Muse Fight

Hello, fellow Lit Fans! I know it's been a while since I submitted anything, and here is why: As a noob to Literotica, I started having doubts about my erotica writing, and that started me wondering about what I could be doing better. To help me answer these questions, I turned to my muses. The following story is what they had to say about it. If you agree with them or have your own ideas, please let me know! I appreciate any feedback that will help me write stories you'll love to read! Also, thank you for taking the time to read it, vote, or comment!

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"You're doing it all wrong," she says.

Well, that'll kill a mood. She could be talking about a great many things, and by telling me at this particular moment, she isn't exactly stroking my ego.

You see, I'm naked between her legs. I have my head buried between her silky-smooth, muscular thighs. Only a moment ago, she was boxing my ears, flexing those tight, creamy dark appendages around my head, but, now, she has sort of butterflied herself open, relaxing them with her knees open, on the bed. Normally, this would accentuate her beautifully landscaped mound, her wet, pink lips, and her engorged clit. Now, it's more like the fight has gone out of those legs, and they hang listless, like sails with no wind. The fact that her exciting pink meat is so exposed is sort of a depressing side-note.

I had been working her slit with my tongue, tantalizing each fold with the very tip, teasing myself by building her impending orgasm. I had been purposely staying just near but not quite at her shiny little bead of pleasure for the last few minutes, because I knew it was how she liked it. The last time I had glanced up at her face, her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes had been fluttering closed then flashing open, unfocused. Now, suddenly and disconcertingly, those eyes are boring into mine with laser-like clarity. And just what the hell did she mean I'm doing it all wrong?

"Nobody cares about other people's dreams, even if they do contain my own tight little twat. Nobody cares, because they aren't interesting, and they especially don't care if they have no plot, character development, or even theme. What were you thinking, publishing that piece of garbage?"

Well, if the mood was killed before, it's beaten to a pulp, now. My bruised ego has taken a few shots as well.

"Well," I pull myself up a few inches, fold my hands over her flat little tummy, and rest my chin on them. I continue to lazily rub my thumb in circles over her clit hood. If there is a way to salvage this moment, I don't want to be too far off task. "I guess I was only thinking about you. I wanted the world to know that I had found my sexy, little muse." I smile my most winning smile.

Amy Lee, my Asian dream girl, rolls her eyes at me.

"What? I finally found something worth writing about!"

"Well, if you're going to write about me, at least write something good. Otherwise, forget it!"

Ouch.

"Well, I liked it," a voice with a heavy French accent floats from a spot vaguely at the back of the room, slightly over my left shoulder.

"Of course, you did, you encouraged her to post it!" Amy sighs, projecting her voice nowhere in particular.

"Well, it was kind of meant to be a teaser..." the disembodied voice continues. "It's supposed to start out a dream, then, in subsequent chapters, everything starts to make more sense."

"It does?" Amy raises an eyebrow.

"It does?" I sit upright and turn around, looking for the owner of the voice. When was I supposed to find out about this? I'm the writer!

Here, all this time, I'd thought I'd just let my first muse, Juliette, talk me into writing and submitting a piece of schlock. She'd never led me wrong before. That twist between Christy Ann and Cephas had been her idea, after all. So, when she told me to publish the snippet about Amy, I believed she really thought it was good writing. When it hadn't gotten the response I'd hoped for, I thought maybe she had told me to submit it out of spite. It's no secret between us that Juliette is jealous of Amy being my new muse. I'd been spending a lot of time with her, lately. Mostly between her amazing legs.

Speaking of those legs... I'm momentarily distracted as they slither up my arms to rest on to my shoulders. Amy's knees flex, pulling me back down to her hot little box.... What were we talking about again? I give my head a little shake.

"I think you made that up just now as a way to get back in Jillian's good graces," Amy's eyes narrow.

"I'm a muse. I can think of things whenever I want," Juliette pouts. She sounds closer; I can almost see her plump, red lips pooching out. That's odd. I've never thought much about Juliette as anything but a stern voice in my head that keeps me on track. She's always had a French accent, because she's always had a French name, but that's really been the extent of her existence.

Now, she's right in the room. Well, not all of her but her voice, for sure. And her lips, and her creamy, pale skin? Heavy-lidded, Bette Davis eyes? Blonde, curly hair? What the hell, man! In the twenty-something-ish years I've been writing with her, she's never had a body, and she gets one today?! While I'm eating out my new muse?!

And what a fucking body! She's tall, taller than me (which isn't saying much. I'm 5'4" when my spine is at its straightest), with long, pale limbs. Her breasts are ample, well over a mouthful, and her neck is like a swan's. She has a dancer's body with hard, muscles and long, long legs. As if to accentuate her legs, she's wearing a French maid's outfit—

"Non! Are you fucking kidding me?" She shouts. She grabs handfuls of the skirt and shakes it at me.

"Sorry, it's the first thing that popped into my mind," I grin, sheepishly.

"You are a terrible, unimaginative writer!" She cries at me. She's right. I'm supposed to be working on my next piece and all I can think about are her strong, white legs wrapping around me for miles and miles. The color is up in her cheeks, giving her streaks of blush war-paint. I know I need to take her seriously. She's been my constant companion and a great muse all these years, but I guess I'm just in the wrong state of mind right now. Today was the wrong day for her to manifest a body.

I can hear Amy chuckling.

"And you, you hussy!" She points one long, manicured finger at Amy. "How dare you show up unbidden and usurp my author!"

"Whoa, hold up, there, Yvette! What do you care? She's terrible and unimaginative, remember?"

"But she is mon écrivain! Mien! And who is Yvette?" I hate it when she gets excited; I don't speak—or write—in French. I do like the way she says 'mien,' thrusting her thumb into her chest, making her large, round, creamy breasts jiggle at the top of her frilly bodice. I want to play them like drums. Dammit. I have to get my head together!

"Yvette is the maid in the movie, 'Clue.' She gets it in the billiards room with the rope. And you call yourself Jillian's muse? She loves that movie!" Amy rolls her eyes at Juliette as she runs her heel lazily up my back.

"Non, She loves Tim Curry. So, by the rule of association, she loves the movie, 'Clue--'"

"Ladies, please! This is getting really difficult to follow. Let's pretend I'm the reader. Can we resolve this in such a way as makes sense to my simple, sex-addled brain?" I interject.

"There you go, doing it wrong again!" Amy throws her hands up, her leg drops heavily to the bedspread.

"Enfin, something we agree on!" Juliette nods emphatically.

Oh, shit. Maybe I'd prefer they were still yelling at each other as they both stare me down. "What?!"

"You're implying your readers' brains are simple and sex-addled? It's no wonder they don't like you!" Amy sure does have a way of saying what she's thinking.

"And that doesn't even begin to touch on how rude you are. Don't you know its proper etiquette to thank them ahead of time for liking or voting on your stories? You should have done that from day one! Maybe you would've gotten more feedback by now." Juliette pouts again. I wish she wouldn't do that. I can't help but think about those lips wrapped around my hardened nipples.

"Wait, no. They don't have sex-addled brains. I do!" I smile, because I'm a bloody freaking brilliant debater. Is that my best argument?

"Well, no shit, Shylock."

"That's Sherlock, Yvette," Amy rolls her eyes. She does that a lot, I've noticed.

"You say tomato, I say tomates. And stop calling me Yvette! You know, she never had sex on her mind so much until you showed up." Juliette has turned her attention back to Amy. Are they going to start fighting with each other again? Is the heat off me?

"Maybe I showed up, because she has sex on her mind so much. Maybe I'm here to help her express herself sexually." Amy has a good point.

"Well, then, you aren't doing a very good job of it. Have you read her sex scenes? There's no sex! She may as well be a virgin, making shit up as she goes along for the way she writes it!" Juliette frames her lace-laden hips with her long hands.

"Hey, my talents may be wasted on her, but at least I'm trying. What about you? You've been her muse forever. You know her way more intimately than I do. And you couldn't even get her to write a sex scene until I came along. Apparently, you just can't hack it as an erotica muse!"

"Fuck you! I'll show you what I can do!" Juliette is so cute when she cusses--!

Holy shit! She grabs me by the ankles and yanks me bodily from between Amy's legs. I can't stop my momentum, and I'm toppling off the bed onto the floor. These bitches be crazy!

Before I have a chance to right myself, she pounces on me, straddling my torso, pinning my hands to the floor in each of hers. I look up to see Amy's face, upside-down, peering over the foot of the bed. But, then, she's blocked out by Juliette's face as she leans in to plant a long, wet kiss on my lips. Hers really are as soft and plump as I imagined them! Her tongue pokes between my teeth and entangles itself with mine. She tastes like she has just been eating white gummy bears! She knows I love white gummy bears!

She squashes the bottoms of her ample bosoms against my paltry a-cups, and they feel so wonderful! Most of their weight is resting on my collar bones, but they rub the soft, slightly scratchy lace of her dress into my nipples, causing them to stand out like pencil erasers. At least, they would if they weren't floating in a warm sea of lace and European muse flesh. Her warm twat is rubbing against my stomach flesh, and I'm glad I hadn't thought of underwear for her. She isn't wet, yet, but I bet when she gets there, she'll bathe my flesh in hot, sweet pussy juice.

I can smell her, too. She's a mix of baby powder and lilies. White things, as white as her skin. In a moment of clarity, I realize why she should be so white and pure. She's innocent. She's always been innocent as long as I've known her. The stories she helps me write are innocent, unassuming, and pure. It really wasn't until Amy came along that temptation and pleasures of the flesh began inching into my work. Juliette had always skirted around the topics, hinting at them, but she never broached the subject.

If my muse had never whispered in my ear about such things, that would mean she hadn't thought of them. Since all she was (up until today, that is) was pure thought, that stood to reason that she was a virgin. This sultry, pouty, more-than-qualified woman straddling me is a virgin! A virgin shouldn't be able to kiss this way, shouldn't be dominating the situation like this, and she definitely should not be humping my torso like she's using me as a giant dildo. She's so fucking sexy! Oh, God, I think I'm going to cum just thinking about it.

And I do. A small orgasm, just a fluttering of my muscles, really. Just one of those ones that is actually a building block toward a big O, but she sits up to watch it happen in my face. She knows the signs: the flushing of my cheeks, the way I hold my breath a moment before letting it out in a great sigh. And, of course, the way my eyes roll upward. She looks up and smiles smugly at Amy.

"Big deal," Amy says. "She did that the first time she wrote about me, too. She's got a really powerful imagination."

Juliette pouts, but judging by the way her pussy has begun to slide wetly against my skin, watching me cum, even just a little, has started her toward full arousal. Good. I'm glad I'm not the only one in the room who is turned on.

She lifts her leg and plants it between my thighs, pushing my legs apart. I don't need any coaxing. I'm game for whatever she has in mind. Straddling my thigh now, she puts my hands on her breasts. I go one step further and scoop them out of the confines of her dress. They're perfect and round, maybe a little more than a c-cup. Her areolas are puffy and pale pink, and her nipples stand out deliciously from their centers. I heft her beautiful orbs in my hands, feeling their soft warmth. I circle her nipples with my thumbs reverently. She throws her head back and sighs. Her back arches, pressing her breasts tighter into my hands.

She's humping my thigh with abandon, her eyes closed and her breath shallow. I take advantage of her distraction by craning my neck up and licking one of her hard, little nipples. She squeals in delight and crams her breast into my face. I don't mind, I just open my mouth and take her in. I love the way an erect nipple feels on my tongue, the little goose bumps on the areola, and the hardness of the nipple itself. I also know how it feels to have my nipples licked and sucked, so I know that right now, Juliette is experiencing those little zaps of pleasure that run from her sensitive buds to her very core.

She's giggling and occasionally squealing. I've never been with a girl that squeals before. I like it. She's also picking up the pace of her stroking on my thigh. I can feel the warm wet building, and I know she's going to get herself off soon. I decide to make it a little more fun.

I grab her thigh, the one that is on the outside of my leg, and pull her forward a little. At the same time, I bend my other knee. She slides her knee under mine, and now I have her mound to mound. Without missing a beat, she is grinding her pussy into mine, using my pubic bone to stimulate her clit. Oh, mercy, how I love it when a girl uses me like that! The hand I had on her hip slides up under that absurd skirt to grab her ass. Her cheek is just as smooth and perfectly round as her breast, and I knead the flesh with my fingers. It's so tight and muscular, too. A dancer's ass. I feel those muscles as she flexes, working her body into mine.

She's gone from squealing to squeaking, now. A rhythmic "eh, eh, eh" in time with her strokes. I'm dripping, watching and listening to her work herself toward her first ever orgasm while holding off my own. I want to take in everything about this beautiful muse on her first day in a body. Her hands are flexing involuntarily, one gripping my thigh, the other planted on my chest. She's squashing my breast, but I don't think she notices, and I don't mind. I love this part.

Juliette starts to quiver, and her hips are flying, humping me with a speed that can only mean she's close, really close. I'm savoring the quiet rasping sound of her short, blonde hair on my short, brown hair. Neither of us are shaven, but we're both neatly trimmed. Under that is the wet sound of the hairless parts of us mashing together. I can't see it, but in my head, I have a perfect picture of her pink, wet nether lips kissing my slightly darker ones.

Suddenly, she loses her rhythm and is practically flailing on top of me. She gasps, and her back arches. Her manicured fingernails dig painfully into my chest, but, again, I don't care. She twitches and squeaks some more, and I think she's muttering in French, but then she's very still, her mouth open and her eyes closed. After a moment, she lets out a great shuddering sigh and slumps over my knee. I feel her wetness run down my mound and in my crack. Fan-fucking-tastic. I can never get enough of that.

The only thing better than a girl coming on me is when I actively make the girl cum. So that's what I'm going to do. Or, at least, that's what I think. Apparently, Juliette has other plans. As she regains her senses and realizes I'm trying to get up, to take control of the situation, she pins me back down.

"Non, mon écrivain. This is my story. I say how it is written." With that, she gets off of me and draws me up, so we're standing. Her juices are running down my legs, and she reaches between them, drawing a drop out on her fingertip. She pops it into her mouth and sucks with relish. She knows all my hot buttons...

"Now, you crawl up on the bed, facing away from me--Amy, move over, you cow!--I want you on all fours." I do as I'm told. I always do what Juliette tells me. She's never steered me wrong before, remember?

Amy scoots up to lean against the wall in front of me. She's spreads her legs wide again and starts fingering herself as she watches us. She giggles at something behind me. I feel something tickling my thigh, and I turn my head back to look. Juliette has a feather duster.

"I thought it fitting, considering this ridiculous costume," Juliette explains. She playfully dusts my haunches again, and it makes me squirm a little. Hey, I'm really ticklish! She starts to stroke the handle as if it is a cock, and I realize it's no ordinary handle. It's made of clear glass and thicker than it would normally be, perhaps an inch and a half in diameter. It's also covered in a series of ridges, and I know what she has in store for me.

She works her way around my body, dusting first my ass, then my hips, then my belly. When she reaches my breasts, she leans over me, planting little kisses on my back and neck. The combination of her little kisses on my back and her feather duster on my nipples makes me want to scream. I'm so sensitive right now, I might not be able to hold back.

But, she knows me better than that. When I look back at her again, she gives me a little smirk and playfully dusts my face. Then, she pops the handle of the duster into her mouth, looking into my eyes while she gets it good and wet. I watch her slide it in and out, like she's sucking a dick. She gives me a little wink. Of course, she didn't need to put in her mouth and salivate all over it. I'm damn near soaking the sheets already. But, she knows I like to suck a nice, big cock just as much as I like to eat a pretty, little twat.

She slides the handle between my legs, rubbing my slit from front to back, playing me like a violin. On the back stroke, she brushes my clit, and I can't help but twitch. She finds this amusing, and strokes my little button a few more times until I'm no longer twitching but arching my back, trying to force contact. Oh, but she's such a tease! As soon as she knows I'm anticipating it, she stops!

With one long thrust, she pushes the feather duster-dildo deep inside of me. I close my eyes to concentrate on the feeling of being filled. The warm glass feels so perfect as I tighten my muscles around it to feel every one of those ridges! I raise myself higher on my hands, nearly standing on the tips of my fingers. She knows I'm trying to angle myself upward to make the tip hit my g-spot, so she angles the handle downward.

"Nhmmm," I say and relax into the strokes. She translates this to mean, 'I find that quite pleasurable. Please continue doing that, and I will most likely achieve orgasm.'

"Eat me," I hear Amy say. When I open my eyes, I see nothing but her pink hole, opened by her second and third fingers on either side. I want to tell her she's disturbing my inevitable climb to orgasm, but I think she knows that. In fact, I think she's counting on it, that spiteful little minx. Disrupting Juliette's plans is something she takes pride in doing.