A blurred image appeared on the screen. The image cleared, and I found myself staring at Yvonne Hill. She was sitting on the couch, but there was another man next to her. It wasn't her husband. He, I realized, must have taken the pictures.

The man was kissing her, and he had his open hand on her breast. In the picture she was wearing a sweater and another mini-skirt. The man's body was pressed across her top, and her legs were spread out stiffly in front of her. They were open slightly, and you could almost look up her skirt. The man's hand was vigorously massaging the tit through the sweater.

I felt Yvonne stir next to me. "Oh," she said, softly, and she pressed the fat part of her thigh against my leg. It was soft and warm, and she began to rub her leg up and down.

"That's Bevins," Hill explained. "Edward Bevins. I used to work with him."

I wondered whether he knew the names of all the men who had fucked his wife.

The scene began to change. Bevins' hand slipped under the sweater, and he began to massage the breast again. The sweater was pulled up partially, and I could see the curved swell of her left tit under his hand.

I looked across at Yvonne, but her eyes were on the screen. I could see her nipples standing erectly under her blouse, brushing back and forth against the material, almost as though Bevins' hand were still caressing her.

Kenneth Hill's eyes were also frozen upon the image of his wife and her lover. He had slipped his hand down the front of his pants. I watched with curiosity as he moved his hand up and down the length of his organ.

When I turned back to the screen, I saw that the image had altered once more. Bevins' hand had moved down from her breast, after he had thrown the sweater up and exposed her breasts, and now he had his hand cupped at her cunt. Her legs were opened widely to accommodate his hand, and I could see the pinched material of her dress pressed up against her body.