The End.

She drops the kinky quill, satisfied it's her best writing yet. 

Her clamped thighs relax, and he unsticks his face from her puss. 

His face is glazed, crusting from days of drawing out her creativity, one laborious lick at a time. 

His mouth, thankfully, had taken over after his penis collapsed in its hard-fought last spurt. His member dangles lifeless, raw and swollen from its exhaustive service to the cause.

Who is he? The unsung hero of her erotic novels. 

He collapses underneath her desk while she bends to scoop a finger-full of her inspiration off his nose.