Lips met lips firmly, tasting each other, sucking, opening apart and yielding to insisting tongues. Breath was exhaled by one and inhaled by the other. Teeth nipped and nibbled at lips, cheeks, necks, and earlobes. Two pairs of hands gripped, stroked, clutched, and fondled all they could reach.
One body suddenly pushes the other away and starts ripping at its own clothing, rushing to get rid of anything confining, all restraint, and all impedances. Intent is matched and actions copied. The pile of discarded clothing doubles in size and now bare flesh meets bare flesh. Passion mounts.
“…”
The muted clack of the keyboard had been getting slower and slower and finally stopped altogether. The figure seated at the desk took his hands from the desktop and held them to his head while thinking furiously, then lowered them back into place on the keyboard… to no avail.
“…”
“Damn, it’s just not coming together. I’ve got the action down but it feels too artificial, too forced, and not nearly natural enough.” A loud sigh escaped his lips “My first two stories just seemed to flow effortlessly from my fingers, why can’t it be that easy now? I’m already weeks behind deadline.”
He leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms out to the ceiling, and rolled his head from side to side, trying vainly to loosen tensed up muscles. He glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. “Ughh, it’s after eleven. Ok, one more hour then I go to bed. If I really push, maybe I can whip this mess into a decent story I won’t be embarrassed to post and I can at least get something on the site this week. Then it's only two more weeks until the next one is due, and I can worry about my lack of inspiration all over again…”
His muttered words trailed off in despair. Hoping to clear his mind and refocus it, he leaned his forehead forward onto the padded wrist support and cradled his head in his arms. His eyes closed, just for a moment, when he heard a buzzing and felt something touching his shoulder.
“Ack” His hand shot up past his ear trying to knock the bug to the floor. Was it only a fly or was it a mosquito seeking his blood? Instead he hit something much larger and more solid than either of those.
“Eep!” The feminine voice sounded annoyed at the very least as well as slightly angry at being ‘swatted’.
“Who are you? And how’d you get in here?” Spinning around, he was astounded to see a small winged figure hovering in the air but a second later beheld a girl.. err gal. That is to say, a woman. It was a full sized woman standing in his office wearing… a strip of cloth? The cloth was about 6 inches wide and at least 5 feet long. It ran across her chest, around her hips, and down between her legs, providing as much coverage as modern bikini but no bikini ever stayed in motion the way this cloth did, constantly moving around while still modestly covering all the naughty bits.
“I’m your muse!” She smiled sweetly at him, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She brushed her fingers through her hair, smoothing where it had gotten disheveled when he smacked her.
“Wow… I must be more tired than I thought. It’s not very often that I have dreams that are this vivid.” Smack! Her hand flew out and swatted him on the nose. “Ow! What was that for?”
“It seemed the fastest way to convince you you’re not dreaming. A dream won’t cause real pain… plus I owed you that.” Now her mischevious smile did reach all the way to her eyes and such lovely eyes they were, a deep grayish green color that were large and expressive. Short pixie-bobbed hair left her neck and shoulders bare and her skin was a rich ‘coffee with extra cream’ brown that almost seemed to glow with the reflected light of the lamp in the corner.
“My muse huh? I’ve heard of your type before, that you inspire writers and poets and artists throughout the ages. But I’d always thought it was metaphorical, just an expression, not a real person.”
“Do I look real enough for you?” She spun around giving him a quick look at all sides, allowing him to discover that, although the ribbon of cloth covered her front, it didn’t extend much to her backside, and Oh, what a backside it was! Nicely curved, arching outward in feminine hips and generous fleshy cheeks that just called to be squeezed and fondled. Then she was facing him again and his eyes traveled up from her ribbon covered waist to her smiling face.
The sparkle in her eyes and sassy grin on her lips combined with the sexy shake of her hips and jiggling of her chest (which failed to dislodge that fluttering cloth ribbon one bit) all hinted at the unspoken carnal delights he was hoping she was about to bestow upon him.
“My lady, if Helen of Troy launched a thousand ships, then you could lay claim to having launched the uncounted numbers of ships that have ever existed since then.” His attempt at a compliment had sounded better in his head before he spoke it aloud. That was the problem with real life, you couldn’t type it out, then fix it, and then edit it one more time before other people read your words.
She giggled, appreciating his intent if not his delivery. He certainly needed her help, lots of it. Perhaps even more help than she could provide on her own… and that gave her an idea.
She approached a mirror on the wall, admiring her reflection, put out one hand toward the mirror and… pulled her reflection out into the room with her! “Inspiration and masturbation are so much more fun when there’s more than one involved.” They wrapped their arms around each other and slipped into a passionate kiss.
Watching them kiss while standing right in front of him was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He raised his arms intending to join them and turn it into a three-way hug.
“Ow!” She’d flicked his nose again. “Stop doing that!” He clutched his sore nose with both hands.
“Oh, no you don’t. No touching for you. It’s my job to inspire you. It’s your job to write. You get to sit there and finish your story. I’m going to have fun with myself and you can describe it in detail for your readers. That should get you back on track.”
Reluctantly, he sat back at his desk, put his fingers on the keys and started to type again. His eyes were glued to the ladies who had sunk down to the carpeted floor beside him. “If I ever see my touch-typing instructor from high school again, I’m going to get on my knees and thank her for convincing me to take her class.”
***
Although his eyes never strayed from drinking in the eroticly writhing forms on the floor beside him, the clicking of keys had not paused since the action began until the story was finally complete. He flexed and stretched his cramped fingers to get the blood flowing. Turning away from the desk, he leaned forward to get a better view. Their antics had him very excited and straining at his shorts. Surely by now he could join in, right? He stretched out one hand to caress a free breast. Smack! “I told you that you could look but not touch.” She had smacked his nose yet again!
Now his nose was really hurting. That was the third time it had been whacked in the last hour. He wiped the involuntary tears from his eyes and noticed that there was only one figure in front of him.
“Since you can’t play by the rules, it’s time for me to leave.” Springing into the air, her size shrank down to a few inches tall and her wings reappeared.
“What? No! Wait, I’ll be good. Come back, I’ll be good!” Heedless of his cries, she took off out the window disappearing into the night. He tried to go after her but found himself moving in slow motion almost as if stuck in molasses. He struggled to raise his arms and move his legs when…
His eyes opened and he raised his head up off the desk. His forehead had slipped off the padded wrist support and, cradled in his arms, all the weight of his head had been resting on his nose, pressed into the wood of his desk. It smarted something fierce. He glanced at the clock, 1 in the morning. He looked at the computer screen at the unfinished story. Nope, nothing had changed since he put his head down and fell asleep.
"Now I’m never going to get it done in time.” He sighed. “Heck with it. I’d rather take as long as necessary to get it done right, than to force it and put out a lousy story. I’m going to bed. Maybe I can write a better one next month.
