Libby's Liberation

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.