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The Process of Inspiration
The Process of Inspiration {Redman} {MF cons}
(c) November 2000
Before I close my e-mail client for the night, I
looked lovingly at the last file received. It's a
story from her, the woman that inspires me. My e-mail
muse.
It's a VERY erotic story, filled with lust and
passion. I'm tired. But sleepy? Not any more!
In our bedroom, my Marj lies curled like a
innocent, naked as Eve. She should know better than
to present her nether regions toward me so invitingly.
On the best of nights, she's hard for me to resist.
Tonight, it's impossible!
I silently disrobe and slide into bed. From the light
streaming through the door, I look upon my love's
lovelies. I think about that e-mail, comparing what
my muse wrote and what I see before me.
My fingers rise obsessively to touch the two flowers
I see. One is a delicate dew-lily that I spread and open
slightly with my petting. The other, a wrinkled bud
that shies away from my caress. I lean forward,
tasting both lightly with the tip of my tongue.
Marj moans and rolls, ending on her back, legs akimbo.
A dream induced invitation? If so, I accepted.
My tongue begins lapping at her lily, stirring the
moist dew from its depths. My tongue's vigor awakens
Marj. Still half-asleep, she reaches for my head,
dragging me forward by my ears. Typical Marj, always
horny, even while appearing virtuous in repose.
Awake now, Marj casts subtlety aside. When Marj gets
excited, she's no delicate lily. She's only cunt.
Raw, greedy cunt! She wants what I want. She needs
what I need!
Her urgency soon exceeds mine, without even the
assistance of e-mail. Her hips come to life.
Slowly at first, then more emphatic. My face becomes
her scratching post. rubs against my lips,
it nibbles my nose. It's a voracious, hungry beast.
As I fuck it with my tongue, it fucks me back.
Then Marj insistently pulls me upward by my ears.
Her itch has gone deeper than my tongue can reach.
Our groans harmonize as my cock begins to
scratch it.
Forget finesse! Now there was only the vigorous,
headlong fuck toward oblivion. Over and over,
I hammer her. I cling to Marj, the willing receptacle
of our sexual savagery.
I think about that e-mail. Digital dick! Password
protected pussy! Input! Output! Cock! Cunt! Binary Code!
A slick Silicon Valley of sex and sperm, of infidelity
and adultery!
My muse sings over my ISP connection. My wife's
bellows a bawdier tune. Together, they inspire a fresh
eruption of creativity in me. It comes bubbling,
boiling, roaring through my brain and through my cock,
deluging my cerebellum and Marj's cervix equally with
hot fertile seed!
As I roll off of Marj, exhausted, she purrs contentedly.
Her fingertips stroke my forehead to the rhythm of the
aftershocks tingling her cunt.
"You must have gotten another e-mail tonight!" said my
omniscient Marj.
"You guessed, eh? Enjoy it, love?"
"It was yummy! I hope she writes again tomorrow!"