The Kinky Quill

Amateur

“Say it.”“Say what?” Fluttering her long lashes as she took a sip of coffee, she failed in her attempt to look innocent.“Say what you are dying to say … what you dragged me out to this coffee shop to say.”“Oh, well, if you are going to force it out of me.” She winked, then vomited her concerns in one long spill. “You dress in things that resemble tents. You have become a hermit hiding in that tiny apartment. You are a writer who no longer writes. And lastly, does your pussy have cobwebs?”To my embarrassment, the waiter dropped by to refill our coffees at the same time that crass question rolled off her tongue.  I glanced down at my so-called tent, which in actuality was comfy sweatpants with a substantially oversized sweatshirt. “I’ve gained some weight, okay.”She shook her head back and forth and waved her finger at me. “Your weight is not the problem, Kate. So, you’ve gained some weight. You needed to, in my opinion. Besides, guys like a handful.” She pretended to grope her perky breasts with her word ‘handful,’ and again, she was unconcerned by any onlookers. My eyes drifted down to my big breasts resting on the table. “I’m quite a bit more than a handful, Lexi.”“That’s why guys have two hands!” She loudly slurped her coffee, smiling at her clever comeback. “You are hiding your body. Trust me, you look better with a few curves, but you have to show them off. Your baggy clothes thing you got going on is not going to get you laid.”“I don’t need to get laid. And I’m just a little writer-blocked; I’m sure my imaginary friends will talk to me again soon. And my apartment is fine.”“Oh lady, you are far from fine. You are frozen in time and need to move past Stephen. It’s time you rejoin the living!”I hated to admit it, but everything she said was correct. All aspects of my life had become stagnant since my divorce. Stephen had always harped on me to keep a model-thin body. After leaving me for Malibu Barbie, I gained weight, suffered body image issues, and lost my sex drive. All of which contributed to my writer’s block on my romance novel promised to the publisher some time ago. It hurt to hear her words. It did. Tears clouded my eyes, and she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I just want to see my best friend happy.”Wiping Ankara escort away the wetness streaming down my cheeks, I whispered, “I don’t know how.”She squeezed my hand again, reassuring me. “I’ve got it. Start with a new place to live. You’ve always said you’d love a place in the country. Get out of that dreary apartment and find you a nice home to jump-start your life again.”Hmmm. The idea of a new home, maybe a fixer-upper, did appeal to me, so I promised her I’d meet with a realtor later that week. Baby steps.Weeks later…”I thought no one had lived here for a while.” I pointed to the ripe tomatoes dangling from their vines amidst the weeds. “Who planted these tomatoes?” “No one. Tomatoes tend to reseed themselves with abandon,” the realtor replied. With abandon. Those words stirred something inside of me. How long has it been since I’ve done anything ‘with abandon’?”I’ll take it!” The words flew out my mouth on their own. “I mean, I’d like to make an offer on the house.” ~ooOoo~Buyer’s remorse was alive and well inside this abandoned farmhouse. What had I been thinking? Shaking my head, I loudly sighed at the evidence of decay and neglect surrounding me. The doors screeched as if in pain. There was no telling what horrors lurked beneath the layers upon layers of peeling wallpaper. Worst of all, the number of cobwebs taking up residence in every corner proved quite unsettling. And what is that God-awful smell?After a few moments, Lexi’s voice penetrated my pessimistic thoughts. If here, she’d surely say, “Suck it up, buttercup, and get your hands dirty.” Glancing around, I didn’t know where to begin, but I rolled up my sleeves and started in the kitchen. It turns out I just needed to take that first step, and before long, I found myself fully invested in fixing up my new home. To my delight, this old farmhouse possessed many hidden treasures amidst its surface-level disrepair. Whoever lived here prior had accumulated an identity, then suddenly discarded it. Maybe my life bore similar circumstances to the life or lives which once occupied this space. Unbeknownst to me at the time, as I unleashed my creativity restoring the house’s interior, my insides were being restored in kind. Worn pulled-up carpets Ankara escort bayan revealed stunning hardwood floors – a magnificent blessing. Closets housed a few discarded, yet colorful paintings. Volunteer flowers sprouting up in the abandoned garden filled my vases and brightened my home. Interestingly enough, I’d read that birds can create volunteer plants from their droppings. A perfect message to me about my life, I thought. Maybe I could make something beautiful out of the shit from my life. A few pieces of furniture had been left in the house, and I particularly liked the antique writer’s desk in the study. It was made of rich walnut with smaller drawers adorning the front. I began snooping and found some faded scribbles on old parchment paper and even an inkwell. Hmmm, had a writer lived here? My best discovery, though, was a quill tucked underneath some more pieces of parchment. Its vibrant red feather immediately drew my attention. The shaft resembled silver, ornately designed, and quite heavy, with its writing tip intact. As soon as my fingers touched it, oh my goodness, I felt a tingle deep inside me. I’ve no clue how long I sat at the desk, fondling the quill with my fingers. When I finally snapped out of my daze, it had grown dark outside, so I headed to the kitchen to fix myself a quick sandwich. Curiously, I carried the quill the rest of the evening until it was time to go to bed, then I set it on my nightstand. An unexpected urge to be naked hit me, and I hastily removed my clothes with my eyes never leaving the quill. Struck by another intense impulse, I picked it up and brushed the quill across my cheek, following the line of my jaw down to my neck. Shivers shot down my body as if lightning traversed my veins. Sooooo good. These sensations are exquisite. I desired more touches from this quill and dipped the feather into the deep crevice between my breasts. Looking up, I watched my face redden with lust in the mirror and stepped closer for a better look. After gaining weight, I had feared the mirror and avoided looking at my new curves. With bravery, I swiped the feather around my sensitive flesh, circling each areola, watching my mouth involuntarily open. My nipples darkened, Escort Ankara and begged for attention. Do I dare continue? I chose to accept the dare from my reflection in the mirror. Kinky quill, I whispered, as it tickled my nipples, sending electric pulses straight to my previously-dormant clit. The quill fanned the embers of desire, and I was indeed awakening. I viewed my plumper breasts with new eyes. Yes, they had grown with my weight gain, but their volume made my waist appear smaller. They rested nice and high on my chest with no drooping. They were pretty fabulous for my forty-nine-year-old self. Thankfully, the kinky quill agreed. Fearing my trembling legs wouldn’t support me much longer, I lay on the bed. From there, I continued to tease my breasts with the silky feather until my clit called to me. Rub me. Play with me. Please. The kinky quill answered the call and strummed my needy clit. The whole bed shook as I twitched and quivered. My best friend’s question of cobwebs on my pussy came to mind. Not after tonight, I thought as I came hard, releasing over a year’s worth of forgotten sexual desires. Sleep enveloped me and quieted any remaining insecurities for the night; when I woke up the following day, my hand still clutched the kinky quill. That post-orgasmic bliss remained with me for the next several days. Even stranger things began happening with the kinky quill as my constant companion. I saw sex everywhere. Sexual stuff I’d never let myself imagine before appeared in my head. I pictured graphic depictions of legs splayed with hardened cocks plunging and thrusting. I saw dirty things involving ass play. Erotic sounds of squealing and panting accompanied all the scenes. Shockingly, I recognized that voice making those sounds and blushed down to my toenails. Even my kitchen screamed sex. Bananas begged to be sucked. Cucumbers resembled cocks. Dill pickles aroused me and planted filthy encounters in my mind. It was time … time for me to write again. With the kinky quill in hand, I marched up to my office, pulled out some parchment, and dipped my pen in the inkwell. I took a deep breath and put pen to paper. The first strokes were hesitant but soon became fluent with confidence and urgency. Within an hour, I’d written one thousand words. Trembling, I read my words back aloud, then soaked the chair with my cum. ~ooOoo~Restoring this home gave new meaning to my life. I found beauty in its abandoned state, even in the curled wallpaper, faded drapes, and dusty corners. All those things revealed the life once lived. 

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