Crumpling the paper, he tossed it in the garbage can near the door barely registering the sound as it thumped against the metal. More wasted words, more wasted effort, more wasted dreams.

Despair hung heavy over him as the pen stayed poised over the blank page. Why wouldn’t the words come? They’d stalled on the edge of his mind like water at a dam and refused to spill over. His self-imposed deadline loomed large and he had little to show except a few scribbled words.

Their clothes littered the cold floor as they found their own warmth beneath the flannel sheets. His hands explored the sinuous lines of her body, brushing from full breast to fuller hip as he enjoyed the silky smoothness of her skin. Her fingers explored his body in kind, tracing hard ridges and the wiry hairs trailing along his belly to the even harder cock springing forth.

“Bullshit,” he growled as he crumpled the paper and tossed it away. “Useless, flowery, bullshit.”

He’d always enjoyed a good piece of literary smut, both writing and reading it, but the garbage he managed lately was Harlequin Romance and not the hard-hitting stuff he normally put out. The desire to pursue his dream waned daily as his feeling of inability grew. Who the hell was he kidding? He was a nobody with little skill competing against other nobodies with better skills. Every crumpled paper littering the floor near his desk became a mocking sentinel of truth.

It seemed even in the midst of that darkness and impotent creativity, the desire to write won over his fear of not being able to do so. The need to put pen to paper and give a story life superseded the vain hope of publishing. Even then, he wrote what he liked…

He saw it in her glazed eyes, that need to be shared and used completely. Holding steady to her hips, he slid into the clinging heat of her pussy. Her eyes opened wide as she leaned into him. Innately she knew each hole would be filled by a steely cock and he knew she was eager for the pleasure. God, just seeing the flush that stained both her high cheeks and proud breasts brought up an answering eagerness in him. He wanted to take everything she had to give.

He held her against his chest so Chris could lube her winking back hole. She whimpered and shivered as Chris prepared them both.

“You want this, don’t you?” He spread her cheeks wide as Chris fitted the head of his cock and eased in. “You want to be a dirty whore for us. Just can’t wait until Red fills that needy mouth of yours, can you?”

Her plump pink lips opened in a silent gasp as Chris slid fully inside. The feeling of him through that thin barrier of her body was so good he shuddered. Red used that moment to bring her head forward and thrust into her mouth with a growl. Before she got lost in the sensations, he reminded her what she was.

“You’re here for our pleasure. You’re just a hole, love, don’t forget that.”

The story spun out in a sea of silk words. Sex, treachery, emotions, climax, resolution. The darkness hovered close as he wrote, but he wrapped himself in the words and knew a degree of safety.


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      Cara Thereon

      Hahahaha. In this case, not really or unintentionally at best. This isn’t so much about the story as it is about the feelings of the writer in the story. I identify with him more than the sex taking place in the piece he’s writing.

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