Human Interest: A Lead-In To Wife Watching Read online

  HUMAN INTEREST

  A Lead-In to Wife Watching

  By Arnica Butler

  *********

  Copyright 2016 by Arnica Butler

  All rights reserved. No duplicating and no resale, but

  feel free to share with friends or family.

  Published by Thirteenth Line Publications

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, companies, organizations, products and events in this book, other than those that are clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, companies, organizations, events, or products, is purely coincidental.

  All characters depicted in this story are 18 years or older.

  Cover characters are models. Image(s) is/are licensed from:

  konradbak / DepositPhotos

  Published by Thirteenth Line Publications

  Other Novels by Arnica Butler:

  A Well-Laid Trap 1

  A Well-Laid Trap 2

  The Hobby Job

  Ela's Performance: A Romantic Wife-Watching Novel

  Not Black And White: A Hotwife Novel

  A Gamble: The Making Of A Hotwife

  The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel

  The Hotwife Summer

  A Dark Place: Cuckolded in Lagos

  The Hotwife Tattoo

  READERS!

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  You can also follow Arnica Butler @ArnicaButler on Twitter.

  Please drop me a line! I love to hear from readers.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1: Fans

  2: Squirrel Attack

  3: Jungle Fever

  4: Confrontation

  5: Dream

  6: Daydream

  7: Protest

  8: Invite

  9: Dinner

  10: Tour

  11: Dessert

  12: Breaking News

  13: Swingers

  14: The Conversation?

  15: The Auction

  16: Proposal

  17: A Long Lunch

  18: I Did It

  19: Aftermath

  20: The Video

  21: Reckless

  22: Poorly Planned

  23: Out Of Control

  24: Way Out

  PROLOGUE

  So...I want to assure my faithful readers that I am not caught up in making two-part books (although I recognize that it may appear that way, as my last book was a two-parter and this one will be as well.) I certainly never intended to leave anyone with a semi-cliffhanger. It's definitely not “my thing.”

  Here's what happened: my character, Josh, got an idea about three-quarters of the way through this book, and then so did I. (It's fun, you'll be happy we came up with it.) The story, consequently, got much longer.

  I decided to break the book into two parts, in order to get something out for you all to read, while I finish the rest of it. As such, I've subtitled the book “A Lead-In to Wife-Watching.” I don't feel the pun needs much explanation for my readers; you're all savvy folks. But you get the idea: there's something “meatier” to come...

  As always, I hope you enjoy reading my fantasies as much as I enjoy writing them. Enjoy!

  Arnica

  1: FANS

  The girl on the screen scrunched up her nose.

  Her nose was one of those with an almost convex slope. It turned up slightly at the end.

  As he watched the video, Josh couldn't help but think how noses are funny things. They weren't, decidedly, a sexy feature, but noses were powerful. They could turn a very pretty face into a horrid one. Or, as in the case of this girl, turn an otherwise sexy face into an adorable one.

  She had stunning eyes, this girl. Rich, chocolate eyes, completely solid in color. They would have been dubbed sexy, had they been peeking out over a scarf, for example. But hovering over her constantly wrinkling, adorable nose, they fell under the category “cute,” along with the rest of her face. Her lips, for example, were full and sensual, equally beautiful forming a smile or a pout. They suffered, though, from the same problem of proximity to her curved and juvenile nose, and acquired a lacquer of cuteness.

  Watching the video, Josh thought this may have been the root of all her problems: her nose.

  The girl on the screen unwrinkled her nose, and now her mouth was in a pretty smile. She was turning, and her slender shoulders moved as she extended her hand tentatively to her left.

  Then suddenly she was bouncing. Her mouth opened wide, and she laughed.

  She began jumping. A little shadow of fear appeared in her eyes as the black of her pupils consumed the brown of her irises. She bit her lip.

  No, Josh thought. No, it's not just the nose. It's...everything. Everything about Rachel is causing her problems.

  The video was slowed for Rachel Elliot's scrunching nose, and then played at real-speed for Rachel Elliot's cute little shriek.

  And here it came: she was waving her hands, also adorably, at the camera.

  “Cut, cut, cut. We have to do that again.”

  A voice mumbled something unintelligible.

  Then Rachel again:

  “I know. His tongue is just so...sandy. Agh! He thinks I'm ice cream!”

  The snake she had reached over to touch had surprised her by extending its tongue out unexpectedly. Now it was, indeed, pursuing Rachel as though she were ice cream, its long tongue seeking her skin.

  Her creamy, smooth skin, which happened to be very much like French vanilla ice cream.

  Josh tried not to smile. Her voice was a sweet contralto, a little nasal, a very unique voice. There was something about it, though, that made it impossible to take it – her voice – as seriously as she wanted it taken. It seemed that she was forever on the verge of giggling.

  Next to Josh, in real life, the real Rachel Elliot had her arms crossed defensively and her foot was tapping out her anger in the air. Josh knew she was staring at him, and that he should frown and shake his head and say the appropriate thing.

  Whatever that was.

  “Read the comments,” she snapped.

  She snapped but she was cute even when she snapped, like a tiny snapping turtle at a petting zoo.

  Even the heat she was giving off in anger had a slightly comedic quality to it.

  As her husband, Josh knew that she hated this about herself: this propensity for cuteness that was so outside of her control. He knew his wife didn't want to be cute, so while he was very uncertain what he should say, he at least knew what he shouldn't.

  He leaned toward the computer screen and squinted, though he didn't need to do either of these things to see perfectly. Reading the comments bought him some time, though, and he wanted to make sure she knew he was reading them.

  Intently.

  He scanned the comments:

  xxxdoug: I love Rachel Elliots ice cream

  jquaid13: stop the madness ths girl is 2 cute

  Hollah: why is this even news

  plummmer: Rachel Elliot is hot

  xxxdoug: schoolgirl hot

  shaft69: I have a snake I need Rachel Elliot to cover

  xxxdoug: she can touch my snake any day lol

  magikmixx: rachel come over and get my snake

  bbrown: Ill lick her ice cream any time

  “I mean,” Josh said, clearing his throat. “It's not...terrible.” He pointed a finger at a comment which read: I am completely up-to-date on current events.

  Rachel's eyes went black with rage as she scanned the comment.

  “You're getting people interested in the news,” Josh said, using an optimistic
tone. As soon as the words left his mouth he was sorry. They had a dusting of sarcasm on them.

  Rachel slapped his finger away from the screen. “You!” she shrieked. “This is not news, first of all, it's a dog-and-pony show-”

  “Well, snake-and-reporter show.” Josh tried to smile sympathetically. He then changed his face to show remorse for his last comment.

  He didn't want to be a dick. It just sometimes came out. Unauthorized.

  Most people on the Rachel Elliot Fan Club page, or the dedicated tweeters of #RachelElliotBeHot and #HotRachel, would be surprised to know that Rachel Elliot actually be a real (albeit cute) bitch when she was mad.

  “You are such an asshole.”

  Rachel Elliot also cussed, which would probably surprise those same fans.

  “I'm sorry,” Josh said, reaching for her hands. She slapped them away, with her teeth gritted together. Her face was flushed.

  “I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you about my career,” she began. “And you are cracking bloody jokes. It's not funny! I don't want to be some daft blond reporter they put on the five o'clock for duck-in-the-road stories and every time-” she paused to grit her teeth even more furiously and slap at Josh's hands again, “every time these stupid leaks get out and everyone is like, 'oh, Rachel, I'll put some ice cream on my snake,' I get taken less seriously...”

  Josh tuned out for a moment and looked sideways at the screen, trying to find out if “oh Rachel, I'll put some ice cream on my snake,” was an actual comment.

  “Agh!” Rachel kicked the foot of his chair. “You are such an ass!”

  “Okay,” Josh said, reaching out to contain her fluttering hands. He pressed them together, and the energy traveled to her torso, where it turned into hyperventilation.

  His wife had not helped her cause by changing into a pink shirt with a bear on it to work out in. The shirt stretched nicely across her small but shapely breasts. Her blonde hair was twisted into two braids.

  Josh fought against his smile.

  “Look, I'm sorry, I know. It's not what you want. Did you talk to Arthur about it?” He offered.

  “Ugh!” Rachel growled. She tipped her head at the ceiling and began to bounce her legs with her unconstrained anger. “He's likely the one who put the bloody thing on there!”

  Rachel Elliot, fans would also be surprised to know, was also Australian. She had perfected her American accent for the cameras, and she kept it up at work most of the day. But when provoked, she usually reverted to what was, unfortunately for her, an even more adorable version of her voice.

  “Who else has access to footage?” Josh could focus, at least, on trying to get to the bottom of a mystery.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Everyone. Everyone. Everyone!” She threw her hands up in the air.

  “It's at least not embarrassing,” Josh said, trying to be helpful. “At least you're not Kelly Harding from Channel 4.”

  Poor Kelly Harding. Always falling down on camera. The internet loved Kelly's misfortunes.

  And the internet – maybe not the vast, far reaches of the internet, but at least a small slice of it – loved Josh's wife.

  Unfortunately, the internet loved his wife for a reasons she found insulting.

  Rachel wanted to be a serious reporter. She wanted to do serious journalism and serious interviews. She did not want to be known as #RachelElliotBeHot, or have internet fanclubs, or appear on click-bait lists like “The Seven Most Adorable News Reporters In America.”

  Or sometimes much lewder titles.

  “The media,” Rachel growled, “has reached an all-time low.” She shook her head and bit her lip. “Maybe I need to get out altogether. Or go to radio.”

  “There are no more jobs in radio,” Josh said quickly. Then he cooed: “Besides, you don't have a face for radio.”

  Rachel held up her finger. “I have the brains for it, though.”

  Josh could feel two things battling inside of him. One was a desire not to be an asshole, which he supposed most men his age had learned to listen to by now. He had a great wife – a beautiful, smart, funny, thoughtful wife. He had a good thing. He knew he should say something supportive at this moment, talk about how she should go to radio, dammit! Take her brains and her real journalism to a place like NPR where she would be appreciated!

  Josh also felt the call of “something else.” The desire to make a joke that he knew would annoy his wife. To put his hands on her hips, and say something sexual, and walk her backward into the bedroom on the off-chance that his annoying her worked some kind of magic, and convinced her to have sex with him.

  Josh was no fool: he knew, as he was sure all men his age knew by now, that his second instinct stood a snowball's chance in hell of working, or doing anything besides igniting a huge fight.

  He knew that.

  He tried to have a talk with his arms, and his mouth. Tried to will them to say something he knew Rachel wanted to hear, and stay away from her delectable hips.

  But down lower in his body, his cock was robbing him of his will to behave rationally.

  He put his hands on Rachel's hips. Her frame was small, and beneath clothing she could appear stick-like. Under the clothes, though, she was drastically curved, incredibly feminine. Josh's cock twitched just imagining what he was feeling with his fingertips: the sinuous dip from her pelvic bone to her supple stomach; the concavity of her waist and the sudden swell of her hip. Her navel, and the small brown mole where her torso began to turn to lean thigh, in a secret place, a place where no one but him knew what was there.

  Well...and her ex-lovers, of course. They knew.

  The thought burned through him, and it didn't help to cool him off.

  “Honey, you're too smart and too good to have to put up with this for much longer,” he said. He meant that, he really did. Even if it wasn't foremost in his mind, he meant it.

  “Dammit.”

  Josh's blood was pumping, his cock was getting hard, and his fingers were almost beneath her panties. It took him a moment to figure out where the epithet was directed.

  Rachel held up her phone, which had rumbled next to her on the table. Her eyes moved swiftly over the screen.

  “I have to go.”

  Josh pulled her close. Her breasts, surprisingly full given her small frame, were warm and soft against his chest.

  “Quit,” he breathed into her neck.

  He half-meant it. He could feel desire clawing away inside of him, and now that he had her close to him, he could think of nothing else.

  Rachel squirmed in his arms. Her legs brushed against his erection, and her breasts jiggled against his chest. He squeezed her tighter. “Don't go. That job is demeaning. Stay here with me.”

  Josh felt a tinge of regret whenever he acted like this. He also just actually couldn't stop himself.

  He also knew that he had crossed the line, from supportive husband to lecherous pig, and his wife knew it, and she was going to get annoyed with him.

  Which he sort of enjoyed.

  Rachel squirmed more and slapped his hands away when she finally escaped. “God, fuck off Josh.”

  “I was just joking!” he called to her retreating form.

  She gave him the finger and slammed the hall bathroom door closed.

  It was a friendly fight. Friendly annoyance, friendly groping. Josh smiled.

  He sat back down at the computer.

  He scrolled the comments.

  I'd lick her ice cream any time.

  A very guilty, very delightful shiver of arousal passed through him.

  Why? Why did he like this so much?

  I have a snake I need Rachel to cover.

  So crass, he thought loudly, as if someone could hear his thoughts and he would get points for being sensitive. Women really had to put up with a lot of shit.

  He tried to will himself to think about that. To think about empathizing with his wife, how frustrated she must feel, not being taken seriously. It was bullshit. Total
bullshit. And he really believed that.

  But try as he might, he couldn't keep the image out of his head, of a man licking his wife like she was an ice cream. Another man's tongue sliding along her wet, creamy skin from the back of her knee to her ribcage, while she giggled, the same way she had for the snake.

  It was that image which led him down the hallway and into the bathroom.

  Rachel was taking a shower.

  The bathroom was already full of steam when he opened the door.

  If there was one thing Rachel loved, it was taking an almost excruciatingly hot shower.

  “Don't complain,” Rachel laughed, “about the steam. And don't come in here trying to be sexy. I really have to get going.”

  But her voice was laughing.

  He had a chance.

  He watched her form through the frosted glass of the standup shower, silently wishing once again they had opted for clear. She made a beautiful silhouette. Her breasts were large and turned up slightly, from the side they made a teardrop shape.

  Josh was anxious to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. They would be slippery with soap, and hot to the touch. His palms itched and his cock jerked to fullness. He took off his shirt and shimmied out of his sweatpants.

  He opened the door.

  Rachel glared at him. Streaks of soap slid down her chest and snaked over her nipples. “I can't get my hair wet,” she said.

  Josh said nothing. He imagined Rachel delivering one of her human interest stories with her hair braided into the two girlish tails she was now wearing. Then he imagined the internet eating it up. All the men who would sit at home in the dark, only the glow of the computer screen on their faces, his wife's image filling the screen. Men who would probably jerk off at their desks. Married men, single men, maybe even some women...all of them craving his wife.

  His cock flexed. He stepped into the shower.

  Jesus, it was hot.

  Rachel giggled, and reached down to grab the elastic of his boxers, which he had neglected to remove. She snapped the band, and a spray of superheated water slapped his skin and his balls. It was painful, but the pain only served to heat him up more. He left them on. He had other plans.