Just the Smut Please
My submission for this week’s Aisling Weaver’s Fuck Me Friday writing challenge.
My fingers flutter against the keyboard, the rhythm soothing as it helps me to pull things – ideas into creation. An enticing phrase here, a playful double entendre there, it’s all part of the art.
I can tell that I’m getting into the scene because I can almost feel a warm puff of breath by my ear, gentle fingers caressing my shoulder, soft lips pressing against my skin. The phantasmal touches become stronger as the story flows and I can almost feel fingers brushing along the pale hair on my arms. They move down to rest on my hand, helping to guide the scene in a surprising direction; one I never see coming.
I’m almost used to you now, my ghostly muse.
My pulse jumps as I feel teeth gently scrape against the side of my neck and a rush goes up my spine as I suppress a moan, stopping for a moment to try to reorient on the story.
With a shaky hand, I begin typing again, breathing a little heavier now. I can never quite decide if it’s irritating or irresistible, the way you tease. A few uninterrupted moments pass, then a light brushing of fingers against a nipple causes me to shiver. It’s followed by a pinch that takes my breath away. Something brushes against that oh so sensitive spot back behind my right ear, and all my words fall out of my head, forgotten.
With a chuckle that I’m not entirely certain that I’ve really heard, you’re gone. I try to bring you back by writing something full of heat and promising slickness, but the moment’s over. I notice it lasted a little longer this time. I sigh, then smile, falling back into the story easily now. I don’t know if you’re real, or if my subconscious is really good at this headfuck.
If you’re part of me, I just need to find a way to bring it out more often – when I’m ready to play.
I’ll figure it out eventually, cheeky bastard. Then we’ll see.
Do go read the other stories as well. Enjoy.