A very angry wife

[naughty baby hubby]

Agnes, a woman of ample proportions and an even more ample spirit, had always embraced her curves. Arthur adored her just the way she was, his “Rubenesque beauty,” as he affectionately called her.  Her large bust, sometimes a source of minor discomfort, was mostly just another part of her, a testament to a life well-lived, filled with motherhood, laughter, and countless homemade pies.
Theirs was a comfortable, familiar love, built on years of shared experiences and mutual respect. They’d weathered life’s storms together, raised five children, and seen their family grow to include grandchildren who filled their lives with joy.  Now, with the kids grown and flown the nest, it was their time.  Time for long walks in the countryside, leisurely lunches at their favorite pub, and maybe even a bit of travel.  Arthur had always wanted to see the fjords of Norway, and Agnes secretly dreamt of visiting the lavender fields of Provence.
They'd already started making plans.  The cottage by the sea was top of the list, of course.  They’d spent hours poring over brochures, imagining themselves sipping tea on the patio, watching the sun set over the water.  They’d talked about taking a cooking class together, learning to make authentic Italian pasta. And Agnes had even started looking into local art groups, thinking she might finally take up painting again, a hobby she’d abandoned years ago when the children were small.
Arthur, ever the pragmatist, had meticulously planned their finances, ensuring they would be comfortable for the rest of their days.  His pension was more than generous, a reward for his years of hard work and dedication.  They wouldn't have to worry about money, a blessing that allowed them to focus on enjoying their retirement to the fullest.
Agnes smiled to herself as she finished arranging the daffodils.  Life was indeed good.  She had her loving husband, a comfortable home, and the promise of a happy, carefree future.  She couldn't wait to start this new chapter of their lives together, hand in hand, ready for whatever adventures lay ahead.  The future stretched out before them, bright and full of possibilities, just waiting to be explored.
Agnes’s cheerful humming died in her throat.  Arthur had gone out for his usual morning walk, a brisk constitutional he’d taken religiously for years, leaving Agnes to tidy up a bit before their planned trip to the garden center.  She’d decided to finally tackle his cluttered desk, a repository of paperwork, old receipts, and various other bits and bobs he’d acc-umulated over the years.
As she sifted through the drawers, she stumbled upon a small, leather-bound photo album tucked away at the back.  Curiosity piqued, she opened it.  What she found inside made her blood run cold.
They weren’t the usual holiday snapshots or family portraits. These were candid photographs, taken surreptitiously, of women in compromising positions.  Women…using the toilet.  Some were strangers, their faces unknown to Agnes.  But then she saw them.  Mrs. Peterson from next door, her friendly face twisted in concentration.  Carol, from the book club, her usually bright smile replaced with a look of… discomfort?  And then, the most devastating blow, was a picture of Margaret, her closest friend, caught in the same private act.
The images were not only shocking but also deeply violating.  Agnes felt a wave of nausea wash over her.  How could Arthur, her kind, dependable Arthur, the man she’d trusted with her life, do something so perverse?  The thought of him secretly photographing these women, her friends, in such a vulnerable moment, made her stomach churn.
The cheerful anticipation she’d felt just moments ago evaporated, replaced by a gnawing sense of betrayal.  Her hands trembled as she flipped through the album, each photograph a fresh stab in the heart.  How long had this been going on?  How many other women were there?  Had he shown these pictures to anyone?  The questions swirled in her mind, each one more disturbing than the last.
Agnes sank into Arthur’s chair, the leather creaking beneath her weight.  The room seemed to spin, the familiar surroundings suddenly alien and threatening.  The man she thought she knew, the man she’d built her life with, was a stranger.  The foundation of their marriage, built on trust and love, seemed to crumble before her eyes.
The daffodils on the kitchen table, so vibrant and hopeful just moments ago, now seemed to mock her.  The dream of a happy retirement, the cottage by the sea, the cooking classes, the travel – all of it felt tainted, poisoned by this horrifying discovery.  The future she had so eagerly anticipated now stretched out before her, bleak and uncertain.  She didn’t know what to do, where to turn.  The only thing she knew for sure was that her world had just been irrevocably shattered.
She carefully closed the album, her fingers tracing the smooth leather cover as if trying to erase the images seared into her mind.  The weight of it felt immense, a physical burden pressing down on her chest.  She couldn't just leave it there, on his desk, a silent accusation.  She needed to think, to process what she’d just seen, to understand how the man she loved could be capable of such a thing.
With a trembling hand, she tucked the album into a drawer, hiding it beneath a pile of old tax returns.  It felt like a betrayal in itself, this act of secrecy, but she wasn't ready to confront him yet.  She needed time, time to gather her thoughts, to compose herself.
The garden center trip was out of the question.  She couldn't face anyone, not now, not with this secret festering inside her.  She made herself a cup of tea, but the familiar comfort of the warm mug in her hands couldn't soothe the turmoil in her stomach.  She sat by the window, staring out at the garden, but the vibrant colors of the flowers seemed dull, lifeless.
When Arthur returned from his walk, he found her in the living room, seemingly engrossed in a book.  He smiled, a warm, genuine smile that usually made her heart flutter.  Now, it just made her feel sick.  She forced herself to smile back, a hollow, empty gesture.
He chatted about his walk, pointing out a particularly vibrant robin he’d spotted, but Agnes barely registered his words.  Her mind was racing, replaying the images from the album, each one a fresh wound.  How could she act normal, how could she pretend that everything was alright?
She knew she couldn't keep this to herself.  She had to confront him, but the thought of it filled her with dread.  What would she say?  How could she explain the depth of her hurt, her betrayal?  And what if he denied it?  What if he tried to justify his actions?
The afternoon stretched out, each minute an eternity.  Agnes moved through the motions, preparing dinner, setting the table, all on autopilot.  She felt like an imposter in her own life, going through the motions of a routine that suddenly felt foreign and meaningless.
As they sat down to eat, the silence between them was thick with unspoken words.  Agnes picked at her food, her appetite gone.  She could feel Arthur’s eyes on her, a questioning look in them, but she couldn't meet his gaze.  The secret was a heavy weight, pressing down on her, threatening to suffocate her.  She knew she couldn't keep it bottled up much longer.  The truth, however painful, had to come out.  But she needed to choose her moment, to find the strength to face him, to face the man who had shattered her dreams and her trust.  The happy retirement she had envisioned was now a distant, faded memory, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty about the future.
The implications of exposing Arthur’s actions weighed heavily on Agnes.  It wasn't just about her, it was about everything they had built together, everything she had believed in.  The comfortable retirement, the cottage by the sea, the quiet respect of their village – all of it hung precariously in the balance.
The thought of Arthur losing his pension sent a shiver down her spine.  It wasn't about the money, not entirely.  It was about the security, the sense of stability it represented.  After a lifetime of hard work, he deserved to enjoy his retirement, even if he had betrayed her trust in such a profound way.  Taking that away from him felt…complicated.
And then there was the cottage.  Her dream, their dream, of a peaceful retreat by the sea.  It was more than just a house; it was a symbol of their future together, a place where they could grow old and happy.  The thought of losing that, of having her dreams snatched away, was almost unbearable.
But the biggest fear, the one that gnawed at her most relentlessly, was the thought of the village gossip.  She imagined the whispers, the knowing glances, the thinly veiled pity.  She’d always been a respected member of the community, involved in the church, the local Women's Institute.  The thought of becoming the subject of scandal, the woman whose husband took those…those awful pictures, made her feel sick to her stomach.  She could picture Mrs. Higgins from number 27, with her pursed lips and her "I told you so" expression.  The humiliation would be excruciating.
Agnes knew that keeping silent would mean living a lie, a constant charade of normalcy.  She would have to pretend that everything was fine, that her world hadn't been turned upside down.  She would have to smile and chat with the very women whose privacy Arthur had violated, knowing all the while the dark secret she carried.  The thought of it was suffocating.
But exposing him would mean facing the consequences, consequences that would affect not only Arthur but also herself.  It would mean public shame, the loss of their comfortable lifestyle, the shattering of her dreams.  It was a terrible dilemma, a choice between two unbearable options.  She felt trapped, caught in a web of deceit and fear.  She longed for the simple life she had envisioned, the happy retirement she had so eagerly anticipated.  But now, that future seemed impossibly distant, a casualty of Arthur’s betrayal.  She didn't know what to do, which path to choose.  All she knew was that whatever decision she made, it would change her life forever.
It wasn't her fault.  The thought echoed in Agnes’s mind, a mantra of self-preservation.  Arthur was the one who had betrayed her, violated her trust, and humiliated her and her friends.  He was the one who deserved to be punished, not her.  She had done nothing wrong.  She had been the victim, not the perpetrator.
A slow anger began to simmer within her, replacing the initial shock and hurt.  It was a righteous anger, a fury fueled by betrayal and a deep sense of injustice.  She had been wronged, and she wouldn't stand for it.  She wouldn't let him get away with it.
The thought of quietly enduring, of protecting his reputation and their comfortable life, now seemed repulsive.  Why should she suffer in silence when he was the one who had committed this despicable act?  Why should she sacrifice her happiness, her dreams, for a man who had so callously disregarded her feelings and her trust?
A new resolve hardened within her.  She wouldn't be a victim.  She would be the one in control.  She would be the one to decide what happened next.  And she knew, with a chilling certainty, that Arthur had to pay for what he’d done.

[naughty baby hubby]

She began to formulate a plan, a way to punish him without punishing herself.  It wouldn't be easy.  She would have to be careful, methodical.  She would have to think several steps ahead.  But she was determined.  She would make him pay.
The humiliation he had inflicted on her, on her friends, on his female colleagues – it wouldn't go unpunished.  He was the one who should be humiliated now.  He was the one who should feel the shame, the disgust, the fear.
Agnes thought about the photos, the secret, the power they gave her.  She thought about the pension, the cottage, the comfortable life he had jeopardized.  She thought about the gossip, the whispers, the judgment of the village.  And she knew what she had to do.
She wouldn't expose him publicly, not yet.  That would come later, perhaps.  For now, she would use what she knew to her advantage.  She would use it to control him, to manipulate him, to make him squirm.  She would make him regret what he had done.
She would start subtly, small things at first.  A pointed comment about privacy, a pointed glance at his desk.  She would watch his reaction, gauge his fear.  She would let him know, without explicitly saying it, that she knew his secret.
Then, she would turn the screws.  She would use the information to get what she wanted.  The cottage by the sea?  It would be hers, solely in her name.  The pension?  She would make sure she was well taken care of, regardless of what happened to him.  She would take control of their finances, their future.
And as for the humiliation… that would be the final act.  She would choose her moment, the perfect time to reveal his perversion to the world.  She would make sure he suffered the consequences of his actions, the full weight of public shame and disgust.  He would be the laughing stock, not her.
Agnes felt a sense of cold satisfaction.  She had a plan, a way to reclaim her power, to punish the man who had betrayed her.  It wouldn't be easy, but she was ready.  She was ready to fight back.  She was ready to make him pay.
Sunday afternoon arrived, heavy with a tense quiet that hung in the air like a storm cloud.  Agnes, dressed in her Sunday best, a floral dress that felt strangely out of place in the current atmosphere, returned from church with a grim determination etched on her face.  The sermon, usually a source of comfort, had only amplified her anger, the words of forgiveness and compassion ringing hollow in her ears.  Forgiveness was the furthest thing from her mind.
She entered Arthur’s office, the room that now felt like a crime scene, and carefully laid out the photographs on his desk.  Each image, a snapshot of his betrayal, was placed meticulously, a silent accusation.  She wanted him to see them all, to confront the full extent of his perversion.
Then, she called him in.  Her voice was level, betraying none of the turmoil raging inside her.  “Arthur, could you come in here for a moment, please?”
He entered, a slight frown creasing his brow.  He probably thought she wanted to discuss the garden or the upcoming village fete.  He had no idea what awaited him.
As he stood before her, Agnes gestured towards the desk.  “Take a look,” she said, her voice hardening.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he took in the photographs, his face flushing crimson.  He stammered, “I…I can explain…”
“Explain what, Arthur?” Agnes interrupted, her voice laced with scorn.  “Explain how you could do this?  How you could violate the privacy of these women, my friends, your colleagues?”
He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.  “It wasn’t like that,” he mumbled.  “It was just…a bit of fun.”
“Fun?” Agnes’s voice rose, her anger finally breaking through the carefully constructed facade.  “Is that what you call it?  A bit of fun?  Taking pictures of women in such a private, vulnerable moment?  Is that your idea of a joke?”
He remained silent, his head bowed in shame.
“You disgust me, Arthur,” Agnes continued, her voice trembling with rage.  “You have betrayed my trust, you have humiliated me, you have violated these women.  You are a pervert, Arthur.  A dirty, disgusting pervert.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting.  Agnes didn’t hold back.  She wanted him to feel the full weight of her contempt.  She wanted to strip him bare, to expose his weakness, his perversion, to the world.
“I…I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Sorry?” Agnes scoffed.  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Arthur.  Sorry doesn’t erase what you’ve done.  Sorry doesn’t fix the damage you’ve caused.”
She picked up one of the photographs, the one of Margaret, her closest friend.  “Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion.  “Do you have any idea how this makes her feel?”
He shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and fear.
Agnes threw the photograph back onto the desk.  “You’ve humiliated yourself, Arthur,” she said, her voice now cold and hard.  “You’ve humiliated me.  And you’ve humiliated these women.  And you will pay for it.”

[naughty baby hubby]

She turned and walked out of the office, leaving Arthur standing there, surrounded by the evidence of his depravity.  She had unleashed her anger, she had humiliated him, she had made him face the consequences of his actions.  But the anger, she knew, was just the beginning.  The real punishment was yet to come.
Arthur stood in the office, the photographs scattered across his desk like fallen leaves, each one a testament to his folly.  The shame washed over him in waves, hot and suffocating.  Agnes’s words echoed in his ears, cutting and precise, each one a hammer blow to his self-esteem.  He had never seen her so angry, so contemptuous.  The woman he had loved and cherished for over forty years was now a stranger, her eyes filled with a cold fury that chilled him to the bone.
He was devastated.  Not just by the exposure, but by the realization of what he had done.  He knew he had crossed a line, a line he could never uncross.  He had violated the privacy of women he knew, women he respected, women he even cared about.  And he had betrayed Agnes, the woman who had stood by him through thick and thin, the woman who had trusted him implicitly.
The thought of losing his pension, the comfortable lifestyle he had worked so hard for, filled him with dread.  He had always been a provider, a responsible man.  The idea of being reduced to financial insecurity, of losing everything he had built, was terrifying.
But more than the financial implications, he was terrified of what Agnes would do.  He knew she wouldn't let this go.  She was not the type to forgive and forget.  She would want her revenge, and he knew, with a sinking feeling, that he deserved it.
He didn't know what she had planned, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.  He had humiliated her, and she would find a way to humiliate him in return.  He had violated her trust, and she would make him pay.  He was at her mercy, completely and utterly.
The thought of being exposed, of having his perversion revealed to the village, to his friends, to his colleagues, was almost unbearable.  He imagined the whispers, the snickers, the looks of disgust.  He would be ostracized, shunned, a pariah in his own community.
He knew he had to submit to whatever she decided.  He had no leverage, no defence.  He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.  He had to face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be.  He was at her mercy, and the thought of that, of being completely and utterly at her mercy, filled him with a chilling sense of dread.  He had no idea what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure:  it wouldn't be good.
A chilling thought struck Arthur.  Had Agnes left?  He hadn't heard her leave, but the silence in the house was heavy, oppressive.  He felt a flicker of hope, a desperate, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, she would let it go.  But deep down, he knew better.  Agnes wasn't the kind of woman to sweep something like this under the rug.  She was hurt, betrayed, and she would want her pound of flesh.
Then, another, even more terrifying thought occurred to him.  Had he been careful enough?  Had he deleted all the evidence?  He hadn't checked his laptop.  He hadn't even considered it in his panic and shame.  He had been so focused on the photographs in the album that he had forgotten about the digital files, the ones that could be even more damning.
What was on his laptop?  He cringed at the thought.  There were more photos, he knew.  And not just photos.  There were videos, too.  And the internet history… what had he been looking at?  His stomach churned.  He had been so careless, so arrogant, believing he was untouchable, that he could get away with it.  Now, he was about to face the consequences.
Just as he was about to get up and check his laptop, Agnes stormed back into the office, her face a mask of fury.  She pointed a finger at him, her eyes blazing.  "Right," she said, her voice sharp and decisive.  "I want to see your internet history and all the photos on your laptop. Now."
Arthur’s heart plummeted.  He knew he was done for.  He knew the game was up.  He stammered, "I…I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb with me, Arthur," Agnes snapped.  "I know what you've been doing.  I know about the photos.  And I know you have more on your laptop."
He could see the fire in her eyes, the unwavering determination.  There was no point in denying it.  She knew.  He was caught.
He hesitated, his mind racing, trying to find a way out, but there was none.  He was trapped.
"Give me the laptop," Agnes demanded, her hand outstretched.
He reluctantly handed it over, his fingers trembling.  He watched as she opened it, her eyes scanning the screen.  He knew what she would find.  The photos, the videos, the perverted content that would seal his fate.
Agnes scrolled through the files, her expression hardening with each image she saw.  She didn't say a word, but her silence was more terrifying than any outburst.  She clicked on the internet history, her eyes narrowing as she read the list of websites he had visited.
Arthur stood there, frozen, waiting for the inevitable.  He knew he had crossed the line.  He knew he had betrayed Agnes, his friends, and himself.  He knew he was about to face the consequences, whatever they may be.  He was at her mercy, and he knew she wouldn't show him any.
Sunday afternoon arrived, heavy with a tense quiet that hung in the air like a storm cloud.  Agnes, dressed in her Sunday best, a floral dress that felt strangely out of place in the current atmosphere, returned from church with a grim determination etched on her face.  The sermon, usually a source of comfort, had only amplified her anger, the words of forgiveness and compassion ringing hollow in her ears.  Forgiveness was the furthest thing from her mind.
She entered Arthur’s office, the room that now felt like a crime scene, and carefully laid out the photographs on his desk.  Each image, a snapshot of his betrayal, was placed meticulously, a silent accusation.  She wanted him to see them all, to confront the full extent of his perversion.
Then, she called him in.  Her voice was level, betraying none of the turmoil raging inside her.  “Arthur, could you come in here for a moment, please?”
He entered, a slight frown creasing his brow.  He probably thought she wanted to discuss the garden or the upcoming village fete.  He had no idea what awaited him.
As he stood before her, Agnes gestured towards the desk.  “Take a look,” she said, her voice hardening.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he took in the photographs, his face flushing crimson.  He stammered, “I…I can explain…”
“Explain what, Arthur?” Agnes interrupted, her voice laced with scorn.  “Explain how you could do this?  How you could violate the privacy of these women, my friends, your colleagues?”
He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.  “It wasn’t like that,” he mumbled.  “It was just…a bit of fun.”
“Fun?” Agnes’s voice rose, her anger finally breaking through the carefully constructed facade.  “Is that what you call it?  A bit of fun?  Taking pictures of women in such a private, vulnerable moment?  Is that your idea of a joke?”
He remained silent, his head bowed in shame.
“You disgust me, Arthur,” Agnes continued, her voice trembling with rage.  “You have betrayed my trust, you have humiliated me, you have violated these women.  You are a pervert, Arthur.  A dirty, disgusting pervert.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting.  Agnes didn’t hold back.  She wanted him to feel the full weight of her contempt.  She wanted to strip him bare, to expose his weakness, his perversion, to the world.
“I…I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Sorry?” Agnes scoffed.  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Arthur.  Sorry doesn’t erase what you’ve done.  Sorry doesn’t fix the damage you’ve caused.”
She picked up one of the photographs, the one of Margaret, her closest friend.  “Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion.  “Do you have any idea how this makes her feel?”
He shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and fear.
Agnes threw the photograph back onto the desk.  “You’ve humiliated yourself, Arthur,” she said, her voice now cold and hard.  “You’ve humiliated me.  And you’ve humiliated these women.  And you will pay for it.”
She turned and walked out of the office, leaving Arthur standing there, surrounded by the evidence of his depravity.  She had unleashed her anger, she had humiliated him, she had made him face the consequences of his actions.  But the anger, she knew, was just the beginning.  The real punishment was yet to come.

Arthur stood in the office, the photographs scattered across his desk like fallen leaves, each one a testament to his folly. The shame washed over him in waves, hot and suffocating. Agnes’s words echoed in his ears, cutting and precise, each one a hammer blow to his self-esteem. He had never seen her so angry, so contemptuous. The woman he had loved and cherished for over forty years was now a stranger, her eyes filled with a cold fury that chilled him to the bone.
He was devastated. Not just by the exposure, but by the realization of what he had done. He knew he had crossed a line, a line he could never uncross. He had violated the privacy of women he knew, women he respected, women he even cared about. And he had betrayed Agnes, the woman who had stood by him through thick and thin, the woman who had trusted him implicitly.
The thought of losing his pension, the comfortable lifestyle he had worked so hard for, filled him with dread. He had always been a provider, a responsible man. The idea of being reduced to financial insecurity, of losing everything he had built, was terrifying.
But more than the financial implications, he was terrified of what Agnes would do. He knew she wouldn't let this go. She was not the type to forgive and forget. She would want her revenge, and he knew, with a sinking feeling, that he deserved it.
He didn't know what she had planned, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant. He had humiliated her, and she would find a way to humiliate him in return. He had violated her trust, and she would make him pay. He was at her mercy, completely and utterly.
The thought of being exposed, of having his perversion revealed to the village, to his friends, to his colleagues, was almost unbearable. He imagined the whispers, the sniggers, the looks of disgust. He would be ostracized, shunned, a pariah in his own community.

[naughty baby hubby]

He knew he had to submit to whatever she decided. He had no leverage, no defense. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in. He had to face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be. He was at her mercy, and the thought of that, of being completely and utterly at her mercy, filled him with a chilling sense of dread. He had no idea what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure: it wouldn't be good.

A chilling thought struck Arthur. Had Agnes left? He hadn't heard her leave, but the silence in the house was heavy, oppressive. He felt a flicker of hope, a desperate, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, she would let it go. But deep down, he knew better. Agnes wasn't the kind of woman to sweep something like this under the rug. She was hurt, betrayed, and she would want her pound of flesh.
Then, another, even more terrifying thought occurred to him. Had he been careful enough? Had he deleted all the evidence? He hadn't checked his laptop. He hadn't even considered it in his panic and shame. He had been so focused on the photographs in the album that he had forgotten about the digital files, the ones that could be even more damning.
What was on his laptop? He cringed at the thought. There were more photos, he knew. And not just photos. There were videos, too. And the internet history… what had he been looking at? His stomach churned. He had been so careless, so arrogant, believing he was untouchable, that he could get away with it. Now, he was about to face the consequences.
Just as he was about to get up and check his laptop, Agnes stormed back into the office, her face a mask of fury. She pointed a finger at him, her eyes blazing. "Right," she said, her voice sharp and decisive. "I want to see your internet history and all the photos on your laptop. Now."
Arthur’s heart plummeted. He knew he was done for. He knew the game was up. He stammered, "I…I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb with me, Arthur," Agnes snapped. "I know what you've been doing. I know about the photos. And I know you have more on your laptop."
He could see the fire in her eyes, the unwavering determination. There was no point in denying it. She knew. He was caught.
He hesitated, his mind racing, trying to find a way out, but there was none. He was trapped.
"Give me the laptop," Agnes demanded, her hand outstretched.
He reluctantly handed it over, his fingers trembling. He watched as she opened it, her eyes scanning the screen. He knew what she would find. The photos, the videos, the perverted content that would seal his fate.
Agnes scrolled through the files, her expression hardening with each image she saw. She didn't say a word, but her silence was more terrifying than any outburst. She clicked on the internet history, her eyes narrowing as she read the list of websites he had visited.
Arthur stood there, frozen, waiting for the inevitable. He knew he had crossed the line. He knew he had betrayed Agnes, his friends, and himself. He knew he was about to face the consequences, whatever they may be. He was at her mercy, and he knew she wouldn't show him any.
"Password," Agnes demanded, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. Arthur, defeated and resigned, mumbled the code. He watched as she typed it in, her fingers moving with a chilling efficiency. He knew what she would find, and the anticipation of the inevitable was almost as painful as the reality itself.
The screen flickered to life, revealing the digital evidence of his depravity. Agnes scrolled through the files, her face growing darker with each image she saw. The internet history was a catalogue of perversion, a testament to his twisted desires. Adult baby websites, fetish forums, and countless other sites that made her stomach churn. She didn't need to say a word. The look on her face said it all.
But it was the photographs that made her blood run cold. Not just the ones from the album, but so many more, hidden away on his hard drive. Photographs of her friends, her dear friends, in the most compromising positions imaginable. Pictures taken underneath tables during Sunday lunch, their legs spread wide, their underwear visible. Photographs taken with hidden cameras in the toilet, capturing their most private moments. Photographs of them lowering their underwear, caught in the act of relieving themselves. The sheer violation of it all was overwhelming.
Agnes was mortified. Not just for herself, but for her friends. These were women she had laughed with, shared secrets with, supported through thick and thin. And this…this pervert, this man she had shared her life with, had been secretly photographing them, exploiting their vulnerability. The betrayal cut deep, a wound that would likely never heal.
She felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She wanted to vomit, to purge herself of the filth she had just witnessed. She wanted to scream, to unleash her rage, her hurt, her disgust. But she remained composed, her face a mask of icy fury.
Arthur stood there, silent and contrite, his eyes fixed on the floor. He knew he had crossed a line, a line from which there was no return. He had betrayed Agnes, he had betrayed her friends, and he had betrayed himself.
Agnes closed the laptop, the click echoing in the silent room. She turned to Arthur, her eyes burning with a cold fire. "You disgust me," she said, her voice low and menacing. "You are a sick, twisted man."
He didn't respond. He couldn't. He knew she was right.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Arthur," she continued, her voice hardening. "But you can be sure of one thing: you will pay for this. You will pay for what you've done."
She picked up the laptop and walked out of the office, leaving Arthur standing there, alone with his shame and his fear. He knew his life had just changed irrevocably. He knew he was at her mercy, and he knew she wouldn't be merciful.
Monday morning dawned, crisp and clear, but the atmosphere in the house was anything but peaceful. Agnes, dressed in a no-nonsense manner, her face set in a determined expression, summoned Arthur to the living room. He entered, his shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. He knew what was coming.
"We're going to the bank," Agnes stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And then we're going to see a solicitor."
Arthur’s eyes widened. He knew what this meant. He was about to lose everything.
"I want all the joint bank accounts transferred to my name," Agnes continued, her gaze unwavering. "I want all the investments transferred to my name. And I want the house transferred to my name."
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Agnes cut him off. "You have forfeited the right to have any say in these matters," she said, her voice cold and hard. "You have betrayed my trust, and you will pay the price."
He looked at her, his face a mask of despair. He knew he had no choice. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.
"I will, however," Agnes added, a hint of steel in her voice, "give you an allowance. Twenty pounds a week. Pocket money."
The word "pocket money" hung in the air, dripping with condescension. Arthur felt a wave of humiliation wash over him. He, a man who had managed substantial finances for decades, reduced to receiving a paltry sum of pocket money from his wife.
He nodded silently, accepting his fate. He knew it could be worse. She could have left him with nothing. But the humiliation, the sheer indignity of it all, was almost unbearable.
"Now," Agnes said, her voice brooking no further delay, "let's go."
They went to the bank, the silence between them thick with unspoken words. Arthur meekly signed the doc-uments, transferring everything to Agnes’s name. He felt like a ghost, a shadow of his former self. He had lost everything – his respect, his dignity, his financial security.
After the bank, they went to see a solicitor, where the house transfer was finalized. Agnes now owned everything. She was in complete control.
As they left the solicitor’s office, Agnes turned to Arthur, her eyes still cold and hard. "This is just the beginning," she said, her voice low and menacing. "Your punishment is yet to be decided."
Arthur shivered. He knew she was right. This was just the first step. He had no idea what she had planned for him, but he knew it wouldn't be good. He had humiliated her, and she would make him pay. The thought of what she might do filled him with dread. He was at her mercy, and he knew she wouldn't show him any.

As Agnes and Arthur walked up the High Street, the power dynamic between them was palpable. Agnes strode confidently, her head held high, a newfound strength radiating from her. She felt in control, proud of the steps she had taken to reclaim her life. Her posture, her gait, everything about her exuded an air of authority.
Arthur, on the other hand, shuffled along beside her, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. He was a picture of dejection, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He was acutely aware of the precariousness of his situation, the knowledge of his perversion hanging over him like a dark cloud.
Just then, two women, familiar faces, stopped to chat with Agnes. They were friends, women whose privacy Arthur had so heinously violated. He recognized them instantly, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that Agnes could expose him at any moment. She could tell them everything, reveal his secret, and shatter his already fragile world.
He watched them, his anxiety growing with each passing second, as they exchanged pleasantries with Agnes. He could feel their eyes on him, though they gave no indication of knowing his dark secret. He imagined their reactions if they knew the truth, the shock, the disgust, the anger. The thought of their judgment, their scorn, made him tremble.
Agnes, he could tell, was enjoying his discomfort. She was playing with him, savoring her power. She knew his fear, and she was using it to her advantage.
When the women finished their conversation and walked away, Agnes turned to Arthur, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "I could have just told them," she said, her voice soft, but laced with a chilling undertone. "About your…private activities. And you would have been arrested."
The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He knew she was right. She had the power to destroy him with a single word. The knowledge of his perversion, the photographs, the videos – it was all in her hands.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn't say anything. He couldn't.
Agnes continued walking, her pace steady, her expression unreadable. She had made her point. She had shown him just how much power she wielded. And he knew, with a sinking heart, that this was just the beginning. His punishment was far from over. It had, in fact, just begun.

[frillysissy]

Great beginning. Cannot wait for more.