Writer's Block

"Do it, Thea," Laya urged, her full lips yielding a commanding grin.

Her simple but straightforward words pushed me over the edge. Finally letting go, I allowed myself the freedom of near nakedness, ogled her beautiful and wholly unsupported breasts, placed a hand on each, and squeezed, cherishing their soft firmness.

For a long moment, we stood facing one another and wearing only panties; Laya calmly raised her hands over her head and brushed her nipples against mine, the effect, a pleasant spark of sensual energy running the length of my spine.

Having placed our drinks on the night table, Justin standing beside us, loosened his tie. Excited, and given the escalating bulge in his pants, his intentions were clear.

I smiled at the sight, even as Laya's hands wandered my body, coming to rest at my waist, her fingers catching the tie-up straps of my pink panties. She tugged, and they puddled at my feet. Slipping her own away from slender legs, she pitched them aside with her toe.

I remembered a man was present in the midst of such feminine sensuality, and still fully clothed, Justin needed addressing. I reached over, helped free his shirt, and worked his belt. Laya, always encouraging, slid up behind me, kissed my shoulder blade, and ran her hands over my hips. She carefully spread my cheeks and touched my anus with her finger. In a strange way, the prostitute's gesture felt maternal, as if she were watching over me, guiding me, playing the role of mentor in an outlandish tutorial right out of the Mad Hatter's tea party handbook.

Enthralled by the presence of two women and sporting a handsome erection, Justin, after shedding the remainder of his clothes—just stood there, patiently awaiting our next move.

In reality and, despite my attempt to present a measure of expertise, everything rested on Laya's skill, as I had no idea what to do next. Having spent years as the wife of a man I naively assumed was an exclusive sex partner, I was baffled, not only due to the presence of a strange man—but also due to Laya, whose level of comfort appeared to grow with the peeling away of garments.

Though acutely interested, out of habit, I shyly averted my eyes from the man's erection, even as Laya refocused her attention by dropping to her knees in front of him.

Justin was tall, well over six feet, and his cock, a thing of beauty, turned me on. I wanted to feel its fullness in my mouth, in my pussy—wherever; I just needed cock! Soaked, I watched Laya fondle the man's generous scrotum, noting how she expertly drew on his hardness with her free hand, ultimately taking him into her mouth, sucking him almost imperceptibly at first, but ravenously thereafter.

Leaning, I whispered into her ear, "Don't make him come, girlfriend. Let me do it."

The comment prompted Justin to make his move. "Everybody on the bed," he exclaimed, and pulling himself from Laya's mouth and taking her arms, he helped her to her feet.

Our nakedness had transformed the setting. Nudity was suddenly normal, comforting, especially against the backdrop of nervousness I had borne moments earlier.

Compliant and holding Laya's hand, we followed and, I found myself thinking the outrageous: that he had a cute butt! In a flash, I remembered feeling the same about Laya's gorgeous ass as she turned away from me at the restaurant. What was happening to me?

Laya hurriedly pulled me onto the bed, saying, "Thea, come lie on your side; let's spoon. I want to feel the length of your body."

Nuzzling her ear, I sucked on her lobe and whispered, "What about Justin?" Gazing up at him, she commented, "He knows what he wants, don't worry."

Giggling, she rolled me over, her silken skin sliding against mine and resting her hand on my knee; she paused, then continued, her fingers coming to rest between my legs where she gently parted the folds of my cunt. A grinning Justin, witnessing the sultry interchange, awaited an invitation.

Not getting one, he rested a knee on the edge of the bed and shuffled forward until his long rigid cock pressed against my lips. "Open for him, Thea," Laya whispered, stroking my jaw. "Suck his cock. I will watch you."

The man, suspicious over my hesitations, asked, "Just how new is all of this to you, Heather?"

Running my index finger from his balls to his perineum, I murmured, "You be the judge, bad boy. Oh, and don't think I don't know who you are, Justin—don't you dare tell our shared friend, Peter, that I did any of this. If you ever do, I'll post on Facebook that you fuck hookers!"

"You're secret is safe with me," he happily replied.

Without missing another beat, I reacted to Laya's order, and opening my mouth, I drew him into my throat, his precum, a reminder that his was only the second cock I had ever sucked. Improbably, I savored it, and relying on what little I knew of sex from my marriage to Russell; I nursed the sticky fluid, my tongue following patterns my husband had insisted he loved.

The two men were the same—but different. Justin's erection, thick and hard, felt wet and hot, its girth hard against the back of my mouth. Russell's member was slender; long; I had accommodated him more handily. The extra effort Justin's demanded hinted at the submission I craved; I liked it more than I wanted to admit.

Breaking the spell, Laya, holding my breasts, whispered me tricks.

"Breathe through your nose," she counseled. I did, and looking up, I watched Justin's reaction as his eyes rolled back in his head. I sucked harder; his body tensed. "Don't make him come, Thea, not yet," she ordered, "give him his money's worth!"

Laya had barely touched Justin; she gave little indication she intended to. She had almost continuously touched me, however. I relished the subtlety of her feminine caresses, especially their softness. She fingered herself and touched me just under my nose, the fragrance of her pussy, a bouquet of Aphrodite's incense. With Justin's cock sliding in and out of my mouth, she spread delicious pussy juice over my lips like some invisible gloss.

The moment was searingly erotic, and a connection drew me to this singular woman, even interpreting her expert stimulation as a reward for impressive bravery.

However, things had turned decidedly one-sided, and I hesitated to put on a show for either of these unlikely companions. Gripping the thick base of the oozing cock in my mouth, I drew my head back, popped it out, and lifted it to Laya's pouting lips, a trail of thick saliva and precum connecting us in its wake.

It was my turn to watch the professional's skillful sucking, and she eyed me as her own brand of poetry-in-motion unfolded. Laya proved every bit the expert—and knew it.

Feeling the presence of fingers on my mound and expecting them to be Laya's, I looked down, only to find Justin touching me. Now a hired girl, I opened my legs for him, stretching my pussy as he flicked a smooth nail over my clit.

In an attempt to stifle a resultant moan and to maintain an emotional distance from the very handsome man, I took him back in my mouth. Lowering myself, I found Laya already there, noisily slurping his cock, her lips and chin wet with dribbles of spit.

With Justin's hard cock being devoured by the beautiful call girl, I busied myself, burying my face between his legs and taking a single testicle into my mouth. I wet it with my tongue, raked my nails through his pubic hair, licked his scrotum, and pressured his perineum with my thumb.

With Laya hard at work, Justin leaned toward me, his long arm continuing to probe my legs where he fingered my slit. It had been so long since I had had a man inside me—even a finger—and I wanted to shout with glee, but hesitated, knowing the moment was relevant only to me and the end of the drawn-out dry spell of my sex life—and for a way out of the writer's block plaguing my professional being.

Therefore, despite what had turned into a moment breaking apart the confines of my sheltered world, I followed Peter's advice and compelled a hidden part of myself to 'stand apart,' to observe the actions of two people I had known only hours and making mental notes, I watched as much as I participated.

That detour ended when Laya popped the head of Justin's cock from her mouth and, using her delicate hand; she reinserted it into mine.

Gurgling sounds filled my head, and as if punishing me, Laya pressed against Justin's backside, his cock, shafting my throat. I relaxed my tongue—to the extent possible—to welcome him. With my eyes welling with tears of pleasurable discomfort, I suddenly grasped what I had done; opened my body to a stranger for money, a counter-peculiar level of triumph for any woman.

"That's it, Thea," Laya whispered, "Suck it, girl—suck that dick!"

Acknowledging her encouragement with a slim nod, I tried to smile, but with my lips stretched and my eyes tearing, it was hard to express elation. Instead, reaching back and taking Laya's hand, I drew it to the space between my thighs and pressing her nose against my hair; she nibbled my earlobe as one of her fingers joined Justin's in flicking and massaged my aching clit.

It is true what they say about sex; the more one has, the more one wants. The atmosphere on the bed was hot— I wanted more.

Gasping for air, I pushed back on Justin's stomach. He slid from my mouth, a line of glistening saliva stretching to the glorious crown of his purplish cock before breaking of its own weight and falling to the bed in a tiny puddle. With mascara-stained eyes, I looked up at the man I did not know and conveyed what I wanted next—he understood. Rolling over, I pushed Laya onto her back, her dark hair flying messily across her radiant face, and lifting a leg, I straddled her, my bottom high in the air.

The bed creaked ominously as Justin situated himself behind me. I felt his hands on my buttocks as his cock jarred my puckered hole, and curiously, I did not waver. Instead, looking down at Laya, her eyes wide and aware and hinting pleasant surprise, she beamed, as if proud of the day's accomplishments, as if pleased some straight-laced author, had braved adventure in her outlandish underworld.

However, Justin did not take advantage of the moment to shove his dick up my ass but rather opted for the sweet spot of my vagina. Grabbing a fistful of my red mane, he snapped my neck back, prompting a shout as he lunged.

As he did, my mind turned to Laya. I wanted her to attend to my tingling and aching breasts, but in the midst of this otherworldly setting, I hesitated, preferring to wait for her refined instincts to find me. Would she know what to do? In what amounted to an emotional reverse, everything changed—I wanted to be the subject of her desire.

Were it not for the distraction rendered by the tidal wave of sexual tension on the bed; I might have had time to be terrified over this perplexing young woman whose sexuality had consumed my own, that I, as a writer, was conquered by my subject.

That paradoxical moment ended in commotion as Justin enjoyed my body. Pummeling my cervix, we reenacted time's immemorial joining of male and female, as he pushed, withdrew—repeated. Shafting me again and again, he took me to the brink of orgasm, and I rubbed my clit hard against Laya's pubic mound, wanted more, and urged him, saying, "Let go of my hair; I need to kiss Laya's mouth."

I needed to taste her, to sift passion from her willing body. But Justin did not let go. I did not kiss her. Instead, and resolutely, he smacked my rump, and I yelped in pleasure.

"Suck these," the grinning Laya, looking up at me, said. Offering her slender fingers to fellate, and as Justin continued chastening me and spanking my bottom; he noticed with each slap, I wanted more, all while sucking Laya's slender, feminine fingers, pacifiers in waiting as the man who had purchased us continued to have his way—to get his money's worth.

By then, however, I only wanted Laya and refused to give the man the satisfaction of a further response. Searching Laya's face, I knew she understood I had passed through a crucial entryway; never more would I be trodden to submission by a man—especially not one paying for my body.

Laya and I had transitioned from writer and subject to feminine intimacy, from New York girl to Seattle girl, a merging of women, both finding their way through lives where their dignity and self-respect are inevitably challenged in a world of men. The absorbing moment was filled with triumph—a recognition that writer and escort had entwined.

Justin grunted, but instead of pumping hot sperm into me, he pulled his cock from the grasping petals of my slit, pushed me away, and sat back. With his chest heaving, his skin flushed, his face was a study in sexual victory—partial victory.

"You're great, Thea," Laya said, her legs spread widely. "See? You're a whore, just like me."

Like a slap in the face, she had used the 'W' word, the one I employed so thoughtlessly. I was ashamed over the earlier indiscretion, and caressing her cheek, I whispered, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Nodding, she rolled onto her stomach and on her hands and knees; she backed up, her dripping vagina inviting Justin's erection. "My turn," she announced.

Leaning forward, I positioned her for what was to come, and with her little ass bobbing in the air like a child's, she flicked her hair to one side.

Justin spanked her, and drawing a deep breath, she made him think he was in control. He struck her again, and her white skin reddened. Taking her hand, I squeezed it tightly, a woman's support for another woman.

"Move up," Laya said, patting the bed in front of her. "Move up here and onto your back."

Complying, I repositioned myself, spreading my legs for her. Bobbing her ass in Justin's direction, I knew her real objective was to savor my sex, and she played with my clit, pushed her fingers into me, curling them upwards, feeling for the spongy roof of my pussy.

Settling into a slow, grinding rhythm, Laya turned me to jelly. My head tipped back, and my hair covered my face as she zoomed in on my orgasm.

"Get back down here," Justin panted, and pointing to his engorged cock, I groaned, not wanting to detach myself from Laya's accomplished fingers. But he was the client and seemed frustrated by the attentions two women he had purchased for himself, instead, attended to each other.

Laya tried to keep her fingers in me, but the angle proved awkward as I crawled over her back, where I stopped and held my chin just above her bottom.

"You want to come for me, big man?" I asked, opening my mouth in invitation. "Ready to give me your hot cream?"

He grunted, and I leaned to him and followed Laya's scent, by then, scattered about his body. Without so much as touching him, his cock pumped hot slashes of thick liquid over my open lips, landing in thuds, silent weights covering my teeth, a searing rivulet striking my eye and prompting me to jerk my head back. Stunned by the burning sensation of his sperm, I wiped my eye and broke into a naughty grin.

I had almost forgotten how much I loved the feel, the look, the aroma of sperm, of a strong man's exploding cock backing me off like a shove, its swollen veins powering its tiny slit, spitting in my face, its commanding arrival—contrasting with my former husband's dreary dribble.

Instinctively hoping to catch his finishing drops and intending to swallow, I opened my mouth, only to catch an unexpected whisper, cautioning me to alter course.

"Don't swallow, Heather," I heard Laya say. "Save it for me—for us!"

Still wiping the remainder of the thick ejaculate from my eyelid, I did as she asked, and with my finger, I scraped sperm that had missed its target into my mouth. With his load safely stowed on my tongue, I held it there, safely locking it in by pressing my sticky lips together.

I reached for Laya's hand, guided it to my sex, and shivered as she slid her fingers back inside me. I was close, and she knew what to do.

With my mouth filled with Justin's ejaculate, I lay back and allowed Laya to tongue my clit; her fingers firmly lodged in my sodden vagina. This time, she crammed her thumb into my rectum, working its magic as our spent client sat at the bedside, and gazing in amazement, he watched as I squealed in orgasmic delight.

When I calmed, Laya's face, awash in my body's juices, drifted to mine, where she licked the remaining semen from my eyelids, forehead, and cheeks. After lapping the nourishing milk, she kissed my mouth, her tongue exploring, probing—crystalizing our newly found affection.

I opened for her. We shared a deep kiss, tasting one another, a witches' brew of sensual rapture. Our mouths explored for what seemed an eternity. We hugged and traded droplets of cum from one mouth to another and back again.

Searching one another's eyes, we simultaneously swilled, then swallowed, an act strangely signifying the oneness we had become, melded by the now immaterial man who sat by representing little more than a mechanical contributor of a few drops of nectar from which an embryonic new love had blossomed.

Laboring, Laya, clearing her throat of its thick glaze, whispered in a leaden voice, "Now, Thea, my dazzling new girlfriend—now you can write your bestseller!"

END