Author: David Williams
Whispered feverish lecherous words, her ear full of them as she types them for me. My breathing sharply pitched, almost frenzied. Arousal taking any semblance of calm from me, I lean in close so my words are felt on her ear as I corrupt her with my tales.
Her blouse, so innocent and pure, virginal white silk I do believe, is slowly teased open as I tell my tales. She has forgotten she is even clothed, my words have laid her soul bare and she cannot deny they are in her now, violating her from within. The clothing is but props now to her, lies she wears to hide what she feels. So as I undo each button, she becomes more truthful. . .I am helping her tell me the truth, she is thankful for it.
Her bra is lacy and sweet. I want to rip it to shreds and tear it apart. . .consume that innocence in a mad rush of passion. I cannot, however. I must not. If I were to allow myself to slide down that slope, the words would stop that instant as I would not be able to contain the beast within any longer. So I must be subtle now. . .fingers wandering . . . slowly the straps fall. The hooks are easily undone, she is revealed and I am fed a tiny taste. It is better this way in the end.
My words come wetly now as my excitement grows. I can barely contain them, they spill out and make her blush at their sheer barbarity. Her nipples stiffen and she moans slightly as the rough words molest her mind. The story is dark and beyond what she could dream alone; that is why she needs me. I am the darkness she craves.
The story takes an unexpected turn, violent and perverse and oh so delicious. She is shocked and repulsed and aroused past what she would expect. She questions herself because the words are ravaging her. She cannot think beyond the next sentence. . .she is prisoner to my twisted mind. How I enjoy the torment of her.
She pleads with me silently, she needs and she wants. This only serves to excite me more and my story comes faster and faster. My hand upon her virgin thigh, I pull the skirt up and reveal the creamy white flesh. She needs. She wants. I crave. I covet. We write.
There are no panties. I laugh and kiss her cheek quickly before continuing the tale. She came here to be defiled. She came to be taken. She came wanting to be seduced. Her wet pussy and dripping lips show me how badly she needs and that fuels me and the story gains power.
I am biting her neck as I speak and she is moaning, the story is a frenzy of action and sensations and passions. Cocks, pussies, fucking, sucking . . . merge and meld and pump each other full of sex. She is in a puddle of desire now, unable to withstand the bites without a small release. I laugh…she cannot stop writing now.
Then. . .the words stop. I hold them in with great effort for they want to tear through me and be released. They want to be whispered in her ear and smeared on the page like the evidence of a night of sex in her panties. They want to be consumed. But I hold them back and she screams in frustration.
This story, I tell her, This tale . . . it must be different. These words must be given power. . .they must be typed with fingers wet from sex and read through eyes half closed on the verge of orgasm. This tale must be in and of sex. . .I will write. . .but only when she is ready.
She needs no coaxing this little nymph of mine. Her fingers slide in and she begins to deflower herself for me. Biting her lower lip she shows me how badly she craves to be the whore in my tale. She shows me how badly she needs my words. Fingers wet and filling her, she tilts back and shows me how much she hungers for my tale.
Fingers flying, she is nastier than my whore, she outdoes the fucking. She shows me that she is a fast study of my tale and can go further. Dripping and squishing and making wet noises she screams out my name and gives her virginity for the sake of the tale. She is the sacrifice. The tale continues.
Writing now, hard and free, as my words whisper into her ears and soul, I am rubbed against her bare back, leaving trails of wet compliments on her. We are both beyond humanity now. We are pure sensation being written. Sweat beads on my brow as we near the finish. The orgy of ideas and passion is beyond control now. The end must come soon. We both scream out the words as the tale reaches it’s zenith. . .we are in the tale, we feel it, we live it.
I grab her, the beast screaming her name within me has won. She is on the ground in seconds and I am in her. She does not resist. She welcomes me and we rut like animals, my cock buried in her. The tale is in our minds, the story, the fantasy. We fuck like beasts until we too reach our zenith and scream out the ending.
We calm slightly and I allow her up. Naked and dripping inspiration, she returns to writing. I whisper and tell her the ending. . .watching the inspiration dripping down her legs. The tale is told. The story finished.