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My husband is a very visual and extremely erotic. Most husbands are. My husband is also quietly competitive.
Losing is definitely not his thing.
For years he’s been sending me naughty photos. Sometimes it’s just an immature dick pic taken after he gets out of the shower – freshly shaven – with a note: clean enough to eat off. Sometimes it’s an artsy collection that probably took him 30 minutes to orchestrate – candles and roses with only a silhouette of his manhood waiting for me to get home.
Every now and again I get a shot of my lips wrapped around his dick or my legs stepping into his favorite heels. At first I was worried about his photos finding their way onto the internet, but he was always careful to crop out any distinctive body parts and he keeps the photos locked away. He showed me one day so I would be comfortable with him having our homemade porn collection, but I’d seen enough of his work to know that I could deny anything that got away. Plus, it turned me on knowing that he had a stash of “we” porn.
Most of the time he’d email me the shot of his dick dripping over my nipples, but I’ve learned to keep my phone facedown in meetings for fear of our clients being shocked by one of his texts of my favorite vibrator. My business partner, Shar, thought I was having an affair because I was so secretive when my phone would vibrate. She caught a glimpse of my pubes on his chin one day while I was showing her the notes from the Hitchcock proposal and she read me the riot act about how wonderful my husband was. So I had to confess it was him. Now she begs to see what’s in my Inbox because her husband is “big & boring” in the romance department. I haven’t told my husband that Shar has spent more than a few afternoons absent in her office after I’ve shared one of his texts. Not sure he’d appreciate that fact alone, but he always enjoy how soaked I was when I got home knowing that a grown ass woman was masturbating to my sex life.
But I had to admit that I always felt guilty with my lack of effort compared to his abundance of filth. He’s the creative one, so I assumed my attempts to look sexy would be disappointing. “Effort over execution, boo,” he’d encourage before sending me a black & white of his limp dick resting on my phone taken while we were staying at the Hotel Bel Ami six months ago. He was clearly showing off in more ways than one.
“So what do you send him?” Shar interrupted as I was checking my messages at lunch.
“Excuse me?” I defensively replied as I looked at my phone as though I was reading an in-depth exposé in the Wall Street Journal app. I’m not sure what that look was supposed to be, but I was quite optimistic I was pulling it off.
“Bitch, according to that mirror behind you there’s a lot of chocolate dripping off of your screen, so you better have a good response before that man starts sharing his goods with someone willing to share back,” she stated as though she didn’t want to lose her occasional glimpse into my erotic shenanigans. “It’s 69, not 6, so you’d better start the reciprocations & appreciations.”
I tried to laugh it off. I knew he wasn’t about to share our ‘art’ projects with any one else – though I got a little wet at the notion of us watching some lonely girl in Alaska rubbing one out as she watched me giving him the fastest handjob in the west. He told me countless times that other women didn’t interest him in that regard. Sure, he’d look a woman up & down, but in the end he was always just for me. And I believe him.
But she was right. And I was competitive. I needed to let him know that I cared AND I could destroy him at his own game. So Shar and I came up with Operation Blown Away. OBA for short. We had a couple of drinks in us and she was already loud enough. At one point she sexually assaulted our waiter, but she only wanted to find out the best camera angles for some rated X positions. We mapped out an agenda, synched our calendars, and stumbled into the 2PM sun looking for a taxi.
Also, we never, ever showed our faces in that restaurant ever, ever again.
For the next three hours before he got home from work, I ran through every illicit video he’d ever liked on our private Pinterest board. We’d started the board as a sexy joke we could share as we travelled, commenting on everyone else’s sex tape activities, but never sharing our own. We’d repost anything from lingerie & sex toys to links of couples going at it in the family van. Fortunately for me I rubbed one out early into second video so I could focus on taking notes and eventually ordering sushi delivery.
The next day I made him his favorite dinner bağlıca escort – grilled salmon with a hint of lemon, steamed broccoli, brown rice, and sweet tea – and headed into our back study to set up the stage.
Our studio was an unfinished room because we ran out of furniture and time to decorate. There was an antique couch, framed black & whites of buildings I’d worked on, and an amazing view of the ocean. Probably not a room we spent a lot of time in, but the perfect room for my a few videos.
I set up the tripod toward the front of the room so the Canon captured the couch and the back window. I made sure the camera was fully charged and took a few sample videos with the remote control to make sure it was ready to film. On the way home I had picked up a new iPad and charging station/speaker. It fit nicely in the corner as I loaded our playlists for background accompaniment. I hit the lights and closed the door just as I heard the garage door open.
From the moment he entered the kitchen I kept thinking he would sense my excitement and head straight for the studio. But he hadn’t been in that room in 6 months, so I was pretty safe. He gave me the usual soft kiss and a smile before we talked about our days at work. We had a quiet dinner and watched a little television before nodding off to sleep. I was almost too excited to sleep, but I had to get some rest if I was going to wake up before him.
At 5AM he woke up, kissed me on the cheek and disappeared into the closet to gear up for his bike ride. I was groggy as usual – not a morning person – but I had 45 minutes after that garage door went down to be ready for him. As always, he’d left as quiet as a mouse because he knows mornings aren’t my thing. The door went down and I jumped out of bed. Off went my head wrap & his old Ohio State jersey and on went the matte black nail polish, Agent Provocateur Rosalyn bustier and Prada kitten heels. I was halfway through my cup of caffeinated peach tea when I saw his bike coming up the block.
I nearly killed myself turning the corner to get into the studio where Miles Davis greeted me. I sat eagerly in my purple bustier on the antique couch while I tried to focus on my morning’s email. As soon as as I saw Shar’s name and her subject: Wear Him Out, the door started to open.
Like a kid on Christmas, he surveyed the room to find everything on his list. He tried not to smile, but when he saw the Canon on the tripod he knew I was ready for the big leagues.
He was already down to his Nike shorts when he entered the room. I’m sure he heard the music from the kitchen and started disrobing then and there.
“Please take a shower,” I calmly requested. “I’ll be patiently waiting for you to return . . . clean enough to eat off.”
He smiled from ear to ear and slowly walked out of the room, waving his hand in front of the camera as he left. He was walking slowly, but he was sprinting in his mind.
I had read through half of my morning’s emails when he returned to the room, wearing nothing but a towel and that same smile. As if he already read the script he smelled of the new ginger body wash I’d just picked up in Costa Rica. The last time I sucked his dick in the shower I commented on how the ginger made his cum taste incredible.
As he walked over to me I placed my phone on the couch – face down, of course – and angled him so we were both visible to the camera. I took the towel from his waist and saw his dick was already beginning to thicken. I folded the towel, placed it behind the camera, and then pressed record on the remote control.
With my hands wrapped around his waist I gave him a quick kiss before dropping to my knees. My hands shifted to grabbing his ass while his dick made every effort to slap me on my cheeks, asking for entry. I soon obliged, one hand on his ass and one on his balls. I began to enthusiastically suck on the head of his dick while I drooled profusely down his shaft. I was making every effort to look seductive for the camera and simultaneously drive him over the edge. Then I remembered the video of the young couple by the pool he’d liked and I lifted my ass in the air so he could watch it sway.
As I stroked his shaft with my right hand I began to caress the back of his calves with my freshly painted nails. My sucking was audible above the music and his thrusts began to speed up.
As I felt him hit his rhythm I reached between my thighs and began searching for the orgasm that had been waiting for since his he entered the room. When my fingers reached my pussy, she was already wet with anticipation. Like a genie, she bala escort was out in three solid rubs. I was quite shocked at me efficiency.
My reaction to those vibrations were to shout “Come now!” but all I could manage was an intense hum because his dick was too far down my throat to speak. I pulled back just enough to feel his cum fill my mouth. The first shot was a warning load, but the second and third were heavy. I almost gagged at the weight of it all, but I swallowed every drop. I knew I was on camera and I would be winning, so I took it like a lady. Then I gently stroked his shaft as it began to relax while I smiled for the camera. I hit the pause button on the remote and sprinted out of the room to the shower. First episode, completed!
From there I made that room our play area at least once a week, never letting him dictate when we’d film or what we’d film. I was the executive producer, director, star, stunt woman, gaffer, and fluffer. If I wanted him to fuck me from behind, then he’d fuck me from behind. If I wanted to ride him reverse cowgirl with my pinky in his ass, then yippee yigh yeah. We only had one other unspoken rule: no talking.
So for months we’d film and I would occasionally leave work early to edit our sessions. I’d securely load them into the iPad with a password. I didn’t want him to see the footage until I was done. But I don’t think he actually wanted to see our recordings as much as he simply liked to film them. He kept taking his random shower pics of me knowing I had studio quality work brewing. Sometimes he’d jokingly ask when he’d get to see my work and I’d sigh, “When you put in a solid effort.” I was a tough director indeed.
After nearly a year – 48 sessions to be specific – he asked if he could see my handiwork. Of course his request came in the usual form: a dick pic captioned ‘show you mine, show me yours’. I had to show Shar even though she was sitting with one of our most crotchety clients. “Yes,” she flatly responded while looking at my phone as the client curiously watched our interaction. “His counter seems quite aggressive, so you should definitely put your proposal on the table.” It was all I could do to not erupt with laughter until I safely returned to my office.
That evening when I came into the kitchen, I smelled baked chicken and greens. I knew he was showing off now.
We had a quiet meal, talked about our days and did the dishes.
“Let’s watch a movie,” I quietly offered as he wiped down the island.
“Sounds good,” he replied.
We planted ourselves on the living room couch in front of the 65″ Samsung and I pulled the secured iPad from the coffee table. “Don’t look at my password or I’ll cut you!” I half-joked.
“1463,” he said without pausing. It was our first apartment address in Chicago. He knew. Fuck.
“Did…” I started to shout.
“Ain’t nobody look at your freak show so calm down and play the damn thing,” he cut me off.
I knew he didn’t, but I had to let him know who was in charge. Sort of.
I settled back into his chest and pressed play on the iPad connected to the television. My hand was innocently resting on his lap.
The intro music made him smile as the title slowly appeared on the screen: Winning. He chuckled and got comfortable.
The scene opens with me walking down a sidewalk at night. “So here we are at Secrets in DC,” I say as I’m walking through the pink leather double doors of the best strip club in the DMV. “That’s ummm nice ummm I guess,” I motioned as the camera zooms in on what appears to be quite a bit of man captured in a shiny blue sling. Three ecxited women are throwing money at it’s massive direction.
His eyes were glued to the screen as he watched me walk to the back of the club to the VIP room. He wasn’t sure if he was about to watch me dance or get a lap dance, but he was hooked for sure.
“Okay ladies! Focus, please!” I shouted at the 7 well dressed women being entertained by a pair of very muscular pieces of chocolate. “Camera?” I could be overheard asking as the screen was filled with overly eager hands fondling every inch of these poor men’s bodies.
“Here I come! Here I come!” came Shar’s voice as the camera panned over toward me sitting with three ladies on a black leather sofa.
I heard another chuckle when he figured out it was Shar’s voice, but he was too focused to ask me any questions. He simply kept watching.
“Ladies, thank you for helping me out today. I know we just met, but I’m entrusting you with my happiness and my future so be honest,” I explain while I try to keep the camera focused on the ankara escort four of us on the couch and not the young man’s thigh on the guests’ shoulders.
“We got you, girl,” the lady in blue rings in. “Show us what you working with!”
I pull the iPad from my Balenciaga and type the password. In unison their eyes all get big and they start screaming.
“You go girl!” shouts the fair-skinned sister in jeans. “Ride him right!”
“Can’t fall off that dick if you tried,” joked the women in the gold blouse. They all bursted in laughter while I simply grinned.
By now my husband knew what they were watching on the iPad. I wasn’t sure if he’d be okay with it, but his eyes barely blinked. I terribly wanted to ask him until my innocent hand began get the sign from between his legs.
So we quietly watched together.
“Not-Gloria, you gotta throw those breasts at him no matter how good that dick feels,” said yellow dress while I tilted iPad so everyone could see. We jokingly told our commentators that our names were definitely not Gloria or Eric and they ran with it. “My ex-husband, Not-Asshole, knew he had me but he couldn’t see my face because he was wearing these nipple shades,” she explained gripping her heaving bossom.
The ladies were constantly chiming in with tips and suggestions while I stayed straight face. “Never occurred to me that I could do that with a watermelon & a cookie sheet. Good to know.”
It didn’t take long for the strippers to dive into the conversation. “I love it when my girl does that!” came an enthusiastic cheer accompanied by high fives and a pound.
“You know I’m stealing that move,” blue dress snaps in.
For 15 minutes this wonderful mix of ladies and gents offered their advice on what we were doing right as well as opportunities to increase our pleasure. They were always positive and tremendously appreciative of how vulnerable I made our relationship. Though at no point during the videos could you recognize our faces – my camera work and editing skills were top notch – they said I was brave for showing up to the club with this much entertainment. I grinned from ear to ear as each stripper in our committee spoke of how much my husband should appreciate such a wonderful wife, while every lady argued “that man must worship you already for you to go through this with us. This must be your appreciation!”
During these last few comments his erection was gone, but he was still glued to the television. “So…” I begged with my eyes hoping he liked it. There was still some commentary in the background, but he’d gotten the idea.
“You are amazing,” he answered as he pulled me eye to eye. “I am speechless.”
I hugged him like I’d never hugged him before, nearly squeezing the life out of him. I was kicking the couch as though we had one the 7th game of the NBA Finals. I screamed in his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath me.
“I win!” I finally explained in a normal tone once I’d calmed a little.
“Ohhhhh, is that what this is about?” he laughed. “You think one little night of tawdry sex talk is better than my naked ass in The Museum of Natural History?” he fought back knowing he was losing his argument. “Okay, okay. Maybe we’re even, but…”
“Ladies… and gentlemen, we greatly appreciate your time and kind words this evening,” my voice interrupted from the surround sound speakers. “But we have a few more folks to meet. Y’all take care.”
“Houston, here we come!” Shar shouts right before the credits begin to roll.
“Excuse me!?” is what his eyebrows questioned. “You went to Houston, too?”
I turned off the television and grabbed his hand as I lead him up to our bedroom. “Let’s work on some of those tips we just learned Not-Eric.”
“Where else did you go?” he asked as I undid his built while I sat on our bed. His face was a question mark, but the comma in his boxers was turning into an exclamation point.
“Well, after Houston…” I pondered as I freed his dick from his underwear. “Let’s see: Seattle, St Louis, Miami,” I pushed him onto our bed and straddled him. “Chicago, Cleveland, DC, again,” I continued as I now had my pussy hovering above his shocked face. “Salt Lake City, Rio, Honolulu,” I added as I lowered my pussy onto his mouth and my lips onto his dick. It was so hard I was afraid to fuck it, but my pussy was now filled with his tongue so I couldn’t focus on the remainder of the tour cities work had let Shar & I travel.
His tongue was working my clit like he was getting paid overtime. I was so overcome by his enthusiasm that I didn’t taste his precum until it was too late. We both came hard and slumped to the bed. My hair was a mess.
“You definitely win,” he admitted after we’d rested for a couple of minutes.
“I know,” I grinned with my sticky curls rested against his stomach. “Plus, I had no idea you had an Aunt in Philadelphia. Small world, huh?”
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