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They had known each other for over a year, but had never actually met in person. This wasn’t an Internet romance, per se. It was, however, a fairly serious Internet relationship. For nearly nine months now they had regularly chatted with each other via instant messenger software. Only recently had their relationship blossomed into something of a romantic nature and neither was certain this was what they wanted…but it wasn’t a completely distasteful thought either. They were uncertain of the impact it would have on their friendship, but their relationship was mature enough that they had been able to openly talk about this.
Vince Darner loved intellectual women, and Olivia had this trait in spades. A real freethinker she was. Philosophy, science, intelligent film, insightful poetry…you name it. She had a real thirst for knowledge, mostly because she desired to better herself. Her mind worked in marvelous ways, and he loved this about her. In fact, this was the initial attraction to her when he had first started paying attention to what she was writing in a chat room for philosophers.
Vince is fairly peculiar when it comes to relationships with women. He refuses anything superficial, desiring to get to know the woman for who she really is. In fact, when dealing with potential friends and associates on the Internet, but especially women, Vince always refused to look at any pictures of them until he felt ready to do so. Sometimes that was never. One just never knows with Vince.
He had discovered that most women generally don’t know how to react to this type of behavior, often relying on their looks to get the attention of men, or worse, only having men notice them because of their looks. He found this reprehensible, and always told his female friends their looks were ultimately of no concern to him. It was their intellect he found sexy, and was extremely interested in how they thought about things…thought about the world. This was no come-on line. He was being very truthful. He loved intelligent, savvy women. The more sophisticated women he had met understood this approach. In fact, it became a real turn on for most of them. Many had told him it was refreshing.
Olivia Brewster loved that he was interested in her. Interested in here as a woman, as a student, and as an intellect, not as an object. She had every right to feel that way too. Olivia was blonde and drop-dead gorgeous (something Vince had only discovered a handful of days ago when he finally agreed to look at the picture she had emailed to him) and had dealt with superficial men her entire life. She was no fool. She understood she was good looking by anyone’s standards, and of course there was nothing she could do about that other than to be comfortable in her own appearance and to take care of her body. She enjoyed being attractive. However, it was obvious to her (and to anyone who actually knew her) from a very young age she was quite gifted intellectually.
She discovered throughout her life she had to work extra hard to get people to notice this about her, rather than looking at her tits all the time, or glancing at her ass as she walked past them. As a woman she felt like her life was already an uphill challenge, but add to that the blonde hair, the silky skin, perfect teeth, gorgeous face, and what really was a glorious body, and she sometimes felt it was nearly a straight-up incline. Give Olivia credit though. It never deterred her from her intellectual pursuits and she never once used her good looks or her great body to get a “free pass” in life.
She had been drawn to Vince because of the poetry he shared on the Internet. It was offbeat, smart, sometimes dangerous, and certainly not run-of-the-mill. It was probably that last feature that attracted her. She hated anything “average”. She had quickly discovered they had a lot in common and the more they chatted with each other, the more she realized he was something far from ordinary. He was, as far as she was concerned, extraordinary, and she had told him on more than one occasion how highly she thought of him.
All of this was very appealing for her, and when coupled with his real desire to get to know her as an actual person instead of working from some pre-conceived notion of her picture and appearance, she felt she had finally met a true friend, mentor, confidante, and all-around good guy. Romance with Vince had not even dawned on her, mainly because he was such a gentleman and had always interacted with her in a respectful and proper manner. If Vince had romantic designs on her, he had never really tipped his hand. Also, Olivia was in grad school right now and was very tied up with her workload. She took her schooling very seriously and really had not even allowed for the possibility of any kind of romantic relationship until she was done. Less than a year to go and then, maybe then, she would consider romance.
* * *
Vince and Olivia had made the occasional risqué comment to each other in instant messenger chats, dvd porno but nothing had ever materialized and they usually just ended with a “LOL” or “haha” comment from one or the other. However, Vince was no saint. Truthfully, Olivia had never thought he was, but she also had never really stopped to consider that he wasn’t either. What she did know was his poetry was too rich and too complex and too full of sordid details to suggest he was a white lily.
One day he had asked Olivia if she would like to read something he had been working on. Vince had been trying for a very long time to become a professional writer, and he had talent galore, but had just never gotten that one break he felt he needed to jumpstart his career. Perhaps he wasn’t working as hard as he could at getting his work in front of the right editors and publishers. He was a better writer than businessman, and often felt his skills and talents should be enough to get his work published. However, he never let that deter him, and he always pressed on, writing and writing and writing to hone his skills.
Olivia was thrilled to read something he had written. Actually, she was always game to read anything he had written, but to this point it had all been poetry. She was ready for something other than his poetry, which she truly adored. She was certain he had depth as a writer. Their conversations let her know he was not intellectually lightweight, and if his prose was anything like his poetry, she felt she was going to be in for a real treat. She wasn’t prepared for what he sent her, which had not been sent without a little reservation on his part.
Vince was taking a risk with their relationship when he had sent her this particular manuscript, and honestly wasn’t sure how it was going to turn out. Would she be turned off? Appalled, perhaps? Would this serve to smash her opinion of him as a gentlemen and all-around decent guy? He didn’t know the answer to this, but he certainly didn’t think Olivia was a prude and felt the risk would be worth the reward.
Vince had wanted to further their relationship and felt this might be a good way to indicate to her that he desired more. This was so like Vince, too. Rather than tell her his desires, he chose to show her. He wanted to expose more of who he really was to her, which was a writer of red-hot erotica. Mostly short stories, but a couple of novellas too.
When it was all said and done, Vince truly was a good guy, and was very respectful of her, and everyone else for that matter. He cherished Olivia’s intellectual side and loved the long talks they’d had on ethics, and peace, and history. He just also happened to be a steamy romantic, capable of writing eloquently and passionately about things that most other “writers” simply turned into smutty, cheap, and clichéd junk.
As she waited for the printer to finishing printing out his story, she made a cup of chai tea to sip as she read. It was the perfect day for her to sit and read a story, and she was anxious to see what he’d sent her. Olivia loved cool, rainy days and the steady drizzle outside just delighted her. This was the kind of gentle rainfall that left everything green and fresh and glistening when it was done. It had been a nice warm day and this afternoon shower just seemed to make for a perfect day. Not too warm, not too cool, not too bright, not too gray…just perfect.
She grabbed the warm pages from the printer and walked across the living room, stopping to pull open a curtain, which would allow her to glance into her backyard from time to time. She made her way to her fluffy, over-sized chair…her favorite chair for reading and studying.
As she set her steamy mug of tea on the corner table next to the chair, spicy chai aromas filled the air. It smelled so good she picked the mug back up and took a quick sip as she read the title of his story: Dinner Party. How like him, she thought. The title will mean nothing until I’ve finished the story…just like his poetry. She took another sip of tea, set the mug down, and settled comfortably into her chair.
As she began reading what he had sent her, she wasn’t immediately certain what she was reading. Was this a romance story? Was this a story about someone’s vacation? He had cloaked the story’s true nature fairly well in the beginning paragraphs, just enough to lure her in. And then, on page two, there it was. Wham! “…her pussy was beginning to respond to his sexual innuendo…” She sat there staring at those words. She had been caught off her guard. She glanced out the window, looking at the tall pine trees along the back of her property and took another sip of thick tea, savoring the strong spice fragrance. As she thought about Vince, she pressed on, thinking this was indeed different from his other work.
“As he turned to face her she could see his cock swelling…the outline of the head was easily seen through his silk shorts. He made no effort to conceal his arousal, which instantly ensest porno made her pussy swell and fill with lustful juices.” She read several more steamy paragraphs, not certain what to make of “cunt” and “cock” and “pussy” and “hard nipples”.
As she leaned back in her chair, taking a break from the words for just a moment, she realized her heartbeat was elevated and her eyes had been fixed on the text for a long time. She blinked several times, recovering her sense of time and wondered how long she had been sitting there staring at those words. How long had her breathing been shorter and sharper than usual? How long hard her fingertip been gently gliding around and near her own pussy? Even though she was sitting there in a comfortable pair of jeans, not really feeling the gentle circles she had been drawing around her clit, she was still a little shocked that her finger had made its way down there…automatically and without her conscious knowledge.
As she thought about this, it occurred to her that Vince was not only a very good poet, but was also a very good storywriter…a very good erotic storywriter. In less than two pages, he had somehow managed to arouse her to the point that she felt the need to read the rest of his story stripped out of her jeans…unbinding what she now realized was a swelling and warming pussy. She wiggled out of her jeans, grinning as she did so, almost embarrassed at what she was doing. As she sat there in her panties, sipping her cooling tea, it occurred to her she was not only getting wetter by the minute, but Vince knew it!
She knew there was no way he wouldn’t know his story was turning her on. He knew he was a very good writer, and often had commented to her how pleased he was with this poem or that poem…how well he had written it. Yes, he definitely knew this story would stir her…she was certain of it. Damn him, she thought to herself as she grinned and chuckled. Damn him.
She guessed she didn’t mind. It had been a long time since she had felt anything close to sexual arousal, and this was a good feeling. Actually, it was a great feeling. In a way, she loved Vince and this story was somehow taking their relationship to a different level. She didn’t know where…not exactly…just somewhere different. Of course he had no way of knowing this, but she was glad. She wanted to go “there” with Vince.
As she continued reading his story she realized she couldn’t keep her hand out of her panties…away from her clit. She had been gently moving her finger around the pubic area, occasionally moving down, just far enough to glance against her now-swelling clit.
As she read how the woman in the story was massaging her own clit as she slid her mouth up and down her lover’s hard, glistening cock, she gently began sliding her own finger up and down between her swollen lips, discovering a much deeper pool of her own juices than she realized had been building up. As she parted her pussy with the middle finger of her right hand, a gush of thick juices streamed out of her, almost instantly soaking her panties, running down to her ass.
She was lost in the story and didn’t care. She took in a deep breath through her nose and was certain she smelled more than chai tea in the air…perhaps her own musky perfume was also in the air. She looked toward the window as she took in another deep sniff of air and sighed as she exhaled. The rain was now falling a little harder than earlier. Interesting, she thought, as she realized her own rain was also falling a littler harder now too.
She adjusted her position so her pussy was at a better angle for her probing fingers. She was reading about how the woman’s lover had just inserted two fingers into her pussy, and without even realizing she was doing it, slid two of her own fingers just past the inner lips…just far enough to discover her pussy was heating up. As she continued to read about probing fingers, swelling clits, and throbbing cocks, she further moved her lower body so her fingers were now buried deep inside. As she reclined further back in her chair, she could finally feel the rough patch of her g-spot and began to slowly massage herself on the inside.
She stopped reading the story at this point, a little more than halfway through the manuscript, aware she was now feeling very horny. Her clit was swelling, her pussy was gaping with two fingers crammed in it, she was wet from her clit to her ass. She desperately felt the need to cum building inside her. She had read enough of his story to be fully immersed in the descriptions and details. He was a very good writer and she could not stop the process at this point.
She had always enjoyed masturbating, even using vibrators and dildos on occasion, but had never been so drawn in by merely reading a story. Most of the “erotica” she had read had just been cheap, fuck-filled trash and because of this she had just ignored the whole genre. However, this story was filled with passion, romance, and sex and was czech amateurs porno written so well she hardly recognized it compared to the drivel she had read in the past.
As she fully reclined back in her lazy-boy chair, lifting her ass to slip out of her sopping panties, she closed her eyes and imagined Vince there with her. She began to salivate at the thought of his hard cock slipping into her mouth, pressing through her lips and gently gliding against her tongue. She swallowed the increased amount of wetness that was pooling in her mouth, wishing it was his cum, and began moving her fingers in and out of her silky, wet pussy.
She opened her legs wider as her other hand discovered her swollen, sensitive clit. Quickly, she got both hands into perfect rhythm. Two fingers from her right hand steadily probed in and out of her pussy, stopping every third or fourth plunge to rub her g-spot, and the middle finger of her left-hand pressing and rubbing circles on her increasingly sensitive clit.
She imagined Vince’s hands doing these things to her, or perhaps his throbbing cock head rubbing up and down her open slit. She was falling deeper and deeper into her fantasy.
As her fingers increased their speed and effectiveness, she could almost picture him between her legs, mouth getting ready to replace probing fingers…getting ready to eat her dripping and aching pussy. She moaned as her two fingers plunged deep inside, this time staying there to massage the inside of her pussy into an orgasm.
She had felt the first signs of a growing orgasm and didn’t want to stop. It wasn’t that she had problems cumming, but sometimes she had taken too long to make herself cum and had discovered these delayed orgasms were not as powerful, nor as long as those she made happen without stopping…without allowing them to “build-up”.
She imagined his firm tongue stabbing into her, past her inner lips and into her gaping hole, licking and probing inside her. She felt her pussy squeeze around her own fingers, loving them back inside her…letting her know to keep going…keep probing…keep fucking. She also felt herself expel some now-pooling juices and a groan escaped her mouth as she felt the warmth run over her fingers and down to her ass.
She wanted his cock inside her, spreading her pussy and driving into her with force and power. She began to rub and massage her clit with two fingers and in much larger motions as she plunged her other fingers deep inside. A slow moan managed to make its way out just as she felt the first wave of an orgasm. Both of her hands picked up speed and intensity and she began to fuck herself very hard…very deliberately. She loved to make herself cum and this time it was going to be powerful…she just knew it…she could feel it building pressure inside her.
As she imagined Vince’s cock pounding in and out of her hungry pussy, her body began to twitch and writhe as the first waves of orgasmic pleasure washed over her. Her breathing was very loud and heavy now, and it was causing her breasts to heave under the half-T she was wearing. She felt all the little hairs on her body stand up, showing their approval and delight as her pussy began to clench and squeeze her fingers. Her hips started bucking as her back arched, pressing her pussy hard against her fingers and simultaneously crushing her clit against her other fingers.
The storm outside was also picking up intensity. What had started as a mild spring drizzle was now a full-fledged thunderstorm, complete with forceful winds and flashes of lightning. The branches of the tall pines in the backyard were swaying in the pounding wind, and the window between Olivia and the storm was echoing the sounds of the driving rain. The faint sounds of thunder could be heard in the distance, but Olivia was oblivious to it. She had her own storm building, and what had also started out for her as a mild spring drizzle was now a torrential downpour in its own right.
In a move of perfect timing and pressure, a bolt lightning ripped through her body as her clit exploded in a violent fit of orgasmic approval…the epicenter of her earthquake…and loud, undecipherable sounds made their way out of her twisted mouth, muffled by the sounds of the thunderstorm outside.
Her head was whipping back and forth causing her long blond hair to fly wildly, mimicking the flailing pine tree limbs in her backyard. Her pussy had a near death-grip on her two fingers as she continued twitching, and spasming, shaking in the wake of several powerful aftershocks.
As the lightning flashed and the thunder cracked all around her, she felt like electricity was coursing through it as her nipples puckered hard and her eyes rolled back into her head. The downpour outside was a flashflood now, and Olivia still had no idea the storm sounds surrounding her weren’t just in her mind.
Her body was tossing and turning, as if the two storms were connected. She found herself arched in her comfortable chair, having just experienced a self-fulfilled orgasm that had easily topped any she had ever had in her life. She realized she could hardly breathe. Her orgasm was strangling her…pulsing through her taut body…wringing every ounce of strength out of her.
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