Nadia in Prague

Just what was going through Nadia's mind, I could not tell, but I was stunned. It was not what you expect when lazing in a city park on holiday. The idea that this kind of video was being made at all was new to me.

Then there was the five thousand euros. That alone could fund the remainder of our six-month trip, without the need to draw on savings any more. Not that that was critical. We had the money that we needed. Once back in England, we could both pick up our jobs again.

"Are you guys serious?" I asked, at last.

"Serious," Greta said.

"It's not some kind of con?" I asked.

"It's called Nude in Public," Greta answered. "You can check it out online."

Nadia was faster than I was. She thumbed her phone open and went to Google.

"What did you say it's called?" she asked.

"Nude in Public," Greta said again.

Nadia keyed it in. Found the home screen. Showed it to me. A professional looking collage of stills of various girls totally naked in city scenes, with members of the public all around. One had a play triangle. I told Nadia to click on it, and that is what she did.

The video started. A blonde, naked, on a shopping street, store names in German, walking amongst the shoppers there. Then a brunette, naked, by a castle that I did not know, tourists around her. Then a red-head, naked, the Eiffel Tower in the background, walking past sightseers. Then another blonde, at a cathedral. Not St. Pauls in Rome. That I would have recognised at once. I assumed the people round her would be tourists, not worshippers, just after mass.

"Okay," I said, still fascinated and not quite believing what I had just been watching, "so the web-site is genuine. How do we know that you work with them?"

Helmut fished in his back-pack, a side pocket. Offered me a business card. His name, the Nude in Public title in the same font used onscreen, his email and his mobile number.

"Anyone could put one of those together," I commented.

He shrugged.

"You are a difficult guy to convince," he said.

Then he got out his own mobile. He did something on the screen. Then held it to his mouth, with the sound on speaker. You could hear it ringing. Then a woman's voice, in German. "Ja?"

Helmut spoke to her. Then turned the screen to us. It was a video call, and the screen was panning around an office, pictures on the wall of nudes, the company name also on a wall, writ large, then through a door to another office with a man behind a desk.

"Hi, Helmut," the man called towards the phone at his end. Then he said something more in German that I did not understand.

Helmut brought the phone back to his mouth, holding it flat, to speak into the mike. He also spoke in in German that I did not completely follow, but again, I picked out words. English, very beautiful. It was pretty clear that he was talking about Nadia.

A brief exchange, in German, and then the call was ended. Helmut looked at me, eyebrows raised, asking the non-verbal question, if I believed them now.

"Plus," Greta chipped in. "For you, because we trust you, I give you something now, just for Nadia to make this first video, only from here to the fountain, and then back again, to us."

She reached into Helmut's back-pack. A different pocket. Zipped. A white envelope, which she gave to me. The flap was tucked in, not sealed. I opened it. Inside were five one hundred euro notes.

I turned to Nadia.

"What do you think?" I asked, showing her the contents of the envelope.

"Wow!" she said. "That's just for walking there and back?"

"That's all," Greta confirmed.

Later, I realised just how clever she was being. Grooming Nadia, luring her in, a gradual process, with just enough hard cash to tempt her to take off her top for now, investing something now to hopefully achieve what she was really looking for. Already in an envelope as well. It was not a special deal for us. It was the way they worked routinely, with any girl.

"Are you okay with this?" Nadia asked me, clearly still thinking about the pros and cons, and weighing up.

"I guess," I said. "I mean, it's not that far."

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms in front of her, gripping the bottom edges of her yoga top, then raising her arms above her head, the top turned inside out and up and off completely.

For cycling, Nadia had started wearing her hair pinned up. It kept her cooler, and if she perspired it kept her hair away. She could also look round while cycling, and did not get hair swept across her face if there was wind.

She gave her top to Greta, and stood there for a moment, topless in the city park. Just her cut-off jeans, and a pair of strappy, leather sandals on her feet. That was when I noticed her that nipple stubs were thickly erect, standing proud.

I noticed Greta looking too.

"You have amazing nipples," the German girl said. "Mine are just small. I love how wide yours are, the brown, I mean. I think that Werner will like them too. He likes girls with slightly fuller breasts."

Then she turned to her colleague.

"Ready, Helmut?"

Nadia was giving me another glance. I could tell that she was nervous. But she just stood there, waiting for instructions. Her hands betrayed her. She rubbed her sides, then beneath her breasts, then cupped her nipples, almost kneading her breasts, then thumbed her nipples, then stopped and rested her hands down at her hips, all done instinctively, revealing both embarrassment, at being semi-naked, but also her arousal, her nipple stubs no longer undiluted brown, but reddened, hot blood flowing just beneath their skin.

Helmut shrugged.

"Ready," he said.

"So," Greta said to Nadia. "You walk to the fountain, then you walk around, then back to us. It's good."

Nadia looked down, embarrassed, but she nodded.

"Okay," she said, her voice a little hoarse.

My wife went back to the path. Then walked away from us, joining the people walking in the same direction. I watched in fascination as she did exactly as Greta had asked, walking the fifty feet or so to the fountain, going round it, then returning.

While Nadia was walking to the fountain, I could see the people coming towards us. She got looks from most, but interesting also had some people looking straight ahead, as if they had not noticed her. She got some smiles. Some turns of the head. But then she would. You cannot have a figure like hers, trim, good thighs, full breasts, delightful areolas, and not have people stare.

Walking back, my wife just looked amazing. The sun was fully on her, spot-lighting her breasts, which swayed gently with each step she took. Somehow she kept her head up, faking confidence, where I knew she would be nervous. I could sense it, empathising with her, and it was not me doing the walking, or being topless. If my stomach was churning, then so too was hers.

Possession is nine tenths of power. Greta still had Nadia's top. So even when my wife was back with us, she could not put it on, not without asking Greta to let her have it back, and for whatever reason Nadia was hesitant to ask.

Maybe it was the other girl's self-assurance, her manner, taking charge of things, even with Helmut. Maybe it was the fact that Greta was fully dressed, while Nadia was now almost completely naked. Just those cut off shorts, and nothing else. Vulnerability can deplete self-confidence. So Nadia waited to be given back the top, while Greta acted as if she had forgotten that it was now draped over one of her shoulders, and therefore in her care.

Helmut did his thing again with the video camera. This time showing Greta first, while Nadia and I stood waiting. Nadia began to sub-consciously brush her breasts again with her hands. As if to shield her, I gave her a hug.

She melted into me, all five foot five of her, her breasts crushed against my tee-shirt, the nipples bullet hard against my chest. Something else was hard as well. Crushed between our stomachs. Seven inches. Which she felt.

"I can't believe you're turned on!" she whispered.

"Have you seen your nipple stubs?" I asked.

"I need my top," she whispered back.

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "No one seems to mind you being topless. And you looked amazing by the way!"

"What if they asked me to,... you know,... I mean they said the other girls are naked,..."

"I'd trust them," I said. "They seem to know what they are doing."

"You really want me to,...?"

"Not if you don't want to," I said.

I had not been paying attention to Greta and Helmut while we were whispering to one another. So I was taken by surprise when Greta interrupted us.

"Werner says the video is great," she told us.

Somehow, they had already sent it to Berlin and he had already seen it. Transfer to phone, I guess, then sent as data.

"He says, can we do the same again, please, but this time, without the shorts," she added.

We had broken off our hug, but Nadia gave me a meaningful glance. She had been right, her brown eyes said. She was being asked to do it naked.

She breathed in, then out, then three more times. Yoga breathing. De-stressing. Becoming calm. I knew her well by then. Her heart would be beating wildly. She would be feeling panic. But she was a people pleaser. Refusal was not part of her vocabulary. She would do exactly as they asked, unless I intervened.

I thought about it. Then I thought about seeing her do that same walk again, to the fountain and back, stark naked, and I decided, right or wrong, that I would like to see her do that. Besides, Greta added something more, before I could object.

"No sandals either. Barefoot, please."

Nadia raised each foot in turn, unbuckling the heel straps of her sandals, slipping them off and standing on the grass barefoot. Then her hands went to the large metal button the held her shorts closed, and slipped it through the denim button-hole. She eased down the metal zip.

Hands behind her, Nadia slipped her fingers between the denim and her buttocks, pushing her shorts down, baring her butt. She bent forwards as she slid them down her legs, stepped out of them, and gave her shorts to the spikey haired German girl who still had not returned her yoga top.

"Nice cunt!"

It was Helmut who made the comment. I treated it as a professional assessment, not a guy letching after my wife. Besides. I thought so too. Still do.

That first year of our marriage, Nadia shaved, each time she showered, which meant once a day at least. Now, she does not need to. Laser has saved the cost of buying razors. Either way, then and now, her protruding labia are obvious. Not just a slit. Vertical lips that pout like any mouth can pout. They even part, any time her legs are not together, and glisten on the insides of the flaps with the natural wetness that her cunt exudes.

"Helmut!" Greta admonished him, putting her arm around Nadia to comfort her. "You can't say that! Even if it's true. I'm sorry Nadia. He still gets excited when we find someone who suits our filming as well as you do. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. But, it's good, how you are. Not so boring as some of the girls. I think that Werner will be impressed."

Helmut was looking at his video camera, pretending to check the equipment, but he gave me a look that I could read. Envy. I got to fuck that cunt, while he did not. He only got to video the girls.

Right then, I felt quite smug.

But I also felt for Nadia, standing naked now, head down, in the city park in Prague, people walking past us, the traffic constant on both sides of the park, just beyond the trees. She had even covered her mound, her hand concealing the labia that she had always been so conscious of, and that Greta had just described as not being as boring as other girls could be. Girls with nothing more than slits where Nadia has lips.

"Can we just do this?" Nadia said, to all of us at once.

"Ready," Helmut grunted.

"Okay," Greta said, taking her arm from round Nadia's shoulders.

Nadia raised her head. Her eyes were moist. But she took her hand from her mound and stepped onto the path. Barefoot on tarmac. She walked away. I watched her, seriously impressed.

Concern aside, I liked the way she looked. Even walking away from us, she had great legs, still has, a perfect butt, straight back, narrow at her waist and wider at the shoulders, her head held high, her hair pinned up, her stride confident, or at least that was how it looked, a cat-walk model, though not size zero, slim yet womanly.

I loved her nakedness. The fact that she alone was hiding nothing of herself. Where others were in dresses, skirt, jeans, shorts and tops, some long, some short, some all concealing, some baring arms and legs and waists. My wife had bared her all. Her breasts and cunt, so private until then, were now displayed for all to see. That nakedness, where nakedness does not take place, in town, was quite amazing.

Above all that, I was astounded at her bravery. For someone else, this might have been comparatively easy. For someone who had always been confident about their looks, or who had used naturist beaches, then walking naked in a public park might have been daunting, but much less so than to the woman that I loved.

Brought up to be modest at all times, to be anxious about other people, and how they judged her, only having just learned to be comfortable in cut-off shorts, and without a bra, Nadia would be feeling very, very naked. Completely exposed. Defenceless. Totally vulnerable. Yet she walked as if she had been walking naked all her life. It was incredible to watch.

She reached the fountain, the low wall around it made of stone, and then to my amazement, stepped up onto it. She turned, and faced us, but stayed there standing still, while people walked on by. Except some people stopped, and stared, and then did more than stare.

Even at that distance I could see the mobile phones magically appearing and being held up, to capture something so unique. Just three or four people, taking photographs to show their friends. The woman who was naked in the park when they walked through.

She stepped down, but before she could start walking back, a guy moved in beside her. Jeans and shirt, and maybe twenty-five and with his arm around her, posing, while the girl that he was with took the photo. She then joined them, and took a selfie, of the three of them, Nadia in between them.

There were what seemed to be smiles all round, and 'thank you's, and then Nadia was free to start back down to us, and I was watching her walk naked, breasts undulating as she walked, while Helmut moved into the path and crouched, to video her coming towards him from level with her cunt.

She burst out laughing as she reached us. Then put her hands up to her face and covered it. The laughter was nervousness released, I knew that. I could tell. The hands were pure embarrassment, belated, but that was what I read.

"My God," she finally said. "I really did that!... That was just amazing,... I can't describe the way it felt,... and then those people taking photos of me!... and that guy,... he actually had his hand on me,... my butt,..."

Just who she was talking to, I was not sure. It might have been either Greta or myself. We were both facing her, up close, shielding her now from those still passing us, her front at least, if not her back and butt.

What struck me was the fact that neither Nadia nor Greta were doing anything about her putting on her clothes. Nadia was just saying this, not asking for her things, while Greta was nodding empathetically, while holding Nadia's shorts in one hand, the top still dangling from her shoulder.

"That was so good!" Greta was exclaiming. "Perfect! Werner will love it!"

She turned to Helmut.

"You have it all?" she asked him. "You can send, I think?"

"One moment," Helmut said, still working with his camera, connecting a cable to it from his phone.

"Okay, it's gone," he said, confirming.

Meanwhile Nadia had come in for another hug. I was holding my wife, stark naked, in a park in Prague, one hand at her back, the other on her butt, drawing her in tight to me.

One moment she was burying her head into my chest. The next she leant back and looked at me.

"I can't believe you're still hard!" she said. "Does it really turn you on?"

"Of course it does," I said. "I just wish there was somewhere to fuck you now. That was amazing. You were incredible."

Greta and Helmut, and their so-called Nude in Public video, and however many thousand euros no longer mattered. They were way at the back of my mind. I just knew that my wife had just walked naked, and had posed for photographs, and that I loved her, and she was indeed incredible.

"I wish you could!" Nadia whispered to me, her head back nestling at my chest. "It's made me really wet."

That caused my cock to spasm.

"I felt that!" my wife added, laughing, and looking up at me again.

"Werner's happy," Helmut said, behind me. "He's even given us code blue."

We broke off from our clinch, and turned to him, but it was Greta who explained.

"That means he's authorised us to video you, and if you do some extras, then you get another two on top."

The word 'extras' raised a warning flag with me, so of course I asked.

"What kind of extras?"

"Just some poses," she explained. "With some close ups. That's all it means."

Silence for just a moment, between the four of us. Helmut working at his camera. Greta looking at us both, maybe waiting for one of us to ask more questions, or say something at least. My brain working, wondering about the whole deal, about Nadia actually doing this, and walking naked, not just in the park, but through the tourist heavy streets.

Nadia herself was standing quietly. Still naked. Greta still had her shorts and top. Then she finally spoke.

"So," she began, quite hesitantly, "tell us how it works,... I mean,... what do I do,... how long would I be,... and where would,...?"

Greta explained. The short version is that the video would last thirty minutes, all one take. She would work out a route, and Nadia would just follow where she led. If she stopped for people to take photos, that was fine. In fact, anything she chose to do was good with them. She would wear an earpiece, too, so that Greta could give her directions, tell her what to do.

She would wear heels, which they could provide for her. A dress, which she could just slip over her head to start the shoot. Then Greta would look after it for her. The only other thing was that I would have to stay out of shot, behind Helmut. The idea was that Nadia should look as if she was walking on her own.

The next thing that I knew, we were exchanging mobile numbers, and Greta was telling us that she would text where we would meet the following day. In retrospect, it was quite slick, the way she just assumed we were agreeing. Then gave Nadia her clothes, and gave us each a smile, air kisses, and a wave, as they walked off.

**********

Our drinks came first. San Pelegrino, a litre bottle that we shared. Just sparkling water. Alcohol and cycling do not mix that well. We opened up our bread sticks while we waited for our pizzas to arrive. Not fine dining. Nothing like. Back-packers' fare, or in our case, back-paniers. High carbs for burning on the road, and cheap, and noisy in the busy restaurant we had found.

We were still in the same clothes we had worn all day. Nadia sitting opposite me, her yoga top covering her breasts, in front, at least. I noticed one guy at another table regularly checking out the side view she was offering as she sipped her drink.

"I still can't believe I did that, in the park," she said, giving me her widest smile.

I always love the way her smile starts with just her front teeth, a coy chipmunk look at first, then widens to an open, friendly, almost laughing smile, that instantly disperses any gloom.