so that her ass was almost exposed at the seat of the stool. She was swirling her finger in slow loops, meant to make men think of exactly what they were thinking of as they watched her. She let her long, black eyelashes flutter provocatively.

  “No shit,” the bartender said, evidently finding Rachel's fake accent proof enough of her authority on the subject.

  “But give me the most expensive one anyway,” Rachel said. “Gentleman is paying.”

  The effect of this sentence was incredible. The bartender winked at her with a sort of camaraderie, Rachel supposed that all the girls in this place might have. Any way to stick it to the guys who are sticking it to you, she guessed.

  Arthur returned. His excitement was evident. “Okay, I have a room,” he said. “With Crystal.” He pointed at the busty redhead. “She has a set to finish and then she'll be available.”

  Rachel looked over at the Amazonian redhead spinning on the dance floor, and felt a strange rush of pleasure at the idea of watching Arthur with her. Perhaps even touching her herself...

  The bartender came back with a martini and another complicit smile for Rachel. Her voice still cheerful, but noticeably empty, she smiled at Arthur. “For you?”

  Arthur was staring at the martini, and for a second Rachel was afraid that this implicit reminder of Charlotte might give away the whole game. But Arthur seemed to lose interest in it, and he ordered a whiskey.

  They watched Crystal on stage, and Rachel let her hand wander to Arthur's crotch, where she found his cock, already stiff as a board, twitching beneath his pants.

  She let her eyes wander through the crowd. The lights made it difficult to see who was out there, but this was a good thing: they didn't want to tip Arthur off.

  She had a strange mix of arousal and fear inside of her again. The danger of what she was about to do, the raw seediness of it, was turning her on. But she wanted to make sure that the plan was backed up. What if Josh and Xavier had been unable to get into the club? Would she still go through with it?

  She couldn't see them anywhere. She ordered another martini. Would she still go ahead with it if she didn't know for sure they were there?

  Crystal finished her set, and a pair of girls slinked onto the stage, handcuffed to each other, to the hoots and shouts of the audience. Rachel watched the two girls' hands moving over their bodies. This sort of thing had never turned her on before, but she was finding all sorts of things out about herself she had never known.

  Arthur pushed her wig hair from her back and stroked her neck. “Almost time,” he purred. His voice had a trace of arrogance in it, but Rachel found it stimulating. She swept her eyes over the audience again, and her stomach felt like it was dropping through the floor.

  Then she saw them. She hadn't recognized them because they were dressed up in ridiculous suits. Josh was wearing a dark hat and had pulled it the brim over his eyes.

  They cut a very shady twosome.

  Rachel smiled, and turned to Arthur as she did. He took her smile as an invitation, and slid his hand over her breast, stroking her nipple with his thumb. “Let's go,” he said.

  Rachel placed a hand on his back and started to follow him. This next part had logistics she was unsure of, but she was determined to play things smooth. She could feel the excitement of money, of filthy sex, of illicit, dirty things, and it was all turning her on.

  “Hey, babushka doll!” the bartender called out. Rachel looked back, and saw that the bartender was looking right at her. She went back to the bar. The bartender beckoned her to come around the bar, as though there were something she wanted to show her. As they hunched over a small nook with a few scattered papers on it, and a coffee mug of what was obviously vodka, the bartender placed her hand in her hair and leaned close to her ear. The gesture sent shivers through Rachel. “A message, from your friend. She'll leave a note for you in the bathroom in the back hall, under the paper towel holder.”

  Rachel looked at her quizzically when she released her head, but the bartender picked up her coffee mug and got back to work without another glance.

  “What was that all about?” Arthur said.

  “We had a bet going about vodka,” Rachel said, surprised at how easily the lie came out of her mouth.

  A bouncer stared them down as they slipped through a curtain and then waited in a tiny foyer for someone to buzz open a door. Rachel felt a surge of subdued panic as they passed through the door. She unconsciously crossed her fingers, hoping that all the remaining piece of t
he plan would fit into place the way they were supposed to.

  The hallway after the door was narrow and straight, with doors on either side. Rachel could feel her heart beating faster, and her fear and excitement building at the same time. The hallway was lit by a red light, and the doors had red lights at the top of them, some on and some off, presumably to indicate if they were vacant or not. A door opened at one point for a waifish girl wearing nothing but high heels to slip out. She giggled and trotted down the hallway.

  Arthur stopped at a door at the end of the hallway with a number six on it. “This is us,” he said, his face smirking.

  Rachel felt an interesting inner conflict: on the one hand, she couldn't really stand Arthur. On the other, she was experiencing an incredible high as she separated her normally emotional and rational self from her sexual self, and let that sexual Rachel run wild. She tipped her head coquettishly and smiled. Then she slinked into the room.

  The room had a small stage in it, with a pole, raised up at the center of a wraparound booth that took up most of one corner of the room. Rachel smiled, and let one side of her brain engage in mindless chit-chat, while her eyes scanned the room for a place to stash Josh. “I'm not doing any dancing,” she said with a smile, rubbing her hand up and down the pole suggestively. She tossed her purse in a corner of the room, and took note that Arthur made a note of this as well. He might have been being led by his cock, but he wasn't about to take any chances with a phone being out.

  Rachel hopped onto the stage and crossed her legs. She set her martini next to her. This gave her a view of the room for a few seconds, before Arthur blocked it, coming in for a cheap feel. Rachel played along, smiling for him and letting him trace a finger from her lips, down her neck, over the material of her dress to her breasts. “I normally prefer blondes,” Arthur said. “But this is very sexy. Should we amuse ourselves while we wait for Crystal?”