Nila's Long Con: A Hotwife Adventure by Butler Arnica

Author:Butler, Arnica [Butler, Arnica]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2017-04-24T04:00:00+00:00

8: THE “TAPE”

Tennile retrieved the memory stick with “the video” on it and handed it to me in the living room, where I had arbitrarily decided to watch it.

I set the computer down on the coffee table. Tennile sat down in the chair across the room from me, her hands folded in her lap. She stared at her fingers and her cheeks were already turning red, before I even turned on the video player.

The first sound was loud, it was Tennile's laughter. I recognized it only because of her special, deep-throated warble – the laugh itself sounded incredibly fake.

“No,” she was saying. “I've never been.”

On the screen was a hotel room, a pretty nice one, modern style, and it appeared to be a suite high up, overlooking the city.

“Where's this?” I said quietly.

“The Hilton.”

The irony.

It took me a moment to recognize Tennile herself. She was wearing a schoolgirl outfit: red plaid mini-skirt, white blouse tied at the navel. Her breasts were plumped up by whatever she wearing beneath it, and she had some killer white stockings on that came up to just above her knee. And heels – slutty, high-heeled black shoes that made her legs look almost distorted in their wild length.

My cock throbbed.

“Put the headphones on,” Tennile said quietly. “I don't... I just don't want to hear it.”

I looked over the edge of the open computer at Tennile, who had pressed her thumb to her lips and was looking at the floor, stone-faced.

Back to the screen. I plugged in my headphones and put them into my ears as Tennile The Whore strutted around, laughing, giggling, a drink in her hand.

Her giggle filled my ears as I put the earbuds in. She was stretching out as she climbed onto the lap of her... client... a burly, foreign-looking man who was making no bones about his eyes plunging right into her chest.

Tennile played with his tie, and then climbed on top of his lap and started to do a lap-dance of sorts – the view from the camera was of her bottom peeking out from her skirt, her slender legs from the top of the stockings all the way up to the little strip of red plaid that was shaking and gyrating on the wide lap of the big man. I could see the outline of his erection very clearly.

His hands were on the chair, and his fingers dug into the armrests with his obvious desire to slide them up along Tennile's thighs and under that little skirt. Watching another man, seeing his palms itch to feel my wife's skin, turned me practically inside out.

Tennile danced on his lap for a bit, and though I could only see from behind, her hands were in front of her, untying the short blouse and slowly peeling it away. The man's pleasure was obvious as she tantalized him with the slow removal of her tight blouse.

The cotton material slid off her shoulders, and I sucked in my breath when I saw that her back was bare – and therefore, so were her breasts.

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