Probably one of the toughest things an author can do is co-write a story. Writing styles and plot directions can become stumbling blocks, let alone the fear of incongruous phrasing, alien word selection (okay, so that was a lousy example) or failing to synchronize a creative flow.
A way that can be fun is developing the story together – but separately. One person starts off creating a scenario and then sends it to the other to respond. You keep this going back and forth and watch the story grow and, if it gels, it can inspire and take you to delicious places you hadn't even thought of!
My anonymous writing partner and I quickly found common ground and the magic took us on a sumptuous morning adventure ...
or perhaps I'm just a figment of her fervid imagination...a fervid figment...perfervid perversity
...anyway, we hope you enjoy it as much as it amused us in the making.
Those early morning tease and touch sessions rolling around in bed always have a wet and lasting affect on us - not to mention, gives new meaning to "More tea, darling?" Bodies just taste and feel so delicious at that hour. There's simply no resisting your smooth, salty skin and this morning is no exception. After our playtime full of long, passionate kisses and fingers probing wet, warm places, I melt watching you walk through our dressing room to the shower. Your body is one I never tire of. Bending over to test the water temperature, your upper thigh muscles tense up into a finely defined sculpture - one that would make even Michelangelo jealous. I fight the urge to join you, letting the fantasy of washing your body with soap-covered hands tingle through my body. Do you touch yourself and play when I am not there with you, I wonder?
After an all too brief interlude of luscious play with you (when are they not too luscious and too brief?), before starting to address life's other needs leaving a thirst to rival Tantalus's...I head for the shower with just a tinge of regret that you choose not to bring the game to the ample warm, wet cocoon. Fondly remembering sitting and watching you shower through the frosted glass, my cock stirs again as I wish you would watch me. Replaying that scene, I see how you touch yourself, how you scrub the night--and me--from your skin; how delicately you wet, soap and rinse your face, your tender underarms, your breasts and the 'naughty bits' so matter-of-factly, yet in your unique and uniquely feminine way. You knew I was watching but you gave me only the experience of your lavatory reality, no show, and I loved it for its simple intimacy and your graceful comfort. Being shy in my own way, I could never invite you to watch me though I would love for you to. All these pass my conscious and semi consciousness as I clean. There is, of course, the pleasure of soaping oneself, some areas with special care while not lingering too long, and with the rinse, I allow the water to linger just long enough as I recall your own affinity for water in certain useful ways.
Your timing is perfect. Just as you return to our bedroom, I'm dressing, meticulously adjusting my breasts with tender, loving care into your favourite black, sheer bra. Your adoring eyes make me self conscious as I wiggle into a short, tight skirt and you watch as I continue, placing a bare foot on the bed to fasten the tiny straps of my shoes. I know how you love the look of my legs when I wear high heels so I endure this inconvenience for you willingly.
