A Video of Her Husband Masturbating

It was the sexiest thing Cheryl had ever seen. She released her nipple to clamp her hand over her mouth as she fought back from crying out as her orgasm shivered through her. She hadn't felt it coming. It grabbed her and demanded release when she saw Brad's steel-hard erection pulsing in desire for her.

Squeezing her eyes shut during the agony of remaining quiet as she came meant she missed several seconds of watching her husband masturbate to her video. When Cheryl reoriented enough to focus her gaze back on the mirror, Brad was against stroking his cock, his own gaze riveted to the TV screen.

I am SO glad this is being recorded! she thought.

"God I wish it were your cock I was sucking on right now instead of my fingers," video-Cheryl was saying.

Brad groaned.

Cheryl tingled.

And so it went as Cheryl watched Brad masturbate as he watched video-Cheryl masturbate. To some unseen observer seeing both of them, it would be impossible to tell who was more sexually charged, more aroused, more desperate to taste the other.

Cheryl didn't risk another orgasm, knowing she would not be able to stifle her cries a second time. Instead, she brought both hands to her breasts to stimulate them, to tug and twist her nipples as she watched Brad in the mirror's reflection.

And I'll be able to watch this again! she thought happily, so very delighted at her own inventiveness in getting a tribute video from her sexy husband.

But then — the sound he made at that point in the video when she had to be very still to tamp down her orgasm; that spot when she was playing with her tits and nipples and teasing him so hard with her words.

The sound Brad made when we watched that!

It was primal. It was animalistic. It was a sound unmistakable to any primate: I am going to mount you, fuck you, come inside you, and my desperation will not go unmet!

It was scary exciting to Cheryl! She hugged her knees to her chest, clamped her legs together.

Shhhh! Shhhh! she mentally repeated to herself, trying to block the sounds Brad was making as he masturbated. She had to settle down, had to somehow keep herself from exploding into a quaking orgasm that would force a scream which would spoil everything she'd worked so hard to arrange.

Her ability to prevent an orgasm in this hyperaroused state, though, was about to be tested again.

It was the place in the video when Cheryl had turned her back to the camera, climbed onto the chair, sagged down into position with arms over the top of the chair's back and her ass upthrust, cheeks flexed open to show him her pink, hairless, crinkled opening.

"I love showing it to you, Brad. I love knowing it turns you on to look at my asshole."

"Oh, god! Cheryl!" he said, his jaw then clamping shut, his hand flying away from his cock to grip the towel underneath him. He levered himself up to stiffen, his body a plank, the muscles in his glutes clearly clamped tight.

Brad was fighting back his own orgasm. He was desperately, desperately close, and in this position — head thrown back, his hands clawing at the towel beneath him, his hard cock bobbing as he worked to tamp down his orgasm — he was sending an intensely physical message about his lust for his wife.

Cheryl had to blank her mind at that point, defocus her gaze on the mirror then squeeze her eyes shut and just hug and tremble, hug and tremble, rock and bite her lip to keep from coming. At this stage of her arousal, no physical touch was needed anywhere to trigger an orgasm; she had to find a way to stop the mental picture of her husband's near-insane desire to make love to her as displayed by his throbbing cock and desperate clawing at the towel and sofa in an attempt not to come driven completely by seeing her perform for him as his private, personal video vixen.

Her mind seized on a mantra seemingly from nowhere. She screamed mentally to herself as the way to stop the images, stop the automatic response of orgasm that her husband's performance was pushing on her: More Love Later! More Love Later! More Love Later! she yelled to herself mentally over and over, almost like the sound of a chugging steam engine repeatedly driving itself down the tracks.

This time when she refocused on the image in the mirror's reflection, Brad was sagging into the sofa, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, across his chest. His breathing was labored, and he was licking his lips. He drew the back of one hand to his brow, wiping across it to clear some of the wetness there.

He had the remote in one hand, the other — the one he was using to masturbate — lay on the towel next to his thigh.

Brad had paused the video.

What's wrong? Cheryl worried.

In the mirror's reflection, Cheryl saw Brad looking at the hallway door.

Would he see some glint of light, something to give her away.

But then he turned his head back toward the TV but cast his gaze to the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest in what looked like abject exhaustion.

Cheryl then understood:

The effort of not coming as he masturbated was taking its toll.

He wants to come the same time I come in the video, Cheryl thought, rejoicing. Brad! I love you!

She saw him point the remote at the TV then delicately set it on the end table as his other hand slowly closed around the shaft of his cock.

He cautiously began masturbating again as the video continued.

The rise back to that same point of desperation was rapid, though, and Cheryl was glad, for her husband's sake, that the video was nearing the end. Video-Cheryl was now sliding the dildo into her pussy:

"Oh, my god! Brad! Shit! Baby, baby, baby! I'm pushing this fake cock over the spot that you hit just right, just perfect"

Brad's fist was a blur on his cock. His toes were stretching and arching up and down.

He was close. Very, very close.

"Come for me, baby. Come for me right now! I can't stand it anymore! Drive your hard cock inside me and spurt your cum deep, Brad!"

"Annnghh" Brad groaned, his cock throbbing hard in his grasp. Cheryl could see that he was giving himself permission to let go.

And when the video showed Cheryl poised on the precipice of her orgasm, her fingers working her clit as the only motion of her stiffened and primed body, Brad's body language replicated the same desperate, all-time-stopped sensation as he fisted his cock.

Then he gripped the base of his cock, shook all over, and erupted, stream after stream of white cum arcing from the end of his cock to land on his chest, on his belly. He rolled side to side in the process.

Brad was suffering through an intensely powerful, intensely rewarding, yet frustratingly delayed orgasm. The release was overpowering him.

Cheryl watched, entranced, excited, mesmerized by the sight of her husband's powerful orgasm.

And all on video for me to watch again and again, she marveled.

The look in Brad's eyes was dreamy as he watched the conclusion of the video, lying spent as he was on the sofa, his cock still semi-hard as it lay against his belly.

"Or maybe what I need most of all, baby, is to be there right now so I can lick every drop of your delicious cum off your belly, off your cock, and taste you the way I love to do."

Cheryl knew the video was almost over, that she should grab the mirror and rush back to the bedroom to wait for Brad to call out to her. But she could not tear her gaze away from the mirror.

She had to see Brad's reaction to the text she had added at the end, the text with the sexy invitation for what she wanted to begin exploring with him.

The risk was worth it.

Brad ran his unlubed hand through his hair as he leaned forward to re-read the words that were fading away on the screen.

Unbelievably, Cheryl saw his cock twitch.

"Cheryl!"

She grabbed the mirror, dashed to the bedroom door to toss the mirror on the bed, and then stepped to open the hallway door.

Brad was beckoning her to him.

She rushed to him and dropped to her knees by the side of the sofa, eager to lean down and — as she said she'd do in the video — begin lapping away the cum from his chest.

But he stopped her, drawing her face to his, devouring her with a kiss that lasted for what seemed a delicious eternity to Cheryl.

"You cannot possibly imagine how much I love you," he said, gazing into her eyes.

The words thrilled Cheryl to the marrow of her bones.

And they were all captured on video as the little camcorder recorded every syllable.