I Confessed She Didn’t Inspire Me, and She Got Naked

There are mornings when I sit down in front of my laptop and write the first thing that crosses my mind, without a filter, without thinking. I do it often. Then I delete it all, as if I were keeping a diary I never want to reread, or as if I were talking to myself under my breath. I do that last one quite a lot too. They say it’s a symptom of a certain kind of madness. Could be. What the hell do I know?

I lit a cigarette and opened the fridge out of habit. It was too early for a beer, although I’d already been awake for several hours. I’d got up in a bad mood, for no particular reason, one of those moods that cling to your skin the moment you open your eyes. I felt like writing a story, but when I’m angry nothing comes out, and not getting anything out made me even angrier. A perfect, stupid circle.

Lucía had just got up and came into the kitchen dragging her feet, her hair tousled and her eyes half open.

—How are you doing, Daddy? —she asked me in the thick voice of someone who’s only just woken up.

I typed her question exactly as she’d said it, word for word, the moment it left her mouth.

—Trying to write something —I replied, although in reality I didn’t say it aloud: I wrote it as I thought it.

She stretched in the middle of the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of old flesh-colored panties, the kind with no intention behind them whatsoever, and a loose T-shirt she sleeps in because she says it’s the most comfortable thing in the world. Nothing premeditated, nothing staged. And yet, with the sun coming in sideways through the window, she seemed prettier to me than in any photograph.

—Let’s see what you’ve written —she said, suddenly sitting down on my lap.

She looked at the screen. She frowned.

—Did you just write what I said? —she asked, turning around, with that expression halfway between amused and alarmed that she wears when she doesn’t know whether I’m joking.

I didn’t answer her. I let her read in silence while my fingers kept moving.

—You’re nuts —she said, and burst out laughing.

I kept quiet. Just writing. She watched the laptop, then glanced at me from the corner of her eye, waiting to see how far I would take the game. And the truth was, the game had barely begun.

—Aren’t you inspired? —she asked, watching me transcribe every word she said.

—No —I wrote. I didn’t say it with my mouth. Only with the keyboard.

She thought about it for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek, and then her eyes lit up with an idea I know all too well.

—Let’s see if I can inspire you —she said, getting up from my lap.

***

She moved two steps away and began taking off her T-shirt without the slightest hurry, like someone getting ready for something she had already decided to do. Her tits sprang free as soon as the fabric passed over her head, two heavy breasts that bounced for a second before settling, their nipples already hard as rocks from the coolness of the kitchen. Then she hooked her thumbs into her panties and slowly pulled them down, bending forward and leaving my eyes fixed on the patch of black hair covering her pussy and the thick lips showing between her thighs. She stood completely naked in the middle of the kitchen, the morning sun spread across her skin.

—Describe me —she ordered.

I took a deep breath for a couple of seconds and wrote.

Lucía is a woman in her early thirties, petite, with very fair skin and black hair that reaches halfway down her back. She’s never set foot in a gym, and she doesn’t need to: she has a little belly, a soft curve to her hips, and a way of standing, with her weight resting on one leg, that undoes me every time.

—What did you write? —she said, coming back toward the screen and reading over my shoulder—. Come on, Daddy, you can do better. I know your readers like it when you describe my body. You showed me the emails.

She was right. I had shown her the messages from readers asking for exactly that, and she loved knowing she was being read, imagined by strangers on the other side of the screen, fucked in the heads of hundreds of guys who jerked off thinking about her.

—Okay. I’ll concentrate —I wrote, so she could see it.

She moved away again and began posing, half jokingly, one hand on her hip, her chin held high. I really looked at her, not the way you look at someone you live with every day, but the way you observe something you want to capture in words before it moves.

Lucía has a beautiful face, a smile that tilts slightly to the left, coffee-colored eyes, and lips it’s hard not to want to bite. Her breasts are generous and round, with pale pink areolas and nipples that are always alert as soon as the morning air brushes against them. I described her slowly, choosing every word, and as I did I noticed that the bad mood I’d been in had slipped from my shoulders without my realizing it.

—Let’s see how you’re doing —my improvised editor-in-chief asked, coming over again. She laughed at her own role.

Then she turned around and leaned her back against the counter, spreading her legs wide so I could see everything. Her pussy opened a little with the movement, and I could see it shining inside, already wet from knowing she was being watched.

—Now make it more erotic —she said, and began caressing herself slowly with her fingertips, staring straight at me to check the effect. She ran her fingers over the lips of her pussy, opened them into a V with two fingers, and with her middle finger she traced the slit from top to bottom, stopping at her clitoris to rub slow circles. She brought her fingers to her mouth, sucked them, and lowered her hand again.

I wrote. Her pussy is one of the most beautiful things I know, thick lips that swell when she’s horny, pink inside, always warm and soaked as soon as you touch it, with that exact shape engraved in my memory from so many nights with my face buried between her thighs. Her hips are asking for hands, fingers to squeeze them, marks. And her ass, full and firm, with that curve my eyes always follow whenever she bends over, is one of those things you can never quite believe belongs to you. An ass to bite, to spread open with both hands and slip your tongue between the cheeks until she moans. I wrote it just as I saw it, without embellishment, because the truth was enough.

—Final review —she said, coming back toward me with a smile that promised nothing innocent.

***

She sat down in the chair beside me, still laughing, enjoying her own plan.

—Let’s see how you narrate this —she said.

She unbuttoned my pants without asking permission, tugged down the waistband of my underwear, and pulled out my cock, already half hard from describing her for so long. She wrapped her hand around it, squeezing from the base, and began jerking me off slowly, sliding the skin up and down, spitting a little saliva onto the head so her hand would glide more easily. With her thumb she caressed the tip on every upward stroke, spreading the fluid already gathering in the slit.

—This is turning me on so much, Mommy —I wrote, and felt my breathing begin to shorten.

She moved her hand up and down the entire shaft while her other hand caressed my balls, weighing them in her palm and tugging them gently. Every two or three strokes she stopped, squeezed hard at the base, and looked me in the eyes, gauging my endurance like someone tuning an instrument. A low moan escaped me. She read it on the screen as soon as I typed it and burst out laughing.

—Could you write while I suck you? —she asked without stopping her hand, spitting another blob of saliva onto the tip and spreading it with her open palm.

—I don’t know. But I’d love to try —I wrote, laughing too, although my laughter was already trembling a little.

She knelt in front of me, between my spread legs, and made me smile with the mischievous little-girl expression she gave me from below. She stuck out her tongue and licked my cock from my balls to the tip in one long, flat motion, like someone licking an ice cream. She went back down, took one ball into her mouth, then the other, sucking them with her lips closed while her hand kept moving up and down my shaft. When she reached the top again, she kissed the tip softly, looking up at me with those coffee-colored eyes that knew perfectly well what they were doing to me.

—I’m going to do it slowly so you can keep writing —she warned.

—Okay —I wrote, like an idiot, knowing perfectly well she wouldn’t be able to read that anymore.

She opened her mouth and took all of me inside, until I felt the back of her throat squeezing my glans. She stayed there for a second, swallowing, tears appearing at the corners of her eyes, and then slowly pulled back, leaving a strand of drool hanging from the tip to her lower lip. She went down again, this time with her tongue caressing the underside, the part I like best, that thick vein that stands out when I’m close. Up, down, pulling my cock out, slapping it against her cheek, then taking it deep again. I admit it was taking me an age to string one word after another. My fingers stumbled over the keys. The sentence in my head fell apart as soon as she went a little deeper and I felt my cockhead scrape against her palate.

—If I don’t hear you typing, I’m stopping —she scolded, pulling away for a second, my cock shining with saliva against her cheek, and immediately went back to swallowing it.

I typed whatever I could. Loose letters, half-formed words, a disastrous sentence that made no sense to anyone except as an explanation of the exact moment I was stopping thinking. She picked up the pace, sucking harder, tightening her lips around my shaft, moving her head up and down with a wet, obscene sound that filled the kitchen. Her free hand squeezed my balls, playing with them, while the other held my base so her mouth had less distance to travel. I felt the tingling rise from the base of my spine, that pressure that can no longer be stopped.

—I’m cumming —I wrote, and it was the last coherent thing my hands produced.

I didn’t pull her face away, didn’t say a word aloud, didn’t even moan loudly. I unloaded my entire load into her mouth without any audible warning, jet after jet against her tongue, feeling her cheeks swell from the amount she didn’t have time to swallow. She stayed latched on, squeezing my base and milking me for every last drop, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked up at me, somewhere between surprised and offended. A thread of semen escaped from the corner of her mouth and slid down her chin until it fell onto her breast.

***

A while later, we were both sitting in front of the computer again, her looking annoyed as she rearranged her hair and wiped the last traces from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

—Write what you did —she demanded, her irritation only half feigned.

—I warned you —I typed, knowing perfectly well where this was going.

—You did not warn me! —she exclaimed—. You filled my mouth with cum without saying a word, you bastard.

—I wrote it —I replied, nodding toward the screen.

—Of course, genius. And how exactly did you expect me to read it with your cock shoved down my throat? —she protested, although the corner of her mouth was already betraying her.

I laughed. She didn’t find my laughter particularly funny, and the fact that I had cum in her mouth without any audible warning even less so.

—It was part of the game. I wasn’t speaking, I was only writing —I typed by way of an excuse. And it was true: I hadn’t said a single word the whole time, faithful to the rule she herself had made.

—Look at you, taking advantage of the circumstances —she said, finally letting the smile she’d been holding back for a while escape—. Next time I’m spitting it in your face, just so you know.

I spent a few seconds staring at the screen, feeling her gaze fixed on me. I started writing again. She read it and let out a soft laugh.

—Thanks for inspiring me, Mommy. You’re my muse.

She got up beside me and gave me a brief lick on the lips, clearly intending to leave me with my own taste in my mouth as a small act of revenge. I felt the salty taste of my cum on her tongue against mine, and it lingered for a while afterward.

—You’re welcome —she said, leaving the kitchen and swaying that naked ass that distracts me so much—. But you owe me a good pussy-eating. And you’re going to pay me with interest, because I know you.

I was left alone. She still hasn’t read what I’m writing now, but she will, as she always reads everything that comes out of here. I’d got up on the wrong side of the bed, in a bad mood, at war with the blank page, and she had fixed my entire morning before even having her first coffee. With my cum filling her mouth and her tits out in the open, for the record.

And I must confess, since we’re confessing things, that it was the best way to start the day I can remember in a long time. The page stopped being blank. And I stopped being angry.

Kisses on the lips to anyone who made it this far. Nothing I write is a lie, although it isn’t entirely true either.