Home Wrecker: Turning a Betawoman [FF]

It’s kind of wild how it started.

I’d just gone through a bad breakup and took a job in another town, wanting to put some distance between us. The housing market in my new town was horrible and I was having trouble finding a decent place I could afford.

I saw a listing for a room being rented out by a couple. I didn’t really want to have roommates again, but the rent was cheap, I’d have my own bathroom, and they were willing to rent month-to-month. So, I put most of my things in storage and moved in.

It was really awkward at first. I felt like I was invading someone else’s space, you know? And it was a little weird renting a bedroom from someone a few years younger than me.

To be honest, it wasn’t great for my self esteem, especially coming right off a messy breakup. But they were a sweet couple and didn’t seem to sharing the living areas with me.

Olivia worked at home for an insurance company. She was really sweet, if a little quiet. Desmond did something with computers. He was a little gruff for my taste, but seemed nice enough.

I’m not especially proud of how it all started. I guess I was kind of in a dark place and started playing with some pretty toxic thoughts.

One night, few weeks after I’d moved in, Olivia cooked spaghetti and invited me to join them for dinner. Money was tight, and honestly I was feeling kind of lonely, so I accepted.

We mostly made small talk while we ate. I felt like Desmond was working hard to impress me with his stories, but I didn’t pay it much attention. Olivia was kind of quiet, but got more talkative after a couple glasses of wine.

After we ate, Olivia and I sat around the table talking. Desmond left for a bit, but came back, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and leaned against the counter and joined in the conversation.

At one point I looked up and caught Desmond looking down my shirt. It’s kind of annoying but not completely unusual so I tried to pretend not to notice – while casually adjusting my shirt to cover a little better.

I felt a little embarrassed that he was so obviously looking with Olivia sitting right there. I snuck a quick glance at her, preparing myself for a possible confrontation.

She’d noticed it too. I could tell by her face. But she didn’t look angry like I’d expected. She looked even more embarrassed than me. Almost ashamed.

I’ve got to be honest. That kind of did something to me. It kind of stroked my battered self esteem in just the right way.

I found myself thinking about it a lot. It wasn’t that I was particularly interested in Desmond. I mean he was nice enough, but not really my type. But the idea that Olivia had seen him looking at me made me feel … powerful. Attractive. Desirable.

If I’m being honest, it probably had something to do with Olivia kind of reminding me of my ex. There was something about her eyes that was similar. And there was probably a little transference of negative emotions.

But it got to me. If I’m being honest with myself, I liked the feeling of Olivia seeing her boyfriend attracted to me. It was kind of a rush. And I found myself chasing the feeling.

I started spending more time out of my bedroom and in the common areas. I started spending more time talking to Desmond but only when Olivia was around. When she was gone I’d mostly stay in my room, but when all three of us were there I’d hang out in the living room and strike up a conversation – usually with Desmond, and always where Olivia could hear.

I started dressing a little sexier too. I didn’t go all Lolita school girl or anything like that. But I’d wear pants that fit a little tighter, a shirt that cut a little lower. I noticed Desmond looking at my ass a couple times so I started wearing more leggings with a hoodie that’d rise up anytime I’d reach for something. Things like that.

I started innocently flirting a little too. Everyone Desmond made a stupid little joke, I’d laugh out loud and put a hand on his arm. When he’d make a teasing comment I’d playfully slap his arm and say “you’re so mean!”

Desmond ate it up. He loved the attention, and it just encouraged him to try harder and harder. Olivia’s face would turn bright pink and she’d just look away.

I was awful. I knew it was terrible. But I couldn’t help myself.

I started making little comments to her too, when Desmond wasn’t around.

After he’d leave the room I’d say “He’s cute,” and then, like I’d just realized what I’d said I’d add, “I mean you two are really cute together.”

Her face would always flush and she’d start squirming uncomfortably. But she never stormed off or really said anything. I found myself wanting to see how far I could push her. I was becoming addicted to the feeling of power.

Then one night the three of us were sitting at the kitchen table drinking and talking. Well, mostly Desmond and I were talking. Olivia mostly sat there sipping her wine.

Desmond made some stupid joke. I laughed and put my hand on his arm. Again. I snuck a glance at Olivia, seeking my adrenaline rush, but this time she wasn’t looking at Desmond, nor was she looking at my hand on his arm.

She was looking directly at me. I couldn’t help myself. It was an involuntarily reflex. I held Olivia’s gaze, gave her the barest hint of a smile, and rubbed Desmond’s arm. It was just a second or two, just an instant too long. But it was enough.

Olivia made the tiniest sound. Like an inhaled sigh. Like her breath was caught in her throat. She looked away quickly, and Desmond was oblivious to everything, but I heard it. And I knew exactly what was going through her mind.

A few minutes later Desmond excused himself and headed off to bed. I poured Olivia and myself another glass of wine to encourage her to stay, and she remained in her seat.

We chatted for a few minutes before I casually shifted the conversation to Desmond.

“He’s such a good guy. You too must be so happy together,” I said.

“Mhm,” she murmured while take a sip of her wine.

“You’re lucky to have him,” I said.

She didn’t say anything. She just stared down at her hands wrapped tightly around her wine glass.

I reached across the table and placed my hand on hers. “You love him, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“You want to marry him?”

“Yes.”

“Want to spend the rest of your life making him happy?”

“Yes.”

That was all I had planned to say. I just wanted to plant a seed in her mind. Make her wonder. Watch her face as she contemplated my words.

But she looked so small in that moment. So weak and fragile. And a twisted part of me felt strong seeing her like that. Some dark corner of my mind lit up with the urge to exploit her weakness.

“Do you think, if I went into your bedroom and asked your boyfriend to fuck me, he’d do it?” I asked.

I didn’t expect her to answer. I was almost shocked into silence when I heard her whisper, “Yes.”

I started caressing her knuckles with my finger tips. “Do you want me to do it? Do you want me to fuck him?”

This time she didn’t answer. So, I carried on.

“Do you think he’s thought about fucking me? Maybe he’s thinking of fucking me right now, with his dick hard in his hands.”

I paused a moment to make sure she’d feel the weight of what I’d ask next.

“Do you think he’s thought of me while fucking you?”

She didn’t make a sound, but the way her body shuddered answered plenty.

My heart was racing. It was the most alive I’d felt in years. It was exhilarating.

I got out of my chair and knelt beside hers. I put my hand on her face and started caressing her cheek lightly.

“What about you?”

She looked at me, timid, and weak, and confused.

“Have you thought about it?” I continued. “Have you thought about him fucking me while he fucks you? Have you wondered how we’d do it? If I’d be better at it than you?”

I moved my hand down to her leg and started stroking her thigh. “Have you thought about me? Have you thought about fucking me? Wondered what the woman your boyfriend would prefer tastes like?”

I moved my hand up her thigh, gently sliding my fingertips over her skin. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. She just stared down, her breaths short and shallow.

I leaned in close so I was almost whispering in her ear, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I let my cheek brush against hers and I slowly inched my hand further up her leg.

“Have you ever been with a woman before?” I asked.

“No,” she whispered.

“Ever kissed a woman?”

“No.”

I moved my lips over her cheek to her mouth so my lips would barely brush against hers as I spoke.

“But you want to. You want me. You want to know how I taste. How I fuck. You want to see how a real woman fucks. You want to know why I have that you don’t. Why he’d prefer fucking me. If there is something you can do to be more like me … to make him happy.”

She didn’t respond. I waited a heart beat, our lips barely separated. My lips were getting dry, and when I ran my tongue over them the tip flicked across her bottom lip too. She shuddered and I could feel her body willing her to press herself into me.

“Well,” I said. “What are you going to do about it?

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/zy7xpg/home_wrecker_turning_a_betawoman_ff