Domestic Bliss

by

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Slut Wife, Wimp Husband, Cuckold, Wife Watching, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Spanking, Humiliation, Sadistic, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Size, Leg Fetish, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Sexy bitch wife, wimpy persecuted husband, horny young stud lodger - it's bad news for one of them!

A married couple, early forties, no kids, rent a room in their house to a young man looking for a nice place at a modest rent.

They make me feel at home right away. Fiona is exceedingly warm and friendly and her husband is perfectly nice too. He's the quiet type, Paul is, and that's absolutely fine by me.

They're an odd pair though. Paul isn't merely quiet, he's strangely timid, least around the house he is, and his wife very much rules the roost. Ok maybe that's not so unusual, the domineering wife, but the terrible way she behaves with him definitely is. It's amazing really. I mean, he's the breadwinner (has a good job whereas Fiona doesn't work) yet his status on home soil is about a half a notch above insect. He seems utterly dominated by his missus, who treats him with this sort of casual contempt. She bosses him around like nobody's business, she's forever baiting and belittling and making fun of him, and the weird thing is that the guy sucks it all up like it's his due. Like I say, amazing. I'd slap her if I was him, the way she carries on.

At first I wonder if it's the sort of spiky-but-affectionate dynamic that you sometimes get in these long term relationships but I soon realize there's a genuine issue. Fiona really does look down on Paul. Perhaps it's because of the imbalance in their appearance. He's a weedy beta-type male, small, balding, bespectacled; she on the other hand is a bit of a looker, a tallish, beautifully proportioned brunette, face to match the figure, who oozes a kind of classy sexiness. She's out of his league and she knows it, this is what I'm guessing, and more importantly so does he. They both know that she's out of his league and each of them knows that both of them know, if you see what I mean, therefore she holds all the cards.

The upshot is that she has a very nice life, Fiona does, and it's pretty unsurprising that even though she despises her husband she's not filing for divorce or anything like that. From what I can gather she spends a great deal of her leisure time (which is extensive since the bullied husband does the lion's share of the domestic chores as well as holding down a full time job) on pampering herself: facials, massage, manicures, hair, fancy boutiques, all of which goes to buttress her considerable physical appeal, and it's time well spent because she always looks great. Money well spent too (must cost a bomb, all of this) but if she feels at all grateful to her husband for earning the corn then she sure hides it well. Far as I can see she does little more than tolerate him. It's like she's doing him a favour just by not kicking him out – which I suppose is precisely how they look at it.

Reason I know so much about how things are between my landlord and landlady is that Fiona has no qualms whatsoever about treating her husband like dirt in front of the lodger. In fact she seems to relish being a first class bitch to him when I happen to be around to witness it. I start off getting offended on Paul's behalf by the wretched treatment that he seemingly has to put up with, I feel embarrassed for the poor guy; but the thing is that it's genuinely funny too, the way his wife just bullies and torments him the whole time, it's sick but it's quite entertaining, and so after a while I stop feeling bad for him and I find myself actively enjoying the sorry spectacle. More than that, I begin to enjoy what's becoming rather a perverse scenario, the way Fiona is an utter cow as far as hubby is concerned when with me she's all sweetness and light. There's something about the contrast in how she treats the two of us (me like a prince, him like a peasant) that makes me kinda horny, and that he's her legally wedded husband whereas I'm merely the lodger only makes it more twisted and exciting.

Like I say, the wife is a looker too and that does no harm at all. I've recently split from my girlfriend and so I'm footloose and fancy free. I don't really expect to get anywhere with Fiona but last time I checked there's no law against looking and I do plenty of that whenever I get the chance. It keeps me in shape: she stars big-time in my regular early morning and last-thing-at-nightly wankfest and with the outfits she wears around the place (tight jeans, cute little shorts, sexy skirts, revealing tops - stuff that's guaranteed to get a guy's attention) she gives me plenty of material to work with. I'm pretty sure she knows she does too: I get the impression she's the sort of woman who likes the idea of being helplessly lusted over by guys who can't have her. Bet she'd just love it if she knew how true that was in my case.

I don't see as much of Fiona as I'd like (I work long hours on the building site, for one thing, and this is a big house; and in any case when I am at home I spend most of the time up in my room which has its own TV and fridge, cooker, bathroom etc) but whenever we do run into each other I indulge in a fair amount of gazing appreciatively at the delectable lady of the household, make no secret of fancying the hell out of her, and Fiona doesn't mind one iota, fact she likes it and she reciprocates, and the two of us soon have a nice spicy vibe going, which Paul notices (he can't fail to ... me and his wife don't exactly hide our mutual attraction), and it's painfully obvious that he hates it, but he's not up to protesting. Not that it would make much difference if he did, I don't suppose. Guy really is pathetic, frankly. I've heard Fiona goading him a few times with the mocking observation that he's "more mouse than man" and I reckon she's spot on with that.

When I've been there a couple of months things take an interesting turn. I return from work early one afternoon (forgotten exactly why) meaning that I've beaten Paul home, the first time this has happened, first time I've gotten to be alone in the house with Fiona without her husband being somewhere on the premises.

She's stretched out on the sofa, TV on, flicking through a magazine. She has a towel wrapped around her hair and she's wearing a skimpy kimono type thing. She looks up and smiles when I walk in. "Mark, what a lovely surprise!"

I give her a lustful once-over. It's impossible not to, how she's lying there in the little robe. There's plenty of flawless flesh on show but she's unfazed and makes no attempt to cover up. My cock starts tingling and twitching: I want to cut the pleasantries and jump on her.

Fiona tosses her magazine down and gives me her full attention. "Sorry, just had a shower," she says. There's a glint in her eye. She's fully aware of the effect she's having on me.

"No need to apologise," I grin, continuing to admire the scenery.

"Ok, I won't then," she giggles, and the tantalising bitch shifts around to reveal even more. She has a dynamite body for a woman her age. No, strike that, for a woman ANY age.

Up until now I've been assuming that our lodger/landlady relationship would just continue on its fun and flirty way to essentially nowhere (she is a married woman after all), however there's something distinctly promising about how Fiona is handling this encounter and my thoughts are growing ever more carnal.

"Paul still at work?" I ask her, meaningfully.

"Yes," she says. "He is."

She lets that hang there. Her expression is sly and calculating and I hope that the sum she's working on is whether there's sufficient time for us to get naked and busy before hubby comes home. I'm praying that the answer she arrives at is an unequivocal "Yes".

It's not clear, though, from what she does next, which is kill the TV and inquire blandly how things are with me. "Yeah, good," I tell her, dragging my eyes away from her gorgeous, smoothly tanned thighs. It's a short robe to start with and the way she has it arranged makes it all the more so - jesus, those legs of hers look good. I want to stroke them and it's all I can do to stop myself doing it.

Instead what I do is flop into one of the armchairs. "Man, I'm bushed," I tell her.

She makes a sympathetic face. "Hard work, construction, uh?"

"Yeah."

"Still, good for the biceps, Mark, right?" she says, flipping back into flirt mode.

I just grin and shrug. I've had a ton of this from her before. It's nice but it's never gone any further.

Then again, maybe this time it will, because the next thing is she's telling me how good it is to have a "real man around the house" and the manner in which she delivers this statement is every bit as suggestive as the way she's reclining on that sofa.

"Paul not a real man then?" I endow the question with a dismissive jokiness. Taking my cue from Fiona I've taken to treating her husband in an increasingly disrespectful manner. I've noticed how it amuses her when I take the piss out of him, for example, and so I've been doing that a lot recently. I've become almost as bad as her.

Fiona gives a snort of derision. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"

"Guess I have."

"Fucking waste of space, isn't he?"

"So why do you stay with him?"

She shrugs and waves an arm, indicates the spacious, luxuriously appointed room we're sitting in. "All of this, I suppose. About all he's good for."

"You're sure? ... Sure that's ALL he's good for?" I ask, genuinely curious, making it obvious what I'm referring to.

Fiona bursts out laughing. "Oh, that? Oh my god, that's a joke and a half. Not the biggest guy in the world, my husband, if you get my drift."

"Oh dear."

"Mmm, quite."

"That's too bad," I say.

"Isn't it just."

"Woman like you."

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