1. Reading Porn at the Library


    Date: 10/3/2014, Categories: Lesbian, Author: Mili, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    it, kissing it, licking it gently until I had to finally slouch down some, my tits barely above the desk, spreading my legs further to give her the best access to my effervescent pussy springs. The audience applauded politely as I finished. "More," someone said, "that was much too short!" I sighed, partly because of the tongue at my clit, partly because of the comment. "I write these stories usually in one sitting, until I cum," I said. "So they're perfect wank-material for me. But if it takes you longer, you can always read another while you rub yourself. Which, by the way, is recommended." I grinned as I reached for the next sheet of paper. "This is the very first story I wrote," I began. "It's about my friend Sabrina, and what she did with a bottle." This time, I took my time. I read slowly about Sabrina, how she fucked herself with a bottle in my car until she had to pee, and how I took my revenge by pissing in her mouth. Vella was nuzzling, enduringly, on my clit, her fingers only slightly probing my pussy, licking the hot wet crevasse. In the dark, quiet room, I could hear a few soft moans and some of the women were sinking suspiciously low down on their chairs, squirming a little with their hands at their crotch. A few apparently didn't know what they had bargained for and so I heard a few disgusted sounds when I came to the part where I pissed straight down on Sabrina's face until she opened her mouth to swallow. I closed my eyes when I finished, sighing again as ...
    Vella was crooking a finger inside me, licking pussy slime as she scooped it out. "There are a few fetishes you'll have to expect from my stories, and pee is definitely one of them. If that's too much for you, then I heard there's a nice vanilla erotic reading next week that may be more to your liking." Some of the girls in the audience were laughing. Suddenly, one woman stood up. "It's not just the urine fetish," she said, looking disgusted at me. She was middle-aged and conservatively dressed, her hair pulled up to a nice updo. She was wearing some cat-eye glasses that reflected in the dark room and gave her a grandmotherly look, even though she couldn't be much older than myself. "It's that you don't know how to write properly," she began her tirade. "You should use more descriptive words, and spend more time building up. Writing about how something feels, smells, sounds... all those things are important. Frankly, I'm hugely disappointed." I stood up. "And what makes you think," I asked as I slowly made my way around the desk towards the front of the stage. "What makes you think I want you to like my stories?" She looked at me surprised, heads now turning towards her. "Well," she replied, "it it seems a logical conclusion. Why does one read stories in a public forum and submit to being critiqued if you don't care if someone likes what you write? Otherwise why write, if you don't care if anyone likes the stories, why read them? Furthermore why leave a story open for judging if ...