The Hottest Woman in the World

"I'm straddling the fence here," Derek says. "I can't decide if I should be jealous or not."

"I don't know what you mean," Sophia says. She knows exactly what he means. Derek goes straight into the bedroom, while she, like a child who has done some naughty thing, follows. This is not good, she thinks. Living room, kitchen, dining room is good. But bedroom—with nothing to buffer herself with against what's coming—is bad. Derek didn't say a single word during the drive home. And because he wasn't speaking, she stayed silent.

"There's something there," Derek faces her. "Something between you two."

"That," Sophia says, "is bullshit. Of course, there's 'something' between us—I'm her English teacher, for God's sake! That's the whole nine yards of the relationship, if what you're implying is a 'relationship' between him and me."

"Wow," Derek huffs, hands on his hips like he's so tired but still wants to maintain the illusion of being in charge. "I say three words and you give me a fucking salvo?"

"Because you're nuts," Sophia says, slumping on the edge of the bed. She does what she thinks could soften his heart: she pouts like a little girl. "And you're hurting me. Don't you even trust me at all?"

Derek just stares at her. He sighs and paces the room. He finds something unbearable in the air and he goes to the open window and addresses the night with, "This isn't an investigation. I'm just asking you."

"The fact that you have to ask me is what hurts," Sophia says. Silence falls between them. Outside, far away, she thinks she could still hear laughter from the party. But it's impossible—it's several miles away, in the city, where right now she's sure Brad is in bed with another one of his "easy women." When minutes pass, she stands up and slides out of her top, her back to him. She unbuttons her skirt and lets it fall to the floor. She spends a moment looking at her nakedness in the mirror. Behind her, in the reflection, she could see Derek by the window, looking out, still fully clothed.

"Brad. Really? You've been fantasizing about fucking the Brad Silverstone?"

"I still don't know what you mean." She turns to him with that smoldering vixen look on her face. "It's only a fantasy, Derek. Didn't we agree on that? We have boundaries, and I have respected those boundaries."

"Yeah, but—"

"As long as we respect those boundaries," Sophia says, sitting gently on the edge of the bed, "it doesn't matter who Brad is. Or who Jimmy is. Or whoever it is whose name I scream out when we fuck. A fantasy is a fantasy, and that's it." She's playing the purring vixen card now. She appears to innocently examine her breasts, her hand gently massaging its curves, seemingly oblivious to her husband staring at her from across the room. Her hand slowly brushes down her flat abdomen and settles on her shaved pussy. She starts massaging the clit. Her naked, glistening body, made more breathtakingly beautiful by the room's soft light, is her weapon against Derek's attempt to figure things out. After all, there's nothing real to figure out—even at this stage, nothing has happened between Brad and her. Her conscience is clear. But she's bringing out all her big guns nevertheless. And she's horny—Brad made her horny at the ladies room—and oh God she needs some good pounding right now.

Derek closes his eyes. There's a throbbing cloud of pain and lust and longing in his heart. There's something about Sophia's glances at Brad that she just couldn't point a finger on. There's that stab of pain on the fringes of his understanding—but there's also this inexplicable lust. He's turned on—doing it as part of their fantasy is one thing, but being face-to-face with the object of her wife's lust—and here we speak not of some "flavor of the month," but the guy Sophia has been banging in her mind for months now—suddenly unravels a new side to what they've allowed themselves to do as husband and wife. He's sure she's not cheating on him—at least not physically. Not yet, anyway. And while he stares at her finger-banging her pussy on the bed—this is a trick, he knows, but he's powerless before it—he couldn't help but imagine Brad Silverstone right there, holding his wife's legs with his powerful arms, his penis sliding in and out and in and out of her pussy, while she looks at him as if to say, "Another man is fucking me, Derek, and he's coming inside me. I'll let him fill me up with his cum!"

All this dark lust and jealousy is making him lightheaded, but he stands his ground. He mutters, "I understand he's your student?"

Sophia's in the throes of an orgasm, but she manages to nod. "Yeah," she purrs, even rearranging her hips so that Derek gets a full view of what she's doing with her pussy. "He's my student. I used to tutor him on weekends."

"'Used to'?" Derek says. "Why did you stop?"

"I…" Sophia pauses, licks her fingers, then resumes fingering her pussy. "I hate coming to their mansion."

"Hmmm. Is it official?"

Sophia doesn't answer; her eyes are closed, her mouth open, her fingers reaching a crescendo that means only one thing—she's coming, and fast. She spread her legs as her fingers rotated over her clit. Derek watches her wife masturbate before him, like an impassioned observer, although inside the mounting excitement is almost unbearable. He repeats, "Is it official?"

Drifting down from the heights of an orgasm, Sophia hoarsely whispers, "What official?"

"Did you officially quit as Brad's tutor, or can you resume tutoring him like nothing happened?"

Sophia's ample bosom heaves as she catches her breath. "You want me to tutor him?"

"Yes."

"Is this a game? Part of a new fantasy?"

Derek sighs. "Yes and no. I want you to get close to him as much as possible. Close enough to influence him. To sway things in my favor. To make his father see our proposal in a different light."

"Are we still talking about tutoring him?"

"Yes, you're the tutor. Tutor him. But do so in a way that subtly makes him listen to you."

"You're overestimating me," she says.

"You're the hottest woman in the world, Sophia. That's why I married you," Derek says. "You don't have to do anything that isn't part of what you are."

Sophia thinks about it. Did Derek just make a loaded statement? But her husband stands there, still in his black suit, seemingly incapable of making complicated tricks. And she knows Derek says what he wants to say. She understands the need, the desperation—she doesn't like the games men play, but that doesn't mean she isn't aware of it.

Derek says, "But the boundaries—"

"—Are to be respected," Sophia says. "You merely mentioning it, I think, is offensive to me as your wife. What are you thinking?"

"I'm a man, too, if that isn't obvious enough," Derek says. "I know it's very hard to resist that." He gestures toward her parted legs.

Sophia giggles. "You're crazy. I'm not letting that boy touch me."

"Is that a promise set in stone?"

"Make that a diamond-etched promise," Sophia says. They should touch their pinkies now to seal the deal.

"Just saying."

"Tutor, influence him, let's see what comes of it, is that all, Boss?" Sophia's smile is half-sarcasm, half-teasing.

"Oh, and one more thing," Derek says, walking toward her and unzipping his pants. "You tutor him here."

"Here? You mean, in this house?"

Derek nods.

"I'll see what I can do," Sophia says, not so much as a whisper. A long pause. "But please fuck your wife first."

Without a word, Derek lets out his cock. Still fully clothed, he grabs her thighs just as he imagines Brad would do to her wife if given the chance—and penetrates her. He starts pounding her, grinding her hard, her slippery warmth feeling exquisitely fantastic. Within moments, his pent-up lust explodes inside her. Sophia doesn't even wait for him to recover; she gets up and rides on top of him. "My turn," she says, a naughty, mischievous look on her face.