Writer’s Assistant (L)

(L) – This story contains strong language. 

It was the first significant winter weather storm North Texas had experienced in over a decade. The entire state was affected, and millions across the state were without power. Would having an individual power grid be beneficial for Texas?

“Absolutely!” said the politicians.

Having spent nearly a decade in Colorado prepared me for it, so I wasn’t worried about a thing. Texans drive like maniacs in dry or wet weather. But you could set up a functioning restaurant anywhere on I-35 and not even encounter a scooter in winter weather conditions. Then again, we weren’t going anywhere. Our utilities were still functioning, and we turned off our phones. Plus, the generators were ready, and the fridge and freezer were full.

The morning had already proven to be relaxing and peaceful. I woke up and opened the bedroom curtains to see a landscape of endless white. You were still sleeping soundly, and I wanted to do something about that. Not yet, though.

Outside, nothing was moving. No wind, no birds, no vehicles, no other humans. Nothing disturbed the scenery—until I went to the backyard for a brief kettlebell warmup workout underneath an overcast sky. My brown skin, black thermals, and black skull cap sharply contrasted with the surrounding atmosphere.

I appreciated the cold. It had been a while since I could work out in such frigid temperatures.

Afterward, I headed back in, got a great pump in the home gym, and scarfed down a quick protein breakfast that energized me even further. And it wasn’t even 7:30 am yet. Today’s writing was going to be awesome.

After showering and toweling off, I stepped out of the bathroom to see you still asleep. STILL? I walked to your side of the bed and kissed your forehead, letting you know I was back. You rolled over in response, still drowsy. You nodded your head and croaked out, “Write well, babe. Let me know if you need anything.”

Your last turn-over pulled the sheets taught across your frame, hugging your ample breasts and succulent ass like a second skin. Splayed across your pillow, your hair was delightfully messy,  and revealed your slender neck that begged for my lips. Your sleep needed to be disturbed. My mind quickly abandoned all thoughts of writing and focused solely on you. How could I head to my office and ghostwrite a book for a client—a pastor of all things—when my mind would do nothing more than constantly think about you looking like that?

Again, unfortunately, not now. If I got back in bed with you, I wouldn’t write a thing today. I wouldn’t leave the bed. You wouldn’t either. 

With all prayer and might from the Holy Spirit, I banished your image from my mind and headed into the office with an ice-cold Coke Zero. The house was comfortably warm, so the lone pieces of clothing—my pouch boxer briefs and a t-shirt—did the job of keeping me personally balmy. 

I sat at the desk, and the “Bong” sound of the Mac resounded throughout the office as it came to life. I looked at my nearby notes to refresh my memory and decided—

Your neck flashed across the screen of my imagination.

I shook your image from my mind and cracked that can of Coke while opening up the book on marriage I was writing for pastor so and so. I set my fingers on the keyboard and began typing out—

My consciousness jolted to images of you biting my earlobe and whispering in my ear as I thrust myself into you.

Snapping back to the computer screen, I said aloud to myself, “Bruh, later. Just write. She’ll be there.”

My hardness tore my attention from the computer screen. I didn’t even realize I was leaking so much precum. An ever-widening wet spot expanded in the material that tightly stretched across the head of my cock. I was so hard that I knew my dick was going to tear itself through my underwear. Breathing deeply, I closed my eyes to relax and consider the theme of the next few—

I was breathless as you sucked me to within seconds of cumming.

My right open hand landing with a thud on the top of the desk brought me back to my office, but my left hand was already stroking my shaft. I ripped my palm from my manhood and stood up, realizing I was not going to survive much longer. In less than a second, I was naked and on my way back to you with my rock-hard dick leading the way. The only mission was to get you off my mind so I could write, no matter how long it took.

I burst into the bedroom to find it empty. The bathroom showed no traces of you being in there. Where did you go, and how did I not hear you? Even though you walk lightly, I can tell when you’re moving about the house.

“Babe, where are you?”

Silence. I was growing frustrated. My member was getting angrier by the second.

“Babe!”

Not a word.

Two hundred and forty pounds of muscle stalking through the house with a furious erection had to be intimidating. Even still, you know how to calm this beast. However, you’ve been running through my mind since I woke up. I had to put a stop to that. I walk into the kitchen. Nothing. The living room. Nothing. The gym. Empty. The guest bedroom—

You riding me filled my mind. 

“Where the fu—”

My pace quickened and, though it couldn’t have been possible, my manhood was even harder. I thought only one thing—“When I find you, your ass is mine.”

You had to have been in a closet that I missed. I marched back toward our bedroom, passing by the office. I almost missed you sitting naked on my desk with your legs wide open and your feet on the arms of my chair. You were thumbing through my notes when you looked back at me with those eyes that told me you needed me, though you wanted to toy with me. Ill-advised decision, baby, because I wasn’t in the mood for games. You would bear the brunt of the punishment for the fantasies you caused me. 

I stride directly to you and shove the chair out of the way and into the nearby bookshelf. You pull me closer to you by tugging on my cock, your wedding band reflecting the light as your hand hardly wrapped itself around me.

“Thick much?” you say with a devious smile. “You seem angry…what ever are you going to do?”

I yank you toward me, ferociously kissing and sucking on your neck as you used both hands to massage my pulsing unit, smearing my precum over my dick. You lean back, opening up your womanhood to me. I need you, I need your body, your sex. I need to taste your essence. Though I want to be inside you, I place my head between your thighs and begin consuming your nourishing and soaking-wet pussy. If you tortured me for so long, why wouldn’t I do the same to you? I indulge, eating you, licking you, flicking your clit with my tongue as you held on to my desk for dear life. 

I’m a messy eater. Streams of your juices and my saliva run from my lips and down onto my beard. You steadily press my face into your hot, drenched cunt, and I grasp your hips to pull you even deeper into my mouth. But, no more oral for you. You owe me. You have a debt to pay for toying with me during my writing time, and—OH!—are you going to pay!

I stand up and look down, seeing the head of my cock bobbing against your clit.

“All of it, baby,” you say. “Don’t ease it in.”

I smirk, proud of you for being so bold where you usually need time to take me. We lock eyes as I lowered my hips. The helmet of my throbbing cock finds your opening, and I push. Your tightness offers resistance, but smothers the head in your cream. I’m taken aback by the fact that you’re always creamy when it’s time for me to enter. I keep pushing, making the head crowd into your sopping pussy. You hook an arm around the back of my neck, gasping as I pull you closer to me—steadily feeding more of me into you.

I study your face. Your eyes are closed, allowing you to concentrate on the sensation of me stretching your walls as I enter.

“Fuck, baby,” you gasp. “How mu—ungh!”

“Just a little more. Almost there,” I say.

And here I was a few days ago, thinking I needed to halt those dick exercises. Your facial expressions, moans, and exclamations are testimonies that I should continue with them. You quiver as your pussy grips and milks me, taking more of my length.

“Already cumming, eh?” I say, my eyes not leaving your face as you ride the orgasm making its way through your body. Nope…not stopping those exercises anytime soon.

Finally, after what seems like too long, I’m balls-deep. My hands hold so tightly to your perfect ass that your flesh protrudes through my fingers. I lift you from the desk. You wrap your other arm around the back of my neck and your legs around my waist, just above my ass. I slowly push your hips away and pull you back onto my cock. You catch my rhythm, using your legs as leverage, and begin undulating back and forth on my dick. I close my eyes and kiss you deeply, mouthing into you, “Give me that shit.” In sync with you impaling yourself on me, I instruct you to “Take. Your. Time.”

You continue, lost in your pleasure and unaware that I moved from standing behind my desk to the nearby couch. Your weight is an excellent counter, allowing me to sit down slowly. My ass lands on the couch cushion, causing you to suddenly plop down on my dick faster than you anticipated.

“Fuck…yes,” you sharply exhale. You get a few more back-and-forth strokes on me before you plant your feet on the side of my legs, preparing to ride high and strong. You open your eyes and push me back, slowly starting to bounce on my cock.

Again, in sync with you, I say, “Ride. That. Shit. Wife. Ride. That. Shit. Girl.”

You keep your rhythm. Deliberate, measured, and mesmerizing as you stick with me, “suffering” the stretch you love so much. Your pussy begins spasming, intermittently squeezing and clutching my shaft—another orgasm coursing through that body of yours I worship so much but second only to the Lord that brought us together, forming us for one another. You throw your head back and convulse, the orgasm taking you over. I don’t move, watching you as it takes you.

“My turn,” I say. “I’m finna work.”

You’re like jelly and can barely move. I lift you off me and see that you’ve left my entire cock coated in your sexy mess. You’re sitting on the couch, and you know I want your ass facing me, but you see what you’ve left on my unit and lick your lips as if you’ve just seen your favorite dish. I quickly brush my thumb along the top of my shaft, collecting some of your cream. I lick my thumb clean of your pussy mousse. You look at me, jealous, and take the head of my unit into your mouth while you tug and pull on my balls, making me grunt. With all of the man I am, you have me at your whim. You suck and lick the tip. I love watching you adore my cock and lick me clean of your essence.

“Don’t swallow that. Share it, then turn that ass around.”

You muster the strength and stand, kissing me with everything you have. Our tongues dance and scrimmage until I push you away. You turn around, showing me those delectable ass cheeks. I step forward, resting my dick atop your bottom. You wiggle your bum underneath my rod, giggling. I love how free you are with me during our sex, infusing your goofiness into our lovemaking. You stop and hold your cheeks open, allowing me to see that cream-soaked pussy I cherish so much. I push my entire self inside you. You’re open and ready, but your pussy “talks” back to me as my mass takes its place in your sodden cunt—your ass quaking. I take in the rapturous sensation of your pussy having swaddled my dick and grab your hips. It’s time.

I’m not fast, but the cadence of my pelvis colliding with your ass could help a marching band keep time. You lower your head into the couch, submitting to my strokes as I take you from behind. Your face is buried in the cushions, your muffled moans and grunts still ringing throughout the office. I keep working you, trying to push my entire soul into your body with every stroke. My balls slap your clit each time I fill you with my wood.

“Cum inside me…please?” you beg. 

“I. Won’t. Pull. Out.”

You start throwing your ass back on me. I’m about to fucking lose it. I keep my pace, though I feel you about to cum again.

Your pussy squeezing my cock. The sight of waves traveling through your thick ass with each impact of my pelvis with your flesh. The sound of you gasping my name. The smell of our sex. As if it were possible, seeing even more of your cream on my shaft. I can’t handle too much more.

“Cum. In. Me. Cum. In. Me. Please. Daddy.” You know me so well. You sense my nut coming.

My balls lifted, but I was still going, trying to LIVE in that sweet tension between my body loading my cock with cum and the drive to flood your pussy.

“OOhhhh…Fuck! Baby…OOOOAAAAAUUUUUNNNNGGGGHHHH!!!” I give in, melting into every rope that fires into your tight pussy that’s milking me of every drop. I keep thrusting, trying to push each round deeper than the last. Your shuddering intensifies my release.

I stay still; you are still shaking on my unit. My cock softens slowly. You lean forward, my dick slips out of you, happily spent, and now the color of your whipped pussy cream.

I sit on the couch, but you hop into my lap—right where I want you to be. You kiss my lips, then kiss my beard and neck before asking, “Can you write now?”

I chuckle. “Nope, but I’m a few chapters ahead. So, I’m good until next week. You should know I’m gonna tell this client I’ve got a writing assistant.

“Who?”

“You…you didn’t grab a pen, but you got a way with a tool.”

You smile and return to kissing my neck and planting a few on my chest. 

“We have a few more excerpts we need to write,” I say. “You know, before I make it official on current contracts.”

With a grin, you reply, “And. We. Have. All. Day.”