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Her writing has had a profound impact on my pleasure. Almost everyday I look for a new creation from her. I know most days there won’t be one but I harden with anticipation anyway. I read her older stories and search for the pieces that might reveal her. She has told me they are real so I must wonder if she is a part of them. She has become my sexual muse.

She has taken me along so perfectly. Her stories are like prose. She elicits a special response as I read along stroking myself. It is so much smoother and lubricating than usual. And the stiffness of my cock is like never experienced before. It is fatter and longer; stone hard. It pulses with life, the head literally swelling and contracting as I read. The large veins are obvious of course but I can see the small ones bursting from below the surface as well. It is as if I have a cock ring on but I don’t. It is the power of her craft, her spell.

Many days when I awaken in the morning, I recall a segment or phrase from her creations. I get hard in bed and start squeezing myself slowly; wondering about her. Her writing has taken me to another place, no longer responding to the writer but to the woman. God, she’s so passionate! What does she look like, smell like, taste like? I want to know! She tells me she is happy that I cum hard from her writing but would she like my cum? Would she like to feel it in her hands, in her mouth, on her breasts, dripping in her pussy or elsewhere? Maybe she would! I think about it and I wonder. I wonder if I should feel guilty about such cyber-lust. Am I twisted in some way because I now think about her instead of her writing. I think not. I have no idea what she looks like but I want her to fuck me! Yes, take me and fuck me any way she wants.

If we ever met would she want to fuck me? Maybe!

Maybe we would meet but agree in advance to pretend as though we had never spoken. It would be in the bar of a 5 star hotel and we would get comfortable with one another over wine. Maybe it wouldn’t feel right to one of us and we would separate before exploring further. Maybe she would be wearing a slim fitting dress, her breasts dying to be liberated from beneath. Her legs would slide between the slit up the side. “Are you alone?”, she would ask. I would simply smile and gesture for her to take the seat; demetevler escort my cock growing under the table. She would seat herself with legs crossed one over the other, her lips perfectly addressing the wine in her glass. She might start gently moving her leg up and down to the benefit of her steamy V, while I dreamed of parting her sweet womanhood with my tongue. In the midst of polite conversation her hand would disappear below the table then return with two dripping fingers. Without any hesitation in the flow of our discourse she would smoothly and efficiently rub her juice around the rim of my glass. Staring into her eyes, cock pounding, I would take the glass and lick her from the rim; hoping so much to get it all before it dried. “How’s that vintage?” she would ask.

“Exquisite indeed! Wouldn’t you agree?”

“The absolute finest!”

Maybe then I would stand and offer her my arm. We would walk to the elevator together. Amidst the luxurious scene she would lean into me and whisper, “I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll have more!” The elevator door would close and I would fall to my knees. She would lift her dress and pull me into her, neither of us thinking the elevator might stop for other passengers. I would bury my tongue inside her as she lifted herself up and down on her toes. The sloppy sucking sounds would drive both of us on. And the long weekend of pleasure would begin in earnest. Maybe!

Maybe it would be a coffee shop. She would be seated in the corner reading a magazine. I would know it was her just by the scene. She would look at me with no overt signal but I would know to go to her. “Hi! It’s nice to see you!”, I would offer. She might respond in kind and get up to greet me. Maybe we would kiss briefly. Maybe it would last longer and grow deeper. While we spoke and drank our coffee, my mind would flash pictures of me offering to her from behind. I would light her cigarette and as she exhaled I would imagine her taking me into her luscious lips.

Maybe we would exit quietly and she would pull me into a secluded spot off the avenue where I would finally enter her. Pressing her against a building wall, she would beg me to fuck–fuck, fuck, fuck like animals; and we would. And after going at it a while, her juice would be escort demetevler dripping down my balls. Then I would beg to fuck her rim. “Oh god yes, fuck it, fuck it hard!”. We would re-position and she would guide me into her most private spot, my cock dripping with our output. She would receive full length pleasure, while spanking her pussy all the while. It wouldn’t last long but the intensity created would carry us to maximum release. Could it happen? Would she even want such a thing? Maybe!

Maybe I would meet her at a quiet piano bar and she would have a friend. They would be chatting–tight jeans and tank tops. Their interaction would tell that they were more than friends. I would watch for a few minutes before revealing myself. Maybe their conversation would include a gentle kiss between them, their breasts brushing in the process. Maybe they would only exchange gentle touches on the hand as their nipples hardened. Maybe then I would approach.

“Well, I made it!”, I would announce. Both would immediately notice the bulge in my jeans as they sized me up. I would take in everything about them but would be overwhelmed by the brightness in their eyes and their seemingly permanently moist lips.

My muse in her mid-thirties, her friend as many as 10 years her senior. Beneath her friend’s straps would reside an old fashioned pair of torpedo tits with missile nipples but I wouldn’t discover that until later. Both of their lips would be perfectly outlined with a color slightly darker than their pastel, pink, lip-cream.

“So what do you like?” she would ask.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean sex! What do you like?” Her friend would smile widely at the exchange. “BDSM, straight sex, anal, oral, tits, blow jobs; what?”

It would all be such a surprise. I would not have expected her friend nor the scene of them together. I would be more than anxious to experience them both but would it diminish my time with her? Maybe or maybe it would enhance it. Maybe my response would be “All of the above!” Maybe I would ask, “What are you suggesting?”

“We’re gonna fuck your brains out Sam! Together, each alone and maybe with another girlfriend or two; we’re gonna have a fuckfest.”

Maybe we would retire to an apartment not far from the demetevler escort bayan bar where it would begin with sumptuous kisses, deep into our mouths, exchanging smoothly with each other while pausing to watch when not engaged. I would want to be with her but she would tease me and lead me to her friend. Finally pushing me down in a chair she would stand over me as her friend became her lover; pulling her top off from behind. She would know how much I love breasts. The spot in my underwear would turn to a puddle as I would watch them squeeze each other’s wonderful tits. Oh god, it would be excruciating to sit and watch.

Maybe after getting involved myself she would want to mount me. Yes, she would mount me from behind with a double-dildo, strap-on and I with my cock buried deep into party three. It would start slow and deep, before the pounding would become relentless. I would hope for her to cum first but I might wish to suck the cum of her lover while still taking a pounding from her. Maybe I would pull out and delicately outline those missile nipples with my equine sized load, as if I were a patisserie chef. Maybe she would cum shortly thereafter and pull out of me only to rub her breasts gently through my creation. With my cum reflecting from both sets of tits they would begin to savor what they had produced. The sight would send me over the edge. Such sensuality and intimacy! I would beg to suck their dripping slits and they would be more than happy to oblige as they shared the dildo end from her.

Would I even go for such an experience? Maybe!

Maybe it would be in an elevator where we met. Her in a business suite, wire glasses, hair neatly placed. We would get on together and move to the back as others entered. She would take my hand and whisper, “It’s me!” My cock would turn to marble immediately. I would begin to rub her backside beneath her skirt, her slit heating more each second. She would slide in a finger and give me a taste. Finally, we would step out and go into her office. “Hold all my calls.” Her admin would smile and nod. Maybe we would fuck through a half dozen condoms before lunch, then drink champaign afterwards. Maybe. Maybe I would deposit streams of cum in every spot desired and beg for an evening of the same. Maybe!

For now I must wonder, hope and enjoy the special experience my muse creates. My convulsive orgasms make me explode like a pent up animal. My cum is not only profuse it is thick. It shoots out in multiple spasms as my balls contract. I cum no longer for her craft or her characters. I cum for her. Maybe she’ll experience it herself someday. Maybe!

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