Reading Erotica | Masturbation

She Read Naughty Books Sitting in Uncle Mortimer’s Chair

Lara becomes aroused by her memories and indulges in some self pleasure

Lara curled up in the leather chair, wearing only a silk camisole. She sipped china tea and let her mind wander. With nothing she needed to do for two hours, she fully intended to relax.

She loved this armchair. She’d always wanted to own a chair like the one in Uncle Morty’s study. With its wing back and deep seat, and the brass stud detail, it was similar to that which Mortimer had. Lara held fond memories of sneaking in his study to read when her family visited for the weekend. She was always a quiet child, fond of books and her own company; her uncle seemed to understand that.

Lara vividly remembered the day she discovered that some of the books in Uncle Morty’s library needed to be read alone.

Initially she’d felt shocked, then hot and embarrassed, but quickly the emotion which stamped out the others was excitement. She’d made many furtive trips to her uncle’s library that first weekend, removing the book she had found to read in secret. Soon she went back for another, then another.

Under the covers, in the guest bedroom, she had touched herself as she read, discovering a slippery slickness that dampened her knickers, while making her buzz with pleasant sensations.

Looking back on those stolen moments, Lara let her fingers play over her labia again. The soft curls she’d had between her legs as a sixteen year old were gone now, waxed away at the beautician’s, but her body responded as it always had, the flesh becoming plump and slippery under her feathery touch.

Uncle Mortimer hadn’t locked away his collection of erotic novellas, but on a low shelf, in the corner of his study, they weren’t easy to see. Lara was even bold enough to take one home from that visit; she had plenty to learn about her body from between its pages.

Ways to pleasure herself, and a partner, was information that teenage magazines were unwilling to share.

Lara now licked her fingers as she massaged her pussy, the springy flesh of her pouting labia parted easily, and when her index finger slipped inside, she sighed happily. With her finger coated with dewy lubrication, it slid so mesmerizingly when she stirred it lazily around her clitoris. Her bare bottom wriggled into the buttery leather of her favourite chair and she let her legs fall wider apart, allowing easy access to stroke and dip, rubbing herself towards her first climax.

The next time Lara had visited Uncle Mortimer, she’d been eager to get her hands on a new book and return the last. When the family went to play croquet on the lawn, she ran back in the house on the premise of getting a sweater. She had imagined her plundering of Morty’s erotic reading matter had been done subtly, like a spy. She’d thought wrong.

Lara had crept away from assembled family and friends again, the next day, hoping to help herself to another book. But she got completely distracted by the prints she found on her uncle’s desk.

Spread out for perusal were six sepia photographs from the Victorian era. They were tame by today’s pornography standards, showing women in various states of undress: cupping each other’s breasts, fastening their stockings and smiling coyly at the camera.

Lara could remember standing to study them, it made her mouth dry, but her slit hot and wet with excitement. She was so absorbed in appreciating them, that she hadn’t heard her uncle enter the room.

“I thought you’d like them,” he said softly.

Lara was startled and embarrassed, but Mortimer looked calmly at the pictures, rather than her red face.

“They were taken for a pay-per-view machine called What the Butler Saw. The Victorian era was quite a sexual one, despite having the reputation of being up-tight.”

Lara hadn’t known what to say, it felt like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Did you enjoy the book you borrowed?” This time Uncle Morty was looking at her.

Lara had flushed red, but she gave a tiny nod.

“Good, good, help yourself anytime.” And with that he’d turned and left.

Thinking of those pictures, even now, made Lara hot and flustered, and she’d seen plenty of on-line porn since. There was something about the voyeuristic nature of the scenes they depicted which excited her, and the way the models conveyed both innocence and experience. As if to say, you’ve interrupted me doing something private, but now you’re here come in, I’ll enjoy you watching.

If she was honest, Lara did enjoy the thought that someone might be watching. That’s why she liked to pleasure herself, while sitting in this chair, during the day with the curtains open. She circled her fingers faster, swirling them over the bud of nerves that was her clitoris, while her other hand plucked one darkened nipple.

She felt her body tighten, tingling sensations pulling in from her extremities to her core. A heat built and flared between her legs, making her want to pursue it and delay it. She’d throw herself into the middle of its sparking glory and bask in every flash and flare, until it burned itself out. Her pussy twitched and fluttered so she slowed her frenzied fingers, making longer strokes.

Lara hung her legs over one arm of the chair, her head tilted back on the other armrest.

This was how she’d lounged in the armchair in Morty’s study to read, that long summer holiday. Once her exams were done, Lara’s parents had thought it a grand idea to give Lara a break. Her uncle had invited her to stay, although he warned her it might be dull. She’d jumped at the chance to have space and fresh air, privacy and the chance to read.

Uncle Morty was an antiques dealer, so sometimes he was home but often he was away all day. Lara soon stopped sneaking the risque books away to her room to read, instead she lounged in the wingback, leather chair in his study, to read. She devoured his erotica collection till her pussy throbbed and leaked cyprine fluid, she touched herself till her fingertips pruned and the room became fragranced with the distinctive tang of her arousal.

Uncle Mortimer did not ask her what books she liked, but he did buy more Victorian erotica : Girls at a boarding school, with mistresses who prepared their pupils to satisfy the desires of aristocratic husbands. Maidservants working at a mansion where the Lord watched them bathe and frolic together, but believed a spanking was the way to show love and care.

Lana read Fanny Hill and Lady Chatterly, Pamela and Venus in Furs, Moll Flanders and Zofloya. Her uncle bought dirty books with beautiful covers, tooled leather with gold leaf edging their pages. They stimulated her mind and her body — she tried not to get the leather seat of his chair sticky, but sometimes she failed.

Recollecting that summer, Lara slipped two fingers in her pussy and with her other hand she rubbed her perineum, teasing her anal whorl with a short fingernail. The thrill rippled through her and she sigh aloud. Her nipples prickled as they swelled, becoming sensitive to the slightest touch.

Lara knelt up on all fours, fingers plunging in and out of her soaking channel from behind. Her clitoris hummed for stimulation, and when she rose up on her knees to press against it with the pads of her fingers, she didn’t resist the urge to thrust her hips towards the pleasure from those digits.

Frigging herself to a hot shuddering orgasm, Lara gasped aloud, knowing anyone could see in from the street, but she was too far gone to care. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut when her climax thundered over her, dragging her in its undertow. Starbursts of colour washed over, and buoyed her up. She was happily dashed on the shores of pleasure, and she collapsed in the chair, throbbing, until its strength subsided.

Eventually Lara came to herself, and stood. It was time to get ready. She must dress and make lunch, sandwiches and another pot of tea. Uncle Mortimer was coming to show her his latest purchases from an auction in Halifax.

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