Introduction
This is a story about a wife having sex with other men while her husband watches. If you don't like this kind of story – or have issues with them – please don't bother reading it. I'm aware that unprotected sex is dangerous and I don't recommend it – but this is a story – nothing more.
THE FILM CREW
It was a big day for our village when the film crew arrived. Even a fairly low-budget movie that was only going to be there for a few days caused quite a sensation and, with generous fees being offered for the use of various locations and decent rates offered to those willing to work as 'extras,' there was also a bit of a boom for local businesses. There was also, of course, the need for accommodation. Some of the main participants had secured hotel rooms in the nearest town of any size, and the two small B&Bs were soon filled.
To be truthful, the money offered for accommodation didn't interest me – at 56 I'm semi-retired, with an extremely healthy bank account, a fair amount of land that developers had tried to buy from me with very generous offers and an interest in several local companies – so I hesitated for a while. In the end, it was our representative to the local County Council who asked if I could find room for a couple of technicians. Not wanting to let the village down, I agreed. After all, we have the largest house in the village with plenty of spare rooms, so it would have been churlish not to.
When I say 'we,' I mean my wife and I.
Annabelle, my wife, is a great deal younger than me; in fact she's still short of her thirtieth birthday, so I'd better explain that briefly. She was raised by her father – a deeply religious man – after his wife died when she was an infant. Although she's highly intelligent, she wasn't allowed to pursue her education because he believed that a woman's place was in the home – cooking and cleaning – so she'd led a very restricted life.
When he was dying, he begged me to marry her and look after her and, as I was then a widower and needed someone to look after the house, I agreed. Not exactly romantic, I know, but if you'd seen Annabelle at that time you'd have understood. She was plain, timid and rather mousey in appearance. Although I'd given her whatever she needed to buy clothes, make-up and so on, she still dressed so conservatively – and didn't like using cosmetics – that she sometimes looked much older than her years.
After five years together, though, I don't think either of us had much to complain about. She was a more than competent housewife and, although sex was, at best, sporadic, it didn't bother me much because my desires were pretty infrequent anyway. Added to that was the fact that it always had to be in bed, under the covers, with the light off. She was so inhibited about it that, believe it or not, I'd still never actually seen her naked.
So I had no worries when the two young men arrived to take up temporary residence in our best guest room. The older of the two – Tom – was tall and rangy with a mop of unruly blonde hair, while David was shorter, but powerfully built, and his dark skin suggested some kind of mixed parentage. Even when they suggested that there was a potential 'extras' role that would suit Annabelle perfectly, I saw no cause for alarm.
Apparently, they wanted someone to perform as a barmaid (obviously it wasn't a speaking part) who would be in the background serving drinks and giving change, then collecting empty glasses from the tables. I asked Annabelle what she thought about it, but she just shrugged – although I could tell from the look in her eyes that she was actually quite excited by the idea – so I said she should do it, earn herself a bit of extra 'pin money,' and be immortalised on film!
I first began to realise that things weren't quite what they seemed when, after the first day's filming, I noticed the lads giving her a number of licentious glances when they thought I wasn't looking and, as they left for the second day, they both seemed a bit over-anxious to help her into their beat-up old Landrover to go to the film set.
I mean, I'd observed the new hairstyle the filmmakers had given her and had to agree that it improved her appearance, but it hadn't exactly turned her into some incredibly sexy beauty. Even so, with plenty of time on my hands, I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to see what was happening and, when I arrived there, it didn't take long to work it out.
They were filming inside the pub and I only had to follow the direction of almost all the men's eyes to find my wife. Along with the make-up, the outfit she wore (the top didn't so much cling to her as hang on for dear life and was tight enough to show off the curve of her breasts superbly, and sufficiently low-cut to display a lot of cleavage) had caused an amazing transformation. Gone was the dull, drab Annabelle I was used to and, in her place was a sexy, gorgeous (if somewhat tarty) female who was clearly relishing the way the men were drooling over her.
As I was standing well away from the action I was pretty sure she couldn't see me, not only because she was absorbed in what she was doing but also because, in between shots she seemed to be surrounded by admirers.
Later, as they worked on the scene where she moved around the tables collecting empty glasses, everyone seemed to be fascinated by the long shapely legs beneath the very short skirt – legs that were normally hidden by loose-fitting trousers or long skirts. As I watched her, I felt an initial sense of pride that my wife was attracting so many lascivious glances but, strangely, I felt somewhat excited by the thought that so many of the men there were clearly thinking about her in very basic sexual terms.
She really did look, not just sexy, but extremely inviting and it eventually dawned on me that I was beginning to imagine some of them taking her in their arms and kissing her, then beginning to seduce her and, what was really strange and confusing, was that I soon found the thought was giving me a real thrill.
That realisation really dawned on me when the director, explaining something that he really wanted from the shot, put his arm around her waist while he spoke to her and, as he began to move away, let it slip down momentarily to her bottom, and Annabelle just smiled and didn't flinch at all. It wasn't any big deal, but I found myself getting an erection and, more confused than ever, I slipped away.
I'd no idea where to go. The pub was being used for filming and the teashop looked so crowded that I knew I wouldn't be able to get served for ages, which didn't leave many options. Eventually, after strolling in the warm sunshine for a while, I decided to head for John Barlow's house.
Every Friday night for the past twenty years or more, four of us had met there for a friendly – but fiercely competitive - game of Solo Whist, a game that often went on until well after midnight.
There was no one home. It puzzled me at first, but then I remembered him saying that he was hoping to be employed as a minibus driver with the film unit. Obviously, he'd been successful – but it didn't help me very much because I felt the need of some company to divert me from what were increasingly salacious thoughts about my wife with other men. All I could find to do was to walk the long way back to our home, arriving as the twilight was turning to darkness. I didn't know whether Annabelle would be home or not but, as I approached the front door, I could see that there was a light on in the hall and in the guest room, so I knew that somebody was there.
There was no need for caution, of course, but I'm always pretty quiet anyway and, when I went into the living room and found no one there, I was just about to switch the television on to see if would provide some diversion, when I heard the sound of voices coming from upstairs. It meant nothing at first but, when I realised that one of the voices was female, I froze.
Moving as silently as I could to the foot of the stairs, I listened carefully. It wasn't difficult to recognise the sound of Tom's deep, mellow tones and, moments later, I recognised David's lighter voice. Just at that moment, however, there was a sudden burst of general laughter, followed by a female voice that, with a throaty chuckle, said, "Now that really is very, very naughty!"
It was my wife. It was Annabelle. There could be no doubt about it.
Slowly, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being heard, I climbed the stairs; stopping where they turned to the right. Not only could I see directly into the only room that was lit but, in the shadows there, I was virtually certain that I couldn't be seen. And what I saw gave me such a shock that I slumped down to sit on the stairs before my legs had a chance to give way beneath me.
Annabelle was sitting on the bottom edge of the bed – squeezed in between the lads who sat on either side of her and, at that very moment, I heard David say, "Well... you can't really blame us for feeling like that when your husband's daft enough to leave you alone with us! I mean, what kind of man would prefer a game of cards to being at home with someone like you?"