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Prologue

Kyran Hamilton was a busy young woman. The tall, curvaceous redhead with the lovely face was involved with two separate tasks at the same time, although the first was the only one requiring any active thought. The second was, however, delightfully making concentrating on the first hard to do. She was making a valiant effort and, judging from audible and tactile responses, her effort was being appreciated.

Kyran was performing these tasks, on her knees, in front of the desk chair of her employer, John Thomas. He was not the one occupying the chair at present. No, that honor fell to the delightful Sally Fielding, a cute buxom brunette who was a fellow employee of Kyran. Sally, naked save for her stockings and garter belt, had one foot up on the large oak desk beside her, the other leg and foot draped over the right arm of the chair. Her head was against the back of the chair, her face a mask of orgasmic delight, as she played with the nipples of both her lush breasts. Kyran, attired in the same fashion as Sally, had her tongue and finger engaged in a frenzied dual assault on her coworker's hairless cunt.

The second task that was trying to divide Kyran's attention involved pushing her hips back toward the cock of John Thomas when he would take a deep, rapid plunge into her. The large muscular man with the shaved head was behind her, pounding his long, thick cock into her delightfully aroused pussy. The three of them had been at this for a very good while today, although Kyran and Sally had changed places in the process. The two of them had also put on a bit of a show for their employer beforehand, engaging in some naughty foreplay. The women were not at all hesitant about such things. They knew each other's body just as well as that of their employer, having kissed, licked, nibbled, and touched nearly every inch of each other over the last few months. The mutual delight and sexual abandon the three were currently enjoying at this particular moment might not have been as intense had they been aware of one simple fact. Their little experiment in workplace togetherness was not only being observed by a fourth party, it was being preserved for posterity.

Through the glass window of an empty office across the street, a man was engaged in capturing the activities of the three through a tripod mounted camera with a large telephoto lens.

"They're going at it right in front of floor to ceiling office windows." He spat with contempt, "They might as well be fucking in a storefront on Main Street."

The photographer was a slim, but muscular young man with dark brown hair and a well trimmed beard. His piercing blue eyes that were peering through the viewfinder were troubled. There was pain and hurt there. This was for good reason. This man was Willis Hamilton. The lovely red head in the middle of the sexual sandwich across the way was his bride of nearly three years.

I had known Kyran Hillis for a good many years. We had attended the same high school, though I was two grades ahead of her. I admired the pretty red head, despite the age difference, but we travelled in different circles and had never met as such. She was athletic, playing basketball and softball. I was a fan of various sports, but was content to be a spectator. I did run and do calisthenics, but that was more for health and appearance benefits.

I was more the artistic type. I enjoyed paintings and sculpture, but photography was my medium. I had taken up the craft at a young age. An aunt had a photography bug as well, and she had encouraged me with the gift of a well worn but serviceable 35mm camera. She had soon taught me the process of developing my own film and I had gone from there, like a duck to water. Before I was out of high school, I was already working for pay, doing family portraits, pictures of kids, and the usual baby's first photo shoots in a spare room of the family home. I poured all my profit back into the business, as well as any other money coming my way, and soon I was the proprietor of a studio. I had a nicely furnished apartment upstairs with a darkroom attached.

I enrolled at the community college after two years of hard work getting established. I wanted to master the new digital photography techniques that were the wave of the future and felt that I needed to be capable. Digital had much going for it to be sure, and I was soon conquering the intricacies of the new technology. Two things had conspired together in this new setting to radically change my life.

First, there was an old, familiar face at the college that semester. Kyran Hillis was taking business courses to aid in her employment at her dad's store. I noticed that she had become even lovelier than before, tall and lush, with those delicious long shapely legs. Her fiery red hair, green eyes, and smooth creamy skin gave her the look of a modern day Celtic goddess. I wanted desperately to ask her out, but though the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. I knew she had no steady boyfriend, through casual inquiry, but couldn't find some way to summon the intestinal fortitude to ask her out. Then an assignment in class gave me the impetus.

I was required to do an old staple of all visual media, a nude. The photo actually formed in my mind in moments. All I needed was the ideal model, and that model was Kyran Hillis. A black and white, with subtle lighting and an additional light source would form a basis. The young woman's smooth cream colored skin was the feature I would highlight. With the lighting planned and the right camera and Photoshop magic, I would have her smooth alabaster skin glowing like a new moon. Between that aspect and the contrast of light and shadow accentuating her classic beauty, it would be a work of art that could not fail to get me the highest possible grade. The act of setting up the photo shoot would, of course, have the secondary benefit of letting me get close to the model and perhaps lead to a possible romance. There were, of course, two obvious problems. First, I had to convince her to model the shot, without her thinking I was some perverted stalker. And second, I had to summon the courage to even talk to her in the first place.

All had gone well, although I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. She had later confessed to being both flattered by my interest, and amused by my discomfort. So much amused, in fact, that she had faked outrage and verbally attacked me just to see me further twist in the wind. When I confessed that the request for the photo pose was legit, but that I was quite attracted to her, she had nearly melted. As is so often the case in these matters, it turned out that she was actually interested in me and was just waiting for me to ask her out. The following Friday night was the photo shoot and our first date all rolled into one. The evening culminated in some very mutually satisfying lovemaking, and our romance was set in motion.

In a little over a year, we had taken our relationship to the ultimate level, marrying in a small ceremony with our respective friends and family attending. I was deliriously happy with Kyran. She returned my passion with the same force. We both loved the other's parents, we were careful not to spend too much time at work, thus neglecting one another, and we were loving and romantic with each other. We made wise choices with our finances and we made sure the sex was both plentiful and mutually satisfying.

It was in the area of sex, oddly enough that trouble reared its ugly head. I am, admittedly, old fashioned. I'm a hopeless romantic, and my sexual appetites are based on that aspect of my personality. I believe in treating any woman, especially my wife, as a valuable jewel. To demean her, or disrespect her in any fashion was not my way. Kyran was a bit more adventurous than me, which was somewhat amusing, since this was a kind of reversal of roles I suppose.

I tried to be open to her suggestions. The racy lingerie was a big hit with me. I loved to lick her pussy, so I was definitely down with her decision to shave it. Her little strawberry colored pussy was very lovely and needed no framing if you get my meaning. Kyran, as befitted a woman with those legs, loved to wear skirts and dresses. She wore her hemlines long enough to be proper mind you, but the secret knowledge we shared was very hot. Kyran wore garter belts and stockings nearly exclusively. The few pairs of pantyhose she had were scandalously crotchless, which drove me wild. We would go out to eat and see a movie, and the knowledge that she was wearing nothing under her dress but those things would have me in a lather by the time we came home. When she came home with a book of exotic sex positions I raced her to the bedroom to begin the experiment. I even tied her up on occasion which she loved no end. I liked tickling her, which turned her on, but she couldn't take much of it, as she was basically one big ticklish spot. This was especially true of the soles of her feet.

She just kept pushing the envelope which disturbed me. When she wanted us to watch porn together, I sincerely tried to get into it, but it's just not me. What a husband and wife shared was, to me, something that was an expression of love. I'm not excited by the reduction of that to animalistic rutting. Not that I'm a prude by any means. What Kyran and I shared together, as long as it was mutually agreed on and pleasurable to both, was fine with me. With this new interest, it was as if an outside party was trying to elbow itself into our partnership.

It was then that the role playing idea was brought up. Here again, it wasn't so much my cup of tea, but I tried to comply with my wife's desires. What I drew the line at was any attempt to put someone else in our marital bed. As long as she and I were two mythical characters in the scenario, that was one thing. When either one of us were to be standing in for an actual person, I considered that to be crossing a line. That stance led to a major dust up over my part time assistant Carrie Wilson.

I had to be out of the studio on business at times. Mostly these times were picture days at the various county schools. Here I took the usual class photos that were used in yearbooks and the packets that were sent home for friends and family. This was a lucrative source of income which could not be easily passed over, but it came at a price. It left the studio unmanned. I attacked this problem with the easy step of asking my former professor to recommend one of his current students who might be interested in part time work. Carrie was recommended with enthusiasm and duly hired.

Carrie was one of those rare beautiful women who didn't know that they were, despite being repeatedly told as much. She was, quite frankly, a bombshell. She barely broke the five foot mark, but looked taller thanks to her shapely legs. She was ample of both bosom and hip for her size, but not overly so. Her waist was slim and her little butt was well shaped. Her hair was long, thick, and corn silk blonde. She was an outdoors type of girl, and her skin was tanned and smooth. Her eyes were frosty blue and her face was stunning. The usual extent of her makeup was a little lip gloss, and on a heavy day, some eyeliner and lipstick. That was pretty much all that she needed.

Her personality was every bit as beautiful as her face and body. She was easy to talk to, on a wide range of subjects. She was a good moral person without being judgmental. She had a clear head, and was good to turn to for advice. Her loyalty, once given was absolute. Her best quality, for me, was her ease with children and babies, which are the bane of my profession at times. I'm good with them, but she was two levels above me, as they adored her and she them. I would often bring her into the studio even when I was there, if a lot of babies were due for the day. I would, on many occasions, tease her that she was apt to have about a half dozen children. She was fantastic at her job, and like me, was just as into the work stuff as the artistic shots. Now, I'm not blind. She was a woman you couldn't help but notice. I didn't let my mind think of her that way. I couldn't. She was a smart woman, and very perceptive. Had I given in to those thoughts, she would have picked up on it, for I would have started feeling guilty about it. So, I didn't go there.

One memorable night Kyran and I had been hitting the wine a bit hard and things were going into the red zone. I was getting all fired up and then she did it. Kyran basically wanted me to pretend she was Carrie and have at her. I objected, strongly. Okay, I was pissed. I just couldn't seem to get it through my wife's head that I did not want a third person in our bed, real or imaginary. I certainly didn't need another woman, and quite frankly it hurt that she seemed to want to fantasize about another men. If I seem overly sensitive, then shoot me. I'm, like I said, an old fashioned romantic. We got it smoothed out, and I thought the problem was finally solved. If she was doing any fantasizing, she was going about it the right way, without my knowledge. Ignorance is bliss they say. Problem is, truth has an ugly habit of pushing ignorance out of the way.

As I said, shortly after that night, if anything, things got better. We were going at it like minks for goodness sake. She had read something about foot fetishes and introduced it to me. I actually liked it and it seemed to really light her fire. To be frank, she did have a sexy little pair of feet, and they were especially hot when she had her stockings on. I discovered she could do some very inventive things with those feet, like bring me to orgasm by rubbing my cock with them, after she "forced" me to worship them of course.

In the weeks to come, she was a handful. We were making love just about every night. On the weekends she was as wild as a cat. I was a tired, but happy man. Kyran had always been a wonderful lover and it gave me pride to know that she desired me so greatly. I had always done little things to let her know that I loved her, at least telling her so several times a day, in addition to small presents and flowers on a regular basis. Since we both worked, I also pitched in with the cooking and cleaning. It seemed as if I couldn't have been happier. I had a great and successful business, a great marriage, and a dynamite sex life.

Almost overnight things changed. She came home from work one Monday a different woman. It was nearly a week before we made love, as she claimed to be feeling poorly. It wasn't just the sex. There was no affection, and very little touching or her normal endearments. It was like she was somewhere else in her mind. Even when the sex returned it wasn't the same. It was like a close copy of the original. If you were paying close attention, it was just slightly off. I had a suspicion, but I quickly shut it down. I told myself that she wasn't that kind of woman. It was closer to the truth to say that I just couldn't handle the thought of such a thing and what it would mean if it were true. Obviously, I asked if something was wrong on more than one occasion. I was always given her assurance that she just had "things on her mind" and it would all be fine. I wasn't quite as optimistic.

Finally, months later, the truth almost hit me in the face. Kyran was lying on her back in our bed as I tried to pleasure her orally. When I saw it I literally ran to the bathroom and threw up my supper. There on the sensitive skin next to her labia had been a light, but very unmistakable passion mark, like a brand of ownership. The obvious problem was that I most assuredly had not put it there. To be sure, I could not be certain that it had been placed deliberately. Skin like Kyran's will mark very easily, without trying very hard. Whether someone was sending me a message intentionally or not, I had gotten it. Intent or lack thereof was really no longer the issue.

Her reaction when I finally came out of the bathroom was just as telling. When I said I must be coming down with a stomach virus and we would have to finish this another night, she almost looked relieved. Suddenly it all made sense. I lay there the rest of the night feeling my world shatter. I knew I had to have some answers. I certainly would not tolerate this betrayal. Fortunately, we were not very far into this thing. There were no children involved, thank God. Job one was to cover my ass and protect my hard built business. I needed advice, and I knew who my first shoulder to cry on would be.

The next morning after Kyran left for work, I called Carrie, and asked if she could come to the studio. She had no classes that week, and assured me that she would be right there. I gave her no clues as to the real reason I needed her today. I would just lay the situation out to her face instead of over the phone.

"My God, Will!" she said, on hearing my account of the sad details. "Are you sure about all this? Maybe she's just got something heavy on her mind. Maybe it was just a bruise you saw."

"Don't I wish?" I sighed to Carrie. "It's not just the mark, and I'm certain it wasn't a bruise. What's killing me is that all the evidence so far points to one stark conclusion. Let's lay this out and examine the reasons I'm suspicious. First, we have her altering sexual appetites. She wanted all this outside people stuff, and then it just goes away, never to be mentioned again. Then she comes at me like she's sex starved. For weeks she nearly kills me with kindness, if you will. I'm being introduced to different sex ideas that she supposedly got from reading articles or something. Then just as quickly, our sex life goes to dead stop. Now, it's come back these last months, but I can feel it's different, like she's just going through the motions. Now when you add all that up, and add the passion mark, it's not looking too good for old Will here Carrie."

"It does look bad," Carrie nodded, looking at me with sadness evident in her eyes. "I still say that you need to proceed with caution here. Where is she hanging out, other than work?"

"That's the crazy thing Carrie." I said, "She hardly goes out alone after work. She never has. We go just about everywhere together. Oh, she'll go see her parents now and again by herself, but I highly doubt she's fudging things there. It would be too easy to check up on her if her story was inconsistent. She sees some friends on occasion, but not very often or consistently. So, if there's anything going on, it's going on during the day most likely."

"I've got an idea." Carrie said as she stood and paced around the room. "Why don't I casually follow her and watch her during the day for awhile. That way, if she is going somewhere, for instance, during her lunch break, then I'll know where."

"If you're willing to do that, that's fine." I said, "But I will, of course, pay you for your time and gas. I will entertain no objection on that score. I insist."

Follow her Carrie did, and not once did Kyran leave for anything out of the ordinary during the day. She would, now and again, go out and pick up lunch and take it back to the office. Judging from the volume of the food, Carrie opined that it was for more than one person. Of course, she was a personal assistant for an executive. Was the food for her and her boss perhaps? That's when it hit me like a lightning bolt.

"Carrie, I just got a sinking feeling." I said with a sigh. "Maybe what's going on doesn't require her to leave her building. Maybe she's assisting in a lot more ways than is usually required. Maybe it's time I take over surveillance while you run the studio. I know what floor she's working on and there are those big floor to ceiling windows in her office. Maybe I can set up across the street and look right in there. You see, Kyran has told me that her boss has a bedroom and bath in that suite. I might see them going in there for a suspicious length of time. I might not catch the full details, but maybe I can get a hint as to what the problem is. If what I suspect is going on, I don't want you subjected to seeing it. I'm a big boy, I can take it. As a matter of fact, I need to see it. I'm crippled and blinded by love here. If she's betraying me, and I see it with my own eyes, the blinders will come off. I won't hurt her physically, I could never do that. But I'll come down on her like the wrath of God, nonetheless."

"Just don't do anything stupid Will." Carrie cautioned, looking into my eyes while holding my hands, "Living well is the best revenge. Life's a big wheel. What goes around comes around."

"I promise little lady." I said with a smile that was only partly forced, "It would suck big time to have to have our little talks through two inches of bulletproof glass with me in orange pajamas."

God was with me. I was able to find an empty office directly across the street. With my camera set up on a tripod, and with a telephoto lens attached that would let me zoom in on a pimple on somebody's ass if they had one, I settled in to wait. It wasn't a long wait. Either these people were stupid, incredibly arrogant, or a combination of the two.

I couldn't see much the first day, because a lot of the action took place in that bedroom. Believe me; enough went on in the office proper to let you know they weren't playing Texas Hold 'Em back there. It wasn't just my wife and her employer either. I had heard my dear wife talk about the little brunette receptionist, Sally Fielding. My wife had called her a floozy and said she was probably bisexual. Well, surprise! So, apparently was my lovely bride, although floozy might be a bit too mild a term for either of them. The bisexual part was beyond appropriate for the both of them, however.

On day two, I hit the mother lode. All the action took place right there behind the big man's desk, in front of the window, and I got the whole thing. A memory card in a digital camera will hold a world of heartache; I'm here to tell you. Strangely enough, I was feeling completely different than I thought I would. I was angry, sure. I was also hurt. I felt disgust and contempt. I damn sure didn't get a hard on. I didn't shed a single tear, though my eyes did water up a bit. I just felt, well, numb. I guess a lot of that was due to the fact that I already knew, deep down inside, what I was going to find out here. One thing I did feel for sure was a deep need to make all three of them hurt like I was.

Step one was to make copies of all those damning photographs. One set went right away into a safety deposit box that Carrie rented. I stored the rest in a safe place and sat down to plot the mayhem that was coming down. I had to do this smart. I wanted to come down on the three of them like hard times, but I needed to look out for me first. When I did hand down retribution, it had to be choreographed. I wanted to move things like the pieces on a chess board. Maximum damage to them was good, while doing so with minimum blowback on me was even better. Since my dad was a former active duty Marine, he had taught me a few things. First and foremost was that I needed recon before I attacked. One of these people, I knew pretty well, obviously not as good as I had thought, but you get my meaning. The other two, especially King Big Dick, needed some study. I wanted to find the chinks in their armor, and I wanted to figure out how they would react when the heat was on so I could stay a move ahead.

I got a nice little bit of information when I looked into Sally Fielding. Her old man was a long haul trucker. He was one of four brothers and they were a hard lot. They were the redneck type that lived by the feud and crossing them would likely result in major hurt to the offending party. I had the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Fielding wouldn't be the type to sit back and willingly share his lovely little wife with anybody. Here was a pressure point that I wasn't aware existed before and I quickly saw that I might be able to put Big Dick's ample balls very firmly in the pliers, much to my benefit.

As far as things on the legal front with me and the soon to be ex wife, that was simple. The Commonwealth of Virginia was community property in divorce matters, but she was walking with bupkus, other than her personal effects and automobile. She made good money. Let her start over. I was the offended party here. I reconsidered and decided to let her have half the savings and checking. There was no credit card debt, as we paid the balance each month. I wasn't being generous with her, it's just that I was planning on receiving a windfall she would have no part of and which would be off the books, so to speak. I wouldn't miss what little I gave up to her. Trust me, with what I had on her, she would play ball. As to that windfall, I quickly rejected the idea of some lame alienation of affection lawsuit. Even if it was feasible, it would be too public, too messy, and too time consuming. I had a better idea. Rather than one nuclear response, I favored three surgical strikes.

The first shot in the war was fired right after The Slut left for work the next day. In no time flat I had her gear packed, boxed, and on its way to the storage center. I also had a man changing all the locks on the doors. Next came the checking and savings accounts, dealing with changing the credit card over, a change in the beneficiary on my life insurance, and my will changed in a different direction. For obvious reasons, I also checked in with my medical provider of choice to be tested for STDs. Then it was off to the office suite of Mr. John Thomas. I had to pray for the gods of timing to be with me here, and they smiled down on me. Out came my wife at close of business and I immediately headed up to Mr. Thomas' office suite without her seeing me. The delectable Mrs. Fielding was obviously packing up to head out for the night as I breezed into the reception area like I owned the place. Without so much as a "by your leave" I headed past her toward the office door, and within a heartbeat, I had planted myself in the well upholstered chair in front of His Highness, King Big Dick.

"And just who the fuck are you?" he asked with a puzzled expression on his face.

"I'm Willis Hamilton." I informed him with a grin like a shark. "And if you're smart, you'll sit there, listen to me, and keep your mouth shut until I ask you to talk."

Oddly enough, he did. Oh, he wanted to talk. I could see the gears turning in his head as he wondered just what I knew, how I knew it, and could I prove it beyond his capacity for plausible deniability. I suppose he decided to let the string play out, to test my position, before he beat my ass and called for security.

"Now, big man," I began, as I fished an envelope out of my briefcase, "There are some very interesting pictures in there. I caught your ... well, come to think of it, you don't have a good side. Neither does your receptionist, or my slut wife for that matter."

"So." He said with venom in his voice and contempt in his eyes, "You somehow got some good pictures of me fucking the help. It seems to me like they would be more of an embarrassment to you than they would to me. People are probably going to think you're not handling business very well at home. I would imagine they'll be proud of me for taking care of two hot women at one time. I won't even bother going into the invasion of privacy angle here."

"Are you shittin' me?" I asked incredulously, "How did a dumb motherfucker like you get rich? First, you're fucking two married women right in front of a glass window. You might as well have sold tickets, you pompous ass. Second of all, you think I'm going to be the embarrassed party here? I'm a self made businessman in this town and people know I'm hard working and moral. I don't drink excessively, do drugs, and run around on my wife. Her own family and friends know I've treated that woman like gold. She'll be seen as the whore she is. Folks will sympathize with me. Women will line up to 'comfort' me. You, on the other hand, will be the poster boy for lowlife shits in this town. How are your business contacts going to see this? Here's a word for you. Try radioactive. Remember, this is a fairly small town, with the resulting small town morals. Things like this stand out here as opposed to, say, New York or Los Angeles. I bet you won't be quite so welcome in the social circle. Your presence already puts a strain on things as is. You're not exactly Donald Trump with the earring and the tats and the Harley."

"The next thing you need to concern yourself about is Mr. Fielding and the rest of the Fielding clan. I have strong suspicions that their reaction to these photos won't be litigation. I dare say that you're going to need a bulletproof vehicle and a security team to replace that Harley. To sum up, Mr. Thomas, I've got you by the short hairs. Oh, excuse me, photographic evidence says you don't have short hairs. Let's change short hairs to ball sack."

"I've got two questions." He said, looking like someone took a healthy crap in his oatmeal, "How much are these pictures going to cost me? And how do I know you won't release them anyway?"

"Actually, John, you're going to get off relatively light." I said with a grin. "Being the artistic type, I've got a feeling for poetic justice today. You literally screwed a marriage that was almost three years old. So, in answer to your first question, that comes to three million dollars. That's a large amount to me, but a mere pittance to a high roller like you. Among those photos is the number of an offshore account. If the money is in said account by 10:00 am in the morning, you will get the second and final set of pictures. That is, of course, with the exception of a set that will be held in a secure location against the eventuality of my unfortunate demise of any suspicious nature. Just be glad Kyran and I hadn't been together ten or twenty years. There's one other thing, John. That set of photos will also be held to enforce a non disclosure agreement. The exchange of the three million stays between you and I. You tell no one. You especially don't tell Kyran. If that whore tries to come after it in a divorce settlement, the pictures come out. She also keeps her job. I'm damned if I'm paying her alimony to sleep around on me."