The Pictures

You have to admit, a perverse little voice in my head whispered. You do look pretty good for your age.

The pictures had been sent to me through the mail. A plain brown envelope that I pulled open without really thinking. Dumping the contents out onto my desk in a spray of glossy photo paper, each one a snapshot of my debasement.

I was lucky that I had been working from home today. Quickly I went and locked my home office door before sitting back down and giving the photos a proper look.

There were easily fifty pictures all told and all on the same theme, some were wide shots, where you could see myself and the men crowded around me. Either ramming their cocks roughly into my mouth and pussy or waiting their turn. Cocks in hand as they watched the others. Yet more of them were close-ups of my body and face. A cock withdrawing from my sex, a stream of cum pouring out as I overflowed from the other men. My face, a mess of smudged make-up and semen, captured just as a long stream of cum shot across my cheeks.

Over that one night, every part of my body that could be used to bring a man to climax had been used and they had gotten the photos to prove it. The final image in the set was the nail in the coffin. It was just me, flat out on my back on the bed, spread-eagled with my eyes closed. The flash of the camera picking up the slug trails of semen that crisscrossed my body. My sex stretched wide and leaking a thick stream of off-white fluid and laying on my stomach, clear as day, was my driver's license.

A part of me felt a bit sick at seeing these stark images of what had happened but I wasn’t too shocked by them. I had seen the camera, been dazzled by the flash as I had it stuck in my face. Had listened to the men joking about how much a porno of a senator's wife would fetch. The memory of them laughing and joking as I lay on the bed. Panting for breath before another cock was rammed into my mouth. Hearing a man grunt as he came inside of me, his cock being withdrawn and quickly replaced with another.

At the bottom of the pile were a few copies of the photos of my husband. The message clear, Cooperate or your husband goes down as well. Yet there wasn’t a note with demands, in fact, the envelope was empty aside from the pictures. I leant back in my chair, I guess they want me to sweat a bit before they make their demands. It wasn’t like the demands are going to be hard to predict. It will be a phone call or text, another order to arrive at a certain place. Be picked up by a certain car and then be fucked by a collection of men in balaclavas.

I shuffle the pictures back into the envelope, making a mental note to burn them. As I start to shutdown my computer and tidy things away I am distantly aware that I am panicking. My mind riding the crest of a wave of fear that was very likely going to drown me when it finally crashed down.

I’ve been here before however, granted the last time it was pictures of my husband sucking some back alley cock. It really is a whole other thing when the pictures were of you doing your best impression of a cum dumpster. The context didn’t matter to the pictures, the fact that you were ****, that you drank yourself as close to unconsciousness before it to get through it. In the end, the reasons would come out and that would be it. Marcus’s was barely in the Senate and if this came out there was no way he would last. He needed time to do enough good for the people of the state that they would be on his side or at least not care when this came to light.

So you sit back in your chair and think, performing the same mental gymnastics that had gotten you through the times Marcus had **** himself to have sex with you. Back then you had told yourself that it was so you could have children and now you told yourself it was so you could keep what you had.

However, as you sit there the thing that keeps you from losing it is a single burning coal of anger. A white-hot ball that demands you find the names of every last person involved in this and bring them down.

You allow yourself a tiny smile as you think about it. These people clearly think they know what they are doing but you doubt they have ever met someone like you.