I didn't mind Walter Nevins at first. The first day he came into my office and threw a shit load of money at me to follow his sexy little wife around, well no, I didn't mind him at all. But now he was really starting to burn my ass. I mean, if you're going to have your wife followed, don't you already have a pretty good idea that she's fucking around behind your back? Are you going to be that surprised when I show you the photographs that actually prove it?
Well, then again, I guess I couldn't blame Nevins, the poor old bastard. His hot little wife was into some kinky shit. I guess it was a side of her he'd never seen -- nor experienced -- for himself before.
"Tanya, my wife," Nevins whines from across the desk in my office, "has become more aloof toward me than ever."
I nod my head, reaching for a stack of photographs in my right-hand drawer.
"Last night," he continues, "I came home from a long day at work and she's sitting in the kitchen, vaguely flipping through a magazine. But she isn't really READING anything! She's just absently looking at the pictures. She doesn't even say 'Hello' to me!"
"Mr. Nevins," I say, "I have something you should see."
But it's as if he doesn't even hear me.
"I mean day after day," he rambles, "I work myself to the point of exhaustion while she spends her days flipping through elite women's magazines. Or going to the gym to workout just enough to keep her attractive figure. Then it's off to the martini bar for lunch and cocktails with her girlfriends. Then perhaps to the salon for a manicure/pedicure. Or the spa for a massage. And me?! I'm working myself to the bone all day to provide her with our beautiful home, her designer clothing, her Mercedes!"
"Please, Mr. Nevins," I say, holding up my hand in hopes to stop his babbling, "you really need to see these photographs I've taken."
"I KNEW I shouldn't have married a woman so much younger than me!" he continues with his rant, ignoring me. "I KNEW she'd turn out to be one of these 'high-maintenance' women! But then again, how can you blame me? I mean, you've seen her...she's utterly gorgeous. Oh and real wildcat in bed too, just between the two of us. But then again, it's been AGES since she's let me touch her."
"I think I have the explanation for that right here," I say.
I hand him the heavy stack of glossy black-and-white pictures I've recently taken of Mrs. Nevins covertly. She isn't wearing clothes in about 95% of them. And neither are the men in the photos. And there are lots of different men.
In some of the snap-shots, Mrs. Nevins and these men are kissing deeply, passionately. But in most of them, she is either deep-throating their cocks with tiny tears streaming out the corners of her eyes, indicating how far down her throat their pricks are reaching. Or she's being bent over a desk, getting fucked doggie-style. Or she's getting her pussy eaten in the backseat of a luxury SUV. Or she's tied up and having candle wax dripped onto her naked body. Or she's having a humungous butt-plug forced up her asshole.
The sexual energy that radiates off of these black-and-white still-shots hits you hard in the face. Like someone's long deep hot breath seeping into your pores.
As Mr. Nevins flips through the stack, tears are welling up in his eyes. His hands are shaking. I'm expecting him to excuse himself from my office any second now. He strikes me as the type that won't be able to make it back to his car before he begins vomiting in the parking lot.
But why then does he just keep flipping through the photos? Tears are now meandering down his cheeks, but at the same time he just can't bear to look away from each and every picture. He analyzes each one for 30 seconds or more before flipping to the next one.
And suddenly a voice inside my head tells me the answer...
It's because he LOVES this shit.
He doesn't want to show it, but he loves seeing his wife like this...cheating on him...doing the most depraved acts possible...with other men.
"Mr. Nevins," I say assertively. "You have more than enough evidence here to make a legitimate case for divorce."
"Divorce?!" Nevins perks up angrily. "Why, I could never even fathom it!"
"Mr. Nevins," I say, staring him straight in the eye, "I apologize, but most men who hire me to trail their wives do so with the intent that if I photograph their spouse in such...uncompromising positions...such as these photos reveal...well, then they have all the incriminating evidence they need to know..."
"To know what?!" Nevins whines.
"Well, that their wife is nothing more than a common slut, quite frankly."
"Divorce..." Nevins ponders, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, shaking his head no. Then he resumes flipping through the photos, scrutinizing each one.
"I can't," he sighs. "I just...can't divorce her. I guess I...love her too much."
What an idiot, I think to myself.
"Mr. Martin," Nevins says, unable to tear himself away from the photos, "I want you to know that I will still be requiring your services. Just keep...following her. And...keep taking pictures. I need to know what she's doing...at all times...whenever she's not with me."
Jackpot.
"That type of surveillance will be very costly, Mr. Nevins. I do have other clients that require my time, but if you're willing to pay for such a high level of service, it can be arranged. Of course I will have to get my partner, Douglas Johnson, involved with the task of trailing Mrs. Nevins. So this may be quite an expensive venture for you...if you truly want to pursue it."
"Money is no object!" he shouts, his red watery eyes still affixed on the photos.
For some reason, something sinister stirs inside me. I realize my testicles are tingling with a sick sense of anticipation. But anticipation of what, I do not know. At least not yet.
*******
My partner, Johnson, and I are on another overnight stakeout, watching Nevins' wife, Tanya. It's our third overnight this week, and it's only Wednesday. It's like we've become obsessed. We've been slacking off on our other clients' cases just so we can devote the majority of our time to following and watching this conniving little nymphomaniac.
Tonight she is with a guy who looks no more than 19 or 20 years old. Mrs. Nevins met him at the gym just two hours ago. Apparently he's her new personal trainer. And tonight, in his apartment, he is personally training her body in more ways than one. He's training her to take cock deep in all three of her holes.
Johnson and I can see everything. The personal trainer has left all the lights on in his bedroom (...you wouldn't believe how many people deep down love exhibitionism).
And through the window, Johnson and I can see practically every hair, every pore, every bead of sweat on their naked bodies. Binoculars have to be the best invention ever made available to the common man.
"There she goes again," Johnson whispers, breaking the silence in our darkened car. "By the scrunched-up look on her face, I would say the kid just pulled his cock from her cunt and slid it up her ass."
Johnson is right. On all fours, Tanya Nevins is gritting her teeth, her nostrils are flared, her pretty green eyes are crossing. Behind her, the personal trainer has his hands on her hips, pushing and pulling her onto his cock. I pan up with my binoculars until I reached his face, and then I see him mouth the words: "That's it, take my dick up your ass!"
I pan down to watch Mrs. Nevins. She's in her early thirties, but still has the body of an 18-year-old. Her tits are pure perfection, thanks to the boob job Nevins paid for. I'm watching those big, heavy fun-bags swing back and forth as she gets fucked in the ass by a man she just met. Her flesh is coated in perspiration. Her stylish hairdo has gone erotically wild.
I pan my binoculars to her face to get a close-up. Her expression makes it look like this is the best thing she's ever experienced in her entire life.
And right then, I see something else that makes my cock go completely rigid. I see her mouth the words: "Spank my ass while you fuck it."
Good Lord, I think to myself.
"I have this intense desire to humiliate her," I suddenly hear myself saying aloud.
It's quiet for a moment.
"I have an intense desire to fuck the living shit out of her," Johnson says.
"Perhaps," I say, staring through the lighted window watching Tanya Nevins enjoy that big fat dick deep in her ass, "both can be arranged."
