The Muse's Undoing

Ican describe my oral fixation better than I can describe my creative process. It feels like restlessness. I grind my teeth. I bite my nails, my cheeks, my lips. I suck candy, chew gum. I have a near constant awareness of the inside of my mouth. I tug my lips when I’m thinking, my tongue is almost always in motion.

I have a callus at the base of my left index finger from holding it between my teeth as I’m sketching. I can’t wear chapstick because it doesn’t last more than ten seconds before I’ve sucked it off.

Why am I like this? Best I can guess is my mom took away my pacifier too soon, and I had to use my hands or whatever else I could get my mouth on. Tits are great. Tits with piercings—even better, but cock, pussy, and ass are my holy grail.

Eating ass isn’t the kind of thing you can do in a men’s room. I mean, I’m sure some people have, but I enjoy it too much to rush it. I like whoever I’m with to come with my tongue in their ass alone, and that can take time. A lot of guys are self-conscious about it. Hell, I’m self-conscious about it.

Fischer might be, too, but I have a feeling he’ll get over it. I always manage to.

I straddle his legs, massaging his full, strong ass cheeks in my hands. “You look good like this.”

“Like what?” he murmurs.

“On my bed.” I dip my head and run the tip of my nose up the nape of his neck and inhale deeply of his spring scent—like mountain air. Crisp and earthy. Green trees and wildflowers. I blink the sudden image of a glass landscape from my eyes and latch onto his neck, sucking deeply as he hisses in a breath.

“Matthew…no marks.” His voice is a gravelly hush.

“No one will know,” I say, doing it anyway because he tastes that good. “Don’t make me stop. It’ll be our secret.”

“Fuck…”

His shoulders relax, giving in to me, and I suck his skin until all I can taste is myself, and then I decorate the length of his spine with a series of smaller, lighter bruises—one for each bone stacked up his back.

He moans and sighs but barely moves as my hands roam obsessively up and down his sides.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been this hard this long. My balls are begging for mercy, and occasionally they let out a twinge so strong I grunt with the restraint I’m using to take my time.

“Sleeping, princess?” I ask as I approach his ass.

“Hmm…?”

I take that to mean “sometimes.”

What’s hot about that? I don’t know. Everything?

His thighs are slightly parted, and I press the palm of my hand to the back of his right thigh, bending his knee until it’s in line with his hip. His cheeks part to reveal his dusky, puckered hole.

My pulse thrills, mouth waters, cock throbs. He’s hairless down here, and I love that. I had no idea what to expect after all this time—a whole marriage to a woman, but his ass is exactly like I remembered, even that one small red scar I trace with my fingertip. I want to make a mural of his scars. Paint it on my bathroom wall and try to make sense of them because I bet if I stared at them long enough, I’d have an epiphany.

I run the same hand between his lone ball and the mattress, making him twist slightly, his semi extremely tempting against my palm.

“I promise I’m not worshipping you or anything,” I lie. “I’m just using you.”

“That’s what it feels like. Don’t worry. Not reading anything into it.”

“Good.”

I like hearing the lazy smile in his voice. I like that at the heart of this, it’s still just me and him. Just us.

I stretch out between his legs, sliding onto my stomach. With my feet hanging off the edge of the mattress and toes touching the floor, I spread his cheeks with a firm grip of my hands. Slowly, I lick a wet stripe from his nutsack to his tailbone.

His groan vibrates the bed, so low it’s barely audible. More like a shift in the atmosphere. “I really did think you were gonna fuck me,” he murmurs, squirming as I taste him again.

“I am.”

“You weren’t kidding about not being in a hurry.”

A short laugh huffs out of me. He’s not wrong, but my restraint is wearing thin.