Right on the heels of the unmistakeable pleasure it gave her to see Xavier's eyes linger on her shapely feet.
There was also the fact that she hadn't minded having an excuse to wear such high heels, because she knew they gave her legs definition and shape that no man could resist.
But Xavier was a professional.
And I am married. We are all married here, Rachel reminded herself.
She gave her head a quick snap, to flip her bangs into place. “Let's do this thing.”
3: JUNGLE FEVER
It was 11:00 am on a Thursday, and Josh was staring into his computer screen and trying concentrate on a recommendations report for the containment of measles in three school districts with dangerously low vaccination rates. He was trying to stay off the internet.
Trying to stay off Rachel Elliot's fanclub pages and Twitter accounts. Trying not to scour the trashy news sites for click-bait with Rachel in it.
It was a secret he felt guilty for, but Josh visited the websites and fanclubs dedicated to his wife. Constantly. He spent far too much time at work, in his cubicle, checking Twitter for new tweets, her fanclub pages for new posts, and reading and re-reading trashy “articles” about her. Looking at her pictures.
Re-reading the most lewd comments, over and over.
The feelings that churned inside of him while he did this were complicated. It was painful, on the one hand, and infuriating.
But underneath that reaction, the one he knew it was most normal to have, he also felt a sliver of arousal. His stomach had the feeling of twisting metal that he had gotten whenever he had a crush on a girl. The same liquid ache that he had felt when he first met Rachel. And the feeling drained downward and into his balls. Most days his cock was hard, pressing out against his suit pants, and he had to sit, sweating, and distract himself from his thoughts about his wife in order to be able to leave his workspace.
In the beginning, when Rachel first started getting reporting assignments, he had simply enjoyed the sight of her on TV. Something about the fact that other men were watching his wife and seeing her doll-like beauty turned him on. A feeling like that he could explain to himself. He was just proud of his wife. Proud that such a lovely girl had married him.
It didn't seem strange to him to be turned on by his wife.
Josh had discovered her first fanclub long before she had. Why had he found it? He could barely remember. Maybe he had googled her. And there it was. The Rachel Elliot Fan Club.
The first fanclub had seemed harmless enough. A bunch of young guys, judging by the posts. It was all very immature, mostly harmless, and a small group. It seemed like the sort of thing that couldn't go anywhere. This was a mid-sized Midwestern city, and Rachel Elliot covered the news. Not just the news, but the silliest news.
But it had grown, this silly fanclub. And offshoots of her fanclub. Mock Twitter and Instagram accounts that photoshopped Rachel's face onto naked women.
Josh shuddered thinking of those, and wondered if Rachel even knew about them. She couldn't. She would have had a fit.
It then became apparent that more than just men liked Rachel: she appealed to everyone. She had the special mix of “cute” and “sexy” that made her a favorite with all kinds of people. And her boss, Josh knew, was playing her appeal up by manufacturing stories about her, and making sure every "cute” thing she did made it onto some kind of social media outlet.
It really was quite a phenomenon. And the more it grew, the more it enticed Josh.
When Rachel tried to quit KRTV, a year ago, because she felt her career wasn't going in the right direction, her boss had given her a raise to make her stay. An instantaneous, enormous raise. And there was no doubt in Josh's mind it was because of Rachel Elliot's fanclubs and nasty Instagram accounts, and the fact that everyone – or at least internet boys - seemed to prefer KRTV's local news because the local interest stories were delivered by the lovely Rachel Elliot.
Josh knew Rachel felt like a sell-out for taking the raise. They didn't even need her income, so she could have just quit. But she had also bargained that if she went to another news channel in town, they'd have her doing the same thing she was already doing. So she had taken the money, and continued to be cute, while she planned her escape or hoped to be promoted to “real” journalism.
And Josh knew that he should not be looking at Rachel's fanclub photos, and the clips of outtakes that were somehow leaking to the media, and the gossip that went on around her. He knew he shouldn't be staring at Twitter and Instagram with a hard cock in the middle of his workday. He knew that. He knew he shouldn't be turned on by the fact that so many other men found his wife “adorable” or compared her to ice cream, or wanted her to come over and pet their snakes or do an in-depth “interview” with them. He knew he shouldn't be fantasizing about men in the city staging news stories in the hopes of getting Rachel Elliot to come to their house and get up close and personal.
He didn't like this.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and stared into the table he was creating for his report.
It wasn't long before the thoughts came back, nagging him. His fingers were itching with a desire to reach for his mouse...all of this was just a click away.
He felt himself getting turned on. It had been like this lately. Increasingly distracting. He was getting almost obsessive. Ninety percent of the time, there was nothing new to look at, and he just lost himself in old posts and old comments and wasted his time.
He made it until 11:30, and managed to type out a few paragraphs in his report.
His heart skipped as he opened the fanpage. A familiar skip. There were new posts. New comments.
A new video.
And under the video, glaring at him, the caption: Jungle Fever???
The words sent a sensation through Josh that he couldn't quite understand. Did it make him ill, or did it turn him on?
“Jungle Fever” could mean anything. She was probably at the zoo.
Josh's chest felt tight, because he knew how very unlikely it was that this particularly crass fanpage had made such a G-rated play on words.
He was...
Excited.
The frozen frame of the video looked action-packed. Rachel's hair was in a blur, and not much else could be seen.
The date beneath the video indicated it was footage from several days ago.
His hand was on the mouse, ready to click, but something inside of him wanted to drag this moment out. His stomach was cold, and his heart was knocking at his chest.
Josh thought back on Tuesday. There was nothing memorable about it. What had they even done that evening? Watched TV? Rachel hadn't seemed particularly upset, or told him about anything unusual happening at work. What had she said she had covered? He searched his memory, which was far from impeccable. Something about wild animals.
He scanned the comments. He always liked the comments best, anyway.
As he read, his brow descended over his eyes and he moved his head back and forth in the confusion of a dumb animal. These comments went straight to filthy, and they went there fast.
xxxdoug: Jungle fever in the air?
anonymousse: my life just got so much better
SteveO: looks like someones getting a big surprise
plummmer: bbc anyone
jquaid13: am i the only one who wants to see her mouth on this guys cock?
xxxdoug: I'd watch her take that cock any day
anonymousse: i bet she has a tight hole
buckeroo: he can help her with that
SteveO: ill help her with that i have a big black one
Josh blinked. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow, and for some reason he became acutely aware of them. Beading up, turning to droplets, and sliding down to his eyebrows. His cock was hard, and he could feel that, too, it was throbbing against the zipper of his pants and tiny stabs of sharp pain were being reported back to him. His stomach had gone cold. He was paralyzed. But for some reason the sweat on h
is brow stood out from all these things.
He could hear his own breath. His own breath under the buzz of the lights, suddenly the only two sounds in the world.
her mouth on this guy's cock...her mouth on this guy's cock...
The words kept repeating in his head.
And then he started to imagine scenarios. Scenarios as dirty as the comments below the video.
Rachel, her lips wrapped around the meat of another man's cock, looking at him and somehow smiling at the same time. A cock so big she had trouble fitting it all in her mouth.
How much time passed while he was thinking about that? A minute? Ten? By the time he actually clicked on the video, he was half-expecting to see what he had been permitting himself to imagine: Rachel with her mouth full of another man's meat.
The video began in mid-sentence. Rachel holding her microphone, a light breeze ruffling her pretty hair. She was wearing a dark purple shirt, one that clung to her figure and dipped low – respectably, semi-conservatively, evening-news low – but low enough to allow for a glimpse of the beginning of the crevice between her breasts. Her lips were dark in this clip, and her cheeks had a sweet flush to them, as though it were maybe unusually cool or unusually hot.
Maybe it was just blush.xxxdoug: Jungle fever in the air?
anonymousse: my life just got so much better
SteveO: looks like someones getting a big surprise
plummmer: bbc anyone
jquaid13: am i the only one who wants to see her mouth on this guys cock?
xxxdoug: I'd watch her take that cock any day
anonymousse: i bet she has a tight hole
buckeroo: he can help her with that
SteveO: ill help her with that i have a big black one
Josh blinked. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow, and for some reason he became acutely aware of them. Beading up, turning to droplets, and sliding down to his eyebrows. His cock was hard, and he could feel that, too, it was throbbing against the zipper of his pants and tiny stabs of sharp pain were being reported back to him. His stomach had gone cold. He was paralyzed. But for some reason the sweat on his brow stood out from all these things.
He could hear his own breath. His own breath under the buzz of the lights, suddenly the only two sounds in the world.
her mouth on this guy's cock...her mouth on this guy's cock...
The words kept repeating in his head.
And then he started to imagine scenarios. Scenarios as dirty as the comments below the video.
Rachel, her lips wrapped around the meat of another man's cock, looking at him and somehow smiling at the same time. A cock so big she had trouble fitting it all in her mouth.
How much time passed while he was thinking about that? A minute? Ten? By the time he actually clicked on the video, he was half-expecting to see what he had been permitting himself to imagine: Rachel with her mouth full of another man's meat.
The video began in mid-sentence. Rachel holding her microphone, a light breeze ruffling her pretty hair. She was wearing a dark purple shirt, one that clung to her figure and dipped low – respectably, semi-conservatively, evening-news low – but low enough to allow for a glimpse of the beginning of the crevice between her breasts. Her lips were dark in this clip, and her cheeks had a sweet flush to them, as though it were maybe unusually cool or unusually hot.
Maybe it was just blush.
Maybe it was the flush of a woman who had just had some cock.
“- exercise awareness around not just squirrels, but all wild animals,” she was saying.
That's right. The squirrel gang. She had mentioned that it had turned out that the boys claiming to be attacked had attracted the animals with sandwiches and the squirrels had bravely returned for more, until one day the kids didn't have any sandwiches.
But Rachel hadn't mentioned anything else about this news story, other than that she hated her bullshit assignments.
She was still talking on the video. Josh could feel the excitement building up as he watched. What did any of this have to do with big black cock?
He shivered.
He let his eyes fall to the comments again.
In the second he took his eyes off the video, the a voice interrupted Rachel's speech. “Oh shit, Ray!” and the camera seemed to fall. There were sounds of a dog growling, men yelling at each other, all of it very fast and disjointed. He heard, “get your fucking dog!” and a frightened, feminine scream from Rachel. When it stopped moving, the camera was on the ground, sideways. Rachel was maybe ten feet from the camera, and a pair of legs with jeans hurried over to her. Rachel sat down on the steps of a porch, and half of her face came into view.
And then the man in the jeans crouched. The dark skin of a well-muscled arm reached behind him and the man extended his hand, palm forward and fingers splayed, at someone yelling off-screen. “Yo, I got you man, just get the fuck over there and shut up.” The ebony man was crouching next to Rachel, and he put his hand on her knees. He was speaking to her in a low voice that could not be heard off-camera.
Josh stared at the hand on her knee. His skin was dark, almost ink-black. His arm was chiseled into waves of muscle. He bounced lightly on his heels in a crouch, with the ease of an athletic man.
His face was turned sideways, but enough of the shape of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips, the dark curls of a well-trimmed beard, were visible to convey that he was striking. Statue-like.
And so black.
And his hand was on her knee. His very large hand, covering it almost completely. Next to her bare knee, the yawning darkness of the space between her legs, between her thighs, under her skirt. Almost revealed to the camera...
In the video, Rachel nodded.
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
She smiled bravely.
She placed her hand on top of the dark man's hand and looked into his eyes.
Josh felt a knife plunge through him. From his throat, which had closed tight with a gurgle, to his heart, which was beating so fast he was sure it would explode, through his torso that twisted in tense pain.
Right to his cock.
Was he aroused? Was he angry? Was his heart being smashed into a million pieces?
Josh replayed the video from the point where the camera was dropped.
Again.
Again.
He paused it.
He stared at the black hand on his wife's knee.
He looked behind him, to make sure no one was watching him.
But no one would know why he had paused the video there.
Someone might think, because he saw a man putting his hand on his wife's knee.
They would be right.
But they would probably think he was jealous, or angry, or about to have a talk with his wife about her behavior.
Only Josh knew that the things going through his mind were not of that persuasion.
That instead, even if he didn't particularly want to, he was thinking about the acronym bbc.
In detail.
Imagining that big black cock inside his wife.
He stood up and wiped his brow. He looked down at the tent of his pants and thought better of standing. He sat back down.
He closed the window of his browser and exhaled sharply. He needed to think about something else. He needed to think about something else...
But his mind kept going to the image of his small-framed wife, and her cameraman's large hands, one on each knee, prying her legs open.
He stared at the words on his computer, but the lines of the black letters and numbers against the white of the page soon led him back to the same thoughts and the same fantasy: the cameraman's black hand moving over the skin of his wife's knee. Then her leg. Then dipping into the pink of her flesh. Pulling away at her clothes.
And all the while, the face of the “adorable” Rachel Elliot washed over by an expression of lust, her lips open and her mouth begging him for more. Her eyes wet and wide with pleasure as her cam
eraman moved his dark hands up cup the fullness of her breasts. In Josh's fantasy, Rachel turned to look at him, her lips turned up at the corners in an unnerving smile, just as her cameraman sunk into her spread-open flesh.
The afternoon disappeared this way. At four, his coworkers began to move around him, and Josh realized that he hadn't done much work at all, and what he had done would have to be reviewed because he had no recollection of doing it.
And his cock had been hard for hours.
He waited for as many people as possible to leave ahead of him, and then unsteadily went to his car. He felt both exhausted and almost high as he drove home, trying to rein his thoughts in to figure out what he should do when he spoke to Rachel.
Should he ask her what happened, and reveal that he stalked the very fanclub video sites she detested? Should he play it cool, and glean the information from her some other way?
Or should he merely let it all play out? Say nothing, and quietly observe as her cameraman honed in on his wife?
His cock flexed at the thought.
And while he wondered why that was, his mind didn't linger long on these questions before it spun downward, in ever-more graphic circles of thoughts and images. His head was full of images of Rachel panting and drooling, her lips hanging over the erect tip of an enormous black cock, her throat squeezing out stereotypically pornographic gasps and moans of pleasure, her eyes glowing as inch after inch of cock disappeared inside her every hole.
It was a miracle he managed to drive his car home at all.
4: CONFRONTATION
Rachel was home and making dinner. She smiled sweetly. She was the antithesis to the wife Josh had been fantasizing about all the way home. The Rachel in his kitchen was his sweet-faced wife, loyal and kind. Not the moaning, spit-covered porn star of his fantasy, who filled her mouth with as much cock as she could get her hands on.
He dropped his briefcase to the floor. He was relieved when he heard the sound of it hitting the floor, that in his daze he had remembered to bring it home with him.
Human Interest: A Lead-In To Wife Watching Page 3
