Detective Mara Lopez
She arrives at my door at 9 pm, our first time meeting, and after a handshake I let her inside. She compliments my small apartment. She's just trying to be nice. Her heels cost more than my furniture. I notice that she's dressed for the occasion, as if this were a job interview. I get the feeling she wants an off-the-books favor.
I never have meetings like this, but Becky is the wife of someone who runs a private religious institution. A powerful one. And they are a power couple in this state and have lots of money and political influence. She strikes me as a trophy wife, someone who's there to look good with a cushy public relations job in their organization.
We sit in the living room and I serve coffee. She takes a small sip, nervous about being here.
"What can I do for you?" I ask.
"Are you discreet? Will this stay between us? Or will you have to report this to the police department?"
"Technically I'm a mandatory reporter, meaning if I know of a crime, I have to report it. But if you can keep a secret, so can I."
She opens her purse and places an unmarked envelope on the table. The top is open and I can see a stack of bills inside, brand new, wrapped in the center.
"That's ten thousand dollars for now," she says.
"What's this about?"
"I need your help. Between us, okay? I don't want the police involved."
"We can get into a lot of trouble over this."
"No one will ever know," she says. "Please, just help me, okay?"
I regret my tone, because it's women like Becky who are the reason I work in law enforcement. I'm the product of a broken home. My mother was abused by two different husbands. I live vicariously through my mother.
"This will stay between us," I say. "Whatever you tell me will remain a secret. But if I need to involve the police, I'll tell you. How does that sound?"
She nods. "Thank you."
"Please, put your money away. It makes me uncomfortable."
"Sorry."
Becky takes the envelope and puts it back inside her purse.
"Do you have a problem with your husband?" I ask. "Is he violent?"
She shakes her head. "No, never. Not in a million years."
"Are you actively involved in a crime, or have been in the past?"
"I've never committed a crime in my life," she says. "I mean, speeding, sure, occasionally. Little things, like anyone else. Nothing I'd ever go to jail for."
"That's good, I'm glad. So what brings you here? Why do you need my help?"
Becky takes a deep breath. "We're being blackmailed."
"You and your husband?"
"Correct."
"Do you know who's doing this?" I ask.
"Not exactly, that's the problem, but I have some ideas."
And just like that, I'm in uncharted territory in my career. Now I'm thrust into a political space where I'm not sure I want to be. I've also never dealt with blackmail before. At least not of this magnitude.
I think fast, wondering how I should approach this delicate situation. Becky looks like she hasn't been sleeping well. The lines around her eyes are pronounced.
"This can remain between us, for now. I understand your need for discretion given the fact that your husband is a public figure."
She nods. "Thank you. Thank you."
"Do you mind if I ask a few questions?"
"Sure. This is about sex, just to give you a warning."
"Did you have an affair?"
"No, the opposite," she says. "My husband Frank arranged the whole thing. I'm sure you get what I'm hinting at."
"It's a common fantasy amongst men."
My ex-boyfriend wanted the same thing from me, so I understand what Becky is saying. I keep a straight face, but I'm taken aback that the golden couple are engaged in this sort of thing. Saying it would be a public scandal is an understatement, especially with a wife as beautiful as Becky.
"I never knew about this fetish until he told me," Becky says. "We've been together since college and I was faithful to him. I never dreamed of being with other men. I was always by Frank's side, even helping him run the family business. Are you interested in hearing this?"
"If it's relevant to your situation, then I'd like to know."
"This is humiliating. I've never discussed this before."
"Secrecy is part of my job. I've heard it all."
There's a brief moment of silence as Becky looks down, shaking her head in disbelief, wondering how she got here.
"It was first discussed on our anniversary," she says. "We'd been together for a long time and we had a romantic dinner. We made love that night, it was normal, and he randomly asked if I'd sleep with another man. It was blunt, like he rehearsed it. At first I thought he was suspicious of me, that he was accusing me of having an affair. I denied it. I've never cheated on anyone.
She continues, "But then I realized that I misunderstood. Frank was still inquiring, but he wasn't mad, wasn't accusing me. I know when my husband wants something and it became clear that he wanted to see me with another man. I was shocked. Horrified. Stunned. How could any man want that from his wife? I dedicated my life to him -- we made a vow to God -- and that's what he wanted from me? I was furious and nearly screamed at him.
She continues, "In hindsight, I should have known. Early into our marriage, Frank used to ask about my previous sexual experiences. I thought it was Frank's way of testing my purity and I wanted to be honest with him. He used to ask about my prior experiences giving oral sex. Looking back, I'm sure it aroused him. Is this too much information?"
Becky accepts her humiliation and is opening herself. Her eyes are locked on mine and she wants to leave after telling this story.
"This doesn't bother me," I say. "If you're comfortable telling me, then I want to hear it."
"It's graphic, okay?"
I nod. "We're both women, both adults. The sexual details will remain between us. I just need the relevant information so I can help."
"Thank you."
"Don't worry about it. Tell me about the man you slept with. Or the men, assuming there were multiple."
"There were multiple," she says, cheeks blushing. "The first time was when we moved our primary residence to Florida, to a nice place outside Miami. It was the start of a new life. The hot weather and sunshine were a change of pace for me. I'd always been shy with my body, always dressed conservatively. That's how I was raised. But at my age, I wanted a change. I know I'm getting older and I wanted to make the best of my time. I worked out harder and enjoyed the pool.
She continues, "Months later, I was getting so comfortable in my new body, that when the kids were at school, I would walk around in a bikini and thin robe. It was the new version of me. The version that felt younger and more free. But that's what got me into trouble. It's where my moral values began to stray."
"What happened?" I ask.
"There are many conservatives in South Florida and my husband was getting invited to a lot of events. I was treated like a celebrity and I enjoyed dressing up, meeting classy people, important people. I wore dresses that I never dreamed of wearing before. My arms and upper chest were displayed. I liked showing off.
She continues, "We were invited to a pool party and my husband encouraged me to wear a bikini smaller than what I'd normally wear. He assured me that the other women were around my age, which made me feel better. I decided to join. Why not? Life is short. We arrived and I wore a small bikini with loose clothing over it. Once the party started, it was strictly swimsuits for everyone. While the men talked about business, us women lounged by the pool, talking about lighter subjects.
She continues, "There was a young man there, a pool boy doing menial tasks, who was eying me. At first it bothered me, but I'll admit, it made me feel sexy. It made me feel attractive to be noticed by a much younger man. I guess that's one of the major differences of living in Florida, people are more open about their sexual interests.
She continues, "Later during the party, I met with my husband and told him everything, how it made me uncomfortable. Frank laughed, saying he could tell that I was enjoying the attention. We've been together for so long that he can read my body language and emotions. He knows when my heart is conflicted."
"Did he encourage you?" I ask.
"Of course he did. Yeah. Frank told me that we'd be there for a couple more hours, that I might as well make the best of it. He said the place was huge, that I could take the pool boy to the bathroom, and no one would know. My jaw dropped. For the first time in our marriage, I wanted to slap him across the face.
She continues, "Instead I stormed off, going back to the group of women, pretending like everything was normal. I know how to be a good wife. I know how to put on an act because my husband's life is public. I love my husband, but I also have to be performative in front of others.
She continues, "I kept thinking about it. While the women talked, I daydreamed. The hours came and went and the party was almost over. The pool boy kept admiring me from afar, every so often. I thought about it. God, I thought about it. Aside from handshakes and hugs, I hadn't touched another man since I started dating my husband in college. I imagined what it would be like. You know, to touch another guy down below.
She continues, "I accidentally made eye contact with the pool boy, smiled at him, then looked away. I needed to use the bathroom after all the drinks I had, pure coincidence. I went to pee. Thinking nothing of it. The pool boy mistakenly thought I was sending him a signal, because there he was, standing outside the bathroom with a smile on his face.
She continues, "It was our first time talking and he was quite flirtatious with me. That was a new experience for me, as I mentioned -- South Florida -- the rules are different. Young men in our previous residence wouldn't dare to flirt with me so brazenly, the age thing and all, who my husband is. I was treated with respect where I'm originally from. This young guy didn't get the memo.
She continues, "But in the back of my mind, I was thinking about what my husband wanted. I'll admit, I was aroused during that brief conversation, and the pool boy knew it. When I said I was leaving, that it was nice talking to him, the pool boy looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then he pulled me back inside the bathroom and locked the door.
She continues, "That's when I gave him oral sex. He took his penis out. It was hard. My first time seeing an erection other than my husband's. It was beautiful, I'll admit. I got on my knees and serviced him, which was exciting. He was roughly the same size as my husband, but had more vigor. More lust for life and passion. He came a lot more than my husband.
She continues, "On the drive home, I was silent. I was wracked with guilt and my husband sensed it. Frank asked if I did anything. I admitted my actions with the pool boy. I could hear my husband breathing harder. He freed himself while he drove, meaning, his penis, which was quite hard. It was my first time giving oral sex while my husband drove. Can you imagine that? A woman like me -- two men in a single day."
"Did you continue seeing the pool boy?" I ask.
"At my husband's insistence. For the next week, it fueled Frank's arousal. We had sex more often and he got hard listening to details of how I sucked that guy off. Frank contacted his friend, who gave the pool boy my phone number. I didn't think I'd ever hear from that guy again. I didn't want to, either. Sucking him off was enough sexual adventure for one lifetime.
She continues, "At first I tried ignoring him, but he messaged me a few times over the following days. I'll admit, the attention was nice. It gave me an adrenaline rush every time I saw his text. I eventually messaged him back. He sent pictures of himself. I sent pictures in return, me in a bikini, lounging by the pool. My husband knew about the whole thing.
She continues, "It got to the point where the three of us met for sex. Me, my husband, and the young man. The first time was in a hotel, my husband watched. My hands were shaking while it happened. The sex was amazing. The whole time I kept thinking, 'My husband must think I'm such a slut.' That was my biggest fear, that a switch would flip in my husband's head and I'd no longer be pure. That I'd no longer be the innocent wife that he married.
She continues, "But that was far from the truth. What my husband wanted was duality. A pure, religious wife in public and at home. A slut in the bedroom, to be shared with other men. Why? I wondered if he was secretly gay, living out his fantasies vicariously through me. According to him, it was the rush, the taboo, of seeing me in such pleasure.
She continues, "It got to the point where we fucked in our own home, when the kids were at school. My husband invited the young man and we fucked on our marital bed. It happened often. About 50 times in a year. My husband was there most of the time, watching, masturbating. I developed feelings for the young man, you know. We took him out, spoiled him with money, and we managed to keep the whole thing discreet.
She continues, "Eventually I learned that he started using hard drugs. He offered when my husband wasn't around, but I always declined. He got accepted to graduate school and he moved. I hadn't seen him since, but we've kept in touch, I still show him bikini pictures of me. He sends me pictures of his cock. So that's the story with him. Is he the one blackmailing me? I don't know. It's possible, but I don't know."
A tear forms in the corner of Becky's left eye, which she wipes away. Clearly she's hurt by the sense of betrayal. I can understand.
"How did you receive the blackmail?" I ask.
Becky opens her purse and gives me a typed letter, which is concealed in a plastic bag. The letters are in caps and the words are in bold:
WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOUR FRIENDS / FAMILY / PUBLIC KNEW WHAT YOU DO IN THE BEDROOM???
HOW MUCH IS THE SECRET WORTH???
I'LL BE IN TOUCH
A chill goes down my spine from reading it. I can only imagine what this puts Becky through, knowing her well-crafted persona is on the line.
"You must think I'm a terrible slut," she says.
"No, not at all. But my opinion isn't important. Who else knows about this?"
"Just my husband. We got it a few days ago. Frank doesn't want to contact the police, he wants to pay, if the price is reasonable."
"Who else have you had sex with?" I ask. "Who are the other suspects?"
"This is the part where politics gets involved."
"Sure, this will stay between us. When the time comes to involve other people, I'll let you know. Everything is under your control."
My goal is to help, but if I'm being honest, I'm curious how a woman like Becky ended up in this position. Psychology and human sexuality are things that interest me. I'm also a woman of action. This gets my blood flowing.
Husband's Perspective -- One Year Earlier
Everything leads to this. The pool boy was foreplay. It's amazing how a woman's confidence changes once she's comfortable in her skin. Rebecca has always been prudish, conservative, and far more religious than me. I'm religious, but mostly because of my family. She's deeply religious on her own accord.
I've become friends with the Mayor of our small community, who covets my wife. Other men's wives are his fetish. It's a power thing for sure. He shares his wife, in exchange he can sample other women. But it's the Mayor who maintains total control. It's like a private club amongst couples with likeminded political, sexual and moral beliefs.
According to him, there is something about Becky that screams 'hotwife,' which made me laugh. But then again, he's been doing this so long that he can sense the subtle changes in women, and what that does to their sexual beings. It's almost like an energy flow that emanates, according to him.
That's when I told the Mayor everything that's been happening with my wife.
My wife thinks I'm crazy when I confess that our secret arrangement is no longer secret. She has a personal affection for the Mayor, based on respect and admiration. She likes being in the presence of powerful people, along with being invited to the best social events. Like the majority of women, status in society and reputation mean everything to her.
I apologize to my wife profusely, even buying her flowers and a gold necklace. I swear I'm a good husband. I'd even say that I'm better than most husbands are with their wives. I treat her like a queen.
The Mayor invites us to a bbq/pool party at his house. I can't turn down the opportunity. Some very important people will be there. My wife is hesitant about going because the Mayor knows she's a 'hotwife,' which still bothers her. No one was ever supposed to know.
Eventually I convince Rebecca and she wears a modest summer dress and modest sized bikini underneath. I chose her outfit, deliberately picking something she used to wear for the pool boy. It shows off her figure and makes her feel sexy. It's also a subtle reminder of what she is -- a hotwife -- and she should always remember that. It turns her on.
We arrive at the pool party and the Mayor greets us, but gives Rebecca special attention. They've met several times before and made small talk, but this is their first time meeting where the Mayor has intimate knowledge of her sex life. The Mayor is more charming than usual; my wife knows what the man wants. Intuitive women can tell a man's true intentions. My feelings are mixed. I like that other men find my wife attractive. I'm wondering how far she's willing to go with men like this.
The familiar 'I wish she would / I wish she wouldn't' process goes on in my head. The same as always. I picture Rebecca on her knees. The Mayor's cock in her mouth. I love watching her suck cock. But the Mayor's cock? Oral sex is a power play for the Mayor, from what he's told me. It's a way of asserting control, dominance, by making a woman kneel and accept.
Inevitably I get caught up in different conversations. When men like us get together, big investments are discussed, allocation of money, endorsement of candidates. The things you'd expect from people in our position. I barely notice the Mayor slipping away with my wife. They seem to be flirting as they go in their own direction.
Their arms lock and the Mayor leads her somewhere. She nods, smiles at him, and they head inside his study and close the door. I wonder what's happening there. I'm in a discussion about renovating a building at the religious university that I operate, but my attention is on my wife.
About 20 minutes later they emerge. The Mayor's arm is wrapped around Rebecca's waist, he's whispering something in her ear, she has a shy smile and appears to be agreeing with whatever he's saying. Her hair is slightly disheveled. Her cheeks, rosy red.
I excuse myself from the group and go to my wife when the Mayor mingles with other guests. She seems disappointed that I'm here, as if she needs time alone after what she had just done.
"I saw you and the Mayor in his study. What happened there?"
"He was showing me around," she says.
"Be honest with me."
Rebecca tenses, then smiles because we're in public. "Well, if you must know, this was your fault, okay? You brought me here. You showed these men pictures of me. And you told them intimate details of our private life."
A spark of excitement grew in me. It's true. I shared personal photos of my wife with the Mayor and others. Nothing overtly sexual, but nude photos of her sunbathing in our backyard. Some of the pictures were voyeur shots, others from when I walked close to her.
Whenever she found out that I took pictures of her breasts, she got mad, but never forced me to delete the images. She liked knowing that I still found her desirable after all our years of marriage. It's important for a woman to feel attractive and wanted.
I know she's aroused from this. Her body language gives it away.
"What did he say?"
"The Mayor told me I'm beautiful. That he wanted me."
"What happened next?" I ask.
Rebecca looks around the party. "Is this the right time and place?"
"Probably not, but I can't wait. I want to know right now."
"He touched my waist. He heard that I give amazing blowjobs. He knows I like sucking in front of my husband. So the secret is out. I was so humiliated, but what could I do?"
I just look at her. Silent. Waiting for her next words.
"You did like watching me, right?" she asks.
"That's right. I loved it. So did you."
"Then you might love what happened to me a moment ago. While the Mayor was showing me around his study, his selection of books, his workspace, he took his penis out and asked for a demonstration of my blowjob skills."
"And did you?" I ask.
"Of course."
"Why?"
"Because you made me this way. Or at least you helped me become this way. I reached down and wrapped my hand around his penis. I stroked it. The next thing I knew, his hands pushed me to my knees. I looked at his cock, there was a drop of precum on it. I flicked it away with my tongue. Want me to continue?"
"Yes, I want to hear this."
"I'll keep it brief. There's not much else to share. I sucked him until he came in my mouth, then I cleaned him off with my tongue. That was that. He put his cock away while it was still dripping with my saliva. He didn't offer a tissue, so I wiped my lips with the back of my hand. Now here I am, talking to you, my beloved husband."
My head is pounding and my cock is hard. My mind is flooding with the image of my conservative wife sucking a dick. But now isn't the time nor place to indulge the rest of my needs. We have appearances to keep, despite what she just did.
We return to the party and socialize, which is the main reason we came here, to strengthen our ties with the power players of the community. Rebecca is wearing that little bikini by the pool when the women pull their tshirts off. Compared to the other women, she's wearing the most revealing bathing suit at the party. My feelings are contradictory; I'm proud of her, yet also wish she'd cover up.
The small bikini comes with a lot of attention. She is always surrounded by men that wish to introduce themselves to her; deep pocketed men, lobbyists, men with political connections. The other wives seem to disapprove of the way Rebecca is being lusted after, the amount of skin she's showing.
It's close to evening and people begin to leave. I mention to Rebecca that we should go, but she's having fun and wants to stay a while longer. Part of this bothers me. If I say we should leave, my wife should agree. Another part of me wants to watch her flirt with these men. Rebecca must have a plan, something she desires but doesn't want to tell me.
Eventually a small group of people remain and the Mayor and five other men are talking to Rebecca. I see the Mayor's wife flirting with another man, then disappearing into a bedroom upstairs and closing the door.
As the evening goes on, I'm engaged in a boring conversation, while spying on my wife through the corner of my eye. The men surrounding Rebecca shift positions, seemingly getting closer, laughing, as one would laugh when touching a beautiful woman's arm or leg. She'd playfully slap the hands away. I know these men and have business dealings with them. I don't want to make a scene.
When the Mayor joins the group, he wraps his arm around Rebecca's bikini-clad body; she doesn't swat him away. They talk. She laughs and shakes her head.
To my shock, the Mayor pulls his dick out. In front of everyone.
Rebecca doesn't move, she just giggles and blushes. The Mayor's arm is still around her. The other men move closer. Why? I don't have a clue. The Mayor whispers in her ear. She looks at the cock and shakes her head.
I excuse myself from the boring conversation to get closer. I can hear the men saying 'do it,' to my wife. Rebecca looks at the Mayor, then his cock. She strokes it. I have no idea what to do. Sucking another man's cock behind closed doors is our private fantasy. The key word is 'private.' Never public. Never with our reputations so brazenly displayed.
Did she forget that we're doing business with these men? That these men are essential to our social and financial status? Maybe that's the reason she's doing it. Perhaps it turns her on. She likes dominant men.
She strokes the cock and someone stands behind her, pulling the string of her bikini. She tries to hold her top with one hand, but is failing. Her pink nipple is showing. She blushes and giggles. Her top is removed. Gorgeous breasts are exposed. The men laugh and cheer. Rebecca doesn't look comfortable but keeps stroking the erection in her hand.
I should intervene but I'm aroused and stand there to watch. She's now jacking off another man. One cock for each hand. The hand where she wears the wedding ring, the symbol of our love. Another man plays with her tits. She tilts her head back and sighs.
She goes to her knees at the Mayor's insistence. A cock is inches from her face. She shakes her head 'no.' These many people make her uncomfortable, but she moans in pleasure. The Mayor holds her head still and inserts his dick in her mouth. She opens her lips and takes it.
I hear a muffled moan. That is a familiar sound she makes when enjoying something sexual. I feel the burning in my brain, 'Stop this, stop this,' but I can't move. Again, a different man wraps her slender fingers around his cock. She strokes him while sucking off the Mayor.
The group of men free their cocks. All of them sport hard-ons for my wife. They admire her sucking technique, her tits, her beauty. They even feel her up. Her nipples protrude with arousal. A man reaches between her legs and fingers her pussy. Rebecca moans while sucking.
Wet sounds are audible from where I stand. It's the sound of the man finger-fucking Rebecca's cunt. Her pussy is drenched and everyone knows it. Wet from being a sex toy at the center of a party. Their sex toy. Not mine. She does what pleases these men and what pleases her.
"Oh my god," she gasps, when the Mayor pulls away.
Saliva drips down her chin and onto her chest. She's in shock over what she's doing for these prominent men, but she doesn't want this to end. No one does. I watch in fascination as men take turns with my conservative wife's hands and mouth. She sucks them in tandem. These men are experienced in taking turns with a woman, treating her like a lady, while also treating her like a slut.
The Mayor announces, "I'm going to cum."
One of the men says, "Becky will become even prettier. What a doll."
The Mayor strokes his cock, aiming it at my wife's face. As cum sprays on her face and open mouth, the men cheer. Rebecca swallows the cum that's in her mouth and looks up at him. She doesn't object, she doesn't end this. She's ready for more.
I watch them take turns with her mouth and pussy. Some cum on her face, others on her precious nipples, but her mouth is the featured attraction. She has at least three orgasms from the finger-fucking they give. Sucking cock has always been an aphrodisiac for her.
When they're done, the Mayor leads her to an outdoor shower by the pool. Rebecca is eager to rinse herself, stepping inside the stall, leaving the curtain open. She's wearing her bikini bottom, but her tits are still exposed. She turns on the water, globs of cum are washed from her chest, flowing down to the drain. She opens her mouth and gurgles the water, spitting the excess cum away.
As my wife showers, hanging her head down in shame, the Mayor approaches me.
"It was a pleasure having this experience with your beautiful wife. We need to meet again to discuss the approval of building permits. How about next week?"
"Next week sounds great," I say.
"Good, good. Bring your wife, too. She's a fantastic team player. If you're interested, you can try my wife as well."
"That sounds like fun. I look forward to it."
But I'm not interested in the Mayor's wife. I'm only interested in Rebecca. My love.
The drive home is awkward and there's tension between us. She smells like water from the shower. Maybe it's my imagination, but I swear I can smell the aroma between her legs. Maybe I'm losing my mind.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeats.
"You have nothing to be sorry about. I arranged this. It's my fault. We can stop if you want, but only if you want."
"I don't know," she says softly. "Would you mind if we came back again?"
"Only if I get to watch."
"Always."
In the passenger seat, while we're on the freeway, Rebecca spreads her legs and fingers herself. She needs to cum again, but she also wants to sob.
The Wife's Perspective
Journalists are in the hotel lobby. They're not waiting for my husband or some politician. They're waiting for me. Gone is the unassuming housewife. Apparently I'm a porn star now. A two-minute video of me being gangbanged has 'leaked' onto the internet, making me the most streamed woman in the world. Only a handful of people know it's the result of a blackmailer.
I exit through the back entrance, thanks to the support of the hotel owner, who is a friend of our family. The media scrutiny is intense. I've had to call my family and friends to explain what is going on. Try explaining this to your parents.
Detective Lopez is waiting in a car parked in the alley. She tells me to get in the backseat and wear my sunglasses. She drives on the main road. I see the journalists but they don't see me. The detective tells me to check the laptop on the seat, to play the videos on the flash drive.
She tells me the laptop password as she cruises down the street. I open the computer and access what's on the drive. There are several files containing videos and pictures. I play one of the videos.
My heart sinks as I skim through the video. Seeing a voyeuristic recording of yourself being ganged is something I don't wish on anyone. The woman on screen looks like me, has my figure, wears my clothes, even talks like me. But I can hardly recognize myself.
Detective Lopez spent weeks putting together the intimate details of my sex life. Who I fucked. When. Where. She knows everything about me. With enough under the table payments, I convinced her to track down the blackmailer with full discretion. No one at the police department knows what she's been doing.
In the last month, we had gotten more letters -- threats -- from the blackmailer demanding money. My husband refused to pay. Days ago, an edited video of men taking turns on me appeared online. Their faces were blurred, but my face was shown. I was on my hands and knees, while four men lined up and had their way. I can be heard moaning and crying, begging for more. It's unmistakably me. The camera was near my face. I'm sure that's why that video was chosen, because I wouldn't be able to deny it.
The detective sprung into action after I told her the location of that particular gangbang. I don't know who she talked to, or what she did; she explained that it was better if I was kept in the dark. I'm assuming that some of her methods were illegal and she wanted to protect me. So I never asked beyond that.
Now I'm skimming through a different video, something far more salacious. It's a hidden camera clip of me on the Mayor's yacht. I'm laying on a thick towel for comfort. Business men and local political figures take turns fucking me, while my feet are in the air. Again, I'm begging for it. Screaming for it, not caring that the employees of the yacht heard me. When it was over, I got on my knees and they came on my face and mouth. I swallowed. It finished with a round of blowjobs for everyone -- for cleaning purposes.
Detective Lopez keeps driving as she explains that she was able to track the blackmailer. That the details aren't important, that I shouldn't know how she got the confession and retrieved all the files. The important thing, she tells me, is that the nightmare is finished. I thank her, saying she'll be well compensated for this.
For the record, it was a local businessman who did it. A real sleaze who always gave me creepy vibes. Someone with a drinking problem and a gambling addiction who thought he could make easy money playing a dangerous game. He was also obsessed with me, which may have been the primary reason. He wanted to ruin my life because he couldn't marry me.
I've seen enough for one lifetime and close the laptop. I will never watch these videos again. I will destroy the flash drive.
A question lingers in my mind, while sitting in silence. If I could go back in time, would I be a hotwife again? The answer should be no. That I should hate my husband and hate myself for becoming a gangbang hotwife. But it's not that simple. My life has never been simple.
The reality is that this has been the most exciting year of my life. I'm sure my family and friends will take a glance -- if not more -- of my leaked porn video online. I don't blame them. I'm sure they're curious. Millions of people have already seen it on porn sites and social media.
Just thinking about it makes my legs squirm. Detective Lopez keeps her eyes ahead as she drives me home, while I adjust my pants and panties. I hate that my clit throbs. I hate that for the rest of my life, I will always masturbate to the memories of being ganged by a variety of men. I'm no longer the ideal, conservative wife. I'm a pornstar wife now. My pussy needs air. I take the flash drive and put it in my pocket.
When I get home, I'm going to have a long conversation with my husband.
The End
