The Writers’ Retreat

The Writers’ Retreat – An Erotic Story by Venus O’Hara

Imagine a rural setting. It could be a valley, woodland, or mountains. Whatever it is, picture lush green surroundings with a view of water. It could be a flowing river, a peaceful lake or even the roaring sea in the distance. The air is clean and fresh and the only sounds that can be heard are the sounds of nature; the wind blowing, leaves rustling, occasional rain and the melody of birds singing. Amidst the greenery, there is a secluded cottage, a place that becomes a refuge for a self-led writers retreat for you and me to share. 


The allure of a secluded retreat in a rural setting resonates with the solitary nature of writing. Imagining our private writer’s sanctuary, a shared space for creative immersion captivates my thoughts. In this tranquil setting, we share the space to immerse ourselves in our respective literary projects and more importantly, to share the silence. There’s something so enticing about silence as it allows you to hear your thoughts and your inner voice and just write… 


In our shared retreat, we enter into a pact of silence during the daylight hours, each engrossed in our writing endeavours. No words are exchanged, only the rhythmic tapping of keys fills the air. Feeling your energy and your presence near me serves as a source of inspiration for me, especially as I delve into the realm of erotic writing, crafting narratives based on our shared experiences and those I yearn to explore with you.


Yet, as the day concludes, we put our computers away and immerse ourselves in a different kind of connection. Evenings are reserved for shared meals, discussions about our respective musings, meditation, and the passionate exchange of desires that results in scandalous moans that echo through the cottage—to make up for the silence that has characterised the day. 


Despite our agreement, I grant you permission to break our established code, so that you can interrupt me and distract me from my work to indulge in a passionate parenthesis. I’m curious about when you might seize the opportunity and what actions you’ll take. We briefly discuss the prospect of breaching the pact but then we let the matter rest. As the days unfold, I find myself wondering if you’ve forgotten, keeping my doubts to myself as my anticipation grows while I continue to pour my desires onto the page.


Then, when I’m least expecting it, on a rainy afternoon, when I’m writing an erotic narrative that features cunnilingus, I find myself getting aroused by my own words.  Describing the sensation of your tongue against my throbbing clitoris, I’m lost in the world of reminiscence and fantasy, oblivious to your movements as you quietly approach me from behind. Suddenly, I feel your hand on the small of my back, catching me completely off guard. A sigh of relief escapes me as I think, “Finally.” Rather than interrupting the flow of my fantasy, I choose to continue, curious about how you’ll respond to the explicit words that appear on the screen.


My typing gets slower until it reaches a halt. I close my eyes and relish the feeling of your expert hands exploring my skin under my clothes. You take my t-shirt off and bite my nape, I let out another sigh to express my desire. I become passive, receptive, and entirely at your mercy, allowing you to assume control of the situation.


You lead me to the bedroom and we undress and continue our mutual exploration of each other on the bed. The adherence to our no-conversation pact intensifies the energy and desire between us. In a wordless exchange, our bodies communicate, and as I feel your arousal, it becomes evident that our physical connection transcends spoken language. I’m intensely aroused, pulsating with pleasure at your touch. Our eyes lock in a profound and penetrating gaze as I invite you into my body. Our connection flows seamlessly as we move together, gradually building momentum until we both reach a euphoric climax. Our moans crescendo along with the rhythmic sounds of the rain against the window.


Afterwards, we lie together in a shared silence, allowing our breathing to return to normal. After a brief pause, you kiss me on the lips, get up, dress, and return to your desk, the familiar sound of tapping keys resumes.


I smile to myself, acknowledging the profound encounter that just taken place. Although our daily tasks resume as if nothing has happened, an invisible energy lingers in the cottage air, a testament to the passion we ignited when our bodies intertwined. I absorb this newfound inspiration and I return to my desk to continue the writing I was immersed in with a renewed sense of creativity.

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