Annabelle

Annabelle

A cuckold husband gets what he wishes for. So why isn't he happy?

I've started writing this twice before; third time lucky, I hope. I have no intention of sending this anywhere. I'm trying to write her out of my head. It's three weeks since we last met. I've blocked her calls and emails. Now I can close my eyes and not see her, not hear her, not want her. No, that last part is not true. That will take much longer. I know I'm not making sense, so I guess I should rewind.

I met Annabelle at a yoga class recommended by my physiotherapist. 'Your running career is over for the time being, Max. You need to concentrate on regaining strength and flexibility without straining your legs.' I joined a fancy up market gym with all the facilities. My solicitor was confident we could stick the other party for the expense if it speeded up my recovery and reduced my damages claim. So, there I was one Wednesday, skulking at the back of the class in my tee shirt and trackie bottoms, trying not to ogle the twenty something girls exercising in the lunch break. Their designer yoga outfits were quite something, skin tight Lycra with cut aways and see-through panels. All they needed to do was to change their shoes, and they'd be ready for an evening clubbing.

Annabelle came into the studio just as the class was about to start. She smiled apologetically at the instructor and took her place on the back row next to me. She gave the new guy, a cursory glance.

Even after all this time, I find it difficult to describe Annabelle. She bore more than a passing resemblance to the actress Helen Mirren, but that was the platinum blonde hair, long fringe and cut short at the ears and neck. She was tall and elegant. People noticed her presence when she entered a room. I tried not to look her up and down, but she caught my eyes on her reflection in the mirror and smiled at my embarrassment. Her simple green leotard matched her eyes and black sheer footless tights showed off her shapely thighs and calves. The younger women were also checking her out. Their expressions saying, 'I wonder if I'll look that good when I'm her age.' Even when I knew her better, she would never tell me her age. 'I'm old enough so you'll be impressed, but not so old that you'll cringe,' was all she would say. She was pleased I was thirty-nine. Whether I had ten or twenty years on her, who could tell? Annabelle was well preserved.

On that first day I grunted and moaned, my stiff body struggling to strike the correct pose. My knowledge of yoga moves ended with downward and upward dog, so I watched the others to get the idea. I always came back to watching Annabelle. She seemed so serine, her movements were effortless. She'd see me struggling and take pity by whispering one word prompts to correct my posture. By the end of the class, I was bathed in sweat while she still looked fragrant. I thanked her for helping me and said I would see her next week. 'Are you sure?' she replied. 'I like a challenge,' I said. My attempted flirtation earned a smile and when she got to the door and pivoted, catching me checking out her shapely arse, she laughed.

Three weeks later, I was making progress, aided by practising to a yoga video Annabelle recommended. At the end of the class she said, "Congratulations Max, you didn't grunt once, even though you found it tough going. You'd find it easier if you wore shorts."

"I don't want to scare everybody, Annabelle." I pulled up my tracksuit legs. My shins were a mass of healing scars from the reconstructive surgery. The wounds from where the support brace held my shattered shins were still visible. Annabelle winced. "Sorry, I should have warned you. My souvenir, courtesy of a drunk driver. I was running on the pavement, the bastard mounted the curb to hit me, then he fucked off." A year on, I was still angry.

Annabelle seemed to take my injuries personally. "I'm so sorry, Max. There's me pushing you on to do it better because I thought you were swinging the lead. I feel terrible now."

She looked like she did; I put my hand on her shoulder in forgiveness. The first contact between us and we both felt a static charge. She looked at my hand. I didn't move it. She didn't pull away. We knew in that moment the path we were on unless one of us decided not to. "Well done, everyone. Same time next week." The instructor's voice seemed a long way away. We went for coffee afterwards and talked about our lives. Preliminaries to get out of the way. Me, a heating and ventilation engineer, single again after ten years. She widowed and remarried. Her husband Clive ran an investment company, managing the fortunes of wealthy individuals. I wasn't surprised, Annabelle was way out of my league. I asked why she did the yoga class when she was as good as the instructor. Was she a dancer just toning up?

"No Max, but thank you for the compliment. My mother was a sadist. I did ten years of ballet before even she had to recognise my height would always exceed my talent. I've been feeling low. My doctor thinks I need to meet new people. He doesn't believe in pills for depression. I thought this would be a way that didn't make me look desperate for company. Not sure it's working, though. I'm a bit too intimidating for most people. Except you, that is." She looked me in the eye.

"You have nothing to apologise for Annabelle. You have presence, and I can see how that might unsettle some woman."

"Some men too, Max."

"But some find it attractive. I said I like a challenge. I've also started lion timing lessons at evening classes." Her laugh was rich and relaxed. "See, that felt good, didn't it? We are wonderful therapy for each other."

"Is that what we are, Max?" Her smile said, 'I dare you to proposition me?' I thought about it for a few moments.

"No, Annabelle. You would have to say no. I'll wait until the odds are in my favour."

"You're a very cautious lion, tamer, Max. You'll have a long career."

The breakthrough came the following week. Annabelle's mind was somewhere else while she sipped her coffee. My look prompted her. "Max, this is awkward. Say no if you don't want to."

If she was propositioning me, she need not have been so tentative; she was onto a sure thing. "You need to ask me first." I smiled.

"Oh. No, not that. Not that it wouldn't be nice." She blushed. "Max, you're an engineer, you must know about computers. I need to see what is on a computer I don't have the password for." That took me by surprise. I asked her why she needed it. Her voice dropped. "My husband has a computer in his office at home. He's on it late at night. It's always clicked to the same document when I enter the room. I've got good eyesight. I know he's covering something else."

"What do you think he's hiding Annabelle?"

She slumped. "I hope it's just another woman. But what if it's worse than that, Max? What if it's kids or violent porn? I don't want to be the last to know. If I can find out now, maybe I can help him."

She was a smart woman. I doubted her suspicions were unfounded.

I suggested she bought a key logger on eBay. They are not illegal. No skills needed, just plug the keyboard lead into one end and the desktop box into the other. I agreed to help her open the computer once the logger did its stuff. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I felt she'd played me, but her warm body against mine, and her scent in my nostrils meant I paid little attention to the warning.

After the following week's class, I went back to her eight bedroomed neo-Georgian gaff in a gated community on the edge of London. Her cleaner ran out onto the drive as we pulled up. She was full of apologies for blowing the electrics. I reset the fuse box and Annabelle let her go home, saying she could finish the rest herself. Not that there was anything to do. The place was exquisite. Immaculately furnished, but sterile, a house designed for looking at, not living in. I made appreciative noises, but Annabelle could read in my eyes what I was not saying.

"I'll make us some coffee, while you get things ready, Max. Would you mind looking first, just in case there is something awful?"

I was hoping to put her in the driving seat, but I felt sympathetic to her predicament. It did not take long to get into the machine. I interrupted the start-up routine and ran the key logger software. It played back her husband's log in sequence. Once I was in, I checked the hard drive for video and pictures, relieved to find nothing of the sort Annabelle feared. There were a few homemade videos of a certain type, and when I checked his browser history, I logged into several websites of the same stuff. It would upset Annabelle, and had to affect their marriage.

She arrived with my coffee and a worried look on her face. I sat her in front of the blank screen. "Annabelle, there is nothing illegal on his computer, but your husband has some interests you might not be comfortable with." I waited for her to process this before I continued. I brought the screen to life. "Clive seems to be very keen on cuckold porn. That is when men set up their wives to be serviced by another man, called a bull in the parlance. Most of the time it is a white couple, and the bull is a well-endowed black man. Some husbands like to take part or be restrained from participating. Some like to prepare the wife before and clean up after, so to speak. But they all like to film the act and share their humiliation with others. That seems to be the biggest kick they get from it. Here are some examples of what he likes." I had several browser windows open and downloaded films paused in viewers.

Annabelle wept for a few moments, then took a deep breath. "Thank you, Max. I've been so worried. It's a relief to know what he's into won't get him locked up. I'm not that interested in porn." She looked at the collage of windows showing naked couples. "This is really what he likes?"

I'd been mischievous in my selection. I leaned over her shoulder and told her where to click. "Those men are directing their wives and lovers. The other man is almost always mute." She seemed fascinated by what was going on beyond the sex. "It's about control, but I'm not sure who is in control. In some films, the husband is a servant to the wife and her lover and is abused by both of them. I guess he gets off on the humiliation. In others the husband seems in control, fucking his wife by proxy by instructing some dumb, well-hung stud. He is reminding her he is responsible for the best fucking she will ever get."

"You're right, Max. That is Clive's nature. He would want to be in control and let his wife and the other man know they were performing for his amusement. She returned to two clips that were my favourites. She watched the energetic couple fuck in a chair and then sideways on a couch. Despite her protestations, the porn was affecting her. Stiff nipples poked at her silk blouse. Her breathing became laboured, her neck flushed. I brushed her hair from her neck and Annabelle sighed. I tilted her head up. Her pupils were dilated and her lips parted to accept a kiss. Her expression said I knew this would happen, and it is what I want. Our weeks of foreplay were over. I kissed her lips and Annabelle moaned in my mouth. My hand went to her breast, teasing the nipple through the silk, and she shuddered. Sounds from the screen took our attention. The woman was squatting on a large cock, which glistened as she bounced up and down. She was about to come.

"You picked them because they look like us, didn't you?" Annabelle's voice sounded dreamy.

I took her hands; she stood up and led me across the u-shaped gallery that served all the bedrooms. We stopped at their bedroom before moving on to one of the guest rooms. I undressed her quickly. Expensive underwear, which on another occasion I would have stopped to admire, were now just barriers to my goal. Annabelle's hands were busy on my shirt and jeans. My cock sprang to attention. She grabbed it and knelt before me. My helmet was wet in anticipation. My arousal pleased her, and she sucked nosily at my cock. The crude noises and actions were in such contrast to the elegant person Annabelle was, I was even more turned on.

"You've wanted me for a long time, haven't you, Max? It's good to know I can still arouse honest passion. Fuck me, Max. Treat me like your slut. Make me do the things you would do to a cheap whore."

I surmised that sex with her husband had not been passionate for some time. So I made her suck my cock until she gagged, then I made her suck my balls while she recovered. I made her trombone me, sticking her tongue in my arse while reaching around to wank me. Not the usual stuff of a first date, but she demanded that I use her. When I came, I turned around and shot in her face and hair. "Oh god Max, it's in my eyes, it's everywhere!" I threw her on the bed and straddled her, forcing my shrinking cock between her tits. It seemed to revive, and a last spurt shot out of her cleavage and hit her chin. I collapsed next to her and licked the cum off her chest and face and forced her to share a spunky kiss. She broke away breathless.

Annabelle sighed. "You are the most disgusting man, Max. I love it. Eat my cunt."

She did not need to ask twice. Her hands met behind my neck and held my head against her almost hairless pussy and Annabelle bucked her pelvis fucking my face. I ate her for ages. Nibbling gently at her lips and pulling them with my teeth. She was incredibly wet for a woman of any age and very flexible from the yoga. I pushed her hips into the air and she grabbed behind her thighs. Her pussy opened up. I separated the cheeks of her arse and she watched as my tongue probed her rosebud.

"You're a dirty fucking bastard, Max." Her profanity delivered with a cut glass English accent was such a turn on. Annabelle was close to coming again, so I stopped and just plunged my revived cock into her. Her pussy was like a vice and she milked me, holding me on the edge until I calmed down. I've never had a fuck like it. I was begging her. "Please Annabelle, let me cum." She relaxed, and the cum rushed out of me like someone had just stepped off a hose. My hips pounded until they ran out of steam. I don't know if she came again, I was lost in bliss. I slumped down next to her. "Annabelle, that is the best fuck I've ever had."

"Thank you, Max. That is just what I need to hear right now."

We managed it once more before I had to leave. While I was in the guest shower, she had one in her en-suite. She emerged in a dressing gown with a towel on her head while I shut down her husband's computer. "What are you going to do about this, Annabelle?"

"Like you say Max, it's not illegal, but I don't like the idea that Clive might spring this on me one day. So, I'm going to pre-empt him. You like me Max, you want to do this again don't you?" I nodded. "Well, we will make a little film of our own for my dear husband. Give him what he wants, but on my terms. What do you say?"

Even though it sounded sick, it was also a turn on. Plus, I would have done just about anything to fuck Annabelle again, so I agreed.

A few days later, I arrived at our film set, a suite in the Hilton Hotel, Park Lane, London. It was Annabelle's choice. She was not a woman who would do it in some budget hotel off the motorway. I didn't argue; it was her money. I told Reception I was delivering a suitcase delayed at the airline and went up to her room. It had a superb view across Hyde Park towards Buckingham Palace and the whole of the West End. She was in a dressing gown, smelling fresh from the shower. She fought off my inquisitive hands, promising it was better to wait for the dress rehearsal. I set up as she disappeared back into the bathroom with a small case. My DSLR camera and old video camera were both set up on tripods. I'd borrowed a few of those tiny action cameras from guys at work, claiming I would try them out while cycling before I bought one. My set up was almost complete as she emerged from the bathroom.

"Oh my God, Max, so many cameras. Do those tiny ones actually work?"

I looked up at her and lost my breath. She looked different. Gel in her hair, spiking it in a funky way. Long false eyelashes with lots of mascara, and her mouth was a pouting red. What really set it off was the diamond pendant, rings, and matching choker on a black velvet band.

"Do I look like an expensive whore, Max?" I just nodded. I almost came when she opened the dressing gown. She was wearing a black lace corset ending in suspenders attached to sheer black seamed stockings that said Dior at the top of the thighs. Tiny black lace knickers almost covered her shaven mound. "Clive bought this outfit for me in Paris a couple of years ago. We argued, and I never wore it for him." She strode across the room and stood eye to eye with me. I looked down at the high heeled black stilettoes. Annabelle raised her heel coquettishly to show me the red soles of her Louboutins.

My hands were all over her. The feel of her supple flesh, the roughness of the lace and the smoothness of nylon had me breathing hard. "I'm glad you like it," she giggled. She moaned as I kissed her slutty mouth. My fingers dispensed with the flimsy material of her knickers and found her wet and swollen. She moaned as I circled her clitoris. She pushed me off. "We're supposed to be filming this."

I set all the cameras going while she repaired her makeup. "What's that one for, Max?"

I was wearing the chest harness my mate record his runs with. "This camera gives the audience the point of view of the guy in the saddle, so to speak. I've got a spare one if you'd like to film me?" Annabelle inspected the tiny camera. "They record on a tiny memory card. Just like the camera in your phone."

Annabelle looked at the setup. My DSLR on a tripod at the end of the bed to capture the wide-angle view. Two sports cameras halfway along each side of the bed, propped on furniture. A couple attached to the headboard. "You've given this a lot of thought Max. Blue Tack and Velcro to secure things."

"What can I say? You ask an engineer to do something and this is what you get. Are you ready?"

Annabelle nodded. She'd given it some thought herself and had prepared a brief speech. She lay back on the pillows and made me straddle her hips so my chest cam was at her head height. "Hello Clive. I hope you like this surprise. I'm sure you will, after all, your computer is full of cuckold porn. Sorry I snooped, but I had to know it wasn't something worse. Anyway, you secret is safe with me and my friend here. You may not be interested in fucking me anymore, but I can assure you he is. Just look at how hard his cock is." She turned her own small camera onto me. "We've had one rehearsal already, so I can guarantee we both know our lines. So, sit back and enjoy Clive. You've got what you wanted without even having to ask. But you've got it on my terms."

Annabelle leaned forward and slowly took my cock in her mouth. She held her own camera close to the action. Her red fingernails raked the back of my balls and one of them slid into my arse. "He's moaning because I've put my finger in his arse, Clive." She took me in further, making the most disgusting gagging sounds as she accommodated me down to the balls. Her probing finger brought me to the point of no return and I twinged. Annabelle removed my cock. "Don't come yet, darling. I want to show Clive how I play the trumpet." I corrected her, and she laughed. "Silly me, of course it's a trombone. Look at it, Clive." A rope of spittle connected her mouth to the end of my cock. I turned around and felt her spread my cheeks. The little camera on the headboard would capture it all in HD. Annabelle went to town, bringing me to the brink twice and slowing down again. "You poor darling. I think you've suffered enough. Turn around and come in my face." I straddled her head as Annabelle jerked me furiously. As I came, she directed it into her mouth and on to her face. I had not touched myself since I'd been with her last week. There was so much spunk. It went in her hair and down her neck, splashing her velvet choker. My legs gave way, and I slumped back on the bed. Annabelle picked up her small camera and looked into the lens. "Is this what you want, Clive? Is this what you've imagined when you looked at those videos of other men's wives? How do you feel? Have you come yet?"