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?"
"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."
"That's too bad," I say.
"Isn't it just."
"Woman like you."
I let my lustful gaze roam all over her. If she had any doubt before about how much I want her she doesn't now. She lies there lapping it up. Yeah, the bitch definitely likes me looking. "Size not a problem for you, sweetie, I'm betting." There's a knowing grin across her lovely features.
"No," I say. "It isn't."
"Especially right now."
She giggles at this, a sexy insinuating giggle, then she falls silent and looks thoughtful. Finally she shakes her head and sighs. "Poor little Pauly. What am I gonna do with him, uh?"
A few suggestions, some of them utterly obscene and the others just obscene, leap to mind but I decide I'd better keep them to myself. Best if she makes the running on all of this.
We carry on in this vein (her bitching about the husband, me listening and making the occasional encouraging noise) and although I'm still not sure where exactly we're heading the charge between us is palpable. She's still being a tease with the body language: it's been a while since I got laid and I'm being driven almost crazy by the alluring glimpses I'm getting as she lolls around. I can't stop myself leching and I don't bother trying because I sense that she knows perfectly well what she's doing and that she's enjoying every minute of it. At one point she languidly crosses one leg over the other and in the process there's a flash of the cash. It's quick but it definitely happens. I was wondering if she had anything on under the robe and I have the answer now – she doesn't.
Christ, does she realize she's just given me the money shot?
Damn right she does. Woman is getting off on torturing me, no question, but I'm unsure what to do about it. I want to go over there, rip that little robe right off her and drill the bitch senseless, of course I do, but it's too risky. Fucking her brains out is definitely plan A, however I'm not certain enough of my footing to go ahead and execute. Fiona is a highly dissatisfied wife, ok that's clear, but she could also be mainly a prick-tease. Why hasn't she invited me to join her on the sofa, for example? It's gotten quite heavy between us all of a sudden, what with her flaunting herself at me and her complaints about her husband's inadequacy, but she could just be amusing herself with the lodger, couldn't she, and I don't intend to get myself thrown out. I like living here.
I have to do something though, my cock is telling me that – I'm hard as a rock.
Maybe just test the water.
"So ... Fiona ... when's hubby back?"
I'm trying to hide my disappointment (dismay?) but the way Fiona looks at me, eyebrow raised, taunting little smile on her face, she isn't buying it for one single second.
"Good," I add, in the hope of sounding at least halfway sincere.
Fiona stops smiling. "I beg to differ. I'd call it extremely irritating."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"
She stares for a long moment at the (by now rather obvious) bulge in my pants and slowly licks around her lips before replying. "Because I have a feeling I'd be in for a treat if he was gonna be much longer."
"And you'd like that, baby, would you?" I'm emboldened by what she's just said and the way she said it. Sure she's teasing me, and she's enjoying teasing me, but I figure she wants it too - she wants some extra-marital fucking and she wants it bad.
"All girls like treats," she says in a soft, baby-doll voice. "But you tell me, sweetie ... WILL I like it?"
Yeah, so I figured right. The switch from "would" to "will" is subtle enough but it's sweet music to my ears. The message (that she wants my cock and she's planning to have it) is unmistakeable.
"I dunno. It depends, I guess." I'm enjoying this game a lot more now that we have an understanding, now I know for sure that this horny bitch is available to me. Ok, so maybe it won't be right here and now, but it's just a matter of time. The delights on offer are well worth waiting for, I've seen more than enough to confirm that, and I can wait. It's good, the waiting. The teasing too. Only gonna make it better.
I'm looking hungrily at what I can see (which is a fair amount) of Fiona's luscious tits. They're big and firm and they're trying their best to push free of her robe. She sees how I'm drooling and she giggles and adjusts the robe so as to mute the view slightly. I make a sad face and she grins and sticks her tongue out at me. "Depends on what, Mark?"
"Fucking tease!" I groan, but I'm smiling at her to indicate it's cool.
She pouts at me and then she wriggles around on the sofa and the robe falls right open from the waist up. She slides it down over her shoulders, and now I really can see her globes, I see them in all their glory. "Me? ... A tease? ... Whatever makes you think that?" She's laughing at me, enjoying my arousal, basking in my desire for her. "Look, why don't you tell me exactly what you have in mind, sweetheart, and I'll tell you how much I'm gonna like it."
I'm about to respond to this when there's a key in the front door.
Fiona rolls her eyes and sits up on the sofa. There's no panic (quite the opposite, she seems calmly amused by her husband coming home at this juncture) but she does pull her robe into some sort of order and things are more respectable (although she's still showing oodles of thigh as she lounges back, cross-legged, on the sofa) by the time Paul enters the lounge. He's wearing a grey suit and carrying a briefcase. "Oh, hi," he says, taken aback by seeing me in the room.
"The accountant returns," drawls Fiona, a statement of dry and literal fact which she manages to make sound faintly hilarious. I chuckle and Paul stands there looking awkward. He hates it when Fiona makes fun of him in front of me.
"Hey, Paul," I grin. My tone is condescending. There's no hiding the enormous superiority I feel over this guy. I'm twenty years younger, I'm bigger and stronger and better looking, and now his hot slut of a wife, who he can't say boo to, has made it clear that she wants to bang me because she's sick of making do with his tiny little cock. I sense that I'm gonna like living here a whole lot more from this point on.
"So how was the accounting today? ... Exciting?" I ask him, gurning at Fiona. I'm in the mood for some fun at Paul's expense. So is Fiona it would appear because she giggles at that (her husband manages a tightly forced smile) and then she tells Paul that she and I have "just been getting to know each other a little better ... haven't we, Mark?" and she winks ostentatiously at me when she says it.
"We have," I say, smirking back at her.
"Oh, right," Paul mumbles. He looks hilariously abject, stood there. He's keen to move off, either leave the room or at least sit down or something, but it's like he needs his wife's permission before he can. He's looking at her pleadingly but Fiona is either not noticing his growing discomfort or (which I'm sure is the actual case) she has noticed and she's not putting him out of it because she's revelling in the situation and she knows I am too.
Fiona removes the towel from her head and shakes her lustrous locks around. "How's my hair looking, sweetie?" she asks me, when she's got it settled.
"Fabulous," I tell her.
She pouts her appreciation and treats me to a slow and sexy leg-cross, her robe slipping further away from her thighs. I feast my eyes, cock throbbing inside my jeans. Paul has a good look at his wife's mouth-watering legs too, I notice, but we both know they're being presented for my benefit, not his.
Egged on by Fiona's behaviour I decide to push the envelope and see what happens. "You are one lucky guy, Paul, you know that?" I tell him, still gazing blatantly at his wife's pins. Fiona preens a little, makes it crystal-clear that she's liking my attentions.
"Hmm?" he mutters.
"You have a very beautiful wife."
Paul nods but says nothing.
"A very SEXY wife."
"Um, yes, I know," Paul manages.
"Jeez, Pauly, you could sound rather more enthusiastic," Fiona chides him.
"Yeah, Pauly," I echo, adding to the guy's embarrassment by calling him "Pauly" and using it in the same derisory way as his wife. It's the first time I've done this and I can see from the slight reddening of his face and the little jerk of his head that he really doesn't like it.
"Sorry, dear," Paul says, which makes me bark with laughter. He's apologizing! He comes home from work to find his wife half-naked and flirting something rotten with the lodger and here he is saying sorry to HER. I can hardly believe it. I think it's this that makes me realize just how completely under her thumb Fiona really has the poor little sod.
Fiona has kept a straight face, god knows how. "So you should be," she tells him, sounding all stern. "I mean, Mark here compliments you on your wife, tells you how gorgeous and sexy she is, and you don't even thank him."
"Sorry, dear," he mutters again.
"Well go on then ... tell him what a nice guy he is for saying that ... thank him for being so sweet."
Paul hesitates, hoping she's joking, but when he realizes she's not he starts to stutter his way through it. "No, don't look at me, look at Mark," his wife interrupts him sharply. "It's him you're talking to."
And so the poor bastard has to turn and face me and say thanks and what a great guy I am for being so complimentary about his lovely wife. He just about manages it but his voice is a little strangled and he stares fixedly down at the carpet the whole time.
"Ok, good," Fiona says, when he's finished. "Is that ok now, sweetie?" she inquires of me. "You satisfied with that?"
"Sure," I smirk. "No eye contact but I guess you can't have everything."
"Well maybe he's a little embarrassed at being so rude before," Fiona suggests.
"Mmm, that must be it." Following her lead I keep a serious face and my tone of voice is deadpan. We're just playing with him now, the two of us. He's on a spit and it's just a matter of how much we want to roast him.
"Naughty boy with no manners he is sometimes," Fiona says.