Chris

"Hello?" The man who opens the door greets you curiously.

"Good morning, Mr. ______?' You ask, glancing at the manilla folder in your hand as if double checking the name.

"Yes, that's me," He nods, a concerned look on his face as he regards you. You've dressed in a dark suit and are carrying a binder of folders, making you look semi-official. "Can I help you?"

"I believe you can, Mr. _______," you nod efficiently, glancing up and down the street, "but perhaps we should talk indoors."

"Oh, yes, of course," Chris nodded, opening the door wider for you to step inside. "Now, what's this all about?" he asks as he shuts the door behind you, motioning you into the living room.

"Well, Chris," you say, flipping through the folders as if searching for something. "You don't mind if I call you Chris, do you?"

"No, not at all," he assures you, motioning you to take a seat on the couch.

"Thank you," you smile, sitting down as you pull a folder out. "The reason I'm here today is that recently you had a package sent through the post. A package that shall we say... wasn't up to our usual decency standards."

"The pictures?!" Chris gasped, a look of shock and horror on his face as he realized what you are talking about. "You're here about the pictures. I... I was wondering why they hadn't arrived yet."

"They were delivered to another party. They were quite shocked when they opened the package," you tell him, couching everything you say in pseudo-official speak. You don't tell him that you got the pictures or that you've jerked off numerous times to his lovely wife. "And that's why I'm here now."

"Am I in any trouble?" Chris asks worriedly, glancing around the small living room as if picturing himself going to jail.

"Not yet, Chris," you assure him vaguely.

"Not yet," he echoes, his worried frown increasing as he looks at you. "What do you mean by that? What... what do I have to do to get out of trouble?"