Coveting Thy Neighbor’s Trophy Wife: The Complete Collection

By Edward Daniels

“Coveting thy Neighbor’s Trophy Wife: The Complete Collection” combines all four short stories of Edward Daniels’ “Coveting” series. The story of a divorcee retreating to his home town only to find himself enamored and seduced by his neighbor’s trophy wife... and his daughter... and their friend, Coveting explores, sex, love, lust, and how four people forge a new family when lives are blown apart by circumstances.

With dripping hot sex around every corner, Kelly, Anne, Laura, and Jack learn to take their pleasures where they find them. With no holds barred, this Coveting contains highly explicit descriptions of oral sex, masturbation, threesomes, girl-on-girl, toys, and much more.

If you are offended by sexual material or not of legal age to view it, please do not purchase this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Daniels
• Release date: Apr 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301648931

Edward Daniels

Edward Daniels is a proud erotic fiction author with a focus on telling short stories. His interests exploring the world of BDSM, sugar relationships, cheating spouses, prostitution, students and teachers, and even several stories “based on the true story” of his misspent youth. Many of his short stories are available in collections for those who want to find out how everything turns out in the end or who want to sample a range of different erotic possibilities. Based in Maryland, the author enjoys sharing his stories, and the filthy ideas inside his head, with the world.

Book preview

Coveting Thy Neighbor’s Trophy Wife

By Edward Daniels

Copyright 2013 Edward Daniels

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Freelance

Chapter 2: Hard Rain

Chapter 3: Blown

Chapter 4: The Daughter

Chapter 5: A Stepmother’s Love

Chapter 6: The Dock

Chapter 7: The Boathouse

Chapter 8: Loose Ends

Chapter 9: The New Normal

Chapter 10: 48 Hours

Chapter 11: Dirty Girls

Chapter 12: First Snow

Chapter 13: Winter Break

Chapter 14: Three's Company

Chapter 15: Christmas Presents

Chapter 16: Getting Away

Chapter 17: Final Fling

Chapter 18: And Then There Were Four

Chapter 19: Routine

Chapter 20: Taking Delivery

Chapter 21: Private Time

Chapter 22: When the Cat’s Away

Chapter 23: Home Again

Sample Chapter from A Slut’s Perspective: Freshman Year

More erotic fiction from Edward Daniels

Chapter 1: Freelance

As a freelance writer, one of the great perks of the job is I get to work from home. My morning commute is about 30 steps from the bedroom to the kitchen table. There’s normally fresh brewed Kona in the coffee pot instead of whatever $6 a pound swill the office manager brewed at my last job. Good coffee is one of the small pleasures that make a bigger difference than most people think.

In a big office, it’s easy enough to get lost in the mix. You can slack for most of the day and get away with it. When you freelance, if you don’t work, you don’t eat. That’s a healthy level of motivation. I was lucky to have a few regular clients who liked my work well enough to keep coming back., Like every other writer, I was tinkering with ideas for the great American novel. I’ll never be Hemmingway, but I have a remarkable facility for churning out travel articles about places I’ve never actually visited. It’s not the gift I would have asked for as a writer, but it’s the one I got.

To keep food on the table, I try to stick with the usual 40-hour week. Some weeks that means five or six hours every day and others it may mean manic 12-hour binges. As long as the copy gets finished, no one really cares how it comes together. No one except publishers get rich from writing, but it’s a living. Mostly. I could never explain that part to my ex-wife – which explains whey she’s living in my ex-house, hanging out with my ex-friends, driving my ex-car, and for all I know fucking my ex-pool boy. I’m not bitter, though. Life with a struggling writer wasn’t what she signed up for when we met. She always liked the parties, office socials, and gossip more than I did anyway.

I didn’t fight for anything in the divorce. I didn’t even hire a lawyer. I left her the house, the car, and the majority of our savings. Then I cashed out my retirement account and just walked away. I’d inherited a small lake house from my uncle years ago and that’s where I retreated to lick the wounds of a failed marriage. It wasn’t as secluded as I remember it being when I was a kid, but it was comfortable, full of friendly memories, and, most importantly, paid off.

March wasn’t exactly high season for vacationers and I was able to settle into an easy routine of rising early, writing until noon and fixing up the house the rest of the day. It wasn’t so much run down as it was stuck in an early 70s time warp. Between a few new contract pieces and the house, I had more than enough to keep my mind occupied.

The lake was full of quintessential summer cottages. Not the kind you see in Newport, but the ones that real people have passed down in their family for years. The kind your parents and grandparents built for a thousand dollars 60 years ago. They were rough around the edges, but perfect for the family that wanted a vacation home without being pretentious. For two months, I practically had the lake to myself. By May, the flow of traffic picked up and at night I could see lights on in most of the houses on both sides of the lake. It was almost summer, and that meant I would need to learn to be social again. For the first few months of my exile here, the longest conversations I’d had had been with the checkout girl at the local supermarket. That changed a few days after my neighbors showed up to open their cottage for the season.

Anne was a real dish, a looker in every sense of the term. Her husband Dave was a nice enough guy who seemed more interested in golf than anything else, including his young, new wife. The first week after they arrived, I heard him leaving at the crack of dawn most mornings, no doubt headed to the course on the other side of the lake. I imagined that would be his pattern for the summer, which was fine by me. It was one less potential interruption during the day.

By contrast, Anne was nothing but a potential interruption. As much as I tried not to be a complete pervert, I regularly caught myself staring out the window to watch her sunbathing or just working in the yard. There was something about the way she moved that just screamed look at me! Since my ex hadn’t gotten my balls in the divorce settlement, there didn’t seem to be any harm in enjoying the view.

After a few weeks of new arrivals, the community settled into its summer routine. Every morning the weather allowed, I’d take my laptop outside to the small table on my dock and spend at least three hours working on whatever project was paying the bills that week. When the sun was high enough to wash out the screen, I knew it was time to wrap up for the day.

I was lost in my own thoughts, trying hard to come in before a deadline when I felt the dock shift subtly beneath my chair. Anne smiled when I turned around, her bare feet not making a sound as she dropped into the chair next to me.

What do you do out here every morning, she asked?

I write… and drink too much coffee.

Why?

That’s my job.

Drinking too much coffee is a lame job. Anne was smirking now. Her attempt at humor was at least as lame as mine. She was no comedian, but she was fun to look at, so I let her get away with it.

We talked for the better part of an hour. It was an easy conversation. New neighbors trying to figure out if they were going to get along or not. I told the story of woe that explained how I came to be the Hermit of Lake George. She listened sympathetically as I went into more detail than was strictly necessary for a friendly conversation.

As it turns out, Dave was older than he looked and had me by a good 15 years. Anne was wife #2 and thoroughly enjoyed her trophy status. At the ripe old age of 24, she settled in nicely to a life of leisure. Part of me was jealous until I remembered that it wasn’t like I was working very hard myself. We all have our own cross to bear.

Wrapping up out introductory conversation, I led the way down back towards dry land. As I turned to bid Anne a final goodbye for the afternoon, I was immediately surprised by how closely she had been following me. In a flowing move, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me closer than was strictly appropriate for neighbors. Caught off guard, I almost didn’t notice that for a brief moment she was grinding herself against my upper thigh before ending our embrace and heading back across the yard to her house. From her deck, she waived and called a gushing see you tomorrow.

I waived back without being committal. I would have been happy to see Anne any time, but knowing that she was my neighbor and that she was married sent my mind reaching for all of the possible ways this could end badly. Lake George was a small community and when there wasn’t anything else to do, the locals were always happy to gossip. On my own it was no harm, no foul since I wasn’t particularly gossip-worthy. Anne’s flitting around my back yard and the lakefront was, however, a worthy enough topic of conversation for the rumor mill. If Dave was the jealous type, I was sure he’d pay me a call before long.

I was still standing in the yard looking towards their house when the sound of Dave’s car pulling into their driveway startled me. He waived and I lifted my coffee mug in greeting. I really was going to have to introduce myself properly at some point, but a few minutes after being groped by his wife wasn’t the moment to try making friends with the guy.

Chapter 2: Hard Rain

I didn’t see Anne the next day or the day after that. It had cooled off and started raining, feeling more like fall than the opening act of summer It wasn’t the kind of weather you went out in if you could help it. After my initial run in with Anne, I was just as happy to sit in front of the flickering fireplace and try to get some work done. My cottage was built long before ostentatious summer homes were all the rage., but one of it’s best features was the massive stone fireplace that dominated one entire wall in the living room. It had a certain charm that was hard to deny. It was probably my last excuse to build a real fire before summer really set it, so I enjoyed the moment. Or at least I tried enjoying the moment until a soft, but determined knocking came from the kitchen door.

Anne looked like a drowned rat, with her hair plastered to her face and clothes dripping all over the floor.

You’re soaked, I said, hoping that it sounded like I was more interested than I was. Anne was obviously attractive, but I’d come here to get away from what had once been my love life, not find a new one. Especially not one who was married to my neighbor. I had the feeling that knowing Anne would add a number of complexities to my life at a time when I was trying to keep things as simple as possible.

I locked myself out, she explained. Do you mind if I stay until Dave gets home?

It was the last thing I wanted, but being neighborly was what this community was all about. Besides, I couldn’t very well turn her out into the storm. I’d reached that conclusion before even noticing how her tee shirt clung to every curve. Even with the fire I’d been tending it was apparently cold in the house. Anne’s nipples pushed hard against the wet fabric of her shirt. I should have been more embarrassed when she caught me staring, but I swallowed hard and forced my eyes up 18 inches to meet hers. As usual, she was smiling. She was also unbuttoning the two-sizes too small pair of jeans that she was wearing.

If I were any kind of gentleman I’d have made a show of trying to stop her. Since I’m not, I decided to see just how far she was going to go with this. I hadn’t exactly been discreet about watching her lying out, or washing the car, or just walking by. I was a lecherous middle-aged man who was perfectly happy to have his neighbor’s 24-year-old wife strip in the middle of his living room. If she wanted a little strange on the side, what right did I have to say no? At least that’s how I justified it in my own head.

By the time her shirt hit the floor, I justified it in a completely different way – simply that she was mostly naked, standing in my living room and I wanted to fuck her far more than I was afraid of what her husband might say or do if he found out. Anne suddenly looked a little uncertain, as if she had already gone further than she planned.

Before she had the opportunity to think about what she was doing, to possibly pull herself out from a compromising situation, I crossed the room, pushed the hair back out of her face, and kissed her deeply. At 5’2’’, Anne was a good foot shorter than me. I could easily have overpowered her if she resisted, but within seconds of my hand finding the small of her back, she yielded. From that point on, there wasn’t even a hint of a second thought.

One thing I can say for sure, is that Anne, or possibly Dave, had good taste in lingerie. La Perla isn’t exactly cheap, but it’s one of those things that’s worth every penny. More important that it looking good in the shop, it looked amazing against her skin as I held her at a distance and let out an appreciative whistle.

Do you like, she asked pulling away from me and striking a pose.

I’d like it better if it were on the floor, I growled. It’s hiding all the interesting bits.

Reaching behind her, Anne let the bra fall to the floor at her feet. Turning slightly, she bent at the waist and slowly eased the thong over her hips and down her legs. I hadn’t even noticed her legs until that moment. They weren’t exactly long, but they were in perfect proportion to the rest of her ridiculously well cared for body. Her tits were exceptionally perky and hadn’t yet felt gravity’s tug. Her stomach was washboard flat with just the slightest hint of definition and her pussy was as bare