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by Frenchie » Tue May 28, 2024 7:54 am
What I saw immediately were the bundles of cash. A few dozen, large denominations.
The man had foresight, I knew that.
Underneath, a whole pile of old papers and kraft paper envelopes.
On top, two wooden cassettes.
In the first, jewelry, most of it gold. A few watches too.
I wasn't a specialist, but it looked like quality, even if the shape wasn't the latest fashion.
Family jewels, I thought.
The second box was a little larger, but its weight surprised me. Considering its size, I wasn't expecting it.
It wasn't locked either.
The sight of its contents made me miss a few heartbeats.
Gold coins.
Lots of them.
And big ones. Most of them US $20s from the early 20th century.
I knew roughly how much they were worth, having seen a TV program about them not long before: About €2,000 each.
There were at least a hundred of them, loose, like that.
I was astonished to discover a Harpagon side to Delange that I hadn't suspected.
I imagined him plunging his hand with relish into his gold in the manner of a monomaniacal Louis de Funès in the movie i’d seen recently.
With an almost hypnotic gesture, I did just that. It was truly unreal.
Struggling to regain my composure, I set the second cassette aside to examine the other papers.
It wasn't all very clear. There were certainly property deeds. I couldn't say whether these properties had been mentioned in the will a few days earlier.
In a thick envelope, I found bearer bonds in the name of a Luxembourg bank. All the same, numbered from 1007120 to 1007280.
I was stunned to discover their face value.
The total amount relegated the value of the cassettes' contents to a mere tip.
I was starting to get the shakes.
Another envelope: old papers richly decorated with Cyrillic script. Russian loans! This was worth considerably less.
Another envelope, another language: Mexican loans. This was only worth as much as the paper.
More paper. Difficult to identify them all. Insurance, maybe.
Then an envelope with "For David" written on it. My heart raced.
Inside, three smaller but thick envelopes and a loose leaf with recognizable handwriting:
"Jenny would probably have preferred that I destroy them, but I think you'll agree with me: it would be a waste."
I impatiently opened the first one...
Pictures. Mostly black and white.
Jennifer. Lying face down on a bed... totally naked.
Jennifer. Lying on her back in the same bed... naked... one hand hides her face, the other her pubis.
On the next, her hands hide nothing. She appears to be asleep.
The next... a close-up of a breast, the nipple erect...
magnificent.
Then a close-up of her crotch... the puff of scraggly pubic hair... the slightly shiny labia...
tempting.
There were a good fifty like that. Always Jenny, more or less naked, in more or less wide shots, not all from the same day.
At first, I thought these photos had been taken without her knowledge, when she was asleep, but on some of them, a corner of a smile suggested that she was perhaps an accomplice of the paparazzi and was only closing her eyes out of false modesty.
One thing was certain. These photos were of the highest quality and showed off my sweetheart's body to perfection.
I had no idea that Delange was such a talented photographer.
So, after leafing through all the shots, I tackled the second package. I'd have plenty of time to contemplate my love's perfect curves later.
More photos of Jenny:
Her bare torso is photographed from a low angle, but this time there's no false modesty: her eyes are open and she's looking straight into the lens. Her mouth opens in a half-smile.
She knows her effect.
We can guess her astride her lover, who is taking the photo.
This is confirmed by the next image, whose field has opened up.
We discover her almost in her entirety, straddling a bare body, her pubis pressed against her partner's belly. Their fleeces unite. She's not just on top of him, she's planted on him.
Her smile is gone. Head back, she opens her mouth wide. You can almost hear her cry of ecstasy.
I'd understood: after the "soft" envelope, I'd moved on to the "hard" one.
The following pictures confirmed it:
Jenny from the back, all fours, her rump glued to a hairless belly.
Then almost the same, except that the rump is unstuck, revealing, for the first time, her lover's sex slipping inside her.
Then the same forward movement. This time, the penis is almost fully exposed.
I knew this panorama well, having contemplated it many times...
It was hard not to make the comparison and realize that she'd finally told me the truth: in the picture, the phallus cutting into her did indeed look impressive.
It was even clearer in the next shot: Leaning against her lover's legs, she holds the big, stiff shaft in her small hand.
The contrast is striking.
Once again, she proudly faces the lens and flashes a greedy smile.
I already knew what I was going to discover on the next one: The glans disappears between her distended lips. She looks down, concentrating on her work...
In the next one, her face is hidden by her hair, but we can see that her mouth has swallowed a respectable portion of the thing.
Yet another series: Jenny lying on her back, thighs wide open, penetrated, skewered... This time, he seems to be concentrating on her face to capture all her expressions of pleasure.
She's fabulously beautiful.
There were still a lot of photos. I didn't count them.
In sets of three or four. From facial ejaculation to doggy-style, from missionary to sodomy...
You'd think he wanted to make a catalog!
Until the last one, on which I was stuck for a long time: a close-up on the little vulva offered... From the gaping lips flows an opalescent trickle that gets lost between her buttocks before coming to make a little puddle on the sheet.
Demonic!
I was in a daze.
Normally, this shouldn't have troubled me so much. In the end, none of this was really surprising. As I'd already said, I knew for a fact that when they were together, it was for sex, not dominoes. And I'd already had auditory proof of that.
But this was the first visual proof, and not just any visual proof. The most explicit, the rawest that could be.
My heart was pounding and, poor me, I had a raging hard-on.
After that, I wondered what I was going to find in the third package.
This one was smaller than the other two. I had trouble deciphering what was scribbled on the envelope: "Because I owed you the truth... These you can destroy."
More photos... In color and of much poorer quality. Like bad impressions from cell-phone photos.
Not the same place, but still the same scene: in the living room, this time, Delange, in front of the sofa, wearing only a shirt, besognizing a partner whose bare legs protrude from either side of his back. Although we can't see much, it can only be Jenny. Her panties and shoes lie at the foot of the sofa.
Of course, what's noticeable at first glance is that, for the first time, her lover is visible from head to toe, instead of just a few body parts. This can only mean one thing: he's not the one taking the photo.
Even before moving on to the next one, I knew what I was looking at.
The second shows the same scene from a different angle, from the side...
No more uncertainty. It's Jennifer, her skirt hiked up over her waist, her bodice open to reveal her bare breasts. Her eyes are closed, and you'd almost think she was asleep if she weren't clasping her arms around her partner's neck.
In the background, two men stand watching the scene with keen interest, a knowing smile on their lips.
No doubt about it, these were shots from the famous taboo evening, the one that neither Jenny nor Delange assumed to remember.
Third picture, almost the same, except for one thing... one important thing... It's not the same man between Jenny's thighs.
This one still has his pants around his ankles. Leaning over Jenny, he steals a kiss she doesn't seem to want to deny him.
On the next one, it's a real showdown.
The man between her thighs seems to have changed again, but it's hard to see because two others are standing in front: One is helping his accomplice by holding Jen's ankle with one hand while caressing her breast with the other, while the second, even though we can only see his back, it's not hard to imagine what he's doing : his pelvis level with my wife's face, her little hand clasping a bare buttock, as if to better hold him against her...
Or in her.
I quickly scrolled through the other shots.
I counted five different men, in addition to Delange.
He only appears in the first few photos. After that, he's gone. Is he the one holding the camera, or did he leave his friends free to take care of his conquest while he went to sleep in a corner?
No idea.
Jenny, on the other hand, looks more and more gone, as the photos go by. If she's still got a rod in her hand, she seems to be clinging to it more than anything else. No wonder she can't remember much.
I couldn't help but scroll through the whole series again, looking for some detail that seemed to jump out at me, only to slip away as soon as I thought I'd put my finger on it...
Until it became obvious: these men, these five strangers, looked vaguely familiar from what I could make out of their faces...
But yes, it was clear! They were all present at the funeral!
I now better understood the intense glances I'd caught on Jennifer : if she couldn't remember the famous night, they, on the over hand, must have retained a very precise and detailed memory of the magnificent anatomy hidden beneath the wise black dress.
Had they then cherished the hope of being able to replay the scene in Delange's absence? Some of them, no doubt, yes - how could they not?
But without alcohol to help, and without the encouragement of their old friend, none of them had had the audacity to try anything.
Or so I assumed.
Still, I'd have to ask Jenny for confirmation.
Meanwhile, I suddenly realized that not one but six men had enjoyed my wife's body beside me. Six men had caressed her, had kissed her, had licked her, had penetrated her, had fucked her and, no doubt, had cum inside her.
The image was enough to make my head spin. I think I sat down in the first available chair.
Voilà.
I suspected there was something fishy about this evening, but it was more than an eel, it was a conger eel, a moray eel!
I understood better why he wasn't proud of it, the Delange.
But I also understood why he'd kept those prints, even though they were clear proof of his deception.
The same reason I already knew I wouldn't destroy this series either: seeing my darling play the star of a pornographic photo-novel, even if it was of poor quality, had disturbed me to the core.
It was certainly disturbing and obscene, but above all, it was terribly arousing, and I already knew that I wouldn't be able to stop myself from coming back regularly to look at them, haggard-eyed and with my hand down my pants, as I was doing right now and as Delange must often have done.
After all, the two of us had a lot in common.
Starting with the main one: Loving Jennifer more than anything.