The Photos I Found

The file window was set to columns. I could see the parent directories. A little below the 'VIDEOS' folder was a 'PHOTOS' folder.

There was a part of me that wanted to drive down to the dentist's office where Angela worked. I let that scenario play out and my mind had nothing to say. I walked in and charged around the back of the reception desk. Angela looked terrified in this scenario, then I spun her around, pulled down her pants and began fucking her right there on the reception desk.

Right then, I was hard as a rock. Like, waking up from a full night's sleep hard. I unbuttoned my jeans just to give my dick some breathing room. I was too turned on to think clearly.

I opened the 'PHOTOS' file and got pretty much what I expected. I batch opened the pictures and began scrolling through them. Angela was in the tattoo chair, on her chest. The hand was not gloved, the tattoo was bandaged.

Next came several close-ups of her ass. The hand was spreading her cheeks to see the puckered ring of her anus. The finger presses inside. His hands look soft, deft. In my mind, I see him gently rolling his thumb along the sensitive ring of skin. Electricity runs up Angela's spine. I can hear her cooing, low and throaty.

The next shot is looking down at a topless Angela, smirking up at the camera as she tugs on a cock that's not mine. It's long, but looks thinner than mine in her hand. That smirk; I can hear her giggling. That's hear playing innocent face, a mild role-play she sometimes does when she sucks my cock. But it's not mine.

Next picture.

Angela is extending her tongue towards the erect penis in her hand, still looking up at the camera. Next. She gives it a little kiss. I can hear her talking to it like a pet, part of her innocent act. Next. A bigger kiss; her lips are fully around the head. Her expression has changed, the innocent act done now. She swallows the dick, no longer looking at the camera. Her attention falls entirely on the blowjob she's giving this man I've never met. Sometimes, she moans a little. Angela loves the flavor of a clean cock.

Next. The angle changes, still looking downwards, but now held out to get the back of Angela's head. I notice the guy's abdomen. He appears naked and has a few tattoos visible. Big stars on either side of his leanly muscle stomach.

Next picture, we're back to directly above. Angela's nose is pressing into the guy's waxed hairless pubic skin, taking his full, long dick down her throat.

As I click through, my mind fills in the spaces between frames.

Angela feels the tattoo artists cock fully harden in her mouth. Releasing it from her mouth, she gives it a couple more strokes—firm on the upstroke, loose on the downstroke—and rises. They kiss. It's different than her husband; he's a mechanic. His hands are rough and so is his love making. He tones it down for her, but she can feel him holding back. At a certain point, he can't hold back and the rough mechanic comes out. She loves that, the hard pounding he gives her once she's aroused enough to enjoy it. This man, though, he's an artist.

His work is to touch people, small and detailed contact. His kisses are just as precise, just as gentle. He's not holding back, his full passion rides through the gentle lingering kisses. His hands slide across her back, so much smoother than her husband's. She breaks the kiss and just breathes against his neck. The gliding caresses of this man are like silk sheets after years cheap cotton. He smells different, not better or worse, merely different. Good, a smell she could get used to.

As his hands start tugging at the tops of her jeans, she pushes away. Angela turns her back to him and begins undoing the button and zipper. The man slides his hands under her arms and lets his fingers draw the lines of her breasts. A light tough along the curvature and she is melting into it, hands briefly halting with her jeans just below her ass. He helps her with the jeans, pulling them down as she climbs up onto the chair.

He gives her a hard spank and her elbows buckle. Angela squeals and her head sinks down to the soft cushion of the chair. The contrast and the bright, sharp shock send her a tangible step closer to orgasm.

Her panties are rolled down her pleasantly stinging ass and she lifts each knee in turn so her lover can discard them. From some unknown drawer, he produces a condom and lube. She looks over her shoulder as he rolls the rubber down, then squirts the cool gel into one hand. She feels the gel chill on her anus as his thumb slides in.

The guy steps up behind her. She loves anal sex. She has told him this. This is not their first time.

The guy lines his cock up with her ass and begins to slowly push in. Angela bites down on two of her knuckles, I can hear her whimpering as the guy continues to slide in and out, opening her a little more with each stroke. It feels so good. Angela is clutching the chair as she cries out. She reaches under her chest to massage one of her breasts.

The pleasure is building. The pain is gone and there is just the delicious sensation of a cock filling up her anal canal. She grips both sides of the chair and pushes back against the guy. She wants him deeper, deep as he can get. Angela slides a hand under her to rub her clit as the guy continues fucking her ass.

Her body freezes. She's holding on with both hands again, back arching up, head hanging down. She is coming and I can hear her silence, the held breath as the guy continues ramming her back passage.

"Stop," I hear her say. As she pulls away from his cock.

Angela lies on her back, gingerly because of the fresh tattoo. She rubs her clit and massages one of her breasts as the guy watches, jerking himself off. He's looking at the camera screen, she is looking above it, at him.

He comes, spraying jizz all over her stomach and chest. Angela giggles then gasps as her next orgasm hits her. In the afterglow, Angela rubs the guy's jizz into her areola. She scoops some up with one finger and sucks it off her finger, then laughs again.

Angela is in a shower. Not ours, his likely. She makes a show of washing herself, rubbing soap onto her body as the shower head in her other hand washes it away almost as soon as it hits her skin.

She leaves the bathroom and lies down on the bed. The guy has stripped as well and kneels on the floor. He leans forward to begin eating her pussy. The blurry curve of her breasts frame the shot of a man—younger than us—with thick hair on the top of his head, the sides shaved. He has one hand on her belly, a dozen small tattoos line his arm. With his other hand he jacks himself off.

He takes long strokes with the tip of his tongue up the length of her vulva. He's decent looking. His tongue stays poised at the edges of her labia while he inserts fingers into her pussy. Angela decides she wants a selfie. She's smiling, then laughs. Her hand waivers even as she snaps the next picture, of just her mouth and neck. Her teeth and clenched.

I can hear her hissing breath.

As she comes down, the guy lubes her ass again. He puts a dollop on his thumb and rubs it into the skin around her anus. There's no condom, this time. She must have cleaned very thoroughly.

Angela gets on her hands and knees. The guy lines up and slides in. This time, Angela takes the initiative. She rocks back and forth on the bed, her knees bending back towards her heels. The guy watches as his art, the tattoo, rise and falls in front of him.

He taps her on the ass and she climbs a little further up the bed, so that he kneel behind her. He pulls her hair back as he begins fucking her again. It's hard and heavy, this time. He needs both hands, there are no more pictures.

That is until he finishes. Angela is down on the bed, spent, but still on her knees. He ass points up in the air, a line of white jizz leaking down the inside of her leg.

I had already come by the time I got there. A wad of tissues held my own orgasm. And I just kept staring at the image of my wife's ass leaking another man's cum. The little movie I had produced in my mind kept playing, just the highlights, though.

Scrolling through the pictures, I hadn't known what I wanted. Just the shock of it, the pure surprise, had me emotionally numb. Yet, there was clarity in my refractory period: I couldn't blame Angela. Not only because of the circumstances of our marriage, but also that my attempts at anal sex had been frustrating for her. Here, she had found someone to scratch that particular itch. It was nigh tantamount to her having sex with a woman; I could hardly hold that against her, finding an experience I could not deliver in another.

But she hadn't told me. Though, I couldn't imagine how that conversation would have gone while I was in LA.

I wasn't angry. But now there felt like something was unsettled between us. In that most reasonable of moods that I was in—sitting in the living room with my shrinking erection still resting in the nest of spent tissues—I wanted her to know that I wouldn't hold it against her. Not one dalliance while we were in a dry period.

But I also needed her to know that, were this to continue, we would need to have a longer conversation.

__________

Angela finished telling me about her day two mouthfuls of pad thai ago. A softcore movie was downloading, at that moment. A comedy about swinging, but she didn't know that, yet.

"Okay," I said, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. "I was going to wait until after the movie, but I gotta say something."

She gave me an intrigued look, mouth still full of noodles.

"So, there's a rumor," I held up my hands. "And that's all it is, a rumor, but certain people are convinced. Allegedly, the Petersen's on the corner are swingers."

"What?!" She burst, holding up a hand to catch any stray bits of her food. "Who told you that?"

"Are you asking me to reveal my sources, chief?"

She put on a nasally, old-fashioned voice. "If you want it printed in my paper, I need to know where it came from." She laughed. "No, but seriously?"

"That, as I said, is the rumor."

"Holy shit, they aren't even hot."

"I know, right? We could pull way hotter couples than them."

"You think so?"

"No question,"

"Wow," she took a drink of water. "Where do you even find swinging couples?"

"I don't know." I said. "I could do some research, but we'd be getting some freaky targeted ads for a while."

Angela giggled and gave me the schoolgirl look. "That could be fun."

"Swinging or the ads?"

She shrugged and laughed again. My foot was in the door.