I stared at the computer in frustration, praying for divine intervention. Nothing happened; there was no flash of genius or a voice booming down from the heavens. It was just I, sitting alone, watching the cursor to my word processor blink in reminder that I should be typing a story. I checked the clock on my computer and saw that I'd been staring at the same blank page for over an hour and a half.
Deciding that my muse must have packed up and left for Disney World, I decided it was time for a more dependable source of inspiration. Left-clicking my cursor over the little "X" in the upper corner of my writing software, I closed down the application and instead began running my Internet browser. Desperate times called for desperate measures; I made my way to an online search engine, and began searching for free pornography that would get my creative juices flowing again.
Normally I'm not a "visually" stimulated lady, preferring the hot stories and experiences of others to really get me off. So it took me a while to scan through the plethora of porn sites, trying to find something that was a "happy medium", not too explicit in visuals but erotic enough to arouse my senses. Eventually I came to the perfect site. It was a "free" site where you could watch live women and men strip and perform sex shows. The "free" section was really an Internet chat room.
The strippers would talk to the list of horny, waiting masses of people, showing just enough skin to intrigue and keep them there. Then, once they had drummed up an actual paying customer, they would take the client into a private one-on-one session. The paying customer would have the ability to request anything he or she wanted the stripper to do, and they would do it if possible. In the meantime, the cheap and non-paying people would be waiting in the chat room, able to watch what was going on in the private session but not having any control over it.
When my erotic writings hit a dry spell, usually I was one of those "cheap" clients. Watching the action on the little screen was enough to provide me with the inspiration that I needed, and then I would log out of the site and return to my writings. On this particular night, the "free" room was so crowded I barely managed to squeeze in before the servers were full.
Once inside, I immediately knew that the poor performers were going to have their hands full trying to weed out paying customers. Most of the gathered people were hoping to catch a free show, dominating the text window with shouted commands typed all in capital letters. There were people harassing the poor men and women, begging for them to "prove" they were performing live by feeling up their breasts or genitals. Even to me, a woman who had just logged on to the site, it was clear that these non-payers were just trying to get them to do what they wanted for free. Still, I hadn't come to raise issues about proper Internet etiquette, especially since I wasn't planning on paying for a show as well. I ignored their rudeness and turned my attention to the five different rooms displayed in small windows at the top of my browser.
Each of the performers, while working, had their own intimate stage setting and their own chat room. The previews I was scrolling through let me see which stripper I wanted to watch. The first room was for gay men; there was a young blonde stud in leather occupying that space. He was attractive, but I knew watching him work wasn't going to give my brain the stimulus I needed. I winced when I saw the girl in the next room. I've never been a fan of really skinny girls.
To me, a woman looked her best with curves, and this girl had none. She might have weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, and even the pretty lingerie she sported couldn't convince me to choose her. It was the third room that captured my attention, and I knew from the moment I saw the little window that she was going to be the one to end my writing slump. This particular woman was captivating to me, and my eyes were glued to the screen as soon as I entered her chat area.
I've always had a mad attraction for women who were gifted with what I call the "Classics" body style. Forget your Pamela Andersons or your Barbie Twins, with their plastic enhancements and impossibly proportioned bodies. I'll take a Marilyn Monroe or Drew Barrymore any day over them. The lady that I was watching had rejected the modern styles of the new playmates in favor of copying a legend. She was the spitting image of a young Bettie Page, my favorite pinup queen of all time. Her hair was cut in the same unadorned style, cut into thick bangs that covered the upper half of her forehead while the rest of her raven tresses flowed to the middle of her back. Her clothing choices reflected her idol as well.
Instead of the crotchless panties and leather fetish wear of the other strippers, my girl chose a leopard-print teddy that was refreshingly opaque, leaving you to guess what a beautiful body she had beneath. She wore elbow-length black gloves, and attached to the garters dangling from her teddy were shiny black thigh-high stockings. This woman's face wasn't clouded by too much makeup. The only adornment she chose was a little eyeliner to define her gorgeous eyes, and lipstick.
Her lips were painted with a scarlet tint, and when she smiled she had the same "I can be very naughty, but you still love me" grin that had made Bettie Page the wet dream of millions of men and women. Sitting here in my computer chair, my hands frozen on my keyboard and unable to tear my eyes away from the preview window, I came to a sudden powerful realization. This beautiful lady wasn't just giving me the creative inspiration I needed. She was also getting me very, very aroused. I knew at that moment this wasn't going to end up being one of my usual visits, for I was far past the point at which I would abandon the Internet chat room and go to my word processor. I sat back in my chair and waited to see how things would progress.
Unfortunately for my "mini-Bettie", as I had come to think of her, her room was probably the hardest sell out of all the others put together. A decade in which the free pornography explosion had escalated to where you could see almost any kink at no cost had spoiled this group. The subtle nature of her attire seemed to fuel their rage, and she was being barraged by so many requests and rants that the screen was barely able to stop refreshing itself. Some pleaded with her to pull down the straps of her teddy so they could see what was obviously an impressive set of breasts beneath. Others called her a prude for not sitting there in a thong and demi-bra.
There were some chivalrous ones among the throng, who chided the annoying ones for their rudeness and defended her choice of style. One of them complimented her on her natural beauty. "You look like Audrey Hepburn, or maybe Bettie Davis," he commented. I took the opportunity to jump in the fray, adding my two cents to the mix.
"I would say more like Bettie Page," I stated, and waited on baited breath. I felt a rush of excitement when I saw her smile on the screen, and pick up the keyboard lying on the bed beside her. Seconds later a private message appeared on my screen, written in a delicate pink text.
"Very Bettie Page," she agreed, with a smiley face after the words. I felt a tingling rush of warmth flood my lower regions at her reply, and knew that beneath the thin shorts I was wearing, my sex was more than likely getting extremely damp. My bisexuality had never kicked in this strongly before. Just looking at her had me damn near trembling. Imagining watching her perform was becoming nearly an obsession. I came to a decision. Scrambling out of my chair, I headed for my bedroom to collect a few items, and then returned to my online Aphrodite.
It took less than a moment to set up the private session. The ordering form was simple, collecting my credit card information and name only for billing purposes. I was given the option of paying for a select amount of time, or letting the session go for as long as necessary and billing me for whatever time I had spent there. After a few seconds of deliberation, I chose the unlimited time. My credit card had no limit, and I wasn't really worried about what the bill might total up to be. It would give me time not only to watch her work, but hopefully talk with her a bit as well.
Once my card processed, a new screen loaded onto my monitor. This was the one-on-one setting. A new chat room took up half the screen, but all the names of those waiting in the free area were gone. In here, only the stripper and I would see what was said. The little viewing window enlarged as well, taking up the other half of the Internet browser. It took the lady's computer a moment to switch to private mode, but when I saw her glance up at the camera and smile as if she was looking straight at me, I forgot about the wait. She picked up the keyboard and typed, "Thanks, I appreciate your session. You're the first client I've had all night!"
"With the way those people were heckling you, I thought that might be the case," I replied, adding a smiley face.
"I'm at your command," She keyed in her pretty pink text. "What is it you'd like to see?" I hesitated over the keyboard, unsure where to begin. Finally, I found myself confessing to her that it was my first time doing anything like this. I explained everything, about my writer's block, about seeing her and finding her incredibly beautiful, and about how her natural attractiveness was making my body react.
Reading my words, I watched her eyes light up with a devilish light and her lips curl up into a confident grin. In a moment of bravery, I added, "I think I should also inform you that I am a woman. Does that bother you, performing for me?" Holding my breath, I hit the Enter key and waited for her to react. When my text appeared in her window, I watched her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Then, to my amazement, it looked as if she began to chuckle, her shoulders shaking in suppressed laughter. "No, it doesn't bother me at all," she responded, her fingers flying over the keys. "In my life, I've had both male and female playmates. I love both sexes equally, and sometimes there's nothing quite like the soft touch of a woman. But we don't normally see a lot of women in these rooms."
"I expected that."
"I tell you what," She keyed to me. "Since this is your first time, why don't you let me start things off? I'll go slowly at first, and if you decide there is something I would like to see, then you need only let me know."
"That sounds great," I said, a little relieved. She started off by telling me a little about herself, at my request. Her name was Heather. She was relatively new at the job, using the money to put herself through college. But unlike most of the women, she added, she didn't just do it for the money. "I like stripping," she confessed. "I like knowing that on the other end of the Internet, there's a horny man watching me, fantasizing about me." She looked directly into the mini-camera and smiled. "Or a horny woman," she added. Then Heather surprised me, catching me off-guard with a question for me. "What do you look for on a woman?"
"Breasts and hips," I confided. "I like curves on a woman."
"Me, too." She grinned. "I love breasts. On a woman, breasts are so different then a man's body. A man loves to consider himself tight, toned and firm. But women, well, we love to be soft and warm and sensual." She set down the keyboard on the bed beside her. Giving the camera a coy look, she brought her gloved hands up to cup her breasts from beneath. The way those plump pale mounds looked beneath the satin barrier of her teddy drove me crazy. When her fingers brushed over their centers, I could see the nubs of her nipples rising halfway beneath. She closed her eyes and pressed the soft globes together, then let them fall back to their normal shape to pick up the keyboard again. "Would you like to see my breasts?" Heather asked, and I groaned to myself.
I typed my answer, and watched her get ready to bare her upper torso for me. She slid one satin strap over her shoulder, then the other. Her smile turned into a seductive pucker as she lowered the teddy, going slowly to prolong the anticipation. I watched as the upper rounded half came into my view, her skin the white and glossy perfection of a china doll. Heather teased me, cupping her fingers over the centers of her breasts just as they would have been exposed, letting me look only at the hints of pink around her black gloved fingers as the teddy fell loose to her waist.
Then she slowly fanned her fingers for me, and I beheld the glory of her chest for the first time. The pink-tinted centers stood out in bold contrast to the satin of her gloves, swollen and erect for my eyes. I watched her capture the cylindrical tips beneath her fingertips, rolling them lightly and pinching down to show their width and size. Heather displayed herself well, holding the heavy breasts up and giving me the infamous "fuck me" gazes that strippers and models have perfected over the years. As she played with herself for my enjoyment, I reached down and began to slip my shorts down over my legs. I stripped and left myself naked in the computer chair, the air conditioning of the room doing little to ease the heat that was racing over my flesh.
I mimed her actions, supporting my own full breasts, but my nipples needed no teasing to make them erect. She had already taken care of that, the centers hard and raised for me. I took one of them between my forefinger and thumb, and gently pinched down. It sent a zinging sensation through my body to the pool of wetness that was already growing between my legs. I had a talent, though, that Heather did not. Lifting the weighty roundness of my right breast, I maneuvered the flesh until I was able to bring my mouth down to my own nipple. My tongue came out, licking it in circles. I imagined it was her painted mouth suckling and tonguing it. I sucked my nipple into my mouth and enjoyed the hot and wet sensations it created. When the tender bud could take no more, I turned my ministrations on my left breast, biting and treating it to the same divine treatment.
On screen, Heather got to her feet. I watched her turn away from me, looking back over her shoulder at the camera, while she began easing the garter clips free from her stockings. She freed each clip until all that was left was her stockings clinging to her upper thighs. In one fluid motion, Heather hooked her fingers in the sides of the teddy and pulled it down, exposing the round circles of her ass.
She even had the cute little dimples at the small of her back, pointing towards the well-rounded rear. Heather did the same to her ass as she did to her perfect breasts, cupping each cheek, letting me watch the gloved hands sliding against her white skin. She brought her hands up to her waist, letting her hands slide down to show me how the flesh curved in then flared out into her nicely formed hips. I stopped toying with my own breasts and ran my left hand over the planes of my stomach, making its way down my torso. She parted her legs slightly and bent over. I watched her dark hair sweep the floor as she grabbed her ankles, giving me a perfect view of her womanhood.
Her pussy was a slightly more pink shade as her nipples, like a dark rose. The lips framed it like petals, and I could see slight drops of her cream glistening among the folds there. Heather turned, and I got a view of the front then, the soft belly and the thin strip of black tight curls that framed her pouting nether mouth like a Mohawk. When she reached her hands for the tops of her stockings, I stopped her, frantically typing for her to leave them on. I loved the comparison her pale thighs made against the shiny black stockings and the way her heels made her legs shapely. She lay down on the bed, once more the coy flirt, her legs together to hide the pink wet pussy I had only a glimpse of. Picking up the keyboard, Heather told me to watch carefully. Reaching down beside the bed, she brought up a pretty pink vibrator.
She carried it up to her mouth and I watched spellbound as her red mouth enveloped the plastic shaft. Heather pumped the vibrator in her mouth as if she was sucking a real cock, leaving the toy glistening. Lying back on the bed, she pressed a button on the keyboard and suddenly the camera was zooming in closer. I could no longer see the pretty face or her heeled feet. All the camera was showing to me now was the lower half of her torso to the upper part of her knees. She parted her legs, and I beheld the wonders of her sex again, this time in close up. Reaching down, Heather pulled apart the plump lips of the nether mouth, and I was staring directly at the moist tunnel of her pussy. She was wet and glistening beneath the lights, and I saw one of her hands bring the vibrator into view. Heather rubbed the wet tip up and down the length of her slit.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen as I fumbled for the other object I had brought in the room, my own trusty vibe. On the monitor, Heather was pushing the tip of the toy into her pink hole, pulling it back to show me it was coated in her juices. At the same time, I was leaning back in the computer chair, my hands guiding my own plaything to my eager slit. I braced my fingers at the back half of the toy, and pushed it inside of me slowly. My hungry walls engulfed the slick shaft eagerly. Its hardness was perfect inside me, and I spread my thighs a little wider.
We moved in unison, my computer goddess and I, beginning to pump our toys in and out of ourselves in the same primal rhythm. I closed my eyes and imagined it was Heather's fingers pushing up inside of me instead of this plastic vibe. It wasn't my other hand caressing the swollen bud of my clit, it was Heather's tongue, rubbing and licking it. The pleasure grew, and I could feel the heavenly buildup, the tension in my clit starting to become almost like pain. I wanted to come, wanted to give in to the final wave that I knew I would reach soon.
But I didn't want to be there alone. I ripped the toy free of my pussy, laying it across my lap. My fingers flew over the keyboard with my final command to Heather, leaving sticky traces of my fluids on the keys.
"Back the camera up," I begged. "I want to see all of you. I want to watch you come for real." She left the toy inside her, clenching the walls of her pussy to hold it in place. "You want me to come, hot baby?" She typed in her pink letters. "You want me to show you what I look like when I go off?"
"God, yes," I moaned to myself, keying the same response. She agreed, backing the camera up until I saw all of her, lying back on the covers. Heather pulled one of her gloves off with her teeth, spitting it to the side. She brought her still-gloved hand down to pump the toy again, and placed the bare hand directly on her clit. I watched her pinch that swollen, thick pearl between her fingers. When she began to caress it in fast, light circles, I knew she was really working herself towards a powerful orgasm as I wished her to. I abandoned the keyboard and picked up my vibe once again, twisting the end. It hummed to life in my hands, and I parted my legs as far as I could.
Watching Heather masturbate on the screen, I brought the quickly vibrating toy to my own pleasure spot. I could no longer control my hips as the battery-powered wonder brought me closer and closer to the edge. Each throb of the vibe against my hard clit made me buck in the computer chair. My natural lubrication had coated my thighs and left a puddle of dampness on the rough seat. Finally I felt the tension building to an ungodly crest, and I knew I was about to explode. I focused my eyes on Heather's face, the almost obscene look she had on her face as she worked her own pussy furiously, and I let the climax take over.