Her Anchor (82 page)

Compromise can be such a beautiful thing...

THE END

Prologue

Danny sat motionless on the sofa, staring straight ahead of him and sipping on a glass of wine. His hands trembled slightly with the passing of the moments, shot with nerves at this point as he was, but determined to get to the bottom of just what was going on with his wife. Of course, he already had a reasonable enough picture of precisely what was happening, but there was an understandable need for certainty on his part.

A means of guaranteeing that his own thorough investigation was fool proof, and a pressing desire to have everything in order before jumping down her throat with any sort of unfounded accusation. That, of course, would have been disastrous, and as frustrated as he was at her actions, there was something deep down inside him that almost wanted to doubt that which he knew, without any reasonable objection, to be the truth.

As far as that went, his investigation into the matter left little room for wonder or second-guessing, aside from that which was instinctual and unavoidable by human nature. Rationally speaking, anyway, there was no reason for him to disbelieve that which he had rooted up in his efforts, it was simply a matter of giving her one final, gracious benefit of the doubt to be sure. So great had his love for her once been and how devastating it would be to see it all come crashing down with the revelation he hated to believe.

He had had her followed...

The suspicion had, of course, been there for a considerable period of time before that. His doubts hadn't simply arisen on a whim, and he would never have jeopardized something about which he felt so passionately about for a matter as fundamental as male jealousy. As far as he was concerned, he had amassed enough reasonable cause for suspicion over the past couple of months that it would have been insane not to have gone poking around to investigate.

Of course, he left her alone all week while he was at the office, and it made sense that that would provide her with ample opportunity for carrying out the infidelity in question. He might never have gotten to the bottom of it if it hadn't been for the amassing of evidence over a considerable period of time... What really pissed him off was the fact that, apparently, his wife thought him entirely too stupid to pick up on precisely what was happening between her and another man.

Danny didn't have a clue as to the extent and the scope of the affair, and couldn't say with any reasonable degree of certainty just when it might have begun. For whatever reason, though, he assumed that it had been going on for a while longer than he'd begun suspecting it, and he had either been too stupid to notice it initially, or else, at the beginning, his wife and his cuckolder had gone to greater lengths to cover up their misdeeds with some degree of care.

Whatever the case may have been, the two of them had eventually begun to get sloppy in their hiding of the adultery, and this, above all else, was what eventually began to lead to their unraveling. It was almost embarrassing for Danny how extremely damn obvious it was getting, and sometimes it made him cringe to realize just how very little his wife must have thought of him. For instance, he would find the man's black hairs on their bedspread every now and then, or a pubic hair that was clearly not Danny's own in the shower.

Sometimes, he would root through his closet looking for a shirt to wear to work and stumble upon one of the other man's instead, obviously not Danny's given a considerable size difference, and with a red lipstick stain, presumably from his wife, on the collar. He didn't know how the hell he allowed himself to keep having sex with Annie knowing that she was so shamelessly screwing around on him.

Perhaps it was mostly to keep up some facade of normalcy and to avoid letting her know that he knew. But in any case, it crossed his mind on numerous occasions that he was entering inside her in the tracks of another man's body, and it sometimes made his anatomy burn as he considered the notion of sliding in and out of her through the trails of some foreign sperm.

He sometimes wondered, too, about disease, and although he liked to think that Annie at least either had enough sense to use protection or only to fuck someone who was clean, it still gave him shivers to consider it for any extended period of time, and he refused to go down on her at any point in the exquisite way that he used to.

Sometimes, when there was no sex and the two of them were just lying beside one another in bed, he felt as though he could somehow smell him on her, whoever the hell he was. Something primal reacting inside him in a manner that wasn't even especially overt in his mind. Whenever this occurred, he would find it very necessary to flee from the bed away from her, going to sleep on the couch for the remainder of the evening, but instead lying awake with thoughts of her and her mystery man doing the nasty in their own marital bed.

It was driving him crazy...

When he could find the constitution for denial, he did his damnedest to put it out of his mind to some degree or another, but of course that wasn't exactly the sort of thing a person can just switch on and off in their mind at a whim. The thoughts routinely came flooding back to him like nightmares whenever he was least expecting it.

In some ways, it made him seethe with hatred for Annie and the goddamn bastard son-of-a-bitch motherfucker who was intruding on their lives. And yet in others, he couldn't help but feel terribly deflated by the betrayal, like he was less of a man somehow for letting it happen so effortlessly on his watch, his ideal wife snatched away like nothing and traded in for nothing but his present hollow shell.

And throughout all of it, there was still that undying hope, that desire not to really know the full truth in fear of just what he might find out. If he didn't know for sure, he thought, he wouldn't ever have to face the humility of it. The shame and the pain... But, then again, he knew that he was just bullshitting himself. This wasn't the kind of thing he would be able to run from indefinitely, and if he did in fact try to he knew it would drive him fucking up the wall.

He had to find out the truth, as agonizing as it may have been, and probably would be, but the ignorance was slowly killing him even as he craved it so fiercely. He could feel the distance growing and growing between himself and Annie, and he feared that if he allowed it to continue in this manner then the two of them would be like strangers in his own house.

He had to act... In his heart, he had very little belief in the notion that it would do him a goddamn lick of good whatsoever, but he just had to know, to get to the bottom of it, and to give his many suspicions a name and a face to agonize over more directly.

He hired a private investigator. He knew, even as he had the meeting with the man, that this was an act of sheer desperation. People whose lives were in halfway decent shape, or else could lay claim to even a modicum of sanity, didn't routinely go around hiring P.I.'s to investigate on their supposedly cheating spouses for them. He knew that he was indulging in behavior that seemed to himself to verge on mentally ill and paranoid.

Yet he found himself not really giving a damn either way anymore. Either the P.I. would turn up precisely what Danny expected or else there would be nothing, and it would be proof just as well that he was crazy and belonged in the loony bin. Either way, he knew, there was no favorable outcome to be had, and he felt as though all it was in his power to do was to stand by helplessly and just wait for whatever bad results came his way.

And, of course, yes, his wife was in fact cheating on him, precisely as he'd known for some time, and as was no evident by the photographs taken by the investigator of Annie with a tall, dark-skinned man in a black leather jacket. The two of them grabbing a discreet bite to eat at a corner cafe and laughing their heads off as though they were having the best fucking time in the world.

The investigator had also run the man's license plates, and come back with a name for Danny, Daryl Jones. Danny was sure as hell not about to go and show up at the man's place of work looking for a fight, of course, or anything like that. In fact, once he had his hands on the information, he didn't know what the fuck he was going to do with it... He certainly wasn't about to go and confront him directly about the matter, given that he was a considerable degree larger than himself, and could likely snap in two like a twig without a moment's thought about the matter if Danny tried to attempt anything.

At any rate, he still found himself clinging on to one last bastion of hope that things might be other than the manner that seemed clearest and most likely. There could always be some kind of alternative explanation for all of this, he felt certain, other than just sex... The two of them had been seen going around town together, and that was all, really- there was no direct evidence of an affair, and it made sense that as a jealous husband that would be the conclusion that his mind most quickly jumped to, whether accurately or otherwise.

And so it was that he found himself heading out the door “for work” one day, getting in his car and circling the block, then pulling around an adjacent corner and whipping out a pair of binoculars. He stared at his and Annie's front door for some time. Scarcely blinking and his eyes getting watery and strained with the effort. When it was beginning to seem like he might have just picked a bad day for espionage, then, Annie stepped suddenly out of the house, locking the front door, and stepping into her car. Danny held his breath as she pulled away, zooming down the street and disappearing from view.

When she was out of sight, he scrambled from his car back up to the house, unlocking the door, stepping inside, and locking it back up again so as to make it look as though no one was home. And there he was at the present, sitting on the couch and waiting for his wife's return, sipping wine until he heard the pulling up of the vehicle outside on the street.

He scarcely got a look at his cuckolder as the two of them stepped out of the car with one another, and he suddenly felt his blood pressure rise and his pulse quicken as he scrambled to race them up to the bedroom. He could hear them just opening the front door downstairs by the time he closed the closet door in front of himself, concealing him from view, and leaving him with bated breath as he counted down the moments in his brain.

And then, there they were, Annie and Daryl, bursting into the bedroom scarcely a minute after he'd tucked himself away. The sight of them together making him sick as he watched them in such close proximity. They began to roll and to romp across the sheets of his own fucking bed, and he fought with the intense urge to look away on a regular basis, squinting his eyes tightly shut and avoiding the sight of the two of them like the plague...

But then- and largely in spite of himself- he found himself unable to look away... His eyes were wide with astonishment as the fabric of their clothes tumbled to the floor, and as their limbs twisted and contorted and dissolved madly into one another, black on white, white on black, his own cock shifting from a state of flaccidity into a long, curved blade of an erection. He found, in spite of himself, that he was getting mighty damn aroused at all of this...

Chapter 1

I guess my problem has always been that I'm such an indecisive person. As much as I know it makes me a pain in the ass for people to deal with on any reasonable level, it's just been something I've never been able to change. “Annie, you're going to have to grow up some time,” my parents would say, or, “Annie, you're making a huge mistake and you'll regret it if you don't start learning to make some better decisions.”

But I just couldn't do a damn thing about it, you know? It was like, beyond my capabilities to change in any meaningful way, as much and as desperately as I may have wanted to... I didn't try to hurt the people in my life, or to piss them off for that matter. I was just really, really good at it...

In a lot of ways, I was so very lucky to have met Danny in college. The two of us shared a remarkable sort of chemistry together, and I found that he was one of the few people who could really put up with my bullshit. I mean, I was a pretty damn attractive girl, with blonde hair, a cute face, and a smoking hot body to boot, and suffice it to say that guys went pretty crazy over the opportunity to get in my pants whenever they could.

My problem wasn't so much that I couldn't find people who would date me, it was that I myself didn't know who the hell I wanted to be with. Whenever I thought I'd found the right person for me to some degree or another, I revealed my ditsy self to them in such full and obnoxious force that they found themselves unable to put up with it any longer. As warm and as splendid as the space inside my panties may have been for them, guys just found it too damn hard to put up with my difficult nature to get to them in any routine sort of fashion.

Danny was like a godsend in that way, and he was the sort of guy who tended to strip away any sort of doubt that he loved me for myself, and not exclusively for my body. A pair of tits and a pussy were something a guy like him could have gotten fairly easily given his handsome physique and his charming nature. The fact that he was willing to sit through my many storms took away any doubt from my mind whatsoever that the affection he felt for me was genuine and true.

And believe me when I tell you on no unclear terms that I put that poor bastard through one hell of a lot of my little storms, making him sit through so many of my flip flops between one extreme and another in a manner that probably verged upon cruel on my part. I mean, seriously, that poor bastard... I yanked his chain all over the place while the two of us were first dating... I kept telling him I was interested in him, then not interested, then interested again...

I pretty much gave him whatever the dating equivalent of fucking whiplash would be. Although I hated the fact that I must surely be hurting him, he seemed not to budge for an instant in his resoluteness... I don't know what it was about him, but no matter what I did he didn't seem to even flinch away from me, and though I'm sure it bothered him to some degree or another deep down, he never really let it show.

I knew from that alone that he was the right man for me... If someone could really put up with as much of my bullshit as he seemed to be doing, then there was no doubt in my mind that they were the sort of person that would prove themselves a very important part of my life.

And, well, one thing led to another and to another, and before I really had time to even process it fully the two of us wound up married, settling down together in the suburbs, and life taking on a distinctly monotonous tone.

I had mixed feelings about this... I was certainly no old lady, but I was in my mid-twenties and felt as though I should indeed be taking on a bit more responsibility with my life than I had perhaps done in the past.

Settling down was, more than likely, the proper next step for me at this juncture in time, and for a girl as restless as I was, I managed pretty damn well at adapting to such a distinct change. It did get considerably harder as the weeks rolled by, though... See, Danny and I had sort of a more traditional relationship, with him working and me staying at home throughout the day. In some ways, it made me feel pretty damn pampered, and I loved having the freedom to do just about whatever I wanted throughout the course of the day.

But, well... I think if you're ever in a position like that you'll find that things fall into a pretty dreadful routine pretty quickly, and in particular when you're a person who likes constant noise and activity in their life like I just so happen to. It was nice for a bit, but then day after day after day of the same tired old shit really starts to get to you, and you start to look around for some alternative sorts of activities to occupy your time...

I hate to say this, but in some ways it seems like it had been an inevitability that I would end up having an affair. And of course Danny isn't to blame for it at all, and it would be a dick move for me to try to put an ounce of it on him whatsoever. But really, it seems like something he could have reasonably have expected in marrying me given the nature of how I tend to be most of the time...

I just needed something exciting and new in my life, something to break up the routine and help make me feel alive again. I was wasting the prime years of my life just sitting around the house all day, and I was so damn sick and tired of it that finding someone new in terms of a sexual partner seemed like the most obvious solution to come to mind.

And so it was that I'd met Daryl... I'd responded to an online personal ad he'd posted, saying that he was looking for a white woman interested in being choked by a big black cock. Not the most subtle of invitations, mind you, but it turned me on like hell, and from the photograph attached to the ad I could tell that it would certainly be an enlightening experience for me... I'd dated a few black men throughout college, and I didn't exactly fetishize them the way I think a lot of women might.

Like, you know, the myth of all black males having massive wangs and being brutal in the sack... From my personal experience, I can tell you that that's just stupid, and that there is as much variation from one partner to the next as there tends to be for any other race. But there was just something about Daryl's ad that seemed to fit this imagined picture for me in a manner that none of my old dark-complex boyfriends ever had.

Perhaps it was some sort of outdated taboo feeling about it that really got my juices flowing, but I felt as though this man's enormous shlong was the precise medicine I needed to get me out of this slump. I would ingest him orally, anally, or vaginally, whichever way happened to suit his needs...

I will admit, I did feel sort of bad about what I was doing to Danny through all of this, but I'm also sort of ashamed to say it wasn't really anything more than just a blip on my horizon. Like, I felt a pang of guilt upon my initial decision to go through with it, but after that I was kind of just swept up by my own desire, and said fuck it and went on with things all the same.

And good God, what a beautiful decision it was...

Right or wrong, Daryl and I proved to have quite the exquisite sexual chemistry with one another, and the feeling of his cock up my pussy was like some sort of revitalizing miracle for me. I loved being plowed by him in my own marital bed, and felt like I was doing something so fucking forbidden and wonderful that it nearly defied comprehension. And what was more, the two of us got along quite swimmingly outside the confines of the bedroom as well.

I found myself routinely going out and meeting the man at cafes and the like, even on days when there wasn't any real prospect of sex in it for either of us. Suffice it to say, as wrong and as disastrous as the situation might have went, things seemed to be going pretty damn great. As far as I could tell, Danny wasn't suspecting a damn thing throughout the course of my infidelity, and for the longest time I rationalized it to myself by saying that what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

I continued to have sex with my husband throughout the course of the cuckolding in order to keep up the facade that I still wanted his d, and although it did get tiring on certain days, it was kind of like the best of both worlds. Fucking Daryl while Danny was at work, and hopping into bed with Danny once he got back home.

Things continued like this for some time without an ounce of trouble, and as things progressed I have to say I began to have a bit of an uneasy feeling in the back of my mind. It was a sort of queasiness, I guess, like some kind of notion that I was being watched, and my actions monitored... Still, though, I didn't have any direct reason to suspect that Danny knew about my unfaithfulness, and for the time being I felt as though my wisest course of action would be to go on as usual as though nothing was amiss.

One morning I waited for my husband to leave for work, and then gave it a bit of time before heading out for the day, as though I was afraid he might come back suddenly and catch me getting ready to go and meet Daryl. Then, when things seemed clear, I drove off to meet Daryl at a restaurant, talking to him a bit about my fears and suspicions, but him managing to pacify me by plying my lips with kisses, and the anxiety melting gradually from my brain. Soon, I was driving him back to the house with me, my arousal intense and my need for him after having harbored my secret fears.

The two of us burst through the front door of the house unable to contain ourselves, wrapped up in one another's arms and making out like fucking newlyweds. Already I could feel the bulge of his erection jousting up against me through the fabric of his jeans, indicating his lust for me, and it occurred to me in that moment that I might never in my life get tired of this...

We stumbled around through the living room, and though I noticed an empty wine glass sitting on the coffee table that I couldn't recall having left there, I was too swept up with desire for Daryl to pay it all that much thought as the room spun around my head. He peeled out of his shirt right there on the spot, unveiling to me his dark flesh, the broad plains of his pecs, and the agonizing rungs of his six-pack abdominals.

My pussy was so wet at the sight of him that I'm surprised I didn't have a huge fucking damp spot sloshing between my legs, and I started, wide-eyed, at the sudden grabbing of my ass with his thick, dark hand. He hoisted me up onto him, and I wrapped my legs around his waist accordingly. I made out in his arms like this as he squeezed the cheeks of my ass in his hands.

His tongue piercing into my gullet and rolling up against my own, driving me absolutely fucking wild with passion. For some time the two of us kissed like this, and at last he turned for the stairs, bolstering me by my buttocks and spiriting me away into the bedroom in as prompt a manner as possible.

When the two of us stepped into the room I felt the strangest sense, more than ever, that someone else's eyes were upon us. But the feeling scarcely lasted a minute, however, before he playfully smashed me down onto the bed before him like a fucking wrestler, and I caught myself giggling ridiculously as I jiggled up and down on top of the mattress.

He proceeded to undress me from there, wasting no time in peeling me out of my blouse and then cupping my titties in his hands. Massaging them and scraping them across my chest in his grip, and causing them to burn with sensation. He allowed his fingers to go dribbling down along my abdomen, and then unbuttoned and unzipped my skintight jeans. He wriggled my ass out of the things and then yanked them clean from my legs altogether, pulling so hard that I practically came fucking flying from off of the mattress, and had to hook my fingers into the bedspread giggling in order to stop myself.

He slowly peeled away the straps of my bra and removed my titties from their cups, taking a moment to put his lips onto them and kiss them like a newborn suckling on its mother. I moaned, my body burning for this fucking man, and he rolled his tongue down along my anatomy. His fingers slipped up beneath the tight, lacy fabric of my flowery pink panties, and he slipped these down from me as well, sliding them from my ass to my thighs and down to around my ankles, then tossing them from the bed altogether.

I braced myself, biting my lower lip in preparation. Knowing full well what I was about to experience after having had it take place so many, many times before. He dipped his head down between my knees as though in prayer, and all the air was suddenly pushed out of me in a hard, wheezing gasp as he touched down. He kissed my pussy passionately, planting his lips on those of my twat, working up the tight pink flesh of my gash with his mouth and causing me to squirm across the bedspread almost immediately.

He penetrated me with his tongue, slicing up into me and rolling around inside in agonizing, dreadful circles, melting through every moist nook and dank crevice with levels of skill that verged on immaculate. His oral abilities astonishing, and the sensations that coursed through my veins as he ate me like a motherfucking drug of some kind. He continued to devour my cunt in this manner for some time, smothering himself between my thighs against the loose pink folds.