More Stories - Satin Slippers
Synopsis: Ed overcums his writer's block.
A Muse, Ed
By Doxy Wringer ©
Click the play button to listen to an audio excerpt
Author's Note: This story may not be duplicated or re-posted on another
website or in any medium without the written consent of the author.
It is a work of fiction, and intended as a pleasure derived from the
viewpoints of both the most tender and the most carnal hungers
that swell within the human animal.
|She sat across the room from me, easily the slinkiest, sexiest curve and pout of femininity ever to park a contoured ass on my office sofa.
Posturing while I pretended to ignore her, she was deliberate in her tactics. Arching her back, she made sure those high, firm, full tits were etched against her tight sweater like a martyr on a stained-glass window. Her long, sinuous legs were girlishly aloof as she sat with them gently parted, revealing the barest glimpse of the tacky garters that held her fishnets in place. The leather miniskirt was just posh enough not to be completely trampy as it hugged her slim hips and strained in futility to cover her upper thighs. That skirt was too damn tight. It was like trying to stuff a king cobra into a Trojan. A taut, toxic impossibility - just like her.
I hated that the look appealed to me. Like a flashback from the 1980s when all those sweet little high school not-so-innocents were trying to tramp it up and play Madonna. "Like a Virgin" teasewhores in high heels, tight tank tops, and short skirts - their divine firm, young bodies just screaming out for desecration.
Where the bitch got the balls to wear pink drove me out of my head. It was like some ancient courtesan had gotten a deal on a teenager's body and was taking that baby out for the first test run before opening up for business. Chic, slutty, and unbearably fuckable. My cock was already twitching.
I took another swig of scotch and deleted the last line I'd tapped out on my computer. It reeked of lacking focus, nearly as bad as my t-shirt reeked of slopped single-malt.
"Now, see, Love, I don't understand why you'd rather sip that fifteen year-old Glenfiddich Solera Reserve when you could be dipping your rusty nail into my fifteen year-old hole reserve." She giggled, stretching back until she was lounging on the comfortable couch, one supple leg floating up to hang over the armrest like a golden maple leaf teasing the gusts of an autumn wind.
"You're not fifteen," I growled, still refusing to look at her directly. "You're old as fucking tombs, you bitch." Rather than bristle at my words, she insinuated herself into my couch with a cat-like purr of victory.
Half her battle was won…I'd acknowledged her. Damn it all to hell. I took another drink.
"Baby, why are you so mean to me? I'm everything you want," she teased, giving an exaggerated little yawn, with her arms high over her head and her full lips parted boldly. The midriff sweater hiked up, revealing the tanned plane of her flat belly…emphasizing once more those perfect tits. That pink mini hiked up a little more as well, and I could now see a hint of lacy, pink, girlish panties.
Bowing my face into my hands, I closed my bloodshot eyes and rubbed them roughly. "You're not what I want, you fucking cunt."
"Aww. Daddy's feeling guilty," she taunted and giggled. "It's not my fault I have Thea's tawny hair and Chloe's big green eyes. You gave them to me."
"Shut your goddamn mouth," I gritted through clenched teeth. "Don't talk about my daughters. And turn into something else. Now."
"Can't do it, Daddy-O. But you could change me, if you really wanted me to turn." Her laugh was made all the more cruel by her vicious truth. Worse, still, it didn't stop there. She was going to bend me until she broke me. It was a twisted, familiar tango. I loathed each step we took in time.
"I want you to change to something else," I muttered weakly, removing my hand from my eyes and looking at her directly at long last. Yes, it was there. Thea's long ringlets of angel-soft rust-colored hair, cascading down her shoulders like a cotton candy promise. Chloe's pensive, tender eyes, now laced with a lustful glint that had never crossed my daughter's gaze in reality. The face was not quite either of them, yet somehow both. "You fucking demon whore," I spat in disgust.
"I've spoiled you all these years, you know," she sighed, sitting up and curling her arms around her bent knee like a little girl. "You used to have to woo me more. I wasn't a demon then, and I didn't have to convince you of what you wanted. It didn't take a fifth of scotch to make you admit the honesty of your hard, throbbing cock over some misplaced sense of morality." She didn't bother to pull the next punch, either. "Don't you remember how hot I looked in your mother's teddy? You remember how you banged me like gangbusters, Baby? In that nasty scrap of lingerie your daddy bought your mommy for their twentieth anniversary…the naughty black one with the open crotch for easy fucking. Didn't I please your balls off as your nineteen year-old cock banged my mothersnatch in abandon?"
I drained the rest of my glass and poured it full again. I didn't bother with ice. It gets to a point where you realize you're just kidding yourself about the ice. Hell, you're even kidding yourself about the scotch. What you're trying to pour down your throat doesn't need a robust wood bouquet or any particular temperature. It needs a fucking muzzle (preferably in a more liquid form than steel up against your temple). So you drink.
"It's your fiftieth birthday and you've been sitting in here, swallowing yourself blind, panicking about the deadline you're not going to make, and pissed off because you've been watching retro flashbacks on VH1 instead of writing a single coherent sentence. I come here like the wet dream of muses that I am, and you waste our time calling me names. Will you get over here, and fuck me raw, Daddy-O?"
"Don't call me that again!" I shouted, slamming my half-empty glass on the glossy cherry wood top of my writing desk.
"You're so tense," she teased, rising to her feet off the couch with the Cheshire-cat smile of a stripper leaving a lap dance. As she sashayed toward me, I heard my blood actually hiss in my own ears. Poetry in motion. An ee cummings or William Carlos Williams inspired line of jagged rhyme and meter in every step. The sway of her hips, the firm rise of her chest. Girlish. Cheap. I closed my eyes and moaned in effort to get away…willing myself to pass out in a stupor.
"Stay, Lover," she whimpered in my ear from behind me. I felt the swell of her breasts against the back of my neck as she stroked my thinning hair with intoxicating adoration. Her lithe fingers, tipped with well-manicured, glitter-polished nails, slinked along my throat, down across my shoulder, and further to my chest. I sucked in a labored breath and tasted the citrus sporty spice of Tommy Girl.
God, the bitch never forgot a detail. Thea and Chloe nearly bathed in that trendy scent.
My temper broke. Reaching behind, I grabbed a handful of her silky copper curls and dragged her forward. She struggled with less-than-wholehearted resistance, so I decided to prove I wasn't playing around. I double-twisted a luxurious length of baby doll tresses around my fist and pulled until her grimacing face was even with mine. She was bent over awkwardly. Not quite so much piss and vinegar in her posture now.
"You are not my daughters, you surreptitious, mind-numbing cunt," I grunted in a slur of half-drunk, lunatic lust-hate.
"Daddy, you're hurting me," she whimpered in a tone too familiar not to bite. I released her as though her hair had turned to straw on fire, and shoved back in my chair so hard, I wheeled three feet away from my desk.
Her smirk was both arrogant and arctic. "Feeling old, Baby? You're in a Captain Hook frame of mind, aren't you? Outrunning that ticking crocodile. Time ain't on your side no more. Woodstock's just a cliché now. And you wanna taste young pussy just one more time. You want to fuck it unnatural and hard line. Come on, Daddy-O. Hurt me some more."
Bolting out of my chair, I staggered a little as my head spun in protest. For a moment there were three of her…then two, until finally, it was just one. One smug little demon slut, standing with her hands on her hips in a mocking challenge.
That expression - that stuck-up turn of the nose that only a teenage girl really carries off -filled me with boiling over fury. She was the lust of a man with two beautiful daughters, but for a moment, she was also every girl who'd ever turned me down in high school. Every cheerleader I'd never had the courage to talk to from behind my thick horn-rims. Instinctively, my right arm snaked out of its own volition and I was a mere spectator as the back of my hand brandished across her cheek.
Recoiling from the unexpected blow, she let out a tiny yelp. An almost inhuman cry…and I was panting in the grim disbelief of my own horror. I had never before in my life struck a being of any kind. Not even in my fantasies.
"That's right, you impotent fuck. Hit me," she snarled, one delicate hand covering the side of her face that now burned red from the brand of my handprint. "You flaccid motherfucker! Come on…hit me until you can feel below the waist again. Until you remember you have a cock and what it's for. You think I'm afraid of you? I fucked Hemingway and Tennessee Williams dry before I taught you how to jerk off at summer camp. Do you think I'm afraid of you?"
That was it. This time it was my fist that lurched forward, and it sank into her hair like a knife into soft butter. I pulled so hard, I could almost hear her scalp wrench in agony. My other hand was open when I slapped it to her mouth.
"You're going to shut up! Do you hear me?" I roared in a voice I had never heard myself use. And, for a moment, it wasn't me. Not really. I wasn't this man, striking out at this antichrist of womanhood. I couldn't be. I had never picked a fight in my life…hadn't even been able to spank my daughters when my wife had all but commanded me to. Jesus wept, I didn't even kill spiders, I just shooed them outside where they couldn't be seen. I knew well, the words most often associated with me were "henpecked" and "easy going" in regards to women. Yet here I was…hands full of a sewer-mouthed tart, a fist in her hair, and the other palm stinging from not just one, but two blows to her face.
"You're going to shut up," she mimicked scornfully, bucking against my grip, and crying out when I reined her violently back again. "Just how do you think you're going to make me shut up, you feeble old hack?"
I felt feral rage fold over my mind like a lunar eclipse of morality - blanketing and smothering my conscience while awakening the nocturnal fiend that whispers in the back of every man's psyche.
Strength I didn't know I possessed surged into my sinews, and I flipped her supple young body with a motion I'd only seen in comic books. My fist was still entangled in her tawny witch's hair as I bent her forward over the desk.
With one hand, I yanked up her skirt, revealing the ripe, sweet ass I knew would be there. Tight and round as a plum. Her panties were pink lace, but they were thongs, and I couldn't help thrusting my hips forward. My cock was still imprisoned in my Lee cut-offs, but it sent shivers up my spine to grind my denim-clad crotch against her bare ass.
"You gonna give it to your baby girls up the ass, Daddy-O?" she taunted in a vulgar cackle, and I didn't waste time. Winding my fist again, I yanked her head roughly, and was gratified when she screamed out in pain.
"You will shut the fuck up, Erato," I ordered, walloping her ass with my free hand. The resounding slap echoed through my office. It hadn't been a love tap, and now she had a handprint on her ass to match the one I'd left on her cheek.
"The fuck I am," she bellowed, but I could hear in her voice now that she wasn't so sure just who was in charge anymore.
I laid into her with all the fierce frenzy of a horny, belligerent drunk. I spanked her until my hand was numb, and I still added a few more just for emphasis. She was bawling now - spewing bawdy insults one after the other, bucking to get free. Fighting with all her might. But the flaccid, impotent, fifty-year old baby boomer hack still had a trick or two on her yet.
I let go of her hair, keeping her pinned to the desk with the weight of my body, and grabbed the decorative dagger I had always used as a letter opener. I used it to split her sweater right down the back. The sound of ripping material made her struggle a little harder, but then there was cold, sharp metal pressed to the small of her back. Suddenly, she got still and silent with a vengeance.
"That's right," I chuckled, finally the taunter for a change. "You just keep still and hope my drunken hands don't shake too much". A tremble coursed down her spine, and I felt that electricity pass from her quivering flesh to my rough hands in one carnal pulsar of sensation. It took only a flick of the wrist, and I'd sliced through the thin straps of her pink bra, and ripped a large slit up her leather miniskirt. I tore the rest of her clothes off with my greedy fists, laid the knife on her bare back and leaned forward darkly. "Now, don't fucking move."
Her only reply was a whimper.
I yanked my scotch-stained t-shirt off over my head and began unzipping the fly of my cut-offs. It was harder to see down over my gut these days. But, I could still make out the length of my cock, jutting out at rapt attention. I swallowed the sigh of relief that coursed through me so she wouldn't hear. It was good to see my little buddy…had been a damn frightening few months since he'd risen to attention and winked at me.
"That's right, old man," Erato hissed, her head turned to one side while she glared up at me. "You never thought you'd get that old cock-of-the-walk strutting again, did you? But here I am to shove you through boot camp, and look at our little soldier now."
I leveled both my hands on her ass, slapping her with all the strength of my arms. She grunted in surprise, the letter opener on her back sliding off and clattering to the floor as her entire body thrust forward from the force of my punishment.
"You are going to shut up," I assured her, while she sniveled and shook, tossing her hair over her shoulder so that it concealed her face. I knew why. That stinging slap had brought tears to her eyes, and she'd bite through her pouty bottom lip before she admitted that.
In sinner's delight, I ground my cock against her sweet, tight little ass. Baby-soft and now stinging from the spankings, her red cheeks radiated heat. Pre-cum surged and oozed from my leaping dick and I gyrated my hips, rubbing my musk-scented seed into the flesh of her tight rear…marking her with it - marking my territory.
She leaned forward, pushing herself flat against the desk in an effort to draw away from me, but I grabbed hold of those tawny curls and yanked her right back again, enjoying the soft yelps of pain that escaped her. It was all just an act anyway. My cock had slipped between her soft thighs and had found the damp slit of her sweet pussy. She was wet as rain.
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