Laura sends a naked picture to your neighbor.

It's Saturday, 5:12 p.m.

You're sitting on the couch with your phone in your hand, your heart pounding so hard you can almost hear it. Laura is in the kitchen making lemonade, humming a Christian song she always sings when she's happy. She's wearing a light white cotton dress that clings a little to her body in the late-spring heat. The sun streams through the window and lights up her brown hair, which falls in waves down to her waist.

You close your eyes for a second, take a deep breath, and select the option on the hidden page:

[✓] Laura sends a nude photo to your neighbor (face covered, slipped under his door).

You stand up, pocket the phone, and walk toward her. You hug her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder. She smells like vanilla and soap.

“Sweetheart…” you whisper against her ear. “Can we talk for a second?”

She turns around with the pitcher in her hand, smiling.

“Of course, honey. Everything okay?”

You sit with her at the kitchen table. You take her hands. You have to sound sincere, excited, in love… because part of you really is. The thought twists your stomach with nerves and, at the same time, makes you rock hard.

“Look… these past few days I’ve been thinking about how incredibly lucky I am to have you. You’re gorgeous, Laura. Every time I look at you, I lose my mind. And… I know we want to wait until marriage for everything, and I respect that with all my soul, I swear. But there are things that… don’t break that promise, you know? Things that can make us feel closer, more desired by each other.”

She looks at you with those big, innocent eyes, a little confused.

“Like what?”

“Like… playing a little. Doing things that turn us on without crossing the final line.” You lower your voice, lock eyes with her. “It drives me wild to see you feeling sexy, baby. When I see you confident, when I know other men are dying for you but you’re only mine… it turns me on so much.”

Her cheeks flush bright red. She squeezes your hands.

“W-what do you have in mind?”

You take a deep breath, as if it’s hard to say (and part of it really is).

“I want to take a picture of you. Naked. But only from the neck down—no one would see your face. No one would know it’s you. And… we’d slip it under Mr. Jackson’s door, the neighbor. Just so he sees for a second how perfect the woman is that I’m going to have forever.”

Laura’s eyes go wide. She brings a hand to her chest.

“But… that would be showing myself to another man!”

“Just your body, my love. Your pretty little face wouldn’t be in it. And it’s not like he’d ever touch you or have you. He’d just see what I see every day and go crazy over. It would be… our dirty little secret. Something only you and I know we did to drive each other wild before the wedding.”

She bites her lip. She’s silent for an agonizingly long time. You stroke her fingers, waiting.

“I… I don’t know… isn’t that a sin?”

“Not if we do it together as a couple, baby. We’re not breaking our promise to wait for real sex. It’s just… a game. And you’re so beautiful it feels selfish to keep you all to myself without anyone knowing what I’m getting.”

She lowers her gaze. Her eyes glisten a little, but you also catch that spark of curiosity that always appears when you suggest something “naughty.” She knows you’d never ask her to do anything that would truly make her feel dirty.

“Would… would it turn you on a lot if I did it?”

“God, Laura… I could come just thinking about it,” you whisper, and this time you’re not lying.

She blushes all the way to her ears. She thinks for a moment. Then, very softly:

“Only… only if you’re sure it’s not a sin. And if no one sees my face. And if afterward we pray together to ask forgiveness just in case.”

“I promise.”

She stands up, takes your hand, and leads you to the bedroom. She closes the door. She stands in front of the bed, breathing fast.

“You… you tell me how to pose.”

Your hands shake as you take out your phone. She slowly slips off her dress—first the straps, then lets it fall. She’s wearing a white lace bra and matching panties, so innocent they look like good-girl lingerie. She unhooks the bra and lets it drop. Her perfect 34D breasts, firm, with pink nipples already hard from nerves. She instinctively covers them with one arm, but you say softly:

“No, baby… let me see all of you. You’re perfect.”

She lowers her arm, trembling. Then, with deep embarrassment, she slides her panties down. It’s the first time you’ve seen her completely naked in person. Her pussy is small, perfectly shaved except for a thin strip of brown hair. Plump, closed lips, pale pink. You can barely breathe.

“Holy God, Laura…”

She covers her face with both hands, dying of shame, but she’s also giggling nervously.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s embarrassing!”

You have her pose standing, first with her back to the camera: that round, perfect ass that jiggles a little when she stands on tiptoe. Then facing forward, one hand strategically covering her mound and the other over a breast, but leaving plenty visible. You tell her to arch her back a bit, push her chest out. She obeys, flushed down to her neck.

You take several photos. In one she covers her nipples with her fingers, in another she turns slightly so you see the profile of her tits and the curve of her ass. For the last one, you convince her to get on her knees on the bed, facing away, looking back over her shoulder with her hair covering her face. The curve of her waist and that perfect ass are immortalized.

You print the best one in the living room (the one where everything is visible: her breasts, her tiny waist, the start of her little slit when she parts her legs slightly). Not a single inch of her face shows.

Laura gets dressed again, trembling with arousal and guilt. She hugs you tight.

“Now… now we pray, okay?”

You kneel with her beside the bed. She asks forgiveness in case she sinned, but you notice how she presses her thighs together while she prays. She’s soaked. You know it.

When you finish, it’s 6:07 p.m. You’ve already missed the blackmailer’s deadline, but it doesn’t matter: you’ve made your choice.

You go to Mr. Jackson’s door with the photo in a plain white envelope. Laura waits inside, biting her nails. You slide the envelope under the neighbor’s door. You hear his footsteps. The door doesn’t open, but you know he picked it up.

You go back inside. Laura looks at you with shining eyes.

“Is it done?”

“It’s done.”

She throws herself into your arms, kisses you with tongue for the first time in weeks.

“You’re so bad… you made me do something crazy,” she whispers against your mouth.

You squeeze her ass over her dress.

“And you’re the sexiest, most obedient fiancée in the world.”

That night she gives you a long, slow blowjob, looking into your eyes the whole time, like she’s both apologizing and thanking you. She swallows everything—something she’s never done before.

And you know this is only the beginning.