Bob and Isabella Consult

"So, you write erotica?" Isabella says. She is meeting Bob online for the first time.

"Well that's a lot for the first meeting, but I'm a big girl. And also curious." she says with a slight leer.

"I'm glad you're curious."

"And why is that?"

"I need a muse. You know, someone who can inspire primal visions."

"Bob, you are a 22-year-old male. A rotting pear should be able to do it for you."

Bob blushes guiltily. "Ummmm yeah ... but I mean something more metaphysical. It has to be more than grunting and rutting -- it has to be an experience that can be transmuted into words."

"And you think I could muse you into that sort of mystical state?"

"I'm quite certain of it."

"I dunno," says Isabella dubiously.

"Look, let's try something. Give me a starting scene and let me see what I can build from it."

Humming thoughtfully, Isabella taps a front tooth with a fingernail. "Okay, picture this. We're at some high-end society gala. It's supposed to be for charity, but it's really about rich people bribing corrupt politicians. The catering staff moves unobtrusively around the room with glasses of champagne that cost more than my rent. We've been glancing at each other across the ballroom all night--just heavy eye contact and a couple of accidental-on-purpose brushes while reaching for canape's."

She pauses, smiling at her screen. "Then you step through the glass doors, and your eyes beckon me to follow you onto the veranda."

"Perfect," Bob says. "So, this is where it might go from here."

"I have successfully lured your semi-innocent ass onto the dark veranda. It's warm and humid, and you are overcome by the heavy smell of jasmine -- not to mention the impressive number of the host's margaritas you have managed to consume."

Bob takes a breath, leaning in. "You are wearing a tight black dress, Isabella. High neck, but it is cutaway up the side that goes nearly to your hip. Every time you move, I see a flash of your toned thigh." Bob's fingers trace a curve loosely in the air.

"Mmm, I'm feeling it," Isabella says, shifting slightly in front of her screen. "The way you describe it, I can almost taste the desire hanging in the air between us. It's like a delicious tension building with every passing second."

She leans in closer to her screen. "So, what happens next in this bawdy little story?" she asks her voice dropping into a warm, teasing murmur. "Are we going to... kiss?"

"Better than that. I'm thinking more like whole body action." He pauses as if to sniff the moment, then continues.

"I step toward you until we both feel the heat of each other's bodies between us. I reach down to stroke the bare skin of your thigh. You are startled but then your body brushes against mine and your legs part slightly. With the heat of you tight against me, my mouth drops to your neck, my face is buried in the scent of your cascading auburn hair."

Isabella's eyelids flutter shut. A faint dew appears underneath her closed eyes as Bob's words sink in. Her cheeks darken with a deep flush.

"Oof," she breathes. "So, I presume we are approaching liftoff here?"

"I think so," Bob says. "How does this sound?"

"His fingers move between the cut of her dress to explore the hem of her Madame Hicktoria panties. His fingers caress her labia, gently parting them to stroke the slick wetness of her clitoris. She lifts her leg, stroking her inner thigh against him and inviting more access to her womanhood. Her female juices flow over his fingers.

"'Don't stop' she whispers as she feels the delicious friction building. Suddenly her body snaps rigid. "AHH ... hhhh! A shout trailing off into a soft growl. Her release is intense, fast, entirely intoxicating and blindingly satisfying. Her pussy strokes languidly against his hand as the pleasure ebbs

When she is finally finished, she is leaning back against him, her breathing still quick and uneven as she slowly opens her eyes. "Holy shit... that was incredible."

On the other side of the webcam, Isabella is staring straight ahead, completely lax in her chair. She blinks slowly. Her fingers curl lightly around the armrests, as if steadying her thoughts before they catch up to her expression.'

"Isabella! Are you OK?" Bob asks finally.

Giggling weakly, she fans herself with one hand. "Oof. Now that is a very... male approach to philosophy."

"Then it was good?"

"Well, the collaboration holds promise anyway," she smiles enigmatically, sitting up straighter.

"So what do we do next?"

She relaxes slightly, tapping her lip. There's a spark of curiosity in her eyes now, something sharper than simple amusement. "Not sure. But, as a woman, I think we could make your story even better by slowing the action and adding some more salacious details. "

"OK," says Bob.

"But I have classes and then practice after that. Perhaps a bolt of divine inspiration will strike me out on that open soccer field."

"Tomorrow then?" Bob says hopefully.

Isabella cocks an eyebrow and presses a quick kiss to the screen. Bob prays fervently that he is not drooling.