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by Pete Symes 8 months ago in nsfw
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A Muse Beckons

Photo by Benjamin Child on Unsplash

I first met Cheryl when she worked for an Advertising Agency. She was a young PA, I was a younger Assistant Editor, so that made her a client. We would brush into each other at screenings, industry award shows, occasionally in an editing suite during the post production of television commercials. There was no not noticing her. She was a tall woman. Very long legs obscured by the knee length skirt of her power business suit. Usually orange, coral, or sometimes full tilt red. Being a suit, that meant a blouse and jacket were part of the regalia. But even that never camouflaged the imposing and bountiful breasts she was packing under sturdy shoulders that needed no shoulder pads to enhance. A few upper blouse buttons left undone teased the serious cleavage she wanted to tease. Probably not to tease me, but a perk of doing a project with her agency.

But one feature that was unusual for the time was her waist length brown hair that danced delightfully above her derriere when she exited a room. Not coiffed and piled on her head in well tamed curls, but free and wild. She knew her business and was advancing in her career. Us lowly suppliers knew we could count on her. Especially when clarification or interference needed to be run on an out of control creative who wanted to start throwing over budget items around when no producer could be reached.

Cheryl and I had flirted, but assistants and clients were not a safe pairing for an assistant editors career. Still more than a few late night editing, mixing, telecine, or online assembles meant that a good working relationship between us was developing quite nicely.

Then I got my chance as a junior editor just in time for Cheryl to begin producing projects on her own. There came a project for a C list client and a local product to be shot by a novice director. We all start somewhere. Cheryl send the bid to me. She gave me my first "break in the biz" as an editor. Sure many projects had been ghost cut by me, but the paperwork awarding me the project as editor made it official.

Now the two of us sat at the end of the darkened screening room table under the projection window realizing that sucess might be a questionable proposition. Cutting this into a hard working thirty second spot; in spite of endless takes and reams of footage, would rely heavily on the industry axiom; Fix It In Post.

"When the footage isn't there. You're going to need the muse." Cheryl said.

I agreed.

Cheryl dropped her pencil under the conference room table. When I felt hands running over my knees my initial surprise quickly turned to growing anticipation.

It was a good thing I was wearing suit pants. The style of the day meant they were extra roomy; because no sooner was my fly down than Cheryl's hand thrust in and pulled shaft, sack, balls et al out with purpose and clear intent. From the moment I felt her hands running up the inside of my thighs I was on the road to rigidity, which she pushed back to my dress shirt buttons as she took my balls in her mouth and juggled their position with her tongue.

Being greedy I slumped down in my chair affording Cheryl better access. Her long brown hair obscured my view of the under table festivities. Taking shaft in hand she relinquished the oral ball washing and ran the tip of her tongue up the undercarriage of my cock to the ponderous knob that is the tip of my dick. She wrapped her lips around it and gave an approving hum as this was their first introduction. So while one hand set about juggling my balls like dice, another was alternating between tugging and jerking my shaft, while her mouth sucked approvingly and nosily on my knob. I leaned back and enjoyed the rushes of bathing suit models flouncing and flipping their hair for the hair shampoo we were screening the dailies for.

While her hands mauled my balls and savaged my shaft; her soft lips, moist mouth, and loquaciously lascivious tongue paid the head of my cock oral homage fit for a king.

This visual and tactile combo platter brought things to a head quicker than expected but still Cheryl deftly handled the load. She sweetly tucked all of me back in trousers, boxers, and with a final zip up flourish, she was back in her chair smiling and eyeing me like a Cheshire Cat.

Cheryl gave great muse.


About the author

Pete Symes

A scenario manifests. A scenario disassembles. I participate intensively for the duration.

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