Framed

Our bedroom is out of bounds. When anyone visits, we keep it locked. It is private. No one goes in. Neither of us wants anyone to see the framed photo-poster above our bed. It is there for a reason, but it is not for public viewing.

It was Sarah's idea. The first I knew about it was when a cylindrical cardboard tube arrived in the post, four inches in diameter, and over three feet long. Even when I asked about it, Sarah just told me that she had ordered a photo-poster online, and that I would get to see it when she was ready. Then, at the weekend, she asked me to take her to our nearest do-it-yourself warehouse.

Sarah did not say what we were going to buy, but once there, she asked an assistant where their picture frames were, and chose a poster size frame, the kind with a perspex front, and a hardboard back, and with holes already made in each corner for four cylindrical, chrome fixings. It was more expensive than the standard clip-frames, but then my wife has taste.

Obviously I carried the frame to the til for Sarah, and I did not argue when she asked me to pay for it, but it left me wondering what the poster print was, and why she was being so secretive about it.

That was a Saturday morning. Sarah knew that I had the tools and the skills, so she asked me if I would mount the frame and poster on our bedroom wall while she went shopping in the afternoon, adding that provided the poster was above our bed head when she got back, she would let me do whatever I wanted to her that night.

Given that we had not made love for over a month, I did not need any more encouragement. If that was all it took, the photo-poster would be on the wall, done and dusted, tools tidied, dust vacuumed, and the bed would be back in place ready for use that night.

We had lunch. Sarah got her things together and left for the shops. I brought the frame and the cardboard cylinder with the poster into our bedroom. I went to the garage and got my drill, my set of drill bits, hammer, spirit level and my measuring tape. I moved the bed away from the wall, and I got to work.

Of course curiosity might have made me open the cardboard cylinder and take out the photo-poster before I started drilling, but that's not the way it went. I was too preoccupied with Sarah's offer to resume sexual relations.

I used the guide sheet provided with the frame to mark the positions for the screw holes, checking the height, centering them on where the bedhead would be when the bed was back in place, and making sure that they were level. I drilled the holes and knocked in the plugs. I screwed the four chrome fixings in place and positioned the frame.

It went onto the fixings perfectly. All I needed to do was put the photo-poster in the frame, put the frame back onto the fixings, and screw the outer covers into pace, and I was done. Not bad for half an hour.

I was thinking about what I would like to do to Sarah, and feeling good until I sliced the tape holding the plastic end of the photo-poster cylinder in place, took out the rolled up photo-poster, and spread it out flat on the bedroom floor. Taking in the photos, my stomach heaved. I stared at it, not believing what I was seeing, but knowing that the camera does not lie.

I had to give Sarah credit where it was due. It was deserved. It was creative. It was tastefully put together, for what it was. It got right to the heart of things, laid it on the table, and left me cold, all in one.

I had expected a single photograph, blown up to poster size, but there were four, each one cropped to a little less than one quarter of the poster size, with a white stripe across the centre, and writing in exactly the shade of the purple pink lip gloss that Sarah liked to wear whenever we went out.

Actually the writing also went diagonally across the corner of the photo on the top left, "To My Darling Husband," and also across the one on the bottom right, "Your Loving Wife XXX". I noticed the writing across the centre, but I did not take in the words at first, maybe because the font was smaller, but more because the photos had blown my mind.

If a picture paints a thousand words, those four photos together rammed home a simple message clearer than four thousand million words could ever have done. Their impact had bowled me over as soon as I began to open out the poster. There was no avoiding what they were. Hardcore photographs are difficult to misinterpret.

I had also realised that it was Sarah in each of them. When you have lived with someone for seven years, you recognise them straight away. Besides, my wife has striking looks, blue eyes with page boy blonde hair, a slightly curved, narrow nose, full lips, a slender figure, neat breasts with cherry nipples, and a depilated pubis with delicately protruding lips. Even the photo that was a close up of her pubis was unambiguously her.

The photo poster had been rolled in the cardboard cylinder for long enough for it to keep curling up, and it felt like time had stopped as I took some of Sarah's things from her dressing table, a hairbrush, a jewellery box, a hand mirror, and a box of tissues, and used them, one at each corner of the photo-poster as I had opened it on the floor, to keep it flat.

I had the shakes. I knelt on the floor staring at the photographs, and it was the top two that really got to me at first, because Sarah's face was recognisable in both of them. The bottom two were so closely cropped that her face did not appear in either, even though I knew that both were Sarah, but in the top two there was no possibility that this was anyone other than my wife that I was staring at.

On the right, the photo was cropped even closer, her face in profile, just her mouth, nose and eyes, the cropping so tight that everything was twice life size. She was looking straight ahead and slightly down. A few strands of her blonde hair were visible. There was no question that it was Sarah.

The bit that made my stomach churn was what Sarah was looking at in that photo on the right. It was a cock that I did not recognise, not that I would expect to recognise anyone from just their cock. What might have been four inches of shaft in the original cropped photo, was enlarged in the print so that it was eight inches long and at least two inches wide. Sarah's mouth was open, her tongue protruding over her lower lip. The shaft of the cock had a slight upwards curve so that the giant head was an inch above the glistening surface of my wife's tongue. To make it worse, a globule of white, that might have been saliva, or might also have been semen, was suspended from the cock head, and touching my wife's extended tongue.

In the top left photo, the cropping was nothing like as close, leaving most of her naked body visible, everything but my wife's knees and lower legs. She was obviously kneeling on a bed, with her back sloping down and her head sideways on a pillow. Her face was turned enough to the side for me to be certain that it was her.

There was another anonymous cock, not as large, because the photo showed all of Sarah's body, including her upturned ass. The head of this other cock was not visible, mainly because it was lodged in Sarah's cunt. The shaft looked slick, but that might just have been with her juices. The owner of the cock might, or he might not have come inside her. If he had, some, at least, of his semen would have stayed inside her when he withdrew, because the cock was bare.

I am not sure which made me feel more gutted. The fact that cock-head in the photo on the left was right inside my wife's pussy, the private place previously reserved just for me, or the fact that the shaft in the photo on the right was black, and that the white globule of what really had to be semen, was hanging from a glistening, hard, dark purple-brown cock head, which my wife had clearly been giving full attention with her mouth and tongue, and for all I knew, her throat, because Sarah can do that. She can take my cock so far that her lips will touch the short cut hair of my lower belly, all around the shaft. This cock looked like it had been that deep. Its surface glistened wetly.

When I say the shaft was black, I mean a shade of brown so dark that its owner had to be mixed race. It was the bottom left photo that had the pitch black cock. Not just the cock, but the balls as well, jet black with tight sacs of thickly wrinkled skin holding the guy's testicles close to his cock shaft, all the better to let lose his sperm.

Sarah, and it had to be Sarah, was on her back, although the cropping was so tight that only her cunt was in the photo, her lips stretched around the head of the pitch black cock. I had licked those neat, pink labia so many times that I knew them by sight. I knew the colour of them, and of the flawless, hairless skin surrounding them. My cock had been there so many times I could not remember. Instead, a three inch wide cock was there, frozen by the camera, its head inside her, its magnified shaft ready to sink deep, its ball sac tight and ready to explode.

Three different guys had fucked my wife, without counting the final photo, the bottom right, where the sign off message, 'Your Loving Wife XXX' was splayed across her body.

In that last photo, Sarah was lying on her side. Both legs were pulled close to her body, held there by her own arm. Her head was in the top left corner of the photo, her lips sucking on a cock that she was holding with her other hand. Only her mouth and chin and neck were visible, the rest of her head cropped from the shot, but it was clearly her.

The bottom right of the same photo was where her buttocks rested, her hairless pussy visible because of the way her legs were drawn up close to her breasts and chest. The second guy was cropped out of the shot, but his cock was lodged in my wife's cunt, taking her from behind, fucking her as she sucked off his friend, or buddy, or whatever their relationship might have been.

Five cocks in total, and although two were in her mouth rather than in my wife's pussy, my guess was that all five had fucked her. Five guys, five cocks, no sign of any protection. My wife had let them fuck her bare. Come in her bare.

Any other time, any other circumstances, I would not just have been sick at the sight of my wife offering herself to all these guys, but I would have been ripping up the poster, and using my drill and tools to change the apartment lock. I would have packed her things in black bin liners, and I would have dumped them in the stairwell.

But that reaction was not justified, given what I had done.

It had been stupid, gross mistake, but I had fucked my secretary just one month before in a hotel room at a conference we were both attending, and stupidly had left my phone on video when I took a call from Sarah in the morning, only for my wife to see jet black hair on the pillow beside mine when I answered her. That was why we had not had sex since then.

"An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth." A fuck for a fuck. Sarah had had her fuck for a fuck. I was hardly in a position to complain, except that this was five fucks for a fuck. Five cocks for one piece of cunt that I had barely enjoyed because too much wine during and after the conference dinner had impaired my performance as well as my judgement.

Having taken in the four photos, fuck cocks and the large font "My Darling Husband,... Your Loving Wife," I read the wording in the white stripe across the middle of the poster. It said it all, in the same purple-pink coloured font.

"You can do anything you want to me, but if you stray again, then just remember, I'll stray too, and I'll get fucked by way more cock than you'll get pussy."

That certainly spelled it out, and she was right. Finding men to fuck her would always be easy for Sarah, if that was what she wanted. She had the looks. All she had to do was dress to make it clear that she was available, and she would get more offers than anyone could handle.

Staring at the photos, reading the words, I knew without a doubt that she was right. She could just have said it. She did not need the photos. I knew from the day I met her that all Sarah had to do was hang out at any bar, hotel, or night-club, and she would have a queue of guys wanted to take her back and give her a fucking. She looked that good. She still does.

And the photos more than proved it. She had not just found five guys, and let them fuck her. She had done more than that. Somehow she had managed to get photos taken while they were fucking her, quality photos, nothing amateurish, but close up, crystal clear, perfectly focused shots of cock, cunt and cum. My wife had more than got her own back. She had done it five times over.

I stared again at the bottom right. Two guys at once. Mouth and cunt. Maybe they had done more than that. Double penetration. Cunt and ass. Two cocks fucking her together, stretching her like I never could.

Then the bottom left, and the top right. Two black guys, mixed race, whatever, their cocks had been inside my wife. I knew her sexual history from before we met. I knew that others had been there first, but neither of us had ever had inter-racial sex. Now Sarah had. She had enjoyed black cock, twice over, the fucking bitch.

"You can do anything you want to me,..."

We had always had a great sex life. In all honesty we had had a pretty good marriage overall, right up until that night at the conference, when too much to drink had led me to lay a secretary who had looks, but who could never compete with Sarah. But pretty good as our sex life and our marriage was, there were things we had not done together. Now Sarah was making me an offer. An ultimatum, yes, but it was still an offer.

"You can do anything you want to me, but remember,..."

I could still rip up the poster, get the black bin liners, throw her out, or I could do to my wife anything I wanted to, that night, and any night.

I knelt on the floor, just staring at the photo-poster for a full half hour. They were quality shots. She had to have posed for them. There had to have been someone there, holding the camera. Those photos could have graced any hard-core magazine. In a way, they were a turn on.

But there was another feeling building in my chest. A sense of anger. An eye for an eye and a cock for a cock might have been justifiable, but five cocks was taking it too far. I stared at her upturned buttocks in the top left photos, and thought what I would really like to do. A cane or a riding crop, something hard but flexible, that would make lines across those buttocks. That was what she deserved.

"You can do anything you want to me,..."

Maybe I would.

I separated the Perspex from the hardboard backing and positioned the photo poster, centering it on the glossy white paper that gave it an edge. I had to give it several goes to replace the perspex without the poster curling up. Once I had it right, I lifted it back onto the fixings, screwing the chrome covers tight.

I put back the bed. I tidied up my tools. I went downstairs and turned on the television, seeing what matches were being shown, and waited, my cock hard inside my jeans.

In fairness, Sarah was more than as good as her word. She came back a little before six, carrying the shopping she had bought, including some groceries that went straight into the kitchen.

I was in our lounge, on the settee, but I heard her go into our bedroom. The she came back through.

"You did a good job," she said.

"I always do," I answered.

"I know," she said.

She was carrying a bag with a brand logo that I recognised, from a high street chain that sells interesting underwear, and other less mainstream articles.

"I thought you might want to use these after we have a bite to eat," she said, offering me the bag. I looked inside. It was as if she had read my mind.

We talked a bit over the micro-wave dinner that Sarah had brought back. It seemed easier not to beat about the bush, and just ask directly.

"So who were the guys?"

"Men I found online," she said.

"Do I know any of them?"

"No, and you never will."

"And the photographer?"

"Someone who likes to watch," she said. "He advertises his services to couples, to take intimate shots confidentially."

"He's got copies?"

"He gave me the card from the camera each time when he had finished. He got his kicks. That was all he wanted."

I nodded. Somehow, that made sense.

"And you let them come inside you?"

"Yes."

"Except the one you sucked off?"

"I sucked them all," she said. "And they all fucked me."

I nodded again. That made sense too, except of course making sense of it all was somehow both necessary and ridiculous at the same time. There are some things that will never make sense, but you have to work them out just the same.

"And the two guys. What did they do?"

"What you can see in the photo," she said. "And they swopped. And yes, I squatted on one of them and leant forward while the other used some lube."

There was no need for her to say more. I could picture it, and I could feel myself hardening.

"So five guys?" I said. "In a way, that's quite impressive."

"Did I say five?" Sarah asked.

"No," I said. "But I can count. Unless any of them is in more than one photo."

Just possibly, one of the two guys who had fucked her together was the same guy who was taking her from behind when she was on her hands and knees, and then that would be just four.

"Or unless there were others," she said, meaning that there might have been more than five, not less.

My stomach started to do that heaving thing again, but I held it together.

"And were there?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I just chose certain guys for the photos I wanted to use."

I took a sip of my wine. Chateauneuf du Papes. Sarah had brought it home along with the rest of the shopping. Deliciously full-bodied. The wine was good as well.

"Okay," I said. "So how many guys in total?"

"How many do you think I can arrange to fuck me in a month?" Sarah asked.

It was a good question. Online, I guessed, the queue could be endless. Sarah did not work, so she had all day, five days a week, when I had no idea where she was or what she was doing. So in theory, there was no reason why she could not have met a different guy every day, or at least every work day. How I felt about that was another good question. How my cock felt about it was pretty clear, for reasons that right then I could not figure.

"It depends," I said. "I guess quite a few."

"One a day?" Sarah asked, reading my mind. That was what I had been thinking.

"If you really wanted to, I guess you could," I conceded.

"Why not two in one day?" she said.

"You'd really consider meeting two different guys the same day?"

"You saw me with two guys in one of the photos."

"I meant two different meets."

"I might have done."

"And did you?"

She looked at me matter of factly. No shame. Nothing to hide. I could take it or leave it.

"Yes," she said. "Twice."

My cock twitched.

"Okay, so how many guys?" I asked.

"I'll tell you when we're upstairs," she said. "That's if you're accepting my offer."

"I'm accepting," I said. "You saw that I've mounted the poster."

"You're sure you don't want an open marriage?" she asked me, smiling. "You fuck who you want and I fuck who I want? If you do, that's fine. It felt good, having all those guys fucking me like they weren't getting it anywhere else."

I wondered just how many guys were covered by that insignificant little word 'all'.

"I'm sure," I said. "I don't want an open marriage."

"Okay," Sarah answered. "But we'll keep the poster on the wall."

"Speaking of which," I said, "let's go to the bedroom now."

We left our plates where they were, and went through. Sarah had brought the shopping bag into the bedroom and left it on the bed. I opened it and took out the pink-purple lengths of rope. I told Sarah to get undressed while I tied one to each corner of the bed.