Ann: The Married Years Ch. 36

But he was being Bond, and that opened up that possibility. Now that she'd set things in motion, she felt guilty for being upset that he might ask her to join them. She was excited when she first approached Brooke about being a peripheral part of their fun, not taking into account the difference it made that he was Bond, and he had certain character flaws that were endearing to his adoring public, one of them being that he used and discarded women for his pleasure.

Men loved that he could act this way. Women loved the idea of being the object of his desire. He was masculinity personified. What was the famous line? Men wanted to be him; women wanted to be with him. It was as much a part of Bond as the Walther PPK and his license to kill. Ann knew that. She actually welcomed it to the point she came up with idea to let Neil loose in that character. What she forgot was the idea of why he originally booked the room for the weekend to begin with. It was their anniversary, and a milestone one at that... and that trumped everything else. Ann was feeling selfish, wanting him to herself, but fearful he might change the course of their night.

"Damn my imagination," she sighed.

Lost in her thoughts, the knock startled her. Neil rose calmly, raising the gun and pointing it at the ceiling as he slowly opened the door, using it as a shield. She could picture Bond on the movie screen doing the same thing.

"Good evening Mr. Bond," Brooke said as she pushed the small cart into the room.

"Please, call me James," he replied as he shut the door behind her.

"Your champagne, Jamrs. a

And three glasses," she smiled.

Holstering his weapon, he took the bottle from the ice, opening it with a distinctive pop. Pouring the bubbly into the glasses, he offered one to each of the women in his company.

"Not to spoil the mood or anything, but this toast is to my wife. Anna, you are the most amazing woman I've ever met. Even on our anniversary, you found a way to surprise me again. It's been five years, and I know you've got so many more surprises up your sexy sleeve that I shouldn't doubt them anymore. But you always seem to astonish me with your imagination. I love that about you. It's one of a thousand little things you do each day to make me happy. I love you babe."

"I love you too, Neil," she said as a tear rolled down her cheek.

They drank their toast, Brooke stunned that she was even there. In fact, she wondered aloud that very thought. "Why am I here exactly?"

"That would be because Miss Bouvier invited you to play a part in our latest fantasy adventure."

"Yeah, about that, I'm not even sure I did it right. I'm not that familiar with the movies. Anna gave me a bit of a crash course downstairs, but...."

"Whatever she told you, I'm sure you'll understand that I simply want to make this a memorable night for her," he smiled with a nod toward Ann. "I just wanted to thank you for doing what you did, and this seemed as good a way as any."

"Well, whatever this is, thanks for letting me be a small part of it," she said as she finished her drink, setting the glass on the tray. "I'll let myself out. Let me know if you need anything else, James," she snickered.

With the two of them alone, Ann took another sip, her eyes half-closed as she leered at him. She was relieved, but at the same time, she was intrigued. In a way, she'd offered him the ultimate anniversary gift. A guilt-free opportunity to have sex with someone else; in this case an attractive young blonde with a perky personality and a hot body, and he basically ignored it.

"I thought you might have had something else in mind."

"You sound disappointed."

"No, not really. I love what you said. I just figured you would take advantage of being Bond like you did the other times. After all, it's not like we do this every week."

"Not tonight, Pamela," he answered in a mock British accent, moving closer. Taking liberty with a different movie title in the series, he offered a gentle smile. "Tonight, I only have eyes for you."

Her heart began to pound, the love for him soaring inside her chest. He was such a sexy man in every way. She'd given him a chance, and yet he made his desire clear with the way he was staring. It was going to be an incredible night. She could feel it in his heated gaze. An odd feeling washed over her, the idea that she was Pam Bouvier. And he most definitely was the incomparable British agent.

It had to be how Bond girls were supposed to react knowing they were alone with him; the realization that they were undoubtedly about to become another notch on his belt. She was both scared and excited, the power of the man overwhelming her. He was dangerous, and yet he was so damn charismatic. She wanted to run from him and into his arms at the same time. It was a paradox that was the essence of Bond. Was it safer to be with him, or to flee? As far as Ann was concerned, Neil was portraying him to perfection.

She gulped the last of her champagne, watching as he slowly finished his in contrast. Taking her glass, he set them both down. Then he disarmed her in more ways than one, first tossing her weapon on the loveseat next to her, followed by kissing the back of her hand. Pulling her to her feet, he planted a kiss flush on her perfect lips, pressing forward as he spun her around. In seconds she was on top of the bed, and he was on top of her, grinding his groin into hers as he kissed her neck.

"Oh, James," she moaned, giggling as soon as she said it. She'd heard that line in the movies so many times, always seeming a bit corny to her. But when his hand slid along her inner thigh and he slipped two fingers into her very wet pussy, it suddenly didn't seem like such a clichéd phrase. Her back arched as she panted, "OH JAMES!"

Curling his fingers, he began massaging her g-spot, contorting his wrist as he licked along her jaw line. "Yes, Pamela," he whispered, his hot breath finding her ear.

"Oh... PLEASE!" she cried out, not realizing just how close she'd been to a climax. She could feel it welling inside, the pressure building up as he played her perfectly... until he stopped. She went into a panic, the sudden emptiness causing her to breathe wildly. "OH GOD! PLEASE... PLEASE PUT THEM BACK!"

She wasn't sure why, but she instantly regretted showing how much she wanted to cum. It likely had to do with the roles they were playing, the idea that she was supposed to be an ex-CIA agent; the implication that she should be in control of her emotions. There was just something about the situation that had her on edge. Perhaps it was the way he smiled when she began to beg. She took a deep breath, regaining her composure as he changed tactics, the delay in his attentions temporary.

He repositioned her beneath him, pulling her further onto the mattress. Sliding down her torso, he pressed her legs apart, not that she was resisting. The mewls emanating from her chest illustrating how desperate she was to cum, yet she couldn't escape the thought of how strong he was; the way his fingers gripped her inner thighs, forcing them to open wider. She doubted she could have stopped him at that moment if she wanted.

Gliding his cheek against her soft skin, she growled as the stubble on his face scraped against her flesh. He hadn't shaved since he left for work that morning, the days growth giving him a more rugged appearance. Rubbing against her other leg as he moved closer to her crotch, she inhaled sharply. The move was deliberate on his part, a not so subtle reminder that there was a man between her legs, and he was about to do unimaginable things to her pussy with his magical mouth. His cheeks felt like sandpaper, and that had her dripping with excitement.

His steamy breath covered her mound, causing her hips to rise. Placing a hand on her stomach, he pressed her against the mattress, holding her firmly. Using his thumb, he stretched her skin taut; her exposed clit extending out further from her pussy. Giving it a quick swipe with his tongue, she flinched, bucking upward. His devious chuckle told her he was going to take his sweet, torturous time.

Tracing along her outer labia, he circled her cunt several times, his touch so light she wondered if he was actually doing anything at all. But then he'd exhale, and she'd feel the coolness where he'd left a wet trail behind, the sensations making her shiver. She groaned in relief when he finally sucked on her outer labia, all the while knowing he was still forever from giving her the release she now craved.

Her hands found her breasts through her dress, and she silently grumbled that she was still wearing it. At the time she liked the idea of starting out slow, the two of them still dressed when he pushed her backward onto the bed. Now she longed to be naked, writhing beneath him as he fucked her senseless. Yet the way he was toying with her pussy lips, she was certain it would be a long time before she'd feel his thick rigid shaft parting them.

She became lost, her eyes closing as she gave in to what he was doing. She fought to concentrate on her breathing, allowing him whatever he felt he needed of her body. His hands slipped under her ass, pushing her short dress up over her hips, exposing her lower half totally to him. His fingers massaged her cheeks, fingers digging in as if palming them. Yet his mouth remained on the fringes of her pussy, never nearing her dripping hole or her clit.

It surprised her when she heard a yelp, only to discover it had come from her as he began biting and sucking her inner legs, leaving behind telltale marks that he'd been there.

"Fuck, he's giving me hickeys," she groaned, the pain and pleasure it gave her becoming a single twisted mix; the remnant being the erotic sting that pulsed as he moved to another spot. "Oh dear god," she panted as he left more, her pussy quivering, the ache in her groin now unbearable.

Her hands gripped at the quilted comforter, holding on as he licked between her ass and her pussy, praying he'd dig his tongue into one of them. She was so close to a climax she thought she could cum if he'd just touch either. Instead he lingered between the two, kissing and playing, knowing he was driving her insane.

"How long is he going to do this to me?" she wondered, her legs starting to shake from the way he was dragging his tongue across the sweet space between her two holes. He was going back and forth, licking down her thighs a little before returning through the small gap. Each trip he'd make, he'd go further down her thigh, until he was suddenly going half way to her knees. His hands had moved from her ass, holding her knees on the inside, spreading her legs as if he was trying to make her do a split. She marveled at how he could go so smoothly, leaving a wet saliva trail, yet he always missed the two places she so desperately wished him to lick.

She thought about moving, either dipping her hips or lifting them at the perfect moment to make him hit one or the other, like a pothole in the road. But she was afraid he might start all over. Or worse, stop altogether. Frozen in place she gripped the comforter tighter, hoping he might let her cum eventually.

He was amazed at her patience. It had nothing to do with the role she was playing. In fact, he was thinking of her differently at that moment. He was thinking of her as his wife.

The old Ann would have been pleading with him to make her cum. He wondered if it had something to do with the last time she'd been Annabelle, learning the art of patience. While it had been such a long time since she'd submitted to him, it was obvious that she'd actually changed a lot in that regard. It was particularly evident in how she was with their son, seldom getting upset in situations where she would have been before. But that she was letting him do as he wanted as long as he wanted still surprised him. After all, this was sex.

It made him wonder how long he could keep up what he was doing to her. Was there a breaking point where she'd finally give in to her lust and beg for release? Peering up from his place between her thighs, he could see her head, her body slightly angled at the waist as she lay there gripping the covers. Eyeing the velvet choker wrapped snugly around her neck, it again reminded him again of the collar she'd wear as his loving slave. He couldn't help but wonder if the reason she could now control her patience was because of the training she'd been through.

Moving his fingers delicately along her thigh, he saw her smile appear. It was faint, almost pained, but it was a positive response. "Oh... James," he heard her whimper, still in the character she was portraying. And that brought him back to the present.

"She's just like a CIA agent," he reasoned, the cross between Annabelle and Pam Bouvier suddenly coming to mind. "They get trained to withstand this kind of thing."

It was a bit of a sexual stretch; the idea of an undercover agent being taught how to remain calm and in control while in the throes of sexual stimulation. Yet in his warped brain he somehow likened it to what he'd done to his wife in the crawlspace of their home; the delicious torture she had to endure to learn the lessons of tolerance and serenity under duress. In reality, what he was doing at that moment was no different than what she'd put him through a hundred times since they'd been married; her love of sucking and stroking his cock, denying his orgasms over and over to extend his ultimate pleasure.

She took great pride in her ability to bring him to the very edge time and again, backing off at the perfect moment, leaving his cock pulsing and twitching; precum trickling along his shaft like a gentle rain flowing down a spout. She called it a fetish, but it was more of a hobby. And while the journey was often filled with a little pain and anguish, there was so much gratification along the way that it more than made up for the trip she took to allow him to cum.

The biggest difference between the two had always been that he'd been able to withstand whatever she put him through, allowing her to spend as much time as she wanted using his cock. And that's what she did, almost as if it were detached and she was playing only with it and his balls. She could even become obsessed about it, making it seem as if he wasn't in the room at all.

Yet whenever he was given the chance to pay her back for her wicked ways, she'd start whining and whimpering, imploring him to make her cum. He didn't mind. It was always so cute to see her suffer in desire.

But things changed after she'd been used as his slave for over an entire week; kept prisoner in her makeshift dungeon, her body forced to cum so many times it seemed as if that's all she did for that first weekend. And then, he reversed the tactic, denying her an orgasm for five days in a row, others taking her place. When she was finally allowed to cum, he again tested her limits, the orgasms coming so often and so powerful that second weekend she passed out on several occasions.

Ever since she'd taken off her collar as Annabelle, she found the ability to manage her desires, allowing him to do what he wanted without pleading. Yes, there were still times she would ask, or even beg. But if the mood called for it, she could will herself to stay calm and actually enjoy the lovable tormenting he was doing to her. With that in mind, he was pushing her, trying to see just how patient she was going to be for him.

She had no clue how long he'd been down there between her legs. It seemed like hours, time almost coming to a stop. All she could hear was her panting, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid as he began biting and licking at her landing strip, her ripe clit pulsing so hard she closed her eyes and imagined it was somehow tied off, restricting the blood flow. In a way it was aching, having been engorged for so long with no relief. A steady stream of wetness was oozing from her pussy, flowing down the crack of her ass. He had barely touched her cunt, and it felt like he'd been pounding her all day.

The hardest part was trying not to move. She didn't want to give in, some bizarre pride on the line she wasn't even aware of. How could she know if he'd be upset if she moved? What if he was just waiting for her to show some sign that she wanted to cum to actually make it happen?

It became a mind game in her head. They'd never talked about how it was going to be. They rarely did, even when they weren't role-playing. They'd fallen to the mattress and he'd taken her, just like she dreamed James Bond would. But then he slowed the pace, drawing things out. He was still in charge of the action between them, yet it wasn't exactly what she thought it would be.

She had some pre-conceived idea from the movies she'd watched, thinking the Bond in bed would be the same as what he was out of it; dangerous, a man of action. He would take what he wanted sexually, not necessarily concerned with the needs and wants of the woman he was with. They were objects to him, there for his pleasure, something to be used and then disposed. There was something she found incredibly erotic in that callous approach to sex, even away from a role-playing aspect, when it was just she and Neil. But this was Bond, and in the movies the women always left the bedroom incredibly satisfied.

Yes, that was all on screen, and this was her mental interpretation of what she thought it would be like in real life. Neil was obviously doing the same thing, acting as he thought Bond would under the circumstances. At the end of it all was the fact that she was extremely wet. There was no denying the effect he was having on her, and it was that dynamic that had her senses on overload. While she didn't tell him, because she didn't want to direct their adventure, she wanted to feel used and discarded when the weekend was over, just like she thought a Bond girl would. She hoped he would pick up on that. Yet at the moment, how he was going about getting there was unexpected.

She kept thinking that any second he would end her suffering, longing for his mouth to finally find her pussy. When she began to uncontrollably tremble as he lingered between her ass and her dripping hole, she came close to crying out, having to bite her lip to keep from screaming. If it weren't for the grip she had on the bed covering, she would have grabbed his head and tried to force him to suck her cunt.

Try as she might, she couldn't help her soft cries and whines. They became louder as he went on, and when she started to shake, almost violently, her whimpering became strained.

"There it is," he grinned as he increased the pressure with his tongue, flattening it. He lapped at her skin, always pulling up just as he reached the entrance to her pussy, knowing she was close to giving in. He wanted to continue to drag out the agonizing experience, but he knew he was playing with fire. Whatever he did was only setting the stage for her payback once the roles were reversed someday.

Part of him wanted to see if he could make her cum without touching her pussy at all. But his cock had been leaking for well over an hour, and the aching he felt in his groin as it pressed against the mattress was becoming just as unbearable as what he was doing to her. Instead of getting her off and then fucking her, however, he decided to change things up again.

"OH JAMES!" she growled when he lifted his head, her first complaint since he'd moved between her legs.

Sliding his hands underneath her back, he rolled her over, before lifting her at the hips. Her knees flew up, her chest still pressed against the bed. Somehow it always amazed her how strong he was, and it sometimes caught her off guard when he'd manipulate her like that during sex. She felt small, a bit like a ragdoll the way he could whip her around, bending her in whatever way it seemed to please him. That he was doing it as Bond gave her a cheap thrill, even with the frustration of not cumming yet. It was how she imagined the famous spy would be if he felt the desire to fuck instead of making love.