Picture Perfect

I found the first photograph in the mailbox when I came home from work one Monday afternoon. It was in an unsealed, unaddressed white envelope. The snapshot showed my wife Ashley in the backyard with a garden hose, watering a bush. I hadn't taken the picture, and planned to ask Ashley about it, but we had plans that night and it completely slipped my mind.

The next day after work I found another white envelope in the mailbox. It was a telephoto shot this time. Ashley was sitting on the edge of the swimming pool, staring off dreamily with her feet dangling in the water. The outline of her nipples could be seen clearly through her wet bathing suit. The picture perfectly captured her beauty and sensuality. The photo was on my mind all evening—but again, I couldn't think of a way to bring it up. All night long I watched her closely, silently wondering over and over again who was taking these pictures and leaving them in our mailbox.

The next day came and, along with it, the third photograph. I quickly put down my briefcase and opened the envelope. It was a snapshot of Ashley sunbathing naked. Beads of sweat covered her body. Did she know that she was being photographed? I couldn't tell. Her eyes were closing as though she were dozing. I couldn't imagine whom she would allow to see her naked, much less take a photograph of her in such a state. Perhaps the person had quietly slipped into the yard, snapped the shot and left. But who could it have been, and when did it happen? That very afternoon?

Although I was still unable to bring myself to ask my wife about the pictures, I was beginning to enjoy the mystery behind them.

The next day my heart was pounding and my cock throbbing when I opened the mailbox and found another plain white envelope containing a single photograph. In this one, Ashley was sitting on her chaise lounge by the pool, naked, staring into the camera with a shy but seductive smile. Her hair was wet and her nipples hard and erect. Her legs were slightly crossed, her dark patch of bushy pubic hair barely visible. Once again I wondered who the secret photographer might be. A neighbour? A stranger? Her lover? Was Ashley herself putting the photos in the mailbox for me to discover?

That night I waited for her to say something about the pictures, but she never did. However, she seemed different—quieter and much more aloof. I asked her what she'd done that day, and she replied, "Oh, I relaxed by the pool." Then she drifted off, lost in thought.

The next day I came home half an hour early. The mailbox was empty. I went into the house feeling and odd mixture of disappointment and relief. Ashley wasn't home. I noticed that a drawer of her dresser was partially opened. Inside, beneath her nightgowns, I found a white envelope. It contained several pictures of Ashley lying back on our unmade bed, silhouetted by the bright light from the window. The photos revealed the curves of her hips, shoulders and breasts, as well as the outlines of her erect nipples.

I couldn't believe it—she had brought this person into our bedroom and posed for more pictures! I spread all the photographs out on the bed and stared at them, imagining what had taken place in our bedroom that afternoon. I looked around the room for signs, but saw nothing. When I heard Ashley's car pull up, I quickly put the photographs back in the drawer. It was already late, so Ashley and I had a late supper, then went to bed. It took me a long time to fall asleep.

I came home early the next day and once again Ashley was gone. I went right to the bedroom. The envelope was still in her drawer. My hands were shaking as I opened it. There were new photographs inside! My heart started pounding wildly. The first one showed Ashley sitting on the edge of our bed, nude, leaning back on her elbows. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. Her legs were spread wide enough so that I could see, just barely, the back of a man's head at the very bottom of the picture. Someone was eating her out! I felt the blood rush to my cock, and slowly pulled another photo from the stack. There was Ashley, lying on the floor with her legs raised high and spread wide. A trim, muscular man was suspended above her, fucking her. I could see his penis, thick as a baseball bat, buried inside her. His tongue lapped at one of her nipples as she wrapped her fingers around the cock that was sliding into her cunt.

The details of the man's face, and thus his identity, were lost in the shadows. Ashley, however, was clearly visible. I could tell by the look on her face, by the tautness of her body, that she was in the midst of a powerful orgasm. I stared in disbelief. My wife had fucked another man that very afternoon, and God knows how many afternoons before this one! I felt betrayed and excited at the same time.

Ashley came home quite late that night. I was already in bed. She slipped quietly into the bathroom, trying not to disturb my sleep. I called her, and she came to me. She whispered that she had been out visiting a friend and had lost track of the time. She undressed, climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep.

But I didn't. I thought about the pictures. I thought about my marriage. My mind was teeming with images of Ashley fucking another man, taking his rock-solid cock into her mouth, spreading his semen on her lips, her tits, the cheeks of her ass.

Eventually I got up and went into the bathroom. I washed my face with cool water. As I opened the closet to take out a fresh towel, I noticed something tucked underneath the stack of towels. It was another photograph, a Polaroid. It had been taken in a bathroom filled with a cloud of steam. It looked like our bathroom, but the background was so unclear I wasn't sure. In the foreground, rising out of the mist like visions, were four figures. Ashley was naked, on her hands and knees, sucking a huge cock. A second man was lying beneath her, his face buried in her pussy. A third man was lying beside her with his shriveled cock in his hand. I couldn't make out any of the men's faces.

I had to sit down. Indeed, I sat in the bathroom all night, looking at that picture and pumping my hard cock to orgasm.

Ashley was still asleep when I left for work the next morning. I quietly removed the envelope of photographs from her dresser and put it in my briefcase. During any breaks in my appointment schedule, I would take the pictures out and look at them. I spread the photos across my desktop, one by one, then undid my belt, pulled down my pants and masturbated.

Suddenly I realized that there was one photograph in the first bunch that I was seeing for the first time. It was another Polaroid, a poorly exposed shot of our living room. The bright sunlight from the wide-open patio doors threw everything into shadow. At first I couldn't make out the scene, but it slowly became clear to me. A naked woman was lying across a coffee table, her arms and legs were draped over the sides. Three men were poking and probing her, sucking and licking her voluptuous body. When I realized that the woman there were so intensely pleasing was my wife, I came all over my desk.

I put the photographs in the envelope and went straight home. I walked quietly into the backyard, approached a window and looked inside. The living room was empty. I went inside and checked the bedroom. She wasn't in there either. The bed was made, and all was quiet. I checked Ashley's dresser drawer. For the first time in days, there were no new photos.

I sat down on the living room couch to think. For some reason, I looked under the coffee table, and there I found one more photograph. It showed Ashley kneeling before three men whose backs were to the camera. My wife had one of their cocks in her mouth, but it was clear that she'd been sucking all three, alternating from one erect penis to the next, getting her fill of meat and jism.

Just then I heard Ashley's car pull up in front of our house. I knew it was time to confront her with what I'd found, but I didn't want her to think I was upset. On the contrary, I wanted her to know how aroused I was knowing she was such a cock-hungry slut when I was away at work. As she walked up the path to our house, I put the photograph on the coffee table where she would see it. Then I calmly took off my clothes and sat on the couch, my cock hard as an iron bar, and listened for the sound of her key in the front door.