The Writers

The Writer's

Debbie stepped out of the bathroom briefly, inserting a diamond stud earring. She looked ready to be ravished in her black party dress which was still unzipped in the back. Debbie was the most glamorous sophisticated woman I'd ever met: totally deserving of her pedestal.

Out of the blue she asked me, "Jimmy, If you were a writer, what kind of stories would you write?"

In reply I said, "I'd write you kneeling right here sucking my..." I hesitated to say it, then rashly spit out the word. "...cock. We would do it all evening instead of us going out with the Johnson's tonight."

I expected her to complain about me being crude. Maybe she would turn on me. Or maybe she would dismiss it as 'boys will be boys'. If it lead to a fight could we get out of our date with Dora and John? Really, I much preferred the company of Sofia and Mason.

It's not that I hated them. Dora was a mighty pretty woman and they were a well matched couple. It's just that he was always so competitive. He sucked the fun out of any room he was in. Well, decreased it anyway. He was a party animal who just pushed things too far.

Instead she surprised me, "Oh, so you'd write steamy romance novels. There's big payoff in those themes."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"Not so sure it pays well, or not sure you'd write me submitting to your will?" I guess she heard what I'd said after all.

"Oh, I'm sure I'd write you doing whatever I want, and you'd have no choice. I just don't think I'd be a good writer."

Half joking, she huffed, "Well then, I'd write that I was the one in complete control of you. And if it were in writing then you'd have no choice."

She went on, "In fact, I'm gonna do just that, and you're gonna do tricks you've never dreamed of, and love every second of it."

She always has grand plans that she never follows through on. Did she know how hard it is to get published?

She turned her half naked back to me: "Oh babe, do me please." I put my hands on her slim waist instead of the zipper. She teased me, slapping them away. "Zip it UP, not down."

I laughed but didn't think any more of these things until the next week. I was driving home from work and I got a text from Debbie, "Your literary adventure begins: Drop your clothes at the door and recline in the boudoir with no questions." She included an emoji of a whip too. It promised some sort of sexual adventure so I did exactly as she instructed. I was wearing nice presentable clothes so I folded them nicely instead of dropping them.

The bedroom curtains were drawn and the room was lit by one gothic candle.

Debbie was wearing a cosmopolitan black bra and panty set with thigh highs and new boots. She made everything classy. I wondered how much she'd spent, but I couldn't complain now.

She strode up to my naked body and made a big show out of seductively preparing to have her way. She climbed up my body from the foot of the bed and began licking my vulgar penis from root to tip. My cockskin grew taut as fast as a rocket. I enjoyed this indecent aspect of her.

She stopped just long enough to say, "I'm in complete control and you're gonna love every second of it."

As I let myself go I had no doubt I was loving this. And if this were her idea of her being in complete control, well, so be it."

It didn't take more than a couple of minutes and I was spurting into her sullied mouth, being careful to follow her directions not to use my hands or muss her perfect hair.

When she was done she crawled the rest of the way up my body. Her mascara was smeared giving her a haughty look. And despite my best efforts to leave her unblemished a locke of her angelic hair was soiled.

She stared too intensely into my guilty eyes until I looked away.

I don't get a lot of blowjobs but when I do, at its end, she would typically lie down next to me, my arm around her body, with her indecorous face right next to mine. I like being close to her, I just don't like the BJ-breath.

Outside of the bedroom she makes a big deal out of cum being nasty, but when it comes down to it she always swallows. As I said, it unfortunately leaves her with bad breath - not that I'd ever knock her down by letting her know.

Today she surprised me. Taking my jaw into her hand she squeezed my mouth until I opened up, then dramatically spit my cum into my mouth!

The shock rocked me to my core, but I resisted running to the bathroom to spit it out. For if there's one thing I've learned about living with Debbie is to never complain after receiving a gift like the preceding blowjob if I don't want to get frozen out for the next week.

I thought it ironic that she complains about me saying crude things but this act was far far cruder than anything I'd ever said. Underneath I felt a simmering low-key - irritation?.

I've never thought of my cum as gross, not too much anyhow. I've even dipped the tip of my finger in it and tasted it once. But to have a big wad of wicked cum spit into my mouth really did turn my stomach.

And it wasn't only that it was cum. I mean, Deb and I twirl our tongues together often when we kiss, but having her spit in my mouth was pretty gross too. I can't explain why but saliva on our twirling tongues is OK, but spit projected into my mouth is different.

I hid my feelings well. If I reinforced any ideas about sex being unsavory my cultivated high-brow wife might turn away from sex on some level. I already struggled with seeing her as both goddess and common. No need for her to know it.

Kissing me passionately she swapped the remaining immoral mixed flavors with me as she pushed more cum into my reluctant mouth.

After we had tongue wrestled for a bit she pulled off. Some recalcitrant part of me loved the wantonness of it and craved more from my usually too well-mannered lover. But I feared the lasting unforeseen damage this new event could spawn.

Sitting up quickly, still astride my body, her tone changed from sexy to bossy, "Now, go clean up the clutter you left lying around in the office. It's a mess."

Apparently THIS was her being in control.

I'd been meaning to get to it, and who was I to argue with the woman who just gave me an unexpected blowjob? Like I said, blowjobs usually only happen rarely so anything I could do to keep them coming at appropriate intervals...

The next day as I was driving home I got another text. It was in the form of a Harlequin Romance story. It said, "Heathcliff, knelt before the ravishing beauty as she stepped forward straddling his knees. She engulfed his mouth with her moist cunt for the second time that day and he enjoyed the nectar therein."

I was indignant. She didn't seem to mind the course language in her story. Then again, maybe the written medium made the difference. Maybe I WAS more to blame for my language than she for this writing?

The message itself was intriguing! I was pretty sure it meant I was going to be playing the role of Heathcliff when I got home - I drove faster with my balls working overtime so I could deliver an extra large creamy load.

When I arrived I wasn't sure if I was supposed to drop my clothes at the door or not, so I did it anyway. Roaming the house naked, my lewd erection bounced before me leading me along.

She wasn't in the bedroom proper but I found her reclining on the couch with a glass of white wine.

She was wearing an outfit much like yesterdays. The villainous boots and thigh highs were the same, but her black bra and panties were made of a more erotic leather today. She must have just had them delivered.

Seeing me she uncrossed her legs and cried, "Come here, lover." With her eyes she motioned to the floor at her feet and I knelt there. "Remove my panties. With your teeth."

This was a sexy game. It was harder than it seemed like it should be, but I got them off eventually. "Pleasure me!" She commanded.

The area smelled deliciously feminine. Forsaking my cock's needs, I kissed, nibbled, and licked just how she likes it. Doing it on the couch was a novel treat. So was the leather costume.

When she'd had her first orgasm she told me to come up and give her the D. She'd never spoken the word 'dick' before but 'D' was pretty close.

By now my dick had been hard for about a half an hour and I was ready to respect its rightful use.

I pulled her forward so her unfurled puss was at the edge of the couch and gave her my best moves. Soon enough she had another climax and I followed right behind her, filling her up with my 'porn' induced spooge.

With my head resting on her bosom she asked me devilishly if I remembered the story she'd texted to me.

Unjustifiably thrilled that she'd found her slutty side I confessed, "I sure do. It said that Heathcliff, me, was gonna eat your moist cunny." I feared even saying the word 'cunny' out loud. I certainly wouldn't have uttered the more offensive 'cunt'.

With feigned wrath she pushed me off with her foot, standing up. "Wrong! It said you were going to be engulfed by my moistness while I was straddling your knees. Did we do that?"

I knew the text hadn't used the word 'moistness' but I just shook my head no. Then she went on, placing each of her pretty booted feet astride my knees, "And it said it was going to be for the second time."

I glared at her sloppy confounding pussy with the matted hair and speckles of cum. "And it said you were going to enjoy my nectar. So go ahead! Enjoy my nectar!"

I wasn't too happy about the idea. The area smelled of dick, and sex, and jism. By now the slightly gaping gash was leaking a rivulet of raunchy white cum.

In iron-handed tones she continued, "If you've been liking my daily stories and you want any more, then you need to show some appreciation. Now!"

From my vantage point under her used pussy I could actually peer up into her open crevice. I'd never seen it raw and inflamed like this before. I'd never before seen the round jagged opening to her vagina which lay just inside her labia.

It was cavernous, a veritable tunnel, leading to what I knew to be a large taunting deposit of sperm just waiting to ambush me.

Not waiting for me to make the first move she pulled my head roughly to her swollen feral lips, telling me to swipe as far as I could with my tongue. "Yes! Get my nectar. It feels so good."

She ground her hips against me in a circular motion. My face went along for a wild ride.

And when I craned down to reach inside like she wanted, she tilted her hips, shuddering in delight. I do love seeing her abandon herself this way.

"Don't you love it?" She asked.

By now, with all her squirming and exclamations of ecstacy, I did. My head was bent back at an uncomfortable angle but I did my best to reach and taste every obscene crevice. Did she even know that it was more than just her 'nectar' I was ingesting?

And when gobs of my cum mocked me: oozing out to assault my tastebuds, I didn't care at all. At least not in that moment.

The walls of her cunt contracted on my tongue, feeding me the last remnants of my cream, but also making her too sensitive to go on. Play acting, she pushed me off viciously, exhausted.

"That..was..great." She panted, "Heathcliff might just have to be a regular visitor." I was also exhausted, too worn out to speak, though I just nodded, wiping my punished mouth with my arm. She was right, it was great.

An hour later when the images of what I'd done flashed revoltingly in my mind I didn't feel the same. I never thought I'd be missing the days of vanilla sex but internally I was conflicted. I'd wanted a vixen but I missed my well-bred darling.

The following day was Friday and like clockwork she sent her prose. I was at about the same place in my commute when the text popped up, "The damsel has fallen unconscious. When Heathcliff arrives he discovers her nude body in disarray sprawled out on the bedding."

Splitting my eyes between the road and my phone I typed impulsively with one finger, "He rolls the naked wench over. Kneading the cheeks of her arse he exposes the adorable darker-skinned orifice. He readies himself to enter where he has naught gone afore."

Maybe she would give the go ahead. This was the right medium! So many new lusty thoughts had bubbled up from my sweet dear since she started writing. Maybe in a moment of heat we could finally do anal.

As I typed I was careful not to use language that was too explicit. Though I wondered if she could really respond better to course language in story format?

A few minutes later my phone chimed. To my addition she had added another, "Just when Heathcliff was most tempted toward rape by his darker daemons the constable arrived. (To be continued tomorrow)."

I dashed through the side door and tossed my clothes. When I found her she wasn't wearing sexy lingerie or even boots and hardly seemed ready for adventure. Sweatpants and a T-shirt don't scream "Take me!"

My forlorn erection faded with my hopes.

It was a relief that I wasn't going to be eating cum...but to have nothing! I preferred her nasty little tricks. As distasteful as they were, they were still illicitly fun.

"Erm, isn't Heathcliff visiting?"

"Oh yea. The charming lout is on his way. But he's not gonna get here till tomorrow."

Sorely disappointed, my eyes glanced toward her crotch, locked away behind a drawstring. Surely her nether lips were closed shut and dry. Cum speckled pubic hair didn't seem so repulsive now. Nasty sex was better than no sex.

At dinner she coyly explained that when I made additions to her story she felt obliged to keep the revisions: to honor the craft of writing. But all her preparations were obsolete and she needed more time.

Frustrated, I rolled her words over in my mind just like Heathcliff had rolled her over to expose her virgin asshole. If we 'honored' the story then Heathcliff's intent to ravage her backside was still in play.

She continued, lifting my spirits, "Remember that one time you begged me for a threesome. I do, I remember your wheedling words: telling me I could pick any guy and then we would pick a woman later."

It was true. In a moment of weakness I had. And apparently we were now heading towards a threesome. I reviewed our text messages in my mind and saw mention of a policeman entering our bedroom. I guess I unintentionally pushed the story in that direction. Roleplay had proven to be lots of fun so far

I took her hands in mine, "I'm in! Let's do it."

She squeezed my hands back, "I told you you would love my tricks." My heart gave an ominous thump at that last word. The sex was great, the tricks not so much.

Saturday I was at the hardware store when I got her text: "Back at the Moors there was trouble afoot! Even now as Heathcliff attended to his responsibilities the damsel lay unconscious and exposed. He knew he must make haste - even as help had been summoned."

I abandoned my cart to make haste as the story indicated. Anticipating an adventure it was necessary to hide my rebellious hard on as I walked to my truck.

The house was quiet when I got home. I stripped just inside the door, it had become my standard way of entering this past week.

I discovered Debbie on our bed. She was indeed naked, not posed peacefully like Sleeping Beauty, but lying there with her arms and legs strewn about in awkward positions.

The covers were bunched up here and there covering one foot and the other knee. Additionally, scarves were arranged artistically to cover her sexy bits as well as random bits of provocative skin. Her head was turned to the side but with her hair swept over her face.

The effect of her exhibit was such that there appeared to have been some foul play which left her so alluringly displayed.

Here she was - laid out for me as our story had described. I had been reading and rereading the story the whole way home and the key points were that I planned to knead her buns, that I wanted to plow her butthole, that she viewed it as rape, and that the police would arrive.

I couldn't resist rolling her over. At the very least to enjoy the view. She was just as tempting nude as she had been in her sexy lingerie. I ran my fingers over her refined body.

Arriving back at her buns I pressed, spreading her cheeks to reveal the shadowy prize therein.

Did I dare? Should I tie her with the scarves? Why else were they there? But had she not warned me?

In the end I tied her loosely for dramatic effect alone. In no way would the binds restrict her escape if she desired it. I did, however, fasten one scarf over her eyes securely.

Gazing at her brown winker I whispered to myself under my breath, "Unggh, it's a beauty!"

I'd forgotten she would be listening and in response she giggled before stifling herself.

Taking that as a green light I placed my thumbs as near her bumhole as I had courage for without actually touching it. Then kneading her buns I stretched the untouched hole admiring its inviting circle. I placed a little dab of spit on my finger... She'd already proven that she had no aversion to spit.

Just then my phone chimed. It was the telltale sound of a text - FROM HER. Sighing, and confused I checked my messages. Hers simply said, "Who will save Catherine from her abuser?" Obviously it was a timed message; a warning that she needed saving. Knowing Deb she would want me to be the one to rescue her. She HAD cast me as Heathcliff after all. So would I rescue her from myself or from the mystery man who had not yet arrived?

On a whim I typed a response to the text, speaking out loud so she could hear me as I sent it, "Heathcliff arrived in time to bring Catherine to safety. Shall he have his way?"

I scooped her naked body up in my arms, scarves hung majestically from her form and trailed behind me as I carried her to the couch. The couch would be the only place I could lay her to symbolize safety.

I was a few steps to the living room when I ran into my real life nemesis wearing a tin star and a cops hat - John! Instantly I considered that this was to be a threesome. Why, oh why had she chosen HIM?

"Stop thief!" He yelled, "I've caught you red-handed kidnapping the maiden."

Using his fingers to pantomime a gun he ordered me to lay her down gently on the bed. As I did, I noticed that her groin ended up being hidden by the scarves, but her magnificent breasts were in full presentation in all their splendor.

The arrangement of scarves, hair, and pillows was much more revealing than when she had presented herself to me alone. It was truly pin up worthy.

Simultaneously I felt quite proud, knowing that Deb's full firm and round breasts were better than Dora's small, though pretty perky ones as I imagined them. I was jealous too, that John would leave here with a clandestine memory of my wife. He will have seen her nakedness in the flesh, while I only imagined Dora's. And this probably wouldn't end with him just seeing her.

By now I knew the 'craft of writing' must be obeyed. Moving the regrettable threesome along I played into my role, but objecting, "Officer, it's not what you think. Just ask her." It might not be too late to limit John's part in our theatrical event.

Then I switched to address the blinded Deb, "Catharine, wake up. Wake up!"

Groggily she stirred.

John pointed the gun at me saying, "You be quiet!"

To the awakened Catherine he announced, "I found this outlaw stealing away your senseless body when I entered. I saved you just in time."

Sitting up without covering herself she pretended to be the victim, "Oh constable. Whatever would I have done without you? Whatever shall I do?" She threw the back of her hand to her forehead, emphasizing how helpless she had been.

John approached Deb, "I'm here to help. If you really want to know what you should do, I have some great ideas." Saying that he dropped his pants to his ankles, revealing his cock to me, which I had hoped to be smaller than mine, but at least wasn't bigger. I was thankful she couldn't appreciate it.