A Video of Her Husband Masturbating

"We do area around anus next," Nellie said, raising Cheryl's legs again, indicating a repeat of her earlier positioning. "And remember: 'flower.' Say, 'flower!'"

The warm wax and cloth felt very pleasant around her asshole. The thought of Brad's tongue tracing circles there flitted across Cheryl's mind before the inevitable pain shot through her.

She bit her lip and grunted, determined to soldier through this.

When the torture was over and the soothing powder had been applied, Nellie instructed her on the after-care procedure as Cheryl dressed. The short woman smiled as Cheryl and Laura left the room, saying, "You come back, yes?".

Cheryl and Laura walked gingerly to the cash register station and fumbled with credit cards. Both left Nellie generous tips.

"Un-frickin'-believable," Cheryl said, digging into her purse for her keys. "I cannot believe you voluntarily go through that on a regular basis, Laura!"

Flicking the button on the remote to unlock the car, Cheryl continued her diatribe as they swiveled into their seats and shut the doors. "I mean, Laura! Really? That hurt so much!"

In the privacy of Cheryl's car, Laura was much more talkative about the benefits than when they were in Nellie's waxing room.

"It does hurt, I'll give you that," she said, "but just like I said inside, it's a pretty good trade-off. Think about it: A total of, what? — two minutes? — of pain in exchange for ten minutes of a guy's mouth and tongue doing wonderful things to your pussy. And then again the next night. And then again the next night. Hell, there were even times when Tony would spend fifteen minutes on the front, giving me at least two orgasms, then he'd roll me over and work his talented tongue on my backside while I worked my pussy from underneath. Those orgasms were some of the best I ever had."

Even after all the time they'd been friends, Cheryl could still be surprised at how easily and naturally Laura could slip into her talk-frankly-and-specifically-about-the-sex-I've-had mode.

"You should be thanking me, Cheryl," Laura continued. "You must've known in the back of your mind that you were going to have to get a full Brazilian. I mean, didn't you think about what your va-jay-jay was going to look like in a close-up on that big-ass TV screen you guys have?"

It was something Cheryl had thought of. Even the few seconds' worth of her clumsy attempt at a pussy close-up with the little camcorder was enough to show her the difference between what a close-up of her pussy would look like on the screen compared to the smooth, hairless pussies of the women shown in the porn she and Brad watched together. All those women were hairless. White, black, Latina, Asian — it didn't matter.

And Brad sometimes made comments about loving the close-ups because they made it easy to see the women's clits, easy to see they were turned on with their hard, pink, wet pleasure nubs begging to be sucked.

Hair in the way would lessen the visual impact, Cheryl knew.

"Yeah, I guess so," Cheryl sighed. She brightened immediately, though: "But as good as Brad is with his tongue, maybe a waxing will give him some extra motivation."

Laura stretched her arms in front of her and shifted in her seat. "Yeah, I'm glad Tony asked me to do it. The time after that with him until we broke up was definitely the best and the most oral I've gotten in my life. Sign me up for that any day of the week!"

***

Brad was about to leave on an extended trip — some kind of strategic planning retreat the company's young management executives were expected to attend in a sort of "observer" mode, and then the company's annual two-day shareholders' meeting would immediately follow in the same city. He'd be gone for a week and would leave for the airport Sunday late afternoon.

But now that she had her waxing behind her, Cheryl wanted to keep the surprise of it from Brad. If she could figure out how, that would mean the video shoot would be over when he returned. The video wouldn't be ready, of course, until later, but just the thought of knowing the camera would capture a kind of video virginity — "Cheryl's completely hairless pussy totally revealed for the first time ever to her sexy husband" — was yummy. She could imagine the conversation with Brad before starting the video and leaving the room so Brad could star in the sexy tribute for her:

"Remember when you left for your big meeting in Chicago, baby? Remember that I wouldn't let you see my pussy until after you got back from your trip?"

"Hell, yes, I remember! I was distracted that whole week thinking about what you'd done. I was dying to eat you."

"Mmmmm, yeah. I remember how hard your cock was when I picked you up at the airport."

(And he'd be naked, of course, as they had this conversation, what with Cheryl's instructions about watching the video she had made. I'll bet his cock will twitch when he talks about how I teased him, she hoped, the thrill of sexually arousing her husband a tasty idea.)

"I love that you love it," she would purr. "And I know how turned on you were when you saw it that first time when you got home from your trip."

And then would be the part that was just scrumptious to think about:

"Well, this video you're about to watch? It's going to show my completely hairless pussy right after I had it waxed. You hadn't even seen it when this video was made. I wanted to make this special present for you so you'd be seeing my bare pussy for the first time — even before you saw it and tasted it when you got home from your trip."

"Cheryl! We have to fuck right now. Don't tell me things like this and-"

"Shhh," she would interrupt, pushing a finger against his lips. "Yeah, you're gonna see my hairless pussy and asshole in the video, Brad, and I'm gonna be saying all kinds of nasty things about what I want you to do to me."

She would go turn on the camcorder at that point, then hand Brad the remote to the TV.

"And don't forget your instructions about watching all this, baby: I want you stroking your gorgeous hard cock for me while you watch the video. I think you'll know when I'm about to come in the video, and I want you to come then, too."

Oh, shit! That would be insanely sexy! thought Cheryl.

So that Saturday night before his trip was a trade-off: Cheryl kept her panties on (though they were soaked!), and Brad got an extended, finger-in-the-ass blowjob that Cheryl worked hard to extend, to intensify, and which was absolutely administered to drain his balls completely.

***

Cheryl had all week to fret about what she'd typed into the questionnaire at Z and E's office. She'd been explicit about what she would do, and at various times during each day at work, a wave of anxiety would wash over her:

Naked in front of two people I've never met!

Masturbating in front of those two people!

Turning around in that chair and spreading my naked buttcheeks, saying I want Brad's tongue on my asshole!

After one of those moments of worry — it was on Tuesday morning, and the worry had intensified almost to anxiety attack status — Cheryl decided she had to get things better under control.

She had to somehow lessen the worry, ease the distraction of frequent what-iffing about the shoot: What if I choke up? What if I get there, come to the point where I have to get naked in front of those videographers, and I'm so embarrassed I just run out of the room? What if everything I'm imagining about how this will happen turns out to be horribly wrong?

Cheryl had to get a grip. She had to develop some kind of confidence about her ability to do this. Maybe that would tamp down the worry and the constant distraction of the fast-approaching shoot at Z and E Productions.

Then it came to her.

Practice!

You always feel better about a performance if you practice first, she told herself. Just like ballet class. Our rehearsals always made me feel prepared, not so stressed out.

It made sense. The idea brought some immediate relief.

But how am I going to practice for something like this? she wondered.

And the answer was immediately obvious: their little camcorder, the chair in their bedroom — everything she'd already done in learning she needed a professional production.

Still, the little camcorder was the perfect way to practice. I can see myself in the poses, figure out which moves look forced and which look natural, hear what I say to find out if I'm sounding dorky or fake or just stupid, she thought.

She immediately scheduled four rehearsals with herself: Tuesday night, Wednesday night, Thursday night, and Friday night. Four practice sessions, getting better every time, she thought, eyes defocused and mind miles away from her computer screen at work that Tuesday morning.

It was an excellent revelation. Cheryl smiled, then shook her head to bring her focus back to her computer.

And how lucky — and smart — she was to have this idea! Her first, quickly aborted attempt at recording herself had been so short that Cheryl didn't even remember anything except how bad the lighting was and how limited such a video-selfie had to be. She'd not even done any critique of her performance, of her poses, of her dialogue. The test video was so short there wouldn't have been much to see in an attempt to learn how to improve.

Eager to record an extended session so she could really study her performance, Cheryl rushed home from work, thoughts of dinner pushed to the side. After locking their apartment door behind her, she tossed the keys on the kitchen counter and went straight to their bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, she was naked, legs hanging over the arms of the chair, and looking into the camcorder's lens as she masturbated, trying out different positions (How far down should I slide in the chair to give Brad the best view of my pussy and ass?) and running through different versions of what she could say as she looked into the camera.

The results, again, were less than satisfactory.

The positions to assume in the chair wouldn't be that hard to adjust. The video showed things well enough to understand easily how she could simply move this way or that a little bit, and the end product would be improved.

But what she was saying . . . it didn't sound natural. Even though she wasn't reading from a script, it sounded like she was.

Even though she knew how to talk dirty to Brad, the things to say to turn him on — and even though she knew she must be doing it well when they made love — on the video, in performance mode, things were different.

In short, there were places that sounded like somebody reading dialogue and purposefully exaggerating to sound like a bad actor doing a terrible job in an amateur production.

Not good — not good at all, thought Cheryl as she watched her first test run on the screen of the little camcorder.

The second test run was better. Her positioning in the chair definitely looked more natural yet kept all of her on open display. What she was saying, though, and how she said it still pretty much sucked.

Standing naked behind the tripod and the camcorder as the recording blacked out on the little camera's screen, Cheryl tapped the side of one thigh, thinking.

I do NOT want that kind of performance! Shit! That would kill the whole mood I want to set for Brad.

Realizing that her previous self-critique of her pose had improved things dramatically — after just one bit of "practice" — Cheryl determined that she simply needed practice talking dirty. She'd done it many times when she and Brad played, and they'd often had good phone sex, but she'd never recorded herself and then listened to hear exactly what she sounded like.

A worried thought immediately presented itself: What if I've sounded silly and stupid to Brad when I've been doing what I thought was sexy talk?

Cheryl couldn't believe that was the case. Brad always seemed turned on, always seemed eager to hear it.

But could she do it better?

There was an easy way to solve everything.

Still nude, she settled onto the sofa in the living room, her little laptop opened and positioned in front of her on the coffee table.

Might as well get some practice with facial expressions while I do this, Cheryl thought as she pulled up the camcorder program.

It would be quicker and easier to practice mainly for purposes of her monologue using her laptop. A few keystrokes would instantly open each video file and its accompanying sound track.

Take 1: "Oh, Brad, baby! I want to suck your cock so bad . . ." She continued her dirty talk, self-conscious and worrying what the video would sound like when she played it back.

After a few minutes, Cheryl stopped, saved the video, opened the file and sat watching intently, critiquing her performance.

Yuck!

Take 2: "Mmmm, Brad, your hard cock turns me on so much . . ."

Maybe a little better but still pretty bad.

Take 3: "God, I'm so wet right now, wishing you were here to lick me . . ."

At this rate, it would take her weeks to slowly inch her way toward any appreciable progress.

How do those phone sex girls do this? she wondered.

That thought triggered an instant reaction: Duh! Let's just see!

It was simple to type "phone sex" into the search engine and have instant access to a dizzying array of ads. Most of the ads made clear the "specialties" talked about when calling that service.

She ignored all the gay sex ads. Scanning through several pages of search engine recommendations was in itself an education, though: Water sports. Slut wife. Asian woman. Strapon sex. Panty sniffing. Any kink a caller wanted to hear about could be found quickly and easily.

Fascinated, Cheryl spent several minutes just reading the couple of sentences describing each service, including the ones she knew she'd never call.

I haven't even heard of some of this! she marveled, clicking through yet another kink that left her wondering, What the hell is going on in people's minds?

After fifteen minutes playing kink-o-rama, Cheryl got serious about finding a service that seemed to indicate there would be a woman on the other end of the line who would be practiced at saying the kind of things Cheryl could imagine she would be saying on her video.

"Five Star Sex Talk," was the name of the service. Cheryl rose from the sofa to retrieve a credit card from her purse. "Discreetly billed as 'GK Consulting,'" the ad said.

Cheryl had her own credit cards, and Brad didn't bother to even look at her cards or card statements (one more reason to love that man!). Still, she did NOT want something like, "Kinky sex talk phone sessions," showing up on a credit card statement.

Here I go again, she thought, punching the number into her phone. One more new thing on the sex frontier for Cheryl Morris!

Her request brought a chuckle from the phone sex worker.

"First time I've been asked by the wife to hear me talk dirty so she can practice for her husband," the woman said. "Honey, this man must really ring your bell between the sheets."

Cheryl wasn't keen on spending the ridiculous per-minute charge talking about her situation.

(Do guys really pay this? she wondered.)

"I'm a lucky girl," she responded. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to just sit back right now and listen. Here's the scenario."

Cheryl launched into a brief description of the video. She didn't mention anything about getting her own tribute video in return, of course — the woman needed to know only enough to produce the monologue Cheryl wanted to hear as a way to get some exposure to what "an expert" would say and how she would say it.

She set the phone down next to the laptop and hit "Record" on the audio track indicator.

What an education!

Ten minutes was all it took for Cheryl to understand the power of a sultry female voice saying the most explicit things imaginable as a way to sexually arouse a man.

The woman's performance even got Cheryl revved up!

Hastily signing off with a quick, "Thanks. That was very helpful," Cheryl rushed back into the bedroom, hit the "Record" button on the camera, and climbed onto the chair for a needed masturbation session with visions of Brad hearing the kind of things the woman on the phone had just said.

But Cheryl was eager to hear herself say them as she stroked her clit in front of the camera.

She was already wet. It didn't take long to reach an orgasm, but the several minutes of climbing the peak gave her plenty of time to practice her monologue.

Sliding contentedly onto the cushion of the chair and stretching after her climax, Cheryl lounged for a minute, savoring the orgasm and thinking about the potential effect on her husband when he saw her video. Rising, she stepped to the camera, turned it off, retrieved her robe from the bed where she'd thrown it, and ambled into the kitchen.

She wanted a minute to reflect, a cup of hot tea in hand, on this entire project, on her rehearsals in preparation for the video shoot, on what the final product would look like, and on how exciting the video would be showing Brad coming for her as he watched her performance.

Cheryl judged her dirty-talk performance to have improved considerably when she reviewed the recording just completed. The moans seem more natural, and I wasn't so hung up on the words I was saying. Everything just worked better that time, she concluded.

I will get better, she thought. I have three more nights to practice before the video shoot.

Then Cheryl glanced at the clock. It was only 8:30 PM.

With the time zone change for Brad's trip, it was 10:30 PM at his hotel room.

He'd probably be back in his room, preparing for the next day's meetings or just stretched out and relaxing on the bed watching TV.

She knew he'd be calling her any minute to check in, say he loved her, talk for a minute about the day and the trip.

She smiled.

More practice time.

Cheryl was looking forward to Brad's call tonight. To his call Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday night, and maybe especially on Saturday night, when she'd be talking to him after shooting her video that morning.

But most importantly, by Saturday morning's video recording session at Z and E, she'd have had plenty of specific, targeted practice at sexually arousing her husband with her words, her tone of voice, her throaty moans, her entreaties for him to stroke his cock while he listened to her.

And being her husband's private phone-sex girl for five nights in a row during his week-long business trip would mean he would be crazy horny to get home and fuck her.

In spite of her satisfying climax in front of the little camcorder only a short time previously that evening, Cheryl felt that familiar tingle when she thought about talking dirty to Brad for the rest of the week, asking him to stroke his cock for her until he came every night as he listened to her dirty talk.

He'd have no clue as he lay on the bed in his hotel room, his phone to his ear while he stroked his pretty cock, that he would be helping her practice the sexual monologue she would be carrying on in the video she would make for him.

It was perfect!

Dinner would be very, very late this evening.

Brad's call would come any minute.

***

"So I know it sounds crazy, Laura, but I really need you to be there with me."

Cheryl had just asked Laura to go with her to the video shoot. The two of them were again in the break room at work. It was mid-afternoon Wednesday, and no one else was around.

"Jesus, Cheryl! And you say I'm the kinky one!"

Cheryl looked at her friend through crinkled, lowered eyes.

"You know good and well I'm not asking because I'm some kind of exhibitionist or because I get my jollies by having my friends see me do stuff like this," Cheryl whispered sternly.