With only days until my first attempt at “Spoken Word” stardom, slight frustration started to set in. With crowds usually reaching well into the hundreds, this was no small stage to perform on. Family and friends from school and work would be in attendance.
“What would I write about? What could I write about?”
I need to write something that wouldn’t be too wild, while at the same time showing my love and passion for intellectual usage of words. “Maybe I’ll write about money, power, respect, education, family, sex, or culture? Who knows?”
I get off work at 5:30pm, as usual, and race home trying to cleanse my mind of my stressful day, but no such luck. After a long ride on the train from Harlem to Brooklyn, I arrived at the door to our loft with an entry similar to a police raid. I had the full intention of eating and going right upstairs to take a nap, in order to prepare for the all night of writing that was about to take place. I casually tossed my keys on the sofa, surely to not find them later.
“Damn, I’m hungry,” Is what think to myself as I now regret my decision to skip lunch earlier that day. That was not my original intention, but when project deadlines have to be met, the perfectionist in me won’t let me lower my level of quality.
I take a look into the refrigerator and aggressively locate the macaroni and cheese, cabbage, fried chicken, and yams from the night before…
“Left over’s complete me,” as I laugh at my own child like excitement.
Eating my favorite meal will certainly get my creative engine running. I warm up and over flowing plate of food and devour it.
“Hell, that was good,” is what I thought to myself while licking my fingers clean.
I pull out my pencil and pad and just sit there at the kitchen table when three things immediately run through my head.
1. This story has to be right. I’m a freelance writer so spoken word should be no different, right?
2. That food was ridiculous, but now the “itis” is starting to set in and I
Have to fight it. I drop and do 50 pushups and sit ups. That should help for a little while.
3. What if you were here with me, right now? I would sit you on the table in front of me, legs spread open. I picture you wearing only a bra and skirt, pantyless, but with matching heels still on.
We would be conversing with each other about our days, as I challenged your ability to remain focused, as I applied soft, moist French kisses to your thighs. The kisses travel from your left knee down your inner thigh, lightly licking the left side of your pussy lips, crossing over your vaginal opening, vertically tongue massaging the right side of your pussy lips and back along your inner thigh to your right knee. Taking care to arouse you just enough to leave a saturated spot on the bottom of your skirt.
“Wait a minute!” Number 3 was the absolute wrong thought, especially since it’s your late night at work and I have writing to do.
So, I begin to write…
“Being a leader means…”
“The mind is the strongest when…”
“To achieve the most out of life you must…”
“This isn’t working,” I say to myself as I decide to retire upstairs to our office. There, I can close the door and just zone out with jazz playing in the background.
After spending another 25 minutes of brainstorming, which sadly produces no real results, I doze off on the desk.
I am awakened, by your stroke across the back of my neck with your finger tips. “Hi Sweetie, How was your day?” I respond, “It was a rough one, but I made it.”
I explain to you how frustrated and nervous I am about choosing the best possible topic for such a huge audience. You rub me on the shoulders, instantly relaxing me, and tell me to just write what I feel.
The problem with that is that I don’t know what I feel.
“Baby, just close your eyes and relax. The feeling will come to you and you’ll know exactly what to write.”
With a smile on my face, I respond to you with a, “Thank You” and “I Love You,” as I kiss you on the stomach and give you a pat on the butt as you walk away.
I feel a little more focused, so it’s time to write.
15 minutes later…
Pitch black! “Damn it!” The fuse must have blown again. As I lean forward to get up and check the fuse, you push me back down into my seat forcing my shoulders back into the chair.
At this point, I can’t see you, because it’s completely dark, but I can smell the aroma of your perfume circulating around me.
You grab my left arm and tie it to the arm of the chair with one of your stockings. You whisper in my ear, “You’re right handed so you can still write, correct?”
“YES,” I respond.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry about it, you’ll feel”
Saying that I would “feel”, was confusing to me, simply because the saying actually goes, “You’ll see.” You have always read me like a book in the past, so trusting your lead was something I was actually turned on at the thought of.
I was not entirely sure how I was going to get any writing done, being tied to an office chair with no light and completely aroused at the thought of what we were about to do.
Using your accomplished mind reading skills you light 2 large, aromatherapy candles, providing just enough light to illuminate my writing pad and you.
At that moment, I again grow extremely appreciative of the female gender. You are wearing nothing, but a necklace, perfume, bracelet, tattoos, and heels, covered only by a see through robe.
“How’s your writing coming?” “You seem a little distracted.”
“Are you serious?” “How am I supposed to come up with something to write about when all I wanna do is make love to you right now.”
“No you don’t”, as you grab the crotch of my pants to inspect my physical reaction to your presence. “Damn, maybe you do wanna fuck me right now,” as you grab a handful of dick.
“Now, write what you’re feeling and you can’t just right HARD on the paper.” “I know your sense of humor.”
We both share a laugh as I use my free hand to write a couple lines.
“Fine.” “Now what?”
At that moment you guide my free hand up under the bottom part of your robe, against your thighs and upward. “Are you serious?” That’s what I say as I realize that you are so aroused that your juices have started to trickle down your inner thigh.
“What do I taste like?” You put my fingers to my lips and run my fingers across the center of both my lips.
“Now, write exactly what you feel and you can’t just right STICKY on the paper.” “I know how your mind works, clown.”
I used my moisture soaked fingers to jot down a couple more lines.
Before I can say the words, “Now what,” you have started unbuckling my pants, claiming that your actions are only to free him from the bondage of his boxers.
You slowly unbuckle my pants, unzipping them at the same time. You pull him out after struggling to get him to bend enough to get him out of the opening.
“Why is your heart beating so fast?”
“Beating fast? How would you know? Are you touching my heart?”
“No, he told me.” “I can feel the blood pulsing through your veins.”
With my dick now standing straight up, you flip the office chair off its feet. That causes me to fall backwards in the chair, which is now lying on the carpet, back down. You stand over top of me smiling as I also laugh at the reality that you just violently assaulted me, yet I have no interest in calling for help.
“Can I sit down?” “My legs are tired from work.”
“Uh, sure, but you may need to help me back up.”
“Nope, I think you’ll be just fine!”
You then squat down over me, pussy lips still coated with your significantly thorough irrigation system. You spread your lips apart telling me to kiss them like I would the lips on your face.
I voluntarily give them a peck. “What the hell was that?” “If you plan on getting any work done tonight, you may want to put forth a little more effort.”
I smile as I think to myself how sexy your pouty mouth is when you don’t get your way. I use my “writing” arm to wrap your left thigh and pull that pussy back down to tongue length. With your lips still spread, you slowly drop all the way down, gyrating as you descend onto my out stretched tongue.
“Damn that feels good.” “I can feel her getting wetter.”
You close your eyes as you mentally sink deeply into the moment. You move back and forth, riding my lips and tongue, alternating between vaginal and clitoral sensations. You can tell that I want you to come. I always do. I grab you tighter as you move a little faster and start to moan as you stare down at my eyes and hidden mouth and tongue.
“Can I come now?”
“Mmm Hmm” Is all I can get out as you close your eyes and let go of an orgasm so strong, wet, and creamy that your thighs nearly break my jaw as you convulse in pleasure.
“Shit, how do you do that to me?”
“Now, write what you are thinking.”
You hand me the pencil as you hold the pad over me as I write a couple of lines.
You help me back up and stand in between myself and the desk with your back to me. I love to admire you. Back so smooth; Ass so perfect; Skin so soft. After a couple of minutes of allowing me to admire your beauty you turn back around.
Now facing me, you bend over and lick him. First starting at the bottom then working your way up slowly all the way to the tip, which is now swollen from arousal.
You use both hands, one on top of the other to assist you in sucking him. You suck some before getting him so wet that you pause the oral satisfaction in order to jack him up and down with your hands, staring at my eyes as they slowly roll backward from satisfaction.
You are so in tune with your body that the activity you are engaging in has you extremely aroused and so close to orgasm that you could come from a strong, warm breeze, if your clit was exposed.
You go back to using your lips and tongue, slurping as if you were at the end of your favorite, partially melted milk shake.
It’s not so much that you love pleasing me orally, but that you are in love with me, so you are in love with my happiness.
As you grow more and more aroused from pleasing me you pause, grabbing him tightly, as you start to shiver, coming once again.
“I love when you do that,” is all I’m able to get out before you stand up and climb on top of me, pausing only to position him directly under your vagina. You slowly work him in, closing your eyes as you spread open wider to receive him.
“Shit, why is he so thick and long? I love it!”
“Baby, write something right now!”
You pull yourself to my left shoulder as I lean forward and try to muster enough concentration and poise to scribble a couple things down while you bounce up and down trying to make me come.
A task like that is not to be taken lightly, because when we get it in, we get it all the way in!
At this point my dick is hitting that deep pocket inside you that causes you to hug me closer in anticipation of your next orgasm.
Up and down for a couple more strokes and just like that, you come again now watching my dick as she spits up her juices all over him as she chokes on his length.
You keep going a little longer before sliding off of him and standing in front of me, bent over facing the computer screen.
“Are you inspired yet?”
“Well I suggest you do some more writing then.”
I begin to write a little more as you begin to untie me from the chair.
“Baby, Thanks for your inspiration.”
“I know you don’t think you’re done fucking me do you?” “It’s time for you to come with me.”
You bend over and use both hands to hold your ass and pussy wide open as you request me to put him back in. With your chest pressed against our glass desk, I slide him in as you arch your back from the sensation.
As I grab your waist line and stroke so far in that you can feel it in your abdomen and all the way back out to the tip, then back in. I start to speed up as I feel you start to tighten up as if you are about to come again. At the same time I start to grow full of enough of come to blow you into the next room.
“I’m coming, keep fucking me until you come too”
I continue stroking, using every inch to please you, until I can no longer hold it in. I am banging you so hard that the keyboard and monitor have now fallen to the floor from the rocking back and forth.
“I’m coming too, baby.” At that moment, I pull out and squirt, what seemed like a gallon of come on your back and ass.
We both fall backward into the chair as we both exhale from the workout we just finished.
As tired as you are, you reach for the pad and give it to me.
I gather enough energy to write down a couple more words.
“I’m done, shit, I can’t write anymore anyway.”
You roll over and kiss me, crawling into the bedroom to clean off. You come back with a wash cloth to wipe off my mouth, lips, chin, and dick.
I thank you, before joining you in the shower in order to thoroughly clean off.
3 days go by…
It’s now the night of the spoken word event. I am still a little nervous, but prepared to go for broke.
They call me to the stage…
“With my mind restricted at first, similar to having an arm tied behind my back, but being forced to write at the same time, I took a deep breath and just felt.
What did I feel? I felt, arousal; I felt love; I felt nervousness; I felt pressure; I felt darkness. Not the kind of darkness that scares you because of the unexpectedness of it, but the kind that helps you see the light more clearly.
With the sense of sight temporarily removed, I was forced to use my sense of smell, which was currently being fed by a signature smell so sweet, I couldn’t help but taste it on the tip of my tongue.
Suddenly with flickers of light illuminating the darkness, I can see right through darkness. It’s a beautiful sight. Caramel in color and softly curved like a figure 8 race track.
Now, with the ability to make out your figure, my sense of taste is now bombarded with the closest thing to icing I can think of. Creamy in texture, salty yet sweet in taste, satisfying both of the taste buds.
Knocked completely from my feet, I struggle to regain my balance. Ironically, I am smothered by a warm damp feeling dripping down my chin. As I struggled to breath, all I could do is open my mouth and drink as fast as I could, trying my best not to choke on the consistency of the liquid. Tongue and lips moving in unison, I was able to breathe, but not without tired jaws from licking, sucking, and swallowing you until an earache set in due to the pressure from muscle contractions wrapped around my head.
Now back upright, as passive as I am, I find myself impaling something so tight, it’s almost as if I don’t belong inside. If it had not been for the moisture at the opening, I might have been hesitant to go so far inside.
Positioned directly in front of a bent over picture of perfection, I grow more and more erect with anticipation of inserting my straw into the center of your peach and sucking out all of the nectar inside until there’s nothing left.
After a couple more entries into the juice filled peach, it exploded from the ripeness, but in such a way that I was obligated to join in the fireworks with an explosion of my own.
Just like that my pen exploded ink all over the page…
She was my perfect distraction.”
I bow and exit the stage.