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Libby's Liberation Ch. 01

By: aussie_101



Such a funny thing, how very wrong one's perceptions can be.

Case in point: our very good friend, Elizabeth Stanton. She's a funny girl, our Libby: very stiff-upper-lip, born-with-silver- spoon-in-gob, haughty and snooty and how-to-do. She's the very definition of a rich snob: delightfully misanthropic, wickedly xenophobic and extraordinarily blinkered to the workings of the world in general. She is very nearly a caricature of the upper class -- yet somehow, she still manages to be fairly likable. 

Despite her long list of shortfalls, she's not all bad. She is kind and loyal without fail to her friends, most notably to my wife (through whom I came to know our Libby), and there's something about the way she states her profoundly right-wing old-school beliefs that amuses rather than offends. Her being in possession of a fairly pretty face and long flowing blonde hair, along with a nice-and-tidy gym-honed body, shapely rump and generous bust probably helps in this department. 

Not that I have ever held any seriously lecherous desires towards our Libby. I love my wife, you see, and I'll be forever loyal to her. And while Libby's behaviour is amusing in short doses, I've found myself over the years feeling sorry for her many and varied man-friends; it seems to take only a few weeks with Libby before they develop that pained, hounded, 'why-God-why' expression that marks a man as Libby's Current Beau.

So it came to pass one day -- ten years into my marriage and thus ten years after having first met our Libby -- that Libby came to stay with us, following the dissolution of yet another relationship with a live-in boyfriend. His tolerance of her whimsical (and not always faithful) ways had finally run dry, and to my secret amusement and admiration he had run her out of his house, depositing her furnishings and belongings in the front yard in a less-than-gentle fashion. 

As often is the case in this situation, our Libby came to my missus for solace and comfort; and as has increasingly become the case since I made my millions and foolishly purchased a six-bedroom mansion half-way up a picturesque mountainside, the missus declared that of course Libby could stay with us while she sorted herself out. My missus's generosity knows no bounds. Especially when it comes to her generosity with my house, my belongings and my money. I still love her, though.

On one particular sunny summer's day during Libby's stay, with the missus gone to work and the kids gone to school, I had assumed my traditional work-day pose: parked in a sun-lounge by the pool, with a large pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea to help me brace for another hard day's work, and a laptop standing by should I feel the need to actually achieve anything. Life's hard for some of us, don't you know.

Hardly had I poured my first tall glass when Libby graced the scene, clad scantily and alluringly in a skimpy bikini and a sheer wrap-around sarong, which was hitched in a petite knot just above her shapely hips. "Well hello, Tom," she greeted, pulling her oversized sunglasses down to peer more obviously at my refreshments. "We're starting on the booze early for a Monday morning, aren't we?"

"Not at all, Libby my dear," declared I. "I find a few good 'Long Teas' are essential to brace against a busy week."

"Can I assume the spare glass is for me?" she asked.

"Either you or the poolboy," I grinned. "First in, best refreshed."

And so the drinks were poured, my laptop was ignored, and as we drank Libby and I talked about various banal trivialities, most of them involving herself. She is awfully good at talking about herself, our Libby. For shits and giggles I steered the conversation onto the topic of her latest break-up, trying to ascertain what level of blame -- if any -- she was willing to apportion herself. 

"Oh Tom -- I just don't understand men," she said sadly. "I mean, Glen and I --" Glen being her most recent boyfriend "-- Glen and I were going so well! And then he just turns around and throws me out of his house! I just don't understand," she said again, punctuating her profundity with another sip of long tea.

"Could it have had anything to do," I ventured, "with your 'dalliances' with his best mate?"

"Oh Tom: really," she scolded, disapprovingly. "Now I know you and Kelly --" Kelly being my wife "-- you and Kelly store great stock in loyalty and faithfulness and all of that. And I think that's great," she added, in a terribly condescending tone that I just had to grin at -- as though she was declaring a toddler's few smears of blue paint on a crinkled canvas an artistic triumph. "That's really great," she reiterated. "But for some of us, a little bit of hanky-panky isn't really that bad. And it's not like I blew up when he kept going back to his ex-girlfriend for a bit of 'reminiscing'," she added.

"Oh no," said I, by way of agreement. "No no, you didn't blow up at him at all -- but me and Kelly heard all about it. And bloody ad-nauseum, too."

Libby's jaw dropped in mock outrage. "Tom!" she scolded, throwing a slice of lemon at me. "You know, you get quite the wicked tongue when you've been drinking."

"As opposed to you," I returned, "whose tongue turns positively saintly after a few brews."

"I don't hear too many complaints about my tongue, thank you," she said, with an immodest grin. "In fact -- have I ever told you about the time Glen said I should have my mouth insured?"

"Actually, yes you have," said I -- Glen's declaration referred to Libby's apparently priceless skill and ability at the fine art of fellacio. "You are simply too modest for words, Libby," I added.

Libby grinned, but it was a short-lived grin as she returned to her moody broodings. Her eyes fell to her own chest -- as they so often do; our Libby has forever been clearly and obviously infatuated with herself and her body, taking any and every opportunity to make eyes at her own reflection, or peer down her own cleavage, or occasionally even run a finger up and down her inner thigh when she (wrongly) thinks no-one is looking. Lord knows how she gets anything done when she's alone with herself; if God truly does kill a kitten every time one masturbates, then Libby must have a million dead cats on her conscience.

"It's because of my boobs," she suddenly said, which threw me somewhat from my thoughts of mass felinicide.

"How's that?" I said, spluttering from a little bit of inhaled long tea.

"Glen's ex had the biggest boobs," she explained. "He probably let her get away with anything, with tits like those. But poor old Libby, with these little puppies..." she said, grabbing her bikinied bosom and giving them a sad little jiggle "...there's no leeway for me."

Well, I thought. What was there to say to that? Libby's tits were by no means little or puppy-like; she was quite generously equipped with nicely round and fulsome C-bordering-on-D cup-fillers, and crammed as they were into her C-sized bikini top they were most pleasing on the eye. But even as she started saying "...maybe it's time to start saving up for the surgery... how much do fake tits cost these days?" I found myself wondering: how best to console Libby, and assure her of the perfect adequacy of her breasts, without crossing the line?

"Come on now, Libby," I scolded. "Let's have no more of that talk. Speaking as a guy, and as your friend -- and the husband of your best friend," I added, to dispel any possible dodginess ahead of time, "I can assure you that your tits are really, really nice."

Libby's face broke into a smile of relief. "Really?" she asked, heartened.

"Yes, Libby," I promised her, in as reassuring and brotherly and platonic a fashion as possible. "They really are a top pair. Don't you even think about putting them under the knife -- surgery would ruin them, they're already perfect as they are. Okay?"

"Okay," she nodded, visibly gladdened by my reassurances. She took a big sip of her long tea, as though she were steeling herself, and she put it to me: "Would you like to see them?" she asked, hopefully.

"See what?" I asked, frowning slightly.

"My tits," said Libby, brightly. "I'll show them to you if you'd like..."

My shoulders fell. 'Yes. Yes! YES PLEASE!' was the response issuing from my pelvis; 'No, no, I can't,' was my more rational, cranial response. 

I sighed as I looked at her. I knew Libby wasn't being lecherous in the strictest sense, or intentionally disloyal against Kelly my wife in offering to flash me; she was just looking for affirmation, for a reinforcement of the support and encouragement I had already given. But I knew I couldn't let her do that. To agree, to say 'aw, okay, go on, show em to me' would be lecherous on my part, very lecherous -- I'm not that great a guy that I could let a girl show me her breasts only to help her feel better about herself. And if such a guy exists, I'd advise him to check himself for a pulse. 

So I thought quickly, and came up with a way out of this moral quagmire that would leave the both of us relatively clean. "Now Libby," I said, gently. "You don't really want to show them to me, do you?"

"Well..." she said, reaching hesitatingly for the clasp on her back, making her breasts stand out and say 'hello!' in a fashion I tried desperately to ignore. "Kind of..." 

"No you don't," I told her, kindly. "You just want to show them to 'somebody', don't you? You just want somebody, anybody to have a look at your tits and go 'phwoar!'. Don't you?"

Libby's face fell, and so did her arms, letting her breasts -- and myself -- relax. "I'm sorry..." she murmured.

"No no!" I quickly told her, before the tears came. "It's okay, Libs! It's fine, I understand. I get that way too, sometimes," I assured her. "Lots of people do. You just have a bit of an exhibitionist streak in you, that's all. You know what I mean?"

She looked at me, thinking on what I said. "Aw," she began. "I'm not sure about 'exhibitionist'... I mean, I'm not a deviant or anything," she added, lending a specially vindictive emphasis to 'deviant': making it sound as though these naughty exhibitionistic deviants were the scourge of the earth, hiding behind every rock and tree, prepared to leap out upon unsuspecting villagers and do wicked things to them.

"No, of course you're not a 'deviant'," I grinned. "But we all have a bit of that compulsive streak in us, you know? In all of us there's a little part of us that wants to show off our assets, to whip out our tits or our cock and ask a passer-by 'excuse me? Um... what do you think? Are these alright?' You know?"

Libby nodded along. "Yeah, I guess..." she allowed. "But what can I do? I'm sorry I asked you, Tom, I shouldn't have done that... you're my best friend's husband, I'm so sorry..."

"Water under the bridge," I assured her, as I reached for my laptop with its wireless modem. "But there's still hope, Libby. Let me show you this." She hopped up and came to sit with me, and I loaded up literotica.com and showed her the Amateur Photography forum, explaining to her how it worked and showing her a few threads to give her the general idea.

"Wow," she said, eyeing off some of the good-looking ladies I had loaded up for her.

"Yeah," I grinned. "So basically: if you're looking for a bit of affirmation, a bit of praise from random people all over the world, all you've got to do is take a few pictures of yourself, post them in your own thread, and let the good people lay their opinion."

"Do you think they'll like me?" she asked.

"Again: speaking only as a guy and as your friend," I began, "with your body: you'll be right up there with the hottest chicks. They're gunna love ya!" I promised her. "And all the guys and gals on literotica are very nice and really supportive: I promise there won't be a single negative thing said about you."

"Okay," she nodded, a smile morphing into a grin as she warmed to the concept. "Okay! I'll do it! Do you have a camera?"

"Right here," said I, reaching into my laptop bag.

"Alright," she beamed, and she reached back again for the clasp on her bikini -- my eyes widened.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" I cried, stopping her only just in time: the straps were undone and the top was half-way gone, the cups clinging precariously to Libby's breasts and only barely maintaining the mystery. "If you'll just give me half a second," I added, as she stared at me, wide-eyed and frozen, "I'll show you how to use the auto-timer."

She let this sink in, and then she laughed a little with embarrassment. "Sorry," she said, and I turned away graciously (if a little reluctantly) to allow her to reposition her top. "But still," she added, "I'm going to need your help to load it all up for me, and start all these 'threads' and stuff for me -- I'm not really very good at that sort of thing. And besides," she added again, and as I turned back to look at her with her top safely resecured, I saw she was grinning, "do you really expect me to believe you'll never look at my photos?"

I blinked -- she had me there. Loyal to Kelly as I might try to be, I knew there was no way in hell I could stop myself from checking out Libby's photos. I simply was not that strong a person. "Okay, you've got me there," I allowed, with a goofy grin. "But still: I'm sure you'll agree it would be better if you take the photos yourself. I'll look at your pics -- only to help you load them up, of course -- but it's best if I don't see your bare bits in person. You know?"

She was still grinning at me. "Fair enough," she agreed. "So: what do I do?"

I explained the auto-timer function to her, and gave her a few photography tips from what I had seen in the site's amateur photos: "Focus on your body, not your face -- we'll crop and trim the photos so they don't show your face, it's not a good idea to give people a chance to identify you. Get a few pics with your bikini on, maybe a couple pics as you're taking it off, and as many pics from as many angles as you like with your goodies out -- the camera's got lots of memory, and we'll only post the best shots," I assured her, as she nodded along. "And you only have to show as much or as little as you like -- there's no rule saying you have to show your pink bits or anything."

"Oh, that's good," she nodded, with relief. "I'd probably like to keep that to myself. At least for now..." she added, with an alluring grin.

I pulled a face. "I'll probably let you trim and crop those pics yourself," I told her, more for my own sake than hers. "Anyways: here's the camera. Run along to your room and go nuts."

"Does Kelly know about this site, Tom?" Libby asked, suddenly and out of the blue.

I paused, and looked at Libby as she beheld me: camera in hand, bikini and sheer wrap set to come off, body pert and lovely and soon to be forever immortalised on the interweb. "Frankly: no, she doesn't," I sighed. "See, I like to post the odd erotic story up on Literotica, but when I told Kelly about it she thought I was a weirdo, so I told her I'd stop."

"But... you didn't stop, did you?" Libby asked, with a grin at my naughtiness.

"No..." I allowed. "I slowed down, though. So obviously, I'd prefer if we didn't really mention any of this to Kelly."

"Gee, Tom," said Libby, in a surprisingly beguiling fashion. "We're sort of dabbling in a bit of a moral 'grey area' here: me showing you pictures of my naked body, you posting them on the net for me... Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked me, fixing me with a gloriously wicked smile that, I must confess, provoked a stirring in my shorts.

I returned her look with a raised eyebrow. "Are you sure I should be asking that of myself?" I rejoined. "Otherwise you'll have to load your own pictures..."

"Okay, okay," Libby allowed, heading off with the camera.

"Or if you can't figure it all out," I called after her, "you'll have to hire a hot-air balloon and drop pictures of your titties all over the town..."

"Okay, okay!" Libby cried, shooting a grin at me as she left.

Thus commenced perhaps the longest half-hour of my life, as I awaited Libby's return with more than a little anticipation. Yes, okay: strictly speaking, it wasn't entirely kosher, helping Libby out with her exhibitionism and checking out pictures of her in the buff. But, I reasoned, it was better than the alternative -- namely, letting her parade around naked in front of me; that way was fraught with temptation, and all righteous intentions and loyalty to my wife aside, I am only human -- who knew where such close-range hanky panky might have led? And I felt I was due some kudos for exercising massive restraint in not taking the pictures for her -- it was more than just a little tempting, let me tell you.

So I whiled away the time by checking out a few of my favourite Literotica-girls -- well, seeing I was already on the site, may as well, eh? -- and then I took a bit of a dip in the pool to cool down my ardour before Libby's return; a giant bulge in the shorts was not how I wanted to welcome her back. As I was towelling off, Libby came back: bikini and sarong back in place, clutching the camera preciously. "How'd you go?" I enquired.

"Pretty good," she reckoned, looking happy. "It's a lot of fun, actually! I wish I'd thought of this sooner -- of course there'd be a site like this on the internet," she declared.

"Alrighty -- shall we load them up and see how they look?"

"Let's do it," she affirmed, without a moment's hesitation. 

So we sat side-by-side on my lounge as I plugged the camera into my laptop. "Righto, Libs: talk me through," I invited. "Tell me what you want to post and what you don't."

"Well, the first ones are of me with my bikini still on," Libby explained, as we looked them through. "But I couldn't keep my face out of the shots -- can you fix that?"

"Easily," I declared, cropping and trimming a few so that only her comely body remained. "How's that?"

"That's great, Tom! Now these ones," she continued, as we flicked onwards through the series, "are your suggestion: gradually taking my top off."

"Ah," I said approvingly, lingering on each pic: the first one was what I saw earlier, her reaching back to grab the clasps, her shoulders arcing back and her breasts standing out, round and proud and fulsome. The next pic: the clasp was undone, the straps were coming forward, but the shoulder straps remained in place and so did the cups. 

I slowed down in moving through the pictures, taking time to linger and dwell on each one: the next, she had reached up for one shoulder strap and had pulled it down slightly, revealing a tantalising piece of her bare upper chest and shoulder; the next, the other shoulder strap was coming down, her other hand holding the cups to her breasts, though one cup was coming away slightly, revealing the creamy softness of the curve of her breast...

"You like so far?" she asked.

"Oh yeah..." I assured her. I tried to think only like a guy, just any random guy, looking at any random girl: I wasn't looking at pictures of my wife's best friend getting undressed, I was only looking at some random chick. As I trimmed and cropped her face out of each pic, I noted the look on her face: so far her eyes were cast downwards, surprisingly humble and demure, but with the next pic -- as she let the cups fall slightly, exposing more of those wondrous breasts but not yet the whole thing -- her eyes were suddenly raised, looking to the camera: enquiring, beguiling, asking 'you like what you see, don't you?' 

"Wow," I said.

"They're good?" she asked, looking to me.

"They're great..." I breathed, no longer able to feign a detached interest. "Libs: you've done a slow strip-tease! I love when they do that! And I didn't even suggest it -- you did it all yourself!"

"You really do like it, don't you?" she grinned. "And you haven't even seen the whole thing yet!"


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.



Libby's Liberation Ch. 02



As it happened, it wasn't long after our little poolside encounter that Libby moved right back out of my house. It turned out that so far as her boyfriend Glen was concerned, Libby's tits were large enough to allow at least a little indiscretion -- and so all was forgiven, she moved back in with him and life went on as though nothing had even happened. Such are the ways of our Libby.

Weeks went by, and twenty-five pages of posts on Libby's Amateur Photography thread from people clamouring for more saucy pics went ignored -- including one or two guilty little posts of my own. I assumed that Libby's interest in self-portraiture was only a passing fancy, and so I made myself forget the whole thing and got on with my life, such that it is.

Four weeks had passed, and on logging in to literotica.com (only to check the stats on my stories, not to perv on Libby's photos again, honest) I was surprised to find a PM waiting for me, and delighted to see that it was in fact from none other than 'Libya's Finest' -- and it had only been sent in the last hour. "Hello aussie_101," it read. "Read a couple of your stories -- wow. Who knew you had it in you?" she added, with a provocative ;-) for good measure.

"Why thank you, Libya," I replied, seeing she was still online. "And how goes the amateur photography? Still keeping the world on tenterhooks?"

"Check out my thread and see..." was her quick reply. So I did just that, verily cyber-sprinting through the site to find that she had posted a few more pictures -- to world-wide acclaim, as it turned out.

I steeled myself before opening the pics. I knew what I was doing wasn't really right -- I was a married man, and Libby was my wife's best and oldest friend, and here I was preparing to download images of her striking who-knew what sort of erotic, unclad poses. But I couldn't stop myself. 

I couldn't help it. Libby was, and always had been an achingly beautiful girl: a gym junkie, she was slim in profile but toned in the rump, and happily no amount of exercise seemed to impact upon the bountifulness of her bust. I had found myself that day working alone at home again, with my enormous empty mansion at my total disposal for looking at (and doing to myself) whatsoever I pleased; it was a lazy Thursday lunchtime, and Libby herself had contacted me to let me know that I could check out her pics whenever I was ready. And she had been reading my erotica, too...

'Okay,' I thought to myself. 'Let's just do this, so it's done. Come on.' And so I opened the first picture.

It was a new series over the first bikini-on-off-on series, and from the attachment titles it appeared to be called 'nursie'. I already knew what it entailed before I opened it: our Libby was in possession of a slightly-too-tight nurse's uniform, which she used to regular and devastating effect at every costume party that came along. 'Righto, Nurse Libby,' I thought, 'let's see what you've got.'

I approved immediately of the first shot: well-lit, well-framed, and she had remembered to crop out her face after my warnings from before. She had the familiar costume on: tight white button-down dress partially unbuttoned at the top and cut off well above the knee, showing sheer white stockings reaching up and under her dress to an unseen garter belt, with impossibly tall white high heels and -- peeking out of the top of the dress -- the vestiges of a frilly white bra were plain to see. It was enough to make my cock swell, even at this fully-clothed stage.

'Very nice,' I thought, scrolling through a profusion of praising posts to find the next pic. It proved to be a picture of Nurse Libby from behind; she was in a bedroom -- gawd, it was the guest bedroom in my house, she had taken these pics in my house with my own camera! -- and as she stood she had one leg up on the bed and she was bending forward ever so slightly, only just barely enough to reveal the lowest vestiges of her bared buttocks, implying the wearing of no knickers or possibly a g-string... 'She sure knows how to stoke the fire,' I thought, adjusting my pants slightly in an effort to give my cock room to grow. I lingered on this shot a short while, drinking in the delicious sight of her ever-so-slightly exposed buns... okay, time for the next pic.

The next pic: lo and behold, she's turned around again to face the camera and she's unbuttoning the top of her dress, her long slender fingers having dealt with two buttons and working on the third. The lovely honey-hued tone of her skin shone brightly against the stark whiteness of her dress, the pose serving as a tantalisingly small step along in the process of disrobing. Okay, good, great. Next pic...

...next pic: most of the buttons are dealt with, undone down her chest, down the soft gentle rise of her stomach, down far enough to show the first hints of garter belt and underwear...

I received notice of a new PM. I opened a new window to view it: it was, of course, from the lovely Libya. "How's it coming?" she asked, and I wondered if there was a double-entendre in there.

"It's coming very nicely," I replied. "I'm up to the third pic."

"Third pic? Taking our time, are we? ;-)"

"Savouring the experience, my dear. Plus you keep bugging me..."

"Lol, okay, let me know when you're done. While I'm waiting I might just go and read another chapter of 'Fostered Care'... damn you have a wicked mind."

I swallowed dryly at that. She was reading 'Fostered Care'? I wasn't sure if I could face her again, knowing she was delving into that sordid little tale...

Oh well. Back to the pics, and the fourth pic had her turned rump-to-camera again as the dress fell to the floor: and there were those buttocks, so pert and firm, no doubt trimmed and toned by a million steps on the cross-trainer at the gym; and they were framed in (oh yeah) a frilly white g-string. The pic was a large one, full-screen, and it showed in tantalising detail the soft, curving rise of her back, the gentle set of her shoulders, and the soft alluring skin of the backs of her thighs... I was forced to give my cock a good solid rub of placation, lest the raging thing burst forth from its confines and do me an injury.

Pic five: oh me oh my, nursie have mercy... pic five had our Libby bending right over, back still to camera, as she reached for the dress on the floor. Modesty kept her feet firmly together, but still: those buttocks clenched together ever so tightly, that g-string disappearing between them, and a perfect lacy white diamond of material was framed between her cheeks and her thighs right there, right over the money-maker...

"Dang!" I PMed Libby. "Love pic number 5."

"Thought you might," she replied, simply. "Most people list it as their fave. Now quit bugging me: chapter 2 has me hooked."

I bugged her no more, launching straight into a search for picture six: it was not easily found, obscured among three pages of the Literotica community's gushing praise for pic five. But there it was, pic six: our Libby was straightened up again; well, she couldn't hold that pose forever, though I was sorely tempted to make pic five my wallpaper... "Behave, Tom," I scolded myself.

In pic six, still with back to camera, Libby reposed relaxed, standing very simply in her underwear, stockings and heels; her long blonde hair cascaded loosely down her back, shimmering fair and golden in the light of my guest bedroom. So nice... so very, very nice...

Pic seven: still with her back to camera, with that butt simply refusing to quit, she was now reaching behind her and working at the hooks of her bra. Very good, no time to linger now: my cock nearly burned with the heat of the vitae throbbing and coursing through it, and I was forced to unleash the monstrous thing. 

I found pic eight even as I started working at myself: Libby's back was still to camera, the bra was off and dangled loosely in one hand; Libby was turned slightly, allowing a three-quarters rearward view of the side of her breast, loose and unsupported but yet still pert, round and shapely. 

Pic nine, as I tightened my grip on my cock and pumped at it harder: Libby had finally turned to face the camera, but she had dropped the bra and was holding her breasts in her hands, cheekily and tantalisingly obscuring the view of those lovelies for now. 'Damn it!' I thought, the slowness of the series starting to vex me. 'Get on with it! Next pic. Next pic!'

Pic ten: oh yes, finally, pic ten... pic ten had Libby dropping one hand to her pelvis, fingers splayed alluring about the side of her hips, but the dropped hand had finally, finally revealed a breast: a breast so marvellous, a breast so wondrous, so beautifully shaped, so perkily placed, with a tanned chocolate-brown nipple that looked warm and soft and so inviting, and as I pounded away at myself I longed and yearned to touch it, to lick it, to taste of it...

I had to put the laptop to a safe distance as I wanked, working away at the enormous rod that threatened to skewer my stomach, my orgasm so close but refusing to come... 

Pic eleven: Libby had dropped both hands to her hips, with two fingers of one hand resting close above her spot in a marvellously, arousingly restrained fashion, but the focus of the picture was her breasts: both sitting free and easy, unclad and unfettered, matching and perfect, better than I had even imagined. I knew my orgasm wasn't coming, wouldn't come until I had found the end of Libby's 'nursie' series, and so I strived desperately to bring myself to an end, searching for pic twelve, pic twelve, come on! pic twelve...

Pic twelve: still no end! She had turned back-to-camera again, and the g-string was coming down, she was bending down at that three-quarters angle so you could still see a breast, swinging low and gentle and fulsome as she pulled her underwear down, her arse taut and toned as the cheeks flexed as she bent... 

...and my cock literally ached under the onslaught, as I risked an RSI with the force of my work; I could feel the load sitting right at the base of my loins, quivering dangerously, threatening to paint the ceiling... oh come on, clear off all you posts of praise, show me to pic thirteen, oh please show me to pic thirteen...

...pic thirteen: front to camera again, she was pretty well naked now: the stockings and heels and garter belt remained, the underwear were gone... but they were replaced by a strategically-placed nurse's cap, pinned to which was a scrawled note reading 'show's over, boys'; Libby's face was cropped out again, but my mind drew it back in and I could see that cheeky, teasing grin as she stood there, tits akimbo, with nought but that itty bitty little cap saving her modesty...

And finally I came, with a grunt and a sigh of relief as I stared unblinkingly at the image, as I let the sight of Libby's bared tits and bared hips and bared curves and stockinged legs and everything and all of it simply soak into my brain and tattoo itself into my memory, and I stroked myself long and hard and in time with the pulses of my cock as I came and I came and I came with quivering, gasping convulsions, as I came with every drop of my loins and every ounce of my remaining energy.

And when it was done, as I lay back in the couch, covered in my essence and utterly spent, a PM flashed through: it was none other than Libya's Finest herself. I could barely spare the energy to open the page, but I was glad I did: it read "omg... Tom... I read your story, I read the part with the guy and the asian teacher, it got me so worked up and I've just come... Tom... your story made me come."

Holy crap. Libby... at the very same moment as I had wanked over her pictures, as the images of her naked self had made me come... at that very same moment she had been wanking herself over my words, she had sat at her computer with her legs spread and her knickers gone and her fingers deep inside her and my words had made her come. We had more or less come together. I reached for the keyboard to tell her, to let her know that I had come too, her body had made me come, that we had come together... 

...but then I stopped.

Should I tell her? Was this something I should share -- something we should both know? There was a huge, overwhelming part of me that wanted to tell her, wanted her to know that her steamingly hot body had made me wank myself and made me come hard... 

But then there was that quiet little voice of loyalty, the part of me that loved my wife and felt bad about what I was doing with Libby, what we were doing together, what we were sharing. I have to confess, the voice wasn't loud enough to make me want to stop doing what we had done, to stop seeing naked pictures of Libby and stop sharing my erotic stories with her; but nonetheless, it was loud enough to keep me from delving deeper, loud enough to keep me from letting this thing between me and Libby develop and grow into something even bigger, something even worse.

I read Libby's message again: "Tom... your story made me come..." I had to say something. I couldn't let that be. "...your story made me come..." So I replied...

"Did it just? Well, I aim to please. Glad you enjoyed it, my dear ;-)" and I sent it off.

A quick-fire reply came roaring back: "So did you get to the end of my pics?" Insistent. Demanding. Definitely not satisfied with my understated response. I grinned at my own cheek, at how I had finally got my own back: now I was the tease, leaving her hanging, wanting for more, wondering what acts of naughtiness her pictures had inspired... "...did you get to the end of my pics?"

"Oh yes," I typed in reply. "Very nice. Very, very nice. You've built up quite the fan-base, haven't you?" 

I watched the cursor flash for a few moments, and then I thought: go on, give her a little more. Indulge her. So I added... "And I'm right among them -- count me as President of the Libya's Finest Fan Club. You're gorgeous, Libby. Good on ya."

"Thank you :-)" came right back: warm, succinct but full of gratitude, and I felt good about it.

"You're very welcome. Keep up the good work -- I'll talk to you later," I farewelled her. I logged off the site and left to go clean myself up, wondering what further adventures our young Elizabeth Stanton had in store for the good people of Literotica... and for me.



Libby's Liberation Ch. 03



Libby continued to add to her Amateur Photography thread and fuel the fires of her many fans, as she checked back more and more often to post new and ever-more imaginative strip-teasing series. 

She followed her 'nursie' series of saucy pictures with a very cheeky 'schoolgirl' striptease, which was met with effusive acclaim from her very wide circle of Literotica admirers. With barely thirty photos uploaded, her thread had grown to seventy-five pages of praising posts -- which was great for Libby's ego, but for the rest of us it made tracking down her photos all the more vexing. So I created an index for her and explained how it was done, and she stuck it into the first post of her thread and kept updating it regularly -- all the better for our viewing pleasures.

And her index kept growing, too: she added a new series called 'ready for the shower', and another excellent one with her stripping out of a policewoman's uniform, and yet another that featured her toying with items of food -- grapes, ice cream, so forth -- in various stages of undress; all to the love and adoration of the world.

Throughout each series, Libby was ever-careful not to show her face whenever she was turned towards the camera; she also always stopped just short of giving the whole game away, always managing to keep her nether-regions covered one way or the other, signing off on each series totally nude save for a hand or a hat or a bunch of grapes placed ever-so-daintily over the moneymaker. Dozens of men -- and more than a few women -- cried and begged and cajoled on her pages (and in a barrage of PMs, she told me), pleading to see the whole lot, for her to finally reveal the prize; but she refused, cheekily and demurely, and it kept them in a frothing state of frenzy in which I'm sure she revelled.

Also constant throughout the posting of each series was Libby's PMs to me, letting me know when her newest works were up and demanding my opinion of them. My opinion was unchanging: her slowly-undressed, tantalising stripteases -- carefully revealing each part of her exquisite body, one by one -- never failed to work me up into a masturbational frenzy; but though I may have dropped the odd hint, I still would not let her know it for sure. 

I could tell it was teasing her fiercely, not knowing whether or not I was beating the meat at the sight of her hot, naked, gym-toned body. And I was sure it was driving her on, inspiring her to new heights of teasing, alluring creativity as the quality of her photographic stripteasing journeys increased ever-more.

A new line of inquiry was also rearing its head more and more often: "Damn you, aussie_101!" she wrote in a PM one day. "I can't find any pictures of you anywhere!"

"I guess there mustn't be any to be found," I replied.

"Really?" she rejoined, and I imagined a vexed disappointment in her tone. "You've posted nothing? You of all people?"

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the one who told me that everyone is hiding an exhibitionist streak," Libby reminded me. "You're the one who set me on this whole strip-teasing thing in the first place! And I've read all of your stories -- you must be the horniest bugger in all the world, to imagine up those scenes and scenarios! Do you have any idea how many times your stories have made me come?" she asked of me, pointedly and unabashedly.

"Why Libby -- you make me blush," I typed, grinning as I did so -- I still would not let her know that her pictures had done me the same favour, many a time over; I simply wouldn't tell, no matter how much she'd poke and prod for it.

"But seriously, Tom: have you really never posted any pics of yourself?"

"Well..." I typed. "Okay, yes, I confess: I've never posted any pics of myself."

"Why not???" she cried. "I reckon you'd be a little hottie under all those clothes... ;-)"

"Well, thank you Libby," I wrote -- always nice to hear as much, especially from a steamy vixen such as our Libby. "I guess I just figured nobody would really be interested in seeing little old me in the buff."

"I'd be interested," she told me, starkly. "I'd love to see you in the buff. You might not know it, but Kelly's told a story or two about you over the years... and I'd love to see if the tales are true..." she added, alluringly.

I did not know that. 'Well,' I thought: 'that's awesome! Thank you, Kelly my wife!' But at the mention of my wife, the guilt kicked in. "Mmm... nah, sorry," I wrote. "Not gunna happen."

"WHAAAAAT??!!??" came her theatrical and over-punctuated reply. "Why the fuck not?? You've seen me naked, a million times! It's only fair you repay the favour!"

"I just don't really feel the need," I typed, with a smirk. "Sorry if that disappoints you... Besides, I've never seen you FULLY nude -- you've always got a hat, or a hand, or a bunch of grapes in the way. Very frustrating, those grapes."

Libby's reply was swift and immediate: no text, just a picture attachment. I blinked: it was entitled 'schoolgirl_21', and I distinctly remember there being only 20 pictures in Libby's cheeky little schoolgirl series -- I had created the index for it, after all. 'What could we have here?' I wondered.

My fingers clicked to open the picture with no bidding from my brain, and there it was: Libby in all her glory, breasts standing proud and free, hands and hats and grapes well clear of her pelvis, and fuck me dead if I'm lying: her tight little pussy was completely and utterly shaved. "Hot damn," I said aloud, eyes as unto dinnerplates.

There it was: a tidy little bucket she had, neat and petite and unobscured in the utmost; well, her legs remained together, of course, maintaining her history of tastefulness in photography, but even so: there was just that tiny little hint of pink lips down there, just the barest glimpse of the doorway to her glorious and never-before-seen box of tricks...

My cock stood to attention and saluted smartly, so quickly I nearly got pelvic whiplash. 

And the cherry on top of it all: in this picture, Libby had not cropped out her face. She knew she'd never post it on the public boards, and so she left her face in, and the expression was even more alluring than the visual smorgasbord below the neck: so very cheeky, so very steamy, so very, extremely wanton... Who, I wondered, was she thinking of? Who was that face for? Was she thinking of Glen, her dopey and cheating fuck-buddy boyfriend... or did she stand there, posing nude for the auto-timer with that look on her face, thinking of me?

Another PM: "Well?" she probed.

"...hot damn," I typed. "That's just... I mean... wow," I finished. What else could I say? So I sent it.

"Well well: the wordsmith, lost for words," Libby commented. "Okay then: you've seen the lot, all of me, from top to tit to toe. Return the favour."

'Hah hah,' I thought with what was probably an impish grin: 'the advantage is mine, my dear.' "Sorry, what? I never agreed to that..."

"No, Tom," she warned. "Don't do this to me. You've got to show me some pics."

"There are no pics to show."

"Then go take some, damn you!"

"You can't make me," I told her. "You'll never see me naked, dearest Libby: and that's a promise."

"Promises are made to be broken," she informed me -- which is as telling an indicator of all that is Libby if ever there was one. "I'll get some pics out of you. It's my new mission."

"Oh yeah? Well, we'll see."

Her PMs stopped at that juncture, but the next day I found a new post in her 'Libya's Finest' thread that was time-stamped the very minute following our conversation. It read as follows.

"My fellow Literoticans: I wish to make it known that you all owe your thanks to my dearest friend and mentor, aussie_101 -- for it was he who inspired me to take my photos and show them to the world." 

'Aww,' I thought. 'How nice.'

"But now..." she continued. "Now I have asked aussie to return the favour and post up some pics of himself, as I have never yet seen him in his natural state -- but the cheeky bastard refuses to cooperate!" 

'True enough, true enough,' I grinned.

"So please, all my friends and fans, I beg of you: join me in signing the attached petition --" and there it was, at the bottom of the post she had set up an electronic polling petition, the clever little thing "-- and encourage our dear, sexy aussie_101 to join us in the realm of amateur photography. For I am sure many of you have read his stories, and from his tawdry tales I dare say the man is a dynamo with much to show. So go on -- get polling!"

"That cheeky little minx!" I muttered to myself, chuckling at her cheek. Not many people were troubling themselves with the poll, however, with only a handful of results either way: some people voted 'yes, let's see aussie_101 naked!', others had voted 'no thanks'. A handful of posted replies followed Libya's Finest: a few ladies offered some half-hearted entreaties; one lad or two wrote the same, along the lines of "oh go on, give Libya a thrill -- she deserves it"; but there were many more posts along the lines of "forget this clown, Libya -- I'll send you my pics! I'll give you your thrills!" Much as one could expect, I'd say.

With no new posts from Libby and the thread having gone quiet, I put up a reply of my own. "Hello Libby (and all)," I wrote. "Seems your crusade to get me starkers has few supporters, so... no dice! But do keep your own pics coming, of course -- the public must be satisfied. Much love, from your fan aussie_101," I signed off, and posted my reply.

I wandered away from literotica.com to do my own thing; later in the day I checked back to see if there were any new developments, not expecting anything serious. To my immense surprise, I found dozens of new PMs waiting for me, sent by names I recognised among Libby's more ardent fans: "Come on aussie -- post some pics!" said hot2trotsky; "Give the lady what she wants!" urged socalgrl_86, who had followed Libby's progress from the start; and "Dammit man, don't keep us waiting -- post! Post! Post!!!" was the gist of the rest of them.

"What's all this then?" I asked of myself, not intending to sound like a 'Carry On' movie character but managing it all the same. The answer lay in the Libya's Finest thread, in a new post from the girl herself...

She had started by quoting my latest reply, and then her response followed: "All my fans, be advised," she began. "I, Libya's Finest, hereby vow that I shall not post any new pics until such time as aussie_101 has fulfilled my demands -- and to the highest level of my satisfaction. If any of my fans should have a problem with this... be sure to let the man know." Following her freshly-written post was another page-and-a-half of clamouring demands from Libby's fans that I obey her directive, and thus restore the flow of saucy pics.

"Ah," I typed in my own posted reply. "Guess I'd best find my camera, then." And inside half an hour I had a camera and tripod ready, set up in the very guest bedroom where Libby shot her first few strip-teasing series -- with the very same camera, too. 

Though I'd never taken or posted any amateur shots of myself before, I had often thought about doing it, and how I would go about it. Basically, I was going to follow the same formula that Libby had proven so popular: lots of pics taken at many stages during a striptease, undressing slowly, keeping the people waiting -- though I didn't dare to imagine that many people would bother themselves with my pics; to allay my own nervousness I tried to tell myself that the only person who would ever see them would be Libby. So I took a deep, steadying breath -- and I began.

I didn't have any fancy costumes on standby for such an event (unlike our Libby, who must have a wardrobe bursting with naughty little numbers). As I set the camera to auto-timer and posed for a few fully-robed shots, I wore a simple pair of jeans with a nice shirt and some of my more-flattering undergarments beneath; I pulled a couple of poses as best I knew how, striking an easy repose that proved to show off my fairly broad and well-toned chest rather nicely, and then an about-face stance angled to best display my rump -- which was oft-praised as "pert and perky" by my lovely wife Kelly. To assuage my sudden guilt at the thought of the wife, I resolved to e-mail a few of these pics to her at work -- to let her think I'd taken them just for her, just for a little thrill.

With the "here's how I look with clothes on" shots out of the way, I struck some poses in various stages of removing my shirt: a few buttons gone, all buttons gone, shrugging the shirt off my shoulders -- a good pec-flexer, that pose -- and letting the shirt dangle in one arm. With the shirt gone, I cast a few poses in my Chesty Bonds singlet top, liking how the cut of it accentuated the strength and power in my shoulders and chest, and how the tight fit lent a slimming effect down the length of my torso.

Then it was a few pics as I peeled off the Chesty, revealing my bare naked chest: a bit on the fuzzy side, but still broad and strong. And of course I couldn't help but suck in the gut a little -- I do have a good strong six-pack, it just happens to be obscured by an inch or two of flab. Nevertheless, a flex of the abs pulls everything back into line; it's not quite a rippling washboard down there, but it does the trick.

Okay: I'm topless. Where to now? Pants are next: a picture or two of taking off the belt -- I know how to stretch the process out too, Libby, don't you worry about that -- and then a few pics as I unbuttoned the fly of my jeans, bringing my best black pair of boulder-holders steadily into view.

Having run out of buttons, it was time to point the derriere at the camera again, letting the jeans slip down to below the knickers; I laughed as I paused to check the pic on my camera, as the set of my body cheekily lampooned the very same pose our Libby loves to pull: arse to camera, pants coming down, looking back over my shoulder to make sure it looked just as fine as last time I saw it... 'she'll like this one,' I reckoned.

Back into position, it was time to front the camera again: let the world check out the bulge in the crotch as I stepped out of my jeans. "Ah crap," I sighed: my socks were still on! That's not sexy! Socks aren't sexy at all! Exactly when during a striptease is one supposed to lose the socks? I stopped to peel off the offending footwear and threw them away, and took the same step-out-of-jeans shot again, hoping there weren't any smartarses out there scrutinising the series for continuity. "Hang on -- you had socks on in pic four, but they're gone in pic twelve..." Ah, bugger them; I wasn't going to start again on account of errant socks.

So there I was, jeans gone, clad in nought but the flattering black jocks...

A couple hours later the series was shot, trimmed and cropped, and I was a-posting them one by one in my very own thread: 'For the satisfaction of Libya', it was entitled. I had pleaded with her prior, asking that I might only send them to her via PM; "no no," she scolded, "set up a thread and let the world see." Damn woman.

I had worked through the series, with Libby (and one or two others) posting replies of encouragement along the way. "Very, very nice..." Libby wrote when we got to the picture of me in my grundies. "So how far will you go today?"

"Wait and see..." I replied, with the next picture attached: in this one I was cock-to-camera, having hoisted my jocks down alluringly, just a little way down on one side to show a bit of bare hip (and a hint of man-bush) -- but nothing more.

"Oooh, the suspense!" said Libby. "I'm loving this, aussie! You've got me pretty riled up, you know..."

'Really?' thought I. She certainly wasn't being shy, posting news of her riledness clear as day in my thread, for anyone to see. "Got you riled, have we?" I typed. "Glad to hear it, my dear ;-)" And along with that I attached the next pic: now I was rump-to-lens, the jocks still hoisted down a ways at one side, and I had my buns in both hands, giving them a good squeeze.

"Lol!" wrote Libby. "I love it! That arse certainly is very squeezable... You shouldn't inspire me so. I'm not sure if I'll be able to control myself next time we meet... ;-)"

"Oh behave," I typed, grinning with delight. "Well, I reckon you might like this pic even more..." I added, and I attached the next one in the series: still arse-about, my hands were clear and the jocks were coming down even more; I had pushed them right down low, thus baring my perky little arse to all the world.

"You're right, I do like..." Libby informed me, and everyone. "Hot damn, but that's a sweet arse you've got. I've always thought so, you know."

"Really?" I asked. "Well you've never said anything of the sort..."

"Some things we must keep to ourselves... ;-)" And I could imagine the steamy little grin on Libby's face as she typed it. We were flirting terribly, shamelessly, for all the world to see... but it wasn't serious, it was just a bit of fun -- I thought so, and I knew Libby thought so too. We would only ever be friends, and I had promised myself as much: I loved Kelly my wife too much to bear any serious thoughts of sleeping with Libby, any real desire to fuck my wife's very best friend.

"Fair enough then," I typed. "Well my dearest Libya: here is the last one, the grand finale in my special series shot just for you. Enjoy..." and I posted it. I imagined Libby reading my post, and her excitement peaking: 'this is it...' she might have thought, 'this is where I get to see...'

...a picture of me, facing the camera again (with face cropped out, of course), totally naked in all my glory, and my hands cupped modestly over my member.

"Nooooo!" Libby wailed in her reply. "You can't hide it away! That's not fair!"

"Not fair? Of course it's fair," I averred. "You always hide your moneymaker away -- why should I do different?"

"Because I want to see it!!" she declared, bluntly. "It's different for guys -- they're not allowed to hide their cocks away! It's the law!"

'Bullshit,' I thought to myself.

"And," her post continued, "guys only have their cocks to show, they haven't got anything else -- girls have tits and bush to show, and you see my tits every time!"

"You saw my arse," I reminded her. "Are you telling me that doesn't count?"

"You see my arse too -- tits and arse, all the time!" she countered. "And you think I'll be satisfied with just your arse? I'm not going to argue with you over this, aussie -- you're going to post a picture showing the whole lot, or I'll keep withholding my pics. And that's a promise."

"You want a picture showing the whole lot?" I checked.

"Yes! A picture showing the whole lot!"

"Okay then... brace yourself..." I wrote, and I attached a picture that did indeed show the whole lot. The whole lot of Libby, that is -- in a fit of cheekiness, I posted the very picture that she had sent me earlier showing her fully exposed with nothing over that delicious, shaved little pussy, though I did crop out her face for safety's sake.

A PM flashed up almost instantly. "OMG!" wrote Libby. "OMG! I can't believe you did that!"

A troubling possibility occurred. "Are you angry?" I asked via PM.

"No no no, I'm not angry," she assured me. "I'm laughing my arse off! You cheeky devil!"

"You're sure?" I checked -- I didn't want to offend her, I had only meant to have some cheeky fun. "I can take it down if you want..."

"Nah, it's okay -- leave it there," she said. "Give the folks a bit of a reward for getting all the way through your show."

"Why Libby -- you make it sound like a chore!" I chastised.

"It's no chore, believe me," she assured me. "You've got a great body, Tom -- I'm loving the way you've stripped so slowly. I'm home alone, looking at your pics..." and she stopped there, teasingly.




Libby's Liberation Ch. 03



"Home alone?" I prompted. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "And as you've taken your clothes off, I've taken mine off too..."

'Oh wow,' I thought, as my cock stirred of its own volition. "Yeah?" I prompted. "And??" I added, letting her know I wanted to hear more.

"And..." she wrote... "...and I'll let your imagination fill in the rest. I'll meet you back in your thread ;-)" and she was done.

I went back to my striptease thread, and even in the short time she and I had been PMing, the view counter for Libby's new photo had gone through the roof -- word must have spread among her admirers. I found out later that someone had been following our flirtations in my thread, and when they found the pic of Libby they raced to her thread and posted a link so everyone else could see it too -- cheeky bugger.

In my thread, Libby had posted a classy reply: "Very well, aussie my friend -- you've had your fun, and posted the pic I had sent to you privately for your own personal amusement." Man, I loved how she was letting everyone know that I was her favourite! She was quite the online celebrity, our Libby -- and all her fans were by now wishing they were me... "Now that everyone has seen all of me -- every last piece of me -- I'm sure everyone will agree that it's only fair we see all of you."

"Okay," I agreed, with a grin -- I had taken a few extra photos after the cock-concealing shot, and I got them ready to upload. "I was planning to send this to you in private, but since you insist I share them with the world, here they come. Now you have a choice," I informed her: "you can see me in my 'stand-by' state... or you can see me in my 'X-rated' state. I'll leave the choice to you, Libya So Fine."

"I want to see both," was her reply. She can be quite up-front when she wants to, our Libby.

"Okay then," I said. "Here's me au-naturale..." and I posted the first pic: my hands were clear and my cock stood proudly on display, lying low'n'lazy but none too humble, equipped with a goodly girth in its sleeping state.

Libby replied almost instantly: "...wow..." she typed. "...and...?" she prodded, her urgency for more clearly transmitted.

"...and... here's me in full, 'inspired' glory," I wrote, and in this attachment my pride stood large, wide and tall: ten inches of rigid, bulging, lady-pleasing cock. And in the pic, I had placed my laptop on the bed behind me; on its screen was one of Libby's many pictures, giving an indication of how my cock came to grow so hard. (This pic, obviously, I would not be e-mailing to the wife.)

Libby wrote via PM again: "Oh Tom... oh, Tom..." and that was all she wrote. I knew, without a doubt, what she was doing: she was touching herself as she typed, she was staring at my full, naked, erect glory and she was pleasuring herself, rubbing furiously at her clit, slipping her fingers as deep and hard as she could into her sopping, wet cunt, imagining them to be my cock, my cock thrusting and pounding into her... the thought of it had me so riled I had to do it too, I had to get my cock out again and pound at it, pound at it...

"Damn, Libby," I typed with one hand. "This is driving me SO wild... tell me what you're doing right now," I demanded. "Tell me."

"You know what I'm doing..." she wrote. "I'm... Tom... I'm coming!" And I could see it in my mind's eye: bare naked, eyes fixed on her screen and on my raging cock, she fucked herself with her fingers in a hot, naked, horny frenzy; and even as she typed to me, she was gasping "oh Tom... oh Tom... oh Tom!" and she came, she came hard, she came with the thunder. She came for me.

The thought of it tipped me over the brink and I came for her too, grunting hard as my cock spurted hard and fast with yet another Libby-inspired orgasm -- and we came together, coming as one, separated by distance yet together, linked via Literotica.

Eventually, as we both cooled down, another PM came through. "You do it too, don't you?" she asked. "You've come too, haven't you?"

"I did come, just then," I finally confessed. "I always come, Libby. Your pictures drive me wild -- I couldn't stop wanking myself silly even if I wanted to. Right from the start -- every time I see your pics, I come."

"Me too," she confessed, with a :-) to indicate that she was glad we were sharing our naughty little secrets. "I'm constantly touching myself when I'm on this site: my pictures, your stories, when we talk like this... and I've never come so hard before," she told me.

"Me too -- I come so hard, Libby," I wrote.

"And now, those pictures, and your cock..." she wrote. "Tom, Kelly was right: it really is enormous. You put my Glen to shame, poor thing. Oh my... aren't we terrible?" she realised. "What we're doing... we're so naughty," and I could imagine how she would have said it, if we were in the same room, face to face, naked and sticky and spent... "we're so naughty," she would have said, with a deliciously wicked little grin, as her breasts heaved after her exertions and her glorious pussy -- which I'm still yet to actually see, come to think of it -- her glorious pussy wet, and dripping, and totally shaved (that much I know...)

"It's true," I confirmed. "We are pretty terrible. Should we stop, do you think?"

"Not on your life," she declared.

"Good," I grinned. With that we bade each other farewell; later on I found that Libby had made one last post in my thread, following my post that finally showed my raging hard-on:

"aussie_101, on behalf of all Literotica," she wrote -- though I doubt 'all of Literotica' would trouble themselves with my pics -- "I thank you for sharing yourself with us, so slowly, and tastefully, and so very tantalisingly... You are a truly beautiful person, and you'll forever be dear to my heart. Much love, from your Libya."

'How nice,' I thought, with a smile as I was warmed by her kind words. It was time to log off, I decided; but I just had to wonder where else this could possibly take us, Libby and I...



Libby's Liberation Ch. 04



Everything that Libby and I had done so far, we had done apart. I hadn't even seen her in the flesh since the day she had moved back in with Glen; Kelly saw lots of her, meeting her regularly for coffee or for lunch or to go see a movie -- typical BFF stuff -- but Libby always arranged to meet her out and away from the mansion. She was probably avoiding an encounter between her and I -- but I didn't mind. It was probably the safest way of going about things.

"Oh Tom," she PMed me one day. "Woe is me."

Such a 'Libby' thing to say. "Penny for your thoughts, love."

"I've got a new series of pictures," she wrote, "but I don't think I can post them -- they're against the rules."

That kindled my interest considerably. "Against the rules?" I typed. "This sounds interesting... tell me tell me tell me!"

"Well," she began, "I was alone in my room at home, taking shots for a new series... I was pretty much starkers right in front of my camera, and Glen walks in! He'd come home early and I didn't hear him, and he busted me taking photos for Literotica!"

"Wow," I reckoned. "Bit of a thrill for Glen, eh?"

"Well he was a bit suss, actually," she reported. "He thought I was taking the pics for someone else, he saw I had my computer on -- he thought I was going to email them to someone."

"Did you tell him about Literotica?" I asked.

"No no, no way," she replied. "I don't think he would like it. Besides, Tom, that's our thing -- you and I, on Literotica. It's none of his business," she declared.

"Okay then -- good," I wrote. It made me happy that Glen hadn't been told of Literotica. I liked that Libby wanted it to be something special, just for us. "Our dirty little secret, eh? ;-)"

"That's right :-)" she said. "So I told him, no no, I was actually taking them for a surprise for him -- and that turned him on. So..."

I blinked. "Did you guys do it?" I asked. "Did you 'get it on'?"

"We did!" she trilled. "And we took pictures of it!"

My jaw nearly crashed through my keyboard. "Whoa!" I cried out loud -- so I typed it too.

"And Tom: these pics are so, so hot," she told me, brazen and immodest -- Libby at her best. "Well, Glen looks pretty dopey -- but Tom, you should see how I look while I'm fucking..."

A groan of exquisite, terrible anticipation leapt from my lips. How I wanted to see those pics... how very, very badly I wanted to see Libby, hot and naked, as she was getting fucked!

I wasn't left wanting for long, though -- my phone suddenly rang. It was Libby. "Hello you!" I greeted.

"And hello to you!" she replied. "Long time no hear -- at least, aside from all the typing," she added, in her terrible attempt at a tone of coyness. 

"So these pics sound pretty good," I prompted her.

"Oh, Tom -- they're unbelievable," she whispered -- as though the whole world might explode if she spoke of them too loudly. "But I was so upset when I read the forum rules and found they've forbidden hard-core sex pics. Tom: I've just GOT to show them to somebody."

"I'm always here for you, Libby," I suggested.

"I was hoping you would be," she said -- and I could hear the wicked grin in her voice. "Okay then -- let's do this. I'm sending you the first one through a PM."

It came through soon enough -- no text, just the first picture. "I'm almost afraid to open it," I admitted. "What am I going to see, Libby?"

"Now now, Tom: I'm not going to drop you in the deep end just yet," she admonished. "You know my style -- I start out slow and gentle, and build you up to the good stuff!"

"I've always loved your style, Libby," I told her, grinning. "Okay -- should I open it?"

"Yes! Go on!" she urged, crossly. I double-clicked, and there was Libby: full length and uncropped, she was clad only in a bit of a lacy pink g-string with a sort of a fluffy belt about it -- her hands were grasping her breasts, bare and delicious and fulsome, holding them up and squeezing them together; but she had a look of distraction, she was looking past the camera at someone. "This is the one where Glen walked in on me, right as the camera was going off," she explained.

"Hot damn, Libby," I told her, voice full of awe. "You just get sexier and sexier, do you know that?"

"I do know that," she told me, matter-of-factly, "but thank you, Tom. Are you touching yourself right now, by any chance?" she added.

"Uh, actually I am," I admitted, kind of guiltily -- without realising I had already started rubbing at myself through my shorts, as my cock stood up and gave praise to Libby, Goddess of All Hard-Ons.

"Good," she declared. "I love it when I know you're doing that to yourself," she confided. "I have to tell you -- I'm touching myself too. I'm hot and I'm wet, just thinking about you seeing my tits out... and everything else you're about to see..."

I groaned again. "You are something else, Libby..." I told her.

"Thank you. Here's another pic," she said, as a new PM came through -- it showed Libby shuffling back on the bed, as Glen climbed on hesitatingly to join her. "I'd just convinced him that I was doing all this for him -- stupid fool -- and I'd suggested we get some pics of us doing 'the nasty'."

"Really?" I asked. "It was your idea?"

"Yeah!" she confirmed, brightly. "I've been wanting to do it for ages, actually -- ever since I started shooting pics for Literotica, I've always wanted to take some pics of me fucking someone."

"Good thing Glen turned up, then," I reckoned.

"This next pic," she went on, as another message came through, "I decided to put my clothes back on -- and get shots of Glen tearing my clothes off." She was right -- in the picture she had redressed herself, and Glen had torn open her blouse to expose her bare-naked titties, standing proud and round and full.

"I like that," I approved. "It was a good idea to keep the bra off -- your tits standing out like that, with the shirt held open... damn," I simply said. "It's time to get rid of these pants, I think," I added, stepping out of my shorts to unleash and grasp my begging cock.

"I agree," said Libby, and I could hear the rustling of clothes from her end of the line -- "I think I'm wearing entirely too much, myself. Now then: in this next pic..." and it came through in another PM "...I'm laying back, and Glen has pushed my skirt up and he's..."

"I can see," I interrupted. It was an awesome pic, already on a new level over all her old ones -- as she laid back against the bed-head, shirt open and tits out, she had her legs up and spread... and Glen was in the process of removing her pink G-string. And though the G-string had only travelled half-way down her thighs, already one could see around it, around her legs and around Glen's arms to catch a tantalising glimpse of her shaved pussy.

There it was: bald and hot and tight, so beautiful, so enticing... And though her legs were partially spread those glorious pink lips remained tight, prim and puckered, not yet revealing the hot wetness that undoubtedly lay within... "Fuck me, Libby..." I breathed, more as an oath than an actual suggestion.

"Mmm..." she agreed, similarly breathy and awed at her own work, her own body. "Isn't that such a hot shot?"

"Those legs..." I murmured, expanding the picture to zoom in on Libby's crotch as much as possible. "And those thighs... and that pussy," I added, stepping up the pace to wank myself with greater purpose.

"Do you like it, Tom?" she asked me.

"Oh man..." I groaned. "And the look on your face...!" It was all I could say -- to top everything off, Libby was looking directly at the camera: turning the most smoky, heavy-lidded look on the camera that I had ever beheld on her or anyone.

Libby returned my groan with one of her own across the phone line. "We need to see the next shot," she reckoned. "It's hard trying to send pics using only one hand..." she added, alluringly.

I shook my head at the unabashed steaminess of it all, seeing the image in my mind of Libby straddled at her computer, legs wide and fingers deep within herself as she spoke to me and sent pictures to me. "By God you make me hard, Libs," I had to tell her.

"Ugh..." came a little, rewarding whimper down the line -- my hardness worked for her, it riled her up exquisitely, and she was letting me know. 

A new picture came in. I opened it immediately, and sighed as I beheld Libby: underwear gone, shirt pushed rudely open and skirt hitched up high, as Glen bent low and laid his mouth upon her glorious, juicy snatch... and still Libby looked to the camera, she looked right at me from beneath her heavy, pleasured lids... her head tipping back and her face frozen in a delectable expression of gasping pleasure as he went down on her...

"That lucky bastard," I heard myself say, as I pounded away at my still-growing cock with a new fury. "I bet you taste so sweet, Libby..."

"Mmmmmm..." she said in reply, and I knew that her fingers had leapt instantly from her hot, moistened cunt straight into her mouth. "I do..." she told me. "I really, really do, Tom, I taste so good... tell me you're wanking, Tom," she begged. "Tell me how big I've made you...!"

"You're pulling a new record out of me, Libby," I told her, without a scrap of a lie. "I've never seen anything like it down there..."

"Are you going to come, Tom?" Urgent. Earnest. With a touch of a whimper about the way she said my name...

"I'm so close... but so far..." I reported. "I need to see more, Libby. I need to see them all! This fucking cock of mine holds on forever... it never comes until the end!"

"God I wish Glen had that 'problem'," Libby said, with a sneer in her voice at the thought of her boyfriend -- whom she seemed to like less and less as time went by. "Here's the next pic..."

I left off the glorious image of Libby receiving oral ministrations from Glen to open the next one, double-clicking hungrily and greedily to open it. Here Libby had pushed Glen down onto the bed -- the top of his head to camera, so thankfully I saw very little of him -- and she was astride him, straddling his hips as she shrugged backwards out of her shirt, her glorious breasts dynamic and alive as she struggled out of her top. The next picture came through immediately afterwards: now she was lifting her skirt over her head, stripping herself naked in preparation for what lay ahead...

"Yes, yes..." I urged Libby. "Keep 'em coming!"

Libby could only respond in a groaning moan of uncontained pleasure, as she sent through the next pic... and it left me frozen and speechless. Here I saw more of Libby than I ever had before: bare and stark naked, still pinning the hapless Glen down on the bed with her legs, she was up in a half-crouch over him with her hands raised to push up her long, flowing golden-blond hair... her tits stood up to attention with her arms raised... the curves of her sides and hips stretched tall and glorious... and down below, her snatch stood clear and unfettered, hovering slightly over Glen's exposed and rather pitiful cock -- the poor lad hardly had six inches to his name. 

But never mind him: now that she had her legs spread wide, Libby's pussy was stretched wide open, finally revealing to me the luscious, hot, glistening wetness of her sex. My eyes were torn between the amazing, hornifying, so-long-yearned-for sight of her rudely exposed cunt, and the look in her own eyes; her eyes held a piercing, raunchy gaze that threatened to lock me in, as she exposed herself for the camera, and for me...

"Oh Libby..." was all I could say to that over the phone, as I worked maddeningly away at my cock. "Libby..." my orgasm was just there, just there! So close, it was right there... "your cunt, Libby..." But still, however hard and fast I worked at the thing, still it would not come...

"Tom..." she returned -- her voice high, flighty, fluttering as she pleasured herself. "I'm going to come Tom... wait til you see this next one, I think I'm going to cooome..."

Still, she managed to send it through: and finally, finally it was there, Libby had descended onto Glen's cock and it was in her, and her face had lost the piercing gaze -- now her eyes were closed, and her mouth opened again in gasping pleasure; I fixed my focus on the lips of her sweet, tight little pussy as they clasped about the shaft of Glen's pitiful little member -- small though it was, Libby's cunt was tight enough that his cock could still make her lips stretch and bulge about his shaft, and it was clear to see that she was tight enough to feel him -- to feel his cock inside her. I flicked between this pic and the last, creating a stop-frame animation of her riding him: on and off, on and off, up and down, thrusting herself onto and impaling herself on the cock again and again.

But still I would not come. "There must be more..." I urged of her. "My cock won't come... it knows there's more!"

"Two more pics..." Libby grunted. "I can't come either... I'm so close Tom, but it won't come -- I don't think I can come until you do... It gets better and better, it's building higher and higher, but it won't cooooome...!" and she was nearly wailing with delightful despair.

"It's the same for me -- send me the pics!" I ordered. "When we get to the end, then I might come! Send them through!!"

The two last pics came through in quick succession, and I kept working at myself, grasping myself with two hands to yank desperately at my aching, enormous cock -- trying to wring an orgasm out of the damn thing. I opened the first of the last two -- and there was Libby, face to camera, crouching down and forward with Glen behind her, doing her doggy-style; his face was twisted in agonised pleasure, probably mirroring my own expression, as he slammed into her from behind; and Libby crouched back against his pounding, her tits swinging beneath her, her eyes half-opened and looking at the camera, begging, pleading for my approval.

"Oh God, Tom," she said over the line. "I see these pictures, and I want this... I want to be fucked... I want it right now..." she said. "I want a cock in me... I want to be fucked right now... I want to be fucked! Fuck me!" she panted. "Fuck me!!" And it only made my cock grow harder; I moaned in reply as my orgasm seemed to take root, right there at the tip of my cock... Why would it not come??

I opened the last picture, and it hit me so hard I thought my cock would shoot forth sparks and fire and rocket me to the moon -- it was Libby, crouching as before but about-face; her cunt was wide open and right before the camera, and the woman was covered in come. 

All around her glorious, glistening pussy, all about her puckering asshole too, and dribbling out from that beautiful cunt of hers was Glen's sticky white essence, mixed in with her own heady flowing juices; and she managed to twist around and look back at the camera -- looking back at me, inviting me to look upon the unbelievably pornographic image that she presented, of the cock-agonizing shot of her incredible cunt covered in spunk.

"That's it!" I cried in approval; I leapt up to my knees, pointing my cock at her glorious spunk-smeared snatch, wanking furiously over the image. "That's the one! That'll do it!"

"Come for me, Tom!" she cried in reply. "Come for me!! Come, and let me come!!"

"Keep talking!" I begged her. "Talk to me... tell me what I want to hear..."

"A cock, Tom..." she moaned, doubtless with half her fist thrust up that incredible pussy of hers. "I need a cock inside me... I want to be fucked... fuck me! Fuck me!"

I was there -- I was on the brink, I was so close to coming the world might have ended, the cataclysm may have occurred right there in my loungeroom -- but I wouldn't have noticed it. "Say it!" I hollered at the phone.

"Fuck me Tom!" she finally cried. "I want you to fuck me! Fuck me with your enormous cock, Toooommm!!"

"I'M COMING!!!" I finally bellowed as my cock spurted forth, and my phone relayed an earth-shattering series of screams and cries as Libby finally came too, and we yelled and hollered and screamed as we came together, coming long and hard, coming like nobody had ever imagined anyone possibly could. My orgasm seemed to stretch on an eternity, as my cock pumped and shot streamer after streamer of spunk right onto the screen of my laptop, right onto the image of Libby's glorious come-spattered cunt, and I told her as I did it: "I'm coming on you, Libby!" I told her. "I'm coming on your cunt! I'm coming all over you!"

"Come on me!" she urged, grunting and screaming. "Come all over me! Aaaargh...!" she added, as her orgasm robbed her of her basic language skills.

And I kept on coming, my cock pumping and sucking my loins dry and making a terrible mess of my computer, and even when there was no more still it pumped, sucking and slurping away at the bottom of the empty barrel, quivering and throbbing and spurting forth no more. After an eternity my orgasm had finally ran its course, and so had hers, and I collapsed backwards in a gasping, quivering wreck.

"...still there?" I asked the phone, half expecting her not to be.

"...I am..." she confirmed, gasping after her exquisite exertions. "Oh God, Tom... we just phone-fucked, didn't we? We just had phone sex..."

I winced at the thought of it. "I think we did," I agreed, guiltily.

"That was very wrong, wasn't it?" Libby asked of me.

"Yeah..." I had to agree. "It was, I'm afraid. That was very, very wrong."

"Yeah..." she allowed. "But... but it felt so good..."

"I think we need to cool down," I said, reluctantly. "We need to cool right down. Let's not talk on the phone again. And I think I'll have to stay off Literotica for a little while, too."

"Yeah," said Libby. "Yeah, I'll give it a rest too. I'm doing it too much, and I'm showing everybody more and more and more... I was going to post a few of these shots up anyway, shots of my face and my cunt and all the come... and the rules be damned. But I shouldn't," she realised. "It's not fair on Glen... and the thoughts I've been thinking... they're not fair on your Kelly."

I raked my hand across my face, railing against myself in guilty self-reprobation at the mention of Kelly. "I'm being very unfaithful to Kelly too, with the things I've been thinking about you... the things I'm wanting to do to you..." I admitted.

"Oh Tom -- you won't tell her, will you? You won't tell her what we've been doing?"

"No! Shit, no," I avowed -- I was too much a coward to do that. I loved her too much to hurt her like that, by confessing what Libby and I had been doing together, over the net, and now over the phone... and if we kept going, we would probably have let it go further, Libby and I would probably have got together and fucked each other... "No," I said again. "I think we should just stop."

"You're right," said Libby -- and I could hear the sadness in her voice. "I'm sorry Tom, it's all been my fault."

"Not at all!" I cried. "I got you started on this -- the blame is mine entirely."

"I don't know about that," she sniffed. "Oh well -- I guess this is goodbye, then?"

"I'm sorry, Libby," I said again. "I feel like I'm losing a great friend -- all because I wanted to see you naked."

"I'm feeling it too," she told me. "Well Tom, goodbye -- and thank you, for being so good to me through it all. I've never known a guy to be so sweet and generous and supportive... Kelly is so lucky, I hope she knows it. I love you, Tom," she told me.

I couldn't help but smile at that. "Love you too, Libs," I told her, genuinely.

The line cut off from there, and I was left to try to salvage my come-sodden computer -- egad, it was all over and in the screen and the keyboard, it had dripped between and under the keys... it was a write-off, I realised. Time for a new computer.

And well, yes, I did love Libby -- but that part I didn't feel bad about. I loved Kelly more than I did Libby, far more -- my love for Kelly was that of a husband for his wife, it was the greatest love I had ever felt and ever would feel. And though my base, sexual desires for Libby's pictures and her body had been overwhelming, behind it all was a natural and innocent affection for her -- the love of a friend for a friend, and nothing more.




Libby's Liberation Ch. 04



Through it all, through all the naughtiness, I had come to see a new side of Libby -- a new side beyond the steaminess and wantonness and wickedness, a tender and caring side, gentle and encouraging, which shone through in her warm and classy acceptance of the praise from me and from hundreds of other Literoticans; it also shone in the praise and encouragement she had returned when I had put my own pictures up. I know it sounds kind of duplicitous when I try to explain it like that, and perhaps I can't explain it properly, but still -- behind it all, I did love Libby, like a true and very good friend.

I was sad at the time, thinking that I had lost our friendship -- that I had destroyed it by bringing our baseness too far to the fore, by demanding from her a declaration of the unfaithful desires we held for each other and had tried not to name, desires we had tried not to recognise, tried to control. But as it turned out, there was still one final chapter in the tale of Libby's liberation, and my involvement in it...