Annabelle Read online

  Title Page

  ANNABELLE

  by

  WINIFRED AIRE

  Publisher Information

  Annabelle

  published by

  Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Digital edition converted and published by

  Andrews UK Limited 2010

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright © Winifred Aire

  first printed in 1998

  reprinted in 2004

  The right of Winifred Aire to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chimera - a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

  Advisory Note

  This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Introduction

  On a rack against the wall were organised some leather lashes, a dog whip, a whalebone lash, and several sheaves of birch rods. He approached the woman cautiously. It would not do for her to recognise him, perhaps point him out in public… he shrank at the prospect. He tried to raise the black silk bag, but a complicated series of tapes had been tied to keep his features, and incidentally hers, anonymous. For a moment he regretted it. He loved having his cock sucked, and Chastity so infrequently agreed to do so. On the other hand, this one was completely exposed. He gazed long and thoroughly at her uncovered body. He had never seen a woman naked before. Chastity, of course, always wore a heavy nightgown to bed, and his few experiences with whores had been hurried affairs in the dimness of their cribs. There was something else, too, he had wanted to do, but never tried…

  Chapter I

  ‘I cannot, sah, ah just cannot.’ The tearful voice was that of a beautiful young woman. The Southern accent was strengthened by the power of her emotions. Her blonde hair, worn long over her shoulder in soft bottle ringlets, glittered in the sun. That part of her skin that was observable was a creamy white tinged lightly with pink. But her large blue eyes were brimming with tears, and she hid her exquisitely tiny nose in a barely larger lace kerchief.

  ‘My dear Annabelle, you must surely reconsider.’ The speaker was a tall young man. His brown hair was slicked smoothly down, the meticulous brushing not marred by the glossy broad hat he held in his hand. His grey frock coat was impeccably tailored. Though young, lines of character and experience surrounded his eyes, giving him a thoughtful look. His tight trousers showed the hint of a shapely calf, and, for those caring to notice it, a pleasing bulge at the crotch. ‘You will surely become my wife.’

  ‘After all… after all you know?’ she wailed, and dropped weakly to the white-painted seat in the tiny arbour. ‘Ah am shamed for life!’ Her accents were that of a young Southern aristocrat, now trembling with suppressed tears.

  ‘Precisely because of that,’ he said in his careless British accent, ‘I will have you. And you will be a loving and obedient wife, as I shall be a loving and pleasant husband. In public.’

  Annabelle looked up at him. ‘Sir Peter, whatever do you mean?’ There was an agony of fear in her voice.’

  ‘Are you still a virgin?’ he asked deliberately. He was looking down at her figure. The low cut of her peach-coloured dress exposed the pale full mounds of her breasts.

  ‘Why sir…’ the outrage in her voice was genuine, as genuine as the surprise.

  ‘You have confessed to a reprehensible and unnatural lust for women, my dear. I merely asked you the next logical question. Are you a virgin?’

  ‘Yes I am,’ she sobbed again, her face staring at the floor. ‘Since I had… had… Sara, I have not had any other. Not a… man. The very idea repels me.’

  ‘Nonetheless, you shall have one,’ he continued implacably. ‘Me. Do you understand? I will not have it that my future wife will become known throughout society as an unnatural woman-lover.’ Sir Peter Stone stared down at the young Southern belle. ‘We will make our nuptial agreement now. We will live, in public, as the most respectable and proper couple we can be. In private, you will follow my every wish and command…’

  ‘What?!’ There was genuine surprise and outrage at this statement from the cool young Englishman. The fire of her Southern blood rose to her eyebrows, and flushed the tops of her breasts.

  ‘You will have one major duty, besides pleasing me. You will select our household help. All the maids. I do not believe we shall require a butler. And you will make it clear to them that their bodies are at my disposal. That, after all, is not so unusual here in the South, I believe, though of course, most people of your class are much less open about it. My disposal, my dear, shall also be yours.’

  She turned her surprised face up at him and gasped again. ‘You are not repelled by my person? You are not repelled by my… perverted desires?’

  ‘I believe, my dear, that because of my love for you, I will be able to tolerate it. Just as you, my dear Annabelle, shall be required to tolerate my lust on your body. Merely because you dream of being thrashed by a woman while engaging in concupiscent activity should not be a barrier to such a loving and appropriate match as the one I am proposing.’

  ‘Oh, dear dear Peter.’ Her magnificent bosom heaved and he dropped to one knee beside her, grasping her white-gloved hand in his. ‘Why… when I meant repels me, I was not trying to be personal…’ She looked askance at the bulge high up in his tight fitting breeches.

  He fell dramatically to his knees beside her, and a faint shadow of maidenly hidden regret covered her pretty features.

  ‘My darling Annabelle, will you consent to be my wife?’

  ‘Of course, dear Peter.’

  ‘Then I shall ensure that your secret shall not only remain one, shameful to you though it may be, but that you will be able to indulge in it to your heart’s content. After all, if there is no cure, the next best thing is to control one’s appetites judiciously, don’t you agree my dear?’ There was a strange glitter in Peter’s eyes as he peered into her own.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, oh yes. I shall be yours from this day on forevermore.’

  He rose and dusted off his knees. His crotch was at the height of her eyes, and she could see that the bulge there, which she had carefully avoided examining even at a distance before, was now larger.

  ‘I shall address your father at once, and ask him for your hand,’ Peter said. He lowered his voice. ‘But in the meantime, we must bind this agreement between us. I will not let you go, but I wish a token of your affection.’

  ‘Anything, my dear,’ she breathed. ‘Anything at all.’

  ‘Very well my love. Abhorrent as it will be for you, I am afraid you must help me satisfy my lust.’

  ‘Now?’ she squeaked in trepidation. Her white-gloved hands clenched on the handle of her parasol.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ he said. ‘Remember my dear that this is your wifely duty, and I shall expect you to assume your duties from this moment.’

  She lowered her lashes over her large blue eyes. ‘Yes, of course my darling. I shall do whatever my position requires.’

  His hand dipped to the waistband of his pants, and he undid his fly. Within the folds of cloth of his trousers and linen she could see a mass
of dark hairs, and a long snake of flesh that peered at her blindly, gaping from a tiny mouth. She examined it fearfully, then her gloved hands involuntarily stole up the material of his pants until she could barely touch the monster with the tips of her fingers. It stirred at her touch.

  ‘That is a cock my dear, the organ of generation. John Thomas. It fits certain parts of your own sweet flesh…’

  ‘I know that, dear,’ she said somewhat abstractly. ‘I’ve seen the animals in the plantation, you know. I was just wandering where you proposed to put—?’

  ‘My dearest Annabelle,’ he interrupted patiently. ‘Obviously you are expected to be a virgin on our wedding night. But for now, your dear mouth will be sufficient…’

  He held up the limp but swelling monster before her face. First she smelled at it deeply. It smelled somehow bitter, repulsive yet powerfully masculine. So different from her previous smells of the juncture of human legs. She opened her pink lips wide, and he gently placed the head of the cock on her waiting tongue.

  She held the huge tip on her tongue for a brief moment, and Peter indulgently looked on. Then she covered her front teeth with her gloriously red lips and closed her mouth softly. Her lips fitted behind the broad flanges of his penis and she stroked the two lobes of the bottom half with her tongue. His hands descended softly but firmly to the top of her golden head as she explored the large morsel. Her eyes closed and she was lost in the sensation. The taste of the tiny drop that came to her tongue was strange: slightly salty and musky. She tickled the tip with her tongue, then stroked the pulsing flesh beneath the lobes of the head.

  Peter shifted slightly, then pressed his hips forward. Annabelle tried to move backwards but was held by the insistent pressure of his hands on her head as the silky shaft slid between her lips.

  ‘Hollow your cheeks, my dear, and suck me,’ he ordered. His voice was soft in the noon light. Far away they could hear the sounds of a boat on the river. Annabelle did as she was bid, her cheeks moving in and out as she exerted pressure on the shaft and its mighty head. Shyly her gloved hand rose to support her bent torso by grasping his leg. A thrill ran through her at the touch of the muscular column and she sucked away lustily at the other shaft, slightly less thick, that was filling her soft mouth where barely anything but the most delicate of viands had gone before. Screwing her eyes upwards she could see his face turned down to look at what she was doing with her mouth. His eyes were glazed and he seemed to be in a trance. Peter spread his legs to firm his standing, and a lascivious, almost incredible idea took hold of Annabelle. Slyly, so as not to startle Peter and cause him to stop her, her other hand stole up between his legs until she could touch the shaft. She knew he would not notice. The tips of her fingers encountered the hard yet silky shaft that was joining her mouth to his mysterious crotch. She moved her head rapidly back and forth to distract him from her explorations. He grunted softly, like a baby settling for the rag teat. Then her exploring fingers encountered another object. It was a pendulous bag hanging below the base of the shaft. In its viscid depths her fingers could feel something floating: a large jewel. She touched the surface fearfully for a moment. She had seen male animals, but had had no idea men were constructed on such similar lines.

  ‘Darling Annabelle,’ Peter’s voice, strained and jerky, broke into her reverie and she hastily snatched her hand away. ‘Darling Annabelle, I am sorry but I must… I must move in your mouth.’

  Peter’s hands clutched at her head more roughly than she cared for. It would disarray the careful coiffure she had spent hours on. Then incredibly the shaft was shuttling in and out of her compliant mouth. She gagged reflexively, but held her ground as she knew every Southern belle should. The shaft seemed to swell and incredulous gasping sounds were coming from above her head. She sucked harder, trying to capture the head as it dashed from her lips-protected teeth almost to the back of her throat. Then the shaft suddenly jerked once, then again and again. She clutched Peter’s muscular thighs to keep her balance, her nose full of the intoxicating smell that emerged from under his linen. A sudden wash of liquid gushed into her mouth. Caught by surprise she almost pulled away, almost threw back the essence he was pouring into her. Then her training, the habits of maintaining her position instilled in her by her background, came to the fore. She swallowed rapidly as the flood seemed endless and there was real fear of it running out her lips and down her chin. Such a ludicrous sight she would be, were that to happen. Peter pulled back slightly, and her breathing eased. She swallowed quickly again, then licked the insides of her mouth delicately. Only now did she become aware of the flavour of what she had swallowed. The first tiny drop she had tasted had been but a bare shadow, a harbinger of the real thing, and she blushed to think that she had paid no attention to the taste until it was almost gone.

  Annabelle sighed deeply, then withdrew her hands from their supports. She hoped he did not think her forward for holding on to the only support that offered. Peter pulled back, watching as his softening prick withdrew from the soft lips, stained slightly by her lip rouge.

  ‘May I?’ she asked shyly, her tiny white-gloved hand raised hesitantly to his crotch.

  Peter smiled thoughtfully. ‘In some circles it might be deemed unseemly, but seeing as we are to be married, and seeing what our nuptial agreements are to be like, you may of course my dear. Consider it your second affianced duty.’

  Fumbling a bit, she managed to reinsert his still hard member into his pants and rearrange the linen. She got the hang of it quickly: not unlike dressing a doll, Annabelle thought as she buttoned up the entrance. Then she rose to her feet with a brilliant smile.

  Helping her to rise, Peter kissed Annabelle fondly. ‘I shall now go to solicit your father’s permission for our wedding, dearest heart.’

  Arm in arm they walked back from their stroll, their figures outlined against the green of the lawn and the Spanish moss that hung, decorating the ancient trees.

  Annabelle’s mother watched the young couple approach with some puzzlement. The girl had been a trial to her for a number of years. She had had eligible suitors by the score, but rejected them all coldly. True, some of the young bloods from New Orleans’s less wealthy households were probably after Annabelle’s inheritance. Some of the best families had lost all their young men, and those that had remained… And Annabelle, after all, she was the only child of General Maxwell Hughes, who had been chief of the Confederate army’s commissariat! Still, some of them would have made good matches, very good matches indeed for her daughter. Now here was this young Englishman, whose manners were indeed exquisite, but who knew what his antecedents were?

  ‘General, a word in your ear if I may?’ The young Englishman was as polite and as cool as ever. Annabelle, beside him, her face impassive, dropped into a convenient chair held by one of the liveried servants. They may have lost the war, Annabelle’s mother thought, but someone had to keep up standards nonetheless.

  ‘What? Of course my boy, of course.’ The General sipped the last of his rum on ice – his one peculiarity, that drink, and the cause of many a rumour – and led Peter off to the sitting room.

  ‘As you know sir, I have been visiting your beautiful house not merely for the pleasure of hearing you discuss your campaigns, and the pleasure of madame and your company, but for another, more selfish reason as well…’

  The General harrumphed. He had not become fully accustomed to having this young fellow call Miz Maxwell ‘madam’.

  Peter cocked an eyebrow at the older man. ‘As I was saying, I have been extremely enamoured of your young daughter, and I feel my life will not be whole without her. I would like to request the honour of her hand.’ He raised a hand in admonition as the General stirred. ‘No, please sir, hear me out. I realise she is your only daughter, and you must therefore feel some trepidation at losing her, but as I intend to settle in New Orleans, that does not present an insurmountable problem. As for my prospects, I
am sure you are aware that they are at least moderately acceptable.’ He slipped a hand into his waistcoat and withdrew a sheaf of papers. ‘Here you have a copy of my letter of patent. Here a letter of credit from my London bank for twenty thousand pounds. And here, finally, a copy of a letter from my business agent discussing the rents, which come presently to the sum of three thousand two hundred pounds, sixteen shillings per annum.’

  He raised his hand again, as the General was sputtering in his seat. ‘More importantly, if I may say so sir, is the fact that Annabelle and I have come to an agreement and find ourselves extremely well suited.’

  The General’s snowy eyebrows arched in surprise. Annabelle had so far, and without good reason, turned down a number of qualified suitors. ‘This is all so unnecessary…’ he started to say.

  ‘Please, sir, I beg of you, have I your permission…?’

  ‘Of course, my boy, of course!’ the General said, suddenly realising the implication of Peter’s words. Why, he would be the father of a Lady, a true aristocrat. And no matter how much they prided themselves on their American heritage, no matter how much he and his fellows saw themselves as true gentlemen, General Maxwell like most of his class, place, and time, had a sneaking suspicion that they were not yet true nobility. And here, in one step, he would enjoy a social promotion. He rose and rang the bell for the servant. ‘Bourbon or rum?’

  ‘Rum of course,’ said Peter, and in one stroke banished forever all doubts from the General’s mind.

  Chapter II

  ‘How are you this morning, my dear?’ Peter’s raised hat and smooth bearing were as cool as ever. Annabelle blushed slightly, remembering how passionate he had been in the garden not three days back.

  ‘Why Peter, I did not expect to meet you here. This is my friend, Mrs Jakes. We are on our way to the milliners to choose…’ she blushed slightly and appropriately ‘…some things.’