Letter of Interludes
June 13, 2005
Hey honey,
I’m sorry, babe. I tried. Really I did. I know you wanted me, have asked me for a while now, to write you a story. An erotic, wet story like the ones I was writing when we met. I know it was those stories and poems that initially attracted you to me...
You were so disappointed your early evening meeting ran into late night and you missed coming home for dinner. It was one of your favorites but honestly you were more disappointed because all afternoon you’d walked around with a partial hard on after our brief lunchtime phone call. However I was asleep by the time you made it home so you settled for a shower and hand massage. Padding into the bedroom, towel wrapped around your waist you were surprised to find me sitting on the bed in your favorite silk purple chemise. I reached out and pulled you to me by the knot in your towel. Replacing its soft caress with the softness of my lips, I inhaled your clean scent before running my tongue over your balls. Your head fell back as you briefly wondered, “Is she trying to dry me off or make me wet?”
…Stories from the mind of a woman you hadn’t met but felt you knew intimately. Felt you were meant to know intimately.
I don’t know what happened - what’s wrong. I mean I know I’m still the same woman. I have those same stories inside me. I feel those same urges…
My nipples are tingling from rubbing back and forth against the rough wrought iron headboard, but I can’t do anything about it because you’ve got me trapped on my knees, pressed against the headboard as you fuck me with your lips and tongue. My hands are held behind me, gripped in one of your fists while your other arm is locked around my right thigh pressing me down onto your face. No matter how hard I try to pull away you hold me in place, drawing orgasm after orgasm from me. I feel spent but they keep coming; hard and fast – slow and long.
…I see those same images. But I’m blocked. I can’t write them down.
Maybe it’s the new position. All my time seems consumed with work. Every time I sit at the computer it’s to write a report or grant or lesson or… whatever; it’s work. So whenever I can get away from the computer I run as fast as I can…
I know I should have left you alone; you had so much work to do on your latest job but I couldn’t help it. Seeing you sitting at the desk in only your boxer briefs was so damn sexy I just had to distract you. So here we are, lights dimmed, Juvenile’s “Slow Motion” playing and your working being ignored as I give you an impromptu lap dance.
…And that’s just my day job. Add to that my consulting work, all the goings on at church, the company I started – it’s a wonder I can find time to sleep, let alone write.
I’ve even tried writing long hand, like I did in college. That’s an art I’ve totally lost. I mean here I am writing you a letter and I’m typing it on the laptop…
Not fair! You tricked me! You said you wanted some ice cream after our hot, sweaty love session and dragged me out of bed to come with you to the kitchen. You said we’d scoop out a bowl and return to bed. Now here I am, bent face forward over the kitchen center island, the cool marble top amplifying the heat of my naked breasts and stomach. My feet are spread shoulder width apart and I have warm caramel sundae topping spread over my ass cheeks, dripping down my crack, onto my pussy lips. You are on your knees between my feet using your mouth and tongue to make sure none of the topping drips down onto my clean kitchen floor.
…Huh, I guess that’s what happens when you get your master’s in technology; you forget the old technologies of paper and pencil. Everything is digital in my world now.
But I gave it my best shot. I determined that tonight as I sat in my hotel room I would block everything out and just let it flow. Try my old trick of sitting at the keyboard, closing my eyes and letting my fingers glide across the keys putting down what images played behind my lids…
Why are you teasing me? “Please” I moan, gripping the pillow by my face. You’ve got me lying on my right side, left leg bent so you can watch the head of your dick slide in and out of my wetness. My lips are swollen and dripping, I want all of you inside, but you keep dipping just the tip in and out slowly, teasing me; making me beg. “Not yet…” you whisper back, kissing my shoulder. “Not yet.”
…Unfortunately nothing came. Nothing but this letter.
Perhaps I have too much trying to get out. Perhaps my block is because I have a whole bunch of images and stories rushing around trying to be first in line, but instead they’ve caused a log jam in my creative center and nothing can get out. Or perhaps I just need to take a vacation, really and truly rest and relax. Forget about work, church, and more work and just do nothing. Maybe then I’d be able to get some things down on paper.
But for the life of me, I can’t get anything out right now, honey. I’m sorry. But the first thing I do write I promise will make you so hot, you’ll have no choice but to jump me after you read it. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Another reason to take me to bed and keep me there as long as possible…
“Turnabout is fair play,” I whisper in your ear as I tie your left wrist to the bedpost with a second silk scarf. You make a show of trying to resist but when I pull back I can see the twinkle in your eye and the smile you’re trying to hide; you like this, you think it’s fun. You can’t wait to see what I’m going to do to you and you look on eagerly as I stick my finger into the strawberry sundae syrup then bring it to my lips to lick clean. Intent on the play between my tongue and finger you’re caught off guard when the warm syrup touches your erection. Your eyes follow as my head lowers to your lap.
…Actually maybe that’s the reason I’m blocked; your loving is soooo good, I have nothing else to write about. What do you think? Could that be it? Could you be the cause of my creative void? Hmmm…I like that – it’s your fault!
Okay it’s not your fault, although your loving is very, extremely very good. I’m going to beat this. I’m going to find a way to get unblocked. I like writing. I like being creative because if I can conceive it in my mind then we can work on making it a reality in our love life…
Your mouth makes love to that spot at my lower back that makes me crazy whenever and however you touch it. You’re currently feasting on it, pushing the button that makes my hips rotate, my pussy tighten, and my clit pulse automatically. It seems you’ve spent a couple of hours just loving my spot and now you’ve added the friction of your finger sliding in and out of my canal. As a reward my silken cum has coated your hand repeatedly but you continue your feast seemingly oblivious to how many orgasms I’ve already experienced.
…That alone is enough incentive to make me work around this block. Another huge incentive is how much I enjoy seducing you. And my words do seduce you; make you hot. And making you hot makes me hot and wet. So I’m going to apply myself to this problem and make it go away as soon as I can.
However for now, I need to get to sleep so I can be at my best tomorrow. I can wait to come home and sleep in our bed. I hate these long business trips. And you know hotel rooms make me horny. Yea, maybe you should meet me at the door naked Friday night when I return – I’m gonna want to wear you out!! Anyway, good night, honey – I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Yours always,
T.
tonee c. copyright july 2005
Hey honey,
I’m sorry, babe. I tried. Really I did. I know you wanted me, have asked me for a while now, to write you a story. An erotic, wet story like the ones I was writing when we met. I know it was those stories and poems that initially attracted you to me...
You were so disappointed your early evening meeting ran into late night and you missed coming home for dinner. It was one of your favorites but honestly you were more disappointed because all afternoon you’d walked around with a partial hard on after our brief lunchtime phone call. However I was asleep by the time you made it home so you settled for a shower and hand massage. Padding into the bedroom, towel wrapped around your waist you were surprised to find me sitting on the bed in your favorite silk purple chemise. I reached out and pulled you to me by the knot in your towel. Replacing its soft caress with the softness of my lips, I inhaled your clean scent before running my tongue over your balls. Your head fell back as you briefly wondered, “Is she trying to dry me off or make me wet?”
…Stories from the mind of a woman you hadn’t met but felt you knew intimately. Felt you were meant to know intimately.
I don’t know what happened - what’s wrong. I mean I know I’m still the same woman. I have those same stories inside me. I feel those same urges…
My nipples are tingling from rubbing back and forth against the rough wrought iron headboard, but I can’t do anything about it because you’ve got me trapped on my knees, pressed against the headboard as you fuck me with your lips and tongue. My hands are held behind me, gripped in one of your fists while your other arm is locked around my right thigh pressing me down onto your face. No matter how hard I try to pull away you hold me in place, drawing orgasm after orgasm from me. I feel spent but they keep coming; hard and fast – slow and long.
…I see those same images. But I’m blocked. I can’t write them down.
Maybe it’s the new position. All my time seems consumed with work. Every time I sit at the computer it’s to write a report or grant or lesson or… whatever; it’s work. So whenever I can get away from the computer I run as fast as I can…
I know I should have left you alone; you had so much work to do on your latest job but I couldn’t help it. Seeing you sitting at the desk in only your boxer briefs was so damn sexy I just had to distract you. So here we are, lights dimmed, Juvenile’s “Slow Motion” playing and your working being ignored as I give you an impromptu lap dance.
…And that’s just my day job. Add to that my consulting work, all the goings on at church, the company I started – it’s a wonder I can find time to sleep, let alone write.
I’ve even tried writing long hand, like I did in college. That’s an art I’ve totally lost. I mean here I am writing you a letter and I’m typing it on the laptop…
Not fair! You tricked me! You said you wanted some ice cream after our hot, sweaty love session and dragged me out of bed to come with you to the kitchen. You said we’d scoop out a bowl and return to bed. Now here I am, bent face forward over the kitchen center island, the cool marble top amplifying the heat of my naked breasts and stomach. My feet are spread shoulder width apart and I have warm caramel sundae topping spread over my ass cheeks, dripping down my crack, onto my pussy lips. You are on your knees between my feet using your mouth and tongue to make sure none of the topping drips down onto my clean kitchen floor.
…Huh, I guess that’s what happens when you get your master’s in technology; you forget the old technologies of paper and pencil. Everything is digital in my world now.
But I gave it my best shot. I determined that tonight as I sat in my hotel room I would block everything out and just let it flow. Try my old trick of sitting at the keyboard, closing my eyes and letting my fingers glide across the keys putting down what images played behind my lids…
Why are you teasing me? “Please” I moan, gripping the pillow by my face. You’ve got me lying on my right side, left leg bent so you can watch the head of your dick slide in and out of my wetness. My lips are swollen and dripping, I want all of you inside, but you keep dipping just the tip in and out slowly, teasing me; making me beg. “Not yet…” you whisper back, kissing my shoulder. “Not yet.”
…Unfortunately nothing came. Nothing but this letter.
Perhaps I have too much trying to get out. Perhaps my block is because I have a whole bunch of images and stories rushing around trying to be first in line, but instead they’ve caused a log jam in my creative center and nothing can get out. Or perhaps I just need to take a vacation, really and truly rest and relax. Forget about work, church, and more work and just do nothing. Maybe then I’d be able to get some things down on paper.
But for the life of me, I can’t get anything out right now, honey. I’m sorry. But the first thing I do write I promise will make you so hot, you’ll have no choice but to jump me after you read it. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Another reason to take me to bed and keep me there as long as possible…
“Turnabout is fair play,” I whisper in your ear as I tie your left wrist to the bedpost with a second silk scarf. You make a show of trying to resist but when I pull back I can see the twinkle in your eye and the smile you’re trying to hide; you like this, you think it’s fun. You can’t wait to see what I’m going to do to you and you look on eagerly as I stick my finger into the strawberry sundae syrup then bring it to my lips to lick clean. Intent on the play between my tongue and finger you’re caught off guard when the warm syrup touches your erection. Your eyes follow as my head lowers to your lap.
…Actually maybe that’s the reason I’m blocked; your loving is soooo good, I have nothing else to write about. What do you think? Could that be it? Could you be the cause of my creative void? Hmmm…I like that – it’s your fault!
Okay it’s not your fault, although your loving is very, extremely very good. I’m going to beat this. I’m going to find a way to get unblocked. I like writing. I like being creative because if I can conceive it in my mind then we can work on making it a reality in our love life…
Your mouth makes love to that spot at my lower back that makes me crazy whenever and however you touch it. You’re currently feasting on it, pushing the button that makes my hips rotate, my pussy tighten, and my clit pulse automatically. It seems you’ve spent a couple of hours just loving my spot and now you’ve added the friction of your finger sliding in and out of my canal. As a reward my silken cum has coated your hand repeatedly but you continue your feast seemingly oblivious to how many orgasms I’ve already experienced.
…That alone is enough incentive to make me work around this block. Another huge incentive is how much I enjoy seducing you. And my words do seduce you; make you hot. And making you hot makes me hot and wet. So I’m going to apply myself to this problem and make it go away as soon as I can.
However for now, I need to get to sleep so I can be at my best tomorrow. I can wait to come home and sleep in our bed. I hate these long business trips. And you know hotel rooms make me horny. Yea, maybe you should meet me at the door naked Friday night when I return – I’m gonna want to wear you out!! Anyway, good night, honey – I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Yours always,
T.
tonee c. copyright july 2005
