For the past thirty-some minutes Reverend Thomas Peterson had been looking in astonishment at the latest packet of pictures of his wife with someone else. But unlike the ones earlier where she had been on a filthy mattress in what appeared to be a skid row bar surrounded by a group of seven black men, this setting was different. A living room, looking very much like his own and this time only two Negroes were with her.

His cock was so hard it hurt and he was unable to stop the feelings of arousal that these pictures, just as the ones before had awakened in him, after all, Preacher or not, he was a man. Pushing himself from his desk slightly he unzipped his pants and a second later had his cock in his hand and was slowly massaging up and down it's skinny four inch length. As Reverend Peterson's hand came up and rolled over the knob of his dick, his eyes glanced over the group of six photos laid out before him. In each photo there were two men either singularly or together with his wife, but the three he found most arousing were almost identical. In those it showed his wife kneeling on a couch between the two men. In the first photo an almost coal-black Negro whose cock was almost twice again as big as his own, both in length and circumference, had pushed about four inches of his dark instrument of virility between her lips. Behind her small kneeling form, what looked every bit like a 250 pound linebacker with skin the color of hot cocoa and a cock as equally large or perhaps larger than the other Negro had pushed maybe five or six inches into her sphincter.

In the second photo the man behind her was holding her small wrist in one huge hand forcefully pulling her arms behind her, while the fingers of his other hand were twisted in her shoulder length reddish blonde hair much the same way a cowboy's might be when holding onto the mane of a horse to keep from being bucked off. This duel action not only forced her head up but also caused her back to arch just enough so that her breast, which had been mashed into the top of the couch in the previous photo, now hung above it leaving her sensitive nipples to just barely graze the top of the overstuffed cushion. There were signs of stress to her neck and shoulders from the strain applied but it seemed to him the purpose was not to harm her but to allow the deepest penetration possible. The goal of which had been achieved for not only were his wife's pretty lips around the base of the coal black cock but her nose was pressed into his kinky pubic hair, while behind her it looked as if a piece of paper wouldn't have gone between his wife's buttocks and the man's groin, leaving little doubt that every inch of his dark instrument was embedded deep in her rectum. Faster the Reverend's hand moved as he looked closely at his wife's pretty face, finding it astonishing that she had swallowed all eight plus inches.

The third and last picture was almost identical to the other two except the angle had changed slightly and where before the two dark cocks fucking her were deeply embedded they were now plainly and in all their glory visible. The large cock glistening with her salvia had been withdrawn from her mouth and was inches from her parted lips and there were strings of cum joining them together while in and around her opened mouth and across her cheek as well as down her chin were thick globs of spunk. Behind her the top of her buttocks and the small of her back were smeared with a vast amount of cum, while the cock which had been reaming her ass hole was resting on the small of her back and had a thick globular string streaming from it's oversize head joining her naked white flesh to that of its midnight blackness. His shoulders, then his whole body shuddered and as his eyes closed a guttural groan escaped from his labored lungs as he ejaculated, most of which stained his hand while a weak small squirt landed on his pants.

Moments later, as his body quit shuddering, he opened his eyes to look again at the picture and then down at his deflated cock and the thin almost watery spunk staining his hand and he wished that his cock was more like the one his wife had been sucking, both in size and in the amount and thickness of cum it had produced. Taking several Kleenex, he wiped his hand as well as his cock of all traces of ejaculation and then he put his cock back in his pants before opening a drawer and depositing the pictures with the other thirty or so he had received over the last three weeks. What in heavens name was wrong with him? He should be destroying these pictures; not saving them. Of course if he were any type of a man he would have confronted Angelia weeks ago when he'd received the first set of pictures, well maybe the second set because the first had only been of her fully clothed.

The skirt worn in the photos was much shorter then she normally wore and in one photo where she was exiting her car the skirt had ridden so high it was plain to see she wasn't wearing panties. Without thinking who might have taken them or when, he had simply thought that she had sent them as a way to excite him because over the last year he hadn't really been paying very much attention to her sexually. But then in the weeks that had followed packets with anywhere from four to six photos inside would suddenly and mysteriously appear on his desk twice a week. Always different, always very explicit and each set seemingly trying to outdo the ones previous. Now with this latest assortment, the collection totaled close to fifty pictures and he couldn't help but wonder if there were still others as well as why was she doing such nasty things with other men, and Negro's at that. But then mixed with his astonishment at the sexual depravity the pictures depicted a measure of disappointment overcame him with the thought that these might be the last and he silently prayed it wasn't so, that he would indeed receive still others. At the same time it dawned on him to ask himself a couple of very important questions. If they were the last he received, who in heavens name had taken them or why, and what could the person possibly want or hope to gain? As he pondered these things he thought back on the four years he and Angelia had been married, a marriage that until he'd started getting the pictures he'd thought of as satisfying and good.

She had barely gotten out of her teens when they had married and she was naive and unfamiliar with what was expected of her, but she had grown quickly into the role of the perfect Preacher's wife. She'd been a virgin when they had married so he'd gone slow, knowing that sex was new and strange to her and not wanting to frighten or make her think he was some kind of sex fiend, he had limited sex to just two times a week. A schedule he had stuck with up until this last year, when for some reason he couldn't recall, he'd let his husbandry duties slide to maybe twice every two or three weeks.

As he went to close the drawer his eye caught one of the first pictures he'd received. It was the one where as she sat astride one Negro as another had taken her from behind, while yet a third had used her mouth. Picking the picture up a thought raced through his mind that this was one of his favorites as he noticed again that beside the depraved happenings on the filthy mattress four other naked blacks grinning like sex fiends stood in close proximity to the simultaneous fucking of his wife, each holding his shiny cock as if eagerly awaiting his turn to use her. In this picture as well as a lot of the others that had followed the only things she wore were her glasses and her crucifix, but what was especially noteworthy and highly stimulating about this picture, beside the fact that she was being fucked by three Negro's at the same time, was the amount of cum on her.

In addition to the slug-like trails of spunk that could be seen on her upper chest and across her cute little breasts, several streaks of cum had left a shimmering slimy trail across her face while her glasses, cocked almost comically off center, had several globs smearing the lenses. The picture was a good indication that these three had not been the first, in fact it left little doubt, at least in his mind, that she had more then likely been fucked by all seven of them already and that what was happening in the picture was the beginning of possibly the second but more then likely the third time they had used her. Putting the snap shot into his jacket pocket he closed the drawer and stood up thinking that today he would finally confront her and then he walked from the rectory.

Arriving at his home, which was supplied by the church and his parishioners, he noticed that like so many times before it was dark, indicating that his wife had not yet returned from her shopping, so without turning on any lights he made his way to the living room where he poured himself a drink. As first one and then another and yet a third whisky sour slipped down his throat and into his empty stomach the reasons for his wife's absences were abundantly clear, absences of which he had until this very moment given little thought, but he could no longer deny it. The pictures he possessed were proof. For the last month, and with each new packet of photos, he had refused to accept what was staring him in the face, but that was the denial of a man who refused to come to grips with reality. Now his anger and frustration had finally reached a point where he must do something or relinquish his right to call himself a man. But what?