Note: NSWF and 21+ only. In addition to voyeurism, has strong themes of bdsm, breast torture, and humiliation.
Dear Sir,
My name is Edgar Sullivan. I work at a bank in a small town adjacent to yours. When I married my wife, I was 26 and she was 21. I thought I had found the perfect woman and I worked very hard to provide all the material comforts she desired.
Little did I know then that my wife, Pamela, had a hidden side. Once we were married, I would sometimes come home to find her looking at dirty magazines. Her hand would be inside her panties, and she would be touching herself. She just laughed when I asked her why she felt the need to do this.
I thought we could keep this a secret and go on with our marriage. But now I know that is impossible.
I have long suspected that she was making a fool of me behind my back. To confirm my fears, I hid in a closet in the bedroom two days ago and watched while she carried on with a man who also works in our town.
At first, I thought he really was an intruder, and almost came to her rescue. That would have marked me for a fool. I realized in short order that this meeting was all arranged ahead-of-time to take place while my wife assumed I was at work.
I provide you with my account of that day, below. I hope you will agree that this marriage must end, no matter the harm a divorce may temporarily do to either of our reputations.
I would appreciate your discretion. If you agree to represent me, please call me at the number listed on my card (enclosed).
Thank you.
Yours truly,
Edgar B. Sullivan
September 12, 1958 -- A True and Honest Account by Edgar B. Sullivan
Today, I confirmed my worst fears about my wife. I left work early, making up an excuse about feeling a cold coming on.
When I got home, I could see that she was in the garden in our backyard, tending to the rose bushes. I snuck into the house and quietly hid in my bedroom closet. The closet is the kind with the slats in the door. You can peek through from the inside, so I had a clear view of the bed.
From my hiding place, I could hear Pamela come into our bedroom. Peering between the slats, I saw her take a washcloth and clean herself down there and under her breasts. She put on her make-up and even put a little bit of rouge on her nipples.
I wondered if she was preparing for a secret date and almost came out of the closet to confront her. It was then that I saw the window to the bedroom start to slide open. The young man who works at the gas station near the town square stepped inside.
My wife screamed and I thought our house really was being burgled at first. Yet when she started to smile, I quickly realized that this was some sort of strange game that she and this young man were playing at my expense.
He was twenty-one or twenty-two years old, in my estimation. I assure you that I do not usually notice other men and their physiques. However, as this man proceeded to take his T-shirt off right in front of me, I could not help but notice that he was in very good shape. He had broad shoulders and firm muscles, and a smooth chest that tapered down to a trim waist.
He was quite tanned and had grease on his hands. I was shocked that my wife would transport with this sort of a person, to be honest. I wondered briefly if she had begun to go a little crazy, since I'd read in the weeklies recently about housewives and how unhappy they seemed to be. All of my colleagues at work were talking about this problem and what to do about it.
I almost wish now that she had needed electroshock therapy. At least that, while embarrassing, would be something the neighbors would understand, and we could stay married.