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Inspiration

By: LadyTabitha



I stared at the computer in frustration, praying for divine intervention. Nothing happened; there was no flash of genius or a voice booming down from the heavens. It was just I, sitting alone, watching the cursor to my word processor blink in reminder that I should be typing a story. I checked the clock on my computer and saw that I'd been staring at the same blank page for over an hour and a half. 

Deciding that my muse must have packed up and left for Disney World, I decided it was time for a more dependable source of inspiration. Left-clicking my cursor over the little "X" in the upper corner of my writing software, I closed down the application and instead began running my Internet browser. Desperate times called for desperate measures; I made my way to an online search engine, and began searching for free pornography that would get my creative juices flowing again. 

Normally I'm not a "visually" stimulated lady, preferring the hot stories and experiences of others to really get me off. So it took me a while to scan through the plethora of porn sites, trying to find something that was a "happy medium", not too explicit in visuals but erotic enough to arouse my senses. Eventually I came to the perfect site. It was a "free" site where you could watch live women and men strip and perform sex shows. The "free" section was really an Internet chat room. 

The strippers would talk to the list of horny, waiting masses of people, showing just enough skin to intrigue and keep them there. Then, once they had drummed up an actual paying customer, they would take the client into a private one-on-one session. The paying customer would have the ability to request anything he or she wanted the stripper to do, and they would do it if possible. In the meantime, the cheap and non-paying people would be waiting in the chat room, able to watch what was going on in the private session but not having any control over it. 

When my erotic writings hit a dry spell, usually I was one of those "cheap" clients. Watching the action on the little screen was enough to provide me with the inspiration that I needed, and then I would log out of the site and return to my writings. On this particular night, the "free" room was so crowded I barely managed to squeeze in before the servers were full. 

Once inside, I immediately knew that the poor performers were going to have their hands full trying to weed out paying customers. Most of the gathered people were hoping to catch a free show, dominating the text window with shouted commands typed all in capital letters. There were people harassing the poor men and women, begging for them to "prove" they were performing live by feeling up their breasts or genitals. Even to me, a woman who had just logged on to the site, it was clear that these non-payers were just trying to get them to do what they wanted for free. Still, I hadn't come to raise issues about proper Internet etiquette, especially since I wasn't planning on paying for a show as well. I ignored their rudeness and turned my attention to the five different rooms displayed in small windows at the top of my browser. 

Each of the performers, while working, had their own intimate stage setting and their own chat room. The previews I was scrolling through let me see which stripper I wanted to watch. The first room was for gay men; there was a young blonde stud in leather occupying that space. He was attractive, but I knew watching him work wasn't going to give my brain the stimulus I needed. I winced when I saw the girl in the next room. I've never been a fan of really skinny girls. 

To me, a woman looked her best with curves, and this girl had none. She might have weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, and even the pretty lingerie she sported couldn't convince me to choose her. It was the third room that captured my attention, and I knew from the moment I saw the little window that she was going to be the one to end my writing slump. This particular woman was captivating to me, and my eyes were glued to the screen as soon as I entered her chat area. 

I've always had a mad attraction for women who were gifted with what I call the "Classics" body style. Forget your Pamela Andersons or your Barbie Twins, with their plastic enhancements and impossibly proportioned bodies. I'll take a Marilyn Monroe or Drew Barrymore any day over them. The lady that I was watching had rejected the modern styles of the new playmates in favor of copying a legend. She was the spitting image of a young Bettie Page, my favorite pinup queen of all time. Her hair was cut in the same unadorned style, cut into thick bangs that covered the upper half of her forehead while the rest of her raven tresses flowed to the middle of her back. Her clothing choices reflected her idol as well. 

Instead of the crotchless panties and leather fetish wear of the other strippers, my girl chose a leopard-print teddy that was refreshingly opaque, leaving you to guess what a beautiful body she had beneath. She wore elbow-length black gloves, and attached to the garters dangling from her teddy were shiny black thigh-high stockings. This woman's face wasn't clouded by too much makeup. The only adornment she chose was a little eyeliner to define her gorgeous eyes, and lipstick.

Her lips were painted with a scarlet tint, and when she smiled she had the same "I can be very naughty, but you still love me" grin that had made Bettie Page the wet dream of millions of men and women. Sitting here in my computer chair, my hands frozen on my keyboard and unable to tear my eyes away from the preview window, I came to a sudden powerful realization. This beautiful lady wasn't just giving me the creative inspiration I needed. She was also getting me very, very aroused. I knew at that moment this wasn't going to end up being one of my usual visits, for I was far past the point at which I would abandon the Internet chat room and go to my word processor. I sat back in my chair and waited to see how things would progress.

Unfortunately for my "mini-Bettie", as I had come to think of her, her room was probably the hardest sell out of all the others put together. A decade in which the free pornography explosion had escalated to where you could see almost any kink at no cost had spoiled this group. The subtle nature of her attire seemed to fuel their rage, and she was being barraged by so many requests and rants that the screen was barely able to stop refreshing itself. Some pleaded with her to pull down the straps of her teddy so they could see what was obviously an impressive set of breasts beneath. Others called her a prude for not sitting there in a thong and demi-bra. 

There were some chivalrous ones among the throng, who chided the annoying ones for their rudeness and defended her choice of style. One of them complimented her on her natural beauty. "You look like Audrey Hepburn, or maybe Bettie Davis," he commented. I took the opportunity to jump in the fray, adding my two cents to the mix. 

"I would say more like Bettie Page," I stated, and waited on baited breath. I felt a rush of excitement when I saw her smile on the screen, and pick up the keyboard lying on the bed beside her. Seconds later a private message appeared on my screen, written in a delicate pink text. 

"Very Bettie Page," she agreed, with a smiley face after the words. I felt a tingling rush of warmth flood my lower regions at her reply, and knew that beneath the thin shorts I was wearing, my sex was more than likely getting extremely damp. My bisexuality had never kicked in this strongly before. Just looking at her had me damn near trembling. Imagining watching her perform was becoming nearly an obsession. I came to a decision. Scrambling out of my chair, I headed for my bedroom to collect a few items, and then returned to my online Aphrodite. 

It took less than a moment to set up the private session. The ordering form was simple, collecting my credit card information and name only for billing purposes. I was given the option of paying for a select amount of time, or letting the session go for as long as necessary and billing me for whatever time I had spent there. After a few seconds of deliberation, I chose the unlimited time. My credit card had no limit, and I wasn't really worried about what the bill might total up to be. It would give me time not only to watch her work, but hopefully talk with her a bit as well. 

Once my card processed, a new screen loaded onto my monitor. This was the one-on-one setting. A new chat room took up half the screen, but all the names of those waiting in the free area were gone. In here, only the stripper and I would see what was said. The little viewing window enlarged as well, taking up the other half of the Internet browser. It took the lady's computer a moment to switch to private mode, but when I saw her glance up at the camera and smile as if she was looking straight at me, I forgot about the wait. She picked up the keyboard and typed, "Thanks, I appreciate your session. You're the first client I've had all night!" 

"With the way those people were heckling you, I thought that might be the case," I replied, adding a smiley face. 

"I'm at your command," She keyed in her pretty pink text. "What is it you'd like to see?" I hesitated over the keyboard, unsure where to begin. Finally, I found myself confessing to her that it was my first time doing anything like this. I explained everything, about my writer's block, about seeing her and finding her incredibly beautiful, and about how her natural attractiveness was making my body react. 

Reading my words, I watched her eyes light up with a devilish light and her lips curl up into a confident grin. In a moment of bravery, I added, "I think I should also inform you that I am a woman. Does that bother you, performing for me?" Holding my breath, I hit the Enter key and waited for her to react. When my text appeared in her window, I watched her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Then, to my amazement, it looked as if she began to chuckle, her shoulders shaking in suppressed laughter. "No, it doesn't bother me at all," she responded, her fingers flying over the keys. "In my life, I've had both male and female playmates. I love both sexes equally, and sometimes there's nothing quite like the soft touch of a woman. But we don't normally see a lot of women in these rooms." 

"I expected that."

"I tell you what," She keyed to me. "Since this is your first time, why don't you let me start things off? I'll go slowly at first, and if you decide there is something I would like to see, then you need only let me know."

"That sounds great," I said, a little relieved. She started off by telling me a little about herself, at my request. Her name was Heather. She was relatively new at the job, using the money to put herself through college. But unlike most of the women, she added, she didn't just do it for the money. "I like stripping," she confessed. "I like knowing that on the other end of the Internet, there's a horny man watching me, fantasizing about me." She looked directly into the mini-camera and smiled. "Or a horny woman," she added. Then Heather surprised me, catching me off-guard with a question for me. "What do you look for on a woman?"

"Breasts and hips," I confided. "I like curves on a woman."

"Me, too." She grinned. "I love breasts. On a woman, breasts are so different then a man's body. A man loves to consider himself tight, toned and firm. But women, well, we love to be soft and warm and sensual." She set down the keyboard on the bed beside her. Giving the camera a coy look, she brought her gloved hands up to cup her breasts from beneath. The way those plump pale mounds looked beneath the satin barrier of her teddy drove me crazy. When her fingers brushed over their centers, I could see the nubs of her nipples rising halfway beneath. She closed her eyes and pressed the soft globes together, then let them fall back to their normal shape to pick up the keyboard again. "Would you like to see my breasts?" Heather asked, and I groaned to myself. 

I typed my answer, and watched her get ready to bare her upper torso for me. She slid one satin strap over her shoulder, then the other. Her smile turned into a seductive pucker as she lowered the teddy, going slowly to prolong the anticipation. I watched as the upper rounded half came into my view, her skin the white and glossy perfection of a china doll. Heather teased me, cupping her fingers over the centers of her breasts just as they would have been exposed, letting me look only at the hints of pink around her black gloved fingers as the teddy fell loose to her waist. 

Then she slowly fanned her fingers for me, and I beheld the glory of her chest for the first time. The pink-tinted centers stood out in bold contrast to the satin of her gloves, swollen and erect for my eyes. I watched her capture the cylindrical tips beneath her fingertips, rolling them lightly and pinching down to show their width and size. Heather displayed herself well, holding the heavy breasts up and giving me the infamous "fuck me" gazes that strippers and models have perfected over the years. As she played with herself for my enjoyment, I reached down and began to slip my shorts down over my legs. I stripped and left myself naked in the computer chair, the air conditioning of the room doing little to ease the heat that was racing over my flesh. 

I mimed her actions, supporting my own full breasts, but my nipples needed no teasing to make them erect. She had already taken care of that, the centers hard and raised for me. I took one of them between my forefinger and thumb, and gently pinched down. It sent a zinging sensation through my body to the pool of wetness that was already growing between my legs. I had a talent, though, that Heather did not. Lifting the weighty roundness of my right breast, I maneuvered the flesh until I was able to bring my mouth down to my own nipple. My tongue came out, licking it in circles. I imagined it was her painted mouth suckling and tonguing it. I sucked my nipple into my mouth and enjoyed the hot and wet sensations it created. When the tender bud could take no more, I turned my ministrations on my left breast, biting and treating it to the same divine treatment. 

On screen, Heather got to her feet. I watched her turn away from me, looking back over her shoulder at the camera, while she began easing the garter clips free from her stockings. She freed each clip until all that was left was her stockings clinging to her upper thighs. In one fluid motion, Heather hooked her fingers in the sides of the teddy and pulled it down, exposing the round circles of her ass. 

She even had the cute little dimples at the small of her back, pointing towards the well-rounded rear. Heather did the same to her ass as she did to her perfect breasts, cupping each cheek, letting me watch the gloved hands sliding against her white skin. She brought her hands up to her waist, letting her hands slide down to show me how the flesh curved in then flared out into her nicely formed hips. I stopped toying with my own breasts and ran my left hand over the planes of my stomach, making its way down my torso. She parted her legs slightly and bent over. I watched her dark hair sweep the floor as she grabbed her ankles, giving me a perfect view of her womanhood. 

Her pussy was a slightly more pink shade as her nipples, like a dark rose. The lips framed it like petals, and I could see slight drops of her cream glistening among the folds there. Heather turned, and I got a view of the front then, the soft belly and the thin strip of black tight curls that framed her pouting nether mouth like a Mohawk. When she reached her hands for the tops of her stockings, I stopped her, frantically typing for her to leave them on. I loved the comparison her pale thighs made against the shiny black stockings and the way her heels made her legs shapely. She lay down on the bed, once more the coy flirt, her legs together to hide the pink wet pussy I had only a glimpse of. Picking up the keyboard, Heather told me to watch carefully. Reaching down beside the bed, she brought up a pretty pink vibrator. 

She carried it up to her mouth and I watched spellbound as her red mouth enveloped the plastic shaft. Heather pumped the vibrator in her mouth as if she was sucking a real cock, leaving the toy glistening. Lying back on the bed, she pressed a button on the keyboard and suddenly the camera was zooming in closer. I could no longer see the pretty face or her heeled feet. All the camera was showing to me now was the lower half of her torso to the upper part of her knees. She parted her legs, and I beheld the wonders of her sex again, this time in close up. Reaching down, Heather pulled apart the plump lips of the nether mouth, and I was staring directly at the moist tunnel of her pussy. She was wet and glistening beneath the lights, and I saw one of her hands bring the vibrator into view. Heather rubbed the wet tip up and down the length of her slit. 

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen as I fumbled for the other object I had brought in the room, my own trusty vibe. On the monitor, Heather was pushing the tip of the toy into her pink hole, pulling it back to show me it was coated in her juices. At the same time, I was leaning back in the computer chair, my hands guiding my own plaything to my eager slit. I braced my fingers at the back half of the toy, and pushed it inside of me slowly. My hungry walls engulfed the slick shaft eagerly. Its hardness was perfect inside me, and I spread my thighs a little wider. 

We moved in unison, my computer goddess and I, beginning to pump our toys in and out of ourselves in the same primal rhythm. I closed my eyes and imagined it was Heather's fingers pushing up inside of me instead of this plastic vibe. It wasn't my other hand caressing the swollen bud of my clit, it was Heather's tongue, rubbing and licking it. The pleasure grew, and I could feel the heavenly buildup, the tension in my clit starting to become almost like pain. I wanted to come, wanted to give in to the final wave that I knew I would reach soon. 

But I didn't want to be there alone. I ripped the toy free of my pussy, laying it across my lap. My fingers flew over the keyboard with my final command to Heather, leaving sticky traces of my fluids on the keys. 

"Back the camera up," I begged. "I want to see all of you. I want to watch you come for real." She left the toy inside her, clenching the walls of her pussy to hold it in place. "You want me to come, hot baby?" She typed in her pink letters. "You want me to show you what I look like when I go off?"

"God, yes," I moaned to myself, keying the same response. She agreed, backing the camera up until I saw all of her, lying back on the covers. Heather pulled one of her gloves off with her teeth, spitting it to the side. She brought her still-gloved hand down to pump the toy again, and placed the bare hand directly on her clit. I watched her pinch that swollen, thick pearl between her fingers. When she began to caress it in fast, light circles, I knew she was really working herself towards a powerful orgasm as I wished her to. I abandoned the keyboard and picked up my vibe once again, twisting the end. It hummed to life in my hands, and I parted my legs as far as I could. 

Watching Heather masturbate on the screen, I brought the quickly vibrating toy to my own pleasure spot. I could no longer control my hips as the battery-powered wonder brought me closer and closer to the edge. Each throb of the vibe against my hard clit made me buck in the computer chair. My natural lubrication had coated my thighs and left a puddle of dampness on the rough seat. Finally I felt the tension building to an ungodly crest, and I knew I was about to explode. I focused my eyes on Heather's face, the almost obscene look she had on her face as she worked her own pussy furiously, and I let the climax take over. 


Inspiration



Well, maybe if I put the chord in second inversion, it then... no, wait, that'll screw up the phrasing in the basses... okay, but then I can just raise their harmony by a fifth here, but... no, damnit! Screw it, I'm getting nowhere. Move on to something else.

And with that, another twelve bars of Calvin's Sonata for Sahndra were reduced to empty staves. Her melody sang off the page with mediocrity, and the harmony was becoming just as obscure and forgettable with each new note. Progress had ceased long ago to make anything about Sahndra a lasting memory. Perhaps Theme and Variations on Samuel would yield better prospects tonight.

Alright, I can rewrite that later. Fine. But this phrase isn't right, either. The horns, maybe I can take their countermelody and put it in the bassoons too... yeah, that works, okay... no, now I can't hear the ostinato in the violas... wait, no, I need the bassoons for the reintroduction of Samuel's theme here... and I can use the clarinet for Sahndra's theme again... fuck, no, I can't. The meters are wrong. I don't have them in compatible meters? How the fuck did I manage that?!

Once again, Calvin highlighted a legion of bars and swiftly pressed Delete. Twenty four measures stared back at him now, their emptiness mocking him, a reminder his waning talent. This night was unusually counterproductive; he could usually write more than he deleted in an evening of work. To continue any further would undoubtedly result in deleting the entire project. He needed out.

"Forget it. I'm done. Fuck this; I'll deal with it in the morning. I... I just can't."

File, Save, Exit. No more. His laughable attempts at writing were more raucous with each night wasted in his studio. Fine, no more music for the night. What now? Calvin's inbox blinked its silent taunt, no doubt the producer again, demanding a status update, repeating a film deadline, restating contract bylaws, and more rhetoric that mattered not. No, the inbox and its incessant blink can be ignored. Start, Shut Down. 

Writing film scores made sense five years ago. It gave Calvin a way to actually use his degree. Nobody can make a living from a composition otherwise. People don't commission symphonies, operas, concertos. The music industry had no room for creativity. The music business was an assembly line of faceless icons, shoved down the line as auto-tune assembled the various parts in to three minutes of airtime between commercials. But film? Sure, it is just another business, but at least it offers a chance for creativity, if it is only forgotten in the background to the moving pictures and partial nudity.

Calvin once had that creativity. The independent directors loved him for it. Calvin embellished the independence of the director's vision, the actors' talent. He had his outlet, and he had his paycheck. A month later, it was a new director, a new cast, and the same story told in a new way that was already old. But Calvin's music was always new, and creative, and independent. That's the word the industry tossed back to him with every rejection letter: independent. It was their way of reminding Calvin that, no, he will never be working for people with wealth. 

Maybe if he looked like the rest of the corporate jack-offs someone would give him a chance. The trendy goatee and sideburns could go first, cleaning him up. Then he could go nuts, cutting off his ragged blonde hair to a short middle part. Ditch the gunmetal frames for contacts, trade T-shirts and boot cut jeans for dress shirts and khakis, finally buy shoes that cover his feet, and he'd be set; Calvin would be just another member of the faceless cast. Yeah, that's what holds him back: his looks, not his skill.

"Ugh, damn... when did I eat last?"

Noon? ...last Wednesday? Oh well, after a full day of rigorously writing a score, then rigorously deleting half of that score, perhaps a man does deserve a meal. Gino's has good chicken. Good wine, too. Except... 

"...fuck."

When the hell did midnight get here? Had Calvin really wasted twelve hours in his studio with that passionless sonata? Fine, whatever. No Gino's. No wonderful chicken. He should have stopped writing sooner. Much sooner. Not only would he have a stomach full of over-priced food, but there would be much more music that would have survived the holocaust of Calvin's self-criticism. Who the hell is open after midnight? Right, it's a Friday: Jonny B's. It will do. Food is food, and cheap beer is better than another night spent sober. Coat, cap, keys, and out the door.

Jonny B's served Calvin on many overworked nights and on many more underworked nights. The freelance lifestyle lets him live like a child lives every weekend: sleeping in, no need for any habits or routine. But the world doesn't operate on a freelance schedule. The shiny land of fluorescent lights and warehouse ceilings was forbidden territory. The realm of the suburban elite was taboo. But bars and nightclubs, those catered to Calvin's life, Jonny B's especially. Of all the bars in the city, it was the closest. 

Fuck, really cold out. I need a better coat. And a warmer city. Oh, an actual career while we're at it, too. How about just a better life? Yeah, I should do the trick. Ugh.

Calvin never liked the cold. Who the hell would? It's so damn... cold. Florida beaches, tropical sunshine, unchanging climate. That was the way to live. Not this wind and ice shit. Why the hell did he move north? Oh, right, Cassandra. Now that was among his bigger mistakes. She liked the north. Her family was in the north. And he was dumb enough to follow her north. Eh, well, she was very persuasive. And she had the money. And she was hot. Those were reason enough after college; it's not like he had anywhere better to be. Oh, yeah, and the love thing. That too.

A cigarette. That would make life better, for two minutes. Click, ignite, breathe deep. Much better, and not as cold. Thinking about Cassandra always sucked less when he smoked. Maybe it's because she hated when Calvin smoked. Defying her, even after two years, still felt good. Bitter. That's a good word for it. But she left him. He earned it. Struggling artist is not as glamorous as she wanted to believe it to be. Finally, she gave up trying, love be damned. Financial stability carries more honor than a soul mate. At least that's the summary of her reasons why Todd was better suited for her attention and affection. Whatever.

Damn. Cigarette's gone. Flick aside, embers die. Just one block left, and Jonny B's could warm him up again. Maybe just the chicken fingers tonight. Cheap and filling. No, the trash fries. A pile of potato, cheese, and bacon. Calories would make him feel better. Empty, meaningless calories. And beer. And a shot. Two shots. Fuck, it's going to be one of those nights, isn't it? 

At least the city is gorgeous. Calvin would always concede to that point. Crap may always pile up, but walking downtown seemed to glaze over the crap if he walked long enough. The city, like all others, had a soul, its own themes and harmony. But it was better here. The best that Calvin had known. So why the hell did it have to be so damn cold? Still, this city has much culture, and so much life. During the day, at least, there was life. The nights were still, calm, silent. Silence had special meaning for him. In a life of constant noise and sound, someone quickly learns how beautiful silence can be. 

That could solve his problems. A score of silence. Sahndra and Samuel could court to Calvin's silent serenades. Print off empty staves, hand them to the producer, and profit. 

"Hah! Awesome plan."

Meh, whatever. Ten feet away are the neon sign, the solid oak door, and the recorded jazz echoing in to the street: Jonny B's had arrived before him. Salvation for the night. Friday, though; he'd have to fight for a seat at the bar. Maybe a booth wasn't a bad idea, anyway. Then he could hide from the world, out in plain sight. No patron feels the need to share woes and troubles when Calvin tucks himself in to a booth. But the beer would take longer. After two blocks of cold wind and familiar depressions, beer now mattered more than food. Funny how that works. A seat at the bar it is, thankfully uncrowded as it was.

"Coors Light, a shot, and some trash fries, when you're free, James."

Soon enough, he would have his heavy buzz, full stomach, and ears full of the same recorded jazz tracks. The jazz was a comfort to Calvin. It was a reminder that some people still enjoyed real music. Not a lot of people, though. Just enough to matter. It was the art of improvisation, that's what hooked him. It was lost to Calvin. He tried, he studied, he practiced. He wasn't great on piano, but was better than most. Improvisation, though? Never. Could not do it. He lacked the creativity for it.

Hmph, now isn't that just the perfect picture for the night? Lacking creativity. It's why I'm here, and not in the studio writing. Not one original thought left. Nothing left but stealing old ideas. Eh, I could do that; recycle old scores. They'd never know it if I did. It's not like anyone ever sees these damn movies, let alone listens to the scores. Not a damn soul would know.

Except Calvin. He would know. Despite the beneficial ease of this master plan, he knew he couldn't do it. It's true: not a damn soul in the world would ever know that all the harmonies, the motifs, the themes were all the same as the fluff he wrote for Taking Back Solina, or the crap he orchestrated for Lost in the Twilight of Harvest. The director would love his originality in the sound, the producer would shout how much he loved it. But Calvin would know. He would know that it was not an original score. He would know that he had finally tapped his finite resources. He would know that there was nothing left of himself. 

"Thanks, James." 

Finally, food and beer. Some of the last comforts left to Calvin. No matter how shitty the day had been, or how little work he had accomplished, a large plate of calorie-enriched food and a cold glass of alcohol could make the world a tranquil place once again. If only for fifteen minutes, the world surrendered to his senses, his desire. A handful of fries, a mouthful of beer. A quick shot of whiskey from James, and the real world would slip away very fast, but never fast enough for Calvin. 

"Trying to forget about the world for a night?"

Who the hell is that? Who would be walking up behind him and – oh. Never mind. She can stay. 

"Uh, yeah. Tonight... every night. Never quite works."

Food and beer suddenly matter a lot less. But not the whiskey; that was still important.

"Ouch, sounds bad. Need some company?"

Yes. Calvin badly needed some company, this company. She moved smoothly, silk through water, her long legs more fluid than flesh, heels clicking on the dusty floor. Not needing to wait for a verbal response, she quietly perched on the adjacent seat to Calvin, raising a hand and flashing a smile to James. 

"Merlot." Not a common request in Jonny B's. 

"So, what's her name?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"She must have been a hell of a woman to get you this upset, honey. So what's her name?"

Wow. Blunt, direct, honest. And wrong. Calvin didn't give a damn about Cassandra anymore. Not enough to drink about her, anyway. Silently bitch about her and resent her, sure, but not get drunk. That's done, over, and long gone. Todd the Paralegal was giving her everything she ever dreamed of owning since joining the real world. Good for her. No, his funk was all about that damn score, trying to find the melodic longing in Sahndra's voice... hah, it was a woman. Point for the mystery lady.

"Sahndra, I guess. Can't figure her out."

A cute giggle and a sip of wine. Thin red lips, darker than the Merlot, caressed the glass's edge, pulling back in to a subtle smile. Wide green eyes looked over her broad nose, their tint blending well with her olive skin. Wisps of auburn bangs - escaped refugees from her loose braid - danced among her eyelashes with each blink. Mediterranean, had to be. Italian, maybe. 

"She sure sounds like a heartbreaker. How long has it been?"

"Just this afternoon. Can't quite find the notes to make her real."

That confusion is cute. A dark eyebrow raised, rounded chin pulled back slightly. 

"She's a character in a movie. I write film scores."

"Oh, I see, I see. You're one of those 'struggling musicians' eh, honey?"

Laughter, and a sigh. Yeah, that description about covered it. Periodically negotiating with the landlord over late rent, student loans long unpaid and gaining interest, and a portfolio that would only grow thinner in time if Calvin couldn't find his creativity again: yes, he was a struggling musician, struggling in the death throes of a wasted career choice. 

"That's a kind way of putting it."

Who was this woman? She's not a regular of Jonny B's. Calvin knew all of the frequent flyers escaping reality around him. He couldn't tell you their name or their drink, but he knew they found comfort in the smoky bar more than he did. But this woman was a fresh import, not typical domestic refuse. She didn't belong here. This was a place of old rock T-shirts and stained slacks, not a wrap-skirt and V-neck satin blouse under a wool jacket. The normal bar skanks all wore gaudy gold hoops and ridiculous pearl bracelets, reeking of some off-the-rack perfume. The apparition sitting beside Calvin adorned herself with a jade bead bracelet looped around her dainty wrists, matching jade studs in her round, tucked ears, and a light dusting of oleander scent in her aura. Yes, this woman was an oddity, a beautiful one. 

"So, who are you, exactly? I'm Calvin, by the way, but you... you're someone new here." 

"Calvin. Nice to meet you, honey. I'm Felicity." 

A confident handshake, firm without squeezing. Soft skin, too. Her touch lingered a moment too long, the manicured burgundy nails lightly running along Calvin's palm. Strange, he just met Felicity – what an uncommon name – yet she was already waiting to leave with him. The Fates had smiled upon Calvin, and granted him salvation from his misery: a goddess meant for only him.

Hah, oh yeah, that's exactly it. A goddess from the Fates. Ugh, how does my brain come up with this stupid shit all the time? Eh, whatever. She's hot, and she's talking to me. No need to question it until it goes wrong, right?

After all, there's no reason to turn down a good thing. Since Cassandra left, Calvin hadn't spent any quality time with a woman, with all that can be interpreted from such a statement. No time for flirting, for foreplay, for fucking. People had lives, and Calvin spent his trying to survive in his scores. Sure, a few leers of lust were tossed his way on crowded nights at Johnny B's; it's not like he was a leper. Not one of them was worth second glance, though. Well, not one of them until tonight.

"Like I was saying, you don't look like a regular here, and James sure didn't recognize you. What brings you here?"

"Oh no, honey, one thing at a time. We're still talking about you."

What's with the 'honey' stuff? He just met her, and she's already using pet names? Weird woman.

"Tell me, Cal, all about the life of a struggling musician."

A shrug, another shot. "Not much to tell. After leaving college with my composition degree, I found that it was harder to find a job than I wanted to believe. Luckily, I had enough connections to find some work doing independent films. In a business that's already word-of-mouth, people talked about me, and I kept getting jobs."

"Why is that? Just what makes you so special, honey?"

"Uh, I don't know. All the directors and producers just said I had a creative independence, something that complimented their... independent visions."

"So why not use your independent creativity to bring Sahndra to life, hm?"

Yeah, why not do that? After all, it's just that easy, right? He could go back to his studio right now, crack open an energy drink and spend all night pouring his creativity on to the staves, until morning pushed its way through his closed curtains and the sound of Sahndra was music unlike anything other. Yeah, that would be awesome. Now if only Calvin could find that talent and inspiration he so happened to misplace. Just that easy.

"Too many films pulling on my resources, I suppose. Five years of work and I'm all out of ideas. Somewhere down the road, I lost my muse. Anyway, you want another Merlot? On me."

"Mm, yes please. Thank you, honey."

Eh, who gives a damn about talent and work right now anyway? Felicity wants another drink. She's letting Calvin buy her another drink. For once, things are going damn well. Maybe another glass after this second, and another shot for Calvin, and his studio apartment would be filled to double the standard occupancy for the night. Shit, why didn't he do laundry a week ago?

"Okay, Felicity. One thing at a time. Your turn."

"Oh, we taking charge now, honey?"

Yes. Calvin would not be going home alone. Pleasant conversation is ambiguous and misleading. A playful question coupled with a half-smirk and knowing eyes is not.

"Sure, sounds good to me. But seriously, back to my question: just who are you, and how did you find a place like this?"

A sip from her refreshed glass, and a quick pause to collect her thoughts.

"My turn then. I am Felicity, a traveling marketing consultant, bouncing across the country to help my company's clients. My work brings me to this beautiful city this week, and the search for a quiet drink brought me here."

Irony. It's everywhere. Marketing consultant. The title sounds so bland, so boring, yet in the hands Felicity such a corporate bore is livened to a prestigious status amongst the rich and powerful. A private jet and a new city every week, elaborate board rooms with solid mahogany tables, to do so little as sell a mission statement. All play and no work. Yet Calvin, the man pouring art in to the audience's ears with his work, living as a bachelor musician with no sense of a nine-to-five world is the actual bore. The creativity long drained from his digital quill, and a bank account dwindling to oblivion. All work and no life.

"Sounds like you have a pretty sweet gig, Felicity. Sure beats my current rut."

"The grass is always greener, honey. I have my high-class life, and my expense account, and that life is quite green. But you've got something more, something very few can even understand."

"That so, huh? What do I have?"

Leaning in, nyloned calves against his denim, and her palm resting on his heart. Wow, this was getting intense really fast. His pulse just doubled. Did she feel it? This is no longer just s flirtatious games. This was serious. Her eyes sought his out, trapping Calvin.

"You can hear the soul of the world. You speak in melodies. Music is the language of the Gods, Calvin. Not many can translate like you can, honey. Life on my side may be lush and green, but your gift is the key to the Emerald City."

It's rude to laugh at such a lofty accolade, but its application to him just made it too humorous. That's certainly the first time Calvin ever heard his life phrased quite like that. Or his talents called a gift. Language of the Gods? Key to the Emerald City? Music is just a job. When it was time for college, it was all he knew. Some bored guidance counselor said "hey, you're good at music... why don't you do that for a degree?" So he did. It's not like he had any single other redeeming ability in his skill set. 

And college was fun enough. When your whole life is at a university going to music classes, writing music for assignments, and attending musical performances, it's quite easily to believe you live in a world where music is still quite important. They give you a cap and gown, walk you across a stage to a half-handshake, and you're given your degree. Congratulations, you have become a professional of music. Now, welcome to the real world. Enjoy your regret, jackass.




Inspiration



But Felicity was serious. There's no playful glimmer in her eyes this time. Her lips aren't curling in to a coy smile. And she won't break his gaze, either. What does she want from him?

"Alright, I guess so."

Was he really supposed to believe that anyway? It was very pretty words – hell, if he was a songwriter, he could use her for lyric work – but it's all pointless. Calvin knew no 'language of the Gods.' He didn't even believe in God, or the Gods, or whatever pantheon got it right.

"You're not listening to me, Calvin. You are a voice of the Divine."

Okay, not fun anymore. Getting creepy. Deep philosophical discussion of religion and the influence of music is not why one comes to Jonny B's. One more shot, and maybe she'll start-

Whoa.

Her lips touched his, and every worldly perception around Calvin faded in an instant. Every sense was dead. No, no... not every sense. He could definitely feel her warm lips toying with his, and fingernails scratching lightly in his hair. Another hand wove against his torso and embraced him, and her legs gliding amidst his own. Yes, his sense of touch was not dead. But there was more.

He could still hear, too. But not Jonny B's. Not the recorded jazz on its second loop of the CD. Not the drunk patrons arguing over the latest crap on Sports Center. He heard Felicity. A light moan, or a purr. Hard to tell. Soft and lilt, carrying his mind away. 

The sound was wind in a valley of orchestration, rising and falling along hillsides of harmony. A chorus of lilies sang to the baritone trees, swaying against the melodic breeze. Pizzicato leaves bounded amidst the rhythmic ground, trailing light contact that bounced with lively energy and motion. And still the wind sang its joyous tune, rejoicing in the peace of this place, weaving its song though symphonic forests to an ocean of pure sound. The world was music, music the world.

Reality. Back to the world. Eyes open, catching breath. The background noise is back, life no longer a self-sustaining symphony. His ears heard the world, but he couldn't listen to it anymore. He could feel again, but only with his body. He could think, but not with his soul. Seriously, what the fuck was that?

Felicity sure seemed to know. 

"Okay, what just happened?"

It had to be the whiskey. He was on shot... uh, two? Or three? No, only two. Nope, can't be the whiskey. 

"What do you mean, honey?"

Okay, quit being cute. Did she slip him something? It didn't feel like it. If it where X, he would still be floating along on a high. But everything is normal now. Can't be drugs.

"I'm serious, what the fuck was that? You kissed me, and then..."

"Mhm, and then what, Cal?"

Yeah, what? What the hell was it? He'd never seen, or felt, or thought, or experienced anything even close to that. He was the world, but flowing through it. It was real, but all a work of fiction, and every last scrap of matter was just another note on the staff. It was... was...

"...it was like I was pure music. I saw and felt music. I was it all, but watching it at the same time."

"Mm, sounds like it was a good kiss, honey."

More giggling. She knows. She has to know. 

"Did you... y'know, did you feel the same thing?"

"Hm, I don't know... but it sure sounds good. Maybe we should try again. In the name of science."

Hah, cute. A scientific experiment. Repeat the results and confirm the hypothesis, and-

Drifting in a sonorous sea, water composed of the melody of life itself. Rising, falling, ebbing and flowing in time and beat. Falling now, beneath the waves of rhythm, a diminuendo to dark bottoms of somber tone. It sang of sadness, loneliness, pulling deeper down, darker, blacker. Effervescent bubbles of hope cascaded amongst him, popping to release marcato prayers, reminders of the serene surface waiting for a return. He held his breath but did not need to breathe. Could he breathe? Was he real? The concerto of fluid moved around him and through him, as he melted and joined it all. His soul became the ocean, the world.

Then cold reality, once more. Concrete, physical, lifeless.

"So... how was it this time?"

It happened again. Felicity kissed him, and he was in a world of music once again. Damn. Hypothesis confirmed. 

"Yeah... wow, same thing." 

It was almost too much. With Felicity's embrace, every sense and emotion was alive and vivid, hurling him to a world of intuition. But as her embrace faded, he returned to the dull, the tactile, and the dissonant. How was she doing this? What was she even doing to him? And why was she doing it? Why him? Yeah, those were good questions.

"How can you... and why...?"

Except the ability to speak was among the last of the senses to recover on the system reboot. The kiss was that good.

"So is your studio nearby? I would love to see where your work, oh, and to hear some of it!"

Unexpected. 

"Yeah, a few blocks, sure. But, hang on! Just what the hell was that... that thing you did?"

"Time will tell, honey. But it's time to even the score. I gave you a present, and now it's your turn. You've heard my music, so I want to hear yours. C'mon."

"Yeah, okay... let's go."

Pay the bill, grab the coat, walk out the door. No, this was not an ordinary night at Jonny B's. But with that nagging voice of concern and curiosity quieted for a minute, Calvin had a chance to take stock of the situation: the leggy brunette just invited herself to his place. Correction, the leggy, sensual brunette with magical lips that reinvented his reality with a simple kiss was leading the way to his apartment. Damn. Good day. Very good day. Fucking awesome day. Fuck, it's even colder out here.

"Need a cigarette, too?"

"Mm, sure honey."

Huh. Not often you find someone else who smokes nowadays. Click, ignite, breathe deep.

"Helps me keep the cold at bay on nights like this."

Giggling. "Done trying to figure out my 'magical powers' for now?"

"Hah, yeah. I sure as hell don't understand it, and you don't seem to be revealing your secrets. I figured I'd just sit back and enjoy the ride until I get it."

"Mm, I like how you word that, honey."

The English language has many little treats to those skilled enough to use it. The double entendre is one of them. Or maybe that would be French. Whatever language it is, it's fun. 

So, with the world handing Calvin a living dream for a night, just why was his demeanor souring with each step closer to home? Oh yeah, Felicity wanted to hear his music. What music? An hour ago, Calvin had just finished a mass genocide of aural notation, leaving only straggling settlements of phrases behind. He had other music, though. Taking Back Solina was one of his earlier works, so it was still fresh with his post-collegial enthusiasm. Which meant it was not as shitty as the newer stuff. Bad choice. Tearful Promises, though, had him nominated for some kind of independent award for some unknown award event. At least that's what the producer told him one day. Probably didn't even exist.

Okay, so what then? Ezekiel's Journey was a flop, and even the score could tell you that. Lost in the Twilight of Harvest was a joke; just a bunch of gimmicky orchestration for that lighthearted fluff film. And the rest? Celeste's Big day, or Desenchente, or even Pandoran Exile? They were okay, at best. Still, though, any piece, and score, would be better than Samuel and Sahndra. 

"Why so quiet, honey?"

Huh, what? Wait, how long had he been silent? Ugh, damnit! He had just walked for two blocks without saying a damn word. Smooth, Calvin. Fuckin' smooth. Only thirty feet from his apartment, and he'd wasted the entire walk brooding.

"Sorry, it's nothin'. Just going through my portfolio in my mind, trying to figure out what pieces to play for you."

That sweet smile redeemed his failures once again. "Oh, I see. Want to play the best music you have so you can impress me, hm?"

"Well, yeah, of course. Here, this is the place."

"But you should already know exactly what I want to hear, Calvin."

No, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it...

"I want to hear what Sahndra's done to you to make you so unhappy."

...fuck.

"Yeah, but it's not done. Not even close. Hell, I spent the better part of my day butchering it instead of writing it. That's why I was at Jonny B's to begin with. You don't want to hear that."

That was not a face designed to frown. Felicity's thin lips curled down, pulling them forward to illustrate a pout for her disappointment. The green eyes that danced will life immediately softened and lost their luster, sorrow tentatively sneaking its way inside. Felicity's was a visage made for inspiration and happiness, and such design only served to render her sadness that much more severe. Again, smooth. Sigh.

"...okay, sorry, sure. I'll let you hear Sahndra. Ready to go inside?"

"Yes, let's do, honey!"

Vanished. Gone. Any trace of disappointment dispelled with the opening of the door. She nearly bounded in to the open room, drinking in every facet of Calvin's life. There was the practically unused kitchen, still yet to tarnish from the day he moved in. Then the old wood floors, covered haphazardly with an old rug. Then the studio/bedroom, the superstore-brand desk covered in paper and a large computer, surrounded by the large sound system plus keyboard on the right. The entire apparatus was larger than his mediocre bed. His mediocre, unmade bed. Damnit.

"So, I suppose this is where you work your magic every night, hm?"

Another entendre? Cute. Though, magic is hardly the word for it. He hadn't worked any magic at the desk in months, and that was only getting worse daily. And magic on the bed... well, okay, that one is looking up. That bed hasn't seen a woman in a while, but with Felicity now leaning back on the mattress, it's making up for lost time. Out of the bar's cheap florescence and in to his warm, though dim, incandescence, she seems to almost glow. With her jacket off, Calvin can truly see the woman that's a gift from the Fates. Okay, yeah, maybe that wasn't such a stupid thought after all.

The olive skin he noticed shined further with the change in lighting, amplifying her exotic air. Her arms were just as lithe and slender as the legs, still toned and firm, but long with an aesthetic softness. Devoid of the fluffy collar, her long neck flowed smoothly to round shoulder. Yet, she was no twig. Her entire body was that same toned strength of her arms and legs, a figure that was full and curvy, no anorexic bones stretching her skin, yet not even a suggestion of a gram of excess fat. Beautiful. Just beautiful. 

Oh, and really nice tits.

"Alright. Felicity, I'd like you to meet Sahndra."

And so she did, with the begrudged click of play. Instantly, the large speakers blared the MIDI sounds, roughly translating the binary coding of music back to the aural origin from which it was first transcribed. Calvin never cared for using MIDI, but it was so much easier than working it all over a piano. Sahndra continued her longing protests, violins waving her mourning through the room as droning low brass deterred any escape of her pain.

With seconds passing to minutes, Calvin lost track of every mistake, every flaw, and every single problem in the sonata that continued to scream his failure. But Felicity couldn't see it. No, her eyes were closed and her head down, now lightly swaying with the oboe. Calvin was hearing his music, his flaws, but she was listening to it, searching for the meaning within. Too bad her search was futile. 

And then it was done. End of track. And he waited. Waited more. But Felicity wasn't moving, not yet. Still she sat, eyes closed, the mind obviously working furiously, yet betraying not a hint of what she thought. She was drinking down the sonata, just like the Merlot, savoring the rush of flavor with the first sip, drinking down all of it to gather every nuance of flavor, and basking in the aftertaste. 

"...well?"

Here it was, the moment of truth. Never before had he previewed his work. Too much risk. But here he was, career and ego on the line, all for the goddess resting on his bed, the goddess now looking up with open eyes to respond.

"It's wonderful."

Snicker, eye roll, shrug. Yeah, okay. Telling him that it was bland and cliché would have been better, if painful. That would have been the honest thing to do. But okay, lying works too. He can pretend that-

Uh oh. It's that serious face from before. Felicity is done with the playful conversation and flirtation. It's pure, serious honesty again.

"Calvin, listen to me, and really listen this time. It is wonderful. You must hear it! I can feel Sahndra, and her loss. Her sound, her melody intrudes me, infects me, and I feel like my lover has died, not hers. She is the woman grieving, yet I am the one with tears. Don't you hear that? Don't you feel that there, in the music, your music?"

Did she really feel all of that? How could she have been that enraptured with the music? It was the same exact track Calvin had played hours ago, and all he felt was resentful frustration. 

"No, I don't. I don't feel any of that. I just hear how normal it is, and how it doesn't flow. I still can't get the theme to make the harmonic transition without interrupting the alto voices. And any time I tweak the ornamentation with the repeated motif, it never sounds right and just screws up the inner harmonies. I'm glad you liked it, thank you, but to me, I just hear the same junk as before."

Another eye roll, another sigh, but neither of them from Calvin.

"Why do you ignore the voice inside you? I know it's there, and it's begging you to open your soul to it again! Your music has not altered, and your creativity has not been lost. Nothing at all has changed but you. You've closed yourself to the world, wedging yourself away from the conduit of the Eternal. Music is your gateway to Paradise, to eternal bliss, but you've turned a blind eye to it. Can't you feel that anymore? Why have you turned your back on the greatest gift life has given you?"

How the hell should he know? Until tonight, Calvin wasn't even aware he possessed 'the greatest gift life can give.' Yeah, fine, he's a musician; so are millions of other people. Do they all have the same gift? Or is he just one of the special people? Ugh, so stupid. Music just is, and always has been. Yeah, it was easier in college, and more fun, but what wasn't? It just flowed out of him back then, less thought and more action. But so it did for all of his other classmates. It's nothing special. That's just how people write music. Nothing changed. He didn't turn on his back on anything.

"I don't know. I guess I just don't feel it, or whatever."

"No, Calvin, but why? Why don't you feel it? I know you can."

"Okay, how: how do you know that I can, hm?"

"Calvin, I've already shown you, twice, this evening. That world is in you, not me. I didn't take you anywhere you couldn't already go. I am just the map, the guide. But you are the traveler and the destination all in one. So why... why can't you find the path inside anymore?"

"I don't know, alright?"

"Calvin, why?"

Ugh, would she stop asking that already? He doesn't fucking know. Nothing like those... those experiences has ever happened to him before. It's not like just sat in a chair, rode a yellow submarine to the land of music and emotion in his mind, and took notes while looking through the porthole. He just wrote music. That was it.

"Why?"

Enough already! He doesn't know why he can't feel it. Maybe he never did. Or he just forgot. Or any other excuse to get her to quit asking. This was getting annoying. He had no answer to her question. 

"Why, Calvin? Why can't you feel it?"

What is she even talking about? Feel it. Fucking feel what? There's nothing to feel. He never felt it, or anything. He just did his job, and went about his miserable life. He never felt anything. He doesn't feel anything. Never has, never will. It's just a bullshit world where you survive long enough to die old instead of young. There's nothing to feel.

"Calvin... why?"

"Because I don't feel a goddamn thing, okay? Fuckin' Christ, lady, I don't feel anything, at all. That what you want to hear? I wake up, go about my lousy day, and write shitty music. Nothing, okay? That's what I feel now: nothing. The music, your fucking gift or whatever, or the whole fucking world: I don't feel a damn thing!"

Panting, sweating, drained. Whoa. That was a first. He had never had an outburst anywhere close to that. But was it true? Does he really feel nothing at all? Maybe. Yeah, probably. Okay, yes, Calvin felt nothing anymore. Not for a long time. You can only try so many times to make life work, before you finally just... give up. What was the point in feeling anything? Apathy was easier. Wake up, do you job, eat, sleep. Simple. Feeling shit just made it... complicated. Can't get your feelings hurt if there's nothing there to break. Quite caring, become a recluse, and live alone. Easy. Unfulfilling easy loneliness.

"You're not alone, Calvin." Huh? He didn't say that last thought, did he? "You've never been alone. You've been hurt. I don't know how, or when, and I don't think you do either. Life isn't lived in an instant. It happens. And whatever happened to you was not instant. It's how life works, but just as life can be cruel and strip you of everything that brings you joy, it can revitalize you and cast shadows back over the pain and doubt."

Felicity was holding him now, tenderly, nearly motherly, cradling his head to the crook of her neck. She was warm, and softer than she looked, oleander smelling stronger than when they had met. He felt this, at least. This felt good. Like everything else, he had forgotten how wonderful it feels just to hold, or be held by, someone. Just another feeling ignored by his senseless apathy. How much has he missed over the years? Why has missed so much life?

"It doesn't matter why, Calvin. But now, we move you forward."

"Yeah, alright... but how?"

She shifted their embrace, pushing him back to look in to, though his eyes. It scared him at first, because Felicity's eyes were too intense. The green irises were talking to him, reaching out to hold him with arms they couldn't have. Emotive, loving light radiated amidst the tranquil green, illuminating a room that was still dark, bathing Calvin with their caring and hope. And he fell, hard, tumbling through the pupils to her core, her soul, finding a darkness that was not empty. In the next instant, she spoke, and he saw only a smiling face again.

"I will show you, honey, just like I did before. You know the path, but you cannot remember. That's why I came to you tonight. You need my guidance. I can show you how to get back to the path, the path to that world of music. I can return you to your wellspring of inspiration. Just trust me, and let yourself feel. Stop seeing, stop listening, and just feel. Let me give you back your gift."

She kissed him then. And Calvin began to remember.





Inspiration



-as her legs weaved in between his. They pulled him in, two bodies twisting together, finding any way possible to embrace. Calvin was lost in the moment, lost in the woman, lost in the sensation. His tired hands wove through her hair, his lips scrambling to taste every flowery inch of Felicity. As their heated bodies tangled, his mind was torn between worlds. In one instant, he was lying atop the tanned, scented skin of a woman, until it all receded to the world inside him, where his mind was swimming-

-swimming through the sonic ripples, knowing he should. Endless, the sea of sound carried him nowhere while moving forward. He moved through the fluid that wasn't there, listening to conversations amongst the notes. Waves talked to each other, talked to him, and spoke volumes about the world that couldn't be described. The dialogue surrounded him, powering his will, carrying him ashore to bluff painted with giddiness and boulders of crystallized content. Walking on sandy beaches of tribulation, the grains passing between toes that weren't there. He journeyed down the shore, waves of joy building until their accented song fell amongst the pleasurable beach. He didn't know where he was, or where to go, but he knew his destination. It called out in silence that drew him near. It called-

-called out his name, over and over. Calvin's excitement soared as Felicity cried out his name repeatedly, his own arousal crescendoing with her verbal ostinato. It drove his passion, which drove his hips, as he thrust forcefully in to her, again and again. Her hips rocked with his, and suddenly she screamed, a primal cry, guttural and feral. Her body curled in to him, eyes opening wide. Calvin was blinded, her eyes no longer the sultry green and white from earlier, but now they were beacons of light, twin suns-

-suns of pain and splendor traded through the stars that radiated playful light upon the world that couldn't be. Sorrow gathered in the sky and cast a shade rolling along the hilly plains of melody. All was welcome here. This was a land of experience, and he wanted to feel it all. Good and bad were not real. He only had his experience, his place walking through the fields. The plains rolled and changed under each step, flowing and transcending their own previous melody as the world moved through all seasons sitting motionless. Cloudy despair worked with the moons' lights of tenderness and longing. All was an experience, and emotion, and he could see it all. The disparaging clouds parted-

-parted her legs wider for him, wanting more. She was insatiable. Calvin was burning now, from the friction of their bodies, from the dry heat of his claustrophobic apartment, and from the mutual libidos of their grunting flesh. Felicity wanted more, and he would give it to her. She wanted him inside her once again, and Calvin would never leave. She wanted to scream out her pleasure endlessly, and he wanted to hear every sound. Calvin held her down, and stared in to her, through her, and she braced-

-braced as the world changed eternally. Mountains of triumph grew, but not without forming their own degraded valleys, the rolling tide of the universe crippling them to humbled rocks once again, repeating but never the same. He climbed forward, walking up to his destination calling in silent harmonies. Singing now, he and the world began a duet, song lifting him up, below, and through all he could see. But he didn't see anything. This world was not one for eyes. He felt, he experienced. The mountains trumpeted his praise as winding streams fluted their admiration. Higher he climbed with no hands, weightless music propelling him up, and his soul finally saw. He watched-

-watched as she rode him with a slow, steady rhythm. Her hands grabbed at his chest and shoulders to support her as Felicity rocked and grinded to pull Calvin deeper, toned abs working overtime. He let himself go, let her take control. Long hair awkwardly fell in to his face, and sweat was freely exchanged between them, but he did not care. Calvin did not care about anything other than the sensations. The feelings were all that mattered. Her breasts' occasional scrape against his chest, her breathy moans in his ear, her body grabbing him and never letting go. Everything he felt was Felicity. She was everything. She was-

-was his destination, his origin, his place of being. She was always waiting. She was there, and he moved to her by being beside her. He willed himself to see her, but she offered no shape. He must experience, he knew. He drew her in, deep breaths of limitless timbre that filled nothing. She was him, and he was her. Together, yet still nowhere. She spoke in words that couldn't be heard, yet he knew them already. The universe shrank, pulling inside him with her. All of it came to be within him. Lilting flowers of passion blossomed and joined the innocent babbling of insecure clouds, rain of terror falling pointlessly upward to a courageous soil, the lake of happiness swallowed in the sea of joy, draining down within him. The world pressed deeper, to his core, his essence, his being, and she was there. He felt her, and the world. The world of splendor, of expression, of giddiness, of cheerfulness. It consumed him, a universe that was radiant with gladness, propelling winds of delight, drowning him in pleasure. This is the world he forgot. This was Joy. This was Happiness.

This was Felicity.





Inspiration



I'm so grateful for your comments and feedback. If I can get back to you, I will. I wanted to let you know what you do to me with your responses, so here it is. It escalates quickly, but then so do I ;)

Thank you one and all. 

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Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (12 min/mp3)

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Inspiration



Authors Note: This story was originally written for the Sapphic Erotica Festival. The parameters for the story were that it involved one of the muses and was a lesbian tale.

Clia Johansen sat at the very back of the darkened auditorium fighting to keep her eyes open. At the podium Professor Roberts rambled on about Alexander the Great or Hannibal or some other long dead person that Clia really couldn’t care less about. She had been dumped in this class to fill her history core requirement and hated it with the same passion she hated Algebra and Biology. Clia was going to be a writer and she detested wasting her time in mundane courses when she felt she should have been taking more important things. Unfortunately for her the school had a large number of journalism majors and all the good classes were filled with upperclassmen before she was allowed to register. Her faculty advisor, an old bat named Mrs. Krieger had suggested she knock off a lot of her core classes and worry about the writing classes when she was a junior. So instead of sharpening her skills as a writer she was the only sophomore stuck in an auditorium full of freshmen and one of several students trying not to fall asleep while the professor droned on.

Clia had chosen the second to last row on purpose. Partially to avoid the notice of the prof, she was sure she would be sleeping away many of his lectures and partially to avoid unwanted attention. She had avoided the very back row because she knew in classes like this the Profs often had TA’s patrolling to make sure the students weren’t napping. 

Clia was tall and had the blonde hair, big bust and fair skin that were a gift of her father’s Swedish forbearers. Her mother’s only real contribution to her looks had been the dark eyes and soft features of her Greek ancestry. She was exotically beautiful and wore baggy clothes and no makeup to down play her looks. Clia told herself she wanted to be known for her writing and not her looks, but secretly she had never been comfortable with the attention the young men had been giving her since high school. 

Whenever she thought of this she was forced to grin. Here she was, hoping to be a writer of love stories and she had never even been in love. She had won a few local awards for her erotic poems and she had never even more than kissed anyone. I should be in a class learning about writing, not wasting my time in this godforsaken auditorium, she thought. I hate history. 

“Why?”

The softly accented voice behind her startled her and she turned towards it without thinking. The speaker was a girl seated behind her and one seat to her left. She was small and had a very lush figure with dark curls and dark eyes. The indirect light made her olive skin seem to shine and the short skirt and poet’s shirt accentuated her heavy breasts and wide hips. Her long legs were bare and beautifully sculpted. From her vantage point Clia could almost see up the girl’s skirt and blushed in confusion when she realized she was trying to do just that. The girl’s dark tresses were held back by a green hair band with tiny golden leaves embroidered into it. Her dark eyes seemed to be bottomless and very wise for someone so young.

“I’m sorry, did I say that out loud?” Clia stammered.

“No silly, I read your mind,” the girl replied in that same softly accented voice. It was musical, melodious in it’s own way, but deeper than Clia would have expected and the accent was very sensual.

Clia wasn’t sure if the girl was being sarcastic or not. Obviously she has said it out loud, she felt like she should be angry but was unsure of exactly what she should be angry at.

“You still haven’t answered my question, why do you hate history?”

Clia glanced around to make sure no one had noticed them talking in class, but everyone seemed oblivious to them both. She felt like she should resent that last statement. The implication that she was expected to answer annoyed her, but she found herself fascinated with this girl and her strange accent. She wanted to impress her for a reason she could not define. Not wanting to sound like your average college kid complaining about classes and professors she thought about it a moment before carefully wording her answer.

“I am going to be a writer. I don’t need to know all this stuff, I mean really, it’s not pertinent to my life,”

“Indeed? What exactly do you write that is so brilliant that it allows you, an author, to claim a right to ignorance?”

“I write love stories, epic romances, love poetry, I don’t need to know anything about history for that. I mean, they are all long dead so who cares? And I am not ignorant!”

The girl chuckled softly and picked up the single book on her desk. It was a large volume, like an unabridged dictionary. She slipped it into the simple canvas bag she carried and picked up the black instrument case on the floor by her desk.

“Ignorance is not becoming to anyone especially an author,” she said.

“Stop calling me ignorant!” Clia exclaimed as her anger finally overrode whatever power had been in possession of her before.

“As you wish,” the girl said as she stood up, “class is over, by the way, Miss. Know-it-all,”

Clia turned to find Professor Roberts gone and most of the students as well. She turned back to find the dark haired girl had vanished as well. Wondering how she could have missed an auditorium full of freshmen bolting for the doors like a cattle stampede she grabbed her books and walked briskly out the double doors.

By the time she reached the quad Clia knew she was cutting the rest of her classes. She wasn’t feeling quite right and wanted nothing more than to get to her apartment and lie down. The long walk to day-student parking left her feeling even stranger, her skin was tingling and she was short of breath. The interior of her little Celica was broiling and by the time the air conditioner finally began to make some headway she was bathed in sweat. 

Once home she stripped off the sticky clothes she had been wearing and turned the small window unit in her room to full. Something was wrong, but she could not decide what it was. It was a feeling the likes of which she had never known. Clia decided to take a quick shower before putting on clean clothes. She started the water and waited for it to get hot. Her father had always teased her about liking hot showers even on the hottest of days. He was second generation Scandinavian and loved the cold. Clia took after her mother there and preferred it to be warm, but she didn’t tolerate it being hot well either. She climbed in and pulled the curtain letting the hot steam engulf her. There was nothing in the world that relaxed her like a hot shower and soon her mind began to wander. 

Who was that strange girl, she thought. Why have I never noticed her before? What kind of accent is that anyway? Clia remembered what the girl looked like, the dark eyes, beautiful skin, heavy breasts, and long legs. She was startled to hear a low moan over the pounding spray of the shower. She was even more startled to realize she had made it. She was shocked to find her left hand gently massaging her pubic mound. Confusion, embarrassment, and arousal all mingled to leave her standing as still as a statue under the spray. Clia forced the girl from her mind and quickly finished her shower. 

She dried herself briskly and returned to the now cold bedroom. Clia put on a comfortable bra and panties and pulled her big nightshirt on. She curled up in the bed and closed her eyes. She was asleep almost instantly.

----

She was standing on a beach with incredibly blue waters lapping at the shore. In this distance was an island that was dark and close to the water and it resembled a woman in repose. The sun was directly behind it, lighting the sky in a series of layers, purplish at the horizon, turning to a rosy red, then a fiery red with yellows and oranges above that and the deep blue of the heavens on top. Clia could not tell if it was rising or setting, but it was breathtakingly beautiful. A woman sat on the edge of the sand before her with her back resting on a large moss covered rock. She had a stylus in her hand, and a tablet across her knees and penned lines occasionally with a dreamy expression. Her clothing consisted of a simple white dress cut in a style Clia had never seen before although it seemed very archaic. The woman’s eyes never seemed to leave the island and Clia’s eyes were drawn back to it, as the sun fell she realized it seemed the island had changed, it still resembled a woman but she seemed to have moved now and the small knoll that was her bust seemed more prominent. 

Clia sensed a presence behind her, but try as she might she could not turn her head from the scene of the writer and the beach. She started when long, olive arms slipped around her waist and a soft pair of lips grazed her exposed shoulder. 

“What? Who’s there??”

The arms pulled her back against a warm soft body with large breasts and wide hips. The lips kissed up the rise of her shoulder and then up her neck while the hands gently stroked her hips. It felt so sensuous and so nice Clia was caught between fear and enjoyment. She struggled to turn her head, but all her efforts were in vain. When the lips reached her ear small sharp teeth seized her earlobe and firmly nipped causing her to gasp.

“Ohhhh, please, what’s going on?” 

“Shhhh, it’s just a dream child,” a vaguely familiar and softly accented voice whispered in her ear.

“Why can’t I turn around?”

“It is not time yet for you to see me. Now, relax, no harm will come to you I promise,” the voice whispered seductively. The warm breath on her ear sent a shiver through her and when the soft tongue returned to lightly trace her earlobe a stab of excitement shot through her.

“Where am I?” she asked, the question seeming inane as soon as it left her mouth. In a dream you idiot, she answered herself.

“On an island in the Aegean sea,” the voice replied as the hands traveled up her body to cup her breasts. Clia gasped when they began to gently knead her tits and she had to bite her tongue to keep from moaning out loud when the thumbs grazed her nipples. 

“Who is that woman?” she managed to ask, trying to find something to focus on other than the magical hands and sensuous lips. 

“She is a poet, from long ago,” the voice replied in a breathy whisper. It returned to delicately tonguing her ear and Clia found it hard to think. The hands on her breasts were gentle but firm, and they slowly built the pleasure of their manipulation until her nipples ached. 

“Which poet?”

“What does it matter? She died a long time ago,” the voice replied before the lips slipped back to her neck.

The writer’s face was now rapt and Clia was shocked to see the woman’s hand had left the tablet and was now rubbing gently between her legs. Clia gasped again when one of those magical hands slipped down her tummy to massage the crotch of her panties. She felt certain her own expression mirrored that of the poet.

“Please, I have to know, who is she?”

The hand rubbing her crotch slipped under the waist band of her panties and the contact of that soft skin on her own excited flesh nearly made her cry out. The index finger forced it’s way between her now slick lips and began to deftly stroke her clit. Clia’s pelvis humped involuntarily against that hand.

“Ohhhhhhh.. please,” she moaned. Clia was no longer sure if she were begging for the woman’s identity or for release.

“You would know her as Sappho, this is the Isle of Lesvos, and perhaps history is not as uninteresting as you think?” the voice said. There was amusement in the tone, but before Clia’s reeling mind could put all of the information together the fingers suddenly squeezed her clit.

Clia came awake as they dying echo of her scream reverberated around her room. Her nightshirt was up over her bust and one hand was squeezing a breast. Her other hand was wedged between her legs and still furiously stroking her throbbing clit. Her hands slowly ceased their attentions as the powerful waves of her orgasm passed. She felt so calm, so relaxed and almost drifted back into sleep before her mind put all the pieces together.

Sappho! Lesvos! Those lips and hands! That voice! She sat up violently in her bed while her eyes darting around the room seeing nothing. In her mind’s eye she was still seeing a sunlit beach, with a small woman masturbating as she wrote. As the image faded her bedroom slowly replaced the beach and her breathing returned to normal.

“What a dream,” she muttered to herself. 

-----

Friday was the worst day of the week for Clia. Not only did she have to contend with the anticipation of the weekend making her classes seem longer, but also she had four in a row and she detested them all. She looked at the stack of books on the dresser as she rose and winced. Algebra, Biology, Chemistry and Statistics books sat there, seeming to taunt her. She cursed her adviser and herself as she stripped off her nightshirt. While it was true that she would have all of her math and science requirements filled after this semester, she was beginning to doubt she could pass them all. Looking at the books again as she stepped out of her panties she realized she hadn’t done her algebra homework again. She was saying a quick prayer that the Prof wouldn’t take up homework when she noticed the tell tale stains on the crotch of the pink garment.

The dream flooded back into her head as vividly as it had been the evening before and Clia blushed deeply. She rarely masturbated, and never while thinking of a woman. The entire episode left her feeling confused and a little disconcerted. The panties in her hand were stark evidence of her excitement and pleasure and she quickly tossed them in the hamper by the bathroom door. This brought her eyes to the clock on the wall and she realized she was going to have to run or she would be late. The prof always took homework from late students and she just couldn’t afford a zero in his class.

Clia ran a quick shower and threw on the first things that she pulled out of her drawers. A red bra and panty set, tight jeans and a white tee shirt. She was already in the car and on her way when she noticed that her bra could easily be seen under the shirt. There was no time to turn back and day student parking was almost full. Clia jogged to class and made it a full fifteen minutes early. This class had assigned seating and she had just settled in when she noticed several guys in the front row whispering conspiratorially and looking her way. The sniggering, obscene gestures and hungry looks made her want to find a hole to hide in and she had never been so happy in her life to see the professor come in and call the class to order. The moment she dismissed the class Clia practically ran out of the class and from the building. She couldn’t bear the thought of one or more of those guys approaching her.

Biology was in an auditorium and she sat near the back. It was dark and she received none of the stares that had so unnerved her in the smaller classroom. It was cool and dark and as the professor droned on about mitosis she began to nod off.

She was standing on the beach again but it was darker. The sun smoldered on the very edge of the waters turning them a molten red. The poet was still there, her hand still inside her toga, but she was no longer staring at the island. Clia followed her eyes to see two nude figures entwined on a blanket that had been thrown carelessly on the white sand. The two figures were writhing in each other’s embrace as the poet watched. Something was different this time and it took Clia a few moments to realize she was alone this time, her phantom lover was not there and she could turn her head and examine things freely. She glanced back to see towering cliffs, but her attention returned to the poet. 

As Clia watched she said something in a language Clia did not recognize and the two figures on the blanket changed positions. The poet’s free hand slipped inside the neckline of her gown to caress her breast as she watched the two figures on the blanket. The motion of her hands was slow, sensuous and unhurried, but it belied a pent up intensity. Clia felt that the poet would bring herself to the edge of bliss, but would not allow herself to cross over. Once in that heightened state of arousal she would take up the tablet and write. Clia had used the same technique, minus the visual aids, in her own erotic poetry. 

The strange scene before her piqued her curiosity. Clia wondered just what it was that the poet found so engrossing and so powerful that it could move her to write verse that was still held in highest regard centuries later. Clia moved closer and closer, intently scrutinizing the poet as she played with herself. Her expression was indescribable, a mixture of abandon and concentration, while her dark eyes were wild, euphoric and dreamy all at once. Clia stood close to the writer now, and she observed the soft rippling of the woman’s small breasts under the tunic. Clia could see the thick black pubic hair that covered her mound and could smell the musky aroma of her arousal faintly on the breeze. The woman’s hands moved quicker now, but as Clia had predicted the poet tore her hands from her body before orgasm overtook her. She snatched at the tablet like a drowning woman would grab a live preserver and began to write at a frantic pace. 

The poet’s eyes lifted from the tablet to the two figures and then back to the tablet as more lines poured from her hand. It was then that Clia realized she wasn’t visible; the poet had looked right through her. Entranced by watching the artist at work Clia had totally forgotten the figures behind her until a ragged moan eclipsed the sound of the surf and brought her attention back to them. It was no surprise to Clia that both of the nude figures were women. In the position they were in she couldn’t see either of them well. They lay one atop the other, but inverted, so that she could see the woman on the bottom’s long legs and only the top of the other woman’s head and her back.

Clia felt drawn to them, and moved closer making no more sound than the wind across the sands. The woman on top was small with a thick head of dark curls. She lay on atop the other woman, with her arms under the other’s thighs and her head buried in her lover’s crotch. Clia could see noting of the woman on bottom save her long legs; even her sex was hidden from view by the brunette’s hair, which obscured her hips and inner thighs. As Clia watched the woman on bottom began to thrash and moan. The smaller woman kept her face glued to the bucking hips of her lover and without warning an animalistic howl rang out. The long legs tensed fiercely and then slowly relaxed. Clia had moved closer or perhaps it was just a trick of the dream, but she was looking down on the pair when the brunette’s head came up. 

Clia gasped and sat up straight in her seat. The students near her turned to look at her, many smiled sympathetically and returned their attention to the black board. Clia wrote furiously, trying to get all the notes on the board that she had missed, but her thoughts were disjointed and slow. Only with great effort could she keep her thoughts off what she had seen in her dream. The face she had seen when the brunette had looked up continued to float before her vision. It was beautiful and soft with lovely dark eyes, and a rapturous expression and glistened in the red light with the juices of her lover. It was none other than her mysterious classmate.

Clia stumbled through the rest of her day in a dreamlike trance. She could not seem to make the distinction between reality and her suddenly very vivid dreams. Everywhere she looked she would see her mysterious classmate. She was always a face in the crowd or a glimpsed figure moving just out of her line of sight. If she stopped moving or stopped making her mind focus on something tangible she found herself on that beach drenched in the red of a fading sun, like liquid fire. 




Inspiration



She found herself in the cafeteria at a table by herself. She was unsure of how she got there and of how long she had been there. A plate of food was sitting in front of her and a half empty mug of coffee. She sipped the coffee and found it to be cold as was the food. Clia noticed that the place was nearly empty and the janitorial crew was already at work. She glanced at her watch to find it was nearly 4:30. Her last class had been over before noon and she was almost certain she had been to it, but try as she might she could not recall the lecture or the intervening hours.

Once she got to her apartment she felt the overwhelming need to write. On rare occasions she had felt this need, the frenetic, nearly delirious feeling had led to some of her best works. Writing in this manic state, where 10 pages in an hour was not uncommon Clia had discovered a joy that was almost orgasmic. She started a pot of coffee and then grabbed a fresh composition book and several pencils and sat down at the dinette in the kitchen. She opened the composition book and picked up a pencil and fully expected to explode into a frenzy of writing, but instead she just stared at the blank page. She started several times during the next half hour, but never got farther than a sentence or two before she crossed it out and tried to begin again. 

By evening she was becoming frustrated and angry. The feeling was there, her body thrummed with it, but the words would not come. Clia passed on going out with her roommates and stayed at the table, she felt certain that inspiration would hit her at any moment and she did not want to be far from her tablets when it did. The hours passed slowly and nothing happened. By three o’clock that morning she had finished two pots of coffee and had two pages of starts crossed out. She was startled by the door opening and her roommates retuning from the clubs. 

Sharon was drunk, as usual and hanging on the arm of some blonde guy. Shelly was less inebriated, but was also with a guy Clia had never seen before. Beth was the only one who seemed sober and as usual she was alone. Clia was in no mood to deal with them or make small talk with guys who only had one thing on their mind. She was thankful that they barely spoke to her before heading down the hallway. Only Beth stopped to ask how she was doing. Clia’s frustrated growl of a reply seemed to convince the petite brunette that it wasn’t a good time to talk and she retreated to her room.

Clia’s apartment was one of the many new ones put up to house the burgeoning population of the university. The walls were paper-thin and soon the muffled sounds of sex drifted into the kitchen. Bed springs squeaked and the occasional muffled groan filtered to her ear. The sounds seemed to act as a catalyst and she found herself on the beach of her dreams again. Sharon’s crying out jerked Clia’s mind back to reality. Clia shook her head and went to get more coffee. 

I have such odd roommates, she thought as she made her coffee. Sharon was a tall blonde and a complete slut, different guy every night, never had a relationship that lasted more than a few rolls in the hay. Shelly was shorter and stockier than Sharon, but still tall for a woman and platinum blonde. She had just been dumped by her high school sweetheart and was almost as bad as Sharon, but she seemed to be looking for more than just a one-night stand. Beth was the odd ball in most every respect. She was a small, petite, brunette very quiet, though not shy. She went out with them every weekend, but to Clia’s knowledge she had never brought anyone home or gone home with anyone she had met. She was closest to Clia in temperament and was probably her best friend at the university. They could talk, but the enigmatic girl seemed to live apart from the rest of the world and Clia often found her unapproachable. There had always been something there, lying just beneath the surface that Clia could never quite grasp.

Clia returned to the table and her open composition book. The house was quiet now and the rhythmic ticking of her grandmother’s clock seemed to be beckoning her to sleep. Neither sleep nor words would come and Clia was wide awake when first one and then the other guy slipped out of the house. Time dragged on and her false starts came less and less often. She was still filled with the urge to write, but the words seemed to have deserted her.

The sun was already up before she finally gave up and padded down the hallway to her bedroom. She passed Beth’s doorway just as it opened and Beth stepped out into the hallway. She was bleary eyed and her mused hair and dazed expression lead Clia to believe she must have just woken up. Beth wore only a thin t-shirt and black silk boxer shorts, Clia had seen her dressed like this many times, but today she seemed different. Clia noticed Beth’s small breasts and how they stood up and strained against the thin material of her shirt. She found her eye attracted to the gentle curve of the brunette’s hips and noticed for the first time the girl’s firm and shapely legs. Clia’s eyes returned to Beth’s face, the girl was very attractive; there was no doubt about that. She was staring and Clia was startled to realize Beth was speaking.

“Cli?”

Beth’s voice startled her and Clia felt her face flush. Rather then respond she turned abruptly and hurried to her room. Clia could feel the brunette’s eyes on her back all the way to her room. Clia’s attempts at sleep were thwarted by the restless energy and feeling that she should be writing. The disturbing encounter with Beth also left her feeling restless and edgy. She tossed and turned in her bed until she finally gave up and returned to the kitchen and her writing tablet. 

Clia barely noticed anything going on around her until Sharon asked if she was going out with them. Clia begged off and was actually relieved when Sharon didn’t push the issue. She watched her roomies leave for the evening from her place at the dinette. Sharon wore a tight red mini dress that showed off her figure and left her long legs bare. Shelly had on a white western shirt with a sting tie and black flared skit and cowgirl boots. Beth wore a green body suit with a short black fringed jacket and blue jeans. She also had cowboy boots on and her black Stetson. Must be Bronco’s tonight Clia thought. 

She studied her roommates with a detached view that she only achieved when on an insomnia binge. Sharon was pretty, but not overly so. She made up for it by dressing and acting in a way that exuded sex. Guys flocked around her almost as if they could smell sex and she reveled in it. Shelly was a little heavier than Sharon and not quite as pretty. When she had first moved in she had been as shy as Clia, but her boyfriend breaking up with her had changed her. She had become as wild as Sharon, and just as brassy. Clia felt like it was a knee jerk reaction and that she would calm down some over time. Beth was dressed the least sexy, but to Clia’s eye she was the most attractive of the three. She didn’t exude sex appeal, but there was a far away quality to her, something intangible, that Clia found extremely appealing.

What am I thinking? She asked herself. She realized her scrutiny hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. Sharon and Shelly were chatting away about this guy and that, who would be out, where they would go if Bronco’s was dead, but Beth was staring at her curiously. Clia felt herself blush and looked away. She didn’t look up from her blank comp book until she heard the door close.

By the time they returned Clia was close to tears. She had never experienced writer’s block like she was now, and that powerful need to create was making it even worse. On top of that her mind would not stay focused and returned again and again to her mysterious classmate and if she could have admitted it to herself, to her small roommate as well. The swirling emotions, lack of sleep, sexual frustration and buzzing need to write all culminated in a whirlwind that left Clia wanting to curl up in a corner and sleep. 

Sharon was draped over the arm and shoulder of a huge guy with a crew cut. Clia decided he must be on the football team from his huge muscles and obvious athleticism. Shelly was with a short swarthy guy with black hair and black eyes. Clia took an immediate dislike to him. He had the arrogant look of an abusive bastard and since that was the kind Shelly went after Clia had no doubt he was just that. Beth was alone as usual, but she seemed far less sober than she normally was. She wasn’t drunk, but just in that giggly state of being buzzed.

Shelly and Sharon made no attempt at conversation; they both had one thing on their minds and retired to their bedrooms without more than a casual hi to Clia. Beth started a fresh pot of coffee and leaned against the counter. She was staring at Clia with an expression that left the tall blonde hot and flushed. She made two cups of coffee then sat down and pushed one across the table to Clia.

“Soooo, whats up?”

“Nothing,” Clia said, hiding her discomfort by looking down to sip her coffee.

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing, why do you ask?”

“Well let’s see, You have been walking around in a trance since Thursday, you haven’t backed out on us going out two days in a row since you were sick last semester, You haven’t eaten or slept in two days, you tell me,” Beth said with amusement evident in her tone.

“Two days?”

“Who is it hunny?”

“Who is who?”

“Oh come on, you can tell me. Is it Bobby? Or Jordan?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Cli, you have a crush on someone. It’s so obvious. You can tell me, I’m your best friend,”

“A crush?” Clia asked. It all became so clear to her then. Beth was right she did have a crush on someone and the someone she had a crush on caused her to feel sick to her stomach.

“Okay, so not Bobby or Jordan, a guy in one of your classes?”

“Oh God,” Clia exclaimed. It all came pouring out then, the girl, the dreams, everything. Clia was sobbing by the time she had finished. Beth said nothing, simply listened until Clia had no more to say. She moved to the chair next to Clia and held her as she sobbed.

“Shhhh, it’s not as bad as all that. It’s going to be all right,” she whispered.

---

By the time class started Tuesday Clia was a nervous wreck. She didn’t know what to say or what to do, she found herself torn between praying the girl wouldn’t be there and hoping she was. Clia arrived in class a half hour early and took her normal seat. She started each time someone entered the room, twisting in her seat to see who it was. Dr. Roberts arrived to call the class to order and there was still no sign of the girl. Clia was not sure what she felt, disappointment of course, but also a curious relief. On the other hand she had to wonder if the girl had ever existed at all outside of her imagination. 

Clia found herself listening to the lecture today and actually enjoying it. Rather than being boring she found her mind conjuring up images of times long past. She found her fertile imagination beginning to place characters of her own design in among the historic personalities. She felt the creative energy begin to build inside of her and she hastily pulled out her notebook and began to scribble down ideas.

“You needn’t write so fast,” a soft voice behind her said. Clia stiffened and then slowly turned her head. The girl with the dark eyes was sitting behind her. Today she wore a simple white dress with a modest neckline and hem that fell to mid calf. Clia felt her breath catch, she had never seen anyone so lovely and her heartbeat quickened in her chest.

“I…I mean…” Clia stammered.

“I am going back to my apartment after this class. Will you come with me?” the girl asked in that soft voice Clia had come to love. Clia tried to respond but no words would come. Her heart was hammering in her chest and it hurt to breathe. She was so confused, pulled in so many different directions and so unsure of her feelings and of herself. This strange girl was inviting her back to her place and Clia felt sure she knew what for. She was not at all sure she was ready for this, but she knew she could not refuse either. In the end she simply nodded her head.

The class was almost over, but the last few minutes seemed to last an eternity to her. When the professor closed his book and gave out the homework assignments Clia felt herself becoming incredibly nervous. She was sweating and shaking and suddenly not at all sure she could go through with this. The auditorium emptied out quickly and soon it was just Clia and the girl. The girl was standing, her book already in her bag and holding the black case Clia assumed held an instrument of some kind. Clia felt her resolve melt and she tried to think of a way to get out of going. She started to say something, but her eyes caught the girls and she felt her will to resist fade away like ice under the Aegean sun. She followed the girl out of the history building and across campus in an almost trance like state. She did not hesitate to get in the girl’s car with her and throughout the short drive to her apartment not a word was exchanged.

The apartment was small and tidy, very comfortable and pleasant. The girl fixed drinks and sat on the sofa next to Clia. It was only then with their bodies so close together that Clia could find words.

“I don’t know what I am doing here, I must be mad,”

“You are here to begin a great adventure. I, not for what you are now, but for what you can be, have chosen you. In a very short time we shall see if you are worthy of the gift I can bestow,”

“I don’t understand,”

“No, but you shall,” the girl said as she stood. A gleaming light seemed to come from her body and as she disrobed Clia could only stare in fascination. The light became intensely bright, so bright Clia had to shield her eyes, when it faded she was awestruck. The woman who stood before her was not the Greek girl she had known, but a tall, statuesque woman with unearthly beauty and the wisest eyes she had ever seen.

“What?”

“Do you not know me?” the woman said in a voice that was both musical and wonderful. 

“No, I don’t,”

“I am Clio,” the woman said simply.

“Clio? This has to be a dream,”

“No little one, it is no dream. I am the muse and I have chosen you,”

“But, I don’t even like history,” Clia protested. Somewhere in her reeling mind it occurred to her she was arguing with a figment of her imagination. It seemed so real, but so had the beach dream. She wondered if she was dreaming in Professor Robert’s class at this very moment. 

“No, but you do not know history, or yourself, but that will change, NOW!”

The final word echoed like a thunderclap and the world spun away in a dazzling kaleidoscope of colors and tints. Swirling patterns of light and color coalesced around her and she had the sensation of falling, but not fast, almost floating downwards. This seemed to last forever and yet happened in an instant. The paradox was such that she nearly blacked out from the influx of stimuli. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the colors but it did not work and she became aware of sounds. Millions of sounds, the roar and clatter of battle, the gentle patter of a summer rain, the voice of a man crying out in pain, the scream of a woman overtaken by ecstasy, the cry of a new born infant, the dirge of a funeral, and so many others. She heard each with clarity, but at the same time they were one cacophonous roar in her ear. She felt as if she would loose her mind and then suddenly all was still. 

Clia found herself standing on the beach of her dreams. There was no poet this time, only the Greek girl from her class. She was sitting on the rock that the poet had been leaning on and staring out at the sea. Clia approached her carefully. The girl looked at her and smiled.

“Clio?” Clia asked.

“In one of my many guises. This is the one you are most comfortable with is it not?”

“Yes. Where are we?”

“You have asked that once before, but I will answer again, we are on the Isle of Lesvos, in the Aegean Sea,” she replied with amusement evident in her voice. 

“Why?”

“History has no beginning child and no end. If I am to be your guide I had to start somewhere. Your own latent potential and desire lead us here. So it is here that we will start,”

“Start what?”

“Your grand adventure. I am going to show you history, show it to you in a way you cannot imagine, and in doing so give you the unique insight into it that will mark you as one of the greatest of writers,” the muse said.

“Why me?”

“You have the potential, you lack only the direction and inspiration. You are also unknown to man and you must remain so. Should you ever have intercourse with a man, my gift is wasted,”

Clia was unsure of what to say. She had always planed on getting married and having children one day. That dream was a nebulous one, with no particular husband in focus. For that matter, she realized she was more enamored of the concept than any particular dream or plan. Five days ago she would have laughed if someone had broached the quaint idea of her having a muse. Now she believed with all her being that the mythical patron spirits of creativity existed. 

The bargain Clio offered was one that many people would have refused out of hand. Clia weighed the options, but she knew before she finished what she would do. She had always felt a deep commitment to her craft. Now she was being offered the chance at inspiration beyond mortal ken. There really wasn’t that much of a choice to make. 

“Show me then,” she said at last.

Clio smiled and nodded. She climbed down off the rock and motioned for Clia to come nearer. Clia approached without fear or trepidation this time. The pretty girl gently touched her shoulder and the world dissolved around her again. The sounds and colors engulfed her again and she struggled to keep her sanity.

“Relax,” the soft voice of the muse urged her, “trust me and let go. No harm will come to you,”

Clia forced herself to relax. The swirling colors and cacophonous sounds crashed in on her and for an indefinite period of time she lost herself in the storm. Slowly the colors began to coalesce into scenes, the sounds wore away to a sound track and time began to flow past her like a river. She was everywhere at once and saw everything that had happened through time. An impartial observer, unaware of her existence as a single being, she watched the rise of Greek culture and it’s fall. She saw huge empires rise and fall in the dense jungles of South America and the long voyages of the Vikings. There was far too much for her to ingest it all, but some things remained clear in her mind even after years had passed. Clia sensed the guiding hand of her muse, directing her attention to specific events and people. The muse’s choices in scenes that stuck out seem capricious but Clia detected a common theme, they were always scenes involving women.

Clia watched the mysterious workings of the cult at Delphi, she saw the high priestess of an Assyrian cult conducting an orgiastic ceremony where all the participants were women, in the far north she watched a woman rise to lead a tribe of Celts on a bloody rampage, and she saw a pharaoh’s daughter control the mightiest empire in the world from behind the scenes. In every case Clia witnessed women in positions of power and authority, women who made significant contributions to art, literature, statecraft and civilization. She was conscious of the fact that none of these women had ever appeared in any of her history lessons.

Clia felt the gentle urging of her guide pulling her attention towards England. She felt her mind slowly focusing first on the island, then on a particular castle, then on one room in that castle. With a suddenness that was disconcerting Clia found herself standing on the cold flagstones in a large room. Clio stood behind her taller now and no longer wearing the guise of her classmate. She could see the muse but she somehow knew that the occupants of the room could not see her. 




Inspiration



The room was huge, it’s vaulted ceiling lost in shadows. Tapestries decorated the walls and a large fireplace held a roaring fire. A large poster bed dominated one wall. It was made of intricately carved red wood and the canopy was made of a white gossamer. The coverlet was black and appeared to be silk or satin. Across from the bed a woman sat at a vanity, peering into a burnished steel mirror. She wore a gown of gold brocade with a skirt so full Clia wondered how she managed to sit. Two servant girls were busy brushing out her long golden tresses.

The heavy oaken door swung inward and a woman walked into the room. Clia was instantly struck by the woman’s air of command and power. She was tall and very slim with almost no hips or breasts. Angular was the word that came to Clia’s mind. There were no soft curves, just planes and angles. Even her face seemed sharp and predatory without being unattractive. She wore a simple black dress with a scooped neck that showed off the small amount of cleavage she did have. It was cut high on her hips and slit so that one could see flashes of her bare legs when she walked. Her eyes were dark and so was her hair. Something in those eyes sent a thrill through Clia, a thrill that was part fear and part desire.

Both of the servants turned their heads to glance at the newcomer. Each of them froze and Clia felt they were both feeling the same thing she did, but more acutely. Their impassive faces lit with a hungry look Clia recognized from the faces of the many men Sharon and Shelly brought home. It was pure lust and Clia wondered if her own countenance looked the same.

“Leave us,” the woman said in a commanding tone. Both girls released the blonde woman’s hair and hurried out with their heads down. The dark haired woman watched them go and then sauntered over to the vanity. The blonde never said a word, but her shoulders were hunched, almost as if she expected a blow.

When the dark haired woman took up a brush and ran it through the seated woman’s hair the blonde flinched as if burned. The brunette smiled a wolfish grin but continued to gently brush out the blonde’s hair. She did this for a few minutes in absolute silence and then pulled the woman’s long tresses out of the way and scraped her nails along the blondes shoulder. A hiss escaped the woman’s lips, but nothing more.

“Come dear sister, is that anyway to greet me?” the dark haired woman said. She emphasized the word sister in a way that made it seem ironic.

“Half sister. And only,” The blonde said. Her voice was tremulous and had a quality to it that invoked pity in Clia. The dark haired woman smiled and lowered her face to the blonde’s exposed shoulder where she gently traced her lips over the alabaster skin.

“Morgan, please, No…” the blonde whimpered. The brunette paid her not the slightest attention and continued to kiss and lick along her shoulder and up her neck. The blonde’s hands fluttered to her breast and back to her lap ineffectually. She seemed powerless to stop the dark haired woman from taking such liberties as she pleased. “Poor little Gwynevere,” the brunette whispered, “your words say no, but your body says yes,”

“Morgan? Gwynevere? This isn’t real, it’s just legend,” Clia said as she turned on Clio to find the muse smiling at her. The scene before her was frozen, like a move on pause, but unlike it as well. Her mind was reeling and things seemed to have more than one meaning and definition.

“This is your first real lesson, Child. Legends abound and so do myths. In every legend, every myth, every parable however there is a grain of truth. These people existed, as did Arthur, Lancelot and Galahad. They were not necessarily anything like the characters you know but they lived, breathed and died nonetheless. For the historian getting to the truth behind the legends is important. Separating historical fact from popular fiction takes diligence, research and above all a willingness to accept that the legend or myth may be totally factually correct. Watch now what happens here and learn a few of the secrets that have been lost to time,”

The scene before Clia began to flow again as the muses voice faded.

“Morgan please. We can’t!” the blonde implored.

“Bah, just because you chose to marry my simple minded half brother is no reason for me to stop taking my pleasure with you,”

“We can’t Morgan, we just can’t”

The dark haired woman growled and Clia saw anger flash in her eyes. She hurled the brush across the room and grabbed the blonde by the shoulders, bodily jerking the smaller woman to her feet. The blonde tried to pull away but the darkhaired woman spun her around and caught a handful of her long blonde hair. Morgan jerked her head back and fiercely pressed her thin lips to the blonde’s full soft ones, effectively stifling her protests. The blonde’s hands were balled into fists and she smashed them against Morgan’s chest weakly. After three or four times her hands slipped around the brunette’s shoulders and her body melted into the embrace.

Clia could see the brunette’s tongue exploring Gwynevere’s mouth and she felt her own body responding. Morgan released Gwynevere shoulders and scooped the startled queen up into her arms. Gwynevere kicked her legs and under the white petticoats Clia caught flashes of her stocking covered legs. Morgan unceremoniously dumped the queen on her bed and stepped back. She kicked off her sandals and grasped the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head. She was naked underneath and Clia found herself staring.

Morgan’s body was tight, muscular and lithe. She had almost no fat on her and Clia could count ribs and clearly see the woman’s pelvic bones. Her pubic bush was thick and black and it covered her labia and most of her pubic mound. She was not at all soft or lush and her breasts were barely B cups, but she was elemental and powerful and all together sexual. Clia felt the muse’s arms slide around her waist and she stepped back against the woman’s body without thinking. 

Gwynevere was staring too and Clia could see the flush on her cheeks. Morgan climbed on to the bed and straddled Gwynevere’s hips. She began to kiss the queen’s neck, lips, cheeks and eyelids all the while her hands plucked at ties, undid buttons and efficiently loosened the queen’s gown. The blonde still seemed hesitant and she struggled against Morgan’s hands, but the fight was not very convincing. The gown seemed to take forever to get undone, but Morgan’s mouth was busy and her hands stopped often to caress and knead. Clia was still a novice, but she had the impression Morgan was deliberately taking her time, slowly working the blonde to an ever higher state of arousal and need.

Clio’s hands and lips were not idle either. Clia felt the soft lips on her neck and the magical hands caressing her hips, but where Morgan seemed intent on immediately arousing her partner, Clio seemed to have the opposite intent. Her attentions were exciting and sensuous, but not urgent and did nothing to take Clia’s eyes or attention from the scene being enacted before her. Morgan dug her fingers into the gown and pulled it down. As it slid across her body Gwynevere planted her feet on the bed and raised her hips. Morgan slid all the way down her body until she was kneeling at the foot of the bed with the rumpled gown in her hands. The brunette tossed the garment to the floor and licked her lips as she stared at Gwynevere. The blonde looked simply delicious, she wore only her white stockings, which ended at mid thigh. Her pale skin and those stocking lying on the black comforter formed an arresting contrast. Where Morgan’s body was all planes and angles, Gwynevere was all curves. Her breasts were large, almost as large as Clia’s and capped with delicate pink nipples. These were hard now and stood out from the small aureoles. Her hips were wide and lush and her pubic hair was as blonde as that on her head. Her bush was thick and luxuriant, but the pouting lips of her labia were easily discernable. 

Morgan clucked in her throat and then threw herself on top of the supine woman. Their lips met and Morgan began to hump her hips, forcing her mound to rub against the queen’s. Gwynevere began to respond, her hips pushing up to meet her lover’s thrusts, but as soon as she responded Morgan stopped.

Morgan sat up and began to stroke the blonde’s hips. Her hands lightly traced along the blonde’s skin, brushing her mound but not giving firm contact.

“Perhaps you were right, maybe we should stop,”

“Nooo,” Gwynevere wailed.

“No? But you said we shouldn’t” Morgan teased as her fingers moved to the queen’s now soaked slit and began to slide up and down it. Gwynevere moaned and thrust her hips up, but Morgan kept the contact to just a feathery tease.

“Please,” the blonde whimpered when she realized Morgan was not going to give her any release. 

“Changed our mind have we? Well, you know what you will have to do now,”

“I can’t,” the blonde whined.

“Too bad, your little kitty seems to be aching for some attention,” Morgan said as she slipped one long finger just inside the slick lips. Morgan pumped her finger slowly in and out of the queen’s pussy. Clia watched in fascination and the long digit became slick and coated with the queens juices. In and out it sawed with a maddening regularity. The blonde humped against it, trying to drive it deeper. Morgan crossed her fingers and pushed them both in. The queen gasped and her hands slid down her body towards the juncture of her thighs. 

“No!” Morgan commanded. The queen’s hands seemed to stop of their own accord and then withdrew.

“If you want to spend, you are going to have to earn it little cow,” Morgan said as she grasped one of Gwynevere’s tits in her free hand and roughly manipulated it.

“Please,” Gwynevere gasped.

“Are you ready then?” Morgan asked in a too sweet tone.

“Yes,”

“Then beg for it, little trollop”

“Please, can I lick you? I am dying to taste your spendings,” Gwynevere groaned. Morgan laughed and withdrew her fingers. She moved up the queen’s body and placed a knee on either side of the blonde head while her ass rested on the slope of the queen’s tits. 

“Very well your majesty” Morgan said sarcastically, “get to work and lick my quim like the harlot you know you are,”

As she said this Morgan rose up and then pressed her pussy directly to the queen’s quivering lips. Clia could only see the blonde’s eyes and nose but from Morgan’s contented sigh she had to assume that they queen was indeed eating the sorceress’s pussy. Morgan leaned back and rested her hands on the queen’s full tits. She began to pinch and pull the little blonde’s nipples as she started to rock back and forth.

“That’s it harlot, use your tongue. Mmmmm, you are such a talented licker, even better than your serving girls. Maybe I shall have you service both of them, in appreciation for all they do for you. Would you like that? I think you would.”

Morgan moaned and began to thrust her hips back and forth on the queen’s face. She moaned again and then sighed as her hips went into a paroxysm of wiggling and she came. When she finished she slid down the queens body. Clia couldn’t take her eyes off Gwynevere’s face. The blonde’s chin, lips and nose were covered in Morgan’s juices. In the strange light they glistened and Clia was caught between being slightly repelled and wondering what it tasted like. 

Morgan settled between the queen’s legs and forced two fingers into the blonde’s snatch. She started to pump them in and out furiously while her free hand massaged the upper part of Gwynevere’s mound. The queen began to jog her hips and make small noises that Clia found very erotic. The Queen’s hands went to her breasts and kneaded them as her orgasm approached. With little warning a cry burst from her lips and she tensed. Her body thrashed violently on the bed and then slowly she relaxed.

Morgan slid up next to her and held the queen in her arms, gently stroking her hair. Gwynevere’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled contentedly and then frowned.

“What are we going to do my love? This cannot last forever,”

“Do not worry my little dove. I have taken steps to insure that Arthur looses interest in you. It will be hard on you at first, but trust me. In time you will be held up as the model of virtue and tragic love, while I will be reviled as a temptress, perhaps even a sorceress.”

“You’re no sorceress, unless one counts the magical way you make this cold body respond to you,” Gwynevere said. Morgan laughed softly and while she smiled and tweaked Gwynevere’s nose, Clia could detect the sadness in that laugh.

“Men must find a reason, and a scapegoat. I do not mind the iniquity I shall have heaped up on me, as long as you are mine,”

“I shall always be yours. No man can stir me to such heights. But tell me, why do you think you will be reviled?”

“I am not without some skill at scrying my love. That old fool of a court magician has shown me a few tricks. But that is neither here nor there. Those idiots are still at the tournament at Trielle so I have hours in which to pleasure you,”

With that Morgan gently kissed Queen Gwynevere and Clia found herself floating back into the altered state of consciousness where she, Clia did not exist. Time flowed once more and Clia watched England enslaved by the Romans. Her eye roamed far and wide, always drawn to the scenes Clio wanted her to witness first hand, but also aware of all that transpired. She saw a redheaded queen lead the Celts in an uprising against Rome, witnessed the orgies and degradations of that fabled city and saw it fall. She saw what really went on in the convents of the dark ages and the nightly escapades in the boudoirs of the nobility. She saw the Spanish enslave the new world, watched fleets of treasure ships sunk and saw England rise to prominence. She was there when an anonymous Corsican woman gave birth to a boy child. She watched this child grow to rule all of Europe. 

Suddenly she was herself again, standing on a rainy street in London. She was less disconcerted this time, more comfortable with the drastic shifts in her state of consciousness. A solitary figure, wrapped in a voluminous cloak moved purposefully down the dimly lit and empty street. From the seductive sway of her hips Clia knew it was a woman. The figure stopped outside the doorway to a large home and entered after a moment’s hesitation. 

Clia was instantly inside the home watching as a liveried butler closed the door behind the woman. He then gestured for her to follow him and led the way into a richly appointed parlor. A woman was sitting on the settee and glanced up from the book she was studying. 

“Your guest has arrived Mi’Lady,” the butler said stiffly.

“Very well Codsworth, you may take the rest of the evening off,” the woman on the settee replied.

“As you wish madam,” he replied and withdrew, drawing the doors shut behind him.

“Do you have them?” the seated woman asked.

The cloaked figure produced a roll of parchment and said, “All is there. Ships complements, sailing times, ordinance and commanders” Her voice was sharp and had an air of command as well as a musical quality, but the accent was soft and undoubtedly French.

“Give them to me, I must get them to Horatio as quickly as possible,” the seated woman said extending her hand.

“Not so fast ma Cherie, there is the little matter of payment,” 

“Very well, name your price,”

“You know my price, do not play coy with me. This information is vital and you have no time to waste in coquettish games,”

The seated woman nodded and stood up. Her hands went to work removing the dress she wore while the cloaked figure sprawled in a wingback chair and watched. As the dress fell away in parts more and more of her lovely body was exposed. Finally she stood before the cloaked woman in only her stays. Her body was lush and soft with wide hips, pendulous breasts and long trim legs. Her pubic hair was as thick and curly as the long dark tresses on her head. The seated woman held a finger up and made a circular motion with it. The aristocratic brunette pirouetted slowly on her toes. Her ass was full and shaped like a teardrop. Clia found the woman attractive, but she did not cause a quickening of her heartbeat like the sorceress had.

The seated woman hooked both of her legs over the arms of the chair and pulled her cloak up. She was naked underneath and with her legs spread wide over the arms of the chair her fat labia were exposed. The sparse hair covering her mound was dark, but seemed to have reddish highlights that made it look auburn when the light hit it right.

The finger beckoned and the other woman dropped to her knees and crawled between the widely splayed thighs. There was no hesitation on her part, she used her fingers to pull the prominent outer lips apart and exposed the bright pink inner folds. The brunette pressed her face tightly against the seated woman’s sex and began to lap delicately at the soft flesh. Clia was reminded of a cat tasting something for the first time.

The seated woman sighed and cooed, allowing her body to relax while pressing forward with her hips until her ass rested on the very edge of the chair. Clia watched as the seated woman’s pussy became wet and swollen. The aristocratic woman continued to lick at it, concentrating her efforts on the now erect clit. The cloaked woman’s hands tangled in her lover’s hair and pulled her face tightly against her dripping sex. Her voice became throaty and her breathing ragged as she murmured exhortations in French. Soon her hips began to jog and the aristocratic woman pushed a finger, then two in and began to pump them in and out as she licked. 

This seemed to be all the added stimulus the cloaked woman needed. She mumbled something unintelligible and then moaned loudly as her body began to shake. The brunette redoubled her efforts driving her fingers in wildly and sucking the erect clit in to lash it with her tongue.

Slowly the aristocratic woman slowed her attentions as her lover came down from her orgasm. She continued to tongue the seated woman’s slick lips, but it was gentle now and seemed more of a soothing caress. After a while of this gentle attention the seated woman sighed and sat up straighter. 

“That was delightful as always Ma Cheri,” she said in the husky but musical voice that Clia was growing to love.

“And you taste as divine as you did when last we met my love, but I really need to send that information on,” The brunette replied seriously.

“Very well Ma Cherie, I shall let you take leave for a few moments to get the information on its way, but only if you will allow me to take you when you return,”

“As if you could escape without doing so,” she said as she rose and took the papers. She stuffed them into a leather pouch and hurried out of the parlor. The cloaked woman did not stir from the chair but waited patiently, her hand idly stroking her pussy. After a long time a horse was heard galloping away from somewhere behind the house. Moments later the brunette came in pulling a dressing gown off her shoulders and tossing it over the back of a chair.

“Now my dear, how do we wish to proceed? Do we have time to adjourn to the bedroom?”

“No ma Cheri, it will have to be quickly. My ship must depart while it is still dark for obvious reasons,”

“Damnable war,” the Brunette said and she got on the settee on all fours. She then let her weight fall onto her elbows, which forced her posterior high into the air. Clia could see her pussy clearly; it was open and exposed and also had a slight sheen to it.

“Yes, Damnable,” the cloaked woman said as she approached and sat on the settee. She ran her hands up the brunette’s thighs and then caressed the fleshy cheeks. With a gentleness Clia had rarely seen she pried the aristocrats cheeks apart and then began to tongue her wide open pussy. This continued for some time, until the Lady began to moan and squirm. 




Inspiration



The cloaked woman sat back then and slipped a finger into the other woman’s pussy. She worked it in slowly, taking her time and then pumped it in and out for a few strokes before she added a second finger. She continued to gently frig the brunette with two fingers while Clia watched over her shoulder. When both fingers were slick the woman’s copious juices she pressed her two fingers together and laid her index over them to form a triangle. This she pressed forward slowly forcing it into the woman’s spread pussy. A groan was torn from the brunette as the three fingers dilated her opening. She groaned again and whimpered softly as the cloaked woman’s fingers finally sank all the way in.

The sight of the woman’s spread pussy with all three fingers buried in it had a strange effect on Clia. She felt her breath quicken and her nipples harden. The sight was so erotic and so strange, three fingers inside with just the pinky and thumb outside. The cloaked woman gave her lover time to adjust and then began to slowly fuck her with her fingers. As the brunette’s moans grew more and more urgent the cloaked woman slammed her fingers in with increasing force and speed. Clia was fascinated by the spectacle of the aristocrat’s pussy holding onto those fingers, almost as if it did not want them to leave. Soon the room was filled with liquid sounds and the moans of the brunette. When her hips began to jog and Clia was sure she was close to coming the cloaked woman suddenly stopped. She withdrew her fingers until just the tips were still inside and Clia was stunned to see her pull her pinky in under the others and press forward again.

“Ow!” the Brunette gasped.

The cloaked woman ignored her and pressed her hand forward. The tight ring of muscle resisted for a short time and then yielded. The fingers sank to the first knuckle into the tight space and Clia found herself leaning forward to see close up. Clia felt the muse’s hands on her hips, pulling her ass back against the muse’s pelvis, but Clio added no stimulation. She merely rested her chin on Clia’s shoulder and watched the show with her.

The cloaked woman was now working her fingers deeper into the brunette’s pussy. She seemed to be walking a thin line between being gentle and overcoming the resistance to the intrusion.

“Relax ma petite, “ she cooed in that husky but musical voice.

The brunette groaned but exhaled and Clia saw her body relax. The cloaked woman pressed harder and Clia watched in awe as her fingers slowly disappeared. When the wide part of her hand reached the ring of muscle there was the briefest pause and then her hand sank in until her thumb was the only finger visible. With her free hand she stroked the brunette’s ass and whispered endearments to her. Clia watched the aristocrats muscles gradually cease to tense and relax as her body adjusted to being so full.

The cloaked woman began to slowly pump her hand in and out, but adding a twisting motion as well that seemed to drive the prostrate brunette wild. In no time she was thrusting back to meet the cloaked woman’s hand. Her moans were continuous now, but punctuated by little squeaks and groans. The cloaked woman worked her lover up to an almost frenzied state and then pulled her hand out again until Clia could see each finger up to the first knuckle. Clia couldn’t believe what she was seeing when the woman’s thumb slid under the other fingers and she pressed back into the brunette’s quivering cunt.

The Lady gasped then, making a sound that was half surprise and half encouragement. Clia watched as the fingers slid back in, back to the point where the widest part of the hand was caught on the ring of muscle. Clia could see the strain as the muscles in the woman’s forearm stood out. 

“My god,” Clia exclaimed.

Before she could say anything more the tight ring of muscle gave and the cloaked woman’s whole hand, right up to her wrist disappeared in an instant. The brunette let out a squeal that Clia could not categorize as surprise, delight or pain. It seemed, rather to be a melding of all three. 

“Ohmygod,” the brunette hissed, the words running together into one stream of sound. Her haunches were quivering and the muscles in her stomach and sides were knotting. The cloaked woman held her hand there and did nothing more. Slowly the Aristocrat relaxed and ceased making anything but mewling noises and little gasps. Only then did the cloaked woman begin to work her hand in and out, twisting it as she drove it in. Clia was rapt as she watched it, the small muscled in the woman’s forearm stood out and Clia realized she was flexing and spreading her fingers inside her lover. The brunette’s moans and groans rose to a howl of animal lust as she began to orgasm. Her juices poured down the cloaked woman’s hand in a torrent as her cunt contracted and spasmed around the fist inside it.

When the cloaked woman withdrew her hand the brunette collapsed on the settee and rolled up into a fetal position. The cloaked woman rose and wiped the copious juices of her lover on the outside of the dark cloak. 

“That was well worth it,” the cloaked woman said “but now I must go,”

“Wait!” the brunette said, mastering herself and sitting up.

“Oui?’

“The information you brought will surely allow Horatio to best the French and Spanish fleet. I have been seeing you for over two years now and have never seen your face, or learned why you betray your country or why you demand carnal pleasure with me as the price of your betrayal. In truth I no longer care, I have found ecstasy in your arms that no man, not even my Horatio can bring me. Will you not answer my questions?”

The cloaked woman stood in deep thought for a while and then she spoke. She was hesitant at first, as if trying to find the words but became more confident as she went on.

“Very well, dear Emma, I will answer your questions. You have held your tongue long enough and I think you are ready for the answers. First the why. Napoleon controls the continent, but he cannot rule the world as long as the English fleet thwarts him. A man who rules the world has no need of a woman, but a man kept from his goal will always need someone to cry to. It is in my best interest that Napoleon controls most of the world, but never all. My price was at first simply a whim, something you could afford to pay for the information I wanted your country to have. That has changed. I have found that sex with men no longer satisfies me and I yearn for my next meeting with you even as I moan in their arms to satisfy their egos. As to my identity, have you not guessed already?”

With that the woman threw back the cloak from her head. The Lady Hamilton gasped, as did Clia while Clio the muse chuckled.

“Josephine!” the Lady exclaimed in shock. The scene froze, like a movie again and Clia looked to Clio.

“Your second lesson. Inexplicable things often occur for a reason. Rarely do the strange twists of fortune so many put down to chance actually depend on luck. In your studies keep an open mind and never accept the trite explanations of so-called experts. Nelson’s victory over the French and Spanish fleet was indeed due in large part to his valor, genius and determination, but he also had the great advantage of the papers you saw exchange hands here. Always look beyond the trite and you will find that fact is often far stranger than fiction.”

Clia nodded and looked back once again at the figures frozen before her. They began to move again, but they were no longer in sharp focus. Her perception expanded and she was once again the impartial observer as time ran by. Wars were fought, empires rose and crumbled, the boudoirs of the nobility were just as jaded and the lot of the common folk just as full of sexual escapades as they had ever been. Everything changed, but nothing really did. Clia saw the millions perish in World War One where men fought for days over a few feet of muddy territory, she saw the vileness, corruption and utter disregard for life of the Nazi regime, she witnessed the repression of the Communists and found herself unable to separate the two, she watched the agonizing fear of a world living under the threat of nuclear extinction and the build up of the cold war to it’s crisis point over the small island of Cuba. 

She found herself standing in a conference room. There was a large table with many chairs around it at the center of the room. Seated alone on one side was a tall blonde woman in the dress blue uniform of a U.S. Navy Captain. On the other side was a tall brunette in the drab green uniform of a Soviet Colonel. The blonde was speaking and Clia became aware of the words in that disconcertingly sudden way.

“You’ll never win Colonel, if those ships don’t turn back we will board them and if necessary sink them,”

“Bah, you Americans. So self-righteous, so proper. But you know your blockade is illegal, no one in the world community supports you,” the brunette countered in a strong voice with a charming Russian accent.

“It isn’t a blockade, it’s a quarantine,”

“Play your semantic games, it is the same thing,”

“You are going to start a war,” the blonde said ominously. 

“We are going to start a war?!” the Brunette said jumping to her feet, “you are about to start a war!”

“You’re the aggressors here!” the blonde shouted as she rose to her feet.

“Aggressors?! I’ll show you aggressor you bitch!” the Russian shouted and practically leapt across the table, riding the blonde woman down to the floor. Clia was sure they would come to blows but instead the blonde giggled.

“No fair!”

The brunette was sucking and licking her neck while her hands plucked ineffectually at the American’s coat. Frustrated in her attempt to open it she took each lapel in her hands and ripped it open sending brass buttons flying. Clia could see the large mounds of the blonde’s breast heaving under her starched white shirt.

The blonde pushed the Russian woman up and ripped her coat open as well. They stared at each other a long moment and then both laughed. When they had mastered their mirth the Russian woman gently kissed the American and then stood up. When the American woman gained her feet there was an awkward silence.

“Are you sure about this solnishka?” the Russian woman said.

“Absolutely,” the blonde said in a sorrowful voice. 

“Very well, the rules are the same as last time?” the Russian woman said as she began to unbutton her blouse.

“The same,” the blonde said as she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. The two women continued to disrobe in silence until they both stood nearly naked. The Russian was tall and had an olive hue to her skin. Her dark eyes and dark hair gave her a sultry and exotic look. Her breasts stood out proudly and were larger and fuller than even Clia’s. Her hips were slim and her dark pubes were trimmed into a tight triangle. The pouting outer lips of her pussy were visible and Clia again felt her own arousal at the sight of this lovely creature. 

The blonde was even more spectacular. She was shorter than the Russian, but had an even fuller figure and massive tits that a stripper would have envied. Her blonde pubes were trimmed neatly and her pink lips pouted open slightly. Long legs, wide hips and flawless skin set off her blue eyes. She was intoxicatingly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that aroused a pang of jealousy in Clia. She still wore her black garter belt and stockings, which only seemed to add to her sexiness. The two women stared at each other for a few moments and then the Russian removed a coin from her jacket pocket.

“Flip of the coin for first position?”

“I won last time so I will grant the option to you,” the blonde said with a wink.

“I’ll take top then,” the brunette said as she tossed the coin onto the pile of clothes at her feet.

The blonde nodded and retrieved her brief case. She set it on the table and turned the dials on the combination lock set into the cases front. When she opened it Clia could not see what was inside but both women giggled.

“The worlds greatest instrument of diplomacy,” the blonde intoned with mock solemnity.

“Is that the same one?” the Russian asked. 

“No, it’s a new one. The old one was thinner. You had unfair advantage with it cause your used to Yuri’s moose cock. This one is even wider than he is,”

“But the advantage is still mine is it not? If it is wider than my pig of a husband’s tool it is far wider than your husbands noodle,”

“That’s true, Bert is such a looser in bed, but you get no advantage,”

“Really? And why is that?” the Russian said as she arched an eyebrow.

“I been practicing,” The blonde said and began to giggle.

Clia’s curiosity got the better of her and she moved around the big table to see what they were talking about. When she did she burst out laughing. The inside of the brief case was red velvet and held a massive double-ended dildo with two bottles of lubricant in a side pocket. The blonde pulled it out and smiled at the Russian.

“Table of floor?”

“Table, the floor allows you to squirm too much,” the Russian said smiling.

The blonde nodded and her face suddenly became blank, like the expression men used when playing cards, Clia thought. The Russians face was just as blank. The blonde handed the dildo to the brunette and climbed up on the big conference table. She lay on her back and spread her legs wide. The Russian handed her the bottle of lubricant and watched impassively as the blonde squirted a large portion into her hand and worked it into her pussy. The Russian took the second bottle and worked a generous amount into her own pussy before adding copious amounts to each end of the dildo.

The Russian girl climbed onto the table and slowly forced a good bit of the dildo into the American. She then straddled her opposite and fed a good portion into her own slippery pussy. She looked down on the American girl and rode up and down a few times experimentally. She adjusted her position slightly and tried again and this time seemed satisfied.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the blonde said between clenched teeth.

“Go,” the Russian said and immediately rode down hard on the thick dildo. The blonde groaned. The Russian woman quickly established a rhythm that was to her liking, driving her hips down and thrusting forward in the same fluid motion. The blonde adjusted her hips to allow the dildo to slide more freely and relaxed. Clia watched the game with interest. She had already guessed that the first one to orgasm would loose.

The Russian girl continued to drive down on the dildo, forcing it deeply into the blonde and herself. The blonde groaned and stuck a finger in her mouth, which she began to suck. Clia was fascinated with the Russian girl. She was like a machine, driving down and forward in a seemingly tireless rhythm. Her brow was knit in concentration and Clia could see she was doing her best not to enjoy it, but Clia could see that each thrust drove the fat dildo as deeply into her snatch as it did into the blonde’s. Her large nipples were hard and Clia could see the sheen on her lips that was no longer just lubricant. 

While the Russian girl seemed to be intent on not enjoying what she was doing the blonde seemed to have taken a different approach. She moaned and sighed around the wet finger in her mouth, producing little sounds that were very erotic. She seemed to be totally into the fucking she was getting and Clia felt certain she would cum very soon. The Russian girl reached out and roughly massaged one of the blonde’s large breasts, which caused the blonde to gasp and then moan louder. Her hips began to buck upward meeting the Russian girl’s thrusts so that only a small portion of the big dong was visible.

The blonde’s bucking caused the Russian to release her tit and use both hands to steady herself. She increased the tempo and a smile creased her face. It was obvious to Clia that she knew she was close to winning. The blonde moaned louder and arched her back, apparently on the very brink of cuming and Clia saw the Russian’s face relax. It was almost as if she had said to herself a few more strokes and this bitch is cuming. 

A few more strokes and the brunette moaned loudly, the first sound she had uttered since the word go. The blonde responded in an instant. She jerked the finger from her mouth and forced herself up on her elbows. With an almost lightning quickness she reached forward and cupped the Russian’s pussy in her hand. The finger she had been sucking and wetting slipped between the thick lips and started to furiously stroke the Russian girl’s clit.

“Neyt,” the Russian gasped. She was driving too hard to stop and both of her hands were tied up in keeping herself atop the blonde. A few more strokes of her sensitized clit and the Russian girl screamed and went wild riding down on the dildo with rapid, jerky thrusts of her hips as she rode out her orgasm. When it subsided she collapsed on the blonde and lay panting.

“No fair,” she said huskily after she had regained some of her composure.

“All’s fair in love and war,” the blonde responded with a smile. 

“I should have known something was wrong, you never get hot that fast,”

“Not true Natasha, just seeing you naked gets me going. That is neither here nor there however, you lost and I won. Another victory for capitalism,”

“Yes, you won, fair and square. I will return to the consulate and prevail upon Yuri to convince the chairman that you Americans are serious and a diplomatic solution is the only possibility of avoiding war,”

“And I will give Bert a nice blowjob tonight and convince him to tell Bob that we are not prepared to fight a war and he should convince the President to offer some face saving options to the Russians,”

“Ugh, I cannot stand the though of your lips upon that man,” the Russian girl said making a face. 

“It doesn’t exactly turn me on to be going down on you when I know Yuri has been there either love,” the blonde said with a rueful smile.

“Solnishka, I am tired of being apart. Let us do this one last thing to save the world and then leave it in the hands of others,”

“What are you proposing?” the blonde asked in a suddenly soft voice.

“I will defect. I have already made all the preparations. I am prepared to never see mother Russia again, but I can only make that sacrifice if it means having you as my own,”

“Oh Nat! I thought you would never ask. As soon as this is over I will start divorce proceedings with Bert. I have proof he’s fucking that little cunt Lieutenant secretary of his,”

“I will meet you in London in six months then. I am defecting through the offices of the British secret service. Where will we go from there?”

“I don’t care,” the blonde said hugging the Brunette tightly to her, “as long as I’m with you anywhere will be heaven,”

The scene faded and Clia found herself standing in blackness. She looked around in a panic but Clio was there beside her.

“My time grow short little one. Do you know what lesson this taught you?”

“Ummm.. That I have to pay close attention to the minor players. History is filled with great people making earth shattering decisions, but often it is not they, but the nameless faceless people who do the most?”

“That’s very good and true, but not what I wanted you to take from this,” Clio said with a smile.

“I don’t know then,” Clia said.

“The lesson here is that love can move mountains. Any divide, even that as great as east and west can be bridged by love. Even the gap of social acceptance. This last lesson was a personal one. There is someone in your life who loves you desperately. Whether you choose to accept that love or spurn it is up to you. You will always have my guidance and inspiration, but you will never reach the peak of potential you have unless you are happy and fulfilled in life. This lover can bring you such fulfillment and happiness,” the muse’s voice seemed to come from farther and farther away. 




Inspiration



“Wait! Don’t leave me!” Clia shouted. She could no longer see her guide in the inky blackness.

“I shall always be with you, but for now I must go. There are laws even the Gods cannot break. Fair the well!”

“Clio? Wait please! Who is it?” Clia screamed almost hysterically.

-----

“Cli? Clia please wake up!” the insistent voice called.

Clia opened her eyes to find Beth looking down on her with an expression approaching panic. The little brunette was shaking her violently.

“What the…?”

“Thank god you’re awake! Are you all right?”

Clia looked around and realized she was lying on the floor in the kitchen of her apartment. She sat up slowly, tuning out the frantic questions Beth was asking. 

“How did I get here?” she asked at last.

“I don’t know. Professor Roberts stopped me in the cafeteria and asked if you were all right. He said you got up in the middle of his lecture this morning and walked out of class in some kind of trance. I was worried sick,”

“I am all right,” Clia said getting shakily to her feet.

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I just need to get some sleep,” Clia said as she made her way to her bedroom. Something made her turn her head as she was closing the door. She saw Beth standing in the hallway wringing her hands with a look of concern on her face that was heart rending.

Clia slept all of the rest of Tuesday away and straight through Tuesday night. It was sometime in the early morning of Wednesday that she felt the presence of Clio. The muse was behind her again and Clia only made one attempt to turn her head. When she couldn’t she relaxed. Clio’s arms slipped around her waist and she shivered when soft lips planted a light kiss on her shoulder.

“Hello little one,”

“Mmmmm, so this is what you meant by seeing me again? In my dreams?”

“Yes, whenever you are troubled or at a loss for words I will know,”

“And now?”

“Now you are troubled, but I cannot help you. I can only say that you should trust your heart,”

Clia nodded and felt those wonderful soft lips on her shoulder again. She sank back into deep sleep and into dreams she could not remember upon waking.

Wednesday Clia woke early and called each of her professors. She told each she was cramping very badly and couldn’t make class. All of them were very sympathetic and told her not to worry. She used this excuse about once a semester when she really needed a mental health day. She had discovered, quite by accident that it was the perfect excuse. Her female Professors all understood and immediately sympathized while her male teachers were all so embarrassed by the subject that they gave her no trouble at all. 

Clia was sitting at the kitchen table writing down things she remembered from her journey with Clio when Sharon stumbled into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Without her makeup and the false smile she always wore she looked older than her years. Her eyes had a hard edge to them that Clia associated with girls who slept around a lot. Rather than the semi contemptuous feelings she had always harbored against Sharon today she felt only pity. Her trip through time had showed her far to many women who simply couldn’t be happy with themselves. They needed to have their ego’s propped up by attention and sex was certainly one way to get attention.

Sharon said good morning and returned to her room. Beth came into the kitchen about an hour later as Sharon and Shelly were walking out the door. The two blondes had a 7 AM lab together in Butler Hall on Wednesdays and always rode in together. Beth avoided looking at Clia, got her coffee and returned to her room. She came out dressed for class about half an hour later and quietly exited the apartment.

All day Clia wrote, filling Comp book after Comp book with notes, ideas, remembrances and impressions. At 1:00 Shelly and Sharon came back in. Both were chatting and in a bubbly mood. Clia remembered the concert was tonight over in Monroe. Clia was forced to answer the door a few minutes later. The tall athletic guy and shorter guy from the weekend were standing there. Clia let them in and motioned them to the sofa with a distracted wave. She returned to her writing and after a few monotone responses to their questions the guys stopped trying to make conversation.

Shelly and Sharon came out and the four of them left without even attempting to disturb Clia from her writing. Clia barely noticed them leave; she was so engrossed in what she was doing. It was only when she heard the door open around three that she looked up from her nearly full comp book. Beth walked in looking very tired and very down. She started off towards her bedroom with her eyes downcast but Clia felt the urge to talk suddenly.

“Beth? Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose I am,” the small brunette replied.

“Ya sure? You seem very down,”

“I’m fine. How did it go with your classmate?” she asked with a half-hearted smile. Clia could see that the smile was forced. She was suddenly very curious about Beth’s reason for asking. Clia chose her words with care, watching the smaller girl for her reaction.

“It didn’t pan out. She is not staying in school, in fact I won’t see her again I am sure,” Clia said slowly. Beth’s face showed conflicting emotions but to Clia’s now practiced eye they were as readable as any of her beloved books. There was sorrow there that things hadn’t worked out, but also elation. An elation that was filled with hope renewed. How many times had Clia seen that same mix of emotions in her trip through time? A million? More? She would never know, but for the rest of her life she would be able to read people with an uncanny precision that amazed her friends. The only question left unanswered was why the expression was there.

“I’m sorry Cli, I really am,” Beth said.

“It’s all right. I’ll get over it,” Clia said. Beth nodded and started down the hallway but stopped. Clia watched her as she seemed to be fighting some inner struggle. Finally she turned on her heels and blurted out “Cli, you wanna go out tonight and get some dinner or something?”

“No,” Clia said. Beth looked crestfallen but before she could say anything or turn around Clia continued, “I would rather stay in tonight, but how about we get some Chinese?”

Beth smiled and nodded. The smile was so radiant and happy that Clia found herself smiling. She returned to her writing and Beth disappeared down the hallway. Clia stopped writing and puzzled over that smile and Beth’s strange reactions. It was then that the words of the muse came back to her.

“The lesson here is that love can move mountains. Any divide, even that as great as east and west can be bridged by love. Even the gap of social acceptance. This last lesson was a personal one. There is someone in your life who loves you desperately. Whether you choose to accept that love or spurn it is up to you. You will always have my guidance and inspiration, but you will never reach the peak of potential you have unless you are happy and fulfilled in life. This lover can bring you such fulfillment and happiness,”

The words were the same, but the puzzle behind them was suddenly undone. The final veil of naivety was lifted from Clia’s eyes. Everything made sense to her now. The looks, the glances, the compassion and concern as well as the inapproachability a times all made sense. The someone who loved her desperately was Beth. Clia smiled and shook her head. What a fool I have been, she thought to herself. She realized she had also been very cruel albeit unintentionally. Clia giggled then. Perhaps I can make up for that tonight, she thought.

----

Clia stepped out of the shower and dried off. She looked at herself in the steamy mirror and frowned. She was getting nervous already and that boded ill. Clia shook off her apprehension and finished drying off. She combed out her hair and then took the make up case from under the sink. She did her makeup slowly and carefully. She already knew what she was going to wear and she knew exactly how she wanted to look. Once she was done she eyed herself critically in the mirror. She released a long sigh and hugged herself tightly. I have no idea what I am doing, she thought. 

Clia shrugged off her misgivings and made her way to her dresser. She had never tried to dress seductively for anyone before and she wasn’t at all sure how to go about it. Most of her underwear was functional and comfortable rather than sexy, but her eyes were drawn to the white satin set her mother had given her on her last birthday. The set was still in the gift box and Clia took it out and opened it. She pulled out the tissue paper and took out each piece. First was the white lace garterbelt. Clia had not worn one since her Jr. Prom. To this she attached the white stockings that were packaged in a separate box. Over the garters she pulled up the panties, which were high thighs. The bra was a demi-cup and took a few adjustments before it was comfortable. 

Over this Clia pulled on her school sweatshirt and a pair of loose fit jeans. She had thought about something dressier but it wasn’t a date and she didn’t want to seem out of place. She sat on the bed and was tying up her sneakers when she heard the door close. Clia walked out of her room to find dinner on the table. Beth had killed the main lights and lit a few candles.

“Hey Cli, dinner is served,” she said and smiled.

They ate dinner and talked about school, friends, the idiosyncrasies of their roommates and a lot of other things. It was nice and Clia didn’t even feel like declining when Beth produced a bottle of wine after dinner and poured them both glasses. The conversation turned to more intimate things then, life, their plans, passions, and ideas. After her second glass of wine Clia was a bit tipsy but she also felt very mellow. She had forgotten how easy it was to be around Beth, how comfortable the little brunette made her feel, the very reasons they had become such good friends in the first place.

“How bout a movie?” Beth asked.

“I think I have seen all the ones we have a dozen times at least,”

“I have a couple in my room I don’t think you have seen,”

“Like what?”

“Just let me pick one,” Beth said with a chuckle and headed to her room. Clia walked over and sat on the sofa, curling her legs under her and snuggling into her favorite corner. Beth came down the hallway with a DVD in her hand and popped it into the machine.

“So what is it?”

“Be patient, It’s a romance,”

Beth sprawled on the sofa, leaning on the other armrest with her legs stretched out under the coffee table. Clia tried to watch the movie but it became apparent to her quickly that neither she nor Beth were spending half as much time watching the movie as they were watching each other. She was at a loss now, unsure of what to do. She had no experience at initiating things and Beth seemed so scared that she was going to do something wrong she was paralyzed.

Clia looked at the smaller girl then. She was absolutely beautiful. She was also so nice and caring and supportive, the epitome of what Clia wanted in her life. Clia made a tough decision then, she decided to go against every reservation she had and try to initiate something. She scooted closer to Beth and curled up next to her resting her head on the brunette’s shoulder.

Beth looked shocked, but quickly placed her arm on Clia’s shoulder and held her tight. Their eyes met and for a long time they just stared. Clia’s eyes darted to Beth’s lips and then back to her eyes. Beth leaned forward hesitantly and Clia did the same, their lips touched almost by accident. Both of them drew back like they had been burned and Clia blushed furiously. Indecision was written all over Beth’s face she started to speak, then to lean close again, stopped herself and then licked her lips.

“Cli, I want to kiss you more than anything in the world, but I don’t ever want to hurt you. Are you sure it’s what you want?”

Clia couldn’t speak. She was shaking like a leaf in a summer storm. Finally she managed to nod. Beth leaned forward again and Clia closed her eyes. She felt Beth’s soft lips upon her own and it sent a thrill through her body. For a few breathless seconds their lips were simply touching, but then Clia felt the tip of Beth’s tongue swirl gently over her lower lip. Clia’s lips parted and Beth’s inquisitive tongue was soon exploring her mouth. Clia was enjoying the kiss when Beth worked her legs under her and then pushed Clia back on the sofa, levering herself on top of the blonde. Through the whole maneuver their lips never parted.

Clia twisted her lower body so her legs were out of the way and Beth settled down between her thighs. Beth’s kiss became more demanding and her hands slid down to pull Clia’s sweatshirt up. Clia just held on to Beth’s shoulders and kissed back. Her small hands found the large soft domes of Clia’s breasts and began to squeeze and stroke them. Clia felt the blood rushing to her center and her back arched. She felt a tenseness building in the pit of her stomach and rising into her breasts until they felt like they would be torn from her chest by the power of the sensations. Clia moaned into Beth’s mouth, which seemed to arouse the brunette tremendously. Her small hands dug into the firm flesh of Clia’s breasts and roughly massaged them while her pelvis rubbed against Clia’s. This new stimuli provoked a small squeal from Clia and Beth instantly ceased all her attentions and broke the kiss. 

“I’m sorry Cli. I don’t want to go to far or too fast. I know it’s all new to you, but God you turn me on so,”

“How far do you want to go?” Clia asked when she caught her breath.

“As far as I can get away with,” Beth said and then smiled.

“Seriously, Beth,”

“Seriously?” she replied as her brows knit. She seemed to be fighting an inner struggle over what to say, but reached a decision and took a deep breath.

“I want to fuck your brains out Cli, I have since I first met you,” 

“Fuck my brains out? How would you go about that?” Clia asked. Beth smiled and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Never you mind. Suffice to say I could if you would let me, but I don’t expect that from you, at least not yet,”

“How?” Clia asked seriously. Beth started to laugh but managed to keep it to just a chuckle.

“Your naivety is so refreshing. I have a strapon dildo I use with the girls I’m with. I’m what they call a butch. I am attracted to pretty feminine girls. I know I don’t look like what you probably associate the word to mean, but I am,”

“What am I then?”

“Confused,” she said with an impish grin, “And one hundred different kinds of sexy,”

“Seriously,” Clia said as she wrinkled her nose.

“You are what’s called a femme,”

“Which means?” 

“It means you dress and act in a feminine manner. Femmes are usually attracted to butches, but not always. Femmes can be attracted to femmes or to both,”

“So I am a femme and you are a butch,”

“If you need labels, yes,”

“I don’t think I need labels,” Clia said in a small voice. Beth’s face turned serious and she lowered it until it was just inches from Clia’s.

“What do you need?”

The evening had been so nice and comfortable. Clia had enjoyed herself without having to think ahead, but now was the moment of truth. With the question of what she wanted staring her in the face Clia found herself utterly serene.

“I need you to fuck me,” she whispered.

Beth pushed herself up on her arms. She looked down on Clia with a strange expression.

“Cli, I… I have dreamed about hearing you say those words to me, but are you sure? You don’t have to do anything, I am content with just the evening and the kiss,” she said earnestly. Clia felt her resolve melting. She had not expected Beth to have reservations. 

“If you don’t want to I understand,” Clia said.

“Don’t want to? Are you out of your mind? I have spent so many nights dreaming of taking you to bed it isn’t even funny. I’m so in love with you. Watching you fall for someone else was awful, but I at least consoled myself with thinking you were Het. When you told me it was a girl I wanted to crawl up in a hole and die. I spent hours kicking myself for never having had the courage to hit on you,” she said. The words coming hesitantly at first but then becoming a rushing torrent. 

“Now you are lying here under me, like I have dreamed so often and saying the words I have longed to hear and instead of jumping at the chance I am acting like a fool. Worrying about how you will feel in the morning if we do. I must be loosing it!”

“No, you aren’t loosing it. Well no more than anyone else who falls in love. Beth, I should have seen it but I never did. Now I realize it and recognize it in myself. I love you too,” Clia said.

Beth seemed too stunned to move, she just held herself there staring. Clia laughed and pulled her back down, feeling the slight woman’s weight on her. She pressed her lips to Beth’s and after a moment felt Beth’s tongue slip back into her mouth. This kiss was long, sensuous and unhurried. Beth’s tongue explored every millimeter of Clia’s mouth and Clia’s did the same. Beth tasted sweet, like the wine but even sweeter and Clia found she couldn’t get enough of that taste. She stabbed her tongue into Beth’s mouth and searched out pockets of sweetness until there were none to be found.

When the kiss finally broke both Beth and Clia were flushed and breathing heavily. Beth stood up and caught Clia’s hand. She pulled her up and led her down the hallway to her bedroom. Clia had only been in here a few times but now she saw things that had never made an impression before. The lack of anything overtly feminine impressed itself upon her. The room was tidy and clean but almost Spartan. Beth didn’t give her a lot of time to look though; she led Clia to the bed and gently pushed her back onto it. 

Beth caught the hem of Clia’s sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. Her eyes were glued to Clia’s ample breasts, but her hands fumbled with the buttons of Clia’s jeans. Once open Beth tugged them off and tossed them on the floor in a ball. Her hands were trembling as they undid the hooks of the bra. Beth made a sharp intake of breath as the bra came way in her hands and Clia’s tits were exposed to her view. She gently stroked them for a moment but restrained herself and stood up. 

The small girl quickly shed her own shirt and the sports bra she wore. Her breasts were small but beautifully sculpted and capped with tiny pink aureole and hard little nipples. Clia barely had a chance to look at them before Beth shucked her jeans and stood before Clia clad only in her black silk boxers. She smiled and slipped the boxers off. Clia’s eyes were drawn to the juncture of Beth’s legs. She caught only a glimpse of her roommate’s pussy before Beth turned and opened the drawer to her nightstand. From it she took out a black harness with a sturdy black dildo attached to it. She expertly pulled it on and tightened the straps at her hips. 

Clia stared in fascination; the sight was very strange but undeniably arousing. Beth stood before her with the dildo bobbing obscenely in front of her. She looked so feminine and lovely, save for that large black weapon jutting out from her slim hips.

Beth knelt between Clia’s legs and with one hand pulled her panties aside. The little butch wasted only a moment to drink in the sight before she attacked Clia’s pussy with her tongue. Clia had never felt anything like it. It was both soft and hard, gentle and demanding, smooth and rough. It was all of these things and more, but most of all it was always at exactly the right place to make her feel the most wonderful. Beth quickly brought Clia to the brink or orgasm, but always stopped just short of taking her over the edge. With each trip to the edge of bliss Clia was more and more aroused until finally she was crying and begging for Beth not to stop.




Inspiration



Beth stopped again leaving Clia pounding the bed with her fists in frustration, but the little butch gave Clia no chance to protest. She stood quickly and brought the head of the dildo to Clia’s slick lips. Stroking it up and down just inside her lips drove Clia wild with desire. She moaned loudly and her hips bucked.

“Ohh, looks like my baby is ready for some of this,” Beth said in a husky voice. Clia only groaned in response.

“Tell me what you want baby, I have wanted to hear it for so long, come on, tell daddy what you want,”

“I want you to fuck me!” Clia nearly screamed. Beth smiled like the Cheshire cat and drove her hips forward, the big dildo stretched Clia like she had never been stretched before and she gasped when it bumped against her hymen. Beth drove her hips forward again apparently not grasping the reason for her access being thwarted.

“What the fuck??!” she growled in frustration. She grabbed the dildo and held it tight and seemed about to ram it in when she stopped stock-still. Clia’s whimpers were the only sounds in the room.

“Cli? Are you still a virgin?” Beth asked in a small voice. Clia could only nod, the full feeling of the dildo and the peak of sexual excitement her dreams and now Beth’s tongue had taken her too were too intense for words.

“Cli are you sure about this?”

“Don’t start that again,” Clia said through clenched teeth.

“Cli, I can’t. It’s going to hurt you,”

“Please Beth, I want it to be you,” Clia said. Beth nodded but still seemed unsure. She braced her legs apart and held the middle of the shaft and then looked at Clia. 

“I have never done this before, so bear with me,” she said quietly. Clia just nodded again. Her pussy was beginning to get used to the intruder, but it was still an uncomfortable feeling. Clia closed her eyes and held her breath. She felt a tiny bit of movement and then a ripping tearing pain that caused her breath to shoot out of her. The pain was accompanied by a feeling of being full that was totally alien to her. 

Her breath had been knocked out of her and she struggled to breath, fight the rising panic, and adjust to having the big dong inside her. She was finally able to inhale and slowly got her breathing under control, the pain was still there but had faded into the background of her consciousness. The thing that was foremost in her mind was how the feeling of fullness had gone from uncomfortable to pleasurable.

“Are you all right?”

“Mmmm-Hmmmmmm,” Clia hummed as she wiggled around on the bed, delighting in the sensation caused by the dildo moving slightly within her.

Beth smiled and experimentally jogged her hips causing Clia to gasp. With that reassurance the little butch caught Clia’s hips and began a slow in and out motion of long strokes. To Clia it was heaven; she could feel every inch of the big dildo as it slid in and out of her. The sensation of being full, then empty, then full again was addictive and she was sure she would never want it to end. 

Clia was rapidly approaching orgasm when Beth slipped her arms under Clia’s legs and lifted them onto her shoulders. The angle of entry changed and the amount of stimulation to her clit as well. It too only a few driving thrusts before Clia felt her inner muscles grip the plastic cock. Moments later an orgasm so powerful it blotted out all else washed over her. She had barely begun to regain her senses when she realized Beth was still plowing into her with reckless abandon. The little butches hands found Clia’s sensitive nipples and began to roll them between her fingers. The added stimulation sent a second orgasm crashing over her. This one was so intense she blacked out.

Epilogue

Clia’s fingers were cramped and her face hurt from wearing a smile for eight hours solid. She hated book signings, but it came with the territory when you made the NY Times best seller list for the third time in as many years. Her newest book Emma & Josephine was the new rage and had set of scholarly debates across Europe and the Americas too. 

Clia glanced at the line, at least another hour she thought. Her eyes darted to the reading area where Beth sat quietly. Beth never missed a book signing or anything else. She was still beautiful to Clia after the years together. Beth caught her eye, glanced furtively left and right then spread her legs widely apart and stroked the outline of the strapon she wore under her leather pants. Clia was forced to smile, which in turn made Beth smile. It was just the inspiration she needed to get through the rest of the fans.

Clia Johansen, world-renowned author signed many more books that day, but her mind was on the little Brunette and the fucking she knew she was in for as soon as the door to the limo closed. There are many forms of inspiration and many muses, Clia thought. She glanced again at Beth, including small brunette ones who packed large strapons. Clia smiled a real smile and signed another book. I name you Beth muse of happiness she thought as the last hour ticked by.

END



Inspiration



Wandering through the bookstore, her hands would touch a spine of a book and then draw back. Some of them didn't feel right. She was here to be amused by other people's thoughts. Some new ingredient to spice things in her mind. Some new direction to take.

She drifted through the sections one by one. She ends up in Erotic standing next to a handsome tall man. Blue eyes, brown hair, just that little smile that makes her want to kiss it. She smiles inwardly but it doesn't reach her lips. Much.

Too bad she thinks it's too cheap to go for the "reach for the same book" ploy. He's not reaching for anything. She's just standing there by default, in her own world, now looking at neither the books nor the man, just thinking. She wishes for a fan or a handkerchief to drop. The idea of her purse crashing to the floor, large enough to store small appliances and heavy enough to cause bursitis, makes her smile.

He turns to face her and she's staring in blue eyes now, not just wondering what it would be like. It's better.

He says "What?"

She says "What what?"

"Your smile. What are you smiling about?"

She laughs "Oh, I'm just wishing I had a fan or a handkerchief I could drop. But I only have my purse. And that's just not quite the same thing."

He smiles and lifts an eyebrow and regards her purse that really qualifies as luggage "Especially if it landed on my toe."

She shakes her head solemnly "No, I wouldn't want to hurt you."

He sighs "That's a shame. Maybe we can work up to that." He turns back to look at the titles. "What are you looking for?"

She says "I thought it was a book, then I saw you and got distracted. I'm not sure any of this is...really for me."

He nods and considers "Well, if I'm the only useful thing in this section, let's put me to work."

He reaches out and grabs a book on the shelf. Flips a few pages and then closes that book. "Young lady, you are not allowed to read that one. I'm not allowed to read that one." He shudders and puts it back and she giggles.

She nods solemnly "Yes, please. I need guidance."

He reaches out for another title. "I'm glad you asked, miss. Let me help you with your selection."

He opens a book and there's a woman in bondage, ropes criss crossing her body. He says "What do you think?"

She tilts an eyebrow. "I think OW. And really not in a fun way. In a 'Please let me out of this, this is cutting off my circulation, I'm going to get gangrene.' Sort of way."

He lifts his head and smiles and it's one of those smiles that makes her think "Uh oh" and "YAY" at the same time. "Uhay" is the theoretical expletive. Two impulses crashing into each other. A big explosion and shock waves.

He steps behind her and gently removes her purse from her shoulder and puts his arms around her, drawing her back against his body. He's hard and she can feel it. Vertigo.

He leans down and whispers in her ear. "Just think about it if I were there. If I'm not there what do you see?"

She enjoys leaning back on him and says in a critical tone "That there's some guy standing just out of reach that really isn't a match for this beautiful woman. That he has to tie her up because otherwise she wouldn't sit still for him. That he's probably physically pretty but a train wreck once he opens his mouth. He's probably one drop from drooling. He's repulsive."

He shakes his head and his hair brushes the side of her neck and that makes her heart pound. "Fair enough. Now put me in the picture, just out of reach. Now what do you see."

She heaves a deep sigh "Can we loosen her feet, just a little bit? I mean, I'm losing feeling in my toes. Maybe that's something else. But please, just the feet. That looks wrong."

He nods "Okay. Her feet are free. I'm massaging the warmth back into them and I'm sucking on her toes."

She takes a deep breath. "Okay, now I'm jealous."

He chuckles and leans forward "You're a fast learner. If I were there, wouldn't it be nice? Particularly if that helpless woman were you?"

"Yes, but this beautiful woman got tied up because it's a photo shoot."

"I'd tie you up because you begged me to."

Her eyes close and she's lost in possibility. All the ways she could be brought to begging for this. And she would, she had no doubt.

He says softly "That's all you have to do, honey. Just...put me there." Her eyes close and she leans back against him. His voice is soft, but his arms get a little tighter around her and her body gives way to his strength. "Just put me to use. Think of all the ways I could make your life better. All the little ways I could bring pleasure to your moments. All the times I'll be thinking of you and your smile. When something doesn't please you, just slide me into your life."

"I'll use you shamelessly."

"I thought maybe you might. It's the least I could do to make up for the ways I want to make you beg."

He turned her in his arms and kissed her. His fingers tangled in her hair and his lips slanted across hers, longing and recognition passing between them.

She pulls back and looks at him again "I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you."

He smiles back "Me too."

She says "You've given me this great fantasy, what's in it for you?"

"I'm thinking maybe the opportunity to play with your breasts until you need Chap-Stik for them."

She's speechless but laughing so hard he tips her chin up to look at him again.

He takes her hand and kisses it, wrapping it in his own. "Come on, let's get something to eat. We're buying this book. And some Chap-Stik." 



Inspiration



I was grumpy and I had been taking it out on Matt, and I knew it. My editor was screaming for the next manuscript, and I was stuck. Had I been anyone else, I'm sure I would have been cut loose long ago. However, I had written four long novels, erotica masquerading as fiction, and I had a steady cult following. My editor was willing to cut me a little slack, but not for much longer. This had been the longest I had gone between novels, and though I constantly wrote short stories and posted them on my fan club's website, even my loyal fans were clamoring for the next release. 

Release. Maybe that's what I needed. I padded out from my office and glanced around the apartment. No sign of Matt. 

"Honey?" I called. 

"In here," was the response. I headed towards the kitchen, and leaned against the doorjamb. Matt, with his dark hair and yummy body, was typing away at his laptop. I felt what I always did when I saw him, a stirring in between my legs and a tug on my heart. I watched his fingers, long and blunt-tipped, tapping the keys, and wanted them on me. I loved the way they stroked every inch of my body, the way they plucked my nipples, dipped into my depths.

Lust was hitting me hard, and I pressed my legs together. I definitely needed a good fuck, and realized I couldn't remember the last time we had made love. I had been so involved in the book that I wasn't abiding by my wifely duties. I had definitely been neglecting my husband. Well, I could put an end to that. I stepped up behind him and began rubbing his shoulders.

"You busy?" I asked. Matt grunted in response. Leaning down, I nibbled on his ear. "Want to take a sex break?"

"Oh, now you want to speak to me," he said sourly, turning his head to peer at me through his reading glasses. "Forget about it when you've got something to do, but when it's convenient for you, we can talk."

I winced. I must have been awful lately. Feeling a bit guilty, I wrapped my arms around him in a light hug, dropped a kiss on his lips, and pulled away.

"You're right. I've been a bitch, and I'm sorry. I'll let you get back to work." I grabbed a Coke from the fridge and headed back to my office. Crap, now what? 

I looked around the room for a minute, pondering. Aha! I hurried into the bedroom and dug through the nightstand drawer till I found the large vibrator I was looking for. It was pink and shaped like a real cock, with veins and everything. It was thick and long enough that I could maneuver it easily without doing gymnastics. This should help me through the writer's block.

Back in the office, I took time situating myself. I removed the thin shorts and thong I wore, and sat down with my legs propped open on the desktop. Turning on the vibrator, I took a minute, letting it sit on my slit, feeling the vibrations pulse over my sensitive flesh. When I felt my pussy grow wet, I teased myself, touching the tip to my clit, pressing it and tapping it against my hard button. Moving down I parted my lips and turned it on high, easing just a little of it into my hole. I twisted and turned it, then left it half in as I picked up my wireless keyboard. Rereading the last few paragraphs, I started typing.

Every so often I paused and plunged the vibrator in and out. I was at a key point in the story, where the main characters are coming together dramatically, and finally felt the scene unfolding for me. Simultaneously, my pussy was throbbing wildly, and I kept squirming on my chair. I wanted to wait to cum, at least until the characters did, but I was so hot.

"Tessa?" Surprised by the sound of Matt's voice, I twisted around to see him grinning at me. "What are you doing?" 

I laughed and pulled the vibrator out so he could see it.

"Finding inspiration." He was leaning against the doorjamb, just like I had earlier. His hand drifted down to his boxers, where I saw a bulge. I licked my lips and stared first at it, then his face. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A while," he replied with a grin. "I got so hard just watching you play with yourself, I didn't want to disturb you. You seem to be on a roll." Matt finally stepped into the room, coming up to the side of my chair.

"I am, but I can take a break if you are." I watched as he kneeled next to me, his hand sliding under my top to caress my breast. His mouth came down on mine as he flicked his fingernail over my nipple lightly. I moaned, and sitting up to arch into his touch. "Yeah, I can definitely take a break."

"I wouldn't hear of it," Matt said. His head turned and he scanned the computer screen, going back to the beginning of the chapter and reading forward. When he finished reading, and without a word, he rolled my chair away from the desk and crawled under it. 

"What are you doing?" I laughed as he grinned at me from his new place. He grabbed my legs and pulled me closer. 

"Helping to inspire you. Keep typing." 

I giggled a little, then shook my head, trying to pick up where I left off. Remembering where I was going with the story, I continued typing and it only took me a minute or two to fully immerse myself again. So I barely noticed when Matt spread my legs widely, but I did notice when the vibrator began to move in and out of my pussy again.

"Oh God," I managed as I leaned down. Matt met my gaze, and even though he was crouched over, he kept stroking the vibrator in and out. 

"Keep typing!" Matt insisted with a low growl. I was speechless and writhing on my chair, but I nodded and straightened up. I stared at the computer for a moment, just enjoying the sensation. With my feet on the ground, albeit far apart, I couldn't see Matt at all, could only feel, and found the whole situation undeniably arousing.

I must have taken too long, because the vibrator was removed completely, and I felt Matt tap it against my clit. "Keep typing I said."

"Okay, okay, geez," I replied, laughing. I settled down, got back into the story. I was worried that it would be too distracting as the vibrator was slipped back into me, but it wasn't. I used the lust and stimulation to spur the characters on, and began to speak as I typed so Matt could hear the story develop. 

I had just taken the characters from foreplay to actual sex when I felt fingers rub my clit. Back and forth they manipulated me, and I couldn't hold in my moan. I wanted the main female to feel the same thing. I adjusted the story to have the male touch her the same way.

I heard Matt's faint groan of approval. I felt him adjust the speed down a little, and I went with his lead as he parted my legs further, lifting one to rest on the desk, then other propped against the drawers underneath. The vibrator sank in deep, and my eyes closed, rolling back in my head as he rubbed it against my G-spot.

I thought I was in heaven, but I was wrong. My new position opened my legs wide enough for Matt to press kisses against my quivering folds. He held the entire length of the vibrator in completely with just his thumb, his other fingers twisting to rub my back hole. I was moaning, but Matt held my hips down, restricting my movements.

I typed as fast as I could now, the story clear in my head as Matt's tongue began to lick at my juices. I was so hot, so wet that I could feel moisture on my thighs, dripping down my slit. I could hear Matt as he ate me and warned him it would not be long before I came. 

He took out the vibrator and pushed the chair back again, crawling out. He leaned over me, kissing me madly, both of our tongues pressing against the other. I could taste myself on my lips, something I loved, and I immediately abandoned the keyboard to cling to my husband.

"No," he managed as my mouth bit along his jaw and neck, my hands tugging his boxers down. I had one hand wrapped around his rock hard cock when I he must be enjoying this as much as me! Carefully, I began guiding it towards my eager opening, when he physically moved back. 

"No," he said again. "You have to keep typing. You need to finish, you're almost done."

"I'm almost going to cum without your cock in me! I can't type right now."

"You will," he said, picking me up and sitting on the chair. He guided me down onto his dick, which was so hard it was standing out straight for me, then held me there as he put my hands back on the keyboard. 

I, however, had a different idea. Bracing myself against the desk, my hips began to move and I began to bounce up and down. With a restraint I didn't have, his arms came around my waist and hips and held me still. I whimpered, so ready to cry if he didn't let me cum.

"Shh," he soothed, his hands reaching up to play with my breasts. "Just finish the chapter, you're almost done. Then I'll fuck you silly."

Right now, I didn't care about the story. I tried shifting again, but Matt still held me down. I didn't understand. I could feel him throb in me deliciously, but as my focus came back to the computer, I realized he was right. I was so close to finishing, and if that's what it will take to get me to love me properly, then I'd better type as fast as I could.

I can honestly say I've never typed any faster than I did right then. Only four paragraphs later, maybe 3 minutes more of sweet torture, I was done. Matt, who had been reading as I had been typing, waited until the last period before rising up off the chair. That movement pushed his dick deeper into me and I moaned, pushing things on the desk out of the way as he laid me across one side. 

While the vibrator was large, it didn't compare to Matt. He was longer and thicker, and with each push, I felt all of the nerve endings in my body tingle, his length massaging all of my inner muscles. 

Matt had teased me for quite some time now and both he and I were hungry for release. His thrusts became harder, my moans louder, till finally I felt his cock jerk in me. My orgasm, which had been teetering on the edge for so long, crashed into me, over me, wracking my body in waves. 

I lay flat on the desk, my eyes half closed, smiling as I felt Matt kiss my neck and shoulder, my body settling. After a minute, I managed to reach over, save the story, then shut down the computer. I led Matt into the bedroom and curled up next to him on the bed. Before we drifted off to sleep, I kissed his lips softly.

"Thanks for the inspiration, honey," I whispered.

"Anytime, Tessa, anytime." 



Inspiration



John hunched over his computer, scanning his brain for ideas. He had taken up the hobby of writing erotic literature, and up until recently, it had come very easily to him. He could always think up new naughty scenarios complete with long, teasing foreplay and ending with "the best orgasm he/she had ever had." But after breaking it off with Jessica, he last girl he was fucking, he hadn't gotten any for weeks and found a resulting writer's block. 

Giving up, John stood from the computer chair and sauntered into the kitchen for some brain food. He found his roommate, Allison, standing over the kitchen sink doing the dishes. John had always secretly lusted after Allison but never let his thoughts about her get too carried away since she had a boyfriend. But tonight he couldn't help but stop in the doorway and stare at her ass as she bent over the sink. She was wearing little blue booty shorts and a wife beater, and was giving him a nice view of her long, thin legs and tight little ass. He wanted nothing more than to unzip right there and do her from behind as she bent over the sink. Suddenly, Allison spun around, startled. "You scared the shit out of me!" she said. John blushed a little, hoping she had no clue he had been drooling over her backside for the past thirty seconds. And now that she had spun around, he noticed her perky pink nipples were completely showing through her white shirt, since it was soaked with sink water. John felt himself grow hard and casually held a newspaper over his erection. 

"Oh hey, I was just coming in for a snack," he said. 

"Good idea. I'm starving," said Allison, as she rummaged through the fridge. She returned to the counter with some strawberries and whipped cream. 

"So what have you been doing all day?" she asked. 

"Well I was working on an erotic story, but I couldn't really get any worthwhile ideas. I've been in quite the sexual slump lately." 

"What a shame. Maybe I could provide some inspiration." She said. 

John immediately felt his cock grow hard again. He gulped. "Really?" 

"Yeah. Kevin and I have a great sex life. I could tell you all about it if you want; maybe it'll give you some ideas for your story." 

Now feeling incredibly foolish, but still disappointed, John said he thought that'd be a great idea. He could use all the help he could get. 

"Okay, well let me try to recall some of our best sessions. Hmmm... sometimes when he stays the night here, I like to wake him up with a blowjob or if I'm really nimble I can get myself completely straddled on his cock before he even wakes up. That's the best because he's always really horny in the morning, so his cock is very hard and it feels really good in my pussy." 

John nodded and took mental notes, trying not to show how incredibly turned on he was getting from her talking like this. As she continued, she was slowly licking whipped cream off her fingers, and there was a little bit on the corner of her mouth. The sight filled John's mind with naughty thoughts about her. 

"Let's see, what else.... oh I love giving him head. I love the way it feels when he comes in my mouth and I love feeling somewhat submissive to him. Sometimes he makes me kneel on the ground with my hands tied behind my back. He says it turns him on because my tits stick out a lot when my hands are tied behind my back, and since I can only use my tongue, it takes him longer to come. I spend hours just teasing his cock with my mouth, vigorously sucking on it and running my tongue all over the tip. Sometimes I get tired doing this, though, so he'll tie my arms and legs to the bedposts. Then he teases my clit with his tongue until I can barely stand it. It feels the best when he rams his fingers into me and licks my clit at the same time. After making me come once or twice, gives me what I really want. First, he fucks my mouth good and hard. He pushes his cock deep into my throat, making me gag sometimes. But I love it because I feel like he's overpowering me and I love being his little sex toy. Then he finally lets me take his cock in my sopping wet pussy. He starts by slowly pushing his huge cock deep inside me. Sometimes he'll just stay there for a few minutes and make me beg him to pump his cock in and out of me. I plead and try to thrust my hips but he holds me down so I can't move. It gets me so hot. Finally he gives it to me, thrusting his cock in and out of me, pushing his pubic bone up against my clit. I usually come a few times before he does, and sometimes we come at the same time. It's so amazing. I love feeling him come while we're fucking. God I'm getting wet just thinking about it." 

John was fully erect by now. He had gotten so incredibly turned on listening to her sexy stories and her body provided a great visual to go along with it. Her nipples were still hard as knots, practically begging him to rip her shirt off and suck on them right then and there. 

"Well, I think some of that stuff will help my story. Umm thanks?" John said awkwardly. 

"No prob. I'm gonna go take a shower. If you need any more help, let me know," she said. 

As she waltzed down the hall John couldn't help but think she was making some sort of suggestion. If you need any help let me know. That was totally an invitation to rip open the shower curtain and ask her to bend over and give you the inspiration you need. 

Still, John ignored his horny boy thoughts and decided not to cross lines that shouldn't be crossed. He returned to his computer and tried to write again. Meanwhile, Allison had made her way into their third roommate, Hannah's, room. 

Forgetting to knock, Allison walked in to find Hannah masturbating on her bed. Hannah was shocked at first, but then just let out a breathy giggle. This wasn't the first time Allison had seen Hannah masturbate. They were closer than close and totally comfortable with each other. 

"What's up?" Hannah asked. 

"Not much; just about to take a shower. I was just talking to John and he's having some trouble getting ideas for his erotic story. Poor guy." 

Still in her highly aroused state, Hannah got a genius idea. She told Allison that she thought it'd be "cute" if they barged into John's room and had their way with him. 

"It'd be just the help he needs," she enthusiastically claimed, trying her best to coerce Allison. 

Allison was opposed to the idea at first because of her boyfriend, but eventually Hannah convinced her of how hot it would be. 

"Your boyfriend will never find out. And besides, I'm there so it's not really cheating. I'll do most of the work... you can just be a helper." 

They decided to make a night of it. Allison and Hannah put on matching lingerie, both wearing lacy booty shorts and hot pink corsets, complete with tall stilettos. 

They sneakily made their way down the hall and peered into John's room. He was completely naked, sitting at the computer desk. The two girls drooled at the sight. He had an amazing, tan body. He was tall and lean, yet muscular. His wispy brown hair fell in front of his green eyes a bit. They could make out the outline of his cock, which was half erect, and large even though he wasn't completely turned on... yet. 

"Watch this," said Hannah. She was the stereotypical fiery redhead, always doing things that were spunky and unpredictable. She quietly crawled on all fours behind John and made her way to his chair. His music was playing so he didn't hear her coming and had no idea she was there until he looked down and saw her little red lips wrapped around his dick. 

The initial shock made his jump in his seat a bit. "Hannah, what he hell are ..." He couldn't even finish his sentence. His cock felt so good in her mouth. He let his head drop back and moaned, deciding it better not to ask questions. 

Stopping for a breather, Hannah explained, “I heard you were having some trouble with your story. So... Allison and I decided to help you out." She glanced at the door and made eyes at Allison to come in. Sheepishly, Allison came out from behind the doorway and said, "Hi John." John's jaw dropped at the sight of her perfect tits, as they were being pushed together in that satin corset. He wanted to see it off of her. 

John could not believe what was happening to him. His guy friends would always talk about how jealous they were of him because of the "hot pieces of ass" he had for roommates. He'd always jokingly tell them about the steamy Saturday night orgies the three of them had. But now it was really happening. 

Before he could make any smooth moves, the two girls had grabbed his wrists and cuffed them to the head of the bed. They lay on either side of him, and both began to lick his neck, run their fingers on his abs, and massage his cock with their hands. Allison had always fantasized about going down on John and after seeing how sexy it was when Hannah did it, she couldn't stop herself from living that fantasy out. She sucked on his cock firmly, pressing her lips hard against it. She loved sucking dick and John's was the biggest she had ever sucked. After a couple of minutes, she had deep throated all nine inches of him, bringing John within centimeters of orgasm. As she blew him, Hannah had straddled on his face and he began to eat her. Unable to use his hands, John tongued her pussy and licked her clit with all of his effort, until finally she came and he saw her arching her skinny little back in ecstasy. 

"Damn that felt good," Hannah said, eager now to return the favor. She knelt down on the other side of John and her and Allison began to take turns licking and sucking his cock. While one would suck the top, the other would lick around the base or massage his balls. Then Allison stopped sucking for a minute and began to finger Hannah's pussy. The two girls both stopped and began to make out with each other. John didn't care that his cock was getting a break because he was so hard from just watching the two of them. They each took off their corsets, letting their big tits spring free. They kissed and pressed their tits together, rubbing them on each other. Hannah put her forefinger deep in Allison's pussy and massaged her clit with her thumb. Allison moaned with pleasure and before long she felt the urge to have a cock in her. She turned to John and gave him a little grin before straddling his cock and slowly lowering herself on it. She was too tight for it to go all the way in at first, but after a few thrusts he bottomed out. Her face crunched up in ecstasy as she rode John, and he just lay there helplessly being fucked by the hottest girl he knew. He looked over at Hannah, the other hottest girl he knew, who was lying next to him, masturbating. John loved the sight of a girl masturbating almost more than he loved the sight of a girl riding his cock. What he was seeing was almost too much to handle. After cumming a few times, Allison decided to let Hannah have her ride. Hannah uncuffed one of his hands and told him to turn on his side. She lay on her side, facing him, and he put his cock inside her, relieved to finally be able to touch the things he'd been seeing. He cupped her tits, which were a bit bigger than Allison's, and began to roughly thrust his cock into her. "You better not let yourself cum. We're not done with you yet," said Hannah in a playful voice. Her words made John want to cum even more but he controlled himself with all his might. 

As he fucked Hannah, Allison had sandwiched him from behind. He could feel her tits pressed up against his back. She kissed his neck and scratched at his abs and back. He reached his free hand behind him to grab her ass. All these sensations mixed with his cock pumping in and out of Hannah made him unable to hold back any longer. 

"Hannah, I have to cum," he pleaded. 

She quickly moved back and left his enormous cock out in the open. "Not yet. You've been such a bad boy." To punish him, she cuffed his hand back up to the headboard. 

"I will fuck you till I cum one more time, and then you'll get yours," Hannah said as she sat on his cock once again. She rapidly thrusted her hips and clenched her muscles around his cock. Allison had moved to the other side of Hannah and was now alternating between pinching Hannah's hard nipples and rubbing her swollen clit. Finally, Hannah came for what seemed like the eighth time. 

The girls let both of his hands free and Allison straddled him once again. Hannah was entirely spent, and took a reclining position on the bed so she could watch the steamy sex that was about to happen between Allison and John. 

Now that John's hands were finally free, he took all the control he could get. He grabbed Allison's legs and flipped her onto her stomach. She got on all fours and he rammed his cock into her tight pussy just like he had been fantasizing about all day. It was only a few strong thrusts before he came deep into her. Drenched in sweat, he lay on his back to recover from the hottest, longest, "best cum he had ever had."