Pictures at Ten

by Sean Geist

  The station was mostly dark, the front office lights were out but through the thick glass window I could make out a single lamp at the receptionist's desk illuminating our security guard. Tonight it's James, a retired Dallas cop working to supplement his pension.

  I scanned my key card and the door buzzed open. James looked up from whatever he was looking at.

  “Well, shit if it ain't fucking Grand Central Station here this evening.” He looked at his watch. “Actually almost morning.”

  “Just need to get a few things from my desk.” I didn't need to ask, but I did. “So, who else is here?”

  “Steve. And he's escorting this fine looking lady. Showing her around, he said.”

  “Well, you have a good night, James. I'll let myself out the back.” I left our security guard to his crossword puzzle and headed toward the newsroom.

  During the week, there would be some activity, even this late at night. Maybe an anchor and reporter hanging around from the ten o'clock news discussing some issue or another. By this time the morning producers would be in, diligently looking for some fresh new item to lead their morning shows. And there'd be a photographer in the bullpen, listening to police scanners hoping for anything interesting to get him out on the streets. But not tonight.

  We didn't have a weekend morning show yet, so Benny, one of our Master Control operators, was alone running a slate of hour long commercials for miracle cleaning products and handy-dandy kitchen appliances. Around seven o'clock Sunday morning he'll segue into kid's cartoons for a few hours until switching to the live feed from a morning church service.

  The cleaning crew wouldn't be in until four and the Sunday evening news producer wasn't due in until nine in the morning.

  I didn't know what I was expecting to find. Steve showing my wife his office, or maybe pointing out the desk where I sat, or demonstrating the terminals and scanners we used to gather the pictures and information that was the life blood of a news operation.

  In the pit of my stomach I feared I'd find them sharing an embrace, kissing like old lovers, hands exploring each other's bodies. The thought chilled me, but at the same time, sparked a burning desire that scared me more.

  To my utter relief and disappointment, the newsroom was empty.

  Then I remembered what Elizabeth said, about how Steve, or maybe Daphne, mentioned wanting to see where the magic happened, so I headed off to the Studio Control Room. That's where I sat during my show, making sure each segment hit on time, communicating with live remote reports and whispering in the anchors' ears when they needed to speed up or stretch.

  I was hoping I'd find them there, but they weren't. I was still alone, this time staring at a wall of monitors of various sizes. Most of them were black, a few showed a pattern of color bars. During the show they'd display a live feed, some video clip or maybe a weather graphic.

  I scanned some of the smaller monitors showing various satellite feeds and off-air broadcasts and the studio cameras. That's when I finally found Steve and my wife. The black and white image was too small to see well, so I punched a few buttons on the control panel to rout the image to a larger color monitor.

  Steve was sitting in his usual position, where he sat every night at five, six and ten. Daphne was in the chair next to him, like she was his co-anchor. They did make a great team, very photogenic.

  I started to head out into the studio to join them when I stopped. My heart was thumping like a machine gun. Here was my wife, sitting alone with a handsome man and not just any handsome man, a man she could theoretically sleep with and I couldn't get mad at her. And I had the perfect opportunity to watch her without her knowing I was there, like in the bar, but only better. Would she be a good wife and keep her hands to herself? She did promise to not cheat on me. But there was the freebie list. Was that even a real thing? or just a devise to spark our fantasies. I never really thought I'd be sleeping with any of the women on my list. My wife was in a very different position.

  I could have stopped them there, before things went any further. I could have walked out into the studio and ended what ever he or she or they had planned. But I didn't. I wanted to see how far Daphne and Steve would take this, so instead of interrupting them, I watched.

  The image was a little blurry so I stepped over to the camera controls to pull it into focus. I worked slowly to avoid actually moving the cameras. If I did, they'd know they were being watched. And I didn't want that. I wanted to know what my wife would do if she didn't know I was watching.

  Then it hit me. If I could see what was happening, so could Benny. He had the ability to patch into any video source in the building, but why would he. The large digital clock on the wall read five after twelve. Benny had just started rolling the scheduled infomercial. Right now he was filling out his logs, then he'd go back to reading a book, or playing a video game, or whatever else he did as the station operations hummed along. There was no reason for him to look and see what was transpiring in the studio, no one should be in the studio. So I put him out of my mind and turned to focus back to my wife and my co-worker.

  I was used to seeing Steve on the monitor. I wanted to tell him to sit up straight, which I would have if we were in the middle of a broadcast instead of watching him flirt with my wife. At least I assumed they were flirting. I saw their lips move. They smiled at each other. Daphne reached up to touch Steve's face, brush the hair out of his eyes. That reminded me I needed to tell him to get it cut.

  Why the hell was I falling into the role of producer instead of jealous husband. I didn't know. Maybe it was something about watching the scene unfold on a television screen that made me feel safe. Like it wasn't really happening, like it was just, a story. But that didn't make sense, because five times a week I put together a show, broadcast to millions of homes, showing people and events that were real. My news shows were real. My wife's flirting was real.

  I wanted to know what they were saying. While neither of them had a microphone on, I knew a way around that.

  Each on-air talent wears a wireless mic so they can walk around the studio if we need them to. Sometimes those mics fail so we have wired back-ups tucked under the desk and they are always on.

  I slipped into the audio booth and patched into those hardwired mics.

  “I swear it was an honest mistake.”

  “Really? You really thought I was Elizabeth?”

  “Cross my heart, honest.” Steve traced an X on his chest.

  My wife just looked at him. His serious expression cracked and he started giggling.

  “Okay. After a few seconds I did noticed you were in a dress not a skirt and blouse, and I glanced down at your cleavage and realized you had a much nicer rack than Liz.”

  Daphne laughed and slapped him on the arm. “You say the nicest things.”

  “I can't help it. I have a way with words. It's how I make my living.”

  “If the people of Dallas knew half of what I know.”

  “Hey. None of what we talked about is on the record.”

  “I know. I'm just teasing.”

  “So you really saw my first broadcast?”

  “Oh yeah. And I've wanted to—” Daphne paused and looked around. Was she expecting me to walk in on them? It was a possibility. “I've wanted to... Okay, I'll just say it. I've wanted to fuck you ever since.”

  Steve's eyes lit up. Daphne was never one to be subtle. The words drove a cold spike through my heart.

  “And Richard know this?”

  “He suspects.”

  “And he let you dance with me? And sneak off with me?”

  “Hey. I'm an adult. We don't control each other. We trust each other.”

  “Maybe he shouldn't.”

  “Shut up and come here.” Daphne grabbed Steve's tie and pulled him toward her. They came together with a crash, their lips met, hands ran through hair. They stood without parting. Daphne grabbed Steve's ass with both hands and pulled him into her.

  I wasn't blind. I always knew Daph
ne found Steve attractive, it had been a part of our fantasies for years. But deep down I always figured it was just that, a fantasy, make-believe. What was happening in the studio was not make-believe.

  It was real. And it was the most erotic sight I'd witnessed, made more so because my wife was taking part. I should have been seething mad, but I wasn't. I was hurt and jealous, sure, but also incredibly aroused. I watched in stunned silence as the couple kissed, the sounds of clothes rustling, wet lips smacking and moans of pleasure filled the small booth I was in.

  “You're a good kisser. Great with your tongue.” I'm pretty sure what was coming next. I had been afraid Steve was going to seduce my wife away from me, but that wasn't what was happening. Daphne was in total control. “How about we find out how talented you really are.”

  My wife pushed Steve back down in his chair and then sat herself down on the desk in front of him. Her back was to the camera, so I couldn't see her face, but the expression that passed across Steve's face as he glanced down between my wife's legs was incredibly telling. He inched the hem of her dress up her thighs and his eyes widened.

  “You wear those often?”

  “First time. Special occasion. You like?”

  “You are a dirty girl. Yes. I love it.”

  While they spoke, Daphne ran her fingers through Steve's hair. I guess she had enough talking because she pulled his face further into her crotch. My co-worker dove in with gusto. Daphne threw her head back. I could see her eyes were closed tight and not much else, but I could tell she was in heaven by the moans that issued from the small speaker next to me. It was a sound I heard often, but not as well, since it usually came filtered through Daphne's thighs as I was myself feasting on her juicy clam.

  As I watched, with various conflicting emotions, I did have the wherewithal to press the red button on the video recorder. I wasn't sure what I'd use it for: blackmail against Steve, evidence in a divorce case, or maybe the start of an amateur porn collection.

  My wife was overcome with passion, Steve was eagerly going down on her, and I was battling for control of my emotions. At the moment arousal was winning out. My cock was rock hard and I dare not touch it. If I came and my desire to watch abated, then jealousy and anger might take over and I might do something regrettable.

  What I really wanted to do at that moment was zoom in on my wife's face. I wanted to see the ecstasy play across her features. But if I messed with the camera too much, it might move and give away my presence, so I settled for a wide shot of my wife with her legs thrown over another man's shoulders as he went to town on her pussy. Over the moans and sighs of pleasure, I heard the distinct sound of moist lips being tongue-lashed. I found it odd, since I hadn't seen Steve remove her panties. Did my wife go without, this evening? She'd never done that before. She must have planned for this liaison all along, figuring she'd be able to mark a name off her freebie list.

  As I watched this carnal pageant play out before my eyes, I wondered if I was using that fantasy list to excuse myself for not stopping them. We had used the idea of my wife misbehaving as a catalyst to rev up our sex life for years. Imagining Daphne finding pleasure in the arms of another man never ceased to turn us on. Was it so wrong to take that next step, allow her to actually experience another man's cock? My head spun with contradictions. I was repulsed at watching the future mother of my children abandon all propriety and wantonly indulge her sexual appetite, yet I couldn't look away. I was scared by how much I was enjoying it.

  I don't know if it was the act of her stepping out that aroused me, or the fact I was watching her without her knowledge. It was surprising how much I enjoyed watching Daphne acting out to satisfy her own desires with no thought to mine. I find confident women sexy and I was lucky to marry one.

  Would I feel the same if she flaunted her infidelity in my face, taking another man while I was in the room, against my wishes. Fucking was one thing, humiliation was another.

  Daphne was cheating, but with a free pass. I wondered if she'd tell me about it later, either in the cold light of day, when we could discuss the events logically, or maybe during foreplay one night, she'd bring it up to tease me and heighten our arousal. And here I was with my own secret, spying on my wife, hiding in the control room and watching instead of stopping her. I guess that made me complicit in my own betrayal.

  A loud cry brought my attention back to the action. Daphne had arrived. She was arching her back, pushing her breasts toward the ceiling. She used one arm to support herself on the desk, her other hand was grasping at Steve's head, her fingers firmly entwined in his hair, pulling his face deeper into her treasure. He took it well, continuing to lap at her clit as she came down from a deeply satisfying climax.

  This was the first time I'd watched my wife cum from this perspective. Usually I was much closer, so I could see the details, her parted lips, a gush of fluids, tensing muscles, eyes shut tight. My vantage point this evening allowed me, for the first time, to truly see Daphne experience an orgasm – not its affects on her body parts, but how the sensation affected her as a whole, sexual, being. She looked beautiful, her red hair had fallen loose and cascaded over her shoulders to splash across the news desk she was perched upon, her legs were stretched out, her feet pointing away, one of her shoes had fallen off and I could almost make out her toes curling up.

  My cock was aching for release, but I held off. My own climax might ruin any pleasure I was receiving from watching my wife's infidelity. I needed to hold off, to see just how far she was going to take things. It wasn't too long before I learned the action was far from over.

  “That was fucking awesome.” Daphne was not a prude, but she rarely cussed. Then again, I didn't think I'd ever witness another man eat her out like that, so relatively speaking the cursing wasn't all that surprising. “Elizabeth's a lucky woman.”

  “I know. You going to reciprocate?”

  I really would have liked to se the look on my wife's face. “Maybe. I guess. Sure, you deserve it. Show me what you got.”

  “Gladly.” Steve couldn't drop his drawers fast enough. He stood up and released his turgid cock. It was impressive, about eight or nine inches, a little longer than mine, but not as thick.

  “Impressive.” Daphne echoed my thoughts.

  “Bigger than Richard?”

  Why'd he have to go and be a dick like that. Despite the fact he was about to fuck my wife – I was under no illusion that wasn't coming – I liked Steve. He was a normal, nice guy, not stuck up like some of the other news anchormen I'd run into in my career. Seems standing with your hard dick out about to take a co-worker's wife can bring out the beast in a man.

  I considered putting a stop to the proceedings, barging into the studio and pulling my wife out of there. Part of me would have loved to leave Steve there, his dick wagging, hard and unsatisfied. Daphne'd already got off once, so she'd be good. It would serve him right. Of course he had Elizabeth to go home to, so he wouldn't suffer blue balls for too long.

  The indignant part of me wanted to end it, but the deviant in me won out and the erotic dance continued.

  “Well, is it?”

  “You want me to call him in for a measurement? I can do that.” Daphne paused for just a second. “Or do you want me to suck it. I'd really rather suck it.”

  I chuckled. God how I love her and her filthy mouth. Even as I watched her kneel down to begin fondling and licking another man's cock, my love for her grew. She was gorgeous and sexy, a confident and complex woman. She was breaking our wedding vows, despite the technicality, but I loved her none the less. Daphne had taken a risk with me, left her job and moved to the middle of fuck-all Iowa without complaint. I felt I kinda owed her this.

  My wife licked along the underside of Steve's shaft, up and around the rim of his crown then ran her tongue over the tip, taking a drop of pre-cum from his urethra, before devouring his rigid snake whole.

  It was a goddamn masterpiece of fellatio. It was art. And when this was over I was going
to demand a repeat performance with my cock replacing Steve's.

  Daphne bobbed back and forth along my co-worker's cock. Several times he tried to grab her hair and take control of her speed, but she'd keep knocking his hand away. She was blowing him, he wasn't going to be fucking her mouth.

  I was mesmerized by her skill, I knew it well. Occasionally, I'd glance up at Steve's face to see his eye lids flutter and his jaw drop open, but my attention was always drawn back to my wife as she worshiped his erection.

  I heard a few grunts and then Steve said, “Oh shit. I'm close.”

  Daphne took his member out of her mouth. “I'm not done with you yet.” My wife's hands continued to glide up and down his shaft, lubricated by a mix of saliva and pre-cum. “You think you can get it up again if I let you cum in my mouth?”

  My cock twitched at those words, said so matter-of-factly. It took all my willpower not to stroke myself. I don't know where Daphne got such a dirty mouth, but I was loving it.

  The question was too much for Steve. He hesitated; so the decision was taken away from him.

  “Not taking any chances.” Daphne got up off the floor and sat back on the desk, spreading her legs wide.

  Again, my enjoyment of the scene was compromised by the awful camera angle, so I had to image the sight of my wife's pussy laid bare to my co-worker, her labia, moist and dripping, open like a blooming flower, a halo of curly red hair around it. Her little red bud would be engorged, aching for attention.

  How I wanted to plunge my cock into her right now, but it wasn't for me. That thought stabbed through my heart and jealousy re-emerged. I wanted my wife now. She was mine, why'd Steve get to have her. I guess I really wasn't ready to watch my wife fuck another man. I took out my phone and dialed Daphne's number.

  I could hear the phone ringing on my end as Steve stepped into my wife's outspread legs, his cock, hard and angry, taken in hand. He seemed to be teasing her, rubbing the bare tip across her swollen lips.

  Then it hit me like lighting. His bare cock, no rubber, my wife's fertile womb laid open before him.