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I don't know how things got this far out of hand. It started simply enough. Several years ago my husband began taking boudoir photos of me which I thought were for his enjoyment only. He said he wanted to take them with him on business trips to have something to look at while he masturbated. Secretly it excited me, thinking of my husband in a motel room somewhere looking at the Polaroids of me in lingerie, or naked, his cock in his hand while he jerked off as he gazed at my photos. I was fine with that. Until...
One day I had to go into his briefcase to find some papers, and much to my surprise, there were my photos. I guess I hadn't realized he was carrying them around with him. Then I began to wonder if he had shown them to anyone, so one evening during our before dinner cocktail hour I confronted him about it.
"I found my photos in your briefcase, Bob," I began. "You told me you got rid of them. You haven't shown them to anyone have you?" I asked.
"No. Well, I mean... not intentionally," he murmured. "At least not at first."
I felt an instant rush of heat coursing through my body when I began to consider what he meant. "What the hell does THAT mean, Bob? Has someone seen my pictures? Answer me, and you tell me the TRUTH, damn you!"
One day I had to go into his briefcase to find some papers, and much to my surprise, there were my photos. I guess I hadn't realized he was carrying them around with him. Then I began to wonder if he had shown them to anyone, so one evening during our before dinner cocktail hour I confronted him about it.
"I found my photos in your briefcase, Bob," I began. "You told me you got rid of them. You haven't shown them to anyone have you?" I asked.
"No. Well, I mean... not intentionally," he murmured. "At least not at first."
I felt an instant rush of heat coursing through my body when I began to consider what he meant. "What the hell does THAT mean, Bob? Has someone seen my pictures? Answer me, and you tell me the TRUTH, damn you!"
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