I met Annie 20 years ago. We were introduced by a friend, who worried that all work and no play would make me, Alex, a very dull boy. She thought the same about Annie, who was her university roommate.
Annie and I came from different backgrounds, but we were both nerds. She was the only daughter of a wealthy businessman and his wife. Me, I was the son of a bus driver and a school teacher, ordinary people. Annie was posh; I was common.
Both Annie and I concentrated on studies over social life during university. We both dated and fooled around a bit, but neither of us had fallen in love ... it would have meant less time in the library. After graduation, we both found jobs in London: Annie as an advertising copywriter and I as a junior manager in the then-newly established high-tech sector.
Annie and I immediately realised were just alike. We both worried about our jobs far too much. We both drank, but never to excess. We could dance, but not very well. Annie was good looking and had a trim figure with pleasingly large breasts, but you could hardly tell the way she dressed. She was a bit of a frump, opting for comfort or convenience over style. I didn’t really care. I loved her and had found my partner for the rest of my life.
Within a year, we were married. Our honeymoon consisted of a three-night stay in Rome. We ate great food, drank fine wine and saw the sights. As newlyweds, we spent a disproportionate time screwing, although neither of us were – how can I best say it – sexually skilled. In other words, we really didn’t know what we were doing in bed.
While in Rome, Annie and I decided that we should buy each other a gift that we could keep for the rest of our lives. While Annie’s parents were loaded, we vowed that we would live on our salaries, so we could not afford much. I quickly picked out a pair of sterling silver cufflinks that I still wear today.
I also wanted to give Annie jewellery as I thought such a gift would endure. However, while browsing in a fancy women’s shop, Annie spied a pair of leather trousers. They were beautiful, but very expensive. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine my bride in those sexy trousers, but I couldn’t because Annie had never worn anything like that before. When she emerged from the changing room, she looked better – and so much sexier – than I could have ever dreamed. We really couldn’t afford them, but I still bought them on the spot.
That night, we went out for dinner and she wore the trousers topped by a thick jumper (a sweater to you Yankees) as it was chilly. She looked stunning, and she must have known it as her entire personality changed. She seemed more alive, sexier, almost carefree. At dinner, she whispered to me.
“I must confess that I am being a bit naughty tonight.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“I got so excited about wearing my sexy new trousers that I forgot to put any underwear on.”
For most women, this would be no big deal, but Annie often wore a bra to bed. We were in unchartered sexual territory. We finished our dinner, skipped dessert and rushed back to the hotel. I could not believe it when Annie began pulling her jumper off in the hallway before we reached our room. Once I unlocked the door, she knelt before me, unzipped my trousers and began slurping on my cock, dressed only in her leather trousers and high heels. She finally stopped, removed the trousers, pushed me on my back, planted her pussy firmly on my mouth and commanded: “Eat me!”
We sucked and licked each other to initial orgasms, and then fucked in every position we knew (which was not very many) and then discovered a few more. We overslept the next morning and missed our flight, which just fine with us. We went out for lunch (she wore the trousers again) and managed to begin making love early, so we could fuck for hours and still wake up in time for our rescheduled flight.
Over the years, Annie wore the trousers on special occasions, and the sight of them on her shapely ass always made my cock tingle. They weren’t that tight – the style at the time was snug in the rear but loose-fitting down the legs – but she looked so goddamn sexy in them. We would unfailingly have great sex later that night.
However, time marched on. The trousers began to show signs of wear, and eventually she stopped wearing them. We continued to advance in our careers: Annie was now working at a top ad agency, and I had joined the UK branch of a leading software developer. We weren’t rich, but we were very well off and bought a small house in Highgate, a posh section of London. We had our share of traumas, particularly when we found out that Annie could not have children. But, we loved each other so much, we always seemed to muddle through.
Sex was still not one of our priorities, especially after the leather trousers were retired. However, our sex life really began going downhill about a year ago, shortly before Annie suddenly quit her job to work as a freelance copywriter from home. I was pleased with her decision. She could be her own boss, she could work flexible hours and she no longer had to face a London rush-hour commute. Still, I noticed that she was growing more distant and I could not really figure out why.
Several weeks ago, we were shopping for a gift for Annie’s 40th birthday. We were in an expensive women’s shop, and Annie was trying on her normal style of clothing: comfortable, not very stylish and certainly not sexy. That’s a shame, because Annie still has a great figure, a bit on the busty side with a great ass and shapely legs. Suddenly, I spotted a pair of leather trousers, beautifully made. I smiled as long-forgotten memories were released. In fitting with today’s style, these trousers looked to be very tight-fitting; almost a cross between skinny jeans and leggings. While Annie seldom paid attention to styles, I could not help but notice that she has begun wearing much tighter jeans on weekends.
I decided not to mention the leather trousers that day, but several days later I returned to the shop and bought them, ignoring the fact they cost £700. It was a big gamble: I didn’t know whether Annie would love them or hate them.
But, to my surprise, she said she loved the trousers and tried them on. Wow! They fit perfectly and not only moulded snugly to her ass, but clung to her lovely legs almost like a second skin. She looked just like Mrs. Peel out of ‘The Avengers’, but only sexier.
I could not wait until I could take Annie out for a special evening so she could wear the trousers, but for the next several weeks she came up with a variety of excuses not to wear them. One night she said it was too warm outside (even though it was winter and Annie was always cold, even in the summer months). Another evening, she said the restaurant was not fancy enough. And, of course, there was the plain old “I’m not in the mood tonight”. I heard that a lot when it came to sex, and now the same applied to the trousers.
A week later, I came home from work on a Tuesday in a very good mood. The project on which my team had been working for the past several months had been extremely well-received by my bosses. The line of products that resulted from our work would make the company a lot of money, and I knew I would likely be in line for a promotion and a generous salary increase.
However, the first thing Annie said when I came through the door was: “I am really exhausted. I have had a really rough day and I am very tired. It’s about time that you helped around the house.”
“Sweetheart, what can I do to help?” I asked, refusing to let go of my good mood. I was told initially to take the clean laundry up to our bedroom and put it away, then help cook dinner. OK, I thought, this seems easy enough, so I grabbed the pile of clothes. I put various items in the chest of drawers and then began to hang some blouses in Annie’s wardrobe.
I noticed that the leather trousers were lying on the bottom of the wardrobe. I reasoned that they must have fallen off their hanger. I started to hang them back up when I noticed something was spilled on the front of them. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but it was a liquid that was not completely dry and seemed sticky.
“Annie, did you wear the leather trousers today? I think you spilled something on them,” I shouted down the stairs, adding, “I thought you were going to wait to wear them until we went out together?”
She shouted back, angrily: “I’ll do what I damn please. I’ll wear what I want whenever I want. What are you doing going through my wardrobe?”
Now, I was getting pissed off. “I was putting your clothes away … as you told me to do. All I asked is if you wore the goddamn trousers today since they were on the floor. You must have worn them because you spilled something all down the front ... something sticky.”
I was braced for another snippy reply, but instead I heard nothing and finally a faint sob. I carefully but quickly came down the stairs to witness Annie, sitting at the small table in our kitchen, her head bent down and her hands in front of her eyes. She finally raised her head to look at me, tears streaming from her swollen red eyes. I could hardly make out what she was saying.
“I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you so much. I don’t know what to say, what to tell you.”
I didn’t know what to think. Was she having an affair? Is that what was on the trousers I had given her for her 45th birthday? Who was she fucking ... and why? Should I stay and listen or should I just walk out? Should I hit her? What in the fuck should I do?
So, I started crying, too, which only increased the flow of tears down Annie’s cheeks.
“Please, don’t be mad at me! Forgive me!” she sobbed. “I never wanted to do this to you, honestly.”
“Annie,” I said, trying to get myself together after a moment. “Tell me what has happened.”
So she did. “You remember Fred, my friend from the ad agency. You met him at a few parties.”
My stomach tightened because now I knew for sure what was coming … and I was likely to hear that it had been Fred.
“Fred and I became good friends as soon as we met,” Annie said. “We just hit it off. As I told you, we would go out to lunch or for drinks after work and laugh about all of the assholes working at the agency.
“About a year ago, Fred began to flirt with me,” she continued. Annie knew that Fred had broken up with his girlfriend and was initially amused by his somewhat clumsy advances. Fred was about ten years younger than Annie, and she was flattered by attention from a younger man who just so happened to be witty and handsome.
Everything changed during a business trip, she related. The agency assigned Fred, who was an account executive, and Annie, the agency’s most senior copywriter, to visit an important client in Edinburgh. Two long days of meetings had gone very well, and she and Fred decided to celebrate before returning to London the next morning. One drink in the hotel bar led to another, and Annie slowly shed her inhibitions in her increasingly intoxicated state. After some kissing and groping in the bar, she shed her clothes – and her 20 years of marital fidelity – in Fred’s room.
“I was so ashamed the next morning,” she said. “However, as I was flying back to London, I realised that for the first time in my life, I had done something truly wicked. It seemed dangerous, and that give me a bit of a rush.”
So, the affair continued. However, after a few months, she said Fred became increasingly demanding, bordering on bullying. “He would call me ‘Miss Prim & Proper’ and ‘Rich Bitch’. He would chide me about how conservatively I dressed and acted, both in public and even when we were alone. I learned that Fred is a pretty wild guy, and e thought he had the power to change me, to make me into what he wanted a woman to be. He told me that if I wanted to be a slut and cheat on my husband like a whore, I should start playing the part.
“I was so angry, I wanted to prove he was wrong,” Annie explained. “So, I did exactly what he asked and began wearing risqué outfits and lingerie to please him. I wanted to prove that I could fuck him better than he had ever been fucked before.
“At first, I only dressed up for him when we were alone. But, he soon bullied me into going out for drinks or dinner in really short skirts or in tops that barely covered my tits.” Annie told me that she secretly bought garter belts and stockings to please Fred. She even bought crotchless underwear, so he could lick her pussy more easily even though she was dressed for the office. Annie explained that she hid all her ‘slut’ clothes in a chest in the guest room where she figured I would not find them and that many of their trysts occurred on nights when I was working late on my project.
“Even worse, I really started acting like a whore. We had sex in the back of cabs and outdoors in St. James’ Park. We did things that you and I never, ever thought doing. Now I am so ashamed …” Annie concluded, sobbing and shaking her head, signalling that she did not want to provide any further details.
“That’s why I avoided sex with you. You were too good for me. I’m nothing but a dirty slut, and I’m so sorry.” At this point Annie completely broke down.
I couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why didn’t you just end it?” I asked.
After pausing a few moments to regain a bit of composure, Annie said, “That’s why I quit my job ... so I could get away from Fred. However, Fred thought it was great because he thought that meant he could just come over here and fuck me whenever he wanted during the day. I could never allow that, I couldn’t have sex with him in my home, our home.
“Then, he said that if I stopped seeing him and fucking him, he would call you and tell you all about what I had been doing. He blackmailed me, so I kept seeing him. Last week, Fred again insisted that we have sex here, in our house. And, today, Fred came over here and told me that he would call you and tell you everything if I didn’t let him in. So I did. He went to our bedroom and looked through my wardrobe for something he said was ‘suitable’ for me to wear for him, and he found the leather trousers. I told him that you bought them for me for my birthday, but he just laughed and said they were actually a gift for him. He forced me to put them on, and then he took out his cock and jacked off all over them, just like an animal marking his territory. Then he told me he wanted to fuck me in our bed, but I was at least able to persuade him to do it in the guest bedroom.”
The floodgates opened again. Tears flowed down Annie’s face like a small rivers.
After much silence, Annie spoke quietly. “I don’t blame you if you tell me to leave the house and never see me again. But, please don’t leave me, Alex, at least not tonight. You can sleep in our bedroom, and I will go to the guest room … I know you won’t want to go in there for a long time. We can decide tomorrow what we are going to do next. Let’s get some sleep now.”
So, even though we never had dinner, I went to our bedroom and started to cry like a baby. I heard Annie down the hall in the guest room rustling about; I think she was changing the sheets on the bed.
Dark thoughts kept me awake all night.
I showered, dressed and left for work on Wednesday morning without seeing Annie. I accomplished absolutely nothing at work, but as the project was finished, there was thankfully not a whole lot to do. I went to a hamburger joint for dinner and, when I arrived home at about 9 o’clock, I could hear Annie sobbing softly in the guest room.
Thursday was a repeat of the previous day. I didn’t try to see or speak to my wife.
On Friday, the team that I led at work had organized a lunch to celebrate the successful conclusion to our project. As the company would probably earn many millions in profits as a result of our efforts, we were told to take the afternoon off, go to whatever restaurant we pleased, and to eat and drink as much as we could. While I was not in a mood for a party, the rest of the team was really looking forward to the celebration, and I did not want to dampen their high spirits. After many glasses of wine, I began to feel a bit better, especially when my assistant delivered a toast, calling me “the best boss in the world”.
I said good-bye as the team was ready to move the party to a nearby pub for some serious drinking. I wandered around London for hours, both to think about the future and to sober up. I finally took a taxi home and found a note from Annie on the kitchen table.
“Dear Alex,” it read. “I know how rotten this week has been, and I am truly sorry. I have really hurt you, and I don’t know what to do to make things better. So, I have gone to see my parents for advice. I know you will think that I am somewhere else, so please call Dad if you wish. You know he would never lie to you. I will return sometime tomorrow. Love, Annie.”
I smiled for the first time in days when I read the note. She was right; neither her father nor mother would lie to me. Roger and Margaret were the finest people I had ever met, and it was good for all of us that they did not live far away. My parents died in an auto accident shortly after I married Annie, and Roger and Margaret made it clear that I should consider them my parents from then on. Earlier in the week, I had considered calling Roger for advice, but I couldn’t bear to tell him what his daughter had done.
I took another long walk by the Thames on Saturday morning, but it began to rain so I returned home and spent the afternoon watching football on television. I was lying on the sofa when I heard the front door open. It sounded as if Annie was carrying some bags as she climbed the staircase to the spare bedroom. Several minutes later, I heard her walking back down the stairs.
“Alex, honey,” Annie said softly. “I know you probably still don’t want to talk to me, but we can’t continue living like this. I have had long talks with my parents. You will probably be happy to know that Dad thinks you should kick my ass out of the house and file for divorce immediately. He also says you would never to do that because you are too much a gentleman.
“Mother suggested that you and I go out to dinner tonight, someplace comfortable, so that we do not have to talk at home. Maybe we can figure out what to do next. Even if we don’t, we will at least have a good meal. So I made a reservation for 8 o’clock at Francesco’s. If you want to go, meet me at the front door at 7:45.”
Francesco’s was a small Italian restaurant just a short walk from our house. The food was very good, and it was usually crowded. The idea of a good meal appealed to me, even if talking to Annie did not. So, after another couple of hours of channel flipping, I went upstairs to ‘my’ room to get changed for dinner. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom next to the guest bedroom.
I went downstairs at 7.45, and Annie was already waiting by the front door, doing her best to smile. She already had a raincoat on, but I could see that she was wearing a pair of skinny black jeans with black knee-length boots pulled over the legs. I frowned: I now realised that she started wearing really tight jeans about the same time she began the affair with Fred; before, she wore jeans that were much baggier.
We walked together in silence until we entered the restaurant. The manager greeted us by name since we were semi-regulars and showed us to a table that was situated in a small alcove at the back of the room. The alcove provided some privacy, so it was a perfect place for a romantic dinner … or a difficult conversation.
Annie often complained that restaurants were too cold, so I was not surprised that she kept her coat buttoned once she was seated. We ordered cocktails and began looking at the menu when Annie began the conversation.
“Alex, I don’t know what to say other than I love you. I know you don’t believe it and I know I haven’t demonstrated it, but I really do.”
She continued: “I asked my parents what I should do, and they were at a loss. They’ve been married for more than 50 years, and I don’t think either of them ever considered cheating. They both told me they were much more worried about you than me. Dad said that you were the best guy that I could have hoped to marry, and that I had flushed 20 years of happiness straight down the toilet. I think he wants to disown me.
“Mother is disappointed in me, but she urged me – and you – to try our best to move on. She knows it will take a long time to heal the hurt I have caused you. However, she told me that, when she broke her leg a couple of years ago, she was surprised that the doctors made her begin rehabilitation the next day. She advises us to act quickly if we want to heal quickly.”
Just then, the waiter came with our drinks. Annie smiled weakly and took a sip of her negroni, as if it would provide some needed courage.
Annie then said: “Mother and I talked a lot about our marriage and what makes you happy. She told me the only way I could win you back was to truly dedicate my life to making things better. I don’t need to work; we already have more money than we can spend, and I am going to inherit a bundle eventually. What I need is to be married to my husband. So, my new job starts tonight.”
As she sat at the table, she slowly unbuttoned and removed her raincoat to reveal that she was wearing a purple silk bustier, so tight and low-cut that her breasts spilled out over the top. The bustier would have provided remarkable cleavage to a woman who was an A-cup, but Annie was a 34C. The effect was just short of breathtaking.
I couldn’t take my eyes off my wife’s tits. However, a horrible thought became lodged in my head, and Annie replied as if she could read my mind.
“No, Alex,” she reassured me. “I bought this today, after I left my parents’ house. I can show you the receipt. I bought this for you. Fred will never see me in this, because I will never, ever see Fred again. That I promise.”
Then she stood up and slowly turned around. What I thought was a bustier was really a corset, complete with laces all the way up the back. There was a two-inch gap where the laces held together the two sides of the garment, revealing a strip of bare skin extending from Annie’s shoulders to the top of her low-rise jeans.
Annie turned again to face me and stepped backwards, so that I could see the full effect. I stared at the bottom and saw boots with a spiky kitten heel, then the skin tight-black denim jeans and finally the purple corset that just barely covered her full breasts.
After sitting down again, she said: “I called Mother after I went shopping and told her what I had bought. She told me that I would probably look like a whore, but she hoped for your sake that I at least looked like an attractive, high-priced whore.” Annie paused and then asked: “So, what do you think, Alex?”
I didn’t know what to say. I think I smiled, and I was relieved that the waiter came at that precise moment to take our orders.
The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur. It’s difficult to listen to your wife when all you want to do is to stare at her tits. She looked like a goddess, an R-rated one at that. I was waiting for her nipples to pop out over the top of the corset; so I could increase the rating to an X.
We chatted not about our problems, but about the success of my project and my promising future at my company. It was a safe conversation. But as the waiter began to clear our plates, Annie changed topics.
“Alex, I know you’re confused. I know you are wondering what’s going to happen once we leave the restaurant. I think it is best if we walked home and then went to our respective rooms for the rest of the night. I did not dress like this to take advantage of you. You are in a fragile state, and I understand that. Let’s just take one day at a time and see if we can get our lives back to normal.”
And, so we did what she said. Once in ‘my’ room, I quickly stripped off and began jerking my cock furiously, all the time thinking of the corset and Annie’s tits. I do not normally masturbate and it had been weeks since Annie and I had sex, so I quickly shot a huge load all over the sheets. I cleaned up the best I could using my boxers as a rag and, for the first time in four days, fell soundly asleep.
I awoke on Sunday morning to the smell of bacon and eggs frying. I put on some clothes and went to the kitchen to see Annie cooking. But it was what she was wearing that I really noticed. She had on a semi-transparent cream-coloured blouse that she usually reserved for special occasions, along with a pair of tight brown jeans and brown suede shoes with 4-inch heels, higher than any I thought she owned. On closer observation, I could not see a bra strap under the blouse, and when she turned around to say good morning, I saw that only three buttons were fastened, so that her neckline fell open beneath her boobs and her nipples poked through the thin fabric. She looked rather like Amy Adams in “American Hustle”.
She looked almost as sexy as she did the previous evening.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily. “Even though we had a big dinner last night, I know you have not been eating well lately, so I thought you would like a nice breakfast.” Usually, we just had toast and cereal on a Sunday morning.
We ate together, with Annie supplying 90% of the conversation. She gave me a rundown of the morning headlines and the weather forecast for the day. Annie had already spoken to her mother, and we chatted about her parents’ trip to China the following month. In other words, she talked a lot about not much at all, exactly what was appropriate in our situation.
I offered to clear the dishes, but she told me to stay seated. “If I am going to dedicate myself to your happiness, I should start by doing the dishes.” She later returned to the table and we both leafed through the various sections of the Sunday newspaper. Finally, she spoke again.
“Aren’t you playing tennis with Thomas this afternoon?” she asked. Once every two weeks, my best friend Thomas and I played tennis at an indoor club. We were both lousy at tennis, but we were equally lousy, so our matches not only provided exercise but a bit of healthy competition.
“While you are playing, I may do some more shopping,” she said. “I will have my phone with me, so feel free to call me whenever you wish.” In other words, I had her permission to check up on her.
Thomas picked me up a couple of hours later, and we drove to the club. As we were changing in the locker room, Thomas asked: “What’s wrong, Alex? You have not said one word. That’s not like you. I thought the project was going well.”
“The project went great,” I replied.
“So what’s the matter?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I said.
Thomas smiled kindly. “Annie called me yesterday. She would only tell me that you were really depressed and that you needed a friend. So, here I am for you, Alex.”
“What else did Annie say?” I asked.
“Not a lot, but based on my massive knowledge of women and the fact that she called me, my guess is that the two of you are having problems and it’s probably her fault.”
I laughed for the first time in days. Thomas is as gay as Elton John. If I could talk to any bloke about my problems, it would be Thomas. So, after the match (and I am sure he let me win for once), we went for a coffee and I told him everything.
He listened silently to my tale, up to and including the events of the previous evening. When I had finished, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
“I don’t know what to say, except that I have known you and Annie for at least ten years. I would have bet that Annie would never cheat on you, but that shows you what I know. However, if you want my advice, I’d hang in there. Annie has screwed up big time, but I would give her another chance.
“Besides,” he grinned, “if she looked that hot last night, why not stick around? The way you described her, even I would have wanted to fuck her!”
Thomas looked at his watch, stood up and announced, “Shit! I’m running late. I gotta go visit my sister, but call me tomorrow. I want to know how you are doing.” With that, he bent down and kissed me squarely on the top of my head. “You’ll be OK, but I want to be sure.”
It was raining and it took some time to find a taxi to take me home. The house was empty, but about 20 minutes later, Annie reappeared with more bags.
“I’m going upstairs, but I will be back in a minute,” she said. “It’s too early for dinner, so why don’t you find a film to watch on the television?
I decided a rom-com would be totally inappropriate, so I carefully selected a murder mystery. It was a safe choice. Sure enough, Annie joined me on the sofa and clicked the remote to begin the film.
I was wondering whether she would initiate anything, but she kept to her end of the sofa and I gradually got lost in the complicated plot. We had managed to kill off another 2? hours without a difficult conversation.
It was dinnertime, so Annie made an omelette but let me prepare the salad. As we ate, we discussed the film.
“What did you think about that French girl who tried to seduce the detective?” Annie asked.
“What do you mean?” I replied. “I guess she is an OK actress.”
“No, silly, don’t you think she was hot? Didn’t you like it when she took off her clothes and was just wearing her bra and knickers? She had great boobs. Didn’t you want to just squeeze them?”
In 20 years of marriage, I never heard Annie say anything like this. Sure, she would occasionally talk ‘dirty’ when we had sex, but not when discussing a film.
“Here, let me show you what I mean,” Annie said. She then pulled up the thick black jumper she had been wearing to reveal a red half-cup bra. The cups of the bra did not barely covered her nipples but they were effective in holding up her breasts firm and high.
I said nothing, but I did feel a twinge in my cock.
“I know, Sweetheart, it’s still way too soon,” she said, pulling the jumper back down over her tits. “I just wanted you to know that they are here, waiting for the right moment, no matter how long it takes.”
She then added, “I love you so much,” and rose from the sofa. “I need to do a bit of work tonight. I didn’t do anything last week, so I’m behind and need to catch up so I can finish the little work I have remaining. Why don’t you relax and I will see you in a little while.” Annie then climbed the stairs to the room upstairs which served as her home office.
The rest of the evening passed without incident, and the next morning another work week began. Life returned to as normal as I thought it would get for awhile. After work, we ate dinner together and spoke, but slept separately. There were not more ‘surprises’ – good or bad – from Annie until Wednesday night at dinner.
“I think we need to get away, take a vacation,” Annie said. “You got plenty of time due and I am just about done with my work. Let’s do something spontaneous, take next week off and go somewhere warm.”
“It doesn’t sound that spontaneous,” I said. “It sounds as if you have given it a lot of thought.”
She smiled. “I guess you’re right, but I still think it is a good idea. Do you think you could take next week off?”
She was correct on all counts. Between the project that I had just completed and her decision to go freelance, we had not been on a holiday for at least seven or eight months. As it was February, the weather in London was rotten. I could easily take the next two or three weeks off, if I wished, and a little sun could brighten my mood.
“OK, I will ask the powers that be, but I know it won’t be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”
Her smile widened. “Mom and Dad went to that tiny resort in St Barts a couple of years ago, and they raved about it for months. I know it’s really expensive, but we can afford it. I checked and they still have a cottage available.”
“Oh what the hell, book it. I could use a holiday,” I said.
“I already did, dear.”
The next day, my boss told me to take two weeks off rather than one. I called Annie (the first time I had telephoned her in more than a week), and she squealed with excitement. She phoned back several minutes later to say that she had booked an extra week at the resort.
The next two days were spent working really hard to tie up loose ends before my vacation. I did go out to buy some shorts and short-sleeve shirts. My guess is that Annie did more shopping than work. We had not been on a beach holiday for years, and the only swimsuit I knew she owned was an aging one-piece from Marks & Spencer that she wore to swam laps at the local pool most Saturday mornings.
We set off for Heathrow and then a tropical paradise very early Saturday morning. It was going to be a long trip with three flights: London to Paris, Paris to St Martin and finally the short hop from St Martin to St Barts.
There’s nothing longer than a trans-oceanic flight, and it’s even longer when you are only making small talk to your partner. Annie slept much of the way, so it gave me a chance to dwell on what had happened over the past ten days. How did I really feel about Annie cheating on me? Could I ever really forgive her? Could I trust her? Did I want to stay married to her? If so, did I really want to have sex with her, considering that she had fucked Fred? I was not sure about this “dedicating her life to my happiness” stuff. And what was with the corset and the see-though blouse?
If I didn’t learn the answers over the next two weeks, I never would.
Her parents were right about the resort: It was fantastic: fewer than 30 rooms, some in a small hotel building and the rest in private cottages/villas that were set right on a breathtaking beach. The warm sun was already improving my frame of mind, especially after several weeks of dreary London winter rain.
Check-in was easy. We gave our name, showed a credit card and a charming young French woman, dressed casually but tastefully, showed us to our villa. In perfect but heavily accented English, she explained: “Since you will be our guests for two weeks, there’s plenty of time to explore and learn about everything we can offer you. Please get settled in your villa. Your luggage will be delivered shortly, and just us know whatever you may require.”
The ‘villa’ was larger than most flats in London and included on the ground floor a generous-sized sitting room with two sofas and several comfy chairs, a separate dining area and a small but efficiently designed kitchen (in case you wanted a chef to prepare a private meal in your villa). Up a spiral staircase was a huge bedroom containing the biggest bed I had ever seen and a cozy sitting area, along with a bathroom that featured a large whirlpool tub and a walk-in shower that could accommodate a dozen of our closest friends. The villa’s exterior walls were mainly reflective glass, surrounded by balconies or terraces on three sides. We could see both the sea and the main resort, but no one could see in.
I was sleepy from the long trip. “Stretch out and take a nap,” Annie recommended, noting that she had already slept many hours on the flight. “I’ll make dinner arrangements and learn more about the resort. I’ll wake you an hour before dinner.”
That sounded great, but I had a nagging question: “There’s only one bedroom and one bed. How’s this going to work?”
Annie smiled. “I hope it will not be a problem, but I understand,” she replied tactfully. “One of the sofas downstairs makes into a bed in case I need to sleep there.”
“OK” was all I said as I kicked off my shoes, fell on the bed and was asleep in no time.
Annie woke me a couple of hours later with a soft kiss on the cheek, the first physical contact we had since she told me about Fred. It startled me, but it was not unpleasant. As my eyes started to focus, I could see the she had already changed for dinner, wearing a pale green silk dress, held together at the top by thin straps and flowing softly down to her ankles. She had on a pair of high-heeled black sandals. She did not look as hot as she did in the purple corset, but the overall effect was sexy yet very classy. If this was her new style, I could be very happy.
I figured, from the amount of luggage she brought, that this was the first of many new outfits I would see on this trip. That was really weird for a woman who never gave a damn about clothes, except for the original leather trousers.
The hotel had recommended to Annie a informal restaurant on the beach a short distance down the road from the resort, and the dinner was perfect. We continued to engage in safe conversations, mainly about snorkelling, massages and other activities we could enjoy during our holiday. By the end of the meal, the long journey and the time difference were again starting to exact their toll.
And, I was nervous about what was going to happen when we returned to our villa.
Annie had that under control. She told me to get ready for bed while she stayed outside and gazed at the stars. After I got into bed, she emerged from the bathroom in a long black nightdress. It provided full coverage but was still sexy.
“Can we try to sleep in the same bed tonight?” she asked. “We’re both exhausted and the bed is so big, there’s little chance we will ever come close to each other.”
I wasn’t going to argue and fell asleep.
It was after 10 when I woke up the next morning, alone in the giant bed. I put on the dressing gown supplied by the resort and found Annie on the balcony, wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt and sitting at a table set for breakfast.
“Good morning, Sleepyhead. Ready to eat?” she asked. With that, she pressed a little plastic button attached to a clip. “You’ll get one of these, too. You can put it in your pocket or clip it on your shorts. It’s waterproof. Squeeze it and someone appears almost instantly.”
It took just more than two minutes for a waiter to arrive in our villa with a large tray. He served coffee, croissants and fresh fruit, then disappeared.
“I could learn to like this,” I said. “What’s the plan for the day?”
“Whatever you want,” Annie replied. “I would like to have a day of beauty: a facial, a manicure and a haircut. You can do whatever you wish, but it might be best if you just walked around the grounds and talked to the staff. I know we will want to go snorkelling at some point, and I was wondering if you would like to learn to scuba dive. I am sure you could find a tennis partner. They have every activity you could think of, but we can also just lie on the beach and read or ….” She raised her eyebrows, but then I could tell that she worried about saying something too soon.
“Why don’t I meet you back here at about 6?” she asked, attempting to recover.
So, my first day in paradise was spent alone learning that I could do a lot – or nothing at all – during the next two weeks. I walked for what seemed to be miles along the beach barefoot in a t-shirt and shorts, and glanced at the few people who were sunbathing. Some of the women had removed their tops, and I thought to myself that I was glad Annie chose a French island. Then, I wondered if Annie would sunbathe topless. I couldn’t recall whether she had worn a two-piece bathing suit since a trip to a Greek island two years after we were married. That was a good holiday. We had a lot of fun, and Corfu brought out the dormant romantic sides in both of us. In other words, we fucked a lot, but only in our room.
I had a sandwich at the beachside bar and chatted amiably to the bartender, sometimes in my bad French, sometimes in his entirely passable English. He explained that we were welcome to dine in restaurants at some of the other resorts on the island. As our resort was so small, there was only one restaurant onsite, although you could always dine in your room or villa. On Tuesdays, the resort served an informal buffet dinner on the beach, which allowed guests to mingle more freely and get to know one another.
Late in the afternoon, I was reading in front of the villa when I saw a woman approach. It took me a moment to recognize my wife. She was wearing the same shirt and shorts, but she had a complete makeover. Her hair, which usually casually tied behind her neck, was now much shorter and elegantly styled. Annie wore little make-up, but I could tell that the cosmetician had worked on her eyes, applied blush to her cheeks and painted he lips with a reddish gloss. She looked sensational.
“Did you arrange dinner?” she asked.
“Uh, no,” I stammered, still staring at the next phase of Annie’s evolution.
“Then it’s good that I did. We’re dining here in the restaurant tonight. On Sundays, it’s casual; it’s dressier the other nights. I want to do more girly things inside for a while, but let’s be ready at 7 to have a cocktail before we eat. You can just wear a shirt and a pair of khakis … sorry, you have to wear long trousers for dinner, even on Sunday.
She then swept into the villa, went upstairs and closed the bathroom door. It was only then that I realized there was a smaller bathroom with shower off the sitting room. So, I showered, changed clothes and waited for my wife.
Annie decided to increase her glam factor that evening. She came out onto the balcony wearing a black halterneck jumpsuit with wide-legged trousers and the black sandals from the previous evening. The neckline plunged considerably, although plenty of material covered her breasts. As she turned around I quickly clocked that the jumpsuit was nearly backless.
As we were walking to the bar, I finally mustered the courage to say: “Annie, I’m confused. We’ve been married for 20 years, and you have never given a damn about what you wore. I’ll be the first to admit that you look fantastic, absolutely fucking fantastic. I feel like a slob next to you. But, I have to be honest. I am worried that your sudden makeover was triggered by Fred, not my you or me.”
She stopped and stared at me. I thought for a moment that she would slap me, but she only raised her index finger to her now-red lips as if to say, “Shhhhhhh.” She then gently grabbed by hand and began walking.
We sat down and quickly ordered drinks, which arrived a short time later. Annie then broke the silence.
“I know why you think that, and I admit that you are partially correct … but mostly wrong. I cannot deny that my affair changed me. Someday, you may learn what I mean. However, what I am now has nothing to do with Fred. I did not dress like this with Fred; with him, I dressed like a complete tart. You wouldn’t have found me attractive. The fact that Fred wanted me to look like that says a lot about him and, unfortunately, a lot about the way I was.
“What I realized after I had destroyed our marriage is how much it – our marriage – really means to me. I also realized, with the help of my mother, that I would not probably succeed in repairing what I had done by simply trying to return things to the way they were.
“I always wanted to be glamorous, but I never had the confidence or courage. I wanted you to look at me the way you look at a lot of other women. I remember how you looked at the girls in the little bikinis when we were in Corfu all those years ago. At first, I was hurt, but I realize that you were just being a man. But, I was too shy to change who I was. Fred knew that. He was a control freak, and he knew what buttons to push to make me do exactly what he wanted.
“Now, I have to change: for you, for me and for us. We can’t just start over, we have to begin again.”
I thought for a moment. Her last sentence made no sense, but I knew what she meant. I reached out my hand, and she quickly grabbed it and squeezed tightly.
We later moved to the dining room, and we ate mostly in silence as I continued to look at the woman sitting across from me and considering everything she had said.
On the way back to our villa, Annie said: “I am still the same person. But, I realize that if we are to remain together, you will have to fall in love with me all over again. What I am trying to do is to tempt you … to seduce you if I can … to make it easier for you to do just that.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“Me, I never fell out of love with you. There was not one time that I didn’t cry after Fred fucked me. All I could think about was what a fool I was being.”
Our bedtime routine was similar to Saturday night’s. As Annie got into bed, she leaned over and kissed me on the lips.
“I want nothing more than to make love to you right now,” she said. “I doubt if you want to, but even on the odd chance that you might, let’s wait until tomorrow. I think tomorrow could be the first day of the rest of our lives. Goodnight, Darling.”
I lie awake for some time, not knowing what to say, what to think.
I awoke much earlier on Monday, but Annie was already in the bathroom. I wandered out onto the terrace and immediately was asked by a waiter what we would like for breakfast. I said the same as yesterday, and he told me he would return with food and coffee whenever I clicked my token.
“Good morning, my love.” I turned around to see Annie, drying her newly cut hair and wearing what appeared to be a short beach cover-up. “I heard you ordering breakfast; thanks for finally taking care of something,” she said with an impish grin. “I thought that we should eat breakfast, check e-mails and then go for a swim. We’ve been here over a day and have not set foot in the water.”
As soon as we made our way to the beach, another employee magically appeared and asked where we would like to sit. He quickly arranged two sun loungers, a low table holding a large beach umbrella, a large bottle of Evian in an ice bucket and two tumblers.
I began to make my way down to the water, but turned around to wait for Annie. She had removed her tunic and was wearing a classic black triangle bikini. The top was large enough to cover most everything but small enough to be very interesting. The bottom was more modest, although the back did not quite cover her ass fully.
“Like what you see?” she shouted. I looked around, but no one could hear.
We eased ourselves into the warm water, and it was heavenly. So was the sigh of Annie: while the water was warm, it was still cool enough to make her nipples stand out distinctly through the fabric of her bikini top. I was glad I was waist deep because my cock was already hardening.
At one point, she splashed me in the surf as a teen-ager would, not a 40-year-old woman. When I ‘surrendered’, she gave me a big hug and pushed my hands down the back of her bikini bottom. “That wasn’t so hard,” she said. Then she felt the bulge in the front of my swimming shorts. “This is, however.” She then ran back onto the beach and flopped on one of the chaise longues.
I lie down beside her. She looked over to me and said: “I guess this bikini has already paid for itself. I am so happy that I think you like it … and me.” She put on sunglasses, got her Kindle and began to read. Ten minutes later, she said: “We’re both going to burn; could you put some lotion on me?”
For the first time in nearly to weeks, my hands explored my wife’s nearly nude body, even if it was for practical reasons. Actually, it was not difficult applying the lotion to her arms, legs and the front of her body. When she rolled over, though, I had to rub a lot of oil onto the portion of her ass not covered by the bottom of the bikini.
It was now my turn and she began on my back. When she asked me to turn over, she ‘accidentally’ spilled some of the white lotion on the front of my navy blue trunks. “You cannot go around looking like that,” she advised and began to rub the spilled sun cream into my groin … with the obvious results.
“Oh, I guess I caused a bigger problem,” she said. “Let’s go back into the water.” I though she meant that the surf would rinse out my shorts, but we got chest deep in the water, she pulled down by shorts and began to fondle my bare cock. “I think this may take care of that problem.” I was enjoying immensely the first hand job that Annie had ever given me, and it took about 30 seconds for me to begin to climax.
“Ooooh, that was naughty,” Annie cooed. “I feel naughty today. I feel really naughty and really in love. Let’s do something else naughty.” She waded about 20 feet further away from the beach so that the water was shoulder-high. She then reached back and began to untie her top.
“Come here,” she practically commanded. When I reached her, she placed both my hands on her bare breasts. “We are here for nearly two weeks, but I just wanted you to start to realise what I hope the rest of our holiday will be like. Pinch my nipples and see what happens.
Nervously, as if I had never touched a woman before, I slowly began to squeeze her nipples. She reached down and fondled my balls while slowly beginning to tongue my earlobe. “That feels so good, Alex,” she whispered. “I just wanted you to touch me. I need you to touch me. I need you to love me.”
Suddenly, she moved her tongue from my ear and began rubbing it along my lips. I began to respond, and we were soon locked into our first true kiss since I learned the horrible truth. We probably only stood there for a minute, but it seemed like hours.
We slowly walked to shore, her hand fondling my balls until they reached water level. I turned to her and said, “Aren’t you putting your top back on?”
“I wasn’t going to, unless you mind. It actually feels kind of nice.”
We returned to the beach and began to read again. I was later asked to apply more sun cream, but as I began to rub the lotion into her legs, she squirted some on her hands and began applying it to her breasts.
“I imagined you would have felt nervous touching my tits in public, so I thought I would do it. Besides, I think you might just enjoy watching me do it. She took a long time to ensure that her boobs were protected from the sun, and gave me a devilish smile when she finally finished.
We ate lunch at the bar (she did put her top and cover-up back on). Afterwards, she suggested that we go back to the villa, warning that too much sun too soon could be dangerous. As soon as we entered the sitting room, she took off her cover-up and knelt before me. She untied her top and slowly pulled down my shorts. I was already hardening quickly, but she speeded matters up by slowly licking the tip of my cock. She stopped and said:
“Tell me if I am moving to fast for you. I really wanted to do this when you squeezed my nipples while we were in the ocean, but I figured I would drown.”
As I said, neither Annie or I were very good when it came to sex, but I don’t think a £1,000 an hour escort could have delivered a better blow job than Annie that afternoon. At first, all I could think was whether this is what she had done with Fred. However, I was enjoying the treatment and I suddenly realized that if I was going to have those kind of thoughts for the rest of my life, we should split up.
The wonderful thing about being a man is that there are times when you let your brain take a well-deserved rest and let your gonads do the thinking. This was one of those times. As I finally began to free myself from my doubts, Annie was swallowing the entire length of my cock – not that I am hung like a horse. At the same time, she was massaging my balls. Within a minute, I could feel the inevitable, and I started to cum.
Blowjobs were never a common occurrence in our marriage, and Annie always made sure that she got well out of the line of fire at just the right time. Today, I could not believe that she did not immediately back off when I began to cum. Suddenly, though, she pulled away, but instead of backing off, she kept her face close to the tip of my cock and the rest of my semen splatter across her face and in her hair.
I looked down at my wife in disbelief, but she only smiled as she looked deeply into my eyes, calming removing a bit of jism from under her eye. She rose up and began to kiss me, and I could taste a bit of my cum mixing with her saliva.
I collapsed into one of the chairs and Annie sat on the arm bare-breasted, fondling my cock absent-mindedly.
“I love you, Alex. I know you liked that, but I want you to know that’s just the beginning … a taste for both you – and especially me – of what is to come."
Annie went into the bathroom to freshen up, while I pulled my shorts up to their proper position. As she emerged, her top back in place, she said: “As much a I would love to just sit here and fuck all day, let’s take a walk down the beach. I want to get a bit more sun and I know you would just love to check out some other women’s tits. Let’s put some more lotion on and go.”
So we did. Annie did not bother with a cover up and, about 10 minutes later, she removed her top again, boldly walking along the shore covered only by her small bottoms. “I don’t mind you looking at other women’s boobs,” she told me. “But I also want to remind you that I don’t believe there is anything wrong with mine.”
A short time later, she said: “Next time I will book us into a place on an island with nude beaches.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I think you will get tired of just looking at tits and probably will want to move on to pussies. And, even the thought of walking down the beach with you with your dick swinging is just so hot that I want to come just thinking of it. I bet it would get hard while you are staring at all those pussies, so then I will be able to walk along the beach holding on to your erection.” She paused and laughed. “Just like the one that it starting to build now.”
It seemed like nothing could embarrass Annie, the former prude, but I still did not have a lot of self-confidence. I ran towards the water to cover myself up, but she caught up to me while we were still in the shallows and neatly tripped me. I fell down, and she quickly plopped on top of me. She began to rub her pussy against my hardening cock.
“Before the week’s over, we are going to fuck like this. Just you and I. Who cares who watches?”
After a moment, she began to breathe heavy and I could tell that her orgasm was rising. I could tell that she was trying not to shout, but the expression on her face made me believe that it was a good one.
“Let’s get back to the villa. If you are ready, I think it is time we fucked.”
So, we walked smartly back along the beach, straight into the bedroom. She pushed me on my back, tore off my swimming shorts and pulled down her bikini bottom. She climbed on my cock and began to ride me cowgirl, fucking me sensually. Her first orgasm hit within a minute and lasted for a long time. I held back, but as soon as she began to relax, I thrust once or twice more. It felt so good to cum in her pussy.
We settled down and held each other gently.
“Alex, I will never be able to make up the hurt I caused you,” Annie said, while tenderly kissing my face. “I can only hope that I can win you back. I think I am off to a good start, but I know that I have a long way to go.”
I thought to myself: “This is just the start? I can’t wait for the rest of the vacation.”
I kissed her deeply, and suddenly all the hurt, jealousy and heartache disappeared. Our lives were being re-invented, and I was loving every minute. To be continued …
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