My Fan Came Over and Submitted While I Was Writing

Shortly after publishing my latest story, I got a message from a woman who had liked my stories. We started writing to each other with no intention other than chatting, and in among one thing and another I discovered two details. The first, that she lived in a town half an hour from mine. The second, that she had recently found out her husband was the sort of man who, whenever he went away on a work trip, ended the night with his colleagues at the nearest roadside club.

A few days later we moved from long messages to phone conversation, and from there to a flirtation that was no longer hiding anything. I’ll leave here the lines that matter to understand how it all ended up.

—... and that’s where I’m at —she wrote—. By the way, I already told you I love your stories. I’d like you to write more.

—Yeah, me too —I replied—. But it’s a hell of a lot of work to get started.

—Then set yourself a schedule. Ten minutes a day, even if it’s only ten.

—I try, but forcing it doesn’t work for me. If I’m not inspired, nothing comes out.

—For the kind of stuff you write, I can already imagine what kind of inspiration you need —she replied, and I could almost hear her smile.

—Well, you’re probably right. I only sit down to write when I’m horny.

—Then you should be writing a lot more. Or are you going to tell me you only get horny for an hour a month?

—It’s not that. It’s just that when I do get in the mood, my instinct is to take care of myself first and leave the writing for later. And once I’m done, I lose the urge. And if I sit down to type while I’m hard, I write one sentence and my hand goes off somewhere else on its own. Three minutes wasted, another sentence, and I don’t get anywhere. The funny thing is that when I’m jerking off I get a thousand ideas. What I’m missing is extra hands.

—How unprofessional of you with your readers.

—Readers, she says. If only I had a real one. One who would take care of me while I write, so my hands would be free.

—I like your stories and I want more. I think I could consider myself your reader.

—Well, if you really want the next one to come out sooner than expected, you know what to do ;)

—Gladly. All for the sake of art.

—The art’s on you.

***

We agreed she’d come over to give me a hand with the damn story. It was 3:47 p.m. on a Thursday when the doorbell rang. She was thirteen minutes early, which I liked for two reasons: I’d have her longer, and, above all, it meant she was as eager for the encounter as I was.

I had seen her in photos, but in person she did not disappoint. She was around fifty, and although she looked her age, it was obvious she was a woman who took care of herself, who knew she was seductive and was proud of it. Long blond hair down to the middle of her back, brown eyes beneath very long lashes loaded with mascara, lips painted a deep red. A white fitted T-shirt under a black leather jacket, matched with pants of the same material and light-colored boots that came up almost to her knees.

—Hi —she said, turning her cheek for the obligatory two kisses, as if we were any two acquaintances.

—Hi, how are you? —I replied before giving them to her.

—Delighted to come help you —she added with a wicked smile, fixing me with her eyes.

—Will you give me your jacket? —I asked, opening the hall closet.

—Of course —she said, taking it off and handing it to me.

Under the tight T-shirt she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples stood out shamelessly against the fabric. From the size and, above all, the firmness with which those breasts sat beneath a simple T-shirt, I guessed they’d been through surgery.

I hung up the jacket and, with the same casualness, held out my hand.

—Will you give me your shirt now, please?

It took her a couple of seconds to react. Then she smiled lopsidedly.

—Aren’t you getting straight to the point?

—Did you expect me to take you to the movies first, girl? —I said seriously, emphasizing girl to needle her.

It worked. It didn’t even take her two seconds to put the T-shirt in my hand. Her breasts were operated on, yes, but immaculately so. Not too big or artificial, round, with two pink nipples pointing forward.

I hung up the garment, grabbed her by the shoulders, and turned her with her back to me. I brought her arms together behind her back and tied them with a thin nylon cord I had left ready in the hall. She didn’t protest. I turned her back to face me. Her expression serious, her gaze pure provocation. I was having a hard time keeping myself together, but I had promised myself I’d stay firm and not give in ahead of time.

I knelt down, unzipped her boots, and helped her take them off. Then I unbuttoned her pants. Getting them off was more comedic than the scene called for: if leather pants are already a pain to remove from the person wearing them, imagine the job when someone else is doing it and the owner’s hands are tied. There were some laughs along the way that, for the sake of both our dignity, let’s pretend never happened.

Underneath she was wearing a white thong that covered almost nothing in front and absolutely nothing in back. I was tempted to rip it off, but I preferred to leave something for later. What I couldn’t resist was giving that ass, clearly worked on carefully in the gym, a good bite. She didn’t complain, neither about the bite nor about the smack that followed. Then I put her boots back on.

—Follow me —I said, and started walking toward the study, hearing her steps behind me.

I reached the chair and, very calmly, took off my pants and underwear.

—Is that for me? —she asked wickedly when she saw my erection.

—I’d say today you’re for it. So behave yourself and let’s see if it likes you.

I sat down in front of the computer. Since there was no room under the desk for her to fit, I turned the chair so the screen was to one side of me but I could keep typing without trouble.

—Come on. It’s your turn to do your part and take care of me while I write.

And I started typing.

***

She crouched down and brought her mouth close. She started licking me from bottom to top, over and over, with a patience that was almost worse than haste. More than the physical pleasure, what was driving me crazy was the whole situation. But I had set myself the task of finishing a complete story, even if it was a short one, and I clung to that.

My fingers were flying because of the arousal. However filthy the moment was, having her tied up and on her knees kept her from deploying her whole arsenal, and that worked in my favor: it gave me room not to blow too soon. I already had the whole story in my head; I only stopped for an instant to shove my cock back in when, in her eagerness, it slipped out. And, why not say it, also to bask in the image: a mature woman, tied up, subdued, and giving herself over to pleasing me.

—I think something good is going to come out of this —I said, taking a breather to look at the scene—. And if not, I swear I’ll never forget this memory.

She pulled back, took a deep breath, and, looking me in the eyes, opened her mouth to speak.

—The truth is... ugh.

I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed her by the nape and pulled her back to me, pressing her so she’d take in more than she had accepted until then. She pulled her head away, coughing, and gave me back my freedom.

With tears gathering in her eyes, she looked at me, unsettled.

—You’re not here to talk —I told her, firmly.

Her expression shifted from confusion to fury. For a moment I thought I had really pissed her off. But, without lowering her eyes, she took my cock into her mouth again and, going up and down slowly, swallowed more than she had managed before. That wasn’t fury. It was defiance and pride. She was showing me she could handle anything, that she could take whatever I gave her and that she was the best at this.

And, if I’m honest, she won the round. I couldn’t resist that look, that woman who had submitted because she wanted to, because she was a beast and enjoyed it almost more than I did.

At that point I stopped holding back. I held her with both hands and fucked her mouth at a pace that had nothing left to do with writing. She made guttural sounds from the difficulty breathing, tears spilled from her eyes, but not once did she make any move to pull away. On the contrary: I noticed how she positioned her tongue to make the path easier for me and let me do as I liked.

I was at the limit. I stood up from the chair and, while with one hand I kept her head steady, with the other I masturbated a handspan from her face. That woman was incredible. She alternated her gaze between my eyes and my cock, licking her lips. When she saw I was about to finish, she locked eyes with me, opened her mouth, and stuck out her tongue. With my last bit of strength I shoved it back in and, after a couple of thrusts, pulled out just in time to come over her face, right beside her nose. In the midst of ecstasy I hit her face while three spurts, each weaker than the last, finished turning it into a map.

She licked around her lips to collect what she could, but her face was a mess and the rest slid from her chin down to her round breasts. I collapsed back into the seat. She looked at me with the smile of someone who knows she’s done a good job. I leaned in, grabbed her hair with all the care I could muster, and kissed her long and hard, with my mouth still tasting of her. When we parted, I brought her head back to my still throbbing cock.

—Keep taking care of it until I finish; there’s not much left —I said, and went back to typing.

As if she hadn’t already spent a good while on her knees, as if she hadn’t just been through all that, she stuck out her tongue without a complaint and started cleaning me. She focused on the tip, licking it thoroughly, gathering the very last drop. Each lick caused a spasm from the overexcitement of having come; each brush of her tongue was at once a lash of pain and a compressed orgasm. She drove me out of my mind and, even so, I loved the sensation. I wrote four words and had to stop for a few seconds to recover.

Even so, half an hour later I managed to accomplish the mission I had set myself in exchange for the help of such a devoted assistant. And so, while this blonde goddess with a sculptural body took my cock back into her mouth, I finished the story that is none other than the one you’re reading.

—That’s it —I said—. Thanks for helping me with this.

I helped her to her feet.

—Now follow me, because it’s my turn to return the favor.