Do Collaborations Work?

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Being part of a business partnership can be a trying experience. I had spent many years in my industry with many a companion by my side, only for things to end up tense or tedious. Perhaps no one could ever work with me. Maybe I am just too troublesome or stubborn.

Then there was Mark. He was slightly older than me, so I figured this meant he would be a bit more mature than most and take this career seriously. He did. We were having a hell of a lot of success as some of New Zealand’s most successful songwriters. Songwriting was incredibly lucrative…well, perhaps not because of streaming but the artists who took our songs took them on tour with them. The goalposts kept moving and deep down, I did wonder if I would have to seek another career. I wondered if Mark had the same concerns.

Our normal angle of attack when it came to writing new material was to book a hotel room somewhere lovely and spend a few days plotting songs with the aid of a portable keyboard and a guitar. Isolated places were always best, so I could at least sing as my heart desired. It was winter, so of course, anywhere would be cool and possibly snow-laden. That posed no problem.

“The car has winter tyres. Chains, if you will. How about one of those alpine lodges on Mount Ruapehu? I never asked, can you ski?”

“Hell, no. Well, not hell no to the Ruapehu idea but I have never skied in my life. The only times I been up that mountain was when Dad wanted us, kids, to see snow. That was the extent of it, and I used to think it was all the rich kids at high school that had their school camps up there. Conditions?”

“Clear for the next week, a bit of light snow. Enough powder for a good run down the piste if you want to try. I could always guide you there.”

“Book it in then. Just get a single room one though. If those lodges are like any of the ones we stayed in as kids, bunks it is!”

I was always wary of Mark’s choices for accommodation. But there was no point getting two rooms when we would only be there for a few days. We had been doing it this way for years. He was not that hard to share a room with. I was on edge, though. I flicked through the calendar and realised why I was snappier than usual.

PMS. It meant that time of the month might arrive while I was away. I found hormones heavily fuelled passionate songwriting, so that was okay. I agreed to go to Mark’s place, and we would drive the few hours up the mountain for our writing respite. The red tide struck two days beforehand. Not to worry, just throw some tampons in my sports bag.

We were lucky with the weather, and as the forecast predicted, it was clear. Once we had arrived and entered the lodge, the heavens opened. Snow falling is a weird sensation if you are not used to it. Hammering down on the ground without a sound, and almost sinister as it turned the sky an ashen grey. The thought crossed my mind that I was actually on the slopes of an active volcano. Ruapehu is known for its lahars, rivers of volcanic mud capable of destruction. Ash clouds disrupting flights.

Thinking about Büyükesat Escort volcanoes actually triggered a few lyrics in mind. I wanted to compare the power of the expulsion of ash to a sudden release of sorts. But what kind of release? I did not want to rely on the sexual tropes, and so I told Mark I had ideas but needed to sleep on them. He was fine with that, he wanted a beer alone anyhow. He was in a weird mood, and so was I.

It was a fitful sleep. The ideas of erupting volcanoes made me think of more sexual things. Ejaculation was a good complement. But I couldn’t write a popular song about that. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw a man cum. But I think it was the lack of sex, hormones and some misplaced tension that saw that dream escalate into a full-on fuckfest. Oh hello, mystery lover.

The mystery lover was in bed, with a notebook of sheet music, staves waiting for notes to be dropped on them. He had a woman in mind, and so his hand grasped his stiffened cock, which emerged from silken sheets. He was clearly already excited as the glittering glaze of pre-cum helped his hand glide over his head and down his shaft. Fuck, this is feeling good. I recognise that voice. Hang on, is that is Mark? What? He is fantasising about me?

So I descended into that bedroom, completely naked. Cunt all sticky and wet. Wanting to fuck badly. Casually walking across, giving Mark a fright. No words said as I straddled his cock and let his full length slide into me. I rode him hard and deep. Hands on my tits, electricity running through me, my clit was on fire. We came at the same time. No sooner had that happened, my alarm went off.

I shuddered. I know I was dressed when I went to bed. But I found my panties at the end of the bed, and my top was over my head. I adjusted myself and scanned the room. Mark was not even there. Chances are, the beer got him, and he ended up sleeping in the living room.

I went to the bathroom. A change of tampon. As if Mark’s cock was in me, that would have been messy. I showered, and when I emerged, Mark had woken up.

“Ready to write a song? I have an idea?”

“Do tell.”

“Volcano. Sexual arousal. Not explicitly so but I am thinking fantasies and release of…bodily fluids? No, fuck off, we cannot write about that. Forget what I said.”

“Did you have the same dream as me?”

“I didn’t have a dream. I had a wank last night, though.”

I howled in laughter.

“Fucking hell, Mark, that was a bit honest.”

“Well, I did. I was horny. Don’t think I should tell you what I wanked over though.”

“Was not me, was it?”

He looked at me and smirked. You filthy boy.

“Okay, end this conversation. Volcano, sexual release, let’s work with that.”

I spent the morning trying to convince myself that I hadn’t just waltzed into the living room and fucked Mark. There would have been evidence. I felt daft – it made me want to masturbate, but I didn’t fancy using my fingers. I did have a rather fantastical Elvankent Escort magic wand in my bag, but I never used it because I felt like I was never alone enough to use it. I kept looking around, no remains of cum or other things. No spent condoms, though the dream didn’t have any. I clearly remembered feeling his cum dripping out when it abruptly ended.

I was throwing out phrases, all of which sounded crass and wrong. Mark could not concentrate either. He even spilt water all over the table. Smudged musical notes. Twinkling piano, perhaps room for a string quartet. He was clearly more ahead in the song than I was. The thoughts were consumed by the idea of Mark being a mystery lover. Even though I had a tampon in, I could feel my panties dampen. Found I kept adjusting my top.

Restless staccato in rhythms as my nipples stiffened. I slid the pen into my mouth and started to suck it erotically. That got Mark’s attention.

He said nothing as I noticed the bulge developing in shorts that were far too tight. He was lost in a sea of oral sex fantasy. I always felt slightly submissive towards Mark. It was purely unintentional. Suddenly my top was off. Tits out.

Soft, bouncy, tipped with carnal hardness. I was fully erect everywhere, and so was he.

“Christine…I…is it bad I fantasised about this?”

I didn’t say anything. I just giggled. Continued to hold the pen in my mouth as saliva dripped onto my pert tits. I slowly peeled my bottom halves off. I then noticed Mark had pulled his cock out. Next thing I know, I spat the pen out, jumped across the table and pounced on him. Completely naked as I sat in his lap. Tongues in each other’s mouths, before I translated my pen blow job to him. His cock was in my mouth. The sheet music flittered off the table. Any concept of the concerto was replaced by a highly aroused man who clearly had plans on me.

He was fucking delicious. A nice thick cock, spitting its pre-cum on my tongue.

“I want you in me, Mark.”

He whispered to me in breath tones. “Christine…isn’t it that time of the month?”

“I still want you in me. Fuck my ass.”

The emotion in his eyes changed from this passionate wanting for pussy to a deep excitement for anal. But it prompted him to ask…”did you bring your wand with you?”

“Yes, of course. How did you know I had a magic wand?”

“I have heard you use it. You try to muffle your orgasms, but it is not always successful…I have heard you cum, and you cum really hard. Your voice becomes breathy and desperate. I have so wanted to just knock on your door and let you take my cock. It made my dick nearly explode. I want it here.”

I tossed about with my bag and out it fell. Mains powered. He had me on a slight angle with my knees bent. There was the sensation of ice-cold lubricant as he spread my ass cheeks and applied this liquid. He delicately fingered my ass, while his cock continues to ooze pre-cum. He dripped the lubricant all over his bare cock. My fantasy said no to Beşevler Escort condoms. I didn’t even want to ask. I just wanted his naked cock in me. I grabbed my wand and turned it on, to hear it groan loudly as it softly ricocheted off my clit. The clit was surging with throbs and hums, as my pussy’s pink slips squeaked and splashed around me.

He slowly edged his bare cock into me. At first, there was a pinch, but that made me moan in pleasure even more. He slowly let his whole cock be swallowed by my ass. I didn’t want him to be idle. I wanted him hard. Grabbing my thighs, he began thrusting deep in my anus, as my ass clenched around his dick, stroking each thrust with a very tight slippery grip. Soon, I felt the ping of his balls slapping against my wet ass, dripping with a mix of leaking pussy and lubricant.

Keep fucking me. I didn’t want him to stop. My tits were rolling across my chest, two mounds highly aroused. Even though it was cold outside, in the room, it had become hot, our bodies both sweating. It was like a gym workout, with my ass stretching in ecstasy with every pump of his cock. My pussy was twitchy, my clit aching. He kept looking at me, and I looked back. Feedback of sexual pleasure that surely could never be replicated in song.

A tight asshole, gaping with each stroke of this big slippery dick, and the bottom of my ass went a delicate shade of rose, gently spanked by balls that wanted to drain in me. I was moaning so loudly, and so was he. We called each other’s names, fearing one would escape the loop. Perhaps it was just a dream, but it felt too real. It especially did when I started to quiver all over the floor. I had gone pink myself, drenched in sweat, leaking lube all over his warm cock when I suddenly spasmed in delight.

A vice-like grip, his cock could barely move as my clit tingled with a squirt of sexual liquid. It was just not a small squirt. I literally squirted fountains all over Mark’s stomach, with it dripping onto his cock, which continued to drill my hole. A few hard fucks later, he let out a guttural moan as he injected him deep into my ass. I cupped my breasts and pinched my nipples as he kept thrusting, wanting to make sure my anus was fully blocked with sloppy dick, my cunt still shaking. I was breathless as he came to a stop and felt my asshole gape as his cum squirted out of my hole. What a fucking mess.

The scent of sex was in the air. Cum had sprayed onto our half-written music. It took a while for us to compose ourselves.

“Should we have done that?”

“Yes, Christine. We should have. I think that might just be the push to get us a number one.”

He smiled at me, leaving me perplexed. I thought maybe he had regrets.

“No. I have wanted my dick in you for a long time. You wanted my cock. A perfect symphony of body parts, the exchange of fluids. Why don’t we finish this song, have lunch and figure out what to this afternoon? Collaborations can work. They do work. We work.”

He was right. He managed to pick up the cum stained music sheets and together, we penned what would be our biggest song but also our final one. We were not interested in writing songs together after that. I went onto writing books, he struck it out alone, and that was okay.

He gained himself a blowjob slave, he became my clit sucker. Mutual exchange of pleasures and the comfort in knowing our hard work paid off.

Collaborations do work.

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