Portmanteau: More Than a Feeling: Part 4

Conclusion of Sister Golden Hair and Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress. Journeys and choices.

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

The next day, Mary Margaret found herself near the art department of the Liberal Arts wing. She found Sister Grace's classroom and peered in, only to see Sister Andrea leading the class. Confused, she entered.

"I'm looking for Sister Grace. She had some notes for me on a project."

"Sister Grace resigned the order this morning, my dear," the older nun replied. "She's leaving us."

Kaylin, a short-haired freshman, added nervously, "I saw her with her bags heading to the main entrance like 10 minutes ago."

Mary Margaret quickly left, hoping to find Sister Grace before she was gone.

On her way to the main building, she passed the old dorm, where, 24 hours earlier, she had made love to a woman for the first time. Rather than continue to the main building, she detoured.

Sister Grace stood on the steps of St. Magnus with all her worldly possessions in a single suitcase. She wore jeans, Keds, and a Red Sox sweatshirt, which made her look more like a student than a young teacher.

A taxi pulled up. The cabbie stepped out and took her bags to the trunk. She was about to get in when a tap on the shoulder stopped her.

Turning, she saw Mary Margaret behind her.

"I hear you're leaving."

"I am."

"Not even a goodbye?"

"I didn't want it to get weird."

"You're not leaving because of yesterday?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Yes and no. Not because of what we did. And yes, because of what we did. I discovered a part of me that I thought was dead and buried. Whatever drove me into your arms made me throw years of repressing emotion away; whatever that was, I want more. I won't find it here."

"But I'm here."

"For a few more weeks, then what? You have a journey ahead of you, and so do I. Who knows if that means our paths will cross again? I hope they do. But let's see what time brings," Grace said with a lilt of sadness.

"Where are you off to?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Not sure. Somewhere in New England. Somewhere with open-minded people where I can explore the land and myself."

"I have something for you. Open it when you get there," Mary Margaret said, handing Sister Grace a cardboard tube with the ends taped shut.

"Goodbye, Sister."

"Monica. My given name is Monica. Not Sister Grace, Not Sister Lady Gaga, just Monica.

"Goodbye, Monica."

Mary Margaret gave Monica a genial kiss on the cheek and watched her get in the cab and drive away.

A month later, after stopping in several small towns around New England, Monica fell in love with Portland, Maine, with its coastal beauty and quaint downtown.

She felt free in the vast expanses and ready to start her life anew. Getting a job in an artist's co-op, she unpacked her bags in her first-ever apartment.

She finally took the time to open the cardboard tube that Mary Margaret had presented her when she left St. Magnus.

Before her lay The Peaceable Kingdome painting that had long been ignored at St. Magnus. She spread it out on the table and she smiled.

Days later, matted and framed, she hung the purloined painting on a wall that received warm afternoon daylight. She sat back to appreciate the painting, the optimism it depicted, her new free life, and the erotic fond memory of the young woman who gave her all three.

Sister Golden Hair

Well, I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed.

That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed.

I ain't ready for the altar but I do agree there's times.

When a woman sure can be a friend of mine.

Well, I keep on thinking' 'bout you.

Sister Golden Hair surprise.

And I just can't live without you.

Can't you see it in my eyes?

© Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress: Part 2

Colin arrived in Boston, set up his on-the-go office in the Ritz Carlton, then headed to Tufts University to guest lecture. He had dinner plans with Mayla for later that night and found himself distracted in anticipation of their meeting in person for the first time.

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 the meandering, non-erogenous drivel of Monique Labelle. 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. 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 trysts 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 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...

Hearing a keyboard clicking away in the living room, he wandered in to see Mayla, still naked, writing on her laptop.

She looked up to see Colin, smiled, stood, and approached him, giving him a passionate good morning kiss. Colin's cock swelled at the sexy greeting.

"I finished the book; she smiled and returned to her laptop. I found the last connection."

Colin was confused.

"When?"

"After you fell asleep. I had to get it out while it was in my head. Sit here and read."

Mayla placed the laptop on a chair near the window.

"I'll get dressed, he mentioned casually."

"No, don't. I want to see your reaction," Mayla demanded.

"My reaction?"

Colin's slightly erect cock pulsated, and he understood what she wanted to see. Sitting down, he read while Mayla sat naked cross-legged nearby, watching him.

I get down on all fours, my pale white ass facing Carey. I think it's too big, but his face disagrees with my thoughts. I love my pure white skin; it's such a departure from the tanning booth Karens.

From this position, Carey can see the pouty lips of my pussy flushed almost purple. I open my legs, allow my ass cheeks to make a canyon, and reveal my tight pink center. He's been checking out my ass all day, so this is his first reward, a glimpse at the promised land. I can see by his thickening cock; his interest is piqued.

Time to draw him in. I lower my torso down by raising my ass a touch. I widen my knees stance and allow my pussy to open wider. A thin curtain of my velvet secretions part revealing the pinkness of my entry. I draw breath, and my puckered rear entrance opens and closes like the winking of an eye.

Carey has climbed onto the bed, stroking his erection, then gently teases my pussy by inserting the head of his cock inside and manipulating it up and down. I am hoping for a deep plunge, but he intends to make me beg. I won't. He'll see. I won't. I try to remain silent as his thick mushroom-shaped head stimulates my engorged lips. I fail. I whimper and open my stance even wider, giving him the sanction to enter me.

"Ask for it," he demands.

This is a battle I am going to lose. I'll ask for it. Perhaps I can take back control, turn the tables, and make him beg. For now, he wins the first battle.

"Please fuck me," I beg, "I need your cock inside me now."

This isn't simply sex talk; it's real. If I don't get stretched out by his cock soon, I might pass out from wanting. Carey obliges and plunges his pulsing cock deep inside me.

I can feel it sliding in, pushing my sugar walls ever outward. Carey isn't the most enormous cock I've had, but he works it better than them all. His cock is engulfed by the tight grip of my cunt, pulling him in until his thighs slap against my ass. He pauses, and I can feel his balls resting on my labia. Then he's at it again, and I wonder what's next.

Some women find doggie style demeaning, but every one of them will tell you it feels great. Any size cock can become a porn star in this position. His pounding alternates from aggressive to gentle and back again. He is both making love to me and fucking me simultaneously. My pelvic floor muscles grow confused by the non-rhythmic pace, making his penetration all the more rhapsodic.

I close my eyes to enjoy the pleasure of the deep penetration. Carey stays deep in me for a few seconds, then withdraws and pumps me rhythmically. My pussy reacts by tightening around his shaft, making each pull and push feel like stroking velvet. I feel I can make him cum this way. Advantage me. But I want this feeling to linger.

"I'll do the work," I whisper. I rock forward and back, sliding down his cock until my ass cheeks meet his thighs.

I shut my eyes and tip my head back, enjoying each slick push and pull of his cock. I don't know if we'll ever fuck again, so I burn each wave of pleasure into my memory to enjoy in my solitary outings for years to come.

He taps me gently on the back, indicating he's ready to try something else. I've got the overwhelming desire to have him soothe my aching pussy with his mouth, so I push him back, and he pops out of my pussy. Rivulets of our sweat and body fluids drip down my light blonde trimmed bush.

Still on all fours, I slip my fingers into my wet purse and open it wide, granting him a better view from behind. I play with my clit and buck up, presenting myself to him. He wants to taste me, I can tell. I nod and give him the approval to savor me from behind.

My cunt glistens as Cary extends his tongue and does a long slow lick from the top of my pussy to the bottom, then stiffens it to a point and penetrates me as deep as possible. I respond by pushing my ass into his face allowing him access to my deepest folds.

I work my clit with my hand and can feel my wetness growing. I can't see his face, but I know it is covered with my juices, which excites me all the more.

He wants me wider and uses his hands to open my legs, granting himself total access. His tongue has left the warm confines of my pussy and is now dancing across my perineum. I can feel the tenderness of my flesh as it goosebumps.

I know where he's heading, but he's moving slowly, waiting to see if I'll stop him or push him off. But I won't. My anus puckers and pouts involuntarily as his tongue glides across the tight muscle.

I gasp, the muscle relaxes, and his tongue penetrates my ass from behind. He circles my knot gently. My fingers continue to work my pussy.

"You've got a pornstar's ass," He quips.

"Any porn stars come to mind?" I ask.

"Abella Danger," he replies without hesitation. "You're taller, but your ass could be her double."

I don't know much about porn, but I've seen Abella. The compliment heightens my excitement. I've always thought my ass was too big, but it is my number one quality right now.

"How about you fuck me like you would Abella," I whisper to him.

"Abella likes anal," he says as both a statement and probing question. He's testing me and gauging my interest.

I run my fingers through my slit, wetting them. I then transfer the wetness to my pouting rosebud. Gently, I poke a finger into the opening, lubricating myself. He has his answer.

I pull forward and then roll over so I'm below him. His cock pulses with his heartbeat, moving like a conductor's baton during a Wagnerian opera.

As much as I loved it from behind, I want to see his face when he enters me. I push him down on the bed, his head on the pillow, then straddle him over his cock, not granting it entry, not just yet.

I lay back, reach the bedside and take a bottle of German sandalwood massage oil from my bedside table.

I slather it across my aching pussy, with the excess dripping on my stomach and his cock. I then reach behind and grease my back passage. Carey strokes his oil-covered cock in anticipation.

The rich scent of the oil hits my nostrils and sends intimate signals to my brain.

I spread my lips, and he is back inside my pussy, impaling me with his erection. It feels beautiful, but it's a brief stopping point on his excursion to my back door.

His hands are on my thighs as I rise and fall on his cock. I could use my pussy's tight grip, and he would flood me with his cum. I could end it here and now. But I want him to explore my body further.

His hand moves to my behind as his greased fingers probe my ass, sliding a digit over my clenched entry. Then, a fingertip enters, pushing the muscular gateway open.

My body fights, but I relax, and it relents. His finger is in me. Greased, it slides up the smoothness of my entry. It's the initial penetration; it always gets me; my body tenses. A second finger joins, and I'm being stretched wider. He's loosening me, preparing me. Relaxing my muscles, making sure I can take what he's longing to give. There is no pain, just mounting pleasure.

He removes his cock from my pussy, and a combination of sandalwood and my dampness drip out.

The mushroom cap of his cock presses against my tight ring. Entry seems impossible, but he persists. Slowly, the ring relents and opens to accommodate the purple head as it slides in. There is minimal resistance now. My sphincter muscles that initially tried to repel him now reverse and pull him in.

He slides into my ass easily as I drop down on his cock. He's in there, all of him. We stay motionless as I am momentarily paralyzed until the feeling returns. I relax, and the sensation grows, becoming overwhelming.

He's a gentleman. He knows to wait, and I permit him to sally forth as I glide up and down his pole, my ass stretched wide. I wonder if Abella Danger could do any better.

He can't see his cock sliding in and out, but he can see my pussy, open wide, its lips pushed wide open by his phallus in my back vortex.

I feel my reward building. The tingling sensations in my extremities are the first alert. The clenching of my ass muscles is the second alert. There is no third alert. My orgasm has arrived. I will enjoy this moment, and then it hits.

My experience with anal has always been the opposite. Gunner would finish and pull out. But now I was finishing. This will be my first anal orgasm.

I countdown from five, four, three, two, one. The explosion of pleasure is unlike any orgasm I have ever experienced. The location of Carey's cock sets off a chain reaction of nerve flare-ups sending wave after wave of pleasure rippling through me.

I moan and fall forward on Carey, sweat dripping from my body to his. I need a moment to catch my breath.

"Did you?" I ask. He shakes his head no.

"I wanted to finish with you, but if I even moved a muscle while in there, this would have been over before it began," he smiles and kisses me gently.

We lay together for a few minutes, and I return to Earth. With my right hand, I massage his hard cock, thinking of how I will finish him.

I slide my body on him while managing his cock with my right hand. I kiss his face, then his chest, and move down his torso. I want to taste his cock. I want to tease it with my tongue. He doesn't push my head down; he's too much a gentleman.

I continue downward until his cock comes up to my face. His rod is pulsing from anticipation, hot to the touch. Opening my mouth, I lick the tip and slide my mouth down his shaft. I know where it's been. It tastes earthy and herbal with a hint of black honey; it tastes like me. Realizing those flavors come from within me makes me wetter.

I stroke his cock gently and take it deeper into my mouth. His balls are still slathered in sandalwood, and I grease my fingers on them.

I go south, finding his clenched entry. I rub my fingers across his closed opening. He is surprised. I can feel this in my mouth as his cock swells. He opens his legs, and my fingers slide in. First one, then a second. He groans with pleasure. I'm on the right track.

I get sloppy and begin moving up and down on his cock with my mouth making loud slurps. I suck aggressively. Behind him, my fingers probe until they contact his prostate. This will be over soon.

His inner muscles hug my fingers, keeping them in tight contact with his prostate, and I begin milking him. I am gentle with my fingers but aggressive with my mouth.

His back gets rigid. His leg muscles flex. I can almost hear his balls swelling, and I feel the thickness of his flesh-covered urethra grow. His ejaculation is beginning.

I increase my motion with hand and mouth, milking him aggressively, and then he lets loose a groan followed by a rush of his hot white load. His anus tightens around my fingers, and my mouth is filled with his cum. I swallow it. Since I've taken him deep in my mouth, most shoots directly down my throat.

I must take him out of my mouth. I don't want to, but it's more cum than I've ever experienced.

His cock is still erect as I pump more cum from him. Finally, he is done. I continue to clean him with my lips and tongue. Every last drop of cum is licked up and swallowed.

We lay together, both expired. He leans in to kiss me. I'm a little surprised. No man has ever kissed me after swallowing his cum, but this man has no masculine uncertainties. We end our lovemaking session wrapped in each other's arms, bathing in the serenity of our sex.

We hold tight and drift off to sleep together. In my dreams, I relive our lovemaking and awaken in the middle of the night to see him next to me. Dreams pale in comparison to what I have in my arms.

Colin put down the laptop revealing his cock standing tall and erect. Mayla smiled; this was her litmus test for the success of her erotica, and she passed from the looks of it.

"I felt like a voyeur," he said, "like I was watching us from the corner,"

"And?" Mayla asked tentatively.

"And I've never been more aroused. You've built a complex world where we get to see the true sexual nature of all the characters. The things they do and never talk about in the company of others. I need to call my people; this will change things”

"Your call will have to wait," Mayla interrupted as she approached.

The sun from the window lit her entire body in a warm glow. Her nude, lithe figure hypnotized Colin as she strode toward him with purpose.

Stepping over his legs, she positioned herself facing him and over his lap, her pussy over his erection. With her fingers, Mayla opened her twat lips and gently slid down on his cock until she was seated on him with his rod deep within her. They sat face to face. Colin placed his hand on her ass cheeks as she tilted her head slightly downward, kissing him with an even deeper passion than she described in her prose. He returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm.

Gently she slid up and down his cock, the length of her labia creating a tight grip on his cock like a flesh turtleneck, never allowing it to escape even when she brought herself up high.

With each rise, her leg and ass muscles would flex, showing off the efforts of intense yoga study.

Within her, she could feel Colin's cock still growing. Electric charges swelled from deep within her pussy. She was cumming. It would be fast, and there would be no delaying or stopping the wave.

The warm sun heated them as their friction increased. Drops of sweat rolled down their foreheads and from under their arms.

Heat built between them as she increased her cadence and squeezed her ass cheeks slightly. The contraction of her ass constricted Colin's cock, causing his balls to swell. She was in control now, and if her wave was coming, so would his. No cumming separately; they would ride this one together.

The wave hit with a pounding force. Colin let out a guttural growl, drowned out by Mayla's loud moan. Their climax was fast, mutual, and substantial, with the sounds of their passion providing a treat for Mr. Tuxil downstairs.

Their satisfaction was complete, but they kept the friction going, with Mayla still using her deep inner muscles to milk Colin's cock dry. The sounds of their connection became wet as Colin's cum oozed out of Mayla's soaked pussy. They slowed to a stop, the chair drenched in cum and liquified lust.

Then silence. They sat looking at each other's glistening bodies. Colin smiled victoriously, and Mayla looked down to see why he had such a reaction.

Her tits were red and engorged, as were her nipples. Not just the right nipple, but for the first time, her left nipple as well.

Colin could not resist the urge to kiss and lick the elusive erogenous zone gently, proud he was the one to bring it out of hibernation.

Hours later, the two enjoyed a handholding walk around Boston like a long-married couple. Mayla exited a coffee shop with two lattes as Colin wrapped up a phone call. She waited patiently, then handed him his drink as he pocketed his phone.

"That was my bosses. They think you have a unique voice, and I argued they should not give your voice to an ex-porn star. But they love her name cachet, and so I quit."

Mayla looked at Colin in shock. "You quit? Over me? Over a ghostwriting gig?"

"I quit for about 30 seconds. They acquiesced, and the long and short is we will publish this book under your name," Colin explained with pride. "Time to think up a title."

Mayla pulled Colin in for a kiss as they turned the corner to see the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum ahead. Dozens of Boston Police cars were on the scene and even FBI vehicles.

The street was blocked off, and the scene was chaos.

"What happened?" Mayla asked a police officer working the perimeter line.

"Art theft. Someone took a famous painting of some princess," The cop replied in his thick South Boston accent. Unable to continue, they turned to go back the way they came.

Mayla saw her first, then Colin. There, across the street, standing with a sketch pad in her hand, was the fabulous redhead wearing an all-knowing smile.

"Come on," Mayla said to Colin, "we've got to get to work on the sequel."

Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress

A pair of forty fives made me open my eyes.

My temperature started to rise.

She was a long cool woman in a black dress.

Just-a 5 foot 9, beautiful, tall.

With just one look I was a bad mess.

'Cause that long cool woman had it all.

© Carlin America Inc. Universal Music

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 4 parts, for Literotica.