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Message-ID: <49220asstr$1095567006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Patricia Cartier <patricia_cartier@hotpop.com>
User-Agent: MT-NewsWatcher/3.2 (PPC Mac OS X)
Subject: {ASSM} Red Wine Vignette #3 (FF): The Muse
Lines: 116
Date: Sun, 19 Sep 2004 00:10:06 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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This is the third in an occasional and hopefully continuing series of 
journal entries. Comments are appreciated, either to the address above 
or to patricia.f.cartier at gmail.com. 

I apology for messing up the email address in my previous postings. And 
this time "vignette" is even spelle correctly. I guess I was nervous. I 
really would like to hear from you.

'Tricia



And now on to our regularly scheduled program:



Red Wine Vignette #3: "The Muse"

   She was there in the morning when I woke up.
  
   That had used to be normal, but she hadn't made Herself known in a 
number of months. Ever since I'd refused what She had offered.

   "What are you doing here?" I asked. She perched comfortably atop my 
makeup table, Her golden curls pinned up atop Her head, the long white 
gown slung from only one shoulder. Her face was beautiful, as you'd 
expect, with strong cheeks and full lips and bright blue eyes. One leg 
escaped from a slit in Her gown, long, graceful curves mocking the 
turned wood of the table.

   "Don't you want me here?" She asked tauntingly.

   "Of course I do. It was just starting to feel like I'd never see You 
again." In the bed next to me, my husband slept on as if this were all 
in my imagination.

   She laughed. "Silly girl. A Muse never abandon's her chosen. Have you 
been able to write?"

   I looked away; She knew I hadn't. "I've tried. But..."

   "But ŚThe Muse was lacking.' I know." She slid with an effortless 
grace to the floor and held out Her hand. "Come," she beckoned with an 
outstretched hand.

   I glanced at my still sleeping husband and flung back the covers. 
Modesty was silly in front of Her, yet I quickly rearranged my short 
silk chemise to cover myself. She smiled as I took my hand and led me 
out of my bedroom toward my writing room.

   "Why did you refuse my inspiration?" she asked over her shoulder. 
There was tension in her voice.

   "I don't write pornography," I said.

   She scoffed. We'd reached my writing desk; She turned me and sat me 
in my chair. "There were no prostitutes. It was not pornography." How 
could you argue with a Muse about her own language. "It was Dionysian 
writing. What you would call Śerotica' today, I suppose. Though how 
Aphrodite's get would be involved I have no idea."

   "It's not my thing," I protested weakly.

   "How do you know, if you don't try?" She said, tracing my face 
skillfully with her index finger.

   "But what would the neighbors say if I published it? What would my 
priest..."

   "Hush child. Do not worry about them." She bent down and kissed me on 
the forehead. "Worry only about your muse and yourself" She kissed me 
again, only this time on my lips.

   I'd never had a kiss that made me burn so quickly. It was like her 
soft, tender lips and her insistent, skillful tongue opened up the lock 
box into which I'd hidden my passion. I was suddenly on fire and I 
kissed her back greedily.

   She was still standing and I sitting. She bent over me, fondling my 
breasts, playing with my stiff nipples through the silk of my chemise. I 
wanted to touch her in return, but when ever I reached for her she 
backed away or pushed back my hands. I was putty in her hands, aroused 
in a way that I'd never been before.

   Her lips left mine, trailing slowly over my chin and down my throat, 
toward the valley of my breasts. I heard her murmur, "You see, my dear, 
there is more than one way for a Muse to inspire." before she slid the 
straps off my shoulders and bared my breasts to her lips and tongue. 
They made magic on my sensitive skin, on the soft flesh of my breasts 
and my engorged nipples.

   She knelt before me now, and I felt I should be kneeling before Her. 
I had scorned her those months ago, when I should have been worshiping 
her.

   Her mouth drifted lower and I wantonly spread my legs for her. I'd 
never been with a woman, never desired one, but I desired Her completely 
at that moment. When her mouth touched the lips of my sex, when her 
tongue pushed them slowly apart, when she danced her lips around my 
clitoris, I was lost to sensation. I was lust at that moment, pure 
unadulterated passion. I was Hers and I would do her bidding for as long 
as my fingers could type.

   When I came it was like I had never had an orgasm before. Waves of 
pleasure poured outward through my body from my clit; my vision 
tunnelled until all I could see was her golden hair piled between my 
thighs. I screamed out in pleasure and closed my eyes to float on a sea 
of ecstasy.

   "You couldn't wait for me?" my husband said, breaking my reverie. I 
was still in my writing chair, legs spread wide, my sex wet with my 
juices. She was gone. My husband was naked, erect, with a smile on his 
face. "Can I play too?"

   I pulled myself together, turning the chair and turning on my 
computer. "Not now. Maybe later. I need to write," I said.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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