Portmanteau: More Than a Feeling

Welcome to the PORTMANTEAU stories.

Each Portmanteau story is a collection of three stand-alone erotic short stories, all loosely associated with each other.

A portmanteau story opens with a vignette from one of the stories, then begins the first story, pauses at its midpoint, tells a second story, then a third, and finally returns to the first story to complete it.

Each narrative does its best to world-build before getting intimate to give context to the passion. If you're looking for it to get hot, trust me, it will get very hot.

I've posted this story under erotic couplings because that category covers the overall gist of the three adventures. However, each story within the episode is uniquely different and could, at times, be categorized as something else.

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PORTMANTEAU: MORE THAN A FEELING

LONG COOL WOMAN IN A BLACK DRESS (Erotic Couplings)

A former model comes to Boston to start her life as a novelist but is tasked with writing erotica to pay the bills.

DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER (Lesbian Sex)

A robbery at an auction house becomes a hostage situation in a nearby hair salon with exciting consequences.

SISTER GOLDEN HAIR (First Time)

A nun realizes she has free will to do as she wants and allows herself to feel sexually desirable for the first time, leading to a life-changing epiphany.

TAGS: Anal Sex, Lesbian, 3-Way, First Time, Blowjob, Shaving, Hairy Pussy, MILF, Mature, Swallowing, Fisting, Nipples, Romantic, Virgin, Creampie, Ass to Mouth

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PORTMANTEAU - EPISODE 2: MORE THAN A FEELING

• I'M ON FIRE (A Vignette)

• LONG COOL WOMAN IN A BLACK DRESS: Part 1

• DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER

• SISTER GOLDEN HAIR

• LONG COOL WOMAN IN A BLACK DRESS: Part 2

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I'M ON FIRE (A Vignette)

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 breast 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 breasts 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 breast 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 aaaaah, 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 breasts suspended in a revealing white lace bra. Her right nipple was sharp and excited, her left nipple dormant.

Colin kissed her breasts over her bra, causing them to swell. Mayla undid the front clasp, the bra opened, and her breasts 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...

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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 breast 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 breasts 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.