This is a teaser, to set the scene. If you are looking for instant cheating, swinging, or an affair, you will be disappointed. If you enjoy anticipation, then read on.
Prague, July, 2011. Nadia and I were cycle-touring in Europe when this happened. We had married straight from university, but not yet settled down. We had decided that, while we were young, we should do the things you cannot do when you have children, with a mortgage and the rest, so we had worked and saved to pay for a six month, long vacation.
We travelled light. Panniers on the backs of our bikes, light-weight camping gear, minimal clothes and nothing else, except our mobiles, to plan, and navigate, and keep in touch with our families and our friends back home.
Nadia’s parents, in particular, were concerned about the trip. I had cycled and rough camped before, but she had not, and her mother can be anxious. As can Nadia. Maybe anxiety runs in the family, or you learn it as a child. But she had been determined to do it with me, and by the time that we reached Prague, I was seriously impressed.
Before we met, Nadia had never even cycled. She hardly exercised. She has a naturally good figure, not Playboy material, and she can be shy about her looks, but I liked the jeans and jumper look she had at university, and there was something about the curve of her nose, almost Arabic, and her slightly self-conscious smile that had got to me. Shy, but gorgeous, in an unassuming kind of way.
Beneath the jeans and jumper, it turned out, Nadia had a really sexy body. My exploring it, first time around, would make another story, since she was extremely nervous, telling me, just when I was about to enter her, that although she then was twenty, this was about to be her first time actually making love.
Difficult to believe, but entering her, it soon was obvious that she was not just being coy. She was the first, and only, virgin I have ever had the privilege of deflowering, and the resistance established firmly that I was indeed her first. The other, if proof was needed, was that the sheet had needed to be laundered.
That was only after we had finished, and Nadia, once entered, had relaxed, and had been delightful to make love to. She proved a natural, coming twice, so beautifully each time, before I could hold back no longer, and flooded her with the copious amount of semen that in your early twenties, you can produce each and every time.
But this is about Prague, and by then we were totally at ease with each other’s bodies, fucked like rabbits every night, even when we camped, and were in the confines of our small tent, on unrolled sleeping mats. Nadia’s legs had strengthened with all the cycling we had done already, Calais to Prague, via Amsterdam, Copenhagen, and Berlin. They were both more shapely, well defined, and they could grip more strongly too, around my body as we fucked.
We had taken a small hotel to stay in Prague a couple of days, and were using our bikes to get around. At lunch time, we had found a small city park in Charles Square, and we were eating sandwiches and drinks Cokes, when this began, with someone walking up to us and saying ‘hi’.
“Hi, guys. Mind if we join you?” was the actual start to everything that followed.
Another couple, around our age, a guy and a girl. She had asked the question, jet black spikey hair, nose ring, black denim dungarees, with a black cotton crop top. He was in jeans and tee-shirt, back-pack on one shoulder, dirty blonde, Beatles-style hair, not shaved the way it is these days, although this was still fifty years post-Beatles, just over ten years ago.
She looked friendly. So did he. There was plenty of space around, so no reason to say ‘No’.
“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”
They both sat down, the guy resting the back-pack he was carrying on the ground. A day bag, compartmentalised, from which he took out two cans of drink, one for the girl, one for himself. Red Bull, not Coke.
“Where are you guys from,” Spikey asked us, pulled on the ring-tab of her can.
Her accent sounded German, not Czech, but I could not be sure, some of the accents sounding similar to my untuned ear. The fact that she was speaking English told me that she had assumed that we were tourists, and even guessed right which country we were from.
“Sutton,” Nadia said, then realising the girl might not have heard of it, she added, “just south of London.”
The chat went on from there, Greta and Helmut, as they told us they were called, finding out a bit about us, telling us about themselves. They were from Berlin, not Prague, so my guess at German had been right, and they were on a photoshoot, and looking for a model.
“So what kind of photos do you guys take?” I asked them.
“So, Helmut does a video, while I take stills,” Greta explained. “We like to take in the main tourist attractions in whatever town we’re in. But not just the sights. A pretty girl, that we can follow while she’s walking round. Then we upload them to our site. It’s fun. We make good money, especially if we find a model that our producer likes, if she’s relaxed enough to do it well. The model makes good money too.”
“If you’re interested, that is,” Helmut added.
It was the first hint that the reason they had asked to sit with us was more than just someone to talk with while they had their drinks.
“What?” laughed Nadia, “You don’t mean us? You want us to model for you?”
“Just you,” Greta said. “You’ve got the kind of looks we want. Don’t take it wrong. Our producer likes the normal girl in the street, not a made-up model. Someone who you would not expect to do it, but with a good figure, and a nice face, of course.”
I glanced at Nadia, wondering just what kind of looks Greta meant. College girl, still early twenties, dark brown hair, in good shape, not least from all our cycling. Just what Greta meant by her needing to be relaxed enough, we would find out in due course.
Nadia gave me a look in return. Puzzlement, embarrassment, both in her eyes, and in the slight pouting thing she did with her mouth. Then she burst out laughing.
“You’re not really serious!” she said. “I mean, come on. I’m not exactly a professional tour guide!”
“So why do you think we asked to join you?” Greta said. “There is definitely something about your look. Can we just take some shots of you to see how photogenic you are?”
Nadia did that pouty thing again.
“Sure,” she said. “If you want to. I don’t mind.”
Greta asked Helmut for her camera, and he drew it from the back-pack. It was serious piece of kit. A heavy camera, with a substantial lens, from which Greta unscrewed the lens cap. Then she stood up, backed off, got on one knee, and aimed at Nadia.
Nadia leaned back on her arms, and smiled, while Greta fired off a couple of shots. Helmut went behind her, looking at the screen at the back of the camera to see how good the shots were.
“It’s good,” Greta reassured my wife, then added the request that gave away the kind of photoshoot they had in mind.
“Can you move your top in to the centre just a bit? I want to see one breast.”
That needs explaining.
When we had set off, Nadia had been wearing cycling shorts and tee-shirt tops, with sports bras and standard panties underneath. I had suggested she could be a bit more chilled, since we were just anonymous cycle tourists anywhere we went, and she had gradually given in to my encouragement.
The cycle shorts had given way to cut off denim shorts, which I had done myself with scissors, hacking at them roughly, initially level with her crotch, but a week later cutting even higher at the side, angling up, which gave me a nice view of her butt when cycling behind her, and left not much more than threads between her legs.
Instead of a tee-shirt, Nadia had been persuaded to wear a yoga top instead. Deep arm holes instead of sleeves, the sides open almost to the waist. At first, she had worn a sports bra underneath the top, but then I had persuaded her to leave that off.
‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it,’ is the catch phrase that kind of sums it up. I was cycle touring with a girl with an amazing body. I had married her. I fucked her every night, and day-time too, depending on just where we were. I just liked to show her off. To have other people look and wish that they could fuck her too.
And, of course, it turned me on as well. I liked the side view of her breasts, especially when she leaned forward, as she had to while we rode. The loose cut top would just fall forwards, revealing the delicious undercurve, and, with luck, her areola and her nipple too. She knew that, but she also knew it turned me on for her to take that risk, and she said she liked the freedom that not wearing anything constricting meant.
So when Greta asked her to move her yoga top to the centre, it was a straightforward request. The top was loose enough to do it easily. The fact that it was a girl asking her to do it made it seem no more than an innocent suggestion. Had it been Helmut who had said it, that would have been something very different.
Just the same, Nadia looked confused.
“You’re joking!” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t do that! Not here! People can see!”
Which was true, of course. This was a city park, not that large, more long and narrow, with city streets on either side. There were trees and shrubbery planted around the sides, but you could still see through to the buildings on the other side of the streets, and the traffic driving through. There were also people in the park, walking, or like ourselves, sitting, eating, lazing in the summer sun.
“It’s just to check how you look on film,” Greta reassured her. “Just for a moment. No one is going to notice while you’re just sitting there.”
I looked at Nadia, interested to see how she would react.
“What do you think?” she asked me.
“I think she’s right,” I said. “No one is going to care.”
Just the same, I was wondering why it needed Nadia to bare her breast for the spikey-haired German girl to check how photogenic she would be.
My wife of less than a year shrugged. The she did as Greta had asked. She slid one hand inside her top, eased it from her right breast, so that that side of the top was between her breasts, but kept her hand cupping her nipple and areola.
“Lean back,” Greta suggested, without making an issue of the fact that Nadia was not baring her breast completely.
Nadia did as Greta said, using her left arm to support herself, hand flat on the grass behind her.
Greta fired off a few more shots, turning the zoom lens as she did so. Then she tested just how far my wife would go.
“That’s good,” she said. “Now lean back on both hands. Show me your breast.”
I had to admire her technique. Use a calm, reassuring tone of voice, but with just a hint of authority, enough to subtly make it an instruction, not a request. The way a professional photographer would guide a model in a studio. Except this was outside, and in public.
Nadia took her hand away.
I had of course seen both her breasts so often that I knew them intimately. For someone so unassuming, they are exquisite. Not overly full, but pleasantly generous. With wide areoles and prominent nipple stubs, that have since proven more than adequate for our two children. Then, of course, they were not so much sources of sustenance for babies, as objects of my sexual desires.
I had fondled those breasts, and teased those nipple stubs, and sucked on them, and knew how sensitive they were, and discovered that my wife could come, just from licking and sucking on her breasts, before I even entered her.
Just the same, familiar as I was with both of them, seeing her right breast bared in that public park, the sun highlighting the pink-brown of the areola, was just incredible.
Greta fired off several more shots, again turning the zoom lens as she took them, presumably getting close-ups as well as full body shots of Nadia. She then stood up, and checked the shots that she had taken on the built-in screen. Helmut joined her, nodding. He spoke to her in German. I picked up on a few words. The German for ‘beautiful’, and for ‘good’.
Nadia, meanwhile, had covered her breast again, easing her top back over it, as soon as Greta had stood up.
“I can’t believe you let me do that!”, she half-whispered to me. “What kind of photo-shoot do they really want? I mean,…”
She gave up on saying what she meant. I could only guess. As I could only guess as to why Greta had asked my wife to bare her breast in the first place. I just shrugged in reply, giving Nadia a look that said I did not know.
What I did know, was the several passers-by had seen what was going on, and had barely reacted. My wife’s bare breast had not caused a scene. No one had been outraged. No one had stopped and stared. One woman, walking on her own, had actually smiled. Greta had been right. But then, presumably, she had taken these kinds of shots before.
“So,” Greta said at last, reverting to English while she spoke to Nadia. “We think you take excellent photos. If it is okay, perhaps you can walk around a little. Helmut will make video of you. Yes?”
“Okay,…” Nadia agreed, but with a question mark in her voice to indicate that she was unsure just where this might be going.
Just the same, she stood up, while Helmut went to his backpack again, this time bringing out a video camera, in its own zipped up case, removing it. The camera was larger the ones that tourists use, with a wide lens at the front, and a fold out hand grip at the side. He put it to his shoulder, aimed at some passing people, and took a fifteen second video of them. Then he checked how good it looked. Nodded to Greta. The signal that he was now ready to shoot.
“Okay, so,” said Greta, “maybe you can go to the fountain, then walk back to here, while Helmut shoots you walking? It’s good with you?”
“Okay,” Nadia said again, shrugging her shoulders this time.
She left the grass and went to the path, starting to walk towards the fountain.
“Nadia,” Greta called to her, my wife turning back to see why she had called. “Maybe when you are walking back to us, you can do the same thing with your top. Just for a minute. Yes?”
Nadia glanced at me, then answered.
“Okay,” she said, although actually sounding not too sure. “I can do that.”
She strolled on down the tarmac path, her butt undulating, the undercurves of her butt cheeks so nicely exposed by the high cut of her shorts. It was the first time that I had watched her from behind like that, walking, not cycling, and she looked incredible sexy. I was so lucky to have walked her up the aisle.
The path formed a circle around the fountain, and when she reached it Nadia turned. She started walking back towards us, arms by her sides. Then finally, her hand slipped beneath her yoga top, and she eased the side in towards the centre, that way that she had done while sitting down. Her right breast bared again, she casually walked on, arms held naturally at her sides.
She was still a good thirty feet away from us. Meanwhile, people were walking the other way. Two women with a pram. A couple in their fifties. A businessman in suit and tie. With Nadia walking towards them, breast exposed, her wide areola bare, the nicely generous flesh swaying as she walked from side to side.
What she did next surprised me. She used her other hand. Collected the front of her yoga top into a bunch and drew it in between her breasts, which are full enough to hold it there. Now both her breasts were exposed, the fabric of the yoga top nestling between them.
“Wow,” said Greta, “your wife has modelled before?”
“No,” I said. “Not that I know of.”
“She’s good though,” Greta said. “Maybe a natural, for what we have in mind.”
It lasted no more than a minute. Then as she got close, Nadia eased her top out from between her breasts and widened it to cover them again. She grinned. Then laughed.
“I can’t believe I did that!” she said, to me.
“You looked amazing, though,” I said.
“I think so,” Helmut agreed. “Let me just review this for a moment.”
He did his thing with the video camera, using the eye-piece. Then flipped out a screen at the side of the camera that was bigger than a mobile phone.
“Okay,” he said. “You can see it here.”
Nadia and I stood side by side to view the screen. Small as it was, it was in perfect focus, and the detail was explicit. My wife looked almost like a professional, strutting her stuff on the park’s walkway, both breasts bare, and undulating with each step she took.
“Oh my God,” said Nadia. “I am such a slut, to do that. And no one even seemed to care! I can’t believe that’s me!”
“Actually,” I said. “I think you look pretty good.”
Once he had shown us, Helmut played it one more time for Greta.
“It’s good,” she said. “I think that we should send it now to Werner.”
Helmut hesitated. He frowned. He said something in German, raising his eyebrows in a question as he spoke.
“Completely?” Greta asked him.
“I think it’s better,” Helmut said.
“Completely what?” Nadia asked them, echoing my own thought.
“Helmut is wondering if you would be willing to do the same again, but this time take your top completely off. Leave it here with us.”
“You’re serious?” I asked.
Not so much a question as an expression of disbelief. This was a city park. Not a designated naturist area, although there are some German town and cities that do designate parts of parkland for those who like to sunbathe nude. Not Prague, which in any case is Czech. Not as far as I knew, at least.
“We should tell them first,” Greta said to Helmut.
He shrugged.
“Okay,” he said. Maybe it is best you say it now, say what we do. Then they can decide. No?”
They looked at each other. Then Greta decided, and started to explain.
“Okay, guys,” she started. “So we film girls, women, for our web-site, walking in whichever town. We bring them to the more famous places, and we ask them to walk around, and Helmut videos, while I take photographs.”
“So far, we have already more than twenty girls in different cities. It is good business. Men, and it is mostly men, like to subscribe, and view the videos, for relaxation. It is not just for Germany, but all of Europe, and in fact, now the site is online in most countries, USA, Russia, Australia, Japan, you say the name, and it is there.”
“So first, before we say anything too certain, we must send a video to Werner. He decides if the girl is suitable. But obviously, if we are to make video of her naked in these places, he will want to see her naked first. We cannot offer the fee without that he has made his approval. It is too much for that. Five thousand euros is a good amount of money after all.”
She had slipped in the key word without making it an issue. It was nothing special. Just what they did. They filmed girls walking naked, in European cities, and distributed the videos to anyone who watched. Nothing unusual. Just routine business. Said just like that.
Nadia and I looked at each other, non-plussed, neither of us knowing what to say. They were actually suggesting that Nadia model for them, naked, in various places around the city, places where there would be tourist attractions, which meant people, and were offering us, or her, five thousand euros if she agreed.
I guess, inside, I was quite chuffed that they had chosen us to ask. Not me, of course, but Nadia. Out of all the girls in Prague, they had selected her, the girl that I had married, which said something for my taste in women. Or my good luck. It was quite an accolade. To be spotted, even if it was a soft porn video that they were suggesting she should make.
I was also thinking about the risks involved, the police, or outraged passers-by, or interested men. Then going on a web-site, Nadia being watched by men on lap-tops, to get their rocks off, her being seen by anyone and everyone, maybe by friends and relatives. I thought of her mother, and wondered what on earth she would think. Actually, I already knew.
Just what was going through Nadia’s mind, I could not tell, but I was stunned. It was not what you expect when lazing in a city park on holiday. The idea that this kind of video was being made at all was new to me.
Then there was the five thousand euros. That alone could fund the remainder of our six-month trip, without the need to draw on savings any more. Not that that was critical. We had the money that we needed. Once back in England, we could both pick up our jobs again.
“Are you guys serious?” I asked, at last.
“Serious,” Greta said.
“It’s not some kind of con?” I asked.
“It’s called Nude in Public,” Greta answered. “You can check it out online.”
Nadia was faster than I was. She thumbed her phone open and went to Google.
“What did you say it’s called?” she asked.
“Nude in Public,” Greta said again.
Nadia keyed it in. Found the home screen. Showed it to me. A professional looking collage of stills of various girls totally naked in city scenes, with members of the public all around. One had a play triangle. I told Nadia to click on it, and that is what she did.
The video started. A blonde, naked, on a shopping street, store names in German, walking amongst the shoppers there. Then a brunette, naked, by a castle that I did not know, tourists around her. Then a red-head, naked, the Eiffel Tower in the background, walking past sightseers. Then another blonde, at a cathedral. Not St. Pauls in Rome. That I would have recognised at once. I assumed the people round her would be tourists, not worshippers, just after mass.
“Okay,” I said, still fascinated and not quite believing what I had just been watching, “so the web-site is genuine. How do we know that you work with them?”
Helmut fished in his back-pack, a side pocket. Offered me a business card. His name, the Nude in Public title in the same font used onscreen, his email and his mobile number.
“Anyone could put one of those together,” I commented.
He shrugged.
“You are a difficult guy to convince,” he said.
Then he got out his own mobile. He did something on the screen. Then held it to his mouth, with the sound on speaker. You could hear it ringing. Then a woman’s voice, in German. “Ja?”
Helmut spoke to her. Then turned the screen to us. It was a video call, and the screen was panning around an office, pictures on the wall of nudes, the company name also on a wall, writ large, then through a door to another office with a man behind a desk.
“Hi, Helmut,” the man called towards the phone at his end. Then he said something more in German that I did not understand.
Helmut brought the phone back to his mouth, holding it flat, to speak into the mike. He also spoke in in German that I did not completely follow, but again, I picked out words. English, very beautiful. It was pretty clear that he was talking about Nadia.
A brief exchange, in German, and then the call was ended. Helmut looked at me, eyebrows raised, asking the non-verbal question, if I believed them now.
“Plus,” Greta chipped in. “For you, because we trust you, I give you something now, just for Nadia to make this first video, only from here to the fountain, and then back again, to us.”
She reached into Helmut’s back-pack. A different pocket. Zipped. A white envelope, which she gave to me. The flap was tucked in, not sealed. I opened it. Inside were five one hundred euro notes.
I turned to Nadia.
“What do you think?” I asked, showing her the contents of the envelope.
“Wow!” she said. “That’s just for walking there and back?”
“That’s all,” Greta confirmed.
Later, I realised just how clever she was being. Grooming Nadia, luring her in, a gradual process, with just enough hard cash to tempt her to take off her top for now, investing something now to hopefully achieve what she was really looking for. Already in an envelope as well. It was not a special deal for us. It was the way they worked routinely, with any girl.
“Are you okay with this?” Nadia asked me, clearly still thinking about the pros and cons, and weighing up.
“I guess,” I said. “I mean, it’s not that far.”
“Okay,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her, gripping the bottom edges of her yoga top, then raising her arms above her head, the top turned inside out and up and off completely.
For cycling, Nadia had started wearing her hair pinned up. It kept her cooler, and if she perspired it kept her hair away. She could also look round while cycling, and did not get hair swept across her face if there was wind.
She gave her top to Greta, and stood there for a moment, topless in the city park. Just her cut-off jeans, and a pair of strappy, leather sandals on her feet. That was when I noticed her that nipple stubs were thickly erect, standing proud.
I noticed Greta looking too.
“You have amazing nipples,” the German girl said. “Mine are just small. I love how wide yours are, the brown, I mean. I think that Werner will like them too. He likes girls with slightly fuller breasts.”
Then she turned to her colleague.
“Ready, Helmut?”
Nadia was giving me another glance. I could tell that she was nervous. But she just stood there, waiting for instructions. Her hands betrayed her. She rubbed her sides, then beneath her breasts, then cupped her nipples, almost kneading her breasts, then thumbed her nipples, then stopped and rested her hands down at her hips, all done instinctively, revealing both embarrassment, at being semi-naked, but also her arousal, her nipple stubs no longer undiluted brown, but reddened, hot blood flowing just beneath their skin.
Helmut shrugged.
“Ready,” he said.
“So,” Greta said to Nadia. “You walk to the fountain, then you walk around, then back to us. It’s good.”
Nadia looked down, embarrassed, but she nodded.
“Okay,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.
My wife went back to the path. Then walked away from us, joining the people walking in the same direction. I watched in fascination as she did exactly as Greta had asked, walking the fifty feet or so to the fountain, going round it, then returning.
While Nadia was walking to the fountain, I could see the people coming towards us. She got looks from most, but interesting also had some people looking straight ahead, as if they had not noticed her. She got some smiles. Some turns of the head. But then she would. You cannot have a figure like hers, trim, good thighs, full breasts, delightful areolas, and not have people stare.
Walking back, my wife just looked amazing. The sun was fully on her, spot-lighting her breasts, which swayed gently with each step she took. Somehow she kept her head up, faking confidence, where I knew she would be nervous. I could sense it, empathising with her, and it was not me doing the walking, or being topless. If my stomach was churning, then so too was hers.
Possession is nine tenths of power. Greta still had Nadia’s top. So even when my wife was back with us, she could not put it on, not without asking Greta to let her have it back, and for whatever reason Nadia was hesitant to ask.
Maybe it was the other girl’s self-assurance, her manner, taking charge of things, even with Helmut. Maybe it was the fact that Greta was fully dressed, while Nadia was now almost completely naked. Just those cut off shorts, and nothing else. Vulnerability can deplete self-confidence. So Nadia waited to be given back the top, while Greta acted as if she had forgotten that it was now draped over one of her shoulders, and therefore in her care.
Helmut did his thing again with the video camera. This time showing Greta first, while Nadia and I stood waiting. Nadia began to sub-consciously brush her breasts again with her hands. As if to shield her, I gave her a hug.
She melted into me, all five foot five of her, her breasts crushed against my tee-shirt, the nipples bullet hard against my chest. Something else was hard as well. Crushed between our stomachs. Seven inches. Which she felt.
“I can’t believe you’re turned on!” she whispered.
“Have you seen your nipple stubs?” I asked.
“I need my top,” she whispered back.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “No one seems to mind you being topless. And you looked amazing by the way!”
“What if they asked me to,… you know,… I mean they said the other girls are naked,…”
“I’d trust them,” I said. “They seem to know what they are doing.”
“You really want me to,…?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” I said.
I had not been paying attention to Greta and Helmut while we were whispering to one another. So I was taken by surprise when Greta interrupted us.
“Werner says the video is great,” she told us.
Somehow, they had already sent it to Berlin and he had already seen it. Transfer to phone, I guess, then sent as data.
“He says, can we do the same again, please, but this time, without the shorts,” she added.
We had broken off our hug, but Nadia gave me a meaningful glance. She had been right, her brown eyes said. She was being asked to do it naked.
She breathed in, then out, then three more times. Yoga breathing. De-stressing. Becoming calm. I knew her well by then. Her heart would be beating wildly. She would be feeling panic. But she was a people pleaser. Refusal was not part of her vocabulary. She would do exactly as they asked, unless I intervened.
I thought about it. Then I thought about seeing her do that same walk again, to the fountain and back, stark naked, and I decided, right or wrong, that I would like to see her do that. Besides, Greta added something more, before I could object.
“No sandals either. Barefoot, please.”
Nadia raised each foot in turn, unbuckling the heel straps of her sandals, slipping them off and standing on the grass barefoot. Then her hands went to the large metal button the held her shorts closed, and slipped it through the denim button-hole. She eased down the metal zip.
Hands behind her, Nadia slipped her fingers between the denim and her buttocks, pushing her shorts down, baring her butt. She bent forwards as she slid them down her legs, stepped out of them, and gave her shorts to the spikey haired German girl who still had not returned her yoga top.
“Nice cunt!”
It was Helmut who made the comment. I treated it as a professional assessment, not a guy letching after my wife. Besides. I thought so too. Still do.
That first year of our marriage, Nadia shaved, each time she showered, which meant once a day at least. Now, she does not need to. Laser has saved the cost of buying razors. Either way, then and now, her protruding labia are obvious. Not just a slit. Vertical lips that pout like any mouth can pout. They even part, any time her legs are not together, and glisten on the insides of the flaps with the natural wetness that her cunt exudes.
“Helmut!” Greta admonished him, putting her arm around Nadia to comfort her. “You can’t say that! Even if it’s true. I’m sorry Nadia. He still gets excited when we find someone who suits our filming as well as you do. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. But, it’s good, how you are. Not so boring as some of the girls. I think that Werner will be impressed.”
Helmut was looking at his video camera, pretending to check the equipment, but he gave me a look that I could read. Envy. I got to fuck that cunt, while he did not. He only got to video the girls.
Right then, I felt quite smug.
But I also felt for Nadia, standing naked now, head down, in the city park in Prague, people walking past us, the traffic constant on both sides of the park, just beyond the trees. She had even covered her mound, her hand concealing the labia that she had always been so conscious of, and that Greta had just described as not being as boring as other girls could be. Girls with nothing more than slits where Nadia has lips.
“Can we just do this?” Nadia said, to all of us at once.
“Ready,” Helmut grunted.
“Okay,” Greta said, taking her arm from round Nadia’s shoulders.
Nadia raised her head. Her eyes were moist. But she took her hand from her mound and stepped onto the path. Barefoot on tarmac. She walked away. I watched her, seriously impressed.
Concern aside, I liked the way she looked. Even walking away from us, she had great legs, still has, a perfect butt, straight back, narrow at her waist and wider at the shoulders, her head held high, her hair pinned up, her stride confident, or at least that was how it looked, a cat-walk model, though not size zero, slim yet womanly.
I loved her nakedness. The fact that she alone was hiding nothing of herself. Where others were in dresses, skirt, jeans, shorts and tops, some long, some short, some all concealing, some baring arms and legs and waists. My wife had bared her all. Her breasts and cunt, so private until then, were now displayed for all to see. That nakedness, where nakedness does not take place, in town, was quite amazing.
Above all that, I was astounded at her bravery. For someone else, this might have been comparatively easy. For someone who had always been confident about their looks, or who had used naturist beaches, then walking naked in a public park might have been daunting, but much less so than to the woman that I loved.
Brought up to be modest at all times, to be anxious about other people, and how they judged her, only having just learned to be comfortable in cut-off shorts, and without a bra, Nadia would be feeling very, very naked. Completely exposed. Defenceless. Totally vulnerable. Yet she walked as if she had been walking naked all her life. It was incredible to watch.
She reached the fountain, the low wall around it made of stone, and then to my amazement, stepped up onto it. She turned, and faced us, but stayed there standing still, while people walked on by. Except some people stopped, and stared, and then did more than stare.
Even at that distance I could see the mobile phones magically appearing and being held up, to capture something so unique. Just three or four people, taking photographs to show their friends. The woman who was naked in the park when they walked through.
She stepped down, but before she could start walking back, a guy moved in beside her. Jeans and shirt, and maybe twenty-five and with his arm around her, posing, while the girl that he was with took the photo. She then joined them, and took a selfie, of the three of them, Nadia in between them.
There were what seemed to be smiles all round, and ‘thank you’s, and then Nadia was free to start back down to us, and I was watching her walk naked, breasts undulating as she walked, while Helmut moved into the path and crouched, to video her coming towards him from level with her cunt.
She burst out laughing as she reached us. Then put her hands up to her face and covered it. The laughter was nervousness released, I knew that. I could tell. The hands were pure embarrassment, belated, but that was what I read.
“My God,” she finally said. “I really did that!… That was just amazing,… I can’t describe the way it felt,… and then those people taking photos of me!… and that guy,… he actually had his hand on me,… my butt,…”
Just who she was talking to, I was not sure. It might have been either Greta or myself. We were both facing her, up close, shielding her now from those still passing us, her front at least, if not her back and butt.
What struck me was the fact that neither Nadia nor Greta were doing anything about her putting on her clothes. Nadia was just saying this, not asking for her things, while Greta was nodding empathetically, while holding Nadia’s shorts in one hand, the top still dangling from her shoulder.
“That was so good!” Greta was exclaiming. “Perfect! Werner will love it!”
She turned to Helmut.
“You have it all?” she asked him. “You can send, I think?”
“One moment,” Helmut said, still working with his camera, connecting a cable to it from his phone.
“Okay, it’s gone,” he said, confirming.
Meanwhile Nadia had come in for another hug. I was holding my wife, stark naked, in a park in Prague, one hand at her back, the other on her butt, drawing her in tight to me.
One moment she was burying her head into my chest. The next she leant back and looked at me.
“I can’t believe you’re still hard!” she said. “Does it really turn you on?”
“Of course it does,” I said. “I just wish there was somewhere to fuck you now. That was amazing. You were incredible.”
Greta and Helmut, and their so-called Nude in Public video, and however many thousand euros no longer mattered. They were way at the back of my mind. I just knew that my wife had just walked naked, and had posed for photographs, and that I loved her, and she was indeed incredible.
“I wish you could!” Nadia whispered to me, her head back nestling at my chest. “It’s made me really wet.”
That caused my cock to spasm.
“I felt that!” my wife added, laughing, and looking up at me again.
“Werner’s happy,” Helmut said, behind me. “He’s even given us code blue.”
We broke off from our clinch, and turned to him, but it was Greta who explained.
“That means he’s authorised us to video you, and if you do some extras, then you get another two on top.”
The word ‘extras’ raised a warning flag with me, so of course I asked.
“What kind of extras?”
“Just some poses,” she explained. “With some close ups. That’s all it means.”
Silence for just a moment, between the four of us. Helmut working at his camera. Greta looking at us both, maybe waiting for one of us to ask more questions, or say something at least. My brain working, wondering about the whole deal, about Nadia actually doing this, and walking naked, not just in the park, but through the tourist heavy streets.
Nadia herself was standing quietly. Still naked. Greta still had her shorts and top. Then she finally spoke.
“So,” she began, quite hesitantly, “tell us how it works,… I mean,… what do I do,… how long would I be,… and where would,…?”
Greta explained. The short version is that the video would last thirty minutes, all one take. She would work out a route, and Nadia would just follow where she led. If she stopped for people to take photos, that was fine. In fact, anything she chose to do was good with them. She would wear an earpiece, too, so that Greta could give her directions, tell her what to do.
She would wear heels, which they could provide for her. A dress, which she could just slip over her head to start the shoot. Then Greta would look after it for her. The only other thing was that I would have to stay out of shot, behind Helmut. The idea was that Nadia should look as if she was walking on her own.
The next thing that I knew, we were exchanging mobile numbers, and Greta was telling us that she would text where we would meet the following day. In retrospect, it was quite slick, the way she just assumed we were agreeing. Then gave Nadia her clothes, and gave us each a smile, air kisses, and a wave, as they walked off.
**********
Our drinks came first. San Pelegrino, a litre bottle that we shared. Just sparkling water. Alcohol and cycling do not mix that well. We opened up our bread sticks while we waited for our pizzas to arrive. Not fine dining. Nothing like. Back-packers’ fare, or in our case, back-paniers. High carbs for burning on the road, and cheap, and noisy in the busy restaurant we had found.
We were still in the same clothes we had worn all day. Nadia sitting opposite me, her yoga top covering her breasts, in front, at least. I noticed one guy at another table regularly checking out the side view she was offering as she sipped her drink.
“I still can’t believe I did that, in the park,” she said, giving me her widest smile.
I always love the way her smile starts with just her front teeth, a coy chipmunk look at first, then widens to an open, friendly, almost laughing smile, that instantly disperses any gloom.
“You looked pretty amazing,” I confirmed.
It was the first time we had said anything about it since. To my surprise, Nadia had not immediately dressed. Even when Greta and Helmut had left us, she had sat down on the grass again, still naked, her clothes beside her, asking me if I liked her like that, and I had said I had. Then she had just turned the conversation to what we hoped to do that afternoon, and we had made our plans. Half an hour of sitting naked later, Nadia had dressed, and we had left, cycling to the famous bridge, the Charles bridge, and then walking across, taking in the statues that decorate each side.
“But you really didn’t mind?” she asked me. “I mean, I am your wife, after all.”
“I’ve been wondering about tomorrow,” I admitted. “I mean, technically, we didn’t actually agree. Greta just assumed that we were up for it. You, I mean.”
“We could just not turn up,” Nadia agreed. “I mean we haven’t signed anything, have we?”
“If you’d rather not, that’s fine,” I said. “We can put it down to an amusing interlude. Although,…”
“Although what?” she asked.
“Although I wish I’d thought to take a few photos on my mobile,” I grinned.
“You bastard!” she said, breaking into laughter that made people at other tables turn and look.
“Did I look okay, though?” she went on to ask.
“You looked superb,” I said. “Seriously, you seemed really confident, and you do have a great figure.”
“Can I tell you the truth?”
“Of course.”
“I was almost wetting myself while I was walking to the fountain naked,.. I was so scared,” she said.
“I could tell,” I said. “I mean when you got back. I could feel your heart against my chest. It was beating pretty fast.”
“And that was just two minutes walking in the park!” she said. “I don’t know how I feel about tomorrow.”
“It’s whatever you decide,” I said. “If you think you might enjoy it,…”
“You really think that?” Nadia reacted. “You think I’d enjoy walking around without my clothes? You really think that I’m that kind of person?”
I gave her a reassuring look.
“I was just remembering the way you stepped onto the fountain surround,” I said. “And posed for that photo with the guy.”
“That doesn’t mean I was enjoying it,” she protested. “I was just doing what I thought they wanted.”
The waiter came, and broke the conversation, setting down our pizzas, and giving me time to realise that whatever else, Nadia did not like the thought that she had enjoyed flaunting her body at the fountain, although I was still quite sure she had.
We did a bit of slicing, since restaurants never cut right through pizza before they serve it to the guests, and then we started eating. The food was good. Nice, thin crust, with good cheese flavour, and slices of pepperoni adding piquance.
“You know,” I said, “it wouldn’t matter if you had enjoyed it.”
“Yes it would,” she said. “I mean, doing it for money is one thing, but enjoying being naked, like that,… that would make me some kind of,… well,… slut.”
I looked at her.
“Babe!” I said. “The money really doesn’t matter. We’ve got enough. We budgeted before we left, and we’ve not been overdoing things.”
“So we just won’t show tomorrow, then,” she said.
“Not if you don’t want to,” I agreed. “You should call Greta though. Let her know.”
“I will,” she said.
So that was that, and we carried on eating our pizzas, and talking about what else we would do the next day instead, and where to head to after Prague. Then Nadia’s mobile hummed.
She looked at it.
“It’s Greta,” she said. “She says tomorrow at eleven, and she’s given me the names of two streets, to meet her where they cross.”
Without asking, she thumbed in a brief reply.
“So you told her then?” I asked.
She nodded.
“That we’re not coming?” I checked, just to be sure.
“No,” she said. “I said that we’d be there.”
I looked at her in surprise, pausing in mid-chew.
“Well, you obviously want me to,” she said, defensively. “I mean, I remember how hard you were. You really liked it, didn’t you?”
I finished chewing. Thinking time. Honesty, I thought. The best policy. Especially with your wife.
“Yes,” I said. “I did. Seeing you like that was a total turn on. But if I remember rightly, you told me it had made you wet as well. And your nipples were like bullets.”
Maybe I was louder than I should have been. For a moment, the people at the tables near us all went quiet. Then their conversations started up again.
“You really had to tell the entire restaurant?” Nadia laughed again.
“Were you wet or weren’t you?” I said, not quite so loudly.
“Okay,” she conceded, now almost whispering. “I was wet. It turned me on.”
“So you did enjoy it!” I smiled.
“Okay, so I enjoyed it,” she admitted now. “So? What does that make me then.”
Well, you said it made you a slut, I thought.
“A very sexy woman,” was what I actually said.
“Really?” she asked me.
“Really,” I said. “So what made you change your mind?”
“Remembering your hard on,” she whispered. “And you saying that you needed to fuck me. I just thought that, if you like me doing that, then I’d do it, just for you.”
“That’s big of you!” I offered.
She put down her knife and fork a moment, picked up her glass and took a drink, then looked at me with as serious a look as her smile allows her.
“You do realise that it will be online,” she said. “It’s not just something we do here and then it’s gone. There could people who will recognise me.”
I nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
“You’re not worried about that?” she asked me. “I mean I’ve thought about it. I don’t think my parents are likely to look at online porn, but your brother might, or any of your friends.”
“Well if they do, they can’t exactly criticise, can they, if that’s the kind of site that they’re looking at to start with?”
“No, but they’ll still see me, if they do.”
“True,” I said. “But in the end, it’s just a bit of fun.”
“It’s people that we know,” she said. “Seeing my everything. I don’t know what I’d do if someone said.”
“What time did Greta say, again?” I asked her.
“Eleven,” Nadia answered me, now looking quite concerned.
**********
We were on the bed before the door had closed. An automatic closure, clicking into place. We were kissing, arms and limbs entwined, still fully dressed. My cock was hard for her. Achingly so. It had needed this since lunchtime in the park.
Shorts get in the way of fucking. They had to go. I pulled Nadia’s down, hardly giving her time to open up the steel button or undo the zip. I slid mine off as well. Then lay down between her legs. No foreplay first. No foreplay needed. I had never known her cunt so wet. I still stretched her with my head, of course, but slid in as smoothly as if my piston had been freshly oiled.
I had to scrabble at her top to get it high enough to bare her breasts. Her nipples were erect, as hard as they had been when she had been naked in the park. I played with them, while sliding in and out of her. Then I arched my back and sucked on one. Had there been milk, I would have sucked her dry. Instead, I sucked not just the nipple, but the whole areola, and as much breast as I could manage, gorging on it, filling my mouth with flesh.
Nadia mews. Tiny, little, screamy cries, just like a kitten. When we fuck, that is. Not at other times.. She squirms as well. She does not lie back and think of England. She moves around, so that fucking her means continually shifting how you thrust into her cunt, and always angling so as to pin her down.
She also likes to say things. Things her mother would be appalled to hear. Our bedroom is the one place she can be herself, can think her thoughts out loud, is not repressed, and can be wild and crude.
She does not shout and scream. She whispers. But I can her begging me to fuck her, to fuck her cunt, to ride her, to come inside, or telling me how much she loves my cock, how big it is, how good it feels inside her, how wonderful it is.
This time she whispered that I had made her do it, had made her take of all her clothes, had made her show her cunt to all those people, had let them see her, had let that man just grope her. It was my fault that she had been so wet, that her nipples had been hard. That I could have sent those German guys away, Greta and Helmut, but that instead, I had let them make her do those things.
That tomorrow, she was going to be naked, and everyone would see, and she would let more people touch her, and take photos, and they would see the cunt that I was fucking, and they would want to fuck her too, and my friends would see the video, and we could watch it with them when we were back home, and she would take her clothes off so that they would know for sure that it was her, and see her nipples and her cunt for real.
Only her shuddering orgasm stopped the verbal stream. No more whispering, no mewing either. No little cries and whimpers. Full blown gasps and screams of ecstasy. Legs flailing. Arms thrashing. Bucking beneath me. Ramming her cunt against my groin. Triggering my own release. Spurt after spurt of semen driving through my shaft and head, exquisite as it jetted deep inside the woman I was fucking, the one I loved, the one whose cunt had been so publicly displayed.
Our lovemaking, since it had started, had always been so good. That night it hit a different level. I felt it. Nadia said so too. When lying in my arms, recovering, she whispered.
“I’ll show anyone my cunt, wherever, if it means you’ll fuck me every night the way you did just then.”
**********
Nadia came out first, from the store, where they had used the bathroom, she and Greta having gone inside together. The white dress that she was wearing now was body hugging, sleeveless, the hem at her mid-thigh. Her legs were bare.
Her breasts pushed out against the dress, obviously bare beneath it, although you could not see through to make out the dark shade of her areolas. But her nipple stubs stood proud. Her hair was up, as she now regularly wore it, which with the dress gave her a sophisticated look. A cycle tourist no longer, in the white two or three inch heels, made of white leather, that Greta had provided. Not so high as to be difficult to walk in, but high enough to register as such. She was statuesque. A looker. Bare legs, no bra. In an elegant hotel she might have been the girl-friend to a guest. Or else a call-girl. High class, but still a whore.
Greta followed her out. Dressed exactly as she had been the day before. A gofer for a cameraman, or the director of the film, or both at once, not mutually explusive. Helmut was outside with me, waiting as I was, not saying much, just fiddling with his equipment. His camera equipment, not what was inside his jeans.
“Okay, guys,” Greta said, once we were all together in a huddle. “Remember the rules. Thirty minutes. I lead, Nadia follows, Helmut films, and you,…”
She turned to me, and gave me a wide smile.
“You will please stay well back always. Your wife is today our star. Any problem I will handle. It’s okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Nadia,” she turned away from me again. “You can hear okay? The earpiece. It is good?”
Nadia nodded.
“Okay, Greta said to all of us. “Let’s go.”
She and Helmut led the way. I held Nadia’s hand. We must have looked a mismatched couple. Nadia dressed for cocktails, or for picking up a business man to earn a buck or two. Myself in standard cycle-touring shorts and teeshirt.
“You look amazing,” I said to her.
She gave me a slightly sheepish look, but she smiled.
“Thanks,” she said. “I feel so nervous I could almost faint.”
“You can still pull out,” I said.
“Are you crazy?” she answered. “What would I say to them? Besides, I know you want to see me do this.”
The last thing that she said, there was no way I could argue. From waking up that morning, my hard-on had been evident. I would have fucked her one more time before the shoot, but she had turned me down.
“You know how I look after we make love,” had been her reasoning. “My lips just get too red. I don’t want everyone to see.”
She had used her mouth instead. Small consolation. Kneeling between my legs while I lay back, thinking of what was about to happen. Her walking naked, in the Czech tourist city, being filmed, and that film then going online, for guys around the globe to pay to watch.
She had been on all fours above me, her mouth wrapped round my cock. Her delicious breasts swaying beneath her as she sucked, offering me the chance to fondle them. To palm their areolas, and feel the hardness of her nipple stubs. To softly knead the fullness of their flesh. While she tongued me, licked my shaft from base to flange, sucked on the head, looked up at me, and then fucked me with her throat.
I even pictured her as she had been the day that I had met her. Those jeans. That jumper. The coyness. The hesitancy of her smile. Those upper teeth entrancing. Now grazing penile flesh. My cock. I had kissed that mouth so often since, but that first time, I had to probe between her lips because she was unused to opening her mouth to use her tongue, or have one play with hers, but now her mouth was wide around my shaft, her lips against my groin, her breathe held, as she took my cock head deep.
It had been a white roll neck. The jumper she had worn the day that we had met. Long sleeves. The bottom even covering her butt. No flesh in sight, so demure, straight-laced, her parents’ daughter, who now fucked and sucked her husband’s cock, and would soon walk Prague’s streets with every inch of flesh exposed, shy butterfly emerging naked from her chrysalis, exposing her enticing female flesh.
I had emptied myself in her the night before, but in my sleep, my groin had been at work, replenishing the reservoir, so there was no dearth of semen when she made me come. It jetted from my cock into her mouth. After the first spurts, she had drawn back, so that the rest shot onto her chin, and neck, my liquid pearls of lust, coating her pale skin. The semen that I had released into her mouth, she swallowed, looking pleased that she had made me come.
Young cocks never lose desire. That morning I stayed hard, while showering, dressing, getting coffee on the way to meet the Germans, waiting at the store while Nadia changed, and while walking with her to the beginning of the shoot. So when she said I wanted this, I could not deny the truth. My cock was raging. Hard for my wife, for her exposure, for her nakedness walk through city streets, apparently alone.
By then it was eleven thirty. The shopping streets were busy. Locals and tourists, mixed. All ages, teenagers to retired and elderly. No younger children. They would have been at school. Whether Greta had scouted the area before we met, she knew where she was going. We turned a corner, Greta pointing to construction containers of some kind, one on the road, one partly on the pavement, providing partially privacy, where Nadia could undress.
Reviewing the video, it seems incongruous. Something daring, sexual, beginning in a corner formed by heavy duty steel. But my wife did as was expected of her, as the rest of us backed off. Greta had unzipped the back of her figure-hugging dress. Nadia grasped the hem and pulled it up, baring her thighs, her butt, her cunt, her stomach, then her breasts, and drew the whole dress up over her head, and off.
Naked now, she crouched. Another incongruity. A bright green, draw string bag, that Greta must have left for her. She rolled up the dress and stuffed it in the bag. Then went to Greta, giving it to her, relinquishing the only means of covering herself.
No hesitation. No coy turning towards the steel walls of the containers. No arm across her breasts. No hand covering her cunt. Just walking normally, breasts swaying, as they would, as they had done in the park, where her nakedness had been less open, fewer people there, contained by trees, compared to busy shopping streets and swarms of people casually walking by.
**********
Five stars. For one night. The Four Seasons. A pure white room, white painted walls, white carpet, curtains, bedding, with a balcony, the river view outside. Not that we were looking at the view. We were looking into one another’s eyes. Saying ‘I love you’s. Whispering sweet nothings. While I moved my buttocks almost imperceptibly, just enough to feel my cock head moving in the soft wetness of her flesh.
“How was it?” I asked her, still slowly fucking her, whilst fingering her mane of dark brown hair.
“Kind of weird,” she said. “I mean, at first I was so nervous. When I saw you guys move away, I knew I had no choice. I had to follow you. There was nowhere I could hide. So I just thought I had to look like this was normal, while my chest was really tight, and I really needed to pee.”
“You looked amazing,” I told her. “I mean, it was like watching a model walking on a cat-walk. Except you were outside, on the street.”
“Models usually wear clothes,” she said. “I mean that’s the point, isn’t it.”
“For them,” I agreed. “It was more,… like,… you were modelling your body. Which is pretty good, by the way.”
“You’re not ashamed of me for doing it?” she asked me.
“The opposite,” I said. “I guess I’m proud of you, for doing something so daring, and for having the body that can carry it off. You know that people liked you. I didn’t see one person looking offended or disapproving or anything.”
“I thought of that,” she said. “I thought the best way to do it would be to smile at people. To be friendly.”
I idly moved my hand to her breast, and strummed her nipple with my thumb.
“That’s nice,” she said.
“It worked, you smiling,” I told her. “You know you have the cutest smile.”
She laughed.
“My chipmunk smile! That’s what you say it is!”
“Happy, friendly, Chipmunk, with a gorgeous body,” I said. “I loved that you posed for all those selfies.”
Not just selfies, guys sidling up to Nadia and taking arm’s length shots with camera phones reversed. What surprised me was how many couples there had been, where the man would pose with Nadia, arm around her back or shoulders, while the woman would stand back to take the shot, a naked woman standing by her guy. And different ages. Twenty-somethings doing it. Middle-aged couples too.
“The people were so friendly,” Nadia said. “And respectful. I think just two guys fondled my butt while they were posing with me.”
“I would have,” I said. “Your butt is far too tempting.”
She tautened her butt muscles when I said that, which pushed her groin against me, and forced my cock a fraction deeper into her.
“You saw the guy in the red jacket?” Nadia said. “Grey hair and beard. Not tall, but big. With his wife, also overweight, with a proper camera, not a phone?”
I thought back. Then pictured him. Standing with Nadia in front of a store window.
“I think so,” I said.
“He was one of them,” she said. “He was feeling me between my buttocks, and reaching underneath. I mean,… like,… my hole,… and where I was wet.”
That made my cock jerk. Another guy, fingering her. Unexpected. And unwanted. But my cock has its own way of reacting to whatever, and always does its own thing, regardless of what is happening in my brain.
“Did you just,…?” Nadia asked me, widening her smile.
“That wasn’t me,” I said. “That was my cock.”
“You mean it likes me saying that?”
“Just remember, I don’t care who sees your body, or what they’d like to do to you, but I’m the only guy who gets to fuck you.”
“I know,” she sighed. “And yours is the only cock I’d ever want.”
I eased out of her, all the way, then eased back inside, enjoying the special feeling of her lips parting to my cock head, and her vaginal walls welcoming my shaft. She was an amazing woman, with a delicious body. I did the same again, eased out of her, then back in, deep. Slow, long fucking, savouring every inch of movement as my cock gliding through her cunt. Knives and butter came to mind. Cocks and cunts. One cock, mine. One slick, wet cunt, my wife’s.
Beautiful eyes, staring back at mine, open and unveiled. Her inner thoughts exposed as fully as her body had been for that half hour stroll through city streets.
Another image came to mind. From the walk that she had done, through Prague, the old city, those shopping streets, near to the end, but still where it was busy. By then, Nadia had gathered a small following. An entourage. Mostly men. With camera phones. Taking photos. Video too. Some hurrying ahead enough to turn and get her walking towards them, her breasts and cunt so much more photogenic than her back and butt.
Greta had signalled to Helmut to stand still. He had been incredible, walking backwards all the time, his camera, as he had told me, having some electronic system to minimise inevitable camera shake. He had stopped at one side of the cobbled, pedestrian street. High end stores on either side. A jewellers right opposite. Greta joining him, waving me behind them both.
“Okay, Nadia, five more minutes. Then you come to me. I give you your dress.”
A one way-system. Nadia could hear, with the neat ear-piece Greta had given her before she had taken off her dress. But she could not respond.
“At the jewellers, you stop at their window, please. Lean on the edge. Keep smiling. Let the guys who have been following take shots of you. I take some too. Helmut keeps on filming.”
Helmut had been filming all the way, but Greta, every so often, had been taking stills. Now, with Nadia leaning on the window ledge, her back against the glass, the guys who had been following her formed a semi-circle round her, just leaving room for Helmut and Greta to film and photograph her, head on, as she smiled and looked around.
“Okay, so not so tight with your legs,” Greta said. “You can open them a little. I think everyone will like that.”
Greta was wearing an unobtrusive headset, black, like her spikey hair, with a microphone that curved round her cheek to pick up anything she said, however quietly she spoke.
Nadia obliged.
“That’s good,” said Greta, her voice still low, “but wider, please. You need to move your feet.”
Again Nadia followed her instructions.
“It’s good,” Greta confirmed. “So for the extra Werner wants, we want to see you hold your lips apart.”
There was a crowd around her, but Nadia’s eyes found me. She suddenly looked nervous. Questioning. Should she do as Greta asked, or not?
I saw no harm in it. Just slightly more explicit than her pose already was. A dozen men would take their shots of her. So what? It would appear on film, the kind of thing that soft porn shows on multiple sites online. A bit of fun. No problem.
I gave my wife a nod.
Still looking nervous, Nadia moved one hand, brought it to her cunt, and splayed her fingers to open wide her lips.
“Wonderful!” Greta rewarded her with praise. “That’s beautiful. Just hold like that!”
Nadia held the pose.
“Okay,” Greta finally said. “Now, ring and middle fingers. As far inside as you can go.”
Nadia was still looking at me for permission, approval, assent. This I really wanted to see. Broad daylight, a busy street, people around. Photographs being taken. My wife, who once had been so shy and coy, and was now she was being asked to do much more than just walk naked, delving within her cunt, to show that she was wet, and liked it to be probed and penetrated, if not by someone’s cock, then doing it herself, because she needed to.
I nodded one more time, just enough for her to know I would not mind.
It was her left hand she was using to hold her labia open, to let the cameras all the guys were aiming there focus on the inner pinkness and the hole that all of them wished could be theirs. She used the fingers Greta has described and glided back and forth, between her labia, then all the way inside.
Diamond glinted in the sun. It was just then that I fully realised that the rings that I had given her were still on that finger. She had been wearing them the entire thirty minutes. Not just a naked girl. Someone’s wife. Now probing her own cunt, because she had been told to. Greta making sure her diamond ring and wedding band would feature in her shots.
That was the picture in my mind, that night, in bed, while we were making love. I reached for Nadia’s hand, the left, entwining my fingers with hers, feeling the gold, appreciating what it meant. She might become an icon on the internet, but she was mine, my wife, for life.
We kissed. Tongues intertwining.
“I love you, babe,” I said.
“I love you too,” she whispered in my ear. “Now fuck me, please.”