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It’s been over two weeks now since I’ve published a new story. Not for lack of effort of course. I’ve sat down in exactly this spot at least once a day, but the words just simply aren’t coming. Who knew that writing semi-fictional stories about sex could somehow be unmotivating?

Sure, I keep scrolling through a dozen different partly written stories, looking for something that will motivate me to complete it. A little edit here, maybe an extra line there, but there’s no creative spark coming. Even the stories that look like a good idea seem like they’re going to take way too much effort to complete.

Here’s one about anal sex in a hotel room. Yeah, that was hot, but it’s already too long.

Then there’s this one about doing it in the park on the swing. Again, great memory, but the story just isn’t capturing the moment right – it’s going to need a re-write and who has the energy for that.

This next one about the surprise blowjob at the office has real potential. I remember starting it a few weeks ago, and can vaguely remember all the good ideas that I had about the dialogue, and some very specific tongue motions I wanted to describe, but even that isn’t inspiring me to start typing again.

When the knock at the home office door came, it was a relief. Good! I can talk to someone for a few minutes and have an excuse for not writing for a while. “Hi dear – mind if I come in?”

“Sure – one second.” I reply. Furiously re-typing a line that was already on the screen so that my wife could hear my fingers moving furiously. One might call it faking an orgasm if I had enough creativity within me at the moment to think of that line.

“Come on in.” I say, trying not to sound too excited at the excuse to not write for a few minutes.

The first thing I notice as she comes into the room is her legs underneath her robe. With the warmer weather, and this being a lazy Saturday morning, she’s now wearing her shorter robe more often, which I highly approve of. Coming to just above her knee, it very flatteringly showed off the combination of her lean, strong thighs and calves with that silky, oh so delicious skin.

She caught me staring at her knees under her robe and smiled. “So, from that dirty look you’re giving me, does that mean you’re having more luck with your writing this morning?”

When I didn’t reply immediately, she took a couple steps across the room to look over my shoulder at the half-written story. “Oh, I like this one.” she said, “This is the one you were writing last month, isn’t it?”

My prolific-writer ego took the hit, and the look on my face answered the question.

“Hmm. Writer’s block still?”

“Looks like it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. Looking up from the screen at her face, I watched the expression on her face change. For a moment, it was a query of concern and an innocent question, but then her smile grew as her mind realized the possible innuendo of her question and turned much more mischievous.

“Are you – in need of some inspiration perhaps?”

Well, now THIS was an even better way to distract me from my writer’s block for a few minutes!

I reached out one hand and put it on her hip, feeling the tight curve underneath the cashmere robe. Certainly, I was now feeling very inspired, even if it had nothing to do with the nearly forgotten laptop sitting on the desk next to me.

“Hang on there.” she cautioned, taking my hand off her hip and setting it down on the desk.

“A long slow Saturday morning fuck is certainly inspiring, but how do I know that it’s actually going to mean you get some writing done?” Damn, she knew me too well. Ironically, we’d actually been going at it often and creatively in the bedroom in the last couple of weeks, but it wasn’t Şerifali Escort translating into the written word, and she knew it.

“OK, here’s the deal.” she said, her eyes now joining her smile in looking very mischievous. “Stand up and take your pants off.”

Yes ma’am. Sounds like a good deal to me so far.

As I stood up from my desk chair to do as I was instructed, my wife slid underneath my big old wooden desk. I thought I had some idea what was coming next, but she was several steps ahead of me in this thought process.

“Now,” she said, kneeling in front of my chair, eye level with the half hard-on I was now displaying. “You’re going to sit down and type, and I’m going to provide you with some – inspiration…but there’s a catch. I’ll keep ‘inspiring’ you for as long as you need. But, whatever story you’re inspired to write – you need to finish before you…finish – if you catch my drift.”

Well.

If I was ever going to get over my writer’s block, this was certainly a way to do it! My wife has an extraordinarily talented tongue, so just to idea of her giving me a long slow blowjob right now had every kind of brain synapse firing. But the idea of being under pressure to write something or else – I had no idea how this was going to work.

Sitting back down at the desk, I opened a blank document and stared at the keyboard for a moment as my wife wrapped her hand gently around me and proceeded to give a long slow lick with the flat of her tongue from the base of the shaft to the tip, lingering on the very tip. My eyes glazed over slightly as my fingers continued to rest unmoving on the keyboard.

After a second slow lick, she stopped. “I’m only going to continue if I hear typing up there.”

Panic. I have to type something. Certainly whatever I’m about to write is going to involve a fabulous blowjob, but where do I begin? What’s the setting? What’s the background? Who’s the aggressor? Is the blowjob foreplay or the main event? Try as I might I couldn’t put a scenario together to build a story around. True to her word, in spite of my straining erection right in front of her nose, my wife wasn’t going to touch me again until I started. I could feel her warm breath, but no more.

“Writer’s block.” I said. “I need an idea to get me started.”

“Write about something you know, something we’ve done.” she suggested, “Or some fantasy that’s on your mind – right – now.” and she broke her promise with a quick flick of her tongue.

“My God.” I exclaimed, “the only thing on my mind right now is your tongue and this damn writer’s block.”

“Good.” she said, “Then that’s where you should start.” With that she turned her head slightly to the side and began to slowly suck on the shaft of my penis, just below the head. Glorious, but in that excruciatingly slow way that she could keep me in this state for a very long time.

Writer’s block? Start there she said?

OK, title on the page, “Writer’s Block”

And then, inspiration struck.

My fingers hit the keyboard furiously to get a few of the key story elements sketched out before they disappeared. At the best of times I need to work feverishly when a story inspiration hits fully formed, but even more so with the added distraction of my wife’s warm mouth sucking gently on the underside of my erection.

At the sound of the keyboard, I actually felt my wife’s lips smile against the side of my penis. “Good.” As if to congratulate me on making a good start she slid her lips and open mouth up and down the underside of my penis one more time before putting her mouth over the top of my head and sinking down slowly until I could feel her nose pressed against my stomach and the head of my penis rubbing the back of her throat. She did Göztepe Escort this slowly, and only once before taking my penis out of her mouth and kissing it lightly. “Keep writing,” she said coyly, “and I’ll keep inspiring.”

The premise of the story was now fully formed in my mind, and rapidly appearing on the page. “Write about something you know” she had said. So here it was, a story about a writer, suffering from writer’s block, and being inspired by a slow blowjob from his wife. It was perfect! And it also didn’t require me to think too much, given that a large part of my brain was not exactly focused on forming words at the moment.

“Tell me the story.” she requested, purring gently and rubbing her tongue across the width of my penis.

So I told her “it’s about what’s happening right now,” I paused, “and what you’re doing to me while I’m writing.”

This seemed to please her. “Is it? Good, then I’m inspiring you properly. Tell me the details as you write them.”

“She’s very talented at what she’s doing,” I said and typed at the same time, “she’s running her open mouth up and down the sides of his penis, flicking her tongue in all the places that she knows from years of experience will turn him on fully, and yet still keep him below the brink.”

“Bit of a run-on sentence,” she critiqued, “but you can fix that later.”

“Now that his writing is moving along well, she’s picking up the pace a bit. Moving her head upward almost to the underside of the desk, she takes in his full length, pressing hard with her tongue as she lowers herself down, and then back up, excruciatingly slow. Slowly at first, then picking up speed slightly, she begins to bob her head up and down, the wetness of her mouth stimulating every nerve ending.”

“Mmmmhmmm” was the only response, as life imitated art.

“Gaining intensity, she puts both of her hands around his waist to the small of his back, and holds him as she goes even deeper, her tongue ticking the very root of his manhood.”

“Like this?” she asked, before executing it perfectly.

“Um, yes.” I said with a deep breath. There were huge gaps in the pre-amble and initial elements of the story, but those could be filled in later. Typing furiously, I didn’t care that I recognized changes from first-person to third-person, changes from past tense to present. Whatever. The words and descriptions were flowing again for the first time in forever, and those details could be edited later.

“Keep talking – I want to know what the hero in your story wants next.”

“She’s taking one hand off of his back, and moving it to the base of his penis, which is now slippery from the wetness of her mouth continuing to pleasure him from top to bottom, bottom to top, top to bottom.” Too repetitive, fix that later I said to myself.

“Her index finger reaches underneath his balls to that spot which feels truly like the root of his penis and applies pressure. With her finger here, her thumb applies a similar pressure just above his tightening balls, the limit of where her lips and tongue can reach on each of their journeys up and down his shaft.”

“That’s very specific. I like it.”

“With one hand still on his back, holding him tight to her warm mouth, and with the other wrapped lovingly around his balls, applying pressure in exactly the places she knows that he loves, she knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer.”

“I want you to tell me how he’s going to cum before it happens.”

“He’s been fantasizing for days about coming on her chest, rubbing against her soft breasts, feeling her hard nipples against his cock as he …”

“Um, dear,” she interrupted. “My head is underneath your desk. I can’t exactly manoeuver myself like that while you’re Ümraniye Escort typing.”

“I suppose so. But he also knows that his wife isn’t a big fan of swallowing, so…”

“It’s fiction dear. She loves to swallow in this story.”

Which was about all I needed to hear. I continued to type frenetically, trying to relate the overwhelming set of sensations – the warm mouth that seemed to touch every part of my prick on it’s repeated moves up and down, her tongue hitting all of the right spots just long enough to drive me crazy, but not quite long enough to bring me over the top. And at the same time, the feeling of her palm squeezing ever so gently on my balls while her fingers vibrated against any spot that her mouth couldn’t reach meant that quite simply she was hitting every important spot that this writer could imagine.

At this point, we were both clear on how this story was going to end. Therefore, I continued to type away as best I could. I no longer needed to invent details, but simply report them as they happened. I focused on the flat of her tongue as she moved her head up and down. Flat, wide and smooth all the way down, flickering next to her thumb at the bottom, flat and smooth again on the way back up, and then that absolutely maddening flicker right underneath the head of my penis.

Describing it as it happens/happened was a unique experience. Sometimes the nuance of what my wife was doing became what was on the page, and other times it felt like she was reading my words as I typed them and then her mouth flawlessly executed them.

We both realized the moment when I hit the point of no return. Her hands continued their action, while her mouth moved just to the head of my penis, somehow sucking hard and yet pressing her tongue against me furiously. Only a few more seconds. Here we go. Yes. Yes. Fuck. Now.

I don’t know whether it was her hand on my back that pulled me deeper at that moment or whether it was me thrusting my hips, but the moment my orgasm hit, my back arched and a surge of pleasure started as the base of my spine. I had to pause a moment on my keyboard as I swear I could feel the cum surge past her fingers under my balls, over her thumb on the base on my penis, to pause for the briefest of moments under her tongue at the base of my head before ejaculating forcefully into her mouth.

Like the fictional wife she was inspiring, despite of the force of the first jet, her suction increased, and her tongue pressed even harder which somehow made me thrust even harder and a second stream hit the roof of her mouth.

I sagged slightly back into my desk chair, but as I did so, she forced her mouth over my entire length, tongue still probing the underside, not allowing me to rest before two or three more smaller volleys were fired, this time deep into the back of her mouth.

My body continued to twitch every couple of seconds, my fingers still on the keys, trying to remember how to type.

The hand from my back and then the one from my balls both moved slowly from their erotic locations to the edges of the seat of my chair, and pushed back slightly. Helping, I rolled my chair back from the desk and looked down at my inspiration. The mischievous smile now encompassing her from ear to ear, she wiped her hand quickly at the small amount of cum trying to escape from the corner of her lips.

She unfolded herself relatively unceremoniously and stood in front of me – me sitting stark naked in my leather desk chair with a dripping hard on slowly shrinking. She smiled down at me, and opened her robe to reveal that she was naked underneath, her gorgeous pussy looking very pink and more than a bit engorged.

“I’m guessing that we’ve broken your writer’s block?” she asked.

I nodded somewhat blankly.

“Good.” she said. “Clean up that story, and then write another one about what you imagine I’m going to do to myself in the other room while I’m waiting for you.”

She closed her robe and began to walk out of the room, “I look forward to reading both of them.”

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