tagErotic CouplingsWriter's Block

Writer's Block

byLucy1970Harker©

They were driving together, somewhere

They were in the car, and it was raining hard.

"Can you see all right?" he asked.

"Sure. I'm fine," she said.

She liked driving. And she liked the rain. The sound was soothing. So was sitting near him. She probably wouldn't have enjoyed driving in pouring rain on the highway, but slowly weaving her way through back country roads — she liked it.

"So, how's the writer's block going?" he said.

She smiled.

"Still blocked. I'm setting a record by now. I haven't been able to write in months," she said.

"But why?" he said.

"I don't know. I feel like I'm generally blocked. If you know what I mean?" she said.

"I understand. But still, why?" he said.

She eased into a right turn, and cranked the windshield wipers up a notch.

"I don't know. I mean, it isn't like the words, or the feelings, aren't there. They are. Almost too many," she said.

"Like I maybe have too going on. My insides are too frantic. I need a way to center, and I'm sure there would be some kind of general explosion," she said.

"Can you get some quiet time by yourself?" he said.

"I can try. Now I almost feel afraid of what will happen," she said, laughing a little.

"Well, the longer you wait, the worse it is going to be," he said.

"I know," she said.

She was wearing a really plunging neckline. It was difficult for him to maintain his gentlemanly eye contact. But he knew she did it on purpose. Which made it even more important for him to not look.

"I'm worried something might happen in the meantime and I'll lost control and do something stupid. I'm sort of on edge," she said.

"If it's been months, I can see why. What do you mean, do something stupid?" he said.

She thought about it.

"I don't know. Maybe I should be quiet now," she said.

"Come on. You can tell me anything," he said.

"I know," she said. Paused to think.

"This is almost hard for me to think about. Let alone say," she said.

"Spill it," he said.

"Well, the other night, you remember I told you I was talking to that other guy?" she said.

That other guy was someone they both knew through work. She flirted with him a lot. And he did not keep his eyes in gentlemanly places when he was around her.

"Yes. Did you do something with him?" he said.

"Well, no, but..." she said.

"But?" he said. He was surprised to feel a small surge of what he recognized as jealousy, then dismissed it as ridiculous. Still, it nagged him a bit.

"You know how he looks at me," she said.

"I do," he said. And he did. He'd seen it himself. Found it amusing in a way, that other guy's utter lack of self-discipline around her.

"Well, you know I don't necessarily mind guys looking at my chest. Or down my shirt. Depending on the guy," she said.

"I'm aware. Especially when you wear shirts like that. You can't blame them," he said.

She laughed.

"I thought you didn't notice. I'm touched," she said.

"I notice. I'm human. I'm just not quite as obvious as that other guy," he said.

She let herself smile at that for a minute.

"So, anyway, this night for some reason, it was more than ever. Maybe I'm giving off some vibe that...I don't know. You know...," she said.

"What?" he said.

"That I need....something," she said. She was blushing now.

"I see," he said.

"So we were in this office, alone, talking. And he was standing over me, taller than me. I felt small. Sort of powerless. But in a good way," she said.

"I get it," he said.

"And we were talking about some stupid shit he was all fired up about, and I would look him in the eye, but every, single, time, I turned my head, I could feel him looking down my shirt," she said.

"What were you wearing?" he said.

"That's the thing, I was like a sweater...maybe a little clingy, but..., nothing like today," she said.

"Maybe a little clingy. Yeah yeah," he said.

"I mean, when you sort of have boobs the size of mine, it stands to reason that something is going to be a little clingy," she said.

"I've noticed," he said.

She turned to look at him now.

"Look at you! Being all open and sharing," she said.

"If you keep pointing it out, I'm going to have to realize it and stop," he said, smiling.

She laughed.

"So anyway, I've always had this sort of ebbing and flowing tension with that other guy. But this tension was ridiculous. It was so tense, so crackling in that room," she said.

"It was almost like he could barely wait for me to look away so he could look at my chest again. All he while, we are talking about nonsense, but I can feel his eyes on me. And he had to know I knew he was doing it," she said.

"But it was seriously like he couldn't control it. And the stare was so hard. I could almost feel it, feel his eyes touching me, pouring over me, over my body," she said.

"And here's where I should probably stop talking," she said.

"You can't stop now," he said. He found he was hanging on every word, in a way. A way he couldn't describe.

"Well," she said, blushing again.

"I knew, somehow, maybe it was this tension, that he was trying to find my nipples, the outline of them, under my sweater," she said.

"No doubt," he said.

"Why am I telling you this?" she said.

"Because I told you to," he said.

"Keep going," he said.

"We're almost there," she said, with relief.

"Pull in here. I'll walk from here," he said, directing her to a parking lot that was mostly vacant.

"It's raining," she protested.

"I won't melt. Easier for you. Plus you need to finish your story," he said.

"Ugh," she said.

She stopped the car, the rain still pounding.

"Now I have to look at you when I'm saying it though," she said.

"No you don't," he said.

"Ok," she said, leaning her head against her seat and pulling a leg under her. She was wearing a skirt.

She looked nice in skirts, he thought.

"So I knew he was looking for the outline of my nipples, and I thought to myself, stop thinking that right now, but once I realized, I couldn't get it out of my mind, so I tried to look into his eyes, but then I thought he might see...," she said.

"See what? That you were getting turned on?" he said.

She closed her eyes.

"Don't say it. Yes. Exactly," she said.

"I'm really bad with that, it is really, really obvious when I'm turned on in my eyes. I've literally had guys have to walk away from me in a public place because the look in my eyes was driving them too crazy," she said.

"Get the fuck out of here," he said, laughing a little.

"No lie! Don't make me show you," she said, smiling.

"Ok, ok, I believe you," he said.

"I can control it a little, but not when it gets as bad as it was with that other guy in this moment I'm describing," she said.

"So I'm getting so flustered and turned on and my choices are to look into his eyes and have him see it or look away and feel his eyes crawling all over me, over my shirt, down my shirt, and I'm thinking about what he's straining to see, and then what do you think happens?" she said.

"What?" he said.

"What would be a bad thing to happen at that moment, being turned on and him trying to find my nipples under my clingy sweater?" she said.

It sank in finally and he started to get a little uncomfortable, in a good way, himself.

"Your nipples got hard?" he said.

She blushed again.

"Yes, and I could feel it, and then it was really bad. There was no way he didn't see it," she said.

"And then I started thinking what if I just said, 'This is ridiculous....' and just pulled my sweater over my head, and said 'is this what you wanted to see?'" she said.

"Wow. That would have made things interesting," he said, trying not to picture it himself, her, turned on, probably trembling, pulling her sweater off, her hard nipples poking through the bra she was probably spilling out of.

"And then I knew it was time to go. Because if I didn't leave at that moment, I knew I was going to give some sort of hint, some sort of invitation, some sort of yielding to him. I knew all I had to do was look into his eyes and he'd be seeing only one message in them," she said.

"Which would be?" he said.

She looked at him.

"You can't figure it out?" she said.

"I can guess. I just wanted to hear what you were thinking," he said.

"I knew that all my eyes would be saying was 'Yes, do it. Just do it already. Throw me on this desk. Pull me down on the floor. Push my back against the wall. However you want it. Just fuck me already,'" she said, slowly and quietly.

It was quiet for a moment.

"Wow. That would have been a hard invitation to turn down, I'd guess," he said.

"And he wouldn't have. And it would have been rough and unrefined and probably the farthest thing from some Casanova type passionate moment, but..." she said.

"But....that's exactly what you wanted. What you needed, right?" he said.

She leaned her head on the seat of the car and turned to him.

"Yes. Right. You understand," she said.

"It was that naked hunger that was turning me on. That uncontrollable need that he was putting off. I can relate to it, it found the same in me," she said.

He looked into her eyes.

"So what did you do?" he said.

"I ran," she said, turning to look out the windshield again.

"I won't say like a coward, because it was the right thing to do. And it was a hard thing to do. But I made a quick escape," she said.

"Right. But couldn't you have used that inspiration to....," he asked.

"I suppose I could have. But like I said, it was almost too much. I've just been putting these feelings away, and it is only when something stirs me that they call come pounding to the surface," she said.

"I've gotten good at that whole repression thing thanks to you," she said, turning to him and smiling again.

He could have used some repression skills himself at the moment.

"You're not entirely repressing," he said.

Their brown eyes were locked together.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"I can see it in your eyes," he said, smiling. And he could, faint clouds of something gathering in her eyes, like a sudden storm over the ocean.

She was startled, and covered her eyes with her hands.

"Damnit!" she said, laughing.

He pulled her hands away.

"I think your problem, on all fronts, is fighting all this all the time," he said, gently.

The fiery clouds gathered more in her eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with feeling things. Let yourself feel them," he said.

His voice was hypnotic. Lulling, but not in a sleepy way.

Unconsciously, he reached out to touch her face, gently.

"Isn't that better? Let it go. Just let it go," he said.

It was so much better.

"It is better," she said.

"But you don't realize what you're dealing with here..." she said.

"I'm like....I don't know. What's that thing on a gun that makes it go off without almost any effort?" she said, softly.

Still, their eyes were locked. His fingers still traced the side of her face, drifting to her neck, her shoulder.

"A hair trigger," he said.

"It's called a hair trigger," he said.

"You remember I have experience with guns. I can handle a hair trigger," he said.

It was too much. She looked down.

"Don't do that. No running away," he said.

"You're never going to get through this if you don't face it," he said.

"I'm afraid," she whispered.

His fingers moved down to that plunging neckline of her shirt, teasing the seam of it with one finger.

"Don't," she said, the physical response pummeling her brain like popping popcorn.

"You know, if you're going to get all flustered when someone looks down your shirt, maybe you shouldn't wear shirts like these," he said, his fingers still tracing the neckline, teasing her, barely touching her.

"Because I don't see how any man could help it," he said.

"You help it," she whispered, paralyzed. Hypnotized.

"You just don't catch me. But trust me, when I see you wearing a shirt like this..." he said.

And then he looked. Looked all over the front of her shirt, down it. God, she could feel it, he stared at her so hard.

"Please. Don't. I can't deal with it," she said.

"Sure you can," he said.

Her eyes were filled, smoked over with fire, her teeth biting into her lower lip. His fingers moved over, pulling now at the neckline of her shirt, moving it to the side, moving over her bra, find her hardening nipple, and tracing it with his finger.

She gasped out loud.

"The thing about a hair trigger is, you just have to be gentle. Be in control. You have to make sure the gun doesn't go off until exactly the right moment, until you want it to," he said.

"I don't think that you'll be able to do that in this case," she whispered.

"Are you underestimating me?" he said, smiling.

She shook her head.

"Good," he said. He moved into the back seat of the truck, and pulled her with him. It was still pounding rain.

He pulled her onto his lap until she was straddling him, feeling him hard underneath her.

His hands went to her face, holding it in both hands.

She couldn't breathe, waiting. She wasn't going to do anything or ask for anything, though every thought running through her mind was some form of begging and pleading.

He could see that in her eyes, see the urgency. See the need.

The pleading to please, just please, do something. He thought of her pulling that sweater over her head, urging, begging, pleading.

His hands moved behind her head, pulling her to his mouth in a soft, deep kiss. His tongue found hers. She shuddered and shook, her fingers deep in his hair, both of them holding onto one another. The kiss was enveloping, the kiss of a thousand years of hunger, the kiss soothing an ache, urging them on, and on.

Her hips moved on his lap, grinding against him, and his hands moved from her neck to digging his fingers into her back, to lower, finding her ass and holding it there, holding her against him.

The rain was wet but the late afternoon was warm and the car got hotter. She leaned back and hit the button for the sun roof, letting the pounding rain in for a moment, falling on her hair, leaning back and feeling it across her body, droplets running down her chest, into her cleavage, on him, and they were both getting wetter, He stared as her shirt clung to her.

She saw his eyes, and this time she did not look away.

She pulled the neckline of her shirt open, away, her bra wet, thin, transparent really.

"Is this what you want to see?" she said.

"Oh yeah," he said.

Oh yeah.

The tension now beating in both of them, thundering like the rain, and he reached up and tore the shirt from her hands, yanking the sides down, trapping her arms against her and pulling her body to him, tightly, roughly, looking into her eyes.

"Feel it? Are you feeling it now?" he whispered.

"Yes...yes," she whispered.

He looked first, her full pale breasts, her hard, pink nipples, reddened with heat and aching, begging him, begging him to take them.

He pulled her to him, tightly holding her arms against her, and gently took her hard nipple into his mouth, gently easing into his mouth, his tongue dancing around it, and he knew that the moment he put any pressure on that aching, hard nipple, she'd explode. There was no question. Her nipples were so hard, so exposed.

She took her fist in her mouth, biting down, hard, as he sucked her nipple deep in his mouth. Her hips bucked wildly, and still he held her tightly. Down, hard, impossible to escape. Because he knew this was what she feared and what she would try to escape.

There was no escape from it, and he heard her nonsense whispers, not sure what to beg him for, but begging, please, as her gasps grew shallow, high, soaring sighs, and now her hands tightly rested in his hair, pulling, holding him to her, and he sucked and licked, teased with his teeth, harder, faster, not stopping.

And her sighing, her gasping, and now, now, now, she sighed, shook, whispered.

"I'm going to scream," she whispered.

"I am, I...I... can't.. I'm going to....going to.....going to..," and her words disappeared into racking sighs that elevated into moans she tried to fight until the orgasm that ripped through her rendered her utterly speechless.

Her head back, her mouth in a silent scream, and she fought and smacked him off until she fell to his side on the seat of the car, shuddering, shaking. Trying to breathe.

He moved over her, pushing her back down against the seat, climbing over her, holding her down on the seat, leaning in to kiss her mouth, tongues twirling, tied together, and the kiss was relief, it was more tension, it was hot, and he pulled away, both breathing hard.

"Do you think I'm insane?" she whispered.

"Does it look like it?" he said, his body moving over hers, her hips moving beneath his.

"Do you think I'm a nymphomaniac?" she says.

He leaned in to kiss her again, gently, tongue teasing hers, breathless again, pulling away.

"A nymphomaniac fucks anything in sight," he said.

"Obviously if you did that you wouldn't be in this state," he said.

His finger touched her lips.

"You know what you need?" he said.

She laughed.

"Tell me," she whispered.

His hand moved to her hip, and squeezed.

"You need a really good screw," he said.

Her body moved under his.

"Yeah?" she whispered.

"Yeah. A really good fuck. One of those weekends where you just lie in bed, and don't do anything else, except maybe eat a little. Just over, and over," he said.

Her eyes fluttered.

"That would fix me," she whispered.

"And you'd keep going, even if you thought you were too sore. You wouldn't care," he said.

She laughed quietly.

"I wouldn't get sore, if it was with you, but I'd enjoy you trying," she said.

"Oh yeah? How do you know?" he said.

Her legs opened involuntarily. He moved in closer, pushed between them.

She looked right into his eyes.

"Because you have no idea how wet you make me, it would make it so easy for you," she said.

"Oh yeah?" he said.

"Oh yeah," she said.

His hand had lowered from her hip and to her thigh, and moved under her skirt.

Her breathing was shallow.

"You know you're really wet, when you're taking a bath, and you feel wetter than the water," she said.

His dick was getting harder. He couldn't help it. His fingers felt the tops of her stockings that ended mid-thigh. Reaching the soft skin of her thighs, and her legs yielded to him.

"That's impressive," he said.

"You want to see, you don't you? How wet you make me?" she asked.

He did. He really did.

His fingers found her panties.

She gasped.

"Watch that trigger," she whispered.

He traced her clit through them.

"I've got it under control," he said.

She moved under him as his fingers teased her, and her hands moved to his shoulders as he leaned in again to kiss her, hot, wet, breathless.

Her hands moved down his body, down his arms to rest at hips, opening her legs to him more, pulling him down, holding his hips tightly, as their tongues twisted around each others.

She struggled to breathe and found the button of his jeans, blindly opening it without conscious thought, just opening it, pulling them open, her fingers finding him hard, holding him, stroking him, and her eyes fluttered.

He pulled away from her mouth, closing his eyes to the feeling of her hands on him, his hands pushing her shirt up and over her head.

He was still over her, her back against the seat, but the feeling of his hard dick in her hands drove her to lift herself up on her elbows, trying to get closer, closer.

He could sense what she wanted, and moved up her body, climbing over her, with her back leaning against the seat, he moved closer to her mouth.

One last surging forward for both of them, and still holding his dick in her hands, sliding her fingers up and down it, he got closer to her mouth, until it was at her lips, barely touching them, her eyes fluttering, her lips opening, her tongue reaching.

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byLucy1970Harker© 4 comments/ 9957 views/ 6 favorites

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