(cont)
Sitting back down at his desk Gavin opened his email again and saw that somebody had sent him something while he was away getting a drink of water. It was another attachment, a jpeg, from another unrecognizable email address though completely different from the first, again with no message in the body of the email. Gavin put his mouse cursor over the 'open attachment' button but didn't click it right away. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so nervous.
When the photo appeared on his screen Gavin saw that same sickeningly familiar, generic looking hotel comforter, that same worn out, cheap looking carpet and his wife sitting cross legged on the floor, naked, pale, looking at the camera and smiling as she held in her hand what he assumed was the same erect penis, her tongue sticking out through her teeth as she licked the head of it. An absolute feeling of disgust, of wretchedness and revulsion and detest surged through his body, seeming to be even stronger now, and he fought back the overwhelming impulses to cry or throw something or vomit or faint, feeling like he was going to jump right out of his skin and fly away out the window, up to the sky, into nothingness. Gavin was genuinely disappointed that his wife hadn't been raped, and this revolted him even more.
It took just a few more seconds for the third email to come in, from yet another mysterious sender, of his wife bent over the bed, getting it from the same guy doggystyle. And a few moments later, another one of her on her back again, her legs spread open and feet up in the air, the guy inside of her and standing on the floor at the edge of the bed. Each new photo came from a different email address, all with the same free, well known domain name. He recieved a photo of her looking at the camera, her lips pressed together as if blowing a kiss and squeezing her breasts as the guy stuck his dick between them. Another one of her on top, riding the guy, with a hand on each ass cheek, spreading them apart to reveal her asshole and looking over her shoulder, smiling. He got a picture of her licking the guy's balls, a picture of her looking up at the man while she jerked him off and another picture of her getting it missionary while she threw her head back, eyes closed, biting her bottom lip like she does when she cums.
"You filthy fucking scum sucking bitch," Gavin said out loud, each picture opened, scattered all over his desktop. He didn't feel bad about insulting her anymore.
The surge of pictures ceased as quickly as they had begun and as he sat there, dazed, exhausted, behind on his work, Gavin felt lost and frightened, unsure of what to do next and it occurred to him that his life, his entire world as he knew it was different now, that things would never be the same.
On his way home Gavin stopped at the liquor store and bought two seventy-five dollar bottles of wine, a French Bordeaux. He hadn't had a drink in years, for numerous reasons. There were single roses for sale in a vase by the register and he asked the cashier to add one to his purchase, in addition to the cheap, old fashioned corkscrew that was for sale right next to the flowers.
By the time he pulled into his driveway, Gavin had consumed most of the first bottle. He shoved the cork back into it and flung it in the back seat. When he got inside the house his wife was in the kitchen, standing over the sink, dumping a boiling pot of pasta into a strainer. She said something to him, maybe hi honey or how was your day, not bothering to turn and look at her husband. Gavin stared at her as she shook the strainer full of pasta from side to side, a continuous cloud of steam rising up into her face and after a brief moment of silence he placed the bottle of wine with the rose on the table, turned and walked upstairs, threw himself on his bed and fell asleep in his suit.
Sitting back down at his desk Gavin opened his email again and saw that somebody had sent him something while he was away getting a drink of water. It was another attachment, a jpeg, from another unrecognizable email address though completely different from the first, again with no message in the body of the email. Gavin put his mouse cursor over the 'open attachment' button but didn't click it right away. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so nervous.
When the photo appeared on his screen Gavin saw that same sickeningly familiar, generic looking hotel comforter, that same worn out, cheap looking carpet and his wife sitting cross legged on the floor, naked, pale, looking at the camera and smiling as she held in her hand what he assumed was the same erect penis, her tongue sticking out through her teeth as she licked the head of it. An absolute feeling of disgust, of wretchedness and revulsion and detest surged through his body, seeming to be even stronger now, and he fought back the overwhelming impulses to cry or throw something or vomit or faint, feeling like he was going to jump right out of his skin and fly away out the window, up to the sky, into nothingness. Gavin was genuinely disappointed that his wife hadn't been raped, and this revolted him even more.
It took just a few more seconds for the third email to come in, from yet another mysterious sender, of his wife bent over the bed, getting it from the same guy doggystyle. And a few moments later, another one of her on her back again, her legs spread open and feet up in the air, the guy inside of her and standing on the floor at the edge of the bed. Each new photo came from a different email address, all with the same free, well known domain name. He recieved a photo of her looking at the camera, her lips pressed together as if blowing a kiss and squeezing her breasts as the guy stuck his dick between them. Another one of her on top, riding the guy, with a hand on each ass cheek, spreading them apart to reveal her asshole and looking over her shoulder, smiling. He got a picture of her licking the guy's balls, a picture of her looking up at the man while she jerked him off and another picture of her getting it missionary while she threw her head back, eyes closed, biting her bottom lip like she does when she cums.
"You filthy fucking scum sucking bitch," Gavin said out loud, each picture opened, scattered all over his desktop. He didn't feel bad about insulting her anymore.
The surge of pictures ceased as quickly as they had begun and as he sat there, dazed, exhausted, behind on his work, Gavin felt lost and frightened, unsure of what to do next and it occurred to him that his life, his entire world as he knew it was different now, that things would never be the same.
On his way home Gavin stopped at the liquor store and bought two seventy-five dollar bottles of wine, a French Bordeaux. He hadn't had a drink in years, for numerous reasons. There were single roses for sale in a vase by the register and he asked the cashier to add one to his purchase, in addition to the cheap, old fashioned corkscrew that was for sale right next to the flowers.
By the time he pulled into his driveway, Gavin had consumed most of the first bottle. He shoved the cork back into it and flung it in the back seat. When he got inside the house his wife was in the kitchen, standing over the sink, dumping a boiling pot of pasta into a strainer. She said something to him, maybe hi honey or how was your day, not bothering to turn and look at her husband. Gavin stared at her as she shook the strainer full of pasta from side to side, a continuous cloud of steam rising up into her face and after a brief moment of silence he placed the bottle of wine with the rose on the table, turned and walked upstairs, threw himself on his bed and fell asleep in his suit.
