AnnieAlexAnnieAlex

Amateur

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 kocaeli escort 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 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 kocaeli escort bayan 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 izmit escort 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.

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak.