Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

.Everyone having sex is over eighteen.

“She looks angry.” She actually did.

“Do you have any others?” he wanted to know. He was Pat Palmer, my best friend at work.

I have other friends. Family friends I have known for years. School friends, a handful who might be friends for life. Military friends, it would surprise most people if they were to find out I had served my country since I was so often critical of it. I guess I felt putting my life on the line gave me the right to talk crap. In the end it was only a few years of service and I did not re-up when asked. I also have a couple friends of my wife that she has generously shared with me. Finally, society friends I inherited with my family.

“I do have other photos, but this is my favorite.” I told him. Honestly, we had been talking about our wives, something stupid like how long they take to get ready or how many shoes they need. Then Pat shocked me by asking to see a picture.

“Let me see the others.” He demanded.

I was slightly annoyed. I don’t normally go around showing pictures of my wife. I was expecting a polite positive response. Or at least one of those comments that was open to interpretation. You know something like: “Wow, look at that hair! She is really something! So, that’s your wife.”

When I pulled out my phone to show him the photo, I was actually planning to show him the others. He expressed an interest so there was no reason not to.

“This is us when her mom took us to Olive Garden.” She was wearing a forty-niner’s sweat shirt and jeans. I had my arm on her shoulders when I took the selfie.

“This is her company’s Christmas party.” Her company over did everything and hired a well-known professional photographer for the event. Blaze looked incredible in her formal gown. She had the professionals do her hair, makeup and nails. She looked like a model to me in that photo. Her rich dark hair piled up on her head then falling below her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes flashing, her full lips looking very kissable. Her elegant gown deluded you into thinking you would see more than you ever did and all of those jewels were real.

According to her, the makeup concealed all the flaws in her face. Emphasizing her high cheek bones. Taking away from her too large nose and making her eyes seem bigger. Frankly I never saw anything wrong with her face and did not really see a difference. Her boobs were another story. They were a perfect 34C, the makeup people had done some kind of shading thing on them to make them really pop out. Combined with the effect of the gown they seemed impossibly large and gravity defying. I was forty-five, she was thirty-eight but the cosmetics and the professional photograph took somewhere between ten and twenty years off her apparent age.

“It would not fool a flight of stairs though.” She said when I tried to compliment her. I looked anemic in the photo. With her hair done up and her high heels I looked shorter than her too. I was wearing a tux but it was a rental and it did not do me any favors. I did not look like I should be the one standing next to her, I looked outclassed. I am never happy at her company Christmas party, but I remembered being particularly irritated that the photographer gave her his card and told her she could get a twenty percent discount on boudoir photos by using it.

In the next photo she was wearing a t-shirt plugging Corona beer and a pair of cargo shorts. I never see her drink beer so I assume she bought the shirt because she liked the color. We were playing put-put and she is posing with our daughter Nicole. If you did not know, you might think they were sisters. “This is Blaze with our daughter Nicole.” Pat nodded.

My wife is the oldest daughter of the San Diego Firestones. She does not have a brother, so her father insisted she keep the family name when she married. She pointed out to me that she was already known by Firestone professionally so it only made sense to keep the name. Our son would carry my name. Her dad gave me some land on the west coast to make up for my inconvenience.

When we found out our first child would be a girl her dad pressured us to hyphenate her name. Nicole Firestone-Stone sounded kind of stupid, so I did not put up much of a fight and she ended up plain Nicole Firestone. My father-in-law was happy. I ended up with more land. The Nicole part is for me, I am Cole Stone. Ni-Cole, get it?

I ended up showing Pat a half dozen recent images of my wife. Comments while I did so were pretty non-commentary. “Uh hah, yep, okay…”

“She looks like she is angry in all of them.” He told me.

“Well, she does not really like having her picture taken.” Sounded lame even to me.

“Don’t you have any elazığ escort where she is not angry?” he asked.

I actually do have one. She was standing naked in front of a mirror putting on her lip stick. I snapped a candid shot of her. She looked surprised in the photo not angry. Because of the angle the distance and the mirror you see her full head to heel from behind and full frontal in the mirror. Her dark hair cascades almost to her butt. She has a lovely apple bottom I want to grab. Her nipples are hard, standing out like erasers, her areola are dark chocolate and larger since having the baby. Her dark brown bush is neatly trimmed and her pubic hair looks almost black in the photo. You can faintly see the stretch marks on her boobs and tummy from having Nicole. They embarrass her. I tell her they are her tattoo to commemorate the birth of our daughter. Pat is my office friend, but he will never see that one. That belongs only to me.

When I took it, Blaze asked for my phone. I thought she was going to delete it. Instead, she fucked my brains out. I think she let me keep it because I lock my phone and I promised to keep it in a separate file to prevent accidents. I think it would be a great boudoir study.

I lock my phone because of something that happened in high school. I had a crush on one of the girls in my homeroom. After incredible effort on my part, I finally got her contact number. (Basically, it took almost a week to work up the courage to ask for it.) I was feeling pretty cocky when I went out for pizza with my friends. I went to the restroom and left my phone on the table. We had been playing a game together and I never thought twice about it. They were smirking when I got back but they would not say why. I assumed they were talking shit about me and did not think about it anymore.

That night I decided to reach out to my crush and I discovered my friends had texted her for me. “I want to suck you brother’s big fat dick and have him come in my mouth while you watch and rub one off.” Those are not the exact words but I can assure you it was truly nasty. A compilation by three horny eighteen-year-old guys with no redeeming traits. She blocked my phone and I never really got a chance to explain. That is why Blaze and I are the only ones who can unlock my phone.

“You need to get a photo where she is not angry.” Pat demanded.

I promised I would, but I knew it probably would not happen. I take snap shots on my phone. She hates snap shots.

——————————————————————————————————————–

“Why do you hate having your picture taken?” I asked her. We had been drinking. We were back at our hotel room and switched to beer, but neither one of us was willing to give up our buzz.

We had just been to a funeral. Blaze had a sister two years younger than her. Her sister Ember Hunt (My father-in-law allowed her a name change) had a daughter about two years younger than Nicole. Veridian Meadow Hunt died before she really got a chance to live. She was walking with her friends to raise money for charity when she was crushed by a car that was out of control. That tends to happen when the driver passes out. A number of her friends were injured, but she was the only one who died.

I did not think Ember would be married for long. Every time she looked at her husband, Mike, she remembered losing her daughter. You could see it on her face. Either one of Veri’s parents would have gladly traded places to let her live. They were not given that option of course. It sucked.

“I don’t.” Blaze said in a low voice. We were drinking beer straight from the bottle and lining up the empties. It is a normal way to drink beer, but I generally drank from glasses or frosty mugs. I don’t think I ever saw my wife drink beer before.

“You don’t?” I had forgotten what we were talking about. I had lost a niece. I had planned to take her with us on camping trips. I would teach her and my daughter how to fish. They would become BFF. I had been robbed of that, but I could not say how upset I was because others had it worse than me.

“I don’t mind having my picture taken. Not really.” I thought she was going to sigh. Instead, she burped startling both of us and begin giggling. In a moment we were both laughing like idiots.

“We were the three musketeers. Judy, Trudy, Booty and me.” She lined her empty up with the others then pulled a cold one from the ice bucket. She held the bottle against her forehead a moment.

“Wouldn’t that be four muskets?” I asked, not sure how this had anything to do with selfies and the like.

“The three musketeers were four friends. They had each other’s erzincan escort six. ‘All for one, one for all!’ was their moto.” She looked at me with her beautiful doe eyes. “My sorority sisters were closer than family.” She declared. “By the time I went to college they had outlawed hazing. We were young and stupid. We drank too much. Partied too much. We thought we would live forever. We had some crazy good times.”

“Parties at the frats and houses collected the car keys and phones. You could go crazy, but nobody would suffer permanent harm. We had a false sense of security. My friends and I would start the party early in one of our rooms. We could not wait to get wasted. On our own we were each a little crazy, add alcohol and put the four of us together and it was one wild ride. There was a lot of one up man-ship.”

“My junior year I got a call from one of my study buddies. She told me I was on the internet. I went to the link she sent me and discovered I was spread all over the internet.” Blaze sounded tired. “I was doing some very private things in public with a lot of people cheering me on.”

“I was never a blackout drunk. I remembered that night. I did not remember any cameras.” She looked me in the eye. “I was in shock. The video recycled. I noticed Judy’s butt in the background. I recognized her tattoo. You could not see her face in the clip. Trudy had a nipple slip at one point, but her face was blurred so you could not really tell who it was. Booty did not show up in any of the recordings. Booty majored in Videography. I was front and center and easily identified. They should have just pasted a copy of my student ID on the bottom of the screen.”

“On a normal party night, we took turns challenging each other. It was not unusual for all four of us to suck the same dick at the same time. Or take turns titty fucking someone. The four of us would line up and flash or moon or finger ourselves for the onlookers. The posted stuff made it look like I was the only crazy bitch at the party.” She gave me a sad smile. “It was obvious I had been set-up and sold out by the people I trusted most.”

“Booty said I had gotten too full of myself and they had to take me down a notch. She seemed to feel I brought it on myself.” Blaze.

“I called my dad. He got his people on damage control. Things were pulled off of sites. Some sites were shut down. The sorority was decommissioned due to hazing. I was in another school and a different Greek life house within a week. My best friends were unhappy because my dad was ruthlessly attacking their families. Every quarter until I graduated was in the red for their people. They lost millions.”

“My dad apologized to me. He blamed the incident on a competitor.”

“I never saw a camera or smart phone that night. It turned out Booty had bought disguised cameras. She bought them from a spy store.” Blaze cut loose with a sour laugh. “They had some really lame jewelry with hidden cameras. Pendants, plastic rings, big earrings, watches. Booty even had a pen cam she was waving around. Who brings a pen to an orgy?”

“I used to have nightmares about going to a nice party and at some point, it would degenerate into an orgy. I would be the only one naked giving out hand jobs and blow jobs. Women I knew wearing sophisticated evening gowns would be cheering me on. ‘Suck that dick. SUCK THAT DICK’ Suddenly I was on top of a round table. I was on my hands and knees. The women in designer gowns wearing elegant gloves that rose up past their elbows and their escorts in tailored tuxedos encircled me. ‘Stick out your butt.’ They commanded. Then the women pulled their escorts cocks out through their fly’s. One of them held her dates engorged penis in her gloved hand and rubbed it against my swollen tingling labia. Then she guided it into my hot wet pussy.”

“‘Fuck that prick! FUCK THAT PRICK!!’ the women chanted.

Before I could come the man pulled out and the top of the table was rotated like a lazy Susan. I lined up with another cock that was guided into me. I was closing my eyes, enjoying the feeling of a hot cock filling me. Then I felt something gently slapping my face. The man in front of me had his cock out and his date was using it to slap me. It had started out fairly limp, but it was starting to grow with the exercise. Twelve o’clock and six o’clock were seeing a lot of action. The girls on the side were making fun of my tits. ‘We should dip them in paint put a canvas down and see what they paint. More fun than a spirograph!'”

“‘Smile for the cameras!’ Judy, Trudy and Booty were jamming phones in my face and recording my humiliation. I felt myself coming. Booty said ‘That’s a good look for you!’ I woke up with erzurum escort my fingers buried in my cunt riding one orgasm after another. The cocks in my dream were bigger than reality.”

“Ironically the dream was not how things happened, but now whenever anyone tries to take my picture with a phone, I get a little angry. It’s just a knee jerk reaction to the situation.” She said with a sad smile.

“Did you ever think about going after them in court?” I asked.

“Sororities are secret societies. It would be hard to find people to open up. The things I did, I did willingly. Well, pretty enthusiastically. My complaint was that there were four of us, but we were not all painted with the same brush.” Another sad smile. “In the end my father punished them. Taking me down a notch cost their families millions and had their grandfathers praying for my successful graduation. My dad had promised them the pain would stop when I successfully graduated. They were lucky it only cost them money.”

“Did you ever forgive the other musketeers?” I asked her.

“No.” She gave me an earnest look. Today she actually looked her age. “They never apologized, which made it hard to forgive.” She gave me a hug and left her arm wrapped around me. “In the end I decided to forgive them anyway, as soon as it all blew over.”

“But you never did. Did you?” I asked.

She sighed and buried her face in my chest. “There is a woman at dad’s corporate headquarters who works forty hours a week searching the internet. She even developed a facial recognition program that she patented and is marketing with some success. She submits a bi-weekly report to me and another one to the action team. It has not blown over. I guess it is true nothing on the internet ever truly goes away.”

———————————————————————————————————————-

The woman in the photo was incredibly beautiful. Movie star pretty. She was not model pretty because of her generous curves and short stature. Pat had told me she was a gymnast when she was young, close to Olympic standards.

“Wow, she is incredible! But what is she doing with you?” I teased my friend.

“Yeah! I know!” he replied happily. “I’m batting out of my league. She loves me for my sense of humor.”

I did have a problem with the photograph. Paula Palmer had sucked in her cheeks and was making fish lips. He had other pix, but she was always doing things like crossing her eyes or sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth. In one she had rolled up her eyes so that only the whites were visible. I made a point of complimenting each image but in the end, I asked my friend, “Don’t you have one where she is not making a face?”

Pat got defensive, “It’s called gurning! She has actually been in competitions! She is really talented.”

“I bet she did really well in those competitions.” I supported my friend. Paula might have gotten some unearned points from being beautiful, but she was talented at making faces. I suggested we all get together on a double date. I was friends with her husband, maybe I could be her friend too. Blaze had mostly ‘associates’ from work. She could use a new friend or two. You can never have too many friends, right?

EPILOG

My wife did end up meeting with each of the Musketeers separately. She dragged me along for moral support. She offered each one the olive branch. The porn clips were still popping up, her father’s aggressive attempts to delete all never really worked. The improved quality of cameras probably had more to do with her image fading from the world web than the efforts of his staff.

My father-in-law had attacked each family. Primarily financially. The musketeers were banned from ever causing trouble for the Firestones again. It was bad for business.

Judy and Trudy accepted my wife’s peace offering. Booty seemed to think Blaze was trying to frame her for what happened. Booty had gotten the spy cameras, talked the other muskets into doing the hidden camera work and egging Blaze on, edited the porn and posted it (she had lied to the others that there would only be a private showing) and when it got a positive response, even posted some stills and supplemental fanfare.

Blaze occasionally connects with Judy and Trudy. They will never be fast friends again. The trust is gone. But they acknowledge their crazy days together with a little nostalgia. Booty is like a leper, having nothing to do with any of them and unwilling to take any responsibility. I would like to believe what she did was the result of being high on booze, wasted on cocaine or psycho from breathing the entitlement dust in the air. It would have to be a very long binge to accomplish all that she did.

Paula is teaching Blaze how to gurn. I am going to get that snap shot where my wife is not angry!

“One for all, all for one!” Musketeer rally cry. The Three Musketeers by Alexander Dumas.

Note: Comment on fooling stairs is a paraphrase of Marlene Dietrich.