Portmanteau: More Than a Feeling

Mary Margaret recognized the muscular contractions of a rising orgasm and held the sister tight in an embrace. The sister's head was cheek to cheek with hers, and she could hear heavy rhythmic breathing followed by a deep shudder and a moan so loud it would be amazing if someone outside didn't hear it.

Sister Grace's orgasm was the second domino to fall because all it took for Mary Margaret to finish was feeling the deep pulsations of another woman's orgasm as it resonated through her like vibrations from a subwoofer.

Sister Grace's orgasmic crescendo was waning as Mary Margaret's was rising, but they met in the middle, sharing deep, intimate kisses as the sister came down while the redhead climaxed. Finally, both subsided, and all that could be heard in the room was the deep breathing of three expended people.

Jimmy pulled his spent cock from Sister Grace's pussy, and she dropped forward, lying next to Mary Margaret, savoring each other in the afterglow.

They each drifted off to sleep for a few minutes, only to be woken up as Jimmy found his pants and shirt and began to dress.

Mary Margaret reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. It was 2:30, and they had been away from the picnic for almost 2 hours.

"Jimmy, let me see your cock," she demanded.

Jimmy smiled and wondered if he could get it up a third time. He assumed he could.

Unzipping his pants, he pulled out his semi-rigid cock for Mary Margaret to see.

"You want me in you this time?" he asked.

Quickly she pulled up her phone and took a photo of Jimmy with his cock out, balls and all.

"No, I do not. So, here's the deal. You don't tell anyone about this. Ever. I hear you've talked about this. I am sending this photo to Harvard and everyone you've ever met. Ten years from now, you mention it; I'll send it to your boss, your wife, and then to her lawyer."

"Who would I tell?"

"You just had a three-way with a redhead and a nun. Who wouldn't you tell?"

Sister Grace rolled on her side and gave Jimmy an innocent doe-eyed look. "Can we keep this between us, Jimmy? For me?"

Jimmy nodded in agreement, not because Sister Grace asked so politely, but because he was scared to death of Mary Margaret.

Putting on his shirt and jacket, he leaned down to offer an awkward kiss goodbye, but Mary Margaret shoved him away. Sister Grace pulled him in for a deep kiss and gently pushed him back.

"Thank you," she said kindly.

With that, Jimmy was gone, leaving only Mary Margaret and Sister Grace naked on the bed, cuddling. Each would periodically run a finger along the other's stomach or breasts.

"Is Jimmy your boyfriend?" Grace asked.

"Him? No. Not my type."

"His penis was large. Right?"

"Yeah, it's really big. But I selected him because his tongue is long. I've only wanted him for a pussy eating."

"I'm sorry mine is such a mess," Sister Grace replied.

"It's amazing, natural, and tastes like heaven."

The women snuggled together like sisters.

"How long have you known who you were?" Sister Grace asked politely.

"Pretty much forever. When you can admit it to yourself, it's liberating, but it brings complications. I've only messed around with boys until today. But I treat them like women. They never realize. All they know is they get to finger a girl or lick her pussy."

"I was your first girl?" the nun asked, a little surprised.

Mary Margaret nodded in the affirmative.

"I liked the feeling of Jimmy inside me. But when I finished, I wanted him gone. Am I...am I like you?"

"It's not for me to say, but they do sell dildos online, so if it's the penetration you want—less grunting, less of the faces, and no mess—" Mary Margaret added.

With that, both women looked down at the river of cum covering their midsections.

"Christ, you think Jimmy could have cum any more than that? I'm covered," Mary Margaret said.

"There's a shower in the next room. Want to wash up with me?" the sister proposed.

Mary Margaret smiled at the invitation.

They found a linen closet in the empty room next door with towels, soap, and other bathroom sundries. Sister Grace smiled as she held up a shaving razor and gel.

"Would you shave me? Help me clean up this mess?"

"It's fine the way it is," Mary Margaret remarked.

"Please, it's another part of my fantasy. I want to feel nubile again. Fresh and starting out for the first time."

Mary Margaret smiled in agreement. Running a hot shower, the women stepped into the water, embracing and kissing as they wiped the last vestiges of Jimmy's batter from their bodies.

Feeling purified, the sister squeezed out a handful of shaving gel and spread it all over her vagina, between her legs, on her inner thighs, and even the entirety of her ass and under her arms.

Leaning back against the wall, she waited for Mary Margaret to start.

Mary Margaret ran the razor down the treasure trail, which began at the sister's belly button and widened at her mons. The trail disappeared as she stroked it away like someone intentionally covering their tracks in the woods.

With long, slow strokes, she started on the outside, sometimes having to retrace her path due to the coarseness of her hair.

Being extra careful, she soon had most of the pubic hair removed, with only a section on either side of the sister's pussy lips remaining.

"Bend over," she asked.

The nun turned away from Mary Margaret, bent over with her legs open, grasped her butt cheeks, and pulled them wide open, revealing her hairy clenched starfish in desperate need of grooming.

Gently guiding the blade deep down the inside of her ass cheek, the cold steel skimmed over the sister's tight knot causing it to pucker and flutter. Mary Margaret used a finger to wipe some of the gel off the older woman's tight hole, then continued to groom.

Sister Grace remarked on how good that felt, and Mary Margaret reminded her that there was an entire world of pleasure out there for her to try.

Clearing all the thick hair from the nun's backside, Mary Margaret turned her around and finished the rest of her pubic zone until she was bare. Her thick coat of hair had hidden a pronounced pouty pussy with swollen lips and a large clit that protruded outward.

Mary Margaret continued shaving the nun's less hairy legs, having been at least minimally kept. With a few strokes, the nun's long legs were bare.

Taking the razor in hand, Mary Margaret climbed her partner's body until they were face to face, breasts pressed tight against each other as the warm shower water cascaded about them.

"Just a little more," Mary Margaret said, holding Sister Grace's arms up against the wall as if she were about to frisk her.

The position exposed her armpits, which beheld tufts of hair. Mary Margaret placed her face close to Sister Grace's bicep and gently shaved one armpit and then the other.

After completing the task, she caressed the newly shaven skin with her cheek. The warmth of Mary Margaret's cheek on the freshly shaved skin of Sister Grace's underarms sent shivers down the nun's spine.

Sister Grace's reached her hand down to Mary Margaret's vagina and gently entered three fingers which she curled up and under her pubic bone to find the spot she knew all too well on her own body. Mary Margaret shuddered at her touch and responded in kind with fingers in the sister's pussy, seeking then finding her spot and then pressing.

Mary Margaret increased her hand motion, silently signaling her partner to do the same. Their lips locked in deep kisses and mouth exploration. The warm cascade of water heightened their sensations, and each could feel a tidal wave of pleasure about to arrive.

A mutual orgasm was upon them, and like a tidal wave, it hit them both with crushing force. Each woman felt her extremities tingle, and then muscular contractions originated in the solar plexus and exploded outward. Mary Margaret let out a long guttural groan while Sister Grace convulsed with such euphoric pleasure that a trickle of pee escaped her bladder and sprayed its warmth on Mary Margaret's legs.

The ecstasy was over; they washed up, toweled off, and dressed silently. When Sister Grace was about to pull on her thick undergarments and brassiere, she balled them up and threw them in the garbage. Slipping into the habit, she donned her headgear and turned to face Mary Margaret, who was back in her plaid uniform. Sister Grace's breasts remained hidden under the thick fabric, but to the watchful eye, one might notice they hung a little lower than before, and wasn't that a hint of a nipple outline?

Holding hands, they walked back through the empty building, stopping at the Peaceable Kingdom painting.

Sister Grace mused about the image before them. "I get it now; those creatures are free to do as they want, to be what they want. They have no rules. The school keeps this painting here to hide its message. It's worth a fortune, but its message isn't one this order thinks is productive."

Before exiting the building, Sister Grace pulled Mary Margaret in for one last deep kiss, then exited, each going their separate ways.

__________________________________________________

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 thinkin' 'bout you

Sister Golden Hair surprise

And I just can't live without you

Can't you see it in my eyes?

Sister Golden Hair lyrics © 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 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. 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.