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Lisa woke to the sound of her alarm. She got ready slowly in the dark early morning hours. She selected a black bra and camisole with matching black panties. She brushed her long, fiery red hair and applied lipstick and mascara. She finished with a black and gold silk robe. The contrast of the black against her porcelain skin made her features stand out. The thick curls of red hair cascaded over her shoulders and her green eyes glowed in the first dim light of the day.
Lisa moved to the makeshift office she put together in the corner of her living room. She turned on her laptop and her webcam. She flipped on the home photo studio lighting, which came to life with a gentle hum. She sat on the old office chair, adjusted her robe, and signed into her account as she had almost every day for the last nine months. She took one last look at herself on the screen before opening her webcam officially for the day's work.
Although bright, well-educated and articulate, Lisa understood that the economic realities were harsh. Any job that would draw on all her years of University education could not come close to generating the income she made as a webcam model in the corner of her living room. She understood men well. Some visited her webcam out of loneliness; some were motivated by curiosity. The vast majority of men, however, wanted only to look at a pretty woman and jerk off quickly.
Whatever the reason for their visit, Lisa knew how to speak in innuendo and show just enough skin to fulfill any man's fantasy. The work was clean and easy, and the money was good. In reality, it actually was quite boring at times. She smiled at most visitors, feigning excitement as guys pumped their cocks in their fists until semen shot onto their bellies or dribbled weakly over their fingers. None of these men excited her. None could connect to who she was, and what she needed sexually.
This morning started no differently. She met an Italian, who professed his undying love until he spilled his semen onto his keyboard and ran off, and then there was a man from India who oogled her shyly as he masturbated to a quick climax. The third man she met did not appear any different. He was an ordinary-looking American, pleasant looking with a few extra kilograms. His dark eyeglass frames stood out nicely against his graying temples and salt-and-pepper colored beard. Lisa thought he looked a bit bookish, but kind.
Lisa and he traded the typical perfunctory banter: how they were doing, where they were from, marital status, kids, etc. The conversation was easy and the visitor had a calm demeanor. Even in this basic communication, she caught glimpses of his sense of humor. She found herself actually enjoying the chat, something that felt almost remarkable given how rare it had been to talk with a visitor that held her interest. They talked of work as is often the case. And then, Lisa asked about his hobbies. Calmly, he said, "I am an author." Wow, this seemed interesting. She had not chatted with a writer before, let alone someone with the ego big enough to consider himself an author. She smiled and asked what genre he preferred. His one word answer almost startled her. "Erotica."
Lisa's cheek got pink with interest as her stranger explained. He was deeply fascinated by human sexuality, itself a contradiction of basic instincts and complex desires. He explained that there were no rules to define our sexuality. While there were limits to how we may express our sexual needs, the basic desires we feel are neither good nor bad. We are sexual beings, driven by lust and stimulated by our senses into a web of involuntary biological and hormonal responses. From the receptors in our nerves that fire with equal force at sensations of pleasure or pain to our undeniable "pack behavior" of alphas and betas, the stranger explained that we have few differences from any other mammals.
Lisa's mind raced at the very suggestion that she was simply a sexual animal, even though she was very aware that this chat made her nipples hard and she could feel her pussy dampen. Perhaps sensing her interest, the unassuming visitor spoke calmly, "Would you like to read my stories while I watch your reaction?"
Lisa accepted the author's offer. Part of her was offended by his arrogance. It was presumptuous for him to think that his second-rate, amateur "word porn" would offer little more excitement than the cheap romance novels found in a drugstore or bus station. She expected the typical overblown, oversized, cliched writing that petered out and trailed off, signaling conspicuously that the author had blown his semen onto the carpeting and was in search of a microwavable burrito because he was hungry. But, at the same time, Lisa was intrigued. This visitor had a unique manner. He was not boastful, but spoke with a confidence that told her he may be different.
The author began to share his first story, feeding her one paragraph at a time. The story began calmly. It was of Kazan Escort a mother recounting her days before Christmas, busy with last-minute shopping and excited for her son's return from University. But, as the mother returned home, instead of egg nogg and "It's a Wonderful Life," she found her son and his college roommate naked by the fireplace locked together in passionate gay sex. The quick shift from Christmas cheer to hot, steamy sex between men was jarring and the imagery so vivid. Lisa could feel the intensity of these college students discovering themselves through their lovemaking. She saw clearly in her own mind the softness of their kissing, the way each nuzzled and sucked the other's cock, and the power of one man's long deep thrusts into the other's ass. Lisa shuddered as she imagined the moment of climax as one man groaned and emptied his semen deep inside the other. Lisa knew that her own pussy's dampness had turned into a trickle of her own juices, soaking her black panties and staining the office chair.
Before Lisa could regain her composure, her mind flashed elsewhere. It was no longer the idyllic Christmas scene from the story, it was her old apartment from before her divorce. The scenes flashed quickly through her brain, shuffling and organizing themselves into such a clear memory. Lisa recalled the night. Her husband had returned from work with a surprise dinner guest, a dear friend from his days as an army conscript. The two men ate heartily, laughing and boasting about their strength and physical prowess as much younger men. Certain that these men could not possibly eat or drink another thing, after a while, Lisa excused herself and went to bed.
As Lisa remembered, a few hours later, she woke with a start, unaccustomed to her husband's absence. Lisa recalled how she slipped out of bed to see if the men had passed out with all the lights left on. As she approached the living room, she heard the first signs of activity, muffled groans, the sound of bodies moving and heavy breathing. Lisa shook hard as the image crystallized in her mind. Like the college roommates in the author's story, her husband and his army friend were locked together in sex.
But in stark contrast to the gentle discovery of the pleasures of gay sex in the story Lisa just read, her memory of her husband was harsh. The two men were engaged in primal fucking, their bodies glistening with sweat, spit and semen. She watched her husband's familiar post-climax shiver after he exploded in orgasm into his friend's mouth, only to then watch as his friend flipped him over and entered him hard. Even years later, her ears rang with her husband's moaning and squealing as his friend bitch fucked him. In her mind she saw clearly the friend's fingers digging deeply into her husband's hips as he slammed his cock deep. And her mind burned with the image of her husband's muscles straining, the veins standing from his neck and his face bright red, as he begged his friend to cum inside him. While witnessing her husband fuck another man was just one more part of the failure of her marriage, Lisa knew that she had never seen such raw animal fucking ever before.
Lost in the juxtaposition of the sweet erotic story and her raw memories of her husband's gay lust, Lisa did not even realize that her own fingers were rubbing across her pussy lips, smearing her wetness, and circling her clitoris. She rubbed herself furiously, her legs trembling. She parted her own lips with her fingers and pushed inside herself. She curled her fingers upward against the upper wall of her pussy, pressing hard against the spongy flesh of her G-spot. Lifting and lowering herself onto her own hand, Lisa fucked herself to a fierce orgasm, feeling her insides twitch and spasm against her fingers. Exhausted, and breathing hard, Lisa opened her eyes to the sly smile across the author's face. Clearly, he enjoyed how much she liked the story and how the story triggered memories of her husband's betrayal and his passionate surrender as a fucktoy for another man. Lisa could feel her face burn with the heat of embarrassment at her obvious loss of control.
Before she could refuse to participate further in this twisted sex game, a new story flashed across her screen. In this one, a lonely mom and her restless son careened towards each other and a night of forbidden sexual pleasure. Lisa could not stop reading, devouring each paragraph as quickly as it was posted. A lonely mom asleep after a glass of wine and a sleeping pill; a son bored and stoned after his shift at the local burger shop. Lisa read with excitement as the son entered his mom's bedroom and began to explore his sleeping mother's body, lifting her nightgown, looking at the swell of her breasts. She could imagine as the author described the son exploring the warm folds of his mom's pussy. Lisa gasped as the son described in detail his own mother's scent, and she shook violently at the thought Keçiören Escort of this son rubbing his cock along his mom's slit.
Paragraph by paragraph, Lisa read on how the son was oblivious to the fact that his mother had begun to wake her from her dream. She followed the author as he led her from a mother's initial shock which then gave way to a woman's loneliness and then a desperate animal need for a vigorous fucking. Lisa's own vagina twitched as she read how the mom, now wide awake, locked her legs around her son, grinding her wet pussy into him as he pumped his thick sperm inside her. Again, as she finished reading, Lisa felt that ache of her own orgasm once again building inside her.
As she began to type a response to the story, Lisa's mind snapped once again to another time and place. This time she returned to her parents' home. She remembered it clearly. It was a family reunion to celebrate her parents' anniversary. The generations convened: brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and all the cousins. Lisa smiled at the memory of the younger generation gathered around her parents, their grandparents, and how her sister's son, her nephew, now an articulate adult, offered a toast in celebration of the family's love and devotion. Lisa also remembered how, in that full house, she found herself once again, as when she was young, sharing a bed with her sister. She remembered that night well, how she and her sister laughed and cried about Lisa's divorce and how quickly their children had grown.
But then Lisa recalled how she fell asleep only to be woken by her sister climbing out of bed, trying carefully not to wake her. Lisa remembers seeing the moonlight shining through her sister's sheer nightgown as she snuck out of the bedroom. Assuming a midnight pee, Lisa became curious as her sister turned left down the hall instead of right towards the bathroom. Feeling once again like a kid spying on her sister, Lisa followed down the hallway and down the stairway. Lisa crouched low on the stairs hidden from view as she watched her sister climb into the roll-away bed with her son.
Lisa stood frozen in shock as her sister kissed her own son on the lips. Transfixed, she watched as her sister kissed her way down the son's chest and then pulled down his shorts, his cock already erect, springing upwards. Lisa felt dizzy as she remembered her nephew sighing, "oh, Mom," as her sister took her son's cock into her own mouth. Her mind filled with images of her sister's forbidden sex: her sister's mouth eager and willing to take her son's cock into her throat, the way her nephew's body tightened and shook as he filled his mother's mouth with his semen, and how her sister lifted her long nightgown as she straddled her son, lifting and lowering herself onto his cock, fucking until they came together. Lisa remembered running back to the bedroom and pretending to sleep as her sister returned to bed, still reeking of her son's sperm, and how she could not help but masturbate furiously to the stench of sex as her sister, now exhausted, slept deeply.
Once again, the flashes of imagery, bouncing back and forth between the author's story and her own experience, was too powerful for Lisa to resist. She began to rub her pussy again, her raw skin stinging, but feeling so good. The thoughts of the mother and son in the story, and her sister and nephew, fucking like animals, drove Lisa quickly over the edge of another orgasm. She could feel her muscles shaking and her pussy opening and closing involuntarily in spasms as her toes curled into another climax. Struggling to breathe, Lisa was able to focus long enough to see the author smirking, once again enjoying her beautiful agony.
Lisa's face now burned with anger. How dare this man get off on her inability to resist her own sexual urges. Emphatically, she announced that she was done reading his stories. Calmly, the author spoke, "no Lisa, there is one more you really need to read. I think you will find it hits closer to home."
The first paragraph flashed onto her screen. It began calmly like the other stories, setting the stage. In this one, the main character, Lisa, a beautiful divorced mom, had taken a long-deserved vacation with her daughter, Anya, to a beach resort in Latvia... Wait?!? What the fuck? Lisa's mind raced. She had a daughter, Anya. And last year, they had taken a trip to Latvia to celebrate Anya's twentieth birthday and bask in the summer sun at Vecaki beach, a nude beach near Riga. How did he know about that trip?
Lisa continued to read. Unlike the other stories that triggered her own memories, this story was ripped from her memory as if the author had invaded her mind. The author recounted the events she had kept secret from everyone. He wrote how Lisa and Anya arrived at the beach to find it nearly empty. The sun shone brightly and the waves slid lazily up and down the shoreline. Anya had just turned twenty and Kızılay Escort was fearless. She removed her shirt and shorts quickly. She reached upwards towards the sky in a deep stretch to loosen her muscles tired from the long train ride. Gracefully, she reached back and loosened the knot of her red bikini top, which then fell into her hands. She then loosened the bows alongside her bikini bottom until the panties fell limply to the sand.
Lisa shook as she read the story, as if the author invaded her thoughts. He wrote of the first conflicting pangs of desire that burned inside of Lisa as she saw her daughter's near-perfect nude body glistening in the sun.
The story continued. As Anya finished unrolling the towels, Lisa began to undress. She was much more nervous than her daughter. She slowly removed her shirt and skirt, folding them neatly and putting them away in her bag. Nervously, she unhooked the bra of her bikini and allowed the top to fall from her shoulders. Instinctively, she covered her breasts for a moment. As her nerves calmed, Lisa hooked the waist of her bikini bottom with her thumbs and slid the panties from her hips. The author recalled the sense of nervousness she felt, but how those feelings of nervousness melted under the summer sun.
Lisa continued to read. She gasped as the author tore her thoughts directly from her own memories. He recalled the guilt Lisa felt as Anya asked her to rub suntan lotion into her skin. Lisa's mind burned with the memory. She recalled vividly how it felt to first touch Anya's skin, rubbing the lotion into her shoulders and down her back. He wrote of her internal conflict as she rubbed the lotion lower over her daughter's bottom and down the back of her legs. This author even knew how she sighed in relief as Anya took the lotion and rubbed it herself across her firm breasts and down her flat stomach.
The author continued. Lisa read with shock as he retold how Anya offered to help Lisa with the suntan lotion. As she read, she could feel it once again. Anya's delicate fingers rubbing the thick, oily lotion into her shoulders. Lisa could feel it as Anya moved gently, almost seductively, from the shoulders to her back, moving lower and lower. Lisa's mind raced as she recalled Anya's soft hands rubbing the lotion into the skin of her bottom. The author even captured Lisa's conflicting emotions as she felt her own daughter sliding her fingers slick with lotion along her crack and lingering along her sensitive skin between her legs. Lisa struggled to understand how he knew her innermost thoughts. The memories, now as written words, made Lisa's pussy tingle all over again.
The story continued through the rest of her day, a mother and daughter playing in the waves all day, eating fruit on the sand and just enjoying their connection to nature and to each other. As the sun began to set, the author wrote of how Lisa and Anya felt a stirring between them. The beauty of the pink sky now reflected in the waves made the deserted beach even more beautiful, sensual. Mother and daughter sitting close on the towels watching the sunset. Lisa looked over at Anya. The sun shone over her, the warm light highlighting her features and accentuating her beauty. Lisa gasped as she read further, the author describing her own inner turmoil. After all, this was her daughter, but in that moment Lisa wanted Anya more than anything.
Lisa wanted to stop reading. This was too close to home. How did he invade her inner desires. She wanted this game of his to end, but was powerless to resist reading further. The author had captured in words each of her own memories, everything she felt at that moment. His words burned inside her. As the story continued, Lisa and Anya turned and looked into each other's eyes. Lisa felt scared and nervous, conflicted about her feelings. But Anya suffered not such guilt. She smiled and slid her hand up Lisa's thigh slowly, creeping closer to her warmth. Lisa began to speak in weak protest, but Anya leaned in and kissed her, trapping the words inside before they could be spoken. Her lips felt so soft and her mouth tastes like the fruit they had eaten. Lisa melted as Anya pushed her tongue deep into her mouth. A soft moan was all that could escape Lisa's lips.
As the author continued, the images spiraled and swirled inside Lisa's mind. As they kissed, Anya pushed her hand deeper between Lisa's legs, finding her clitoris and rubbing it gently. Unable to protest, Lisa lay down on the towel and surrendered to her daughter's touch. Anya's kiss moved from her lips, down her neck and to her breasts. Lisa shuddered with emotion as Anya took her nipple into her mouth and sucked hard so that Lisa could feel the pulling deep inside her breast. Anya slid on top of her, and whispered, "Mom, I have wanted this for so long."
As they continued to kiss, Lisa felt Anya begin to rock against her. Captured perfectly in the author's prose, the two women felt the electricity pass between them as the pussies touched. Strong and flexible, Anya began to grind harder as the heat of passion grew. Lisa could feel the wetness of their skin, but could not tell if it was her, Anya's or both of theirs. Lisa wrapped her legs around Anya as they continued to grind. Her nails dug hard into her own daughter's back.