Welcome back to Muse Mondays—my frequent erotica writing exercise! The deal is, I find a photo that inspires me and then I write a story. Sounds simple, right? Well, I consider it a challenge. I always want to improve my writing and finding new sources to provoke the writing reaction is a good way to do just that.
Sometimes I want to write raunch, sometimes a more, lyrical voice comes to me.
Sometimes I want to see a full-on scene to get inspiration from, sometimes I like to focus on something specific.
I want to lick that spot. That slight, gentle pattern. That delicate flourish.
I want to start at your hip, slowly glide my tongue past each and every rib. Feel each hair. Feel each bump.
I want to look at your breast so close, take it all in and catch my breath. I want to look up past your aroused nipple to see your eyes.
An artist has been at work on your body. Ink has been spilled into your flesh. You took so much time to decide the pattern you wanted. You deliberated and exasperated yourself (and sometimes me). I know I sounded fawning when I told you your body was perfect as it was. But I wasn’t just paying lip service to the form I so often attach my lips to.
You entranced me when we met. You bewitch me when you move, sleep and talk. You overpower me when we fuck. I didn’t want anything to change you. Including you.
And while this small tattoo might be insignificant to most, it most certainly isn’t to you. And now, as my tongue traces that delightful fold beneath your breast, that place now forever changed, I feel why you needed, wanted, yearned for this.
You wanted yet another part of you to captivate me.
And it has worked.
My lips lock to that painted spot, but my hand shoots for your cunt. Rough and raw my desire to please you takes over. My eager fingers find you wet, willing and willing me on.
My lips never leave that spot. Even as your breath quickens, your chest heaves and your hands grasp at my hair.
My lips never leave that spot. I stroke your clit and slip my fingers deep inside you, pulling more and move out of you.
My lips never leave that spot. Not even as you climax, arms wrapping around my shoulders so that you do not fall over. Not even when you squeeze your legs so tight in orgasmic ecstasy.
My lips never leave that spot. Not even as I catch sight of your own parted lips, as you gently pant and moan and come down.
My lips will never leave that spot.