"Excuse me," Annabelle asked, with what she thought was remarkable calm under the circumstances, "but who are you and what are you doing in my bedroom?" There were a lot of ancillary questions related to that, like why a leggy blonde with such impressively sculpted curves was wearing nothing but a powder blue peignoir and putting on Annabelle's makeup in front of Annabelle's mirror, but it was already feeling like she had a lot to take in right now and pummeling the stranger with questions wouldn't get her better answers.

Neither would just pummeling her, but Annabelle had to confess that didn't stop her hands from clenching into fists when the statuesque woman sitting at her vanity turned and gave her a pitying smirk. "Oh dear," she murmured, in cultured tones that reeked of an education spent somewhere very British and very, very rich. "It's so sad, isn't it? But then, I suppose you would be the last to know." She stood up, pursing her lips momentarily to ensure the lipstick was fully applied, and Annabelle couldn't help noticing through the sheer fabric of the peignoir that the stranger had better tits than she did.

Honestly, everything about the other woman read as 'Annabelle but upgraded'. Her hair was a glorious shade of platinum blonde in an elegant, upswept hairdo that just managed to outshine Annabelle's honey blonde tresses; her eyes were a radiant sapphire blue that made Annabelle's storm-gray irises look a tiny bit murky by comparison--and of course one she drew herself up to her full height, she had a good seven or eight inches on Annabelle even before taking the stiletto heels into account. It all made Annabelle feel a little bit inadequate... but not nearly as much as having to describe her as 'the other woman', with all the unfortunate connotations that entailed. "What's your name?" she snarled out, her irritation growing increasingly difficult to hide.

"I could just tell you to ask your husband," the other--the stranger chuckled, clearly, reveling in her command of the situation. "But if you must know, my name is Isabelle. Isabelle Cassidy-Kent. And I must say, it's a real pleasure to introduce myself to you like this." She swept across the room to take Annabelle's hand in a few long strides that showcased the sweeping curves of her impressive legs, and Annabelle tried hard not to be envious of her effortless grace--not that she was clumsy or anything, but Annabelle knew she always had to work so goddamned hard to look poised and elegant, and here this... this Player Two version of her made it all seem so easy.

She brought Annabelle's hand up to her lips and gave it a kiss, and Annabelle was embarrassed by how quickly all her strength turned to water--it wasn't that she didn't still want to smack Isabelle one right across the kisser, but somehow the commanding way the other woman's fingers gripped her wrist made struggle seem crude and undignified. Annabelle felt like she was trapped in a gossamer cage as Isabelle left a perfect cupid's bow of pink lipstick on Annabelle's skin, then released it with a gesture that felt in equal measures magnanimous and contemptuous.

"You didn't answer my other question," Annabelle snapped, putting her hands behind her back with an air of faintly wounded dignity. "What are you doing in my bedroom?" She tried to stare Isabelle down as she spoke, but it was frankly impossible given the difference in their heights... and indeed, it was all Annabelle could do not to crane her neck up at Isabelle like a little girl talking to a grown-up. She forced herself to let her eyes handle most of the adjustment so she could keep her head facing forward.

Isabelle chuckled again, her laughter disgustingly melodic. "Isn't that obvious?" she asked. "I came here for something of a surreptitious assignation, an evening tryst if you will." A heavy silence hung in the room in the pause that followed, one that Annabelle knew came from the choking anger that sealed up her throat but that Isabelle deliberately misconstrued as incomprehension. "I came here to fuck, darling," she added, a poisonously sweet smile on her pale pink cheeks.

It was the answer Annabelle had been dreading since the moment she saw the other woman, the only explanation she could possibly imagine for seeing the new and improved version of herself sitting at her dressing table and looking like sex on legs, and yet somehow it still came as a shock to Annabelle. She'd somehow foolishly convinced herself that Donald's eye would never stray, that he would remain faithful to her until death do them part just like it said in the vows, and it stung to realize she was ultimately and inevitably disposable even if a tiny, treacherous voice inside her head had to acknowledge that Isabelle was too goddamned beautiful for words. It truly stung.

But that private, silent pain wasn't enough. Annabelle had to hear it out loud, to tear off the bandage and finally get the awful truth of it out in the open so she could force herself to begin accepting it. "Are you saying you're having an affair with Donald?" she asked, the words coming out with clipped and icy precision as she demanded the truth from Isabelle's perfect, sensual lips. No more coyness, no chance of misunderstanding, just the dreadful secret she deserved to hear for herself.

All of which made it even more of a surprise when Isabelle burst into a peal of laughter--not mocking, cruel hateful laughter like Annabelle anticipated, but a genuinely delighted laugh that almost sounded surprised. "Oh, my dear, sweet girl!" she cooed, cupping Annabelle's cheek in her hand as though indulgently praising a pet who'd just performed the wrong trick in response to a command. "Oh, my poor little darling, no. I'm saying we're having an affair with Donald."

All of which left Annabelle flapping her lips like a goldfish and staring up at Isabelle in mute incomprehension as the poised, confident woman looming over her continued to speak. "Donald's out of town, darling, remember? He left last night on some boring business trip or other, he won't even be back in the city before Tuesday. Why would I come here to sleep with him when he's not even home?" Isabelle's bright blue eyes gazed guilelessly down at Annabelle, catching and holding her with a calm confidence that cushioned the smaller woman's reeling confusion.

She... yes, of course she knew that, it was why she'd been so surprised to see another car sitting in the driveway when she got home. Donald was at a sales conference all week long, she'd dropped him off at the airport herself and promised to call him nightly. How could that have slipped her mind so completely over just the course of her walk from the front door to her bedroom? How could she have seen Isabelle and convinced herself that the other woman was there to fuck her husband? "I, I don't... I don't...." she stammered, bewilderment robbing her of the ability to even conceive of the end of that sentence.

"Well, it's all part of the arrangement, isn't it?" Isabelle purred, her hand now cupping Annabelle's cheek a bit more firmly as if to support its sagging weight. "Naturally, dear sweet besotted Donald didn't want you cheating on him, not with you such a devoted wife and all. So we came to a little agreement. You only remember our trysts when I remind you of them, and I make sure you stay... well, let's just say properly dutiful as all good spouses should be. And in return, I get to enjoy your beautiful body whenever the opportunity arises."

Isabelle chuckled as she began to gently rotate Annabelle's chin, watching as her neck muscles started to get loose and wobbly and her eyelids began to droop with artificial exhaustion. "You'll forgive me if I indulge in a little humor at your expense each time, dear," she added. "It's always such fun to watch you get all protective of your man like this."

Talking felt like she was pushing her thoughts through a thick bath of syrupy molasses, but Annabelle forced herself to mumble out a vague, drowsy attempt at a question that addressed her confusion. "I, but... how? How did you, um... how?"

Isabelle smiled, her one hand now fully rolling Annabelle's head on her shoulders until her muscles offered no resistance at all while the other plucked delicately at the buttons of Annabelle's blouse to expose her pale skin an inch at a time. "Isn't that obvious, darling?" she asked, her voice growing more and more soothing. "You're just one of those adorable girls who can't resist looking up into my deep blue eyes and feeling your own get so tired. So heavy. So sleepy for me, isn't that right, dear?"

There was an answer to that, Annabelle knew there was, but somehow the only one that popped into her unaccountably empty head was the one that she'd just heard only moments ago. "So sleepy," she muttered, hearing the toneless drone of her own voice but unable to put any kind of energy into it with her whole body feeling so helplessly weak and dizzy. Her skirt whispered down her legs, taking her panties with it, but she couldn't seem to make herself do anything about it.

"That's right, such a sleepy girl, just like always," Isabelle murmured seductively, placing her hand possessively onto Annabelle's vulva and using it to walk the dazed and befuddled woman backwards until her knees hit the foot of the bed and she toppled over onto the mattress. The sudden falling sensation completed her descent into trance and her eyelids slammed shut before her head came to rest.

"And down, and down, and down for me," Isabelle cooed, her fingers strumming Annabelle's swollen and protruding clit until the supine woman was writhing and panting on the bedclothes. "Just sleep for a moment, darling, sink deeper into my will and let yourself remember the pleasures of obedience, while I go and unpack a few things from the overnight bag." She took Annabelle's limp and unresisting hand and rested it on Annabelle's cunt, and from there reflex did the rest.

Annabelle wasn't exactly sure how long she spent on the bed simply edging herself deeper into stupefied bliss. Time had a way of losing meaning for her when she was suspended in Isabelle's will, as she was beginning to relearn, and it felt deliciously easy to forget about her surroundings and focus on making the wet spot underneath her as big as it could get. She only came even slightly back to herself when she felt her lover's hands underneath her, assisting her body into a crouch on her hands and knees on top of the mattress.

"Eyes open, dear," Isabelle prompted, and Annabelle's eyelids fluttered open to gaze thoughtlessly into a tablet propped up on the headboard in front of her. Donald was there, his dick in his hands and a bottle of lube resting on the hotel nightstand next to him, and Annabelle's enfeebled brain sluggishly recalled that she'd promised to call him and wish him a good night without managing to notice anything else about her current circumstances.

She felt something press against the entrance to her sopping cunt, and in the smaller window that represented her camera's view she saw Isabelle kneeling behind her with the powder blue peignoir now replaced with a black leather strap-on harness. "You did ask for a show, didn't you, Donald?" Isabelle asked, a tiny grunt of huffing exertion in her voice as she pushed forward and sank the molded silicone shaft all the way home.

Annabelle's eyes rolled back in her head then, all the hypnotic commands in the world unable to prevent her from surrendering to the waves of ecstasy that washed through her as Isabelle's hips smacked repeatedly into her bare, jiggling buttocks. It was her first orgasm that finally stirred the memory of all the other times she'd surrendered to Isabelle's hypnotic power, each one of them potent and erotic enough to entice her into forgetting all over again when she woke, and she clenched her pussy around the dildo with a moan that sent her husband's hand speeding up and down his slickened cock with excitement.

He already knew about Isabelle. In some ways, it was a betrayal greater than any affair ever could be. But as long as it let Annabelle get fucked like this, she couldn't really bring herself to care.

THE END