In hindsight, it's pretty amazing that I didn't stop the 'punishment' once it got to the next point. After all, I've always considered the humiliation of another person to be a dark type of fantasy, one that I usually imagined with a fantasy woman, rather than my wife. For some reason, I felt as though she might somehow see in my eyes how I'd been treating her in my fantasy, and that wasn't something I would be very comfortable with.

Yet by the time the next few scenes had played out, I was more vengeful than protective. And I guess that it was the pictures that did me in.

You see, after Shy Guy had deposited most of his seed on my wife's face and chest, Melissa called a temporary halt to the proceedings. "I gotta go to the bathroom, and I gotta clean up," she declared, pointing to the cum dangling and drying in her hair. "Yeah, we don't want her to look all used up for this next stuff," Punk added. "She needs to look fresh and clean, like the, you know, pure, driven snow."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I need to take a leak, too," Smoothy conceded, casting about for his pants. "Go with her," he said to Shy Guy. "Make sure her loverboy isn't looking for her. She's ours tonight."

As they all made for the door, I let myself out of the Producer's room, which had gotten quite stuffy. They'd turned the air conditioning on in the studio to help cool the place and rid it of some of the odors of sex. That super-strong odor will forever bring up the image of Shy Guy fucking my wife's tits, and shooting his wad straight into her mouth. After de-gaussing the tape they'd just finished recording on, I noticed a manila folder poking out of Shy Guy's backpack. Ah-ha! At last, the incriminating photos.. Now I could see for myself whether all this stuff Melissa was putting herself through was actually worth it.

Spilling the photos onto the desk, I quickly flipped through them, keeping my ears cocked for their return. But after seeing the first few pictures, all I could hear was the blood pounding in my head. I didn't want to save her...I wanted to kill her.

Several showed Melissa in the usual positions...doggy style, missionary, giving head and receiving it. In one she lay on the edge of a table, stark naked, with her legs sticking straight up and locked around her lover's neck. Her head lolled to one side, with a look of pure ecstasy on her face. In another she was deep-throating this guy, something she claimed she could never do with me. In a close-up shot, his lips and tongue were caught capturing one of her erect nipples, with her hands below her tit, as if feeding it to him. But after the last hour, I'd become somewhat inured to seeing another man taking pleasure from my wife's body. It was the picture of her and him in "our" position, "our" special lovemaking style, that got my blood to boiling. Early on, while dating, we'd discovered how excited she got when she literally rode my cock. While standing, I'd lift her up by the ass and seat her on my cock, as she wrapped her legs and arms around me. Then I'd walk around the room, using different gaits like a walk, a bounce or a skip to stimulate her in different ways. And to make the pleasure even more excruciating, I'd lick, suck and chew on her nipples, connecting her clit and her nipples with a direct current of sexual electricity.

She'd said that she'd never done it like that with anyone. She'd said that she wouldn't even tell her girlfriends about it. And the picture in my hands showed her doing it with her lover, in all its tit-sucking, ass-jouncing, clit-heating glory. Just as I was deciding whether to keep the picture, the studio door swung open and the whole troupe bustled in, Melissa leading the way, her hair combed and makeup reapplied. On cat's feet I snuck back into the Producers Room, gently closing the door just before Punk returned to the control room for his shift. Horrified, I noticed that I'd left the pictures out, but Punk just stuck them back in the envelope and tossed them to the side. Evidently he thought that the last guy in there had been looking at them.

Soon I was safely ensconced in my lair, peering through my binoculars through the dark window, through the control room doorway, into the studio beyond. This time they wasted no time in stripping my wife totally naked. In the chill of the air conditioned studio, her nipples were already partially erect, and she held her back straight, though I could see she was already quite tired.

With Shy Guy handling the camera, Smoothy started directing the action for the next round. "Liss, I think we got some good footage that time, but I don't get the feeling you're really into this," Smoothy said, striking an exaggerated director's tone. "I'm thinkin' maybe you need a little more incentive. Or maybe some props would help."

We could all tell he was leading up to something, but what was it?

"I think maybe you need something to remind you that you're here for our pleasure, not for yours. So get on your hands and knees, and crawl over here. And keep your eyes down on the floor, where they belong!"

With the camera following every movement, I watched on the monitor as my wife crawled over to Smoothy, her ass cheeks and boobs wiggling in time with each other. Once there, he had her turn around and face away from him, as he reached to retrieve something from his backpack. Shielding it with his body, we all heard a "snap!", and then he let it drop right in front of her face: a dog collar, with leash attached. Not the sexy, black leather, silver-studded collar so popular in domination games, but just a plain, uninviting, domestic dog collar, with a brown, leather leash attached. Slowly, making sure that Melissa felt every movement, Smoothy buckled the collar onto my wife's neck. Then he took her on a tour of the studio, ordering her to lick Shy Guy's butt, sniff Punk's crotch like she was a dog, and generally act like an animal, with Smoothy whacking her ass with the leather leash whenever she didn't move fast enough. Finally, he tugged her back to the desk and sat atop it, his feet dangling near her face. "Now we're gonna add a few new rules to the game. Like you don't say nothin', or do nothin', unless we tell you to. And when you do talk to us, you have to call each of us 'Master,' just like you're Jeannie or somethin'. And if you forget, you'll be punished. Now, to make sure you know who's boss, I want you to clean up the bottom of my feet...with your tongue!"

"No way. I'm not gonna do that," Melissa objected, forgetting the rules already.

"You will or we'll show those pictures to your husband. Annnnd..." he cut off her rising objection, "because you refuse to be good, I'm gonna have to punish you."