The Fake DeepFakes Pt. 02

The gloryhole became part of our schedule at the weekend. We'd often go out for a few drinks first, before stopping in for some anonymous sex on the way home. Word must have got out that it was a good time to show up, a Saturday evening, as there appeared to be larger numbers of cocks available for Suzanne - when she pushed the button a new one appeared almost immediately, and she was easily managing fifteen to twenty in one sitting.

Every session was recorded in full, and I had to buy some more storage drives to keep it all, such was the size of our collection.

Until now, Suzanne Sharp's professional and private life had been kept strictly separate. The first cracks in her professional facade began to emerge not long after her delightful Sunday session with Dave and Keith.

"So something interesting happened today," she began, after returning from reading the news, as usual arriving after eleven p.m. I expected to hear an anecdote about someone messing up the teleprompt for her lines or something else equally bland. But my ears perked up when she said:

"I flashed one of the young assistants tonight, before we went live," she smirked.

"Oh really? How?" She had my full attention.

"It was totally accidental. Honest!" She'd spotted my disbelieving look. "I was getting changed, I had a robe on, and my bra underneath. There was a knock on the door, and Tristan came in, he had some last minute notes for me to read over, and he'd brought me a coffee. I dropped the papers on the floor, and bent to pick them up, and the robe fell open a bit."

"What did he see?"

"Just this." Suzanne unbuttoned her blouse to demonstrate. She had a lovely black, lacy bra on, which was ever so slightly too small for her. It did conceal her nipples, but only just, and it helped promote an excellent cleavage. Certainly nothing obscene, and an innocent mistake, you might think. But something which any young man would no doubt have treasured.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. I mean, he definitely got an eyeful, I saw that much. But then he sort of scuttled away. I had to go live not long after, but I can't stop thinking about it."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, I get Tristan in and out of my dressing room all of the time in the hour leading up to me going on air, and sometimes again afterwards. I know it's not very professional, but it might be nice to have some fun with them."

"What sort of fun?"

"You know, tease them a little bit. It wouldn't do any harm, would it?"

"That depends on what you do. And who finds out," I said, with a slight warning tone.

Suzanne began coming home flustered, even more so than usual. Until now, work had been a leveller for her burgeoning sex drive, which she'd unleash once home, and especially at the weekends. But now, it seemed, even preparing to interview the Prime Minister on her Sunday morning show wasn't enough to take her mind off her desire to be seen, exposed, lusted after.

She'd taken to casually inviting Tristan, who looked after her on weeknights, and Dermott, who did the job on a Sunday morning, into her dressing room on the premise of fetching her something, checking a question, a line, nothing unusual in that. But she'd do so in her underwear. And my wife had an amazing range of very beautiful, attractive and revealing underwear.

She somehow managed to restrain herself from taking things much further, but both Tristan and Dermott had regularly caught a glimpse of a naked breast or between Suzanne Sharp's famous legs. She made out like she was so focused on her work clothing was an afterthought, and the boys made out they didn't notice as they were so dedicated to solving their boss's latest problem.

This seemed to suit everyone, but as it went on, it simply had the effect of pushing my wife further towards the inevitable. Even the weekend gloryhole sessions, whereupon she'd devour the growing number of visitors with an impressive appetite which made for some superb video, began to lose their impact. Something had to give.

"I feel like it's time for me to take things in a different direction," she began, one Saturday morning. I was making breakfast, and she was sitting thoughtfully at the breakfast bar.

"How do you mean?" I wondered. I assumed, naively, that she had received a job offer, and would be off to some new presenting job, or something similar.

"I feel like I've got nothing left to prove as a presenter, a newsreader, an interviewer," she mused. "And god knows, we've got enough money now, right?"

We were, indeed, very comfortable. I worked exclusively from home these days, and managed various investment funds in the US markets. This was proving very lucrative, and our combined income had left a large surplus which had been invested very wisely. It had been several years since I'd observed that we probably didn't need to continue work at all - not for financial reasons anyway.

"What have you got in mind, then?" I wondered. I was intrigued to see my wife looking somewhat nervous. This was a rarity, as was the indecision she was clearly experiencing.

"I..." She stopped herself, looking down at her mug of coffee for a while before raising her head with some determination.

"How would you feel if I just gave it all up? The news, the interview - being on the TV in general, really."

"What brought this on?" I wondered, not answering her question. I was worried about her. I needn't have been.

"Everything, really. All the stuff we've been getting up to, it's completely changed my mindset. I feel like there's a limited amount of time you get, and we're incredibly lucky to be where we are, and to be with each other, and so happy. I look at my friends and their lives are all just so dull. And ours is just so amazing.

"But I've found myself begrudging the work that I have to do. I mean, why am I bothering? It used to be what got me out of bed in the morning, but now it's such a chore, for the most part."

"It definitely sounds like it's time for a change then," I agreed supportively. "But what will you do with all the free time?"

"You know how much I love it, all the sexy stuff we do together. I've just been feeling more and more that we could be doing things all the time. And if I didn't have to worry about my job... I just keep thinking of all the videos and pictures we've got. When I see how Tristan and Dermott look at me, how Dave and Keith did..."

She was meandering a bit, but I could tell where this was going. In truth, it was something that I could have predicted months ago. Even back at university, my wife-to-be always had this in her. She craved exposure. She wanted the world to witness her doing things that a TV personality never did. She wanted every adoring, lustful fan to get exactly what they dreamed about.

"You want to go public?" I gasped involuntarily. Suzanne simply nodded

As usual, Suzanne Sharp had it all planned out.

"I've been speaking to someone - a publicist - for a while. She's a bit of a character, we crossed paths quite a lot at work. Just the other week, we got talking, and..."

It was early, but I poured a glass of wine and sat next to Suzie. This was going to be good. She took a long sip before continuing, noting she had my complete attention with a little smirk.

"Ruth, that's her name, she was talking about how everything had changed since Sarah Clarke appeared. Ruth's extremely positive about what Sarah Clarke's done, thinks it's great that she's out there for all to see, doing what she does."

I nodded in agreement. Sarah Clarke was a phenomenon, and we loved to see what she was going to get up to next, now that her brand of live sex and entertainment graced our screens each week. Suzie also had a hitherto secret (to all but me) admiration for this sex superstar.

"So, I just blurted it out. I would give anything to do what she does, to have so many eyes on me, everyone in the full understanding of just what I am: an unashamed, self-confessed, filthy little slut."

I was loving this, and fascinated to see where it was going. Suzie was looking straight ahead, but occasionally caught my eye, knowing how much I'd be enjoying what she was telling me.

"Ruth's job is to maximise publicity. To break stories, to plant seeds of information. We talked for hours - that's why I was so late back last night. She had the most amazing ideas, once she understood just what I wanted. From her point of view, she thinks it will be the biggest job of her career."

"Honestly, I don't think you need a publicist," I laughed. "I mean, if you are talking about what I think you are talking about, it's not something which will take any work to bring attention to!"

"Oh but listen, Rich. It's so perfect. It will start with some rumours, twitter posts which get retweeted, with rumours that, early in my career, I might have posed nude in some seedy magazines."

"Which you did," I smiled.

"I know! So some pictures will start to appear, with no way to confirm or deny it's me. God knows we've got enough material."

I began to share my wife's very obvious excitement. My heart was pumping hard, I could feel the pulsing in my neck, as most of the blood in my body was directed downwards to my crotch.

"I get asked about it, I dismiss it, no comment. At this point, I'm still on TV, still doing the news every night,"

"Jesus. You've got it all planned out!"

"Then it starts getting a bit too close for comfort," she beamed in delight. "Those DeepFakes. Some clever person starts reverse-engineering them, only to find that a large number of them are not actually fake. This gets broken in a big, scandalous, Sunday morning spread in some or other tabloid." The look of delight on her face was infectious, and I couldn't suppress a laugh.

"You are serious, aren't you?" I half wondered. What she was planning was so completely unprecedented, so completely out of character - as far as her public persona went anyway. I marvelled at just how imaginatively filthy my wife actually was. "This is going to be the biggest scandal since..."

I thought, but couldn't come up with any sex scandal which could come anywhere near what my wife was planning to unleash upon herself. But she'd only just got started.

"Since nothing," Suzie shook her head, dismissing the possibility that anything else could come close. "Ruth has some other amazing ideas, but it's really down to me what happens next. In some ways I'd like to see just how long they let me keep doing the news for. I mean, there's no precedent for something like this. If it all turned out to be malicious rumour, they could get into trouble for sacking me."

"Oh god. So you'd be doing the news, with everyone revisiting all of those pictures, those videos, hoping and wishing that they might actually be you!"

"I know!" Suzanne took another sip of wine, and slid her hand down her skirt. I loved that she felt like masturbating in front of me like this was the most natural thing in the world. And also that my following suit was expected.

"I'm just thinking of some of the stuff we posted," I breathed, hundreds of images flashing through my mind. I had my laptop on the counter, and browsed through some of the material people would be searching up any time soon. "Oh god, remember this?" The 'Before After' ones had been amongst my favourites.

On one side, my wife sat in her familiar spot on the set of the Nine-O-Clock news, very beautiful but very staid and completely clothed. On the other, the same face smiled out from a scene of her fingering herself for the camera, wearing only knee-high socks, my cock just visible to the right of her face.

We both appreciated this scene for a moment, me masturbating slowly now, joining my wife in properly appreciating her work, and where it might be leading.

"So yeah, that's hot," she smiled. "But Ruth is saying we should leak stuff each week, keep the story on the boil, but not admitting anything. So the papers might follow up next week with someone telling of a story they'd heard that I liked to flash the boys in my dressing room. Or that I would go out wearing something super-sexy, with no underwear - it would be easy to arrange for an accidental reveal!"

"I love it. I mean, keeping it going like that. It's pretty hot."

"Oh isn't it!" Suzanne's eyes were shining. "And then, eventually, when everyone is just at the point of concluding there's no smoke without fire, and maybe some of this stuff is true - but how much? At that point, it all comes out. It's just deciding how best to break the story."

It was two months after Suzanne made the decision to expose her hitherto secret life as an extremely active, cock-hungry sex maniac to the world. Everything had gone as planned. I'd met Ruth, her new publicist, and she truly was a character, as Suzie said. Between them they had concocted the situation we were in today.

It had gone almost exactly as predicted. Rumour had turned into accusation, until the story broke in the Sunday papers that the darling of our screens, the famous, beautiful, intelligent and downright 'vanilla' Suzanne Sharp, had been revealed to the world, hiding behind the guise of faked porn.

Of course, she must be a victim - that was the assumption at first. There was no way the wholesome Suzanne Sharp, who had fronted such a wide range of family-friendly and mainstream shows, would be found doing any of the sordid, dirty poses and acts that were being attributed to her. But her silence on the matter was deafening.

Explicit material continued to emerge, and it became harder and harder to ignore. More and more evidence appeared (provided surreptitiously by Ruth), and this was dissected on social media. Old magazine appearances were resurrected in a digital form, and thousands of eyes tried to find a freckle, birthmark, scar or anything that could conclusively prove or deny the identity of the naked host.

Even some of the wording which we'd provided when sending naked snaps of Suzie into the magazines was being analysed. In particular the sentence she'd supplied with her submission to 'Razzle Reader's wives':

"I have a very high profile job so I cannot reveal my face, much as I'd love to. But I love playing with myself and thinking of all your readers wanking their hard cocks to my pictures and making a mess over me!" This was presented as conclusive proof by some more optimistic twitter users.

Suzie continued to neither confirm nor deny anything, and just went about her usual routine. This time was extremely tense, but supremely arousing. Even I felt it, going to the shops or just walking down the street. All eyes had always been on my wife, once she was spotted. But now there was a darker, more accusatory feel to the glances that came her way.

The tension that this atmosphere built up could only be relieved by sex, and, whilst I continued to do my best, we both looked forward to Saturday evenings, when the gloryhole's increasing attendances gave her something close to the relief and attention she needed, albeit for a brief few hours.

Eventually she was suspended, on full pay, from her TV work, pending an investigation. Even then there was disbelief in the media, both mainstream and social. Due to her high profile anti-revenge and anti-fake porn standpoint, many thought her to be a victim of the scurrilous individuals who propagated this filth, looking to ruin the career of this delicate English rose.

And then the hammer blow to these theories. It was Sunday morning, and Ruth had arrived with the morning papers. She'd had to fight through what must have been all of the British press, camped outside our drive.

On our TV, Giles Michaels, the reliable but considerably less attractive stand-in for Suzanne, was grilling the Scottish first minister about their plans to leave the union. But the papers were what we'd been waiting for.

My wife was front-page news on every paper. All but one were regurgitating rumours of what would be revealed this morning in the 'News of the World', which had the exclusive reveal. They had paid a hefty price and the money was now sitting in Ruth's bank account, a deserved reward for her amazing work over the past weeks.

"TV's Suzie IS a floozy!" the headline roared. Suzanne was in hysterics.

"And this is why British journalism is not dead!" she laughed. What a headline!"

Ruth opted to read it out loud, as we listened intently. This was a moment which Suzanne Sharp had waited for all of her life.

"Your NOTW can today exclusively reveal that Suzanne Sharp, who we've all watched reading the news to us, and keeping our politicians honest, has been leading a secret double life. Not only are the stories, broken here in your No.1 source of Sunday scandal, completely true, but it goes deeper - much deeper.

"In previous weeks we've broken the news that Suzanne Sharp has been exposing herself naked for several years, in magazines and on the internet. Many have accused us of a witch hunt, and suggested that we were trying to destroy the career of one of our best-loved TV personalities. But today it becomes clear that the only person doing that is Mrs Sharp herself.

"We can now reveal that Suzanne Sharp has been regularly attending a seedy venue near her home, to take part in anonymous sex sessions with groups of strangers. Turn to page 3 for more."

Luckily Ruth by now understood Suzie's predilections, and did not seem at all surprised when her hand, as ever, found its way down her loose shorts. She turned the page and continued. Most of it was filled with a grid of four pictures, two of myself and my wife arriving at the adult cinema a few weeks earlier, and two as we left, with a timestamp showing we'd been inside for over three hours.

Of course, the pictures had been taken by Ruth, completely with our knowledge. So Suzanne had, predictably, ensured her coat had fallen open 'accidentally' in a couple of the pictures, revealing that on the way in she was sporting a sexy Basque, and on the way out she was completely naked under the coat.

The pictures we'd chosen left just enough to the imagination to ensure it could be published, but we'd been very careful to make sure it was undeniably my wife, and she was indubitably leaving without her clothes.

"Suzanne and her husband turned up at this notorious adult cinema, which is frequented by perverts looking for anonymous thrills, not long after 9 p.m. They were pictured leaving over three hours later. Tellingly, we can reveal that Mrs Sharp was NAKED underneath her coat when she left. So what had they been up to? Turn to page 33 for our four page spread on what is the scandal of the century!"

Ruth looked up at us, knowingly. This was the culmination of all she had planned. Suzanne's reaction, in particular, told her it was going well.

"Go on!" she groaned, hand still working away between her legs. Ruth did as she was told, and turned to page thirty three.

"The headline is 'Here is the Nudes!" she giggled. "And there's a topless picture of you here, look." She turned the page and I recognised the picture straight away. It was one, as they all were, that I had taken. My wife with her hands on her knees, very obviously naked, with her breasts squeezed together attractively between her arms. She was pouting at the camera in a kissing gesture.

Ruth continued reading.

"Today the NOTW can lay to rest all of the rumours and conjecture about the famous Suzanne Sharp. The five-time UK TV awards winner, multiple nominee, and who is undisputedly the face of UK current affairs programming, has been leading a secret life, where her and her husband's depraved sexual fantasies are lived out, on a weekly basis.

"Their secret trysts take place at a notorious spot where those looking for no-strings, anonymous encounters with strangers gather. We managed to arrange an exclusive interview with a gentleman who did not want to be named. We'll call him John. He's a regular at the adult cinema.