Portmanteau: More Than a Feeling: Part 1
I'm On Fire. Journeys and choices.
Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Author’s note: This is an installment in the anthology series entitled ‘Portmanteau.’ Each vignette of Portmanteau is a multi-part series. A collection of three stand-alone erotic short stories, all loosely associated with each other.
Colin arrived in Boston, set up his on-the-go office in the Ritz Carlton, and then headed to Tufts University to give a guest lecture. He had dinner plans with Mayla for later that night and found himself distracted in anticipation of their first-ever meeting in person.
He finished reading her latest pages on the flight and was astounded by her ability to craft erotica. Unbridled and feral, her writing was the opposite of Monique Labelle's meandering, sad attempt at erogenous drivel. Mayla's work held pure passion, and pure passion sold books.
Colin was on a lecture hall stage, being interviewed by a professor about publishing, how to write your first novel and the future of the print medium. When asked his thoughts on publishing erotic work, Colin replied, "Good question, Mayla." The interviewing Professor stopped and asked him who Mayla was.
Catching himself, Colin apologized and rephrased the statement to say, "Good question, Professor Matalin."
In the darkness of the lecture hall, Mayla reacted at hearing her name uttered as a Freudian slip. She blushed and looked around as if all eyes were on her.
The lecture ended, and Colin was saying a few goodbyes when he spotted an attractive, tall woman walking into view. She wore a long, cool black dress with a sleeveless top showing off well-toned arms. Her youthful glow made it difficult to guess her age.
"Mayla!"
"Hello, Colin."
"You came to my lecture. I'm delighted," the handsome publisher said.
"I thought I could learn something, and I did. You missed your calling as a teacher."
"It's such a pleasure to meet you in person. Zoom meetings can only tell so much. You're so much more”
"Taller," she said, finishing his sentence.
"Well, yes. I knew you had been a model, so no surprise there."
"You're not one of those guys with issues with tall girls?"
"Never," Colin stated, "Are we still on for dinner, or do you have plans?"
"Looking forward to it," she replied, bringing a smile to Colin's face.
Dinner was in a small Italian place in Boston's North End. Plates of pappardelle and an empty bottle of chianti set the relaxed tone.
"I've never seen someone as fit as you eat an entire plate of pasta," Colin remarked.
"In my runway days, never, but now the waif look is long behind me. My ex wanted me to stay sickly thin. It was strange, but so was he."
"Divorced?"
"Never married. We were together for 15 years. I was doing catalog and runway work in Los Angeles, and he promised me more. It came at a price. And it got weird."
"Weird?" Colin asked.
"Very weird. He became obsessed with my left nipple."
"We can change the subject," Colin offered.
"No, it's in the past," she replied.
"Ok, I don't mean to be forward, but you can't simply introduce something about a left nipple and then walk away from the conversation."
"My left nipple never gets hard. Never erect, never pert, never sassy, none of the nipple adjectives," Mayla said without fear of embarrassment.
"And your right one does?"
"Yes, running, massage, touch, sex, that nipple knows when and how to do its job. Damned good soldier. Lefty here, total slacker, almost cost me a career."
"Because?" Colin asked.
"Erect nipples are a requirement when modeling. Photographers want nipple erections. I'm holding a tub of butter; my nipples must be perky. Print ad for Coke , make sure my nipples are hard because God knows soda makes a girl horny," she said with some disdain for her past career.
"How did you compensate?" Colin asked.
"Fake nipples. Nowadays, you can order them from Amazon. Back then, I had to get them from a trans sex shop in Hollywood. I just glued them on, and I was the girl with the great nips. Kept me booked year after year."
"Just so you know, if a cold breeze comes through the room, I'm going to be casually checking your right tit for a reaction," Colin said with a laugh. "Trying not to catch a look would be an exercise in futility."
"I'll save you the time," Mayla said as she reached into her water glass and took out a few ice cubes.
Leaning back so her round, full tits filled out her blouse, she ran the ice cubes across the back of her neck. Colin watched with confusion until he noticed the skin on her arm goosebump, followed by her right nipple beginning to swell, creating a small tent in her blouse. His eyes shifted to her left tit and , nothing.
"Gunnar tried everything to make my left nipple rise and shine. He's German, so we went down some rather odd rabbit holes. No matter what he tried, it never happened."
"You left him over your nipple?"
"Not the nipple, his obsessive quest to excite it. It kept him up nights. He felt challenged and threatened and accused me of doing it on purpose. He then tried every kink to make it swell, and I mean everything. I never did anything I didn't want to do. Although, I did do a hell of a lot more than I ever thought I would. On the positive side, several years with a debauched German gave me more raw material than your smut book can hold."
"Maybe we make it a series?" he suggested.
"It's going to be an anthology," she replied. "A series of stories about the sexual liaisons of different people in each chapter. However, there's subtext. All the narratives will have subtle links between stories. Sometimes a location, sometimes a person. I'm trying to universe build," she said proudly.
"Sounds like much more than we are paying you for," Colin said, impressed.
"I can't write about people fucking with no story. There must be more to it. You want fucking, Google the word, then cut and paste."
"I want passionate sex, the kind with two people making a connection," Colin whispered, "an erotic coupling. It's what I want. I mean, it's what Simon and Schuster want."
Mayla blushed, unsure of the context of the answer. It seemed he was speaking as Colin, the attractive man sitting across from her, then checked himself and spoke as her editor, ensuring her writing could sell books.
"So how much left to write?" he asked.
"I'm down to one last couple: a man and a woman. I'm open to kink, but this encounter concerns outside circumstances drawing these two together. I want their sex to be a personal connection."
"They live in the same building," Colin suggested.
"Too easy," Mayla responded.
"They dated in college and run into each other by chance," he offered.
"No, this has to be their first sexual encounter," she explained.
"Blind date?"
"Not enough of a character arc," Mayla said, frustrated with the lack of a story direction.
"They work together!" Colin offered with excitement.
"Yeah, it could work. They spend time at work. They flirt. They want to be with each other, yet office decorum says no," Mayla exclaimed with growing excitement.
"I'm on fire!" Colin said with enthusiasm. "Ok, so they have a sexual tension that keeps building. They've been teasing each other too long. When they connect, it becomes carnal."
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Carnal, however, not a one-and-done. We want the readers to know this is their first connection. I want this girl to be someone the reader wants to touch and feel, even be inside. I want the guy to be a man the male readers want to be, and the female readers want to be with. Maybe he's like you, handsome and professional," she said unfiltered.
There was a moment of awkward silence after Mayla's wine-induced proclamation.
"I ah, wow, this wine is really strong!" she said with a panicked laugh, looking for anything to change the conversation.
"Wow! We're on a roll. It looks like they want the table. Any suggestions on where we can take this meeting?" Colin said as he paid the check.
Inside Mayla's apartment, Woody the cat was sitting on the counter licking his paws when the door burst open. Mayla and Colin nearly fell into the room wrapped in passionate kissing and groping, which had begun at the front door and continued unabated up to her third-floor apartment.
Mayla kicked the door shut as Colin pressed her against the wall with a deep, open-mouthed kiss, then pushed her back, putting her hands up against the wall, making her willingly surrender herself to him. In a swift move, he lifted her sleeveless top off, revealing her tits suspended in a revealing white lace bra. Her right nipple was sharp and excited, her left nipple dormant.
Colin kissed her tits over her bra, causing them to swell. Mayla undid the front clasp, the bra opened, and her tits spilled out free. Colin moved in with his tongue as she arched her back in pleasure.
Hours later, Colin woke still naked as the morning sun crested over the Charles River and illuminated Mayla's bedroom. He was alone in bed...
Let’s start at the beginning.
Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress: Part 1
Mayla sat down at the computer to review the morning's emails. She had been in Boston for almost six months since leaving Gunnar and had completed a novel and sent it to several publishers, but so far, nothing had come out; lots of nothing.
Today might be different as she noticed an email from Colin Gregory of Simon and Schuster Publishing. Crossing her fingers, she pressed the key and read the note.
Colin was an editor at the prestigious publishing house, primarily in science fiction. His note went on to say a fellow editor had given him her manuscript. The manuscript, entitled Headed to Hollywood, Stuck in Van Nuys, was a dark story about a girl escaping her miserable life in Missouri and heading to California during the Depression to become an actress. While it was a work of fiction, the events were all too real to Mayla.
This had been her life, and so far, no one seemed to care. Colin mentioned in his email how much he loved the work and would like to schedule a Zoom call soon.
Setting up the Zoom for after lunch, she pulled on running tights and a long-sleeved t-shirt and headed out for a morning run to work off her nervous energy.
As she headed out the door, Mr. Tuxil entered and politely held the door open for Mayla. He tended to leer. Mayla knew her skintight yoga pants showed every detail of her tall, lean body and every intimate fold if you got the correct angle. Old Tuxil watched and waited as she hit the chilly morning air, then leered as she stretched and, bingo! Her right tit nipple went rock hard.
Mr. Tuxil smiled and went into the building. He seemed to know that waiting for her left nipple to react to the cold would be a waste of time. Mayla looked down at her chest. Her left nipple remained flat, not so much as a goosebump.
Returning to her apartment 45 minutes later, she was red-cheeked and breathing hard as Woody met her at the door. Woody was the cat who came with the apartment. She was his sixth owner in ten years, and his right to live there was in her lease.
She stripped herself of her sweaty running gear and ran a hot shower. In the bathroom mirror, she got a good look at herself. No longer in her thirties, she remained fresh-faced and beautiful. Between yoga and running, she maintained a perfect shape, and no one who didn't know could guess her age. Her dirty blond hair was shoulder length, but it was time to cut it shorter, making it more manageable.
Attractive as she was, it had been a while since she had a date and more than a year since she walked out on Gunnar and his continued circus of insanity.
Mayla dressed comfy for the Zoom call. After all, she was a writer, no need to be formal. She wore a tank top cami, no bra, and a form-fitting gray turtleneck sweater that clung to her figure. It offered a, walking on a New England beach in the fall, look. Her tits were medium in size, purely natural and firm. The sweater's thickness would hide the pesky right nipple, which tended to give away her excitement. Gotta play this cool, she thought to herself.
Mayla set up her laptop so Colin could see the windows to her porch and the view of the Charles River behind her. The apartment was a rent-controlled steal, and she loved showing it off when possible.
Colin came on screen in his office. He was handsome, sporting a jacket and tie, and appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Mayla was always a little put off when working with someone younger than her. Did he have enough life experience to guide her? She knew she was getting ahead of herself. This was just a general meeting.
Colin introduced himself and brought Mayla up to speed. He was a native New Yorker, happy to be working in Manhattan, although he had gone to school in Boston, majoring in English Lit at Boston University. He recognized the view from Mayla's apartment, having lived nearby during his college years.
"Your manuscript was in my colleague's inbox for at least a month. I saw it every time I passed by, and the title called out to me. I cover science fiction, which when it's good is great, although usually it's awful, and I needed something with less alien tentacle sex."
"Alien tentacle sex?" she asked.
"It's a weird category in sci-fi, erotica, and porn. Don't Google it. Anyway, I grabbed your book for a weekend read and loved it. The characters had me at page one, and I could not put it down."
Hearing someone offering praise when most people offer unfounded criticisms was wonderful. Mayla blushed at the compliments. Deep under her sweater, her right nipple stiffened. Fortunately, the heavy fabric controlled it, not revealing her excitement.
Colin continued, although Mayla could sense the praise was coming to the word with a caveat, and then it arrived.
"I brought it to my boss and the decision team, but”
Rejection, Mayla thought. Here it comes.
"...they don't see a place for it on our plate right now. Everyone agrees your work is outstanding. However, they want you more seasoned."
"I'm writing a new book, but I think it'll be months before it's ready," she replied.
"Here's the short and long. I think we can get this published next year. I do. I don't want to risk losing you to another publisher."
Mayla laughed, imagining all these other imaginary publishers lined up at her door.
"So, I want to option the book for a year. It won't be much money. Still, it's an act of good faith."
"You're asking to rent my story for very little money. I appreciate the love; it's just that I've got bills to pay."
"Hold on, hold on, I get it. An option isn't great. In the meantime, we want to hire you to ghost-rewrite a novel by Monique Labelle."
"Monique Labelle, the porn star?" Mayla asked.
"Monique Labelle the ex-porn star. She has a huge name and a massive following online. We contracted with her to write an erotic story, kind of our version of 50 Shades, only this one coming from a pro. She wrote it, and it reads like a porn movie. A really bad porn movie. The pizza delivery guy kind."
"You want me to write a porn novel?" she asked flatly.
"Rewrite a porn novel and turn it into erotica. The sex in your book is real, raw, and emotional. You may be too close to your work to see it; the way you describe people making love is the best erotic writing I've seen in years."
"I don't know," Mayla replied.
"We will pay you $150,000 to ghost-rewrite this. You fix this novel, we publish, and then your novel will be up for purchase next year."
Mayla's face revealed her uncertainty at the offer.
"I've taken the liberty to send you the galleys. You read it and see if you can fix it. If you can come to terms with the job, you will be a professional novelist by the end of the day."
The Zoom call ended with Mayla promising to follow up. A few minutes later, the email contained a secure link to the Simon and Schuster property and a non-disclosure agreement.
Mayla sat with Woody on her lap and dove into the galley pages on her iPad. The dive-in was like jumping into a shallow pool. After only a few pages, she felt the thud of a poorly thought leap. Written in the first person, the story was about a traveling masseuse who dreams of being a rock star while seducing everyone because of an undefined, insatiable lust disease.
Two hours later, Mayla put down the iPad with pages left to be read. Texting Colin, she wrote, I'll take the job so long as I have the freedom to go where I want.
Seconds later, Colin replied with a smiley face emoji. Your story. We only care about getting this book printed while LaBelle still has a name cachet. Our financial people will be in touch. Congratulations to Simon and Schuster's newest author!
Mayla finished the book and realized that she did not find herself titillated or aroused once in the entire read.
Preparing to write, she re-read the first passage of the book. The following day she sat down at her laptop and prepared to write.
Last night, I learned that when all your holes are filled, it's kind of hard to breathe. There I was in the back of a van bound for Los Angeles, getting railed in my asshole, mouth, and cunt, and loving every inch of rabid man meat pumping hot jizz into me.
Hot jizz, Mayla thought. Who even says jizz anymore? Every page read as if a horny teenager wrote it. Each sentence began with I and the dialogue was unintentionally funny, like when the heroine tells the bouncer at the club to bang his balls against her steaming beaver.
Nope. Done for the day, Mayla decided to walk around Boston to clear her head.
She found herself on Newbury Street, a trendy shopping area with upscale stores and salons. Passing by a hair salon called Sheer Madness, which was on the basement level, she entered, hoping to get a walk-in appointment.
A few women in chairs were getting cut and colored as Mayla asked the front desk girl if she could get her hair done. One of the stylists had a cancellation and was more than happy to fill her chair.
Kayleigh Coleman was an adorable bundle of energy. She had short hair, a round face, and gorgeous plump lips. She wore psychedelic leggings and a loose top, which offered a glimpse of her black demi bra whenever she leaned over.
More than once, Mayla caught herself peeking. Was Kayleigh doing this on purpose?
Mayla asked for her hair cut shorter than its current shoulder length. Not a bob, not as short as Kayleigh's, leave enough to scrunch up and go.
Kayleigh carried on about her new girlfriend, who happened to be her classmate in high school, although they didn't spend time together back then.
Mayla was delighted by the sexual freedom of this young Irish Catholic firecracker who, despite having been brought up never missing church on Sunday, found her sexual identity and had no issue sharing it.
Kayleigh dreamed of someday owning a salon and was saving every penny toward her goal. Mayla left her a large tip and emerged feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and sexier than before she entered.
Randomly walking through the city, she was enjoying her time away from the laptop and the pressure of polishing a steaming pile of crap when she spotted the Elizabeth Gardner Museum and decided to take in an afternoon of intellectual stimulation.
Being a weekday, the museum was mostly empty as Mayla wandered the galleries. Despite this, security was heavy as the Gardner Museum had been the victim of the most significant art theft in US history in the 1980s.
She was taken by a large oil painting by Titian. A pale-skinned nude woman reclining on an off-white-colored bed. This was Princess Danae, locked in a tower by her father, only to be seduced by Zeus, seen approaching her as a cloud of gold.
Mayla sat and gazed, then noticed another woman sitting on the bench. She was a stunning redhead wearing a black leather coat. Her skin was alabaster white, and she held a sketch pad. She was painstakingly sketching the painting and the entire gallery of artwork.
Mayla was spellbound by this radiant young woman and strained to see her sketching.
"Beautiful," Mayla said, breaking the ice.
"I find it sexual and wanting. It's an incredible representation of the woman's humanity and the fleshiness of the body," the stunning redhead responded.
Mayla was now transfixed on the mysterious woman who kept sketching.
Looking down at her phone, she saw a text from Colin asking her to call. She exited the building.
"So, how's my smut book coming along?"
"I'm looking for a new way to approach. I'm out gathering characters."
"You're procrastinating."
"What? No. I like to people-watch."
"I'm messing with you. I was calling because I was giving your novel another read. Forgive me if I get personal, this Christa, in the book. She's you, isn't she?"
"For the most part, yes."
"She comes to Los Angeles to be an actress," Colin continued.
"I came to be a model."
"She meets a powerful movie director."
"I met a photographer; a European debonair type named Gunnar. For the book, I upgraded him to a movie director."
"He treats her like property. Trades her for favors and his success," Colin continued.
Mayla didn't respond.
"I'm sorry. I'm prying. Your descriptions are so vivid that they feel drawn from experience. Do you really want to publish this story? It's so personal."
Mayla smiled.
"It's been read by everyone I know, and here you are, pretty much a stranger, and you've decoded it already."
"It's powerful. The girl in the story reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. Every man loves her. Every man thinks they are the one who could save her. None of them can. Don't you think there has to be someone who can save her? A Prince Charming?"
"So far, no Prince Charmings. So no, she doesn't get saved."
Colin felt the need to retreat.
"If you don't mind the extra work, I would love to keep discussing the novel so we can get it ready to show upstairs when you finish Fuckfest-o-rama."
"Oh, such a good title for the Monique porn book," Mayla said facetiously. "I've got some good thoughts on Fuckfest-o-rama, so how about we Zoom tomorrow, and I can run them by you."
"Deal. I'm putting in on my calendar, Fuckfest, say 9:00 AM?"
Mayla finished her morning run with enough time to shower before her Zoom with Colin. Out of the shower and wrapped in a tiny towel, she tore her closet apart, looking for the perfect outfit.
She laid out three tops with varying degrees of sexiness, finally choosing a sleek silk blouse in platinum grey and opting for no bra. She did a quick run into the bathroom for a bit of makeup. Once a model, always a model, she thought as she applied eyeliner then ruffled her new hairdo to make it look a little unkempt in an attractive way.
It was almost nine. She knew how punctual Colin was.
Looking at a pair of pants, she realized the slacks did not matter since this was a Zoom, and no one could see below her untucked blouse.
The computer chimed, and Colin came on the screen. Mayla maneuvered to a bench in her bedroom, allowing natural light to spill upon her.
"Wow, you changed your hair. It looks great," Colin began.
Mayla blushed at the compliment, which caused parts unseen to swell.
"Thank you. I found the best hair stylist by chance. I'm going to make her into a character for one of my stories."
"Mayla, before we continue, can I ask you to move your laptop."
Mayla was confused.
"There's a mirror behind you, and it wouldn't be right not to let you know."
Mayla clicked on her laptop to see what Colin was seeing. There she was, looking cute as anything on camera. Nice! Then she noticed the standing mirror behind her reflected a perfect view of her bare ass. It was anyone's worst Zoom nightmare come true.
With a click, she muted the screen, moved the mirror, grabbed a pair of sweatpants, and then returned to the screen red-faced.
"Ok, so embarrassing."
"I think this is the part where I make a joke, and we end up talking to Janice in HR," Colin replied with a laugh. "I would show you my ass, only it might not suffice. So, I'll tell you something embarrassing about me; then we're even."
"You don't have to," Maya insisted, wishing they would move on.
"I was with my ex-girlfriend and butt-dialed my mother."
"Oh, I do that all the time," Mayla replied.
"No, I sat my naked ass on my phone during a moment that could easily be a scene from a porn movie and literally butt-dialed a Facetime call with my mom," Colin said with pride, "and she picked up."
"Wow. You win. In fact, I'm glad you got a glimpse of my butt in exchange for that pearl," Mayla said with a snorting laugh.
The conversation never turned to Mayla's novel or the ghostwriting project. Instead, they spent almost three hours trading stories, telling about their likes and dislikes, and even twenty minutes building a list of defunct breakfast cereals they wished were still on the shelves. They agreed to try and Zoom again in two days with the promise that they would get some real work done during their next meeting.
Mayla sat down again to work on the smut book, yet every time she got a start, she backspaced it out; time for another Boston walkabout.
Hours later, she sat sipping her third coffee of the day on the steps of St. Cecelia's Cathedral when she saw a young nun standing on the steps of the Catholic high school across the street.
She wasn't dressed as a nun. She wore jeans and a Red Sox sweatshirt. She held a rosary as she carefully folded a nun's veil and placed it into her luggage.
A car with a Maine license plate arrived, and the young woman, who could not have been more than 25, was about to get in when a student came out of the school and gave her a present and a hug. She gave the student her rosary, climbed in the car, and was gone. Who was she? Why did she go? Where did she go? Was this a happily ever after moment, or something sad? The writer in her imagined numerous scenarios.
She drank the last sip of her coffee when the epiphany hit. The erotic story was all around her, everywhere she looked. It was in the real people she saw every day. It was the intimate moments, the ones you don't share. It was like connecting the dots to see the hidden image. She needed to get home and start writing.
Hours later, she was typing madly, the stories flowing from her mind. Drinking one espresso after another, she was pumped full of adrenaline and ready to write when she smacked into a creative wall.
This part of the story called for a first-time encounter between three people, a man and two women. Each awkward, each unsure of their orientation.
Mayla had been with a woman before; there was no mystery there. She had been with two men before; that was no mystery. However, she had never been with a man and another woman.
Choosing to rest her eyes, she stopped writing and hit a Google search for Male-female-female three-way. She scrolled the video stills, looking for three people who fit the descriptions she had in mind. The results were endless, giving her every variation imaginable. Finally, she landed on First Time MFF Threesome!
It was practically made to order. The video was amateur at best, and that's what Mayla wanted, real people, not botoxed porn queens with bad boob jobs.
The video wasted no time with two attractive twenty-somethings going at it on a leather couch. A dark brunette was approaching the perfectly shaved cunt of her reclined partner while the male in the room worked the camera.
The brunette hovered over the sandy brown-haired girl's pussy admiring its perfect look. Diving in with an aggressive tongue, the brunette kept her eyes on her partner, coming up only to say, "You taste delicious."
The brunette moaned as her natural young tits moved back and forth with her body as she rocked from the pleasure. Pancaking her tongue, she gave long licks. The brunette then took her fingers and spread her partner's labia wide for better access. Seconds later, via horrible editing, the brunette was on the couch, and the sandy blonde was going down on her sliding a middle finger in and out of her twaut while chasing her fleeting clitoris with her tongue.
There was something genuine about this video. Not once did the women say, oh yeah or fuck yeah, they simply moaned and complemented their partner.
The sandy blonde paid particular attention to the brunette's opening, giving tiny bites to her partner's labia, then following with a gentle lick. Adding several fingers to the penetration, every sound was picked up by the amateurish cameraman: sounds of moistness and panting.
Another lousy edit and the cameraman was in on the action as he fucked the sandy blond from behind while she was kneeling, her face deep in the folds of the brunette's pussy. "I'm going to cum really fast," he said.
How could he not, thought Mayla. These women were real, enjoying the moment, and any man with even half an erection would be lucky to last a minute in there. Still, she thought, kudos to this guy for trying to hold on.
The man's cock was thick, and Mayla assumed it to be significant, but the length was hard to see as only the shaft was seen sliding in and out of the sandy blonde's cunt.
Acting without thought, Mayla's right hand crept down her stomach under her sweatpants and began massaging herself over her mesh panties. Her hand worked slowly and rhythmically, and only when she slipped her finger into her watering slit did Mayla realize what she was doing. With a smile, she continued viewing the video while tantalizing her clit with her long fingers.
Another lousy edit, and now the brunette was on her back, the sandy blonde was above licking her tits, and the guy was balls deep into the brunette's pussy.
Mayla brought her fingers out of her pants, up to her mouth, and gave them a lick to transport more moisture to her vulva.
The bad camera work finally showed the man. Muscular physique with a slightly shaven face, he was handsome and reminded Mayla of Colin.
She closed her eyes and allowed her imagination to bring her into the video. She was the one getting fucked; the sandy blond was licking her tits. She looked up at the man who was deep inside her, and it was Colin. He smiled passionately as he gently pushed his cock deep inside her and held it there. She could feel the walls of her pussy contract and grip his cock creating a suction pleasurable to them both.
Mayla's eyes were closed, but she could hear the moaning of the porn video. Now, inside her fantasy, the other girl was gone, and it was only her and Colin as she opened her legs wider. His kissing grew more passionate as their tongues explored each other's mouths. Mayla could feel the end approaching. A distant tingling in her toes emanated up her legs, racing toward the center of her core, and then it hit. In her fantasy, Colin remained inside her, filling her with his heat. The man could be heard blowing his load on the video, which auditorily added to Mayla's fantasy.
She kept her eyes shut, hoping to extend the moment with fantasy Colin, but post-orgasm awareness pushed the fantasy into the darkness. She opened her eyes, her body sweating from the self-induced friction, only to see the two women in the video snowballing the man's semen from mouth to mouth. Maybe, she thought, they were pros after all.
Still breathing hard, she looked down at her sweatpants soaked from her effluence. She could not recall an orgasm as vital or a masturbation fantasy as accurate. Relaxed and euphoric, she closed her eyes to catch some sleep before returning to writing.
Her laptop chimed several times before it woke her up. On-screen, she could see it was an incoming Zoom call from Colin. It was one in the afternoon.; she had overslept by several hours.
Answering the Zoom, she shuzzed her hair and sat up in the bed, the MacBook sitting on her lap. She adjusted her V-neck T-shirt top, not bothering to cover the fact she was braless.
"Hey, we had an 11 o'clock scheduled," Colin began.
"Sorry, sorry," Mayla responded. "I pulled an all-nighter and was dead to the world."
"That's my girl. I love your work ethic."
'My girl,' Mayla thought momentarily, lost in the memory of the fantasy of him penetrating her. She felt her heart race, but that was something he couldn't see. He could see her face as it blushed and her left nipple as it stiffened under her thin t-shirt top.
"I'm coming to Boston next week. I'll be there for a few days," Colin said.
"Really? Great!" Mayla replied. As the words left her mouth, she knew she sounded overanxious.
"I'm doing a guest lecture at Tufts, but I made time for us to review some of your material. Also, if you are free, we could have a dinner to officially celebrate the writing of Fuckfest-o-rama."
"We really need to find an actual name for this book," she replied.
"I'll put that on the agenda," he replied.
Mayla's excitement about meeting Colin in person made her heart race faster. Feeling like a teeny bopper, she wanted to end the Zoom call before saying something to embarrass herself.
"Oh, God. There's the door. My door-dash is here. So, yeah, text me your itinerary, and I'll try to make time," she said, trailing the sentence to indicate her need to disconnect.
"I'll text. Keep at it, kiddo," he offered.
Mayla took a deep breath of near exhaustion as the Zoom call ended. Laying back, she reviewed the conversation while her hand crept down her naval and into her pants again.
Her writing continued day and night. Colin's trip to Boston was now a few days away. While the ghostwriting work was unfinished, Mayla felt confident enough to send Colin the work in progress so he could offer some editorial thoughts when they met.
This scene continues in part 3 of this series.
To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 4 parts, for Literotica.