Libby's Liberation Ch. 01

"Yeah, but the allure, the wait... that's what it's all about," I reckoned. "That's the best part."

"I've always thought so," Libby nodded, with a knowing grin. "You're a man after my own heart, Tom."

I said nothing to that; I steeled myself instead, knowing that the next pic would reveal all, and finally I would see them -- finally, Libby's breasts would be on show, in their full and beautiful glory. I flicked over, and...

"Aww what!?" I cried. Her top was back on, all of a sudden re-done and re-fastened, her breasts hidden safely away; and her face bore a terrible, cheeky, teasing grin as she waggled an admonishing finger at the camera.

She hooted with laughter. "Gotcha!" she cried. "How'd you like that?"

My jaw hung low as I beheld her. "...Damn you!" I cried. "You got me all riled up!"

"Really? Well thanks, Tom," she replied, with unaccustomed class.

"But you were up in your room for ages! Forever!" I railed. "All that time, for just four or five pics?!"

"Well..." she replied, and she started to go coy. "I actually took a lot more than that... but I deleted them off your camera after I saved them on my own computer. I thought it'd be best if you just showed me how to fix these ones up, and upload them, and then I could do the rest myself."

As I looked at her, and despite my towering frustration, I couldn't help but grin. "Damn you, Elizabeth Stanton," said I. "You got me a good one."

"I surely did," she grinned, the very definition of cheeky. "So go on: show me how to put them on the site, and I'll leave you alone."

I shook my head at her, but I was relieved all the same. It was for the best, in the long run, that I didn't see all of Libby's glory fresh out of my camera, right there and then, as we sat close together on the lounge by the pool. And her pics had proven a delicious tease, she got me good, and I couldn't help but appreciate her cheeky turn -- and it helped me see her in a whole new light.

I could see now, that behind her crass, uppity exterior was a surprisingly sensual, steamy yet tasteful restraint; yes, she wanted to show herself to all and sundry, but at the same time she wanted to do it classily and well. She wasn't one of those girls who posts up a picture of her glistening twat with little more than a "how-d'ya-do"; she was a slow-stripteaser, she'd let the people see herself but only at her own pace and under her own terms, slowly and evocatively, enticing and alluring. I found myself regarding her with a new-found respect and admiration, tinged with a slight border of lust -- what a body she had, and the way that she used it...

I shook my head to dispel those thoughts, and turned my mind to the task of presenting Our Libby to the world. I showed her how to set up a profile, under a name that we both soon settled upon: "Libya's Finest" was our decision, subtle and slightly misleading (she's never been anywhere near Libya, of course).

Once she had memorised her password and put in a few details, we went straight to the Amateur boards and started up her very own thread. I typed in the message body for her: "Hello all... Thought I might put up a few pics and see what you think... Here's one to start, let me know what you think and there could be more to come ;-)", along with the requisite attachment: the cropped picture of Libby, faceless but still bikini-clad.

With the time of day in Australia matching the time of night when the boards are swamped with Northern Americans, the picture's 'views' counter climbed skywards at a fantastic rate, and the responses came thick and fast: "yes yes yes!" enthused evander_69, "give us more!" demanded hot.quebeci, and "so very nice," reckoned socalgrl_86, which gave Libby a thrill when I explained her name meant 'southern California girl'. "A lesbian!" she trilled. "I like to think I'm liked by the lesbos," she added, preening at the thought of it.

Other responses were similarly flattering, coloured by a range of vulgarity that made our eyes roll; with sufficient encouragement received, a grinning Libby gave the all-clear for the next picture to go up, that being the one with the elbows-back, tits-forward and clasps-in-danger.

With the encouragement (and claims of Libby-inspired hard-ons and sticky orgasms) flying thick and fast, we kept putting up the pics: the clasps undone; one shoulder strap coming down; the second strap fallen, partial breast exposed; cups dangling precariously, showing so much, yet not nearly enough; and then...

"Top's back on, boys!" Libby commented, as we checked the last pic again: bikini top refastened, finger waggling in pretend admonition, and in cropping the pic I couldn't help but leave just enough of her face, just the half below the nose, so the world could behold that cheeky, teasing grin. As expected, a cavalcade of protests and begs for more followed on, but Libby merely grabbed the computer, started her own reply (she definitely had the hang of the whole thing by now) and typed:

"Sorry boys (and girls)... that's all for now. More later tho, I promise. Mwah!" she typed, and submitted her reply -- much to the howling chagrin of a thousand pervs around the globe, I'm sure.

"Well well," I couldn't help but grin. "Your little tease has got them frothing at the nether-regions now, you know. You'll be right up the top of their favourites list."

"But of course," she replied, fluffing her hair theatrically. "Now if you'll excuse me," she added, grabbing my camera, "my many fans have inspired me: I must go and take more photos, and store them away for another day."

I groaned inwardly at the deliciously excruciating thought of Libby posing for more pics, in my very own house and before my very own camera, but I managed to give her a smile all the same. "Enjoy yourself," I invited.

"I will," she promised. "And one more thing: what's your profile name on Literotica?"

"aussie_101," I informed her, frowning quizzically. "Why d'you ask?"

"Well, while I'm on the boards, I might look up a couple of your steamy stories," Libby grinned. "And is there a chance I might be able to find a few saucy self-portraits of your own?"

My jaw had dropped again, damn thing. "I'll never tell," was my evasive answer.

"Oh well," she said, and with a wistful sigh she added: "One can only hope..." and she turned and she was gone.

I waited motionless, fixed by the arse to my sun lounge, until I was sure she was long gone; for ages I had been nursing a raging, Libby-inspired hard-on of my own, concealed beneath the laptop, which I could only hope she hadn't seen straining valiantly against my shorts when she had snatched the laptop away to type her own final reply. When I was sure she had locked herself away in the guest bedroom with my camera, to strike who-knew how many erotic poses before the auto-timer, I leapt to my feet and made a beeline to the nearest bathroom; I whipped off my shorts and gave relief to my throbbing, long-neglected cock, wanking and pounding away at it without mercy.

As I wanked -- with an enormous, long-building orgasm pooling against my perineum and driving me to madness -- I imagined what Libby was doing at that exact moment: stripping slowly, languorously before my camera -- my camera! -- peeling her bikini off teasingly, putting her delicious body to the breeze for the benefit of all.

Or instead, I preferred to believe, perhaps she had let the camera lie. Perhaps she had gone online and found one of my stories; and as she read my writings perhaps she did as I did, casting her clothes roughly aside and pleasuring herself, touching herself, stroking away at her rock-hard clit as she alternated her other hand over her breasts and her sides, down to pound her fingers in and out of her sopping, moistened cunt, running them up her body and neck, tracing a fine glistening line of her own juices all over her body, and running her fingers into her mouth so that she could taste her own sweet headiness...

And finally I came, and I came hard, the first thick streamer of jizz flying so high it nearly struck me on the chin. And I tipped my head back and hollered, secure in the knowledge that Libby was at the other end of the house with a dozen expensively double-bricked walls between us; I grunted and groaned and tipped my head back and howled at the roof, exhausting the energy and urges and fantasies about Libby that I had so valiantly repressed for the length of the morning.

Once done, and pausing to shower and redress, I went back to my computer by the poolside. It was still open on Libby's Amateur thread, which was now up to page 11 of plaintive cries for "more, more, more!" from all around the world; as I checked some of them over, I wondered fleetingly what Libby was up to at that very moment, and I mused on the pictures she might be taking, the glorious images she had in store for all of us. I grinned, and closed the page.

It was time for a bit of work, I decided. It was time to do a bit of writing.

It was time to write a story about Libby. The first chapter, rather; and hopefully, with more to follow.