Doing the Muse

(Just a little fun bit I wrote to thank you guys
for your support and feedback!)

"They say you should go back to your old themes," she said.

"Who are they?" I ask.

She shrugs. Her boobs bounce gently. "You know, your readers."

She turns as I caress her spine.

"You should do what you are good at," she says.

"I'm good at a lot of things," I leer.

She leers back. "Oh, baby, I know you are."

She lights a cigarette. "You should go back to smoking fetish stories." She takes a long, deep drag, her eyelids fluttering in pleasure as her chest expands, her lungs fill with smoke. "Or do hard corruption stories."

I trace the tattoo on her thigh with the tip of my finger as she exhales a stream of smoke that seems to have no end.

"Stories about schoolgirls turning into coke-snorting whores," she sayd, her voice becoming a low, sensual drawl. "Stories about devout Catholic housewives turning into shameless nymphos."

A smile curls her black lips. "About nuns turning into witches."

I chuckle. "Are you thinking about any specific nun?"

My hand cups her shaved pussy.

She smiles, looking at me under half-closed purple eyelids. "I was so boring before you started doing me," she says.

Her clit is pierced, a small siver cross dangling from it.

I use my thumbnail, she shudders, with a sharp intake of breath.

"You should go back to the basics," she whispers. "Take it slow, like when you have sex--"

"I always thought--"

She places her fingertip on my lips. Her long fingernail clicks against my nose stud. "You know what they like. Do it."

She takes another deep drag on her cigarette.

Her tongue is sweet, her lips soft. I breathe in her smoke, her marble-like buttock in my hand.

She moves to sit astride my lap.

"Now we fuck," she whispers in my hear. "Then you go write."

I exhale through my nostrils, biting into her shoulder.
"OK, honey."

It's good to have a muse.