Lust for My Muse

Please note that there are three previous stories preceding this one (the links are in order below), but for once, you don’t have to read them before reading what follows given that this tale can stand on its own four legs, starting and ending with sex. Of course, there’s also much love, which is always needed when passion takes over every word and movement a woman and a prick can bare. I may include a short interlude somewhere in the middle.

To Crissey: I love you so much that it also hurts around my heart.

I recently moved to pretty Prague in the Czech Republic to be closer to my love. The arrangement was simple but hard. Crissey, who also happens to be my muse, would come and see me whenever she could given a first life she was still living until Jesus or some other deity could see in their heart that we were meant for each other no matter what preceded our love. She fell in love with my words. I fell in love with her words and with her. She then — it took another day or two — fell in love with me. We quickly discovered that we were soulmates. I’m staying in a quaint hotel until I can find something more permanent.

“Hello, Mr. M! There’s a lady downstairs wanting to see you.”

You must mean, my muse. Is she dressed in red?

“Yes, she is, Sir.”

M will suffice. I always disliked the word Mister, except for Mr. Tibbs. Is your heart beating strangely when you look at her?

“It does, M.”

Please send her up! She’s going to be my wife one day. I don’t know when. It’s all in her hands. Now, she’s only my muse and I need her to be able to write almost anything worth reading.

“I understand, M. She’s already in the elevator.”

Děkuji (Thank you)! I left my small suite and went to greet her at the elevators. There were two. Both were going up. I was on the seventh floor, again. I tried to guess which elevator, standing facing its doors. Crissey, of course, arrived in the other one. I knew that our life won’t be easy even from a mile away. I turned around and looked into her eyes, we were both smiling with a tear in each eye. I embraced her against each wall from the elevator to my door. It took us a while to reach our destination but it was so worth it being able to taste her lips and capture her tongue against every lucky wall. I held her small red bag as we advanced from wall to wall on the same side as my door. Part of me wished for more walls since I couldn’t get enough of her mouth. There was no one around but I noticed a camera, so we only kissed passionately until the promised door, which I opened and quickly closed behind us.

I took off all her clothes, this time letting them slip to the floor, which I had covered with bedsheets for this exact eventuality and plan. Her breathing became tense as she expected me to take the reigns over her mind and her heart, which were already devoted to me in her words but now also in her flesh. I didn’t know where to begin. My muse in the nude gave herself entirely to me, with all the love in the world reflected in her eyes as she looked with her hands for something steady to hold. It surely wasn’t my heart that was skipping a beat every other minute, or my mind which was feverish through all my senses, unable to decide where to begin and if it will ever end.

I kissed her mouth again, swallowing all the saliva I could find as I feasted on her tongue. Her hands found my covered erection which she quickly released from my pants out into our world. I dropped to my knees, releasing my prick from her gentle touch, eager to taste the meaning of life. Her pussy is the sweetest there is. I’m so sure of it that I’d be willing to sign anything to that effect, even my life as the bet, except that no one else would be able to taste it, since I’m the only prick to whom she allows anything as explicit. I laid her softly on the bed and she spread her legs, so I could start my new conquest of everything that was good to me under the Sun, the Moon, and all the stars.

“Je t’aime,” (I love you) she kept whispering during most of the time I was between her thighs. I stopped a few times to tell her “Je t’aime aussi, mon amour,” (I love you too, my love), quickly returning to her pussy, wet from my saliva and her dripping love. I hugged her body throughout my love affair with her protruding pussy, which I also kissed from time to time to let her know I wasn’t going anywhere before she was absolutely satisfied for a first time, as I restarted everything again. She orgasmed in my mouth, beseeching me soon after to let her love my prick when I wouldn’t let her near it until my love for her was somewhat fulfilled.

I felt inebriated by both her scent and her taste, listening to every sound she emitted, however imperceptible it may have seemed. I had to close my eyes in many instances, as her beauty demanded my eyes to see through her, whether I was deep inside her beauty or outside looking like a fool who lost all sense of bearing. Her hands helped me when I appeared to be lost, guiding me ever so slowly to each of her heavenly orifices. If her pussy was supreme, her anus was magnificent. Gloriously sleek to the touch and lick. Friendly like a summer’s breeze. Inviting yet knowing that it’s not my favourite thing. I’m a pussy fellow, a prick that only sees pussy. The other orifice has other functions to perform in, and sex is perhaps a last-resort thing. Let’s jump ship? I, of course, exaggerate since it’s only the woman’s decision whether she wants it there or not or the decision of any of the guys in the gay kind of love.

...

A love tanka (31 syllables) for my muse while my love for her catches its breath:

My love for you has

reached a plateau; I’m on the

last stretch before the top

of Mount Everest from where

I see all your love for me.

...

I asked her, Crissey, my love! Do you want me to love your cul (ass)?

“Only on the surface for now. I’ll see how you’re performing everywhere else and then I’ll make my final decision, my love.”

What a muse! I love her to death, and she knows it. I suffer so much till I finally see her. Counting the hours, the minutes for the next few words. The life of a prick like me ain’t as easy as it may seem. To love a muse is like to love death. I must love death too. I do. It’s the ultimate deliverance from life. Not all life is bearable or fair. Most life just ain’t. We are lucky, very lucky to be among the Medium crowd. Come on, M! You lost it again. I’m sorry. I don’t sleep much. I’m lucky when I can squeeze four hours of sleep from a day. To love a muse is to love death. But it’s worth it since there’s always the slight chance of her becoming one day my second half. No half is better. They are equal like both of my hands on her perfect breasts.

What angels of love her breasts are, so supple, so tasty, so roomy, so readily sharing their nipples divine, so homey, so wonderfully appealing no matter their size or hue, so uplifting, so demanding given their stature, so beautiful, so memorable, so mine at that time and place, facing my muse’s breasts. What happiness! What merriment! What togetherness I felt with her breasts. We were like a trio. Mu, M, and Mi. We were jolly together. We had so much fun. I love them too much, methinks, but luckily my muse doesn’t mind. She loves them too. What a dream!

I didn’t forget about her ass. I came back to it after having been distracted by her life-is-worth-it breasts. Two angels of love. I had to type it again but this time for her fesses (buttocks). Caressing them from every angle before slowly parting them to reveal the hidden treasure is one of life’s gifts. Life can be like Santa if you give it enough time. You have to wait out all the Scrooge wallowing and festering in its midst. And a muse may be the best gift one can get in this cockamamie existence. I was lucky to get Crissey. She’s the ultimate gift. Thank you, universe for my muse! She’s like a Russian doll except in reverse. My muse dolls out parts that turn out to be bigger mind-blowing boons to herself and my love.

I kissed and licked every part of her ass but lost myself in that heavenly area encompassing both her anus and her pussy. How do I love that spot? Let me describe my takes. Licking upwards from her anus to her pussy while she’s lying on her back is sweet to sweeter. Licking downwards from her pussy to her anus is like leaving home to go outside to play in the garden. Licking downwards from her anus to her pussy while she’s lying on her stomach is I-hope-that-I-can-survive-this. Licking upwards from her pussy to her anus is indescribable but I’ll do my best. It’s like the outskirts of heaven, which still beat any other place except for the meaning of life, her pussy that I could caress and then sculpt in the shape of a heart.

Her hands stroke me all over throughout this bath of my senses, filled with overflowing love. She gently held many parts of me, caressing them while driving her longish nails into my flesh, administering pangs of ecstasy. I was trembling inside as she proceeded along each one of my members, never forgetting a single centimetre of my feverish skin. When I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, she held onto my prick and put it in her mouth. I resisted at first, finding it unbearable that my muse would stoop so low. But her love was all-encompassing, refusing to neglect any of my parts, even playing gently with my testicles as her mouth moved up and down on my bulging erection. I had to stop it and I did.

I kissed and licked her along her legs, one at a time without losing any pace or step, that is until I reached her toes. Ten beauties clearly manicured, appearing in two perfect rows of five belles. I kissed, licked, and sucked every single one of them, taking my time to drive my love inside, so when she walks without me after she leaves my sight, she’ll remember that even her feet are mine. I’ve claimed her heart. I’ve claimed her mind. I’ve claimed her flesh. Now I’ve also claimed her gait wherever she may be striding along whatever path. Crissey was mine inside. Outside, she still allowed the rest of the world to pry. How long will I be able to take it thus? As long as my heart beats to her words and love.

We made love throughout the day and during the night that felt like day when love was of the essence. There were tears in our eyes when she was dressing and preparing to leave. Her life, after all, didn’t include only me. I was still the smaller part. The part that she leaves behind to go back to her real life. And people wonder why I hate life. I do. Death doesn’t contain as much strife, or any love either, and the reason why most of us choose life. And if a muse is in your cards, consider yourself blessed, even if she’s only yours part-time or even less. I love you, dear Crissey, dear muse. I hope that your heart continues to beat to the sound of our love.

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