My Boss’s Wife Wants Kinky Videos From My Girlfriend

Jake looked out his temporary office window, blinded by the glare of the hot sun. The sound of blowing sand hitting glass brought back the memory of the last time he’d been inside her, her body slick with sweat as he thrust deep, her moans filling the quiet room while her pussy clenched around his cock.

“Are you coming to bed soon?” Jake had asked that cold, blizzardy evening, knowing her answer beforehand. Megan had been working with a scalpel-type tool on her clay decoration around the glass piece. Three weeks later, his memories hung on details, the “mhm” he had been expecting, as her full attention had been on the details of her art piece; the scalpel blade down on the tool table, the one with painting stains and a bunch of other piercing and cutting tools; the feel of the plastic tablecloth that had never been washed, its colorful stains always matching her baggy overalls; the rough fabric covering most of her bare honey-colored skin.

Desert Heat Memories

Earlier that cold evening, they had celebrated their third Valentine’s Day in a nearby restaurant. Despite the romantic and intimate dinner, she had excused herself only for a short moment when they arrived home, locking herself in her workshop. Jake remembered how later that night he slid his hard dick into her wet pussy, pounding her with steady thrusts while she gasped his name and begged for more.

“Why not call it ‘Fancy Fish Bowl?'” he had suggested, once she had finished, just before taking the pictures he was, right then, browsing from a fake account. He could clearly see his mistake, not only by remembering her glare, but by looking at the work itself. Surrealism had never been his thing. To him, the piece looked like the failed fetus of Siamese twins.

He had never known what to say. That was the thing about her, she existed in a space he couldn’t quite map. That was probably true for a lot of couples, though. His mind drifted back to how her tits bounced as he rammed into her from behind, the slap of skin on skin echoing while she came hard around his throbbing cock.

By the time she had finally changed into her pajamas and lain next to him, his anxiety had built up into something uncomfortable. He had opened the bedside drawer and retrieved his newly bought Valentine’s present. She had been neither happy nor surprised.

“What have you done? I do not need this. I have you.”

“I think,” he had gathered all his courage, “this could be something to spice up our relationship.”

“We do not need this. We have a happy sexual life, and we both agree it’s fine to wait a couple more years before bringing a child to this world.”

Again, what does a child have to do with it? He remembered the gears of the conversation grinding to a halt. If he had figured her desires correctly at the beginning of their relationship, a double penetration was simply an unexecuted curiosity, a gap in her experience that he could maybe help to bridge. Then, their relationship would not mean stepping back in her exploratory and creative nature, but moving forward and beyond. Otherwise, how could real people ever try an obscenity like that?

He had provided a technical solution, a way to fulfill a requirement that had zero correlation with reproduction or planning a family. He remembered the drawer clicking shut and the artificial, heavy glow of a smartphone screen on her face.

“Many likes already?”

“Twelve.” She hadn’t looked up, her practiced thumb scrolling forward. “And it’s only been fifteen minutes. The contrast worked.”

It had become easy to nearly forget the minutes in darkness that had followed, how his eyes had held back anxiety tears, while his mind swung between his upcoming work trip and her perceived apathy. Tears did not come as easily as they used to. The benefits of getting older. The weight had lasted until her hand had pulled his arm towards her. Soon, he had been diving into the safety of feeling accepted, putting on a condom and sliding between her legs. Everything had turned out right. Or had it? He recalled the slick heat of her cunt gripping him, her ass cheeks slapping against his thighs as he fucked her harder, her juices dripping down his balls until she screamed and came in waves.

Here, scrolling, he found thousands of likes and a bunch of comments on her post about her art piece, Contrast, including those from Jake’s recent fake account. He had created it a week earlier, using a local phone number, giving a female gender and borrowing the name from the only woman he had met since he had arrived in that remote and dry country near downtown Phoenix. That name belonged to the wife of Tyler. “Meeting” her was an overstatement. He had seen only her green eyes once, exposed by the uncovered slit of her veil and headscarf, before they had glanced shyly down and kept downcast for the rest of the one-hour courtesy trip to the hospital. The woman had had a planned appointment to check on her child. Jake had piggybacked on the car trip due to an acute illness. He winced as the memory of the stomachache came back.

“Master Jake!” Tyler’s voice surprised him. Tyler was still using that unnecessary honorific Jake had asked him to drop. Tyler, being the local manager Jake reported to, had the final word on that, and many other things. “Feeling sick again?”

“Hey, Tyler! No. Not at all. Just bad memories. I think I could never thank you enough for the courtesy of taking me to the hospital. I’ve not had pain since. But I might have forgotten to ask you. How was the check on your daughter?”

“She is fine.” Tyler’s teeth always shined as he talked within smiles against his coffee-colored skin and black beard. “She will soon be one year old, and the doctor insists we should stop breastfeeding if we want to get a second baby soon.”

Something Jake had learned during that hospital car trip and the several rides to the site was Tyler’s constant mumbling about whatever non-job-related nonsense. From Tyler’s time studying at OSU to government censure and control on the internet. The latter, something that Jake experienced firsthand, partially forcing him to use his job network to create a fake female-gender account to view and post on Megan’s content.

Jake did not feel the time for more chitchat, right then, and he nodded, absently looking back at his screen.

“I’ve talked again with my wife. Lauren and I very much would like to invite you for dinner. We insist. They are greedy with the proper spices at the canteen here. You should come home, so you can taste our local delightful dishes. What about tomorrow?”

Getting to know the local culture was one of Jake’s objectives, but getting invited to the house of a colleague on his first day had felt very uncomfortable and unnecessarily intimate. And here, two weeks later, it still felt the same. The idea of being trapped for hours, faking pleasure at primitive food and missing social codes frightened him. Jake rejected the friendly invitation with a gesture barely looking away from the screen.

Once back on the privacy of the browser and the fake account, Jake continued his planning to fix his relationship, to boost her confidence, to make her shine as she deserved. Yes, he could start professionally, then move to more personal matters. Then, he wrote using this fake profile:

“Hi again! One of the most beautiful masterpieces I’ve seen here. Beautiful contrast. Worthy of being properly exhibited in a top collection worldwide. We would love to have this or any of your masterpieces in exposition with us. They are beautiful, like the beautiful artist you are. I need some time to check our budget. I will come back on this. Can you find the cost and times associated with freight?”

His effort and planning started to pay off earlier than anticipated. That evening was the first time he did not need to seek her. Her persistent calls finally reached him as soon as the hotel Wi-Fi was within reach. Not only did she want to share the good news about a possible buyer, but also asked for help regarding logistics and freight.

“Oh Jake, I really feel this might be a breakthrough. You know, no one is a prophet in his own land. I should have gone international way sooner. I am really excited!”

“No more than I am for you, my love. I will help you with what you need,” Jake replied. “It’s good to hear you’re so positive.”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, letting out a long breath. “I can tell. How excited are you, really?”

He heard her giggle. “Pretty much.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“What about you, Jake? How much do you miss me? But are you doing good so long without me?”

It was an emotional need she meant, nothing practical. Why was it that her assurance of his love did not carry over into the rest of her life?

“Yes, I do.” He did not dare ask the same. “However, if you want to reconsider… I don’t mean to insist, but this room is big enough for two people. And as I’ve told you before, we can afford the ticket.”

He knew her work break, about the second half of March, was approaching rapidly. He did not phrase it as a question, so she wouldn’t be forced to turn him down again. After a short silence, she asked again, maybe with a smidge of guilty consciousness in her voice, “A lot of stress with work? Is there anything I can do for you, Jake?”

It was not only the question that was a bit unexpected, but also her tone. Feeling cornered, his thoughts rushed in different directions. He did not want to upset her. He was really not as needy as she implied. And if he was, he would try to keep it well hidden. He absolutely wanted to avoid having her feel any sort of guilt. She had her work, her projects and probably her amount of xenophobia. His mumbling did not let the conversation progress any further. He would, instead, keep scheming though that fake profile, named Lauren. That evening, like others before that fortnight, he ended up burning away his frustration in the hotel gym.

Online Messages Ignite

Of all the New Year resolutions she had made, aerobics training was going to be the first one to be dropped before spring could start. She was normally good with resolutions, but exercising was just not her thing, she concluded, as she stuffed her new uncomfortable-and-curious-round-ass leggings into her pack, carefully dressed, and about to walk out of the training center. They don’t need to remind everybody around how a slim woman body could look like, both inside and outside the changing room.

She had fulfilled her goal for that week. The feeling she had was full of positive hormones, so she did not need the suffering she had been through following the yelling of the aerobics trainer. The point was that she already had gone through a lot of suffering every day in the classroom, her students fighting and yelling, instead of working on their projects; or taking pictures under girls’ skirts and sharing them amongst the other boys, and then having the girls yelling at them. Her school break, only a fortnight away, felt like a heavy slab of clay refusing to dry out. She did not need to pay a membership to get someone to yell at her.

Also, she did not fully agree anymore on the reason for her resolution. It was not that she was really fat or anything. She preferred wide skirts and loose overalls and if people did not like her posts, where she wore those, then she would not post more of those. Only her art.

Once at home, she checked her feed and dashboards. The number of followers had increased lately, but was starting to show signs of stagnation. There were some sappy messages from Jake. He was probably being coy, sending something like “thinking of you” texts that felt like thick syrup, sticky and impossible to clean off. It felt like a dull blade. She was an artist, who worked with scalpels, the feel of something sharp and real. Jake, however, was currently too safe, ironically by his insecurities, a lump of soft clay that refused to hold a shape. She didn’t know how to move forward when he wouldn’t provide the resistance she needed to carve out a life together.

There was one notification that caught her attention immediately. It was from a fan! Well, even more like a potential customer. She had been thinking a lot about this fan lately; attending to Jake would have to wait. Their previous communications felt easy, closer, in a way, than with her other fans or interested people. It was clear that her fan knew how to appreciate art, attempting to interpret Megan’s assemblages without fear of breaking logic or disrupting reality.

Suddenly, however, her fan’s reality broke the mold of a traditional fan-artist conversation. “I do not have many people to talk with, actually. Do you mind a private question?”

A cold shiver ran down Megan’s back. The internet was full of charlatans and it struck Megan that she actually knew very little about this fan. The name that showed up was Lauren, and the picture revealed a black headscarf with a dune in the background. Was this sense of closeness real? Maybe the entire transaction was a farce. Megan felt a sudden urge to push a bit further to find out. But what if this fan, Lauren, really just needed someone to talk to?

When Megan asked Lauren why she didn’t discuss the matter with a partner or real friends, the reply didn’t make things any easier. “Are you in love, Megan? From one woman to another, how do you know you are still in love with your man?”

Well, that was a shout for someone to talk. If Lauren was having doubts, then there was no doubt. Not everybody could choose living together but not being married, as Jake and Megan had. But being married, and getting a divorce, in those countries, was not as easy as it had been for Megan’s parents. She shared a few of those thoughts, hoping they’d be the right bait to get Lauren talking in the direction Lauren needed.

“No, is not that bad. I don’t always see that passionate spark like before. “

Megan shook her head to herself, thinking how much further women in other countries had to go in making intimacy something enjoyable for themselves, rather than worrying about what men wanted. She couldn’t phrase it that way, so she asked, instead, what Lauren liked. What was Lauren thirsty for? She asked if she had shared it with him. Megan felt the need to share something in return, but she could not find the right words to describe what she was thirsty for.

“Me? It is not important what I like, what I am thirsty for. Maybe being watched. Maybe watching.”

Lauren’s openness was striking. And of all the sexual kinks Megan could have confessed, she limited herself to sharing only that she loved creation. “Maybe conformity is not the foundation for arousal and creativity,” came through the chat. Despite the weighty language, Megan knew exactly what Lauren meant; she had considered breaking up herself. As she hit enter after sharing that private thought, she was sure she had primed the canvas for her friend to draw her strokes. But nothing came.

Several minutes passed without a reply. She was trying to be understanding, hoping to trigger a “me too” type of answer, but the screen stayed blank, even after her “Are you still there?” prompt. Eventually, Megan continued, writing more to herself than to Lauren.

“The truth is, I’d never find anyone better than him. He lets me be exactly who I am, even the parts that aren’t particularly easy. Everything is always okay with him, which means I always get my way. I’ve tried following my more primitive yearnings before; they never led anywhere good. So, I learned to be content. Don’t tell him, but for all his insecurity, he’s the only thing that feels solid when I need it. Those who believe in marriage get married, I got Jake. Yes, he’s a bit more eager than me. Our passion burns at different temperatures, and honestly? He fails because he treats my pleasure like a test he’s afraid of failing. He tries too hard to be ‘perfect,’ and in that desperation, he becomes small. His insecurity is a ghost in the room; he’s so focused on not messing up that he forgets to actually be there with me. But I have the life I want, and I love him regardless.”

Lauren finally reappeared, showing understanding and thanking Megan for her openness. Not much more came from that conversation, and yet her curiosity for this person was not fully satisfied; it felt like it had been a long time since Megan had opened herself to new people. She had done it right then, without getting much in return, though. Opening herself felt good, she missed that. Maybe she was the one in need to talk.

A hot morning on their way to the site, the commissioning of the phase-two development project at the country’s largest molten-salt solar plant, Jake was waiting for Tyler to take a break in his chatting, so he could push the idea that he had been engineering. The fake-account plan was working, gathering painful, yet important, intelligence regarding his wife and soon providing a calculated boost to her confidence through an international acquisition of her work.

“Tyler, tell me,” Jake interrupted his friend mid-sentence. “Does anyone in your family have a birthday soon? Do you give presents?”

“My daughter!” Tyler bit on the new topic immediately. “She is turning one soon. Why? Eh… Also, in two weeks, my mother still celebrates Persian New Year and we give presents then. Yes.”

“Perfect!”

“What… a brain is working, my friend.”

“My woman is a sculptor. I’m not talking about an ashtray, but real, surrealistic artwork.” He looked out the window, trying to look distracted. “And I thought you told me you have such a large house, so perhaps, you would value such an art piece to add to your collection.” And help me boost her confidence, he kept for himself.

“I would love it, my friend. Can you have it by Friday next week? Yes.”

Jake’s head turned instantly, trying to hide his disbelief. “I will try. It feels a bit rushed. What’s on that date?”

“Do you think,” Tyler’s eyes went wide, “you can include something for my wife with that?”

Tyler’s new question felt more like changing the subject, than trying to answer.

“You mean, something more?”

“No, no, the art piece would be for my mother. And I would pay for that. For my wife, I want something different. You know these videos I was talking about. The ones from the internet. Do you think you could get one? Anything kinky, couples, especially performative. Nothing vanilla. Could you? You know these terabyte-sized, portable hard disks. One of those? Full with stuff.” A wink and a nudge, while adding, “Pedagogical stuff.”

“What!?” When Jake thought that the day could not get any hotter, he was proven wrong. His pressure might have dropped, his hands were getting wet as he was trying to find his words. “Do you want me to ask my woman to download or fetch any erotic videos to put them together with her art piece? Are you crazy? Maybe, I can help you with that next time I’m over there.” Jake really didn’t think that would be a better idea, either. He thought about poor Tyler not dipping his wick as often as he wished. Dry days in the desert for both of them, it seemed. It was curious about how open Tyler had been about it, but that was Tyler.

“Not only do we learn, we also enjoy ourselves when we watch, of course. And… my friend, be discreet.” Tyler turned forward, to where the driver was sitting. “This is haram, prohibited stuff. I cannot ask any of my Muslim friends for anything similar. She can just send whatever she watches. We can start there.”

Enjoy ourselves when we watch, Tyler’s words were still echoing in Jake’s head.

“Regarding the art piece,” Tyler changed the subject back. “How do you want to get the payment?”