Satanic Mirror Punishment for Adultery
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A Tale Of ImmoralityChapter 4: A Glimpse Of Adultery free porn video
You want me to get caught, don't you?
Be honest. You ache for me to be discovered and punished. The dirty whore must have what's due her. She can't be a cheating slut and enjoy it, too. And get away with it. It would be a crying shame.
Look at poor George, you say.
Poor? I bet he is richer than you. He loves his little wife with innocent trust. He is proud of how bubbly and sexy she is.
He is happy.
He never even asks himself why Christmas is so early each year. And so often. His sweet wife keeps bringing all those adventurous new love games into his bedroom, and he has no clue. He just accepts them gratefully.
He should. They are given with all my heart.
You know who would be hurt the most if he found out? George. He'd have to divorce me. He doesn't want that. He loves me and I love him. But even if he didn't want to lose me, he wouldn't have a choice. He'd be a wimp in your eyes if he didn't throw me out. He'd reap your scorn and disgust, wouldn't he? He'd have to.
But after that he'd be all alone.
To you it would mean nothing that he would lose all he has. For you there is only Truth, Morality and Decency. To hell with all the poor souls that get trampled to mush under the iron boots of that unholy trinity.
"Justice must be done."
I am Anne, remember?
Almost thirty. I do PR and marketing for a fast growing company of delicatessen and catering shops throughout the state. And even beyond.
I am also the Anne who spices up her life by fucking men behind her husband's back.
It had been five months since I was with the crazy perfume maker in San Francisco. Sometimes I dreamed of his generous toy. But I never went back. I didn't even take his phone calls. The Law of Anne was back in force.
Once was all I'd allow myself. Well, two at the most.
The little bottles he gave me had long since been emptied. And yes, of course they never had the awesome power they seemed to have in his magical bedroom. Scents and fragrances can be potent aphrodisiacs. But their main ingredient will always be your imagination.
Still, they — and the memories attached — aroused me enough. They brought a lot of joy and satisfaction to our bedroom.
And to my George.
As I said before, I never actively search for my next conquest. It has to reveal itself, a present of Fate.
Justin proved to be that present, five months after my last fling. It was high summer and we were working on the winter holidays' brochures and campaigns.
Justin was a photographer.
He wanted to be a famous fashion photographer one day. But he was still young and had to earn a living. So he shot our food. He had become very good at it. But it wasn't where his heart was.
It was rather surreal to dress the sets with holly and artificial snow while outside his studio temperatures were nearing the hundred mark. His AC wasn't exactly state of the art either. So there we were all sweating over Thanksgiving turkeys and jingle bells.
That's when Justin took off his shirt.
He's a bit younger than I am, maybe by six or seven years. And I somehow never perceived him as handsome or physically impressive. Until he took off that shirt.
He had tanned muscles in all the right places. His shoulders were wide and his belly tight as a drum. I loved how ropes of muscle rolled beneath the skin of his back. And I sure appreciated his buns, tightly packed in faded denim.
Even his rugged face looked way more attractive than I remembered.
I only wore a thin white cotton blouse and a rather short skirt over my bare legs. But after Justin started moving around half naked, the studio definitely seemed to get hotter.
Of course we weren't alone.
There were the art director and the food specialist. And a boy to assist with the lighting.
Obviously, it wasn't wise to distract the photographer while on my boss's precious time, so I just looked on. I bided my time and bit my lip. I must admit that I didn't concentrate much on the turkey anymore. Or on the delicious Christmas pies, for that matter.
Around eight pm we were mostly done.
The others had left, but I wasn't in a hurry. (Yes, sorry, my flings have made me quite calculating when I smell a chance. Through the years, the level of sluttiness in my blood must have risen significantly. Ah well.)
Then Justin called my name. It startled me. I must have been daydreaming while he put his lenses away. Or whatever.
"You look beautiful, Anne," he said. I guess I blushed.
"I have to go," I answered. True, it wasn't quite what I meant to say.
"A pity," he said and smiled.
I caught his eyes and asked, "Why?"
He walked over to me. His bare torso became almost uncomfortably prominent. He had interesting nipples.
"I'd love to take pictures of you, Anne. I think you are beautiful."
His fingers formed a frame to look through. He smiled. I laughed nervously. Was there ever a more transparent pick up line.
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