Nadia in Dubrovni

I published 'Nadia in Prague' as Exhibitionist. You might want to check it out before this sequel, so that everything makes sense. Or read it afterwards, a prequel, the way they do with movies these days. Your choice.

**********

After Prague, we cycled into Austria, our plan to cross Slovenia, and head down the Croatian Adriatic coast. First tackling the ludicrously mountainous roads in Austria, excruciatingly slow to climb, scarily fast to descend. Keeping Nadia in front of me, so that I could see her. Look out for her. Her safety. And eye her butt, of course.

Prague had changed her. She had grown more comfortable with her body. Breaks in the countryside, on hills, by rivers, in open fields, were all opportunities to remove her clothes. Several times, on quiet stretches, instead of putting on her shorts and top again, she cycled wearing just her top. Bare butt on her leather saddle. She liked the feel, she said, not just of being daring, but, leaning forwards with drop handlebars, her clit grazing the hard leather seat.

But then, she likes to ride. To be on top, as well as to be fucked with legs apart, or on her hands and knees. She likes to use the strength that cycling gives her thighs, to ease down slowly, impaling her sweet cunt on my hard cock, then riding at whatever speed and angle brings her off most easily. So riding bare-butt on her cycle made some kind of sense. Although achieving orgasm while on the road might not be wise. Not that she did that, or not that I knew.

In Austria we had a stretch of slow descent, along a river valley, mile after mile of lush green trees and fields, mountains high on either side, the long stretches of countryside interspersed with towns. My wife rode wearing just a crop top that was a challenge to keep down, the breeze that cycling generates lifting it from time to time to bare her breasts to traffic on the road. Her back was bare, as were her butt and legs. Even through the towns. I loved her for it.

We did take some hotels, but mostly camped. On campsites, where we found them. Rough camping, in a field, if not. On campsites, we made love inside the nylon fabric of our tent. In fields, I fucked her on the grass. Reaming her cunt, while lying over her, or taking her from behind, or letting her mount me. The position did not matter. What mattered was that we were having an amazing time, and that I loved her, and loved her body, and she was mine, and fucking her was just incredible, each and every time.

The text came in when we had stopped, still in Slovenia, but now beside the sea. Nadia, because this was a break, was naked. A beach that we had found, outside Rijeka. Stoney, no sand to lie on. Loungers to hire, but we would not be there for long, and did not want to pay. Bikes parked, near wooden benches, one of which we occupied, enjoying drinks and pastries we had bought, while looking at the sea.

It was August busy then. Hot sun. Not Prague's gentle warmth, but blazing sunshine in a clear blue sky. Nadia by then on Factor fifty. She cannot take the sun the way that I can. She does not tan. She would go pink and burn, as redheads do, although her hair is more a darker brown. Instead the lotion that she wears protects her, and her complexion stays translucent white, as if that sun had never touched her. In contrast, I was brown by then, and most people at that beach were also tanned, although in swimwear. Not Nadia. She sat there, white as fresh milk, butt-naked, her shorts and top beside her on the bench as we relaxed.

"I don't get it anymore," she said, looking around her. "What is the big deal with bodies? Why do people keep themselves covered all the time? I mean we all know what we look like underneath. Why not just be naked, at the beach, I mean? Wouldn't that make more sense?"

"And put the swimwear industry out of business," I joked.

Which was when her phone gave its Whatsapp tone. She picked it up. Stared at it. Said one word.

"Wow!"

Technically not a word. But the way she said it was drawn out to signify astonishment and disbelief.

"Are we going to Dubrovnik?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. "We want to see the castle there. Why? What's up?"

"WhatsApp," she said. "We've been invited to a villa there."

"You're kidding me," I said.

"Greta," Nadia said. "She's wondering where we are, and if we could come out there. She's offering another photo-shoot."

"When?" I asked her.

"Next week," she said. "She says they'll pay our flights if we're not close."

"We could cycle there by then," I said.

"So I'll accept?" she asked me.

"Might as well," I said, thinking that staying in a villa, free, could be a pleasant change from camping, and if all it meant was Nadia strolling round Dubrovnik the way she had in Prague, it could be fun.

**********

"Do you think they'll be as friendly in Dubrovnik?" Nadia asked me.

This was another overnight, still heading south, a campsite, further down the long Croatian coast. Hard, stoney ground, more suited to camper vans than tents, but I had managed to erect our tent, with just a few pegs bent while hammering them into the hard ground. We were indulging in lasagne, at the campsite restaurant, a glorified name for a bar with a terrace overlooking the sea.

"I'm sure they will," I said. "I mean, I think people are pretty friendly in most places. And it's supposed to be a chilled town."

"I wouldn't do it in London," she said, sipping her sparkling water.

"No," I said, "they're too uptight there, and you'd have the police to contend with, too."

"You're looking forward to it, aren't you?" she said. "I mean, you get to see me naked, in another city, and we get ten 'k' this time, which is pretty generous."

"Ten?" I queried. "You hadn't said that before."

"That's what she said," Nadia told me. "She even said there might be more, depending."

"Depending on?"

"She didn't say."

"You didn't ask?"

"I guess we'll find out when we get there," Nadia smiled.

**********

Strangely, it was not the fact that Nadia's breasts were crushed against his chest that got to me, or that she was naked, or that his hands were on her butt, or that his cock was sandwiched between his stomach and her own, pressed hard against the woman that I loved. It was none of those. It was the kiss.

I had been with plenty of other women before Nadia. Girls, that is. At university. Away from home, free their parents' tight control, living in college rooms, with no one overseeing them, they fast came to know just how much they like hard cock between their legs. I did not carve notches in my bed-post while at uni, but if I had, I might have run out of post.

One rule when bedding yet another enthusiastic undergrad, was to always know the difference between what was just a fuck, with no expectation either way, and when emotions were involved. Sliding my cock into a girl's cunt was nothing like as significant in that respect, as touching lips together. You kiss the woman that you love. The rest is only fucking.

He was kissing Nadia. Forehead first, then cheeks. Then my wife had tilted up her head, and his lips were touching hers. Just grazing. Softly skimming the red gloss that Greta had used on Nadia's mouth. Then Nadia's lips doing what they do. Opening, to him. I love her teeth, the way that they are set a fraction forwards in her mouth, to touch her lower lip, so that her lips are rarely closed together, her delightful, perfect, gleaming teeth just naturally there, the slight chipmunk look that I adore. Except that gave him access, with his tongue, to probe between those lips of her. That got to me. It really did.

The guy worked out, or had done in the past. Now something over fifty, the underlying muscle was still there, but softened. Salt and pepper hair, mid-way from black to grey, shaved at the back and sides, spiky on top. No chest hair. No pubic curls. Waxed, or shaved as Nadia's was, his cock, which I had seen by then, exposed and bare.

There was to be no naked stroll around Dubrovnik. Not Prague, repeated, though it was warmer here. The villa's grounds were beautiful, extensive, and a perfect backdrop, with a pool, and walkways, flowerbeds, and lawn, and sun loungers and a summer house in stone, a miniature of the main house, with its huge lounge and its fireplace for winter, and its rugs, and seven bedrooms, one of which was ours. An idyllic place to film soft porn.

Greta was there. No Helmut. Two other guys, older than we were, Nadia and myself, but under thirty. Gunter, ginger-haired, his curls wild and untamed, sparse beard, and chunky build, and Felix, thin, blond and weedy, both with cameras, feeding console screens with video, moving round the couple they were filming, choreographed by Helga, the director of the shoot.

Helga was a bulky woman in her fifties, with short-cropped hair, suggesting that her own interests might not be solely men. She had loved the video of Nadia in Prague, she said. She thought my wife was perfect. It was already on their site, and in demand. She did not do that kind of filming herself, leaving nudity in towns to Helmut, while she preferred this kind of shoot, soft porn, filmed in close-up, without the public ruining the shots. If we were good with it, she would like to film Nadia around the villa, both inside, and in the grounds.

That had been explained to us on our first evening, over dinner, with the team. Torsen had been there, her husband, relaxed, and easy in his manner. Pouring drinks, clearing the table, making small talk, asking us about our cycle trip to get there. A genuinely friendly and warm-hearted man.

Little things seal deals. Just our being there. Our having eaten with them. Our things already in our room. Our cycles, secured by Torsen, in the garage at the front. The offer of ten thousand euros for Nadia to be filmed, naked, around the confines of the villa had not yet been confirmed, other than that text from Greta, but then this was not about the money. It was just a bit of fun.

The next day had been fine. A shoot that Helga said was just for guys who like to see the woman naked, but alone. Nadia walking in the grounds. Swimming in the pool. Sunbathing on a lounger. Lying on the grass. All innocent to start with. Then the garden version of the jeweller's window back in Prague.

"Could you just open your legs for me, leibling,... That's it,... Maybe over the arms of the lounger,...? Beautiful,...! Amazing,...! Just squeeze your breasts a little,... Can you,... have you ever,... touched your nipple with your tongue,...? It's so nice when girls can do that,...Wonderful,... keep looking at the camera,... Gunter's,... Felix is getting close-ups with his zoom,..."

Gunter and Felix, following instructions, weaving around my wife, Gunter taking the more distant, whole body shots, while Felix zoomed in close.

"Touching yourself, now, please,... That's it, yes,... Think of the camera as your husband,... he likes to watch you, doesn't he,...? While you play,... Can you use two fingers,...? Act like you love it,... let me hear you come,..."

She knew what she was doing, Helga. Maybe she was enjoying it herself, as much as any male director would, as interested in watching a nubile woman playing with herself as any man. Torsen staying in the background. Still looking after food and drinks, and discretely watching as the filming went on.

Then in the afternoon, the filming finished for the day, we had relaxed on loungers, and in the pool. Nadia still naked. Torsen, when he went to swim, removing shorts and shirt, and swimming naked too. Which was when I saw him first, his cock that is. A decent size, though not exceptional. Not putting me to shame. Shorter, slightly. Thicker, possibly. Part-way erect, but could get bigger. No hesitation stripping. No need, amongst professionals, not even swimming with my wife.

That was our second day, with Helga saying that in the morning she would like to shoot some indoor scenes. Nadia acting as a naïve young woman, making morning coffee, toast, and having breakfast, with no need to dress. Torsen acting as her uncle, the villa serving as his house, where she was staying as his guest.

Helga hoped we would be comfortable with touching. The older men who paid to view this kind of videos they offered, liked to see someone of their age enjoying younger, nubile flesh. Touch-teasing. Nothing more than that. Any time she felt uneasy, Nadia could just ask for them to stop. The same for me. I would be welcome to watch the filming, and if it went too far at any time, I only had to say, and they would break it off.

It all seemed innocent, so we agreed. It started with just Nadia, coming from the bedroom, naked. Doing just what Helga had said she should. Moving around the open-plan kitchen, preparing the cafetiere, toasting bread and spreading butter, sitting at the island counter, on a stool to eat and drink what she had made. Gunter and Felix filming, moving around her to get their shots, Felix always using zoom for close-ups, Gunter staying back, Nadia's full body pictured on his screen.

Two monitors. The one fed by Felix captured detail. The way that Nadia's breast rose when she reached up for the coffee from a high shelf in a cupboard. The areola taking up the full width of the screen. The nipple-stub a giant thimble. The way she had to bend to take the butter from a low shelf in the fridge. Her labia protruding, shot from behind, succulent between her thighs.

Once Nadia was seated on the stool, Torsen joined her from outside, from the pool where until then he had been swimming. No one had said he would be wearing nothing, holding just a towel that he was using as he walked, to finish drying off. Going behind Nadia. Stealing toast, hand on her shoulder. That hand then going lower, to her breast. Fondling his niece, her areola and her nipple-stub.

Touch-teasing, Helga had said. No great harm in that. Besides, I liked Torsen. He was an okay guy. More than twice Nadia's age as well. It was not as if anything would come of gentle nipple play. Not with the rest of us around.

Then Torsen bent and kissed her shoulder, setting down the toast. Reaching over her with both hands now, both breasts, both nipple-stubs. I knew she would be feeling that. With my sucking on those stubs, my wife can come.

Nadia stiffened. Not just her nipple-stubs, her back. She looked down at Torsen's hands, now fondling her, enjoying her generous breast flesh, but this was presumption on his part, that he could act like this, and the way she held herself, uncomfortably now, reflected her unease. What was not clear was whether this was acting, playing her role of niece, groped by her bullish uncle, or Nadia's own feelings, her breasts now being stroked and played with by another man, in front of me.

"The girl can act," I heard Helga say to Greta.

I was still not sure if she was acting. No one had ever touched my wife like that. Other than myself, of course. With me, she would have leaned back into me, and enjoyed it. Then turned around, to give herself more fully. Which was what Helga asked for next.

"Okay, Nadia," Helga said to her. "Slide off the stool and turn around to him."

Nadia complied, obediently. She turned to him, and he embraced her, but she stood still very stiffly, her body taut. Even when he drew her into him, her breasts crushed against his chest, it was clear she was not comfortable. His erection, angled up against her stomach, would have troubled any niece, subjected to it by her uncle. But that was when the kiss occurred.

No need for Helga to direct her husband. Torsen used one hand to angle Nadia's head up towards him, then touched his lips to hers.

What I love about my wife's mouth and lips and teeth and smile, suddenly became a disadvantage. For Nadia, closing her mouth completely, lips touching, is a conscious thing. Most people naturally have theirs closed, and smiling means the muscles opening their lips, whether naturally, or with a fake smile, by conscious thought.

The delightful prominence of Nadia's teeth means that her upper lip will rarely close. It looks extremely cute, and sexy. It also meant when Torsen kissed her, her mouth was slightly open, providing easy access for his tongue, encouraging her to open wider, so that on camera it became a full-on kiss. The niece now offering herself. Given little choice.

"Just keep that kiss a little longer,... you're hungry for each other,... hold her closer, Torsen,... just relax Nadia, offer him your mouth!"

Objecting to a kiss would have been puerile. Of course I did not like it, but given that we had agreed to Nadia acting out the scene, it was not the deal breaker that my head was telling me it was. I watched, uneasy, but saying nothing. It meant nothing after all. My wife had followed Helga's directions. That was all.

"Okay," Helga called to them. "Break off the kiss and turn her. Caress her breasts again."

Nadia turned compliantly and leaned back, this time against his chest. There was a momentary view of his hard cock, now pressing at her spine. He used both hands, cupping her breast flesh, palms teasing her nipple stubs. Then thumb and fingering them, playing squeeze and twist with my compliant wife's delightful teats.

On the screen that Felix's filming was projected onto, the shot moved from Nadia's breasts, being fondled as they were, to show her face, her teeth biting down onto her lower lip with barely concealed anxiety and nerves. Her eyes were wide, and almost frantic. Exactly as a niece would be, groped by her uncle. Great acting, or depicting what she really felt inside, with Torsen fondling her so freely. Then Felix panning down again, to show her nipples being roughly mauled.

Manicured nails, thick male fingers, strong, the nipple stubs squeezed and pulled and twisted gently, all four times life-size, the glands on Nadia's wide areolas now enlarged to little hills, the nipple ducts now fissures, as he teased her flesh. Her hands then covered his, as if to keep them there, to keep the pleasure-pain he was inflicting, unremitting. As if she liked what he was doing now. The niece submitting to her uncle's dominance, and to her own desires. Or my wife, enjoying the attention from this man.

"One hand lower," Helga said. "Between her legs. Cup her there."

His arm moved down her still pale body, to her groin, palm and fingers covering her cunt. Gunter was right in front of them, capturing this. Felix was beside him, kneeling down.

"Felix," Helga called. "Close in on his hand."

I watched the screen, as he closed in.

"Nadia,...,are you okay to let him finger you just a little,...? If he does too much you just say stop."

Just touching. Teasing. Nothing more than that. If Nadia was okay with what was going on, then I could deal with it. Actors do this for films in Hollywood. Maybe not quite fingering, but pretty close. At some point they would be simulating more than this, so I simply watched his hand.

On screen, it was Nadia's cunt that was now four times its actual size. So was Torsen's hand. His fingers. The middle finger sliding in between my wife's labia, those delicious lips already glistening, whether with water from the pool that Torsen had been in, or because Nadia's cunt was already oozing wet. Then his finger bending. Entering. Sliding deep. His palm covering her clit, but grazing it, I guessed.

"Two fingers, please," Helga instructed.

Torsen complied. On Gunter's screen, Nadia was squirming, her back and butt now pressed into Torsen's taller, wider, stronger frame. Her head was back now, against his shoulder, her mouth now open. His hand had captured her, his fingers in control, enslaving her against her will.

"No coming, Nadia," Helga called. "Not yet. Next you turn around and go down. Do as much as you feel comfortable with. No more."