The Process of Inspiration {Redman} {MF cons}
(c) November 2000

Before I close my e-mail client for the night, I 
looked lovingly at the last file received. It's a 
story from her, the woman that inspires me. My e-mail 
muse.

It's a VERY erotic story, filled with lust and 
passion. I'm tired. But sleepy? Not any more!

In our bedroom, my wife Marj lies curled like a 
innocent, naked as Eve. She should know better than 
to present her nether regions toward me so invitingly. 
On the best of nights, she's hard for me to resist. 
Tonight, it's impossible!

I silently disrobe and slide into bed. From the light 
streaming through the door, I look upon my love's 
lovelies. I think about that e-mail, comparing what 
my muse wrote and what I see before me.

My fingers rise obsessively to touch the two flowers 
I see. One is a delicate dew-lily that I spread and open 
slightly with my petting. The other, a wrinkled bud 
that shies away from my caress. I lean forward, 
tasting both lightly with the tip of my tongue.

Marj moans and rolls, ending on her back, legs akimbo. 
A dream induced invitation? If so, I accepted.

My tongue begins lapping at her lily, stirring the 
moist dew from its depths. My tongue's vigor awakens 
Marj. Still half-asleep, she reaches for my head, 
dragging me forward by my ears. Typical Marj, always 
horny, even while appearing virtuous in repose.

Awake now, Marj casts subtlety aside. When Marj gets
excited, she's no delicate lily. She's only cunt. 
Raw, greedy cunt! She wants what I want. She needs 
what I need!

Her urgency soon exceeds mine, without even the 
assistance of e-mail. Her hips come to life. 
Slowly at first, then more emphatic. My face becomes 
her scratching post. Pussy rubs against my lips, 
it nibbles my nose. It's a voracious, hungry beast. 
As I fuck it with my tongue, it fucks me back.

Then Marj insistently pulls me upward by my ears. 
Her itch has gone deeper than my tongue can reach. 
Our groans harmonize as my thick cock begins to 
scratch it.

Forget finesse! Now there was only the vigorous, 
headlong fuck toward oblivion. Over and over, 
I hammer her. I cling to Marj, the willing receptacle 
of our sexual savagery. 

I think about that e-mail. Digital dick! Password 
protected pussy! Input! Output! Cock! Cunt! Binary Code! 
A slick Silicon Valley of sex and sperm, of infidelity 
and adultery! 

My muse sings over my ISP connection. My wife's cunt 
bellows a bawdier tune. Together, they inspire a fresh 
eruption of creativity in me. It comes bubbling, 
boiling, roaring through my brain and through my cock, 
deluging my cerebellum and Marj's cervix equally with 
hot fertile seed!

As I roll off of Marj, exhausted, she purrs contentedly. 
Her fingertips stroke my forehead to the rhythm of the 
aftershocks tingling her cunt.

"You must have gotten another e-mail tonight!" said my 
omniscient Marj.

"You guessed, eh? Enjoy it, love?"

"It was yummy! I hope she writes again tomorrow!"