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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Photograph
by juanwildone (juanwildone@fastmail.fm)

***

A chance viewing of a photograph triggers a profound 
change in a woman's sex life. (MF)

***

In a drab and dreary bank, at a nondescript desk worked 
a plain and rather ordinary woman named Helen. As 
supervisor of the safety deposit vault, Helen conducted 
the business of banking in a professional and 
appropriate manner. In fact, accepted procedures, 
polite conversations, and appropriate behaviors seemed 
to pervade all aspects of Helen’s life – even her 
marriage.

But today was a Friday, and it was nearly closing time. 
Outwardly composed, Helen felt the low buzz of 
anticipation build inside her. The bank doors opened 
and Helen swallowed in anxiety. She forced herself not 
to look up. The gentle tapping of a cane grew louder. 
Helen stood and greeted her final customer of the day. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Williamson. How may I assist you 
today?"

During Helen’s 27 years with the bank, she had observed 
Mr. Williamson visiting the safety deposit vault 
countless times. But it was only after Mr. Williamson 
broke his hip that it became interesting. He required 
physical assistance during his visits and asked that 
Helen accompany him.

The new routine of Mr. Williamson's visits was always 
the same. Helen would turn the keys, pull the safety 
deposit box from the wall, and place it on the table. 
She would then open the lid and step far enough away to 
grant him privacy. 

Mr. Williamson, the skin of his aged hands translucent 
like parchment, would pull a photograph from the box 
and hold it unsteadily before him. His fingers would 
trace across the surface. Helen would watch Mr. 
Williamson's face gradually lighten, his eyes shine 
brightly, and his bent frame slowly straighten. The 
slightest of smiles would play across his lips, then 
purse into a kiss. He would slowly return the 
photograph to the box and close the lid. 

Like the monotonous flapping of a bellows returns a 
dying ember to bright flame, the repeated visits 
aroused Helen's curiosity.

Today was no different than any other. Helen pulled the 
box, opened the lid, and stepped back. Today was no 
different as Mr. Williamson picked up the photo, looked 
at it, traced the image with his fingers, smiled and 
blew that silent kiss.

But today was different, because something completely 
unexpected happened. Mr. Williamson dropped the 
photograph. It sailed right out of his hand and 
seesawed down to the floor, landing face down.

"Oh," said Helen in the quietest of voices. "I'll get 
it."

Helen bent swiftly and picked up the photograph. By 
every code of professional conduct and customer 
privacy, she knew she should not turn the photograph 
over and look at it. But Helen did turn it over and she 
didn't just look at the photograph - she studied it. 
She simply couldn't help herself. The photograph itself 
looked old, and yet the image was fresh and clear. 

A girl in her late teens or early twenties seated on a 
park bench. Behind her, a long line of palm trees edged 
a white sand beach. The girl's face seemed innocent and 
carefree. Helen was drawn to her eyes, and she found 
herself looking deeply into them. The girl's eyes were 
wide in astonishment, or was it something else?

The girl wore a simple sundress. The dress, unbuttoned 
and pulled slightly to the left, revealed … a perfect 
breast. The girl's left hand, which had just pulled the 
material aside, had a finger extended beneath a very 
erect nipple. There was something about the finger, 
though; Helen noticed that it was somewhat blurred. 
When Helen realized that the girl was stimulating her 
nipple, she felt her own nipples respond. 

Helen's gaze lowered along the line of opened buttons 
until she arrived at the very center of the photograph.

The girl's right knee was bent with her right foot 
tucked just under her left leg. Her naked thighs led 
you to her exposed cunt. A wild patch of pubic hair 
crowned softly bulging lips - spread apart by the first 
two fingers of the girl's right hand.

Helen's focus dimmed, her hand trembled, and she gasped 
as a mild orgasm shivered through her. The stale air of 
the vault filled with the strong scent of Helen's 
arousal. 

Mr. Williamson carefully took the photo from her hand 
and returned it to the box. 


That night Helen practically raped her husband. 

"What was that all about?" her husband inquired 
afterward.

"I needed it," Helen told him simply.

Helen found that she needed it quite often. At first, 
her husband responded to her - gratefully, 
enthusiastically, vigorously and repeatedly. 

In time, his interest waned.

Helen's did not.

The photograph had enflamed something long dormant 
within her. Her comfortable life, at one time so safe 
and satisfying, now seemed leaden and mundane. She 
engaged in wild flights of fantasy regarding the girl 
in the photo. Helen began writing stories about the 
girl. Many of the stories were romantic and sensual. 
But some of her stories were sluttish, and the scope 
and depth of their depravity frightened Helen.

***

7th of June - He was waiting for me in his office. I 
tried to put him off - to tell him that it was over. He 
wouldn't listen, or I wasn't very convincing. He simply 
unzipped his trousers and pulled my mouth to his cock. 
I felt him grow hard in my mouth and I smiled to myself 
at my talent. He fucked my mouth until my eyes watered 
and then he pulled his wet prick out.

"Did you bring it?" I nodded meekly as I pulled the 
sterling silver cake-serving knife from my purse. "It 
was a wedding gift, from his parents, I've never..."

He turned me around and bent me over his desk. I was 
squirming beneath him as he slid his hand up my legs. 
He tore my panties off, and then stabbed me with his 
cock. I was holding onto the edge of the desk as he 
pounded into me. That was when I noticed that his 
office door was ajar. Anyone could walk in and see us!

He held the silver handle of the knife before me. 
"Better get it wet. You know where it's going." My 
sphincter muscles clenched and spasmed.

I was late getting back to the bank. His cum was 
leaking from my cunt and my ass. He told me to bake my 
husband a birthday cake, on this his special day, and 
be sure to use the knife. I could hardly wait to get 
home. 

***

Helen didn't tell her husband about Mr. Williamson or 
the photograph, nor did she tell him about the stories 
she wrote or the fantasies she had. But she also didn't 
hide her diary very well. A few weeks after Helen had 
begun writing the diary, her husband began fucking her 
again.

Sometimes he squeezed and pulled too hard at her 
nipples. Sometimes he pounded her cunt relentlessly 
until she was satisfyingly sore. And sometimes when he 
ignored her pleas of "too much," when he sent her 
soaring to heights unimagined, she would find him 
glaring at her...as if she had done something terribly 
wrong. 

Late one evening, after a deliciously savage fuck that 
left her husband fast asleep and Helen desiring more, 
she was inspired to write a new story in her diary.

She went to her desk and opened the drawer. The diary 
was there, but it was upside down. Helen thought for a 
moment. That was when she knew. "He's been reading my 
diary. He thinks I'm having an affair. No, no - he 
thinks I'm a slut!" Her hand was between her thighs in 
no time at all. Her orgasm was the most intense she'd 
ever experienced.

In the afterglow of her delight, she thought of the 
photograph and all the changes it had caused in her 
life. She decided she wanted a photograph of her own. 
She wanted a photo of herself looking like someone's 
slut. She wanted a photograph that her husband could 
find.

She took dozens of photos of herself with a friend's 
digital camera until she had the one she liked. In the 
photograph she was sitting on a pillow leaning back, 
her arms draped across the headboard of their bed. Her 
hair, which was usually pulled back or done up, was 
loose and disheveled. 

Her make-up was different, too. It was softer and drew 
attention to her eyes. Bright red lipstick enhanced the 
fullness of her lips. A black lace corset pushed her 
breasts up and forward, one nipple spilling over the 
top. Garter straps hung uselessly, and a single black 
hose was gathered around her left calf. Her right leg 
was bent and splayed to the side revealing her cunt. 
But it was the expression on her face that made this 
particular photograph the right choice. She looked very 
satisfied.

Helen left the photograph where he couldn't miss it - 
especially after she told him where to look. She had 
sent him in search of some old costumes for a Halloween 
party they'd been invited to attend.

At the party that night she flirted shamelessly with 
every man there. During the drive home the tension in 
the car was suffocating. Quietly unbuttoning the top of 
her costume, she turned to him and asked if there was 
anything wrong. 

Without saying a word, he pulled the car over to the 
side of the road. He opened her door, beckoned her out, 
grabbed her, and threw her face down into the back seat 
of the car. He tore her costume off and fucked her. 

When they got back home he fucked her again and 
continued to fuck her throughout the weekend. He even 
fucked her in her ass. 

That night, his cum trickling from her anus, he slammed 
the diary on the night table. "Me or them," he roared. 
"I won't share you."

"But honey," she began.

"I know everything," he said.  He jabbed the photo 
before her eyes. "See!" The photo shivered in his 
hands.

"You, I want you," she said meekly.

She did have one simple request.

In a drab and dreary bank, at a nondescript desk worked 
a plain and rather ordinary woman named Helen. For too 
many years Helen had gone about her duties in a 
thorough and efficient manner. Papers were marked as 
they should be, filed where appropriate, and the 
business of banking conducted in a professional, and 
otherwise unremarkable, manner.

On this typically dull day, Helen returned to her desk, 
having just helped a new customer with her safety 
deposit box.

There were two voice mail messages waiting for her.

The first was from her husband; thank God he didn’t 
leave his name.

"I want you. I want your soft lips. Lips I will kiss 
until they’re swollen with desire. I want your breasts. 
I want to caress them and hear you moan as your nipples 
respond to my touch. I want your cunt. I want to hear 
you cry in ecstasy as I fill you again and again." 
There was a pause and a trembling sigh. "And then I 
want your wrists and your ankles because I am going to 
tie you to my bed."

Helen unconsciously crossed her ankles and rubbed her 
wrists. She found the mental image of herself tied 
spread eagle to their bed very exciting. When the image 
changed to her tied face down, she shivered 
uncontrollably.

She played the second message. Her husband’s voice was 
pitched low, just above a whisper. "And I bought a 
video camera today."

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 34