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This is a sexual story copyrighted by me, Shon Richards, so
please don't make any money from it. I welcome, read and respond to all
e-mail at

This story is the second part in a non-continuous series. That
means each part can be read for it's own enjoyment. You can read part 7
first and then part 2 and not miss anything. It also means that this
story is self contained and it won't leave you hanging.

For more of this series and essays on the nature of creativity and
writing; please visit
"Vanessa and Me"
Part 4
By Shon Richards

"There is a time and a place for everything," Vanessa told me.
She dipped the brush into some red paint and fought back a yawn. "This
happens to be my time to create."

I looked at my watch skeptically. It was midnight and we had
spent the day browsing flea markets for discarded personal paintings.
Vanessa was intrigued by how much value people gave to often-terrible
paintings just because family members created them. After spending
hours in the hot sun, the last thing I thought she would do was paint.

"How can this be your time to create?" I asked. "Aren't you

Vanessa shrugged and rolled her lollipop in her mouth. "It's not
a matter of being tired. This is my magic hour."

"Magic hour?" I asked. "I know as a writer I do my best work
when I write at the same time every day, is this the time you've set
aside to paint?"

Vanessa smiled. "And how did you pick that time? It's the most
important moment of the day and I bet you set it up as the one hour
that you have peace and quiet."

I knew I was exhausted because I didn't hear what she said at
first. The thick curls of her dark hair distracted me and I was
remembering how they felt on my thighs last night. Vanessa repeated
herself because she knew I hadn't been listening. That's one of the
advantages of sleeping with your creativity tutor: she always knows
when your libido is louder than the lessons.

"Of course I picked the one hour that I could get some quiet," I
said. "It trains me to write as soon as I sit down. It's like having
a regular sleeping schedule or a consistent time to eat."

Vanessa actually growled. "You equate being creative with
biological functions. Haven't you ever considered that maybe being
creative is something more metaphysical? There's a reason you can't
teach writing or painting to just anyone. Some people are attuned to
be creative and others will only be critics."

"And what's the reason oh wise one?" I asked sarcastically.

My mentor frowned. "I don't know. I do know that there's an
hour of the day that a person is at their most creative. It's that
hour where writer's block is non-existent. It's that hour where even
if you don't paint right at that minute, you can think of amazing
scenes that you can paint later. I don't know if it's a magical
turning of the celestial spheres or if it's an internal rhythm based on
hormones, but I know it exists. I know that this is my magic hour."

"How do I find my magic hour?" I asked; not sure I believed

"Go to sleep and let me worry about that," Vanessa said.

3:00 am

I was dreaming of pirates and mermaids when Vanessa pulled me
from my dreams. She had my underwear rolled under my balls and was
sucking on my cock. My manhood hardened in her mouth, lengthening
against her flickering tongue. One hand cupped my balls, holding them
gently as her lips sealed around me. The curls of her hair spilled
over my thighs and stomach exactly as I imagined them earlier.

"What's this?" I asked.

Vanessa ignored me and continued to suck. I could feel her
breasts pressed against my hips and I felt the hard point of one of her
nipples. The moonlight peeked through a fold in the curtain and
illuminated her body next to mine. She was completely nude and I ran
my hands down her back to cup one of her buttocks.

We lay there for a few quiet minutes. Vanessa sucked me gently
and in silence as I relished the moment. My mind was sluggish and I
thought that perhaps she was horny after a long night of painting. I
didn't care. Her mouth embraced my cock with its wet heat and all was
right with my world.

I began to groan as my climax approached and Vanessa clutched the
base of my cock in an iron grip. She withdrew her mouth and I
shuddered as my orgasm was cheated from me. My heart pounded as
Vanessa sat up and looked at me. A beam of moonlight fell on one side
of her face.

"Tell me a story about the flea market," Vanessa asked in the

"What?" I said stupidly.

She squeezed my cock and I groaned in urgency.

"Tell me a story about the flea market," Vanessa repeated.

"Once upon a time," I started. I paused as I tried to think of
something. My mind was blank. All I could think about was her lips,
her hair and how badly I wanted to climax between her lips.

"Give me a minute," I stalled.

"That's okay story-boy," Vanessa said and she released my cock.
"This isn't your magic hour." She leaned down and kissed me as I
moaned in disappointment.

With my cock aching for release, Vanessa left. I would have
relieved myself but something told me that it wouldn't be right. The
next time she came; I would have her damn flea market story ready.

10:49 am

Being an apprentice to Vanessa isn't all sex and creative theory.
I spent the morning cleaning her art supplies. Vanessa took good care
of her tools but only in the sense that she doesn't leave them on the
floor. It was up to me to put her paints back on the shelves, to dry
her brushes that were soaking in jars and to make the living room
presentable again.

It gave me time to think about what she said last night. I
didn't quite buy the idea of magic time. To me, artists were people
who trained and cultivated their talent. I didn't like the idea of
being a slave to an hour of the day to get my best ideas. It made me
feel helpless.

As I worked, I thought of a story involving the flea market. The
story was a comedy and it involved a ship in a bottle. If Vanessa was
going to insist on this magic hour nonsense, I was going to come up
with what she wanted as soon as possible.

"Nice job," Vanessa said as she walked into the room. I turned
to say thank you and my words died in my mouth. She wasn't dressed.
Vanessa was older than me and her body wasn't young or perfect, but
every movement of hers was always sexual and when she was nude, the
over all affect was a powerful seduction.

"Is this magic hour?" I asked.

"We'll find out," Vanessa said. I stood as she walked up to me
and I felt a thrill ride through my body as she embraced me. Her naked
body next to my clothed body was a delightful contrast and I hugged her
tight to me.

Vanessa began to dance and I let her take the lead. shirt to
breasts pants to naked sex and bare legs to pants; we slow danced in
the living room. Her arms were tight around me and I could feel every
contour of her body. I wanted to strip and feel her skin next to mine
but I knew better than to ask. As her hips moved against mine, I tried
not to step on her bare feet with my shoes.

I felt her teeth on my shoulder and I sighed. Vanessa bit down
gently and I felt claimed. Her grinding became lewder until it was
clear that her dancing was solely to arouse my cock. Shifting and
twisting, her body squirmed next to mine until my knees began to curl
with the desire to mount her.

"Tell me a story," Vanessa finally asked.

Before I could tell her about the flea market, she said "Tell me
a fairy tale."

My prepared story died in my mouth. As her hips continued to
roll against mine, my mind blanked completely. Shifting gears to a
fairy tale was beyond me in my heightened state of arousal.

When Vanessa stopped dancing and walked away to get dressed, I
knew that this wasn't my magic hour either.


We had a late lunch at a fast food place. Vanessa wanted to sit
inside and admire the tacky decorations. She loved the way that fast
food restaurants balance looking good with wanting people to buy the
extra large fries.

When we had finished our meals, I collected our trays to dispose
of them. Vanessa stopped me by laying her hand on mine. Before I
could ask her any questions, she pulled my head in for a kiss.

There was salt on her lips and cherry soda on her tongue. Vanessa
kissed me passionately as customers bustled around us. Her sunglasses
pressed against my face but I didn't care. I gave in to the kiss;
amazed at the desperate way she was devouring my mouth. It was a kiss
that reminded me of high school groping and second dates.

Her hand started on my face but moved down under the table to my
crotch. I tried to pull away when she massaged my cock but her lips
held onto mine. My resistance melted as her fingers rubbed through my
jeans and coaxed my solid girth. She kissed my moans, sucking them
down as her fingers tightened around the bulge in my pants.

She broke the kiss and I knew what was going to happen next.

"Give me a poem about this place," Vanessa asked.

I closed my eyes and tried. Poems were never my strength but I
nearly grunted with the effort I was pushing into it. All I could
think about was the taste of cherry on her lips.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the reflection of my face in her
sunglasses. There was no need to admit defeat. Vanessa kissed my
frown away and got up to put away our trays.

It wasn't my magic hour.

7:22 PM

"It doesn't make any sense," I told Vanessa as we sat on the
couch. "I get ideas all day long. There's no one moment when I get my
plots. If that was the case, I would have noticed it years ago."

Vanessa laughed. "Would you have? Besides, you're distorting
what I said. I didn't say that magic hour was the only time to get
ideas. I only said that it was the best time to create. It was the
best time to channel. I like to think of it as the time of the day
when you are most attuned with whatever helps you create."

She unzipped my pants and after the events of the last twenty-
four hours, I didn't even ask. When she stood up to unzip her own
pants, I pulled mine off. My erection was ready for her and when she
mounted me, the slickness of her sex told me she was just as ready.
Her knees settled around my hips and she swiveled her hips in a sinful

"But why the sex?" I asked after I moaned.

"If you can think so close to orgasm, then what better proof of
magic hour do you need?" Vanessa said. She leaned into me and we both
moaned as our sexes merged. She lifted a breast to my face and I
leaned my head to bite through her shirt to the hard nipple underneath.

"Are you sure its not because you're just horny?" I asked. I
nibbled on her nipple till her shirt was wet.

"If a tutor can't get laid, what's the point?" Vanessa laughed.

We stopped talking as our hips moved together. Being inside her
was always magical in itself. The heat, the perfect fit and the
shockwaves of pleasure were enough to inspire anyone. Her breathing
sharpened and I could tell by the flushing of her face that she was
about to climax. I held her hips and pulled her down onto me as I
increased my pace. If you can't help your tutor climax, what was the

"Fuck!" Vanessa cried out. I felt her sex vibrate with her
spasms. My own manhood was ready but I knew that first I had to pass
her test.

Vanessa's eyes were glazed with bliss but she found her focus.
"Tell me a story," she gasped. Our hips were perfectly still except
for the after shocks of her clenching sex.

"About what?" I said breathlessly.

Reminded, Vanessa said "Tell me about seashells."

I tried. With my cock submerged in her warm sex, I tried my damn
best to think of something involving seashells. All I could think
about was the ocean and how I wanted the rhythm of the seas to push our
hips together so I could spill myself inside Vanessa.

"I can't", I admitted.

"It will come," Vanessa said gently as she started to rise.


I awoke sluggishly from a dream of cherries and nude dancers. My
covers were pulled back and my dark haired mentor had spread my legs
wantonly. I had no idea where my underwear had gone. The rising sun
sent daggers of light into my bedroom revealing a topless Vanessa
kneeling between my legs and stroking my manhood to life. My cock was
fully erect before I was barely awake.

"What time is it?" I asked, not remembering magic hour at all and
wondering why she was doing this.

"Shhh," Vanessa answered. She lowered her breasts over my cock
and I moaned in pleasant surprise. Her breasts had been covered in
some sort of lotion or oil and my manhood slipped easily between her
heavy mounds. Vanessa cupped her breasts around my length and I
shuddered as I pushed into the slippery flesh.

I had no trouble remembering the magic hour now. Up and down she
slid her slick breasts over my cock and I gripped the bed in ecstasy.
There was almost no friction at all and what I could feel was the
perfect softness of her tits.

"Tell me a story," Vanessa whispered in the dawn's light. "Tell
me a science fiction story."

"On a lonely garbage ship in the middle of nowhere, the only crew
member, a guy by the name of Harry, hears a distress cry," I began. It
was ridiculously easy. As the sun flooded the bedroom with light, I
told Vanessa a long tale about two distant ships relying on each other
for company. It was more sentimental than I would have liked and there
were some plot elements that were stolen from books I had read, but I
was amazed by how easy it was to compose off the top of my head.

Vanessa must have been impressed as well for she kept moving over
my cock. As I told her more about the story, my mentor squeezed her
abundant breasts over my manhood. My hips joined her rocking motion
though my mind was more concerned with my story rather than the sex.
Despite the hours of teasing and my urgent need to climax, the story
was coming first.

As I told her about the distress signal being just a ploy to have
someone to talk to, Vanessa stroked my cock with her breasts. As the
pilots engaged each other in desperate conversation, my manhood emerged
and slipped back into her enfolding breasts. As the pilots fell in
love, Vanessa poured lotion onto her chest to keep us slippery and
slick. When the pilots sabotaged their ships to meet each other,
Vanessa leaned into my crotch so that she her bosom was pressed flat
against me. She rocked against me and trapped the heat our bodies were
making. My cock was pulsing inside the oven of her soft breasts.

When I ended the story with the pilots meeting, Vanessa moaned
with happiness. The moan vibrated through her chest and my manhood
responded in kind. With the story complete, my body found the
satisfaction it craved and I erupted messily between her breasts.
Vanessa continued to rock against me until every drop of me was

The orgasm wasn't nearly as sweet as the pleasure of creating a
story well told. Vanessa rose from the mess we had created and the
morning sun lit up her already huge smile. There was pride in her eyes
and I knew that pride was in mine as well.

It was a magic hour.


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