Garry was a dick. He was lovely and sexy when we first met. He pushed my limits. He wanted me to watch porn with him and then he'd start kissing me, touching me and taking my clothes off through the first few videos until I was naked on the couch, bed or rug. He'd keep touching me through a few more videos with one eye on me, telling me I was his hot, horny baby, and one eye on the porn action. Then he'd intently fuck me while we were both watching other people fuck. He'd love to do it in front of a mirror, or with the curtains open the couple of times we were staying in a hotel or motel. I got the idea that he wanted to share me, have me seen, but he was somehow also intensely jealous. He'd kick up a fuss if he thought I was flirting with his friends. I would talk to George, the neighbour next door, and older divorcee, who is twenty years my senior, and Garry would accuse me of flirting with him. He'd say insane things like, I was pushing my tits up at George. Or that I had basically offered myself to one of his friends or his uncle at a BBQ because I was laughing at a joke.
I do like to feel that I am an attractive woman, and maybe I do casually flirt as a way to connect with guys. But of course, there needs to be trust and freedom in a relationship and Garry just wasn't giving that to me. After a year, I'd had enough. Garry wanted to move in with me and saying that if I didn't let him move in, I didn't love him enough. It didn't feel right. It was emotional manipulation, and maybe I really didn't love him enough. I was over it.
I had just turned 30 when I met him. I had been working as a manager for a chain of well-known bakeries and had my own home set up, a two-bedroom townhouse with small garden areas at the front and back. I was hoping that Garry was going to be 'The One' but I think I dodged a bullet there. Garry was 38, stocky with dark hair. He'd had a son with his ex-partner, but he didn't see him much. That should have been a red flag. Shouldn't men have good relationships with the people they say they care about? He had two motorbikes, one which he was trying to fix up to sell. He had started to leave it at my house, in my little backyard, so that he could work on it while he stayed with me. We went out on the bikes a few times together on day trips and he loved that I would look like a sex-bomb in my tight jeans and tight top and push-up bra under a thick, padded jacket.
Garry had another idiosyncrasy that is pivotal to this story. Garry used to take photos of me. Sexy photos. I wasn't into it at first, too embarrassed to see myself like that. First, I let him take photos of me in a bikini at the beach a couple of times. Then he wanted to take my photo in sexy underwear, then topless, then of me fully naked. Once or twice, he came into the bathroom when I was showering and took a photo of me through the glass. If I protested, he'd say I look gorgeous and that he gets hard just looking at me. By appealing to my ego, I let him take a few photos that I have never let anyone else take of me. Me sitting on the beach pulling my bikini bottoms to one side to show my pussy, me on all fours on the bed showing my ass and pussy from behind, a quick one in the backyard of me naked on his bike, leaning back so that my breasts look all perky and my pussy rose up from the seat. A video of Garry pulling my knickers off. A couple of videos of him fucking me from behind.
Garry was both exciting and draining. I was happy to be rid of him in the end, but it got quite volatile with him calling me a selfish bitch and smashing a few things on the way out.
After the final showdown I didn't hear from him in a while. I put his things in a few boxes, surprised that he had brought so much stuff to the house. Lots of clothes, motorbike parts, tools, spray cans, plastic bottles half full of various fluids, even fishing gear and a couple of rods and a metal frame that was for something he was apparently working on. This guy was intense!
I eventually heard that he was dating some other poor lady, so I texted him and gave him an ultimatum. Come and get your stuff or I will start to sell it or trash it. That didn't go down well with Garry. He sent a text, typically poorly phrased, saying something about, 'entitles to what's mine' and 'you don't know what I'll do' and 'you guun regret it'. I left the typo's in so you can get the picture! A week later his good friend Miles came over with a trailer and a sheepish look on his face. Miles was always lovely and respectful. I don't know why he was friends with someone like Garry. I helped him load the trailer with Garry's stuff and we even pushed the bike up a slim ramp, taking ages to tightly strap it down. It was nice that Miles didn't seem to hold any grudge against me, and I could chat with him normally instead of worrying about Garry's reaction. I was so happy to be rid of it all. Finally free of him. Except that I wasn't. Not entirely.
A couple of weeks later, I started to get texts from Garry's uncle, Brian. Just asking how I was going. Very loose, friendly, general. I had met Brian a few times over the year that I was dating Garry. He looked like a typical biker, white short hair and a white goatee. He had wide shoulders and no bum. Just an indent in his jeans at the top of his legs. He had a large belly made from years of steak, scotch and cola, always covered with an ACDC or Metallica t-shirt. He was a lovely guy, and he had always made me feel welcome with a drink and a joke to put me at ease. I had met his wife Sharon too. She was a nice-looking lady, always with a glossing of make-up. She had a large, square frame with massive tits and bleached blonde hair. She always wore clean jeans and a large floaty top over her prominent boob-shelf.
After a couple of these texts, Brian asked if he could pop over for a quick visit, which he had never done before, and I wondered if Garry had left something else behind that needed picking up. I said that Sunday would be a good day, and I made sure that I had some nice cake and coffee on hand, thinking that Brian and Sharon might want to stay for a drink and a chat.
Brian came on his own. I invited him in and asked how he was. He seemed nervous and I started to fuss around making coffee and getting the cake out. Then he told me.
'You know what he can be like, Darlin', he went a bit crazy when you said you would sell his stuff. He was ranting around our place and Sharon told him to get lost and not to come around our place being a prick.'
Brian told me that Garry had sent him and, he suspected, a few other people photos of me. Yes, the naked, tits out, ass in air, getting fucked, offering myself, pussy open photos. He seemed really nervous telling me and I was starting to fall apart inside. With embarrassment, with the grossness of it. With the betrayal, with the horror and violation of who-know-who and what sort of men, seeing me at my most vulnerable and private without me wanting them to see me or giving any consent. I hid my face, hot with embarrassment and frustration and dumped myself onto the couch, shivering and curled up with my growing fear and hatred and confusion. Brian sat next to me and put his large hand on my back.
'It's alright, love. We have the utmost respect for you. You always treated Garry well and what he's done is really shit-house. Lower than a dog. They are beautiful photos, but we know they were private.'
I stayed there for a while and cried it out with Brian sitting next to me. He was a nice comfort, and I appreciated that he was trying to make me feel better. Who had seen them? If Brian had, who else? Miles? Oh, my God! I had just seen Miles, and he hadn't mentioned anything. What about his other friends, men I had only met once or twice? My mind was racing, thinking about the photos that I had let Garry take. It wasn't that there was a large number of them. But they showed everything, and my face was in them. It was me in porn-style poses.
'I thought you might like to see me delete them so that you feel better about it, so you know that at least one person has done the right thing,' Brian offered.
I sat up and looked at Brian with his phone.
'Thank you,' I said through teary eyes. 'That would be good.'
Brian opened up his phone and spent a minute looking for his photo app. As I sat next to him, looking over his shoulder I could smell his faint cologne. That was comforting too. I saw the small thumbnails, a range of about ten nudes that looked like the whole collection, minus the videos. Brian opened one of them up. It was me in the kitchen wearing my tight jeans and the biker jacket that Garry used to lend me. I had nothing on underneath the jacket and I was holding it open and pushing my chest forward so that my baps and rose-pink nipples were prominent. I was smiling and looking directly at the camera, offering my titties.
We paused and there was an audible intake of breath from both me and Brian. I looked hot. Brian was staring at my bare tits. We were both staring at my tits out for viewing. I felt my nipples start to tingle and a flush of heat go down to my groin. I gulped. My mouth was dry. After a second he roused himself out of his bare-breast-induced stupor.
'Right then, let's see, now, how do we delete, here we go, this one, there you go Darlin, deleted, no more.'
'Thank you, Brian.'
'Alright, next one.'
The next one was the one on the motorbike. Brian and I looked at me seated on the leather seat of Garry's cruiser. I remembered that the seat had been really warm as the bike had been out in the sun. The hot neoprene had felt really nice between my bare legs and the warmth alone had made me wet. I had enjoyed sitting with my bare ass and pussy on the hot seat and I had opened my legs more to allow my rarely seen private folds make contact with this hot, smooth, rubbery surface. It had been a fun and scary moment. I had quickly run inside after the snap, hoping that no neighbours were around, peeking through the fence or from their upstairs windows. Now Brian and I were staring at my naked body on this large bike, my arms supporting me from behind, my tits prominent and proud, my belly looking long and tight as I stretched out, leading down to my little welcome patch and my swelling slit. I had a fleeting thought, wondering if Brian liked my little hatch of hair above my pussy. I quickly glanced over at him, guilty that maybe he had caught my naughty thought in that moment.
'OK, let's delete that one. Nice bike though!' We laughed.
It was nice that he was trying to keep it light. I could feel myself getting wet on the inside of my hole. But I still felt so embarrassed and under pressure, and I didn't know why and what these emotions were. I suddenly realised that maybe it was weird that Brian had come here with the photos. Surely he could have deleted them privately? Maybe this was the first time he'd ever come across this type of situation. It certainly was for me. What was the proper thing to do? Should we be contacting the police? Or was Brian right and maybe we should just be low-key and handle it privately? Either way, Brian had already seen it all and he was trying to do the right thing.
He fiddled around again, deleting the photo from his phone.
The next photo was a close-up of my pussy. You could see the tops of my thighs, the curve of my mound, the darkness of my ass-crease and my designer-patched mons. It looked gross to me. You could see all of the dimples and creases and a couple of stray hairs. My labia skin was a dusky pink, darker than the rest of my thighs. You could see my slit had opened up from the swelling of my lips and about a centimetre wide strip of the inner lips, pink and moist, were starting to poke out. I looked over at Brian. He seemed engrossed in the image.
'I'm sorry you have to see that, Brian. It's not the nicest picture of me. It looks gross.'
Brian turned to look at me with his eyes wide, his brow wrinkled, as if I'd just told him that steak comes from monkeys.
'You ladies can't see your own beauty! This is the most magnificent sight a man can ever see. This,' he searched for words, 'this is the holy grail!'
His eyes went back to my pussy shot and he started gesticulating.
