Sexy Neighbor Natasha
A Hotwife Novel

by Arnica Butler

Jeff and Tasha are a mature, happily married couple on vacation in Ibiza, where friends have rented them their condo at discount. Ibiza is definitely more of a wild party scene than they are used to or desire, but they're in a more peaceable corner of the island, and they've managed to work around the ever-rotating carousel of neighbors.

But when a group of young bucks takes up residence next door, Jeff discovers that his forty-something wife has an allure for the younger men from the moment they see her. They're not shy about flirting with their "sexy neighbor Natasha"... and Tasha isn't shy about her newfound power over younger men.

This is a fun, sun-drenched novel with no dark shadows about a mature woman taking the bulls by the horns, while her husband watches.

Chapter 1

"Ok-ay-ay," Tasha sang cheerfully from the kitchen, her new heeled sandals clacking on the tile and echoing throughout the entire condominium. "Last chance."
Jeff squinted at his screen, half his mind on emails, the other half lazily considering Tasha's offer. But sand, heat, and sitting around were not his thing, ever.
"Uh..." he said, feeling a little bad. He lifted his eyes briefly over the edge of his laptop and then looked back at his inbox. "It's really..." His voice trailed off, his mind suddenly derailed. Quickly, he looked back up at his wife, who was leaning against the kitchen island playfully, twirling her oversized sunglasses in one hand.
"...hot," he finished, mouth hanging open a little. "That's... new... a hot, I mean... it's too hot. Outside."
Tasha had been shopping, and he remembered now that she had told him all about it. One of her purchases was a new swimsuit, which he hadn't paid much attention to. Not that Natasha wasn't something to behold in a swimsuit - or out of one - it was just that she usually bought something... uninteresting.
But the suit she was wearing was hot. Hotter than outside, anyway. Hot enough to make him think about going to the beach with her and spending all day with sweat rolling down his ass crack and sand grinding up his balls, if it meant he could sit there and stare at her.
There wasn't anything particularly skimpy about the suit. It was a one-piece black suit with no bells or whistles. But Tasha usually went for boy-short bottoms coupled with a top that looked like a sports-bra. This suit rode up high on her hips, exposing half her ass and a wide swath of skin in the crease of her thighs, and the neckline plunged almost to her navel. The two strips of fabric that covered her breasts left their contours visible and only covered an inch or so on either side of her nipples, with a thin fabric that betrayed the shape of them: two perky pieces of chewy candy melting into large pools of caramel aureole that the suit only just hid from view.
Tasha was forty-two this year, in two months, and she'd had two kids. Her large breasts were gorgeous, and always had been, but over the years they'd transformed, and so she wasn't so keen on showing them off anymore. Which was silly - they were beautiful, leaning a little to a teardrop shape, sure, but still her best feature. Bottom-heavy, they curved up defiantly at the rounded bottom of their shape, pointing her nipples slightly upward. Jeff thought they actually looked better than ever - more interesting, more real. But Tasha had stopped flaunting them long ago. His eyes scanned the suit, and he felt his cock thicken a little - another unusual situation during this, his forty-seventh year of life and fifteenth year of marriage. Especially at ten in the morning.
He lingered on the creases where her leg joined her hip, at the scant black material that covered her thatch of dark black hair - ordinarily. But, anticipating a lot of beach time on this, their beach vacation, she had gone in for a wax, which she hadn't done in ages. All that remained of her hair was a wispy landing strip.
"That's, uh... a very hot suit, Mrs. Russet," he blubbered.
She gave her sunglasses another quick swing, once around, grinning at him with a challenging look. "Is it?" she asked coyly. And waited. Jeff raised one eyebrow in what she called his "madman" face, which made her roll her eyes and turn around, picking up a large beach bag. "Okay, then," she said.
"I just don't like the heat!" he called out, in mock protest, admiring the full shape of her ass, which was also barely covered by the suit. It was no thong, but it left plenty of the rounded volume of her buttocks exposed.
"Can't take the heat," she called back, holding a hand up and waving goodbye. She said something else, probably something witty, but it was drowned out by the obnoxious squeal of the door hinges. Jeff grimaced, not just at the inexplicable state of the door - the rest of the condo was stunning, pristine, well-maintained - but also at his own potential stupidity. Here he was, on vacation in a gorgeous condo in Ibiza, with a hot wife trotting out to the beach in a hot swimsuit, and he was going to spend the day... looking for WD-40 and checking emails?
Sometimes he was a major disappointment to himself.
The extended vacation they were on, in Ibiza of all places, was a concession to Tasha that he had been corralled into by a series of either fortuitous or unfortunate events, depending on who you asked. Tasha loved the sun, and long, lazy days at the beach doing not much else besides sleeping. She also loved water sports, and swimming, and she was a decent surfer - which was embarrassing to him because, while he beat Tasha by at least a smidge in almost any other sport, he could barely get on a surfboard, and she demolished him in the water at almost everything else.
Not that it was all competition, but he was a guy. Getting his ass handed to him by a girl was, well, embarrassing. Sometimes slightly erotic, truth be told, but mostly embarrassing.
And the sand, and the salt, and the heat... not his cup of tea. But Tasha had suffered through her fair share of home improvement staycations and family visit summers, and hunting trips and camping, so when the stars aligned for this trip, and their good friends had offered to rent them the condo at an incredible, dirt-cheap price, what could he do?
Happy wife, happy life, so they say.
Tasha was a freelance science writer, and so she had minimal work right now by design. He, on the other hand, had been roped into teaching an online course over the summer, which wasn't hard to do - he just needed to swat a few emails away, grade some plagiarized essays, and be online for student questions two hours a week. And it paid for their airfare.
The kids were in Germany, staying with his parents, who had lived there for the past ten years. They were at a German language camp, which was something they'd been meaning to do as soon as they were old enough, taking advantage of the free lodging with the grandparents.
So it all came together quite nicely: the kids had a great educational opportunity, they had some time alone, and Tasha was getting her beach fix. Ibiza, though.
What a headache.